#WELL. i lied. not ALL of them but the majority are

[mariacallous]

When Trump announces an aggressive policy, he attaches to it a grotesque justification. The nonsensical fiction is supposed remain in our minds, as a button to be pushed, so that we accept violence. We will have trouble questioning lies later if we accept them when offered, because that would challenge our own sense of ourselves as not being idiots.

This is the magic of the big lie, as Hitler explained in Mein Kampf. Tell a lie so big, advised Hitler, that people will not believe that you would deceive them on such a scale. His biggest lie was that of an international Jewish conspiracy: something that could always be blamed, something that would always relieve you of responsibility. In 1939, he and his propagandists piled up the fictions about Poland. They pretended that Poland did not really exist as a state, but also that Poland was the aggressor and had started the war.

Big lies today? That Canada attacked the United States first by sending masses of fentanyl across the border. And also that Canada also does not really exist.

To be sure, fentanyl is a serious and deadly problem. It is in the third wave of America’s opioid crisis, after OxyContin and heroin. It kills people, including young people, in alarming numbers.

For a quarter century, the opioid crisis has been an essential element of the American experience. In certain parts of the country, including some I know well, one cannot carelessly bring up the subject of opioids with strangers, because of the likelihood of a recent family death.

Opioids, including fentanyl, are a preeminently American problem. We have the highest rate of opioid deaths in the world. We Americans are not only the consumers of fentanyl; we are also the the vast majority of the smugglers. Our “health care” system is in the middle of it the consuming and the smuggling. The opioid crisis began because of a moneymaking scheme by an American company, Purdue Pharma. Our commercial health care guides people towards opioids, but lacks long-term care and attention needed to prevent addiction. The addiction wave that began with Purdue’s OxyContin and continued with heroin has now reached fentanyl.

The demand for fentanyl is American, including inside the Trump White House itself. The people who live at the epicenters of the addiction crisis tend to vote Republican; without them, Trump would never have become president in the first place. Trump and Vance are attuned to the opioid issue, in the sense that they see the suffering as a political resource, as a wellspring of misery that can be directed against an enemy of choice.

Vance’s message? We must understand our own addictions as an attack from outside. It is important to understand the psychology of this. An addict will tend to blame others rather than himself. In our domestic politics, we have elevated this irresponsibility to a national verity: someone besides Americans must be to blame for America’s additions. This has now become our foreign policy. We are blaming someone else for our problems, and flailing for ever more nonsensical stories: like that Canada is to blame.

In his book, Vance tells of us his mother, a nurse, who used to be an alcoholic and was addicted to pharmaceuticals. He has chosen to make her central to his political messaging. Vance has misled the public about the essentials of his mother’s problem, blaming other countries — ‘'poison coming across our border” — for her travails. His mother’s problems had nothing to do with drugs coming from other countries.

Unlike other politicians, including some Republicans, Vance has not become an advocate of drug prevention or addiction recovery. He has instead become a champion of lying and blaming others — behaviors that he himself associates with addiction.

In his book, he instructs us that we all need to take personal responsibility and not expect the government to help us. We need to reject the “cultural movement” that urges us to blame others for our own failings. As vice-president, however, he leads that “cultural movement.” He blames other countries for what we do, and then joins in as we direct our government’s power against them.

As the extreme case of addiction reminds us, lies work because they shift responsibility. For Vance to blame other countries for his mother’s problems is a lie without foundation but with psychological appeal. For Americans to blame other countries generally for fentanyl is also an attractive displacement of responsibility.

To be sure, other countries are involved. China manufactures the basics. Two drug cartels in Mexico play a huge rule. The drug is indeed smuggled in large quantities (though usually by Americans and almost entirely for Americans) from Mexico to the United States. Although it is unreasonable to create a false distinction between guilty Mexicans and innocent Americans, it is very important to stop the supply — as the Biden administration was already doing, with some success.

The Trump administration claims that Canada deserves tariffs because of fentanyl smuggling. Vance claims that Canada is “taking advantage” of him personally by allowing drugs to cross the border. This quite extraordinary capacity for personal grievance introduces a dangerous political fantasy.

Blaming Canada is bad faith. When Trump groups Canada and Mexico together and claims that fentanyl is “pouring in” through both countries he is not telling the truth. The amount of fentanyl that passes from Canada to the United States is about 0.2% of the total -- not two percent, zero point two percent. The total amount smuggled in fiscal year 2024 would fit in one suitcase. Canada was not even mentioned in the official 2024 National Drug Threat Assesment of the Drug Enforcement Administration. As the Canadians are often too polite to point out, the real problem at the border is the illegal smuggling of American guns into Canada.

Canada has been a reliable friend and ally to the United States. Casting Canada as the villain in an American story is weird. Portraying Canada as America’s fentanyl enemy is a conspiracy theory, with no basis in empirical reality, but with firm traction in the need to blame someone else for what we ourselves have done. It is fiction on a very grand scale, on that requires an entire alternative reality to be constructed around it. Once we accept that “Canadian fentanyl” is a conspiracy theory, then America’s trade war with Canada takes on a very different resonance.

Trump and his cabinet are training the press to associate the one thing with the other: that the tariffs have to do with the fentanyl. But this is bunk. The idea that Canada sends us fentanyl and that we respond with tariffs involves such a dripping overflow of mendacity that it demands that we seek elsewhere for the truth, and urgently.

It is much more plausible to think, as former Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau said, that tariffs are a step in a policy designed to soften up Canada for annexation. This follows from what Trump himself has said, on a number of occasions in public, and also to Trudeau in private. Trump himself is ever more persistent and direct in his claim that Canada should become the fifty-first state. Once we see that the tariffs have nothing to do with fentanyl, we can ask: why, then, all the rhetoric?

The tariff policy and the fentanyl fantasy both come from another place: the desire to annex Canada.

The fentanyl propaganda is most likely designed to prepare Americans to see Canada as an enemy. The only way for the United States to achieve such a territorial aggrandizement would be threats intending to make Canadians surrender, or an actual invasion of Canada. In such a pursuit, associating Canada with our addiction crisis is useful propaganda.

Why not blame the Canadians for what we do to ourselves? And then punish them for it? And when they do not solve an essentially American problem, as of course they cannot, then let Canadians be targeted for further lies and hatred.

The “Blame Canada” song from South Park was always a satire of America, but at least a comforting one, as it showed American self-awareness. Its last two lines: “We must blame them and cause a fuss/Before somebody thinks of blaming us!” This is now happening, as reality, and it has to be faced.

Squarely faced. Democrats in the United States sometimes take comfort from the notion that a United States with Canada added would be more likely to elect Democratic than Republican presidents. This is daft.

We should not imagine a hypothetical America that somehow just peacefully involves Canadians in our elections. We have to consider the process by which the subjugation of Canada would take place. In a world where the United States uses violence or the threat of violence to annex Canada, the colonized Canadians are not going to have the right the vote. Their country would be treated as a hostile military zone, to be exploited for its resources. And in a world of imperialism within North America, Americans too will see their rights dismissed. When an empire arises, a republic falls.

And, by the way: it is not at all clear that the United States would win such a war. Americans tend to blot out our disastrous history of invading Canada. And again, it is important not to confuse politeness with weakness. I once visited a Canadian resort town where everything aboveground was perky commerce and skiing fun. And then underground was a place where you went to throw axes. Next to me was a dad with two girls, maybe twelve and eight, who were hitting the bull’s eye. (This was an all-ages axe-throwing facility.) The axe quivering in the wood is a suggestive reality.

War with Canada is what Trump seems to have in mind. Fentanyl is not the only the big lie. That Canada does not really exist is the other. The way that this fiction is formulated is strangely Putinist. Trump's rhetoric about Canada uncannily echoes that of Russian propagandists towards Ukraine. The claim that the country is not real; that its people really want to join us; that the border is an artificial line; that history must lead to annexation... This is all familiar from Putin, as is Trump’s curious ambiguity about a neighbor: they are our brothers, they are also our enemies; they are doing terrible things to us, they also don’t really exist.

The imperialist rhetoric has to be seen for what it is, which is preparation not just for trade war but for war itself. And, it goes without saying, a disastrous one, in every sense, for everyone. (Except Putin and Xi, perhaps: the American-Canadian conflict is one way that Trump is handing them the world on a platter.)

Just because someone treats you politely and speaks your language does not mean that they want to be invaded by you. This was an underlying Russian mistake about Ukrainians. Ukrainian public culture, before the Russian invasion, was bilingual and polite. In general people simply adjusted to whichever language was most comfortable for the other person. Visiting Russians therefore had the experience of Ukrainians speaking their language, and then could arrogantly assume that this was because Ukrainians were in fact Russians and wanted to be part of Russia. I fear that Americans, or at least some Americans in the White House, are making a similar mistake.

Canada also has a polite public culture, less bilingual in practice than Ukraine’s, but unlike Ukraine’s with an official second language. Canadians, whether their first language is French or English, will naturally speak English with monolingual Americans. This is simple courtesy, but it leads Americans away from considering Canada’s differences, one of which is that the official language of its largest province is French and that the entire country has two official languages. Canadian elected officials use both, at least at the beginning of their speeches. They have to debate each other in both. The Canadian foreign minister is from Quebec. When she is talking circles around us, we don’t necessarily pause to consider that she is doing so in her second language.

Canadians tend to be (or tended to be) patient with us. Canadians know Americans well, and tend (or have tended) to see us as our best selves. All of this is to their credit; none of this means that they want to become the fifty-first state (a phrase so dumb it hurts my fingertips to type it). Canada is a very interesting and a very different country, with a very different history. Canadians have quite different institutions, and live quite different (and longer) lives. Canadians have a profound sense of who they are; anyone who suggests the contrary simply has not taken the time to come to the country or to listen with any attention.

The notion that Canada is not real is an example of the complaisant lies that imperialists tell themselves before beginning doomed wars of aggression. The specific association of Canada with fentanyl is a big lie that allows Americans to shift responsibility away to a chosen enemy and enter a world of geopolitical fantasy. Anyone who plays with the idea that Canada is not a real place or repeats the fentanyl slander is warmongering and preparing the way for North American catastrophe.

Big lies are powerful; but they are also vulnerable, at least before war begins. Wars begin with words, and we have to take words seriously, at the time when they matter most, which is now. When we see the truth of where this is all meant to go, we can prevent it: by calling out the big liars and telling the small truths.

[violetjedisylveon]

Final answer: the Horrific Thing was the burning of FFM. Mac would never but didn't have a choice but the monkeys didn't know that. They just saw one of their kin, their protector, their Other King, setting fire to the home he had worked so hard to defend. He stopped the worst of fires and saved most of everyone during the initial burn but after being captured and spelled, he was forced to go back and finish what he had stopped.

Maybe Wukong had to watch or listen, or Mac was forced to tell him all of it in excruciating detail while force feeding him the peach.

Also, I love protective Wukong but I also vibe with the idea that Mac is ready to go nuclear at the drop of a hat. Wukong is unfortunately used to hearing all the shit people will throw at him about his mate. He hates it and will happily maul anyone who decides they wanna find out, but he has been hearing it for over 1700 years and is, technically, capable of responding in a reasonable manner. (He never does though. As far as Wukong's concerned, only select people are allowed to even say his mate's name in his presence, or at all).

Macaque though? Macaque, who loves this man so much and is learning to love and care for him all over again? Macaque, who is slowly realizing just how much his mate suffered while he was imprisoned in his own mind? Macaque, who has heard the unkind things people say about him and his mate for centuries but all he could was smile and laugh along with those people? Macaque, who is now Free? Free to love and care and cry and feel sad and, most importantly R A G E.

The first time he hears someone talk shit after being freed, it's... A Situation. He may or may not kill someone on spot and drop the rest of them into the shadow realm to suffer agonizing torment and mental anguish. Everyone is Shook, including Mihou. Wukong, who was ready to go off on the guy before his mate had literally shoved him back to get to the the idiot first, is simping so hard. He's red faced and starry-eyed and so lovestruck because "Awww his mate killed someone for him 😍😭🥰🥹".

(MK is torn on how to feel about seeing his maybe-dad murder someone. The dude had it coming but that's still... a crime?? But then again so is being mean to his newly-happy mentor...🤔🤔).

Long story short, everyone is suddenly reminded of the fact that the Six Eared Macaque is a powerful warrior that was on level with the Great Sage, and is Very Loyal to His King. (Maybe if the fight with Azure becomes well-known they might even start fearing the extremely powerful being who even the former emperor acknowledged as having absolute power over the mighty Sun Wukong. Those six ears hear an awful lot and many, many people have quite suddenly stopped talking).

Have I mentioned I love this AU btw? Because I love this AU.

Good guess but nope! Think eviler.

There were only two victims of the Horrific Thing™, and Wukong was forced to watch it. (If you want a hint, try looking for a pair of sisters in the epic au ;)

Jade Emperor thought FFM was fully burned to the ground and the majority of its inhabitants killed, (because Erlang lied to him about it), and he needed to eliminate the two victims anyway, why not make Macaque do it?

Macaque was surprised by his reaction the first time someone insulted him, he hasn't felt anything that strongly for thousands of years.

MK is shocked that his maybe probably dad reacted so violently, but it makes sense.

The only thing holding Mac back from bloody murdering at anyone who dates to say anything bad about his mate is that it's bad for the baby (MK) to see violence like that. He definitely drops people into shadows and if they land in a volcano, that's not his fault. Wukong shit talking suddenly drops to near zero.

Wukong is absolutely smitten as hell when it happens. He loves his mate so much.

Everyone now knows about what happened to Macaque, a lot of people are impressed/fear him, but some idiots think they could use him for the power he has over Wukong, they would have to get through his wildly protective family to do so.

There's only two people who can insult Wukong or Macaque to their faces and survive, they don't fear death.

Why would they? they've already died.

Grinning Shadow AU Masterpost

And I'm very glad you like this au so much! 😊

[ribbonedreverie]

Hello!! I saw that “late night drunken call” piece you did and it was quite literally one of the best things i’ve read on here, Do you think you could Atsushi, Ranpo, Chuuya & Dazai realizing their in love with a childhood friend of theirs? Maybe their doing something domestic and it just hits them that, yeah they could do this everyday specially if its You they do it with

Thank you so much for your kind words! I absolutely adored writing this request, and I hope you enjoy the piece just as much as I did creating it. I’m still recovering from some major life changes, but I was able to write these out before everything shifted in my life—and, well, I might have gone a little overboard for a certain character heheh. But can you blame me? There’s something so special about love settling in during the quietest moments!

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Chuuya had never needed anyone.

Not when he was a kid with fists too small to fight back. Not when he found a home among The Sheep, carving out his place with blood and bruises, with sharp words and sharper resolve.

But you had been different.

You weren’t a fighter, not like the rest of them, not like him. You weren’t in The Sheep, weren’t caught in the hunger for power and territory. And yet—you were there. Always there. You were the one waiting after every brawl, arms crossed, foot tapping in impatience.

“You’re an idiot, Chuuya.”

You’d say it like a scolding, but your hands were steady as you cleaned the blood from his cheek, as you traced the split in his lip with the kind of gentleness he didn’t know how to handle.

“What if one day you don’t come back?”

He’d scoff, roll his eyes, tell you he wasn’t that easy to kill. “Yeah? Then who the hell’s gonna take care of you?” he’d tease, but some part of him—some deep, quiet part—liked that you worried. Because you were soft where he was jagged. You were warmth in a world that had only ever taught him how to burn, and without ever asking for anything in return, you stayed.

Then, everything had fallen apart.

Betrayal. Lies. Mori’s outstretched hand, the weight of something heavier than he had ever known. And through it all, there was you. Sitting beside him in the cold, your shoulder pressed against his, your presence grounding him when nothing else could.

“You’re not alone,” you had whispered, voice steady, as if willing it to be true.

But then you were gone.

Scattered across Japan with the rest of The Sheep, only distant messages exchanged. But he still answered, always.

Because it had always been you.

And now, after all this time, you were here again.

Older. Wiser. Beautiful in a way that made something in his chest ache. And tonight, you were tending to his wounds, your hands as careful as ever.

“You’re still reckless,” you murmur, shaking your head.

He snorts, tilting his head back against the couch. “And you’re still a pain in the ass.”

You press the alcohol-soaked cotton against his cheek harder than necessary, making him hiss.

“Shit—! I take it back, okay?! Damn,” he grumbles, glaring at you through narrowed eyes.

You raise a brow. “Oh? You’re not used to consequences by now?”

Chuuya exhales sharply through his nose, the corner of his lips twitching. “I can deal with consequences. What I can’t deal with is you sittin’ there, lookin’ at me like that.”

Your hands still. “…Like what?”

His eyes flicker over your face—your furrowed brows, the way your lips press together like you’re holding something back.

“Like you’re still worried about me,” he mutters. “Like you never stopped.”

Silence stretches between you, thick with something unspoken.

You break it first, dipping the cotton into the antiseptic again. “Maybe I didn’t.”

Chuuya watches you carefully, eyes sharp, searching, as if he’s trying to find something in your expression that he already knows is there.

Something in his chest twists. He exhales slowly. “Tch. You’re a real pain, y’know that?”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah? Well, someone’s gotta be.”

The words should be easy, should slip out of his mouth like a well-practiced joke, but instead, they sit heavy on his tongue, thick and aching.

The air shifts.

It’s subtle at first, a slow, creeping tension wrapping around you both, thick and suffocating.

You’re too close. Close enough that he can feel the warmth of your breath against his skin. Close enough that he can see the way your lashes tremble, the way your lips part slightly as you concentrate.

His pulse pounds in his ears. He should say something—should crack a joke, should pull away, should do anything to break the moment.

But he doesn’t.

Because suddenly, the realization crashes over him all at once, sharp and unrelenting.

It had always been you.

Not just in the way you worried about him, not just in the way you stayed when everyone else left. Not just in the way he found himself reaching for his phone when the nights stretched too long and the weight of everything felt too much.

But in this. In the way you exist here, in his space, in his life, as if you had never left.

And he—

He wants this.

Not just tonight. Not just when he’s bruised and beaten and letting you take care of him.

He wants this every day.

He wants to wake up to the sound of your voice.

He wants to come home knowing you’ll be there, waiting, a scolding on your lips and a softness in your eyes.

He wants to reach across the sheets in the middle of the night and feel you.

Not some meaningless one-night distraction, not the cold emptiness of his penthouse, not the quiet ache of loneliness he’s spent years pretending doesn’t exist.

He wants you.

And it terrifies him.

His hands clench against his knees. His throat feels too tight. But then—you look up. And there’s something in your expression—something hesitant, something searching. Like maybe, just maybe, you feel it too.

Chuuya doesn’t think.

Before he can remind himself why this is dangerous, before he can force himself to step back, to pretend—he leans in.

Slowly.

Like he’s testing the waters, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away. You don’t. Your breath hitches, your lips part slightly, and that’s all the invitation he needs. His lips capture yours in a slow, deliberate kiss—one that starts hesitant but quickly grows hungry, desperate.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, your body leaning into his, and he can’t help the groan that rumbles in his chest as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head, his hands finding your waist.

“Shit,” he breathes against your lips, voice rough, almost strained. “I should’ve done this years ago.”

You laugh—breathless, warm, familiar. “Yeah. You should have.”

Chuuya exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands tightening around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

It’s too much—the heat, the years of unspoken longing, the way your body melts against his like you were always meant to be there.

And for the first time in his life, Chuuya isn’t thinking.

He isn’t thinking about The Sheep.

He isn’t thinking about the Port Mafia.

He isn’t thinking about what this means, about what happens next.

There is only this.

Only you.

Only the way you sigh against his lips as he pulls you closer, the way your fingers tangle in his hair, the way you whisper his name like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.

And for the first time in years—maybe for the first time ever—Chuuya lets himself want.

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Atsushi has known you for as long as he can remember.

There are memories of the orphanage that have blurred over time—faded like the ink of an old, forgotten book—but you have always remained clear. A fixture in the storm, a light in the suffocating darkness of those cold, empty halls.

He remembers the way you shielded him from the whispers of the other kids, the ones who recoiled from him like he was something diseased. He remembers the nights when the hunger clawed at his stomach, the way you’d slip half of your stale bread into his hands beneath the dinner table, never meeting his eyes but always pushing it toward him, whispering, Eat, please.

There were nights when the loneliness was unbearable—when the punishments from the headmaster left his body aching, when the weight of being unwanted sat like a lead weight on his chest. And then there was you, slipping through the cracks of his misery, curling up beside him under thin blankets, your forehead pressed to his shoulder, whispering stories of a life beyond the orphanage, a life where the two of you could be free.

“One day, Atsushi, we’ll leave this place together. We’ll have a real home. We’ll be happy.”

And maybe, in those moments, he let himself believe you. But then, life pulled you in different directions.

He was thrown into the world with nothing but the echoes of his past clinging to his ribs like ghosts. And you—you found your own way, carving a path outside of the orphanage, beyond the pain and fear that had once bound you both.

Yet, somehow, you never let go of him.

Even when he joined the ADA, even when he tried to convince himself that the past didn’t matter, that no one needed to remember him, you still did. Checking in, making sure he had someone to come home to, grounding him in a way that nothing else ever could.

And now, sitting beside you in the hush of his small apartment, a forgotten movie flickering on the television, it hits him. Like a thread finally pulled taut, like something that has been waiting—brewing—just beneath the surface, unnoticed until now.

The scent of buttered popcorn lingers in the air. The city hums beyond the window, indifferent to the quiet shift happening inside him.

You stretch slightly, shifting on the couch, your knee brushing against his, close in a way that has never felt unfamiliar. The soft fabric of your sweater slips from your shoulder, revealing a sliver of bare skin. It’s such a small thing, something that shouldn’t make his breath catch, but suddenly he feels everything.

“You’re zoning out,” you say, amused, nudging his arm. Atsushi blinks, throat dry. “Huh?” You tilt your head. “I said, if you didn’t want to watch this, we could’ve picked something else.”

“No, I—” He stops himself, swallows thickly. “It’s fine. I just… got lost for a second.”

Lost.

That’s a word for it.

Because now, everything about this moment feels like too much. The way you smile at the screen, the way you absently steal from his popcorn like it’s yours, the way you exist here, in his space, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like you belong. And he wants that. Not just tonight. Not just sometimes.

He wants to wake up to the sound of your laughter, wants to come home knowing you’ll be there. He wants to live in this quiet, in this warmth, in this easy, thoughtless togetherness that no one else has ever given him. Because with you, it has never been about pity. It has never been about obligation, about repaying some invisible debt.

You have always just stayed. And maybe—maybe he should have realized it sooner. Maybe he should have known that the reason he never let go of you, even after leaving the orphanage, even after trying so hard to forget where he came from, was because you were always home.

“Atsushi?”

Your voice is softer now, laced with concern. He swallows, fingers clenching slightly against the fabric of his sweatpants. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

No.

No, because his heart is beating too fast, and his head is too full of thoughts he isn’t ready to say out loud, and—and he’s in trouble.

Because this isn’t something fleeting. This isn’t something he can ignore. It’s in the way you’ve been woven into his past, in the way you’ve always been there, even when he thought no one else would be.

And it’s in the way he wants you in his future.

He exhales slowly, forcing himself to smile. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I just…” His words trail off as he looks at you, really looks at you and suddenly, saying never mind feels like a betrayal. Because the words are there, thick in his throat, threatening to slip out.

But instead, he swallows them back, forcing a small chuckle. “Never mind. It’s nothing.” You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced, but you let it go, leaning back into the couch. “If you say so.”

Atsushi exhales, watching you, feeling the weight of his realization settle deep into his bones.

Maybe he’s not ready to say it.

But one day—one day soon—he will.

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Ranpo had always known things before anyone else.

It wasn’t arrogance—just fact. He could pick apart a lie before it was spoken, unravel a mystery before the pieces were laid out, see the ending before the story even began.

So, really, it should have been obvious. But somehow, it wasn’t. Somehow, he’s only realizing it now—watching you from across the kitchen as you move around with practiced ease, the warm scent of freshly baked pastries filling the air.

-

He met you when he was still just a boy, before he knew what it meant to be the greatest detective, before Fukuzawa gave him a place to belong.

Back then, he had no patience for people who couldn’t keep up. The world was full of slow thinkers, people who needed explanations for things that should have been obvious. He was always two steps ahead, and everyone else just…wasn’t.

Then you came along.

You were new in town—just another face in a sea of ordinary ones. He wasn’t interested. But for whatever reason, you kept talking to him. Kept appearing in the little moments between his games, between the puzzles he set up for himself just to stay entertained.

He remembers the first time you challenged him, bold and unafraid.

“Bet you can’t guess what I have in my pocket.”

A ridiculous game. A waste of his time.

“Too easy,” he had scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. “It’s a piece of candy. You always keep something sweet with you. Probably strawberry-flavored. And you probably took two—one for now, one for later.”

Your face had lit up, more impressed than you should have been. Instead of getting annoyed, instead of being put off by how different he was, you grinned and held up the exact candy he’d described.

“Okay, maybe you are as smart as you say.”

And just like that, you kept showing up.

You never slowed him down. You never told him he was being too much. You just were there, walking beside him, keeping up with him in ways no one else ever had.

And when Fukuzawa took him in, you never left.

Maybe he should have realized it then—what that meant.

-

“Ranpo,” you call without looking up, setting out a plate of his favorite sweets, “if you don’t come eat these while they’re still warm, I’m feeding them to someone else.”

He gasps in mock offense. “What?! Betrayal! I thought we had something special!”

You roll your eyes. “Then get over here, drama king.”

And he does—because, well, he was going to anyway. But this time, he notices things.

The golden light from the setting sun catching on your hair. The way your lips quirk up when you’re waiting for his reaction, pretending not to care but still watching closely. The flour dusted on your cheek—so casual, so you, so…so his.

That thought lingers. Threads itself into something deeper, something he can’t quite name. His stomach flips—not from the food. Ranpo narrows his eyes at you. “Wait a second.” You glance up mid-bite, blinking. “What?”

He leans forward, elbows on the counter, scrutinizing you like a puzzle he should have solved ages ago. “You like me.” You choke. “Excuse me?”

He grins, delighted, pointing at you. “You like me. That’s why you bake for me, right? You want me to fall for you, huh?” You sputter, face turning red. “I bake for you because you’d starve otherwise, you idiot—”

“Ah-ha! So you do care.” He waggles his finger. “Caught you~” You groan, covering your face. “I hate you.”

“Nooo, you love me.” You throw a dish towel at him. “Eat your damn pastries, Ranpo.” He laughs, victorious, popping one into his mouth. But as he chews, he frowns slightly, staring at you again.

That weird flip in his stomach hasn’t gone away.

…That’s annoying.

Because now, he’s thinking about things he’s never really thought about before. Like what it would be like to come home to this every day—not just the food, but you. What it would be like to reach for your hand without thinking. What it would be like if you smiled at him the way you smile at those cheesy romance novels you swear you don’t read.

His heart does something stupid.

…Hah. That’s really annoying. He scowls at his pastry. And then, after a pause—

“…Hey.”

You sigh dramatically. “What now?”

He leans his chin on his hand, watching you with sharp green eyes, his smile softer than usual.

“Make these for me again tomorrow?”

You stare at him for a second—like you’re trying to figure out if he’s being serious. Then, finally, you roll your eyes, turning away—but not before he catches the way your lips twitch like you’re trying not to smile.

“…Yeah, yeah.”

Ranpo hums, taking another bite, letting the thought settle.

Yeah.

He could get used to this.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

Dazai has never believed in permanence.

People leave. Promises break. Love fades like the last embers of a cigarette, nothing but smoke curling through empty air. He has always been fine with that—really, he has. Love was just another game, another meaningless indulgence he could slip in and out of as easily as a well-rehearsed lie. Something to entertain him for a while before the inevitable end.

And yet—yet you have always remained.

Not in the way most people do, orbiting in and out of his life like flickering streetlights, here one moment and gone the next. No, you are constant. Unwavering in ways that make his skin itch, in ways he refuses to acknowledge for too long because that would mean something, and Dazai is not the kind of man who wants things that last. But now—now he’s watching you fold his laundry.

And it hits him like a gunshot to the ribs.

-

He met you when he was fifteen.

It was an accident—one of those strange moments where the universe places someone in your path with no warning, no reason, and no way to take it back.

Odasaku had been the one to bring you around, mentioning something about a stray kid who needed a place to stay for a while. Soft-hearted bastard, Dazai had thought at the time, amused but uninterested. People like that didn’t last in the Port Mafia.

But then—then you had looked at him.

Not with fear, not with calculation, not even with admiration. Just a glance, assessing, steady, like you could see through the sharp edges he had carefully built around himself. Like you saw something else in him.

And for the first time in his life, Dazai felt like he had no idea what someone was thinking.

He should have left it at that—should have let you remain just another passing figure in the endless cycle of faces that blurred together in his memory.

But you stayed.

Even when he was cruel, even when he was impossible, even when he threw words like knives just to see if you would flinch—you stayed.

“You don’t belong here,” he had told you once, fingers curling around the rim of his glass, voice edged with something he wouldn’t name.

“And you do?” you had shot back, unimpressed. The corner of his lips had twitched.

Maybe that’s when it started.

-

Now?

Now you sit cross-legged on the floor, sleeves pushed up, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt before folding it into a neat little square. It’s such a simple thing. Something insignificant. And yet—something about it makes his breath catch.

He’s used to people taking care of him, but not like this. Not in a way that is so casual, so thoughtless, like you don’t even realize you’re doing it. Like it’s just natural to you. You glance up, noticing his stare.

“What?”

He leans against the doorframe, smirking, hiding the way his fingers twitch at his sides. “Oh, nothing~ Just admiring how adorable you look playing house.”

You roll your eyes, tossing a balled-up sock at him. “Brat.”

He catches it effortlessly, laughing, but the sound is hollow in his ears. Because suddenly, something in him is unraveling. There’s a shift—a slow, creeping realization curling around his ribs, tightening, constricting. It’s not just the laundry. It’s not just the way you move around his apartment like you belong there.

It’s everything.

The way you remember exactly how he takes his coffee. The way you always have a spare bandage in your bag, just in case. The way you let him be himself—not Dazai, the detective, not Dazai, the former mafia executive, not Dazai, the man with too many ghosts clawing at his skin—but just Dazai. The way you never ask for more than he’s willing to give, yet somehow, he wants to give you everything.

That thought is terrifying. Because permanence is not something he has ever wanted. And yet—yet the idea of you not being here, not sitting in his space, not filling the quiet gaps of his life with something warm, something unbearably real—

That is worse. Far worse. He swallows, the weight of it sitting heavy in his chest, sinking into his bones. This isn’t a game. This isn’t something he can slip out of when it becomes inconvenient. This is something he wants. And for the first time in his life, Dazai doesn’t know what to do with that.

You glance up again, catching the shift in his expression, and your brow furrows slightly. “What’s wrong?” The words are there. Sitting on his tongue, thick and aching.

Stay.

Don’t leave.

I think I—

But instead, he flashes a grin, effortlessly slipping back into the role he knows best. “If I say you, will you kiss me?” You scoff. “In your dreams.” He pouts dramatically, but it’s just for show.

Because the truth is—

He will dream of you tonight.

And for the first time, he doesn’t think he’ll mind.

⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙

[alextydaisuda123]

New AU(?) (Part 1)

(I couldn't resist. Sorry. :") This idea still haunted me and I will create an AU anyway, so that it doesn't get on my nerves.)

Well. A new AU. And no, this AU won't be dedicated to some specific topic, but rather, it will answer the question "What if...?" (I've encountered this before). And the question is: "What if all the characters from the original PT are replaced by their closest personalities? For example, their relatives." Yes, that's such a simple question. .... but not such a simple approach. Because... well, you must admit, it would be a bit boring to just replace the characters with others, so I gave reasons for these changes and did not change anyone's characters and personalities.

The prehistory scheme itself will practically repeat the original PT, but with major changes. And yes, the AU itself will be called "Pizza Fortress".

As was said above, all the characters will be replaced by their closest relatives, some of whom even had to be removed. So yes, I will say in advance that in this AU there will be no Noisette and Gustavo with Brick, since I absolutely do not know who can replace them.

The story will be like this: "One day, Maurice visits Peppino at the pizzeria. They start arguing again and Peppino goes somewhere. And while he was gone, a big pizza flew up to Maurice. Pizza... Granny? Yes! It confused Peppino with Maurice and told him that if he didn't run to their tower/fortress, the pizzeria would be destroyed by a huge laser, then flew away. At first, Maurice didn't believe it and wasn't really going to hurry anywhere, but when he saw the fortress itself and the laser, he was, to put it mildly, shocked, because the big pizza hadn't lied. Maurice may have been a bastard and not a very good person for Peppino, but he wasn't so inhumane as to deprive his brother of any business (and he certainly doesn't want to lose his brother either). So he had no choice but to save both the pizzeria and his brother. He ran alone instead Peppino to the fortress to destroy it brick by brick. And so that life is not too sweet, on the way he will meet bosses and the leader of the fortress."

[monsob-6667]

the crustiest cyclenuts doodles known to man explicitly from my major mandated sketchbook

[ratcandy]

oh yeah I haven't had time to make one of those fancy card things yet (and I still have one more character ref to make) but here's my ArtFight by the way

if you'd like to make fwct take 1 million years longer u should come killme on there when af starts <3 pleas <3

[lususnatura]

okay, SO although this account is based on a heavily canon-divergent and reworked version of mister bloom, there are some thing's that he says in the comics that i think are REALLY accurate to blamore's way of thinking and/or something that he'd say because he does have this mindset that gotham is past the point of saving... so it would be better to just raze it all to the ground. BUT in such a way that will make it seem like a revolutionary because it preaches that it wants a 'better life' for all gothamites + that they should rise up and TAKE what they want, though he is in fact turning people against each other in the process and killing people because some people don't survive consuming a seed at all... and the ones who do STILL tend to die later. so this is the biggest panel that i think still relates to it:

as well as this one, because blamore really DOES sometimes believe in his own hubris that he is a savior and someone who will bring a new beginning to gotham that everyone needs. except no one will be there to enjoy it besides maybe him and a few others, so his logic is beyond flawed. though i truly do believe that the immense amount of stress he was put under combined with actually dying for about three minutes made something snap in blamore... though, that doesn't excuse his actions or anything he does, of course. i'm just saying that it may do a good job of pretending like it's okay a good amount of the time, but it is SO angry and full of resentment towards humanity in reality. because blamore spent what was about eight years of his life studying to help people and years actually doing so as well, but in his point of view, it didn't seem to help. especially after blamore's father got shot.

[ominous-faechild]

✦ OC Questionnaire Tag 3 ✦

Following tag from @honeybewrites !

Featuring characters from Sun and Shadow: Freya, Crow, Daleira, Valyarus, Soren, and Grimnir! As well as a surprise visit from someone else...

Notes: Valyarus is Daleira's adopted dad, Lynsmouth nobility, and a faerie; Soren is Freya's dad, strongly hinted to be ageless, and worked as a sailor; and Grimnir is Crow's dad, the famous criminal detective of Lynsmouth, and known to work under an alias and masks to hide his identity.

Featured Questions (not all characters will answer): - "Sun or moon?" - "Would you rather drown or be buried alive?" - "How many people have you killed?" from @the-golden-comet - "Do you believe in fate?" kidnapped from the-golden-comet's post

"Sun or moon?"

Freya, the MC of Sun and Shadow who's explicitly sun-coded: Freya: Well... even before I found out about the whole "my dad gave me a magic restraint from a really young age without telling me and I actually have magic" thing... I'd always liked being out in the sun. I'd feel more refreshed, energized. I thought it was just normal, yknow? Like, who doesn't like being out in the sun? But apparently it's A Normal Magic Thing™ to feel better in your element? Even though I felt awful for a while without the restraint... apparently that's something called "magical sickness" from having too much uncontrolled essence? That's what Daleira said at least... I don't know. Regardless, um, sun, obviously, haha. 😅

Crow, the "shadow" of Sun and Shadow: Crow: Moon. The daytime is too bright and it's a lot harder to blend in. I mean--(*pointedly wiggles the sunglasses they're always wearing*)--I need these to be able to actually see thanks to my damned curse and how bright everything is. Then, like, I need to stick to the shadows at day because I just feel worse under sunlight, you know? So, yeah. Moon, easily.

Daleira, the OTHER, secret "shadow": Daleira: Sun! (gotcha 😉) It's thanks to the sun's energy that our world goes round--well, metaphorically speaking--and it would be almost unrecognizable if the sun didn't exist! 😊 Well, I mean, now that I say that... I guess the same applies to the moon, huh? Like, it's thanks to it that we have the tides and-- (*continues rambling about Science*) --wait what was the question again? Oh, right! "Sun or moon?" I would probably still pick sun, haha! 😊

Valyarus: This is an odd question. I would dare to say sun. Nights tend to be much more dangerous, both in the Faewildes and in this world. Criminals adoring the darkness and all, yes? Besides that, I am also weaker at night. So that should be an easy answer for me, no?

Soren: I'm brought back from the dead and/or a potentially disastrous situation in order to answer arbitrary questions? (*heavy sarcasm*) Interesting. How kind of our all-powerful gods to give me this opportunity. (Look do you want this break or not?) ... fine. Yes. (*Clears throat*) My wife and children all had sun- and light-allegiances. I feel that should speak for itself. However... as a seaman, the stars have always been my best friend, and it would be a nightmare to navigate without them. In spite of that, if you told me to choose between my daughter and the night, I would choose my daughter in a heartbeat. Happy? (*he asks, glaring at the camerawoman* Very, great job, Soren! 😉 *he scoffs*)

"Would you rather drown or be buried alive?"

Freya, who in the first chapter of SaS got traumatized by nearly dying in a shipwreck: Freya: Be buried alive. Next question, please and thank you.

Crow: Easy! I'd choose to be buried alive! Being encased in a coffin--or even just dirt--would surround me in shadows and I could just teleport out through them, ha! Daleira: Crow, you're supposed to take this at face value. There's no way getting out. If you had to die either way, which would you pick? Crow: (*scowling*) But that doesn't make sense! I could just teleport out! Daleira: Yeah, well that's not the point! It's supposed to, like, find out your personality and stuff! Which you'd, uh... consider to be the least painful death?... hm, that's actually really dark when you think about it... Crow: Exactly! Besides, it doesn't say I have to die through it! Just drown or "be buried alive"--not that I die in the process! (*smug birb.png*) Daleira: Um... actually, "drown" does imply death. Crow: Wait, what? Daleira: It's in the definition! "Drown: verb; to die through submersion in and inhalation of water!" Crow: ... and why do you have the exact definition of "drown" memorized? And where did you get it??? Do you have a dictionary lying around somewhere in your workshop??? Daleira: (*flushed*) Just--answer the question! Crow: I still pick being buried alive. It doesn't mean I can't escape alive, sweetheart. 😘 Daleira: (*groans and puts her face in her hands*)

Daleira: Unlike Crow, I'm actually going to answer this question as intended. 😒 While both are deeply unpleasant ways to die, I'd probably choose to drown just because it's quicker than suffocating in a coffin... or loose dirt. (*shudders*)

Valyarus: (*pleasantly; if not a bit smugly*) I could and would do neither. As a faerie, I could simply teleport out of either situation. Daleira: 😒😒😒 Daleira: (*takes a slow, deep breath... unlike someone in the situations posed in this question!*) Dad, the point of the question is "imagine you don't have any other choice". Like, if you had to pick one, which would you pick? Valyarus: (*quizzical look*) Well that's just incredibly dark, isn't it? Who would pose such a question? Daleira: (*exasperated, throws up her hands*) I don't know! Could you please just answer it, Dad??? Valyarus: (*gives a long, drawn-out sigh... also unlike someone in the situations posed in this question!*) If you insist, dear. I suppose... I would choose being buried alive. In your hypothetical situation, unaware that I was completely doomed, I would likely choose it knowing it took longer and spend a majority of the time I had trying to figure out a way out... only to die. Valyarus: But, Dally, you are aware that even if our bodies die, we do not, yes? Daleira: 😃 (*internal screaming*)

Soren: (*completely unaware of the events of the first chapter of SaS in this case--*) I would choose the sea--or, drowning, that is. I was born by the ocean, was made by the ocean, and lived through the ocean. I see no better way to die. Or a more fitting one.

Grimnir: In those cases, I'd assume I'd be being assassinated by some of my enemies... and so they're planning for it to be as painful as possible. In which case, it would likely look like this: my to-be killers choose to drown me. They repeatedly dunk and pull my head out at intervals maximized for suffering, but just barely below the time my body would force me to inhale. Ideally, none of them would have control over water magic, or they could simply let me breathe it in and draw it from my lungs. Which would likely be doubly as unpleasant as traditional water inhalation. Regardless--they would repeat this process until I finally suffocated or they got bored. And then they would kill me. Alternatively, my captors could've chosen to kill me through burying me alive. In that case, they'd do so without a coffin. That way, I'd be suffocating, buried within whatever material they thought would make me suffer most. Due to the phrasing of this question, I would assume it could not be anything inherently dangerous, otherwise I would die of exsanguination, poisoning, or whatever else. No, instead, I'd suffocate. In this case, it's unlikely my captors could interrupt or pace out my murder--unless they periodically buried, unearthed, and re-buried me, which simply seems like more effort than it's worth and comes with risk of a coma instead. Between the two situations, I would choose to be buried alive. Though, I hope you aren't intending on trying anything... I may be a detective, but I have a lot more tricks up my sleeve.

"How many people have you killed?"

Freya: Nobody??? What???

Crow: What do you mean? I'm a detective, not a murderer! Obviously I haven't killed anyone!

Daleira: (*voice uncharacteristically quiet*) It... depends on what you count as a "person." And... whether you're counting accidents... which you probably are. Regardless?... a lot.

Valyarus: I have killed very, very few people. If they even counted as "people" by the time I killed them is a better question. But... if you consider the fact that I, myself, am not human, and that those of us in my position call all of us sentient beings "people"... then I have killed very, very many people. That's why I'm in the position I am today. I am very powerful. And, sometimes, death is necessary to protect those looking up to you as a leader.

It's been a bit since Elvalen has joined Lynsmouth, though. I think I've gotten a bit rusty. 😄

(note: Valyarus has accidentally killed a lot more people in a similar manner to Daleira, but is not counting them due to it being "part of a faerie's nature", unintentional, and frankly unavoidable to an extent. Up his perceived creepiness/danger level as you deem necessary.)

Soren: Depends who's asking. If this has any possibility of reaching my daughter, none whatsoever. Otherwise... more than I wish. But being what I am, death is sometimes inevitable. Other times, it's simply the only correct choice. Would you rather leave a monster alive, or kill it where it stands to save its victims, both present and future? I think there's only one right answer there, and I have a number of people who'd thank me for it. ... even if my daughter would not.

Grimnir: Depends on what you mean by "killed". Does it count to put them in prison, knowing people can and might target them there? If so: I don't know. Definitely more than I can count. Otherwise... only a few. And only when necessary, in self-defense.

"Do you believe in fate?"

Freya: You mean the idea that our lives are predetermined from the beginning, that our decisions are set in stone before we're born, and that nothing we can do will ever change that? Of course not. And even if it did, I'd assume magic itself would interfere with how Fate wanted to make things.

Crow: I'm... not sure. I've never thought of it before to be honest. I'd guess there's probably some god out there capable of it?... though if you think of it that way, wouldn't all gods be Fate in one way or another? Like, they're all always just... sitting in their godly domains or something, watching us, seeing everything and making decisions off of it right? So from our point of view, wouldn't that make them the puppeteers of our fates? So I'd say it depends on what you consider "fate" to be. Is it an active force keeping things to a certain "timeline" or set of events? In which case I'd say no. Or is it a set of actions carried out by beings that can see so much more than we do, that are capable of comprehending things that we can't, and actively try enforcing their wills on us? In which case... I'd say yes.

Daleira: Fate? Like "things are destined to happen a certain way"? I wouldn't know! Haha, there's so many things in this world that it's impossible to know! Like, there's billions of lifeforms breathing, existing!, making decisions all at once! Could there possibly be a reason behind it, some sort of consciousness pulling everything in a certain direction to make sure different events come true? Possibly!

... what do I think of that?... hm. That's a great question. I... don't know honestly. I like the concept of free will, would like to think we all have complete control of our lives and where they go... but that just isn't realistic! Even if fate didn't exist, our lives are all still pushed and pulled in every direction by those of the people around us. And by nature! The world constantly throws things at us, and all we're able to do is react to it! Even if we make our own decisions, they're based on our life experiences and the examples we've seen of others... so it's impossible to say "free will" truly exists, either.

Valyarus: Fate? (*snickers*) Which kind of "Fate", the idea that Grand Destinies follow people, that some people are destined to come together and "complete" one another", or something... Or the cold and merciless goddess known for doing whatever it takes to achieve her goals?

Don't misunderstand me--most gods are "cold, cruel, merciless" and all those good things. But I've heard special things of Fate. She sees everything that has happened, everything that is happening, and everything that will happen at all times. She's able to make decisions with more information than anyone else. She's been able to plan out her actions and puppeteer everyone else from the very beginning of time. She's known for acting irrationally, having her son carry out the most out of place things... for what? What cause? What purpose? We don't know. We can't. What we do know is that she's willing to do anything. She and her son--acting on her behalf as all avatars do--have done some things even the other gods wouldn't dare do. Although, I don't think it's for a lack of willingness so much as it would otherwise get in the way of their goals to actively commit atrocities.

Regardless, oh--I do believe Fate exists. It's very hard not to when you've spoken to her son firsthand and he responds to you before you can even speak. I wouldn't recommend it, by the way. I've met some very disturbing creatures before, but he was... different.

Quinn: Well, that's just rude. Valyarus: Quinn: After I helped you and everything. Valyarus: How... how did you get in here? Quinn: Not telling. 😉 Want to apologize? Valyarus: Valyarus: (*indignant!*) I see no reason to. Quinn: Of course. No problem, then. Just... be careful around birds. Valyarus: (*silent, confused panic???*)

Soren: I believe Fate exists, yes. Whether or not that's a good thing depends on the day... and if you're in her way. Thankfully, it does not seem like I've done anything to cross her... at least, not for a very long time.

Grimnir: (*deadpan*) I would assume so. Otherwise, I'd worry who I gave my eyes to.

Your questions: - What would you do if you watched a starving child steal something expensive without anyone else noticing? - If you could go back in time and say anything to your younger self, what would you say? - What would you sell your soul for? (Metaphorically speaking, doesn't have to be literal. In other words: "What is the most important thing to you, that you would do anything for?")

Tagging (with no pressure) @darkandstormydolls @yourpenpaldee @.honeybewrites @fantasy-things-and-such @themboty @the-letterbox-archives and whoever else wants to join!

Divider from @cafekitsune

[boreal-sea]

Look.

I have made you a chart. A very simple chart.

People say "You have to draw the line somewhere, and Biden has crossed it-" and my response is "Trump has crossed way more lines than Biden".

These categories are based off of actual policy enacted by both of these men while they were in office.

If the ONLY LINE YOU CARE ABOUT is line 12, you have an incredible amount of privilege, AND YOU DO NOT CARE ABOUT PALESTINIANS. You obviously have nothing to fear from a Trump presidency, and you do not give a fuck if a ceasefire actually occurs. You are obviously fine if your queer, disabled, and marginalized loved ones are hurt. You clearly don't care about the status of American democracy, which Trump has openly stated he plans to destroy on day 1 he is in office.

EDIT:

Ok fine, I spent 3 hours compiling sources for all of these, you can find that below the cut.

I'll give at least one link per subject area. There are of course many more sources to be read on these subject areas and no post could possibly give someone a full education on these subjects.

Biden and trans rights: https://www.hrc.org/resources/president-bidens-pro-lgbtq-timeline

Trump and trans rights: https://www.aclu.org/news/lgbtq-rights/trump-on-lgbtq-rights-rolling-back-protections-and-criminalizing-gender-nonconformity

The two sources above show how Biden has done a lot of work to promote trans rights, and how Trump did a lot of work to hurt trans rights.

Biden on abortion access: https://www.cnn.com/2022/07/08/politics/what-is-in-biden-abortion-executive-order/index.html

Trump on abortion access: https://apnews.com/article/abortion-trump-republican-presidential-election-2024-585faf025a1416d13d2fbc23da8d8637

Biden openly supports access to abortion and has taken steps to protect those rights at a federal level even after Roe v Wade was overturned. Trump, on the other hand, was the man who appointed the judges who helped overturn Roe v Wade and he openly brags about how proud he is of that decision. He also states that he believes individual states should have the final say in whether or not abortion is legal, and that he trusts them to "do the right thing", meaning he supports stronger abortion bans.

Biden on environmental reform: https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2021/10/07/fact-sheet-president-biden-restores-protections-for-three-national-monuments-and-renews-american-leadership-to-steward-lands-waters-and-cultural-resources/

Trump on environmental reform: https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/climate/trump-environment-rollbacks-list.html

Biden has made major steps forward for environmental reform. He has restored protections that Trump rolled back. He has enacted many executive orders and more to promote environmental protections, including rejoining the Paris Accords, which Trump withdrew the USA from. Trump is also well known for spreading conspiracy theories and lies about global climate change, calling it a "Chinese hoax".

Biden on healthcare and prescription reform: https://www.hhs.gov/about/news/2023/06/09/biden-administration-announces-savings-43-prescription-drugs-part-cost-saving-measures-president-bidens-inflation-reduction-act.html

Trump on healthcare reform: https://www.cnn.com/2024/01/07/politics/obamacare-health-insurance-ending-trump/index.html

I'm rolling healthcare and prescriptions and vaccines and public health all into one category here since they are related. Biden has lowered drug costs, expanded access to medicaid, and ACA enrollment has risen during his presidency. He has also made it so medical debt no longer applies to a person's credit score. He signed many executive orders during his first few weeks in office in order to get a handle on Trump's grievous mishandling of the COVID pandemic. Trump also wants to end the ACA. Trump is well known for refusing to wear a mask during the pandemic, encouraging the use of hydroxylchloroquine to "treat" COVID, and being openly anti-vaxx.

Biden on student loan forgiveness: https://www.ed.gov/news/press-releases/biden-harris-administration-announces-additional-77-billion-approved-student-debt-relief-160000-borrowers

Trump on student loan forgiveness: https://www.forbes.com/sites/adamminsky/2024/06/20/trump-knocks-bidens-vile-student-loan-forgiveness-plans-suggests-reversal/

Trump wants to reverse the student loan forgiveness plans Biden has enacted. Biden has already forgiven billions of dollars in loans and continues to work towards forgiving more.

Infrastructure funding:

I'm putting these links next together because they are all about infrastructure.

In general, Trump's "achievements" for infrastructure were to destroy environmental protections to speed up projects. Many of his plans were ineffective due to the fact that he did not clearly outline where the money was going to come from, and he was unwilling to raise taxes to pay for the projects. He was unable (and unwilling) to pass a bipartisan infrastructure bill during his 4 years in office. He did sign a few disaster relief bills. He did not enthusiastically promote renewable energy infrastructure. He created "Infrastructure Weeks" that the federal government then failed to fund. Trump did not do nothing for infrastructure, but his no-tax stance and his dislike for renewable energy means the contributions he made to American infrastructure were not as much as he claimed they were, nor as much as they could have been. Basically, he made a lot of promises, and delivered on very few of them. He is not "against" infrastructure, but he's certainly against funding it.

Biden was able to pass that bipartisan bill after taking office. The Bipartisan Infrastructure Plan that Trump tried to prevent from passing during Biden's term contains concrete funding sources and step by step plans to rebuild America's infrastructure. If you want to read the plan, you can find it here: https://www.whitehouse.gov/build/guidebook/. Biden has done far more for American infrastructure than Trump did, most notably by actually getting the bipartisan bill through congress.

Biden on Racial Equity: https://www.npr.org/sections/president-biden-takes-office/2021/01/26/960725707/biden-aims-to-advance-racial-equity-with-executive-actions

Trump on Racial Equity: https://www.axios.com/2024/04/01/trump-reverse-racism-civil-rights https://www.bbc.com/news/av/world-us-canada-37230916

Trump's racist policies are loud and clear for everyone to hear. We all heard him call Mexicans "Drug dealers, criminals, rapists". We all watched as he enacted travel bans on people from majority-Muslim nations. Biden, on the other hand, has done quite a lot during his term to attempt to reconcile racism in this country, including reversing Trump's "Muslim ban" the first day he was in office.

Biden on DEI: https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/presidential-actions/2021/06/25/executive-order-on-diversity-equity-inclusion-and-accessibility-in-the-federal-workforce/

Trump on DEI: https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/trump-tried-to-crush-the-dei-revolution-heres-how-he-might-finish-the-job/ar-BB1jg3gz

Biden supports DEI and has signed executive orders and passed laws that support DEI on the federal level. Trump absolutely hates DEI and wants to eradicate it.

Biden on criminal justice reform: https://time.com/6155084/biden-criminal-justice-reform/

Trump on criminal justice reform: https://www.vox.com/2020-presidential-election/21418911/donald-trump-crime-criminal-justice-policy-record https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2024/05/trumps-extreme-plans-crime/678502/

From pardons for non-violent marijuana convictions to reducing the federal government's reliance on private prisons, Biden has done a lot in four years to reform our criminal justice system on the federal level. Meanwhile, Trump has described himself as "tough on crime". He advocates for more policing, including "stop and frisk" activities. Ironically it's actually quite difficult to find sources about what Trump thinks about crime, because almost all of the search results are about his own crimes.

Biden on military support for Israel: https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/national-security/biden-obama-divide-closely-support-israel-rcna127107

Trump on military support for Israel: https://www.vox.com/politics/353037/trump-gaza-israel-protests-biden-election-2024

Biden supports Israel financially and militarily and promotes holding Israel close. So did Trump. Trump was also very pro-Israel during his time in office and even moved the embassy to Jerusalem and declared Jerusalem the capitol of Israel, a move that inflamed attitudes in the region.

Biden on a ceasefire: https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/world/2024/06/05/gaza-israel-hamas-cease-fire-plan-biden/73967659007/

Trump on a ceasefire: https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/donald-trump/trump-israel-gaza-finish-problem-rcna141905

Trump has tried to be quiet on the issue but recently said he wants Israel to "finish the problem". He of course claims he could have prevented the whole problem. Trump also openly stated after Oct 7th that he would bar immigrants who support Hamas from the country and send in officers to American protests to arrest anyone supporting Hamas.

Biden meanwhile has been quietly urging Netanyahu to accept a ceasefire deal for months, including the most recent announcement earlier in June, though it seems as though that deal has finally fallen through as well.

[kitasuno]

dating the love and deepspace boys | domestic moments

featuring: rafayel, xavier, and zayne x gn!reader

(´• ω •`) ♡ modern au! can you guys tell raf is my favorite..?

rafayel

a year younger than you. lies to everyone (including you) that he’s actually two years your senior. you only found out he was younger than you when you met his parents, who have his birth certificate framed. 

hates cats. despises them. they fill him with rage (fear). says he’s allergic (he’s lying).

“oh shit raf, this sucks! i guess you can’t move in with me.. i have cats”

“...you have cats?”

“yeah. 3.”

“i’m not allergic. i can move in tonight.”

chronically online. minoring in marine biology and majoring in annoying you. texts you over 200 times a day and if you don’t respond, he’s faking a horrible chronic illness. again. it’s amnesia on wednesdays, appendicitis on thursdays, chronic migraines on fridays… etc..

he has 2 followers on his private twitter. you and thomas. 

over 700k followers on instagram for some reason? he sells paintings on depop (he says it's depop but you’re convinced he sells them for heinous prices on the black market) 

cooks on occasion? has an apron that says kiss me im irish (he's not irish?) made you a tuna cupcake once?? 

pescatarian. not in the vegan/vegetarian way where he refuses to eat red meat but because he’s absolutely feral over fish. (is this cannibalism? he says its not)

lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with you but doesn’t use his bedroom. says your bed is comfier. turned his bedroom into a painting studio (IT’S for the black market you say!!) and sleeps with you. 

“raf,” you sigh. “don’t you have.. homework or something?” 

he sits between your legs, back against your chest as he scrolls through his phone. 

“yeah,” he says. you flick the back of his head because you know he’s smirking. “it’s called assignment: you. due in two minutes.” 

with his free hand, he reaches back mindlessly to grab yours. you sigh, fingers intertwining with his, a reflex as he leans his head back. his eyes meet yours and you can’t help but laugh. 

“well?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “what are the assignment details?” 

he chews on the bottom of his lip as he thinks, humming while his eyes wander across your face. he swings your interlocked hands in circles. it’s raining outside, the heater is on, and rafayel is warm like hot chocolate. 

“what?” he says, his cheeks a tinge pink. “you’re looking at me like that again.” a pause. he turns, his head now buried in your chest.

“just studying my homework.” you say, hands instinctively wrapping around his back. the laundry machine is running in the background, rain is falling against the window, and you faintly hear your rice cooker dinging in the kitchen. home, you think, is with rafayel.

“i can hear your heartbeat.” he says, voice muffled. “it’s super fast. you like me or something?” 

“i really like you.” you say, without skipping a beat. rafayel groans into your chest, sighing in discontent. 

“no fair. i’m supposed to be the flirter.” 

you press a kiss onto the top of his head and you feel his body melt into yours. the two of you fall into a warm silence, his breath steady as he traces paintings into your neck. 

“raf?” you mumble, eyes drooping. he hums in response. “did you pass your assignment?” 

he smiles. “with flying colors.” 

xavier

chronic napper. (yapper?) 

has 100 late assignments. failing all of his classes yet got into the top university in your country because he got a perfect score on his entrance exams. you thought he was a nepo baby (turns out he’s just.. smart?)

his procrastination rubs off on you… he is the WORST distraction and he knows it. so smug about it and uses it to his own advantage. will perch on top of you when you’re studying and kiss down your neck until you go to sleep with him. 

lives in the apartment on top of yours but is at your house most days, if not all. you ask him to move in.

“am i not already.. living with you?” 

“don’t you still have your apartment, though?”

“yeah..?”

 is that good for the economy?? is it financially smart? not at all, but he’s too lazy to move out and put his apartment up for lease. 

xavier sleeps with his legs entangled with yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your chest. the air conditioning hums in the background as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, dimming the brightness as you hear xavier stir. 

“sorry xav, did i wake you up?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glares at your phone. 

“xavier?” you question, swallowing a laugh at his ruffled hair and disheveled clothes. 

“phone down.” he says, voice raspy with sleep and an octave lower than usual. you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“can i get a pretty please in this economy?” 

xavier’s eyes narrow as he snatches your phone away, snoozing the device and placing it on the nightstand next to you. his lips ghost your neck, pressing kisses against your skin as he mumbles incoherently in the dark of your bedroom. 

“xavier-” you breathe, giggling at the sensation. “that tickles!” 

he nips at your neck. 

“bedtime. now.” 

zayne

3 years older than you 

he literally has his whole life together at 27 which scares you so much

“my credit card is your credit card” typa boyfriend

cooks. cleans. has a 9-5. you’re interning at the hospital that he works at (he’s head doctor!!)

you’re just a sweet little intern and zayne is the big bad monster!! everyone at work thinks he hates you because he’s extra strict on you. doesn’t give you any special treatment, ‘ignores’ you most days (but also slips meals into your locker and hands you heat packs on cold days in the hospital)

no one knows he’s dating you until one day someone sees you leaving in zaynes car. 

“oh, you carpool with doctor zayne?”

“huh? no, we live together.”

“you WHAT???”

he’s a virgo……. erm……

the two of you get ready together in the morning. his guard is down when he’s sleepy and he’ll cling to you as he brushes his teeth and does his hair.

you wake up to the cold night breeze, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and shivering as you scan your surroundings. you yelp as you meet the attentive gaze of your boyfriend. 

“huh? whuh? huh?” you splutter, squirming as zayne holds you tighter. he’s carrying you bridal style in his arms, his jacket around your shoulders as the two of you walk to his car. you see the bright lights of akso hospital fading away behind the two of you. 

“it’s two am,” he says calmly, placing you down gently as he opens your car door for you. “you waited for my shift to end. again.” 

you smile bashfully, rubbing the back of your head. “well, i didn’t wanna just leave you!” 

zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed but gaze warm. he guides you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt in place. 

“you can nap on the way home,” he says, closing the door and sliding into his side of the car. 

the heater’s on already- courtesy of his super expensive electric car. he fastens his own seatbelt and hands you a hot tea and bread from the hospital vending machine. 

“drink up. doctor’s orders.” 

you grin before he leans over to press a kiss on your lips. 

“thank you for waiting for me.”

[deadsetobsessions]

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.4

[Pt.1] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.5] [Pt.6] [Pt.7] [Pt.8] [Pt.9] [Pt.10]

Danny was sitting in the back, his backpack obnoxiously taking up the seat next to him, when the door to the lecture hall creaked open near silently.

“What are you in here for?” Danny asked the guy who crept into class. He sympathetically took his backpack off the Seat of Shame and allowed the guy to sit down. Funnily enough, they had the same hair and eye color.

“Gen Ed. Undecided. You?” The guy grunted quietly back.

“Environmental studies. I’m Danny.”

“Tim.”

With the implicit understanding of two people in a required class they could not give less than two fucks about, Tim and Danny tuned back into the lecture. When the class was assigned group work, Danny looked over to see Tim softly snoring, head slammed down on the table.

“Tim. Wake up, dude.” Danny poked his shoulder.

“Huh? Class over?”

“Nah, we got group work. Discussion board.”

“Oh shit, thanks for waking me up. Wanna team up?”

Danny shrugged. “Sure. We should aim to post it in the middle so the professor doesn’t read our answers to the class.”

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea. Any idea what we’re talking about?”

“Kind of?”

“Good enough for me.”

——

Tim Drake kept seeing Danny Fenton around on campus.

“Danny! Dude, what are you doing?”

Danny turned, gloved hands full of crumpled trash. “Picking up after the student population, apparently.”

“Didn’t think environmental studies was that serious.”

“Global warming is very serious, you jerk,” Danny smirked at him, crossing the grass to put the trash into the trash can. “Reduce, reuse, oil shouldn’t be spilled in water and all that.”

“Basic stuff,” Tim grinned. Nice, he basically had a friend past Bernard now!

They were friends, right?

“And yet humanity fails to comprehend it. Incredible. Incredibly stupid that is.”

“They get it. Major corporations just don’t care.”

Danny sighed. “True that. You on your way to your next class?” He took off his biodegradable gloves off (nitrile and nylon, baby!) and chucked them into the trash.

“I’ve got free time, actually. Prof cancelled for his daughter’s surgery.”

“Oh, shit, that’s rough! You wanna go downtown and join the strike?”

“A strike? What for?” Even as he asked, Tim hiked his bag higher onto his shoulder, ready to go. They fell into step as the two left campus.

“Apparently, Quillan Pharma was doing some shady shit at their manufacturing plants. I think it’s like killing kids, and pouring toxins into the ground.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah. Oh! Poison Ivy’s gonna be there!”

Tim blinked. He casted a sideways look at Danny. Sure he’s been here long enough to know… but it couldn’t hurt to check. “You know she’s an eco-terrorist, right?”

“Okay, but like… people suck sometimes. And all she’s asking for is like don’t kill the planet. And she doesn’t do that whole mind control thing too much anymore! The Sirens are so cool. Plus, one of my best friends at home might actually kill me if I don’t try to get her autograph. Poison Ivy is like, Sam’s personal hero.”

Tim snickered. “Yeah, okay. Mind if one of my friends join? His name’s Bernard.”

“The more the merrier,” Danny nodded. “Ooo! Hot chocolate. Want some?”

Danny bought three drinks as Tim trailed behind, texting Bernard.

“He said yes.”

“Cool! We should meet up somewhere before the drinks get cold.”

Well, Danny got the autograph. Tim got a new friend, and Bernard got a drink from his crush.

——

“Oh, you’re the glowing dude that Batman always talks about!”

Danny blinked, eyes scanning the wing-like cape and the yellow emblem on the hero’s suit. Danny was indeed glowing, stars and nebulas freckling across neon green skin, and glowing hair the color of a white dwarf star, tinged with the blue from his ice core.

“I… have absolutely no idea who you are,” Danny lied, like a liar. He’s found a surprising niche of entertainment in messing with the local vigilantes and he’ll be damned if he missed this opportunity.

He heard a snicker from the comm lines as Red Robin visibly brushes it off.

“I’m Red Robin. Why are you picking up trash?”

“Picking up after you humans, apparently.”

The both of them blink, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu. A moment of awkward silence passed before they both shook it off.

“Are you here to help? No offense, but the track record for you people is terrible.” Danny strode over and grabbed a bag. He opened it, and shook it at Red Robin’s face. “See? Batarangs, these odd bird looking ones, the R’s. Seriously, pick up after yourselves!”

“Oh, woah, can we have these back?”

Danny yanked the bag back before Red Robin could get close. “Pay me. These were incredibly tedious to pick up. Especially the batarangs. I mean, I even found a whole bunch of old rusted ones in the middle of the bay. What did you do, dump an entire bag in there from the air?”

Red Robin sighed and took out a wad of cash, with tracking fluid all over it. Danny grimaced, smelling the odd scent on the money. “That’s not real cash. It smells off. Are you trying to give me counterfeits because you’re broke?”

Red Robin gaped, oddly offended. “No! They’re real!”

“Doesn’t smell like it. It’s stinkier than the trash. Go get the one with the money, the litterer. Tell him I’ll be back the next full moon. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.” Danny grumbled, disappearing on the spot to watch Red Robin flounder with the stack of cash and the piles of dead bodies on the shore.

“What the fuck even is my life these days?” Red Robin wondered out loud, stuffing the cash back into his pocket. He looked over the plastic wrapped bodies and slumped, sighing.

Oddly enough, Danny felt a sense of sympathy. Well, he’s not getting paid for sympathy. He’s not getting paid at all tonight, actually. Danny flew off, plunging once more into the depths of the significantly cleaner waters, and used his ice to scoop out oil stains.

Danny glanced around and sighed. He had a lot of work to do.

——

“So you’re saying he’s like a werewolf mermaid fae child immortal god thing, right?”

Bruce grunted.

“B, what the hell are you smoking these days? You know drugs are bad, right? Do we need Superman to give you that PSA?” Jason snickered.

Tim, massaging his arms from having to haul an ungodly amount of dead bodies, grunted. He’s so similar to Bruce that it gave the people currently in the cave hives.

“He said full moon. I don’t think we can track him with regular stuff. The bugs kept shorting out.”

“Oh boy,” Dick sighed. “Don’t fall off the spiral cliff, Tim. You’ve got midterms to think about so no stalking the guy.”

“Yet,” Tim shot back, changing out of his suit.

Bruce grunted, setting aside a huge stack of cash.

[5ummit]

AO3 Ship Stats: Year In Bad Data

You may have seen this AO3 Year In Review.

It hasn’t crossed my tumblr dash but it sure is circulating on twitter with 3.5M views, 10K likes, 17K retweets and counting. Normally this would be great! I love data and charts and comparisons!

Except this data is GARBAGE and belongs in the TRASH.

I first noticed something fishy when I realized that Steve/Bucky – the 5th largest ship on AO3 by total fic count – wasn’t on this Top 100 list anywhere. I know Marvel’s popularity has fallen in recent years, but not that much. Especially considering some of the other ships that made it on the list. You mean to tell me a femslash HP ship (Mary MacDonald/Lily Potter) in which one half of the pairing was so minor I had to look up her name because she was only mentioned once in a single flashback scene beat fandom juggernaut Stucky? I call bullshit.

Now obviously jumping to conclusions based on gut instinct alone is horrible practice... but it is a good place to start. So let’s look at the actual numbers and discover why this entire dataset sits on a throne of lies.

Here are the results of filtering the Steve/Bucky tag for all works created between Jan 1, 2023 and Dec 31, 2023:

Not only would that place Steve/Bucky at #23 on this list, if the other counts are correct (hint: they're not), it’s also well above the 1520-new-work cutoff of the #100 spot. So how the fuck is it not on the list? Let’s check out the author’s FAQ to see if there’s some important factor we’re missing.

The first thing you’ll probably notice in the FAQ is that the data is being scraped from publicly available works. That means anything privated and only accessible to logged-in users isn’t counted. This is Sin #1. Already the data is inaccurate because we’re not actually counting all of the published fics, but the bots needed to do data collection on this scale can't easily scrape privated fics so I kinda get it. We’ll roll with this for now and see if it at least makes the numbers make more sense:

Nope. Logging out only reduced the total by a couple hundred. Even if one were to choose the most restrictive possible definition of "new works" and filter out all crossovers and incomplete fics, Steve/Bucky would still have a yearly total of 2,305. Yet the list claims their total is somewhere below 1,500? What the fuck is going on here?

Let’s look at another ship for comparison. This time one that’s very recent and popular enough to make it on the list so we have an actual reference value for comparison: Nick/Charlie (Heartstopper). According to the list, this ship sits at #34 this year with a total of 2630 new works. But what’s AO3 say?

Off by a hundred or so but the values are much closer at least!

If we dig further into the FAQ though we discover Sin #2 (and the most egregious): the counting method. The yearly fic counts are NOT determined by filtering for a certain time period, they’re determined by simply taking a snapshot of the total number of fics in a ship tag at the end of the year and subtracting the previous end-of-year total. For example, if you check a ship tag on Jan 1, 2023 and it has 10,000 fics and check it again on Jan 1, 2024 and it now has 12,000 fics, the difference (2,000) would be the number of "new works" on this chart.

At first glance this subtraction method might seem like a perfectly valid way to count fics, and it’s certainly the easiest way, but it can and did have major consequences to the point of making the entire dataset functionally meaningless. Why? If any older works are deleted or privated, every single one of those will be subtracted from the current year fic count. And to make the problem even worse, beginning at the end of last year there was a big scare about AI scraping fics from AO3, which caused hundreds, if not thousands, of users to lock down their fics or delete them.

The magnitude of this fuck up may not be immediately obvious so let’s look at an example to see how this works in practice.

Say we have two ships. Ship A is more than a decade old with a large fanbase. Ship B is only a couple years old but gaining traction. On Jan 1, 2023, Ship A had a catalog of 50,000 fics and ship B had 5,000. Both ships have 3,000 new works published in 2023. However, 4% of the older works in each fandom were either privated or deleted during that same time (this percentage is was just chosen to make the math easy but it’s close to reality).

Ship A: 50,000 x 4% = 2,000 removed works Ship B: 5,000 x 4% = 200 removed works

Ship A: 3,000 - 2,000 = 1,000 "new" works Ship B: 3,000 - 200 = 2,800 "new" works

This gives Ship A a net gain of 1,000 and Ship B a net gain of 2,800 despite both fandoms producing the exact same number of new works that year. And neither one of these reported counts are the actual new works count (3,000). THIS explains the drastic difference in ranking between a ship like Steve/Bucky and Nick/Charlie.

How is this a useful measure of anything? You can't draw any conclusions about the current size and popularity of a fandom based on this data.

With this system, not only is the reported "new works" count incorrect, the older, larger fandom will always be punished and it’s count disproportionately reduced simply for the sin of being an older, larger fandom. This example doesn’t even take into account that people are going to be way more likely to delete an old fic they're no longer proud of in a fandom they no longer care about than a fic that was just written, so the deletion percentage for the older fandom should theoretically be even larger in comparison.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the author of this "study" KNEW the data was tainted and chose to present it as meaningful anyway. You will only find this if you click through to the FAQ and read about the author’s methodology, something 99.99% of people will NOT do (and even those who do may not understand the true significance of this problem):

The author may try to argue their post states that the tags "which had the greatest gain in total public fanworks” are shown on the chart, which makes it not a lie, but a error on the viewer’s part in not interpreting their data correctly. This is bullshit. Their chart CLEARLY titles the fic count column “New Works” which it explicitly is NOT, by their own admission! It should be titled “Net Gain in Works” or something similar.

Even if it were correctly titled though, the general public would not understand the difference, would interpret the numbers as new works anyway (because net gain is functionally meaningless as we've just discovered), and would base conclusions on their incorrect assumptions. There’s no getting around that… other than doing the counts correctly in the first place. This would be a much larger task but I strongly believe you shouldn’t take on a project like this if you can’t do it right.

To sum up, just because someone put a lot of work into gathering data and making a nice color-coded chart, doesn’t mean the data is GOOD or VALUABLE.

[nativegirltapes]

when you first started messing around with rafe, you knew it was wrong. but god was it fun being sneaky. but there were definitely times you felt guilty for lying to your bestfriend sarah . . . . . .

notes: ik best friends brother trope is well overdone..... but i just wanted to write a little something because i was thinking about them last night <3

you felt guilty when you told sarah that you could sleepover but you couldn't come over until later in the night because you were with a boy. she just had no idea that that boy was her brother. rafe would literally drop you off in front his house, he'd watch you as you'd struggle to get out of his big truck with your girly pink duffle bag in hand. "have fun with my lame sister." he chuckled. "she's not lame rafe!" you were already half way to the door of tanneyhill. rafe made sure to watch you, making sure you made it to the front safely. but he always made sure to drive off before sarah opened the door. he always went to topper's house and hung out with him and kelce, but majority of the time he just wishes he was with you, or at the least, that you were there with him and his friends.

sarah was so clueless to it all. that's the part that made you feel so bad. she'd complain to you about how ever since rafe started seeing this 'new girl' he was barely home, but that wasn't the part she was exactly upset about, it was the fact that he was never home to do his part of the chores or yard work, so she was getting the repercussions of it. the more you thought about it, you realized it was your fault.

the other part that made you feel so guilty was how excited sarah was for you and this new guy. "i need to meet him!" she'd yell after you showed her all the new things 'new guy' bought you just before coming to hang out with her. "he's literally perfect for you." and she was right, he was perfect for you. he was one of the sweetest guys ever, you really didn't think he had it in him. he brought you flowers every time he had the chance to see you one on one. he complimented you like it was his life's purpose, he lied to his sister for you, he even would send you cute little messages whenever you were around tanneyhill hanging out with sarah, telling you how perfect you looked and how he just wanted to kiss you.

sarah was right, this guy was perfect for you. you just weren't sure how to tell her that this new guy was her brother.

[jockbroski34]

The Bro Cap

Biology was my favorite class this semester.  Not only did I find science to be interesting, but I also shared the class with one of the hottest guys in the school: Aaron Moore.  He was the star of the school’s baseball team as a pitcher and he was the talk of the school.  Girls were always swooning over him for how tall and handsome and athletic he was.  He was good at every sport; football, basketball, and so on, but in school, he played baseball.  He was a major source of envy for a lot of guys.  A lot of guys wished they could be him.  I, however, wanted to be with him.  Fortunately, I sit behind him in class, so I get the best view of him, despite being from behind.  At least it meant he wouldn’t see me watching him.

I often found myself getting distracted by him.  Even if I couldn’t see his face, I could see his broad shoulders, which were built like mountains, as well as his arms which were shaped like mounds of muscle.  His tall stature sometimes made it hard to look at the board, not that it was the main place my eyes were looking at in the first place.  His favorite baseball hat, adorned with our school team’s logo on it, was worn backwards like most of the jocks at the school.  He didn’t come off like the rest of them though.  His relaxed vibe made him easy to talk to and he could be quite funny compared to the rest of the meathead jocks.  He got along with everyone really well, making him very well-liked.  Although he was far from the smartest guy in the class, I could tell that he tried.  It was no wonder why he was so popular.

Today, I was daydreaming when I was disrupted by our teacher, Mr. Martin.  I felt him stare directly at me, almost as if he knew I wasn’t paying attention.  It was like he could read my every thought, and honestly, if that were true, that’d be extremely humiliating.  The last thing I needed was for my crush on Aaron to be exposed to the rest of the class.  Knowing how embarrassing he could be, I wouldn’t put it past him.  He asked me a question, and I thankfully already knew the answer, as I awakened from my daydream.

“Correct!  I wasn’t sure if you were paying attention or not,” he chuckled.  “You always look like you’re off in your own little world.  But you still manage to do well.  You gotta tell the rest of your class your secret.”  Looks like someone has caught on to my tendencies.  Mr. Martin was a middle-aged guy, probably in his 30s.  He looked good for his age, and was a pretty relaxed and carefree teacher.

The class went by as usual, and eventually we were dismissed.  All of the other students dispersed, but I needed to ask our professor a question about the homework.  He helped clarify things for me thankfully.  I was about to leave, but then he pointed out something on the ground.

“Hey Aiden, doesn’t Aaron sit in front of you?  That’s his hat, right?”  he asked.

“Yeah, I always see him wear it.”  It was unusual for him to have left it here by accident.

“Do you know if you can bring it to him today?  If not, I can keep it here until next class.”

“I’ll hold onto it until I see him next.  I have a feeling I’ll run into him later.”  I don’t know why I said that.  We don’t have any other classes together and we certainly aren’t close enough to be friends, even if I wished we were.  I’m also not on the baseball team.  Either way, my professor smiled for helping him out.

Regardless, I grabbed Aaron’s hat, but instead of chasing after him, I realized I really needed to go to the bathroom.  He was probably long gone anyways.  After I went, I noticed that I was still holding onto his hat.  I went to observe it and I noticed that it smelled a little like him, with a mix of sweat from wearing it all day and whatever shampoo he used.  I knew I shouldn’t, but I felt a sudden urge to put Aaron’s hat on.  Despite the fact that I would feel really embarrassed if someone saw me wearing it, I knew I would likely never get this opportunity again.  I was completely alone, so it’s not like there’s anything wrong with it.  It wasn’t just any hat, it was Aaron’s.  It’s not like he had lice or anything.  What’s the worst that could happen?

And so I put it on, wearing it backwards like he would.  Strangely, for a few seconds, I felt as though time had completely stopped.  The leaky sink faucet paused its rhythmic dripping.  The stomping of feet in the hallway deafened.  My watch skipped a tick.  But as time seemed to return to its natural course, I was able to see how I looked.  I had to admit, I looked really good in it.  I wouldn’t call myself an unattractive guy, but Aaron was way out of my league.  Despite that, a smirk appeared on my face.  A wave of confidence washed over me, almost like a little bit of Aaron had rubbed off on me.  Suddenly, I didn’t really feel like taking it off anymore.  I wasn’t too worried about what would happen if Aaron or one of his friends saw me wearing it.

After admiring myself in the mirror for a few minutes, I realized that I was late to my next class, algebra.  I had no idea I had spent so much time checking myself out.  I must’ve lost track of time.  As I walked to my seat, I felt like all eyes were on me for some reason.  I never used to make much of an impression on most people.  I was quiet and had only a couple friends.  Normally, I would’ve felt a little anxious with so many people staring at me, but I didn’t really give a shit now.

“Late as always, aren’t we Aiden?”  the teacher remarked.  Very funny.  I always showed up on time.  I sat down in my seat, but it didn’t feel right.  My body squeezed tight into the desk.  I felt like I was sitting in a chair meant for a middle schooler.  Weird.  Something weird is going on, but I can’t figure out what it is.

The class was just as weird because I felt like my classmates were a little more talkative.  I couldn’t focus during class due to being distracted by someone whispering.  I still felt a couple of their eyes on me.  I looked over and made brief eye contact with one of the girls on the far side of the room.  She immediately looked away and giggled towards one of her friends.  Her cheeks turned a deep crimson, the color of passion.  She was cute, but definitely out of my league.  I wasn’t straight either way, so I didn’t care if she was into me.

Normally, I was good at math, even if I didn’t like it, but I felt myself struggling to answer questions today.  Something must be wrong.  The room felt hotter than usual, and I felt myself sweat a little and my body started to ache.  I noticed that I smelled a little like Aaron’s cologne.  I’ve recognized his scent from sitting behind him, but for that smell to linger and for me to smell like him is really weird.

Class was dismissed, and this was usually when I went to lunch.  I received a text from one of my friends, Bryan, from half an hour earlier.

Bryan: Hey, me and the guys are getting food.  Wanna come with?

Normally, we always got lunch at the same time.  But for some reason, I didn’t really want to?  That’s weird for me.  I felt my fingers move on my own as they typed out a message.

Me: nah bro i dont feel like it mayb sum other time dude

I didn’t text like that normally.  Nor did I turn down my friends. Is it the…Before I could finish my thought, I was interrupted by the booming sound of two guys further down the hall, with one of them calling my name.  They were two jocks.  I recognized that they were both friends with Aaron because they hung out together a lot.  What did they want?  I didn’t really get along well with either of them or the rest of their kind.  Hopefully they didn’t think I was a pervert for wearing Aaron’s hat and beat me up.

“Sup bro, we were just about to get some food before hitting the gym.  Wanna come with?”  the other jock asked me.  Judging from his tone, he seemed surprisingly friendly with me.

Were they serious?  Did these jocks actually think I was one of them?  I would never get an opportunity to hang out with them again, so I agreed.  Part of me felt guilty for ditching my nerdy friends to hang out with the jocks, but I knew they were cool guys.  My perspective on these two big jocks changed as I walked with them.  For some reason, I felt a strong sense of camaraderie with them, almost like I’ve known them for a long time.  I’m not sure why I was so intimidated by them before.  They were really chill.

I saw another one of my friends as I walked with my new friends.  I waved to him, but he barely seemed to notice me.  Was he mad at me for skipping lunch with them or did he seriously not recognize me since I was hanging out with the jocks?  It almost felt like he didn’t know me at all.

I pulled out my phone to see what was up with him, until I realized that Bryan had finally responded to me.

Bryan: My bad.  Thought you were someone else.  He must’ve given me the wrong number.

Was this some kind of prank?  He obviously knew my number.  Of course he knows who I am.  Whatever, I don’t care what a nerd like him thinks.  I put my phone away and resumed chatting with my jock friends.  You know, my real friends.  I noticed as I walked with them that they didn’t look as big and menacing as they seemed.  Either that or maybe I hit my growth spurt recently.

We went and got food, with the jocks making sure I got enough protein.  I swear I almost never eat this much.  The jocks must eat a lot to stay in shape, I thought to myself.  But did they seriously want me to go to the gym with them?  I had class soon.  But these guys were cool and I didn’t want to disappoint my bros.  I figured I could miss a day and go lift with them.  As long as it doesn’t turn into a habit.

I realized as we stepped into the gym that I had never worked out before nor had I stepped into an actual gym.  I was worried about coming across as weak and humiliating myself in front of them. I changed into some clothes that I'm not really sure when I bought, a tank top and gym shorts.  To my surprise, I simply followed the motions of my bros and I was able to work out with them just fine.  I noticed that I was able to keep up with their workouts, and I surprised myself with how much I could lift.  It shouldn’t have been possible to lift as much as they did but maybe they were just going easy on me because they knew I was a beginner.  By the time we finished, I was just in time for my last class.  But just before I parted ways with my new friends, one of them said something that caught me off guard.

“Later, Moore.”

Must’ve been a slip of the tongue.  There was no way in hell they mistook me for Aaron.  At least it gave me a mental reminder to give Aaron his hat back next time I see him.  Although…his hat is so nice that I’m a little tempted to keep it for myself.  He could always just get another one, right?  I just don’t want him to see me wearing it though, so I’ll only do it when he’s not around.

In class, everyone was still staring at me as if I went to school in my underwear.  Maybe there was something weird about me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.  I did smell a little bit since I came from my workout, but I don’t think it was that.  I shrugged it off.  They can stare all they want for all I care.  I felt incredibly sore after my workout, and my arms looked unnaturally swollen.  If I had to be honest, I almost felt as big as the two jocks I worked out with.  But in such a short amount of time?  With no prior lifting experience?  That was impossible.

I found myself completely zoned out and indifferent to class today.  All I wanted to do was leave and uh…What was it that I had going on later?  I pondered that thought throughout the entire class period.  Eventually, we were dismissed and I was free to leave.  I was walking towards the dorms until I ran into, guess who?  Aaron Moore.

“Hey bro, you still coming to practice?”  he asked.

“Practice?”

“Yeah, baseball practice, you big dummy!  You know, you’re always so forgetful, dude.  Good thing I always was the smarter one, bro.”

“Yeah, you’re right, bro.  My bad.”  I’m not sure which statement I was agreeing with.  But as I looked at him, I realized something.  He was wearing his hat!  But then how was I wearing his hat if he was wearing it?  “I thought you lost your hat.  How are you wearing it?”

“I was wearing my hat all day, dude.  One day you decided to copy me and wear your hat to school like I do.  But honestly, I think you rock it better than I do, so keep it up.  You’ll impress the ladies.”  But I was gay.  And I’ve only had this hat for a day.  If it wasn’t his, then how was it actually mine?  I was overwhelmed and full of questions after everything that had happened today, from my growth spurt, to me hanging out with the jocks, to my old friends barely knowing who I am, but I didn’t seem to have the brain power at the moment to seek the answers to them.

As we walked, I kept chatting with Aaron as if it was natural, as if we always knew each other.  Something felt off, but I couldn’t figure it out.  Was it because we were going to practice?  I’ve never played baseball in my life.  Nah, that can’t be right.  I feel like I’ve swung a bat before…  We went into the locker room to change.  I looked in the mirror and paused for a second.

My reflection wasn’t there.  Someone else’s was.  Someone much stronger and much taller than me.  That wasn’t me.  It was Aaron Moore.

No, except it wasn’t an exact match.  There was enough different about the guy in front of me to know that it wasn’t Aaron.  This figure was a little stronger than him, and still stood probably a little over 6 feet tall.  I walked closer.  “Aaron” walked closer.  I moved my hand to feel my face.  So did “Aaron”.  A dull, confused look appeared on his face.  Had I really become him?  But Aaron was over on the other end of the room changing.  Then who am I?  Was I like this since I put the hat on earlier?  I reached into my wallet and pulled out my ID.

Aiden Moore...That’s not my last name.  That’s…Aaron’s?  Normally I wouldn’t have minded taking his last name, but we definitely WEREN’T married.  As far as I knew, Aaron was as straight as an arrow.

Date of Birth: 08/17/2003…If I recall, that’s Aaron’s birthday.  I knew my birthday, and it was in January.  Don’t tell me…Are we…?

I compared the face in the ID to the one in the mirror.  It wasn’t an illusion, and it wasn’t a dream.  It was like I was his twin!  Aaron was an only child though and I only had sisters.  At this point, I was so confused and overwhelmed.  Panic was the only emotion I could feel as I felt like I was going through an identity crisis.  I realized that this all started when I wore his hat.  I reached to grab it off of my head…until I felt a hand touch my shoulder.  My bro…I mean Aaron.

“Admiring yourself in the mirror, bro?  Yeah, you’re a pretty handsome dude just like me.  I think it runs in the blood, you know.  You like that, right?”  He placed his other hand on my head, pushing the hat tighter on my head.  I nodded.  I proceeded to flex, as I became self-absorbed with my own reflection.  I always thought rather highly of myself, especially about my body.  At this point, I couldn’t comprehend the paradox of me somehow being his own non-existent twin brother.

“You know, not every guy is lucky enough to have a cool brother like I do, let alone a twin.  The two of us can play ball together, work out together, and even get all the chicks we want together.  This is all you ever wanted, right?”  He wasn’t necessarily wrong, but I wanted to be “with” Aaron, not be him.  Whoever granted me this wish got it all wrong.  But as I listened to him, I started to realize that maybe it wasn’t my wish to begin with.

“Yeah bro.  This shit’s the life, dude.”  I noticed Aaron’s face light up as I said that.  The way I talked sounded like it came out of the mouth of some dudebro.  I noticed his irresistible smirk that was always on his face when he was in a good mood.  As I kept admiring myself in the mirror, I felt my mind slow…down...like it was on autopilot…

“That’s right…Just let it happen…  I know it’s been a while, so it’s okay if you don’t remember, but you know that one trophy we won a couple years back?  During senior year?”

“Fuck yeah, bro.  I remember.”  But I’ve never played baseball before…But…I have right?  I know I have.

“You know you were the reason we won, right?  One lucky hit in the bottom of the ninth, and you practically won us the game.  I’ve never been more proud of you bro.”  Aaron patted me on the back.  I remembered that game fondly, even though I should have no recollection of it.  That year, our baseball team was the best in the state.  And I…led our team to a championship?  As much as I tried to deny it in my head, the memories felt real.  But why was he reminding me of this now?

“You didn’t do half bad yourself, bro.”

As Aaron and I kept chatting, the memories of being his twin brother kept flowing into my brain, as memories of my former life faded away.  Turns out that I was the brother he never had.  We were a pair.  We complemented each other perfectly.  I was actually the twin brother of the most popular guy in the school.  I remember I thought he was hot…wait, what the fuck, bro?  That’s gay as shit.  And weird.  This was my own twin we were talking about.  Although I guess if I was a handsome stud, then he’d have to be too.  After all, no girl can resist either one of us.

“So the hat is working…”  Aaron whispered under his breath.

“What hat?”

“Nothing, bro!  I was just saying how good your hat looks on you.  Come on, let’s go.”  I followed him, as my transformation was now complete.

From this day on, I was Aiden Moore, Aaron Moore’s twin brother.  Except that’s who I was technically born as and that's who everyone already knew me as.  Although we had a lot in common, I definitely felt more like a stereotypical jock.  I was loud, cocky, and masculine, almost to the point of brutishness, compared to my brother who was a lot more laid-back and charismatic.  Not that it was a bad thing, although most nerds and weaker men would disagree.  But what me and Aaron did have in common was playing sports, working out, fucking chicks, and being the most popular guys in the school.  I know I wanted to be closer to Aaron, but I never expected this.  But at the same time, it felt good, almost pleasurable at times.  I realized that in my new state, I could hardly last a day without an orgasm, whether it was in my grip or in some bitch’s pussy.

Two days later, I had biology again.  I remembered I kinda struggled with this class.  I sat behind my bro as usual.  I was grateful for him since he always helped me with the homework.  I noticed him talking to the professor in private when we got to class.  When I asked him, he wouldn’t say.  It wasn’t like him to keep secrets from me.  We practically knew everything about each other after all.  After class, I was called to stay after by Mr. Martin.

“Aiden Moore…Your brother told me to check up on you.  Is everything alright?  Did you need any guidance on the homework, too?”

“Never felt better, bro.  I think I was just up too late partying the other day.  And nah, I eventually figured it out, dude.”  I conveniently hid the fact that I copied the answers off of some nerd.

“Good, good.”  Mr. Martin smiled.  “I won’t leave you too long.  I know you two have your hands full with practice today.  Hmmm…Still wearing that hat, I see.  It suits you well, Aiden.”  I saw him write something down in a notebook as I left.  Mr. Martin was always cool.  I felt like he understood me and my brother better than most teachers here.  I couldn’t help but feel grateful for him, but for what?  I quickly discarded that thought because it wasn’t important to me.

What was important to me was hitting the gym with my bros.  I ditched class again, I don’t even remember what the class was anyways.  Probably nothing important.  As long as I pass and get to stay on the team, I couldn’t care less about how badly I do in school.  I’m basically only here because I got some fancy scholarship.

At the gym, I always pushed myself to lift the heaviest weights.  All of my bros were impressed with how much I could lift.  Must run in the blood.  After school, I went to practice with Aaron.  We shared a room at the dorms, and on the weekends, we always went to the biggest parties our school had to offer.  We always bragged to each other about what girls we slept with that night, almost like it was a competition.  Man, this was the life.  I never felt like I understood Aaron on a personal level until recently, but man, we were the luckiest pair of brothers in the school.

[finsplurtz]

virginbitch — gojo.satoru

— dom ! male.reader x sub ! Gojo Satoru

— contents : Virgin bitch Gojo , mentions of boy pussy , virginity loss , jerking off , drunk Gojo for a min , mirror sex , gagging choking , overstim , degrading nd praising

warnings : like choking but nun too srs idk

✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Gojo satoru is a MAJOR virgin. I KNOW .. CRAZY.

His fossil ass hadn’t lost his virginity yet, he’s been waiting for “the right person” but nobody seems to catch his eye…

Till yn was introduced.

It was kinda funny when they met uhm Gojo was having silly conversation with Yuji about girlfriends n shi and like…

“So you don’t have a girlfriend? Are you a virgin?”

“Nonono! I’m not a virgin Yuji cmon I’m literally a lady magnet. I used to fuck girls left and right in highschool! I just don’t have a girlfriend right now because nobody really seems to grab my att…-“ He fell quiet when the finest guy to ever fucking exist walked in.

Yujis confused and looks at yn and he’s like “OH YN, you’re here!” He’s so happy to see them. Yn smiled and pulls Yuji into a hug spinning him around.

“Lord, it’s been so long! You still look adorable” He ruffled Yuji’s hair who giggled.

“Oh- by the way, this is my teacher, yn meet Gojo, Gojo meet yn. Old friend” Yuji stepped aside and yn held his hand out and shook Gojo’s.

“Nice to meet you, Gojo” the way his name rolled off his tongue made him bite the inside of his cheek.

“Nice to meet you too..yn..” Gojo smiled sickly.

Yuji grabbed yn’s wrists and pulled him around excited to show him everything he’d learnt. Gojo was bewildered. I mean yn was fucking- jaw dropping handsome!

Gojo was too busy to worry about a girlfriend. He never really thought he’d be jerking off to some fucking guy he met that same day…

Gojo was a very flirty guy, he’s always flirting with women who’d obviously get down on their knees for him if he asked and yet still he finds nothing interesting about them.

He can lie about not being a virgin and have people believe him, but as soon as this hunk, yn, asks him about it, he’s a stuttering mess.

“Hm. So you’re realll experienced mister Satoru~?” Yn tilted his head looking at Gojo’s blindfold who obviously flushed red.

“Y..yes..yes I am!” He cursed himself out in his head for sounding too excited.

“Yeah? what about with a guy..” yn smirked watching Gojo’s lip tremble slightly.

“Uh-h..huh…” Gojo’s mouth was slightly open as he nodded making the other chuckle.

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind, Satoru.” Yn gently closed Gojo’s mouth before walking off.

Gojo was a sensitive guy when it came to his dick, he’s never been inside anything at all. He was now rutting into his pillow pretending it was yn.

“Ugh..I’m y-your good b..haa…boy..y-yn….” His body shook like crazy when he came on his pillow like never before. He was panting like a dog feeling lazy about cleaning up.

He sat up and looked at the mess he made before sighing and throwing the whole pillow away.

Now he can’t even look at yn’s face at all. Cause he gets reminded of what he did that night, it’s not like he’s guilty or anything he genuinely just might go red..

Well he got closer to yn, always being around each other, doing the same things everyday. It was a routine they both loved.

Gojo grew to genuinely feel attracted to yn, he loved his personality and looks. He’s not scared of homophobia or anything I mean he’s the strongest guy alive, what’s there to be afraid of?

They went out drinking one night and since Gojo is obviously, a light weight, he got drunk pretty fucking fast. He tried to keep up with yn but ended up getting himself fucked up instead.

Yn was dragging Gojo back to his house and lied him on his bed getting him some water.

“Satoru, drink” He sat the white haired male up and handed him the drink.

“N…no it’s too hic h..hot..” He pushed the drink away and tried to take his shirt off but yn stopped him.

“‘Toru- if you’re hot maybe you should take this fucking..blindfold off” yn slid the cloth off Satoru’s head and his eyes widened at this guys eyes…

“Your eyes…” He whispered pushing some hair out of Gojo’s face who blushed looking into yn’s hues.

“They’re gorgeous..” He smiled making Gojo’s insides spin.

“Take my..c-clothes o hic off…” He whined successfully pulling his shirt off leaving him only in his pants. Yn scoffed and grabbed Gojo’s jaw forcing him to look at him.

“Drink…the water.” Yn held the bottle of water up to Gojo’s lips who pulled away and tapped yn’s lips.

“No, you drink..”

‘Tsk’ yn filled his mouth with water and kissed Gojo with tongue allowing the water to go into the others mouth.

Gojo wrapped his arms around yn’s neck and didn’t let go of the kiss. Exploring the guys mouth.

Gojo moaned into the kiss and bit yn’s lip who quickly pulled away.

“Satoru you’re- drunk. No more kissing..just drink the water.”

Gojo again protests but yn forces him to open his mouth and shoves water down his throat getting it everywhere on his body and face.

“Ugh..I’m all wet y-yn…’nd it’s y-your f..fault hic” yn looked away blushing. He flinched when Gojo lied him flat on the bed and straddled him.

There was a big mirror facing the bed and Gojo could see himself. He shuffled before sighing and just knocking out on top of yn.

Next morning he freaks out, stuck in yn’s embrace.

“you good?” yn checked.

“Feel….like shit.” Gojo grumbled trying to hide how red his face was.

“Since you’re sober…wanna fuck?”

Gojo’s beautiful eyes widened.

—

“AGH- UGH MMM!~” Gojo screamed arching his back while watching himself in the mirror get fucked like a slut.

Yn’s hips pounded into Gojo’s ass, the sound of skin slapping skin filled the room along with the sweet smell of sex.

“Gosh…look at you..taking my cock so well~ your virgin boy pussy isn’t complaining about it at all..~” yn smirked devilishly grabbing Gojo’s hair and forcing him to look at himself in the mirror.

“‘s t-too much!~ co-ck sho’ b..big..” he moaned as yn let go of his hair.

“I should put your fuckin’ mouth to work..” yn shoved his fingers into Gojo’s mouth, having him gag and choke on his fingers.

“Goood boy~ you’re my good little whore aren’t you Satoru..?~” Gojo smiled and his eyes rolled back into his head.

“‘m your g-good..boy..! All yourz..~” He screamed and shook violently as he came so hard all over the sheets.

“Hah- first time and you’re already a fucked out mess!” Yn laughed watching Gojo’s face contort at the overstimulation of his prostate still getting abused.

When they finished, Gojo’s body was completely weak. It hurt and he couldn’t even stand up. Good thing he didn’t really need to, yn doing basically everything for him.

He cleaned the male up nicely, tucked him into bed and cuddled.

Gojo is having trouble walking as of lately.

i have a million fics of this man i need him butt booty naked

[spotlight-if]

Lights, Camera…Chaos.

[PLAY HERE] (October 23rd, 2024) Act 1, Chapter 1, 64.2k words.

For as long as you can remember, your dream has stayed the same—you want nothing more than to make it as an actor in Hollywood. After years as an overlooked, overworked talent, your big break comes from an unlikely source. And it’s one that changes everything, for better or worse.

Hollywood is its own character within this world—sometimes it loves you, sometimes it wants nothing more than to see you crash and burn. Navigating this ever changing landscape while balancing your own interpersonal relationships is only half the challenge. The other half is memorizing your lines.

Navigate the red carpet, bloodthirsty paparazzi, cut-throat tabloids and complicated relationship dynamics with A-list celebrities (who may or may not be completely insane.)

But, hey: isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?

Key Features:

- Customize your Actor: are you a classic Hollywood heartthrob? An eccentric and unconventional recluse? Are you kind and genuine despite the fame, or a cutthroat diva with undeniable talent?

- Navigate scandal, paparazzi, and stan culture: dodge or embrace the flashing lights. Interact with your fans, or distance yourself from them for your sanity. Wait—who are they shipping your character with?

-Build your legacy: choose between the stability of superhero blockbusters or turn into an indie darling. Or, maybe forgoe both to become a household name in the horror genre.

- Network and build relationships: whether they’re manufactured by your well-meaning publicist or spawned from real feelings, forge dynamic and ever changing relationships with other industry icons.

- Try to manage your mental health: the dark side of the industry lurks in every corner—the highs are high, but the lows are ever lower.

Characters:

Kendall Mays (gender selectable)—ever the loyal best friend, Kendall followed you into the throes of showbiz without hesitation. From fighting over toys on the playground to helping you run lines for a major motion picture, you can always count on them to have your back. That is, before they met Mason—their ever-present boyfriend who demands more and more of their time. You were never that great at sharing.

[Note: Kendall is not a romance option.]

Sutton Foster (he/him, she/her)—child star turned award winning powerhouse. Sutton Foster has everything an actor could want—well, minus the countless stays at rehab centers around the world. It’s undeniable that Sutton is a generational talent, but what’s even more notable is their messy personal life. You yourself have been caught in Sutton’s gravitational pull, once upon a time. The question lies in whether or not you’ll pull yourself away.

Wyn Grace (he/him, she/her)—on stage, Wyn is electric. The same cannot be said for Wyn off-stage. The lead singer of the up-and-coming Indie band is struggling with their meteoric rise to fame. As the awards pile up and the crowds get bigger, Wyn is unraveling at the seams. All they wanted to do was make music with their friends, but the fame makes them reconsider it all.

Lex Moreau (he/him)—an older, award-winning director with an…eccentric disposition. Yet despite his volatile nature and obsession with perfection, anyone who’s anyone would kill to work with him. Lex is always in search for a muse, a great beacon to pour all of his artistic vision into. And now, he thinks he’s found that in you. Lucky you?

[C is a conditional character, only appears based on choices you make.]

Carlo/Carmen Mencina (gender selectable)—C is harder to pin down than a stable acting gig in LA. When you’re together—it’s kismet. The problem lies in when you’re apart. C’s frequent disappearances abroad leave a bad taste in your mouth, and when a shocking truth comes to light, it’s not just your relationship in the spotlight—it’s your life, too.

Flings and other mini-romances will be available as well. But these I will let be revealed as the story progresses.

When writing this game, I knew what themes I wanted to focus on, and the care/detail needed to do so. Hence, this game is strictly 18+.

TW: death, substance abuse, suicide, bullying, explicit language, violence, and explicit (skippable) sexual content.

Thank you for reading my intro! Reblogs are welcome, and my ask box is open (:

And major thank you @thecutestgrotto for the gorgeous headers!