#does it not exhaust you to watch shows with your critic brain on?

[halloweeneva]

Tired of doctor who episode good/doctor who episode bad discourse. It’s fun and silly and everyone needs to relax and stop needing things to be the best ever or on the brink of death.

[saddled-on-stars]

Hello! Could you please do movie Beetlejuice with a(n adult) reader summoning him with the only purpose to ask for cuddles? She didn't expect the ritual to actually work and is extremely shy, so when he shows up she's absolutely embarrased for having him come over to do something as mundane as cuddling. Thank you!

Damn y'all are thirsty for Keatlejuice- (NO HATE I SWEAR, It's just that a lot of requests have been for Keatlejuice lmao) I really should watch the movie, lmao- Again, to tell you what I tell others for Keatlejuice and Toonjuice, I can't guarantee that it will be 100% accurate, as I've never watched the cartoon or the movies, but I'm hoping to soon! Please feel free to criticize if it isn't correct! BUT LOWKEY THIS IS SO CUTE I WILL DO MY BEST, DARLING! SORRY IT WAS SO LATE!! Happy reading! - Star ★

-★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Trigger Warnings: Explicit Language, *slight* Mentions of Perverted Boss, *subtle* mentions of cycle. -★-★-★-★-★-★-★- Key: ★ (This fic is specifically for a female reader!) ★ (Y/N) = Your Name ★ (L/N) = Last Name -★-★-★-★-★-★-★-

- ★ - Summoned Snuggles - ★ -

You're lying face-down on your soft, cool mattress, feeling the soft sheets beneath your fingertips. You groan into your pillow, exhausted from the day it's been; your boss had you working the 14-hour shift instead of your typical 8-hour.

He's already an asshole as it is, he didn't have to make it worse by performing his perverted acts like squeezing your hip and brushing your thigh, which you did not consent to. Ugh, he's such a fucking perv, and you're sick of it.

To top it all off, it's that time of the month for you. Great. Cramps take over your lower abdomen, causing you to hold your stomach tighter, and wince from time to time.

A headache begins to take form in your brain, and it causes you to rub your temples, despite it not doing anything to help the pulsing in your head. Ugh, you just wish this week could end; it's only Wednesday.

Your headache pauses for a brief moment, as a small, simple idea pops into your head, causing a small shy smile to spread across your face. His hugs were always nice. They seemed to erase any pain, mostly mental, but that didn't matter.

You finally saunter out of bed and stumble over to your closet, ready to change out of that fucking itchy uniform, with a button-up white shirt, that shows off your cleavage way too much, the skirt being much too short for your liking at all. You didn't like showing off your body to the public, let alone that nasty boss of yours.

Shutting your closet door, you lock it, afraid as if something were to come in and see you exposed, even though you know full well that there's not. He wouldn't be here unless you summon him.

Finally exiting your closet, after what feels like hours of having to stand with that throbbing headache, you plop onto your bed once more. You're now wearing a pair of comfy fitness shorts, a hoodie that smells like a foggy day in a way, and your favorite pair of fuzzy socks that reach up to just below your knees, providing perfect comfort.

That familiar shy smile returns to your lips, the corners turning up slowly, but that smile quickly fades as a wince comes through, due to another headache-cramp combo. You hold your head, and lean up against the pillows that are leaning against your headboard as you groan in pain. 'Ugh, I really want him here, but I don't want to bother him! What if he's busy? What if he doesn't want to talk to me? Does he even like snuggles?-...', your thoughts say as they wrack your brain. Suddenly, a jolt of confidence flows through you, as if your body's telling you that you need to summon him. Eh, what the heck, you're in a little too much pain to care. What could go wrong?

The bedroom is still dimly lit from the lamp on your nightstand, casting soft shadows on the walls, providing the room with that comforting appearance. You transition your legs to cross in a sitting position on your bed, excited for what's to come.

"Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice."

You close your eyes and smile, knowing that he'll appear in front of you any second.

"It's showtime~.", you hear his familiar raspy voice say.

You open your eyes to see that startling, yet familiar puff of green smoke, and standing there is your favorite demon boyfriend; or really your only one for that matter.

"Howdy, Babes!", he says with a strange twirl, rather a spin on his heels, but it never fails to amuse you, causing you to giggle. Even though you've seen him countless times, you take in the sight of him.

He's wearing his typical striped suit, still spotted with green spots from here to there, but you don't mind. His hair, still sticking out in all different directions, looks even softer today, causing you to smile. His eyes are their typical deep ocean blue, and it never ceases to make you stare slightly, and those blue orbs still have the black orbs surrounding them outside of the eye.

"Hi, BJ.", you reply with a soft smile, your giggle ceasing, as you begin to fiddle with your fingernails in nervousness.

He notices your actions immediately and comes and sits across from you on the bed, using his finger to bring your head up from your lap.

"Why don't-chya tell me what's wrong, toots.", he says with comforting eyes, which isn't usually like him, but you like seeing this side of him too.

"Just-... A rough day at work, that's all!", you say with a fake smile, trying to brush it off. Oh no, you don't want to seem needy! Not. One. Bit. However, he seems to see right through that smile, and his smile slightly falters.

"Babes. I'm a dead guy. I've fuckin' seen a lot. A LOT. Did ya need me for something specific?"

No, no, no. You really don't want to sound needy, and you also didn't want to summon him for no reason. Oh boy, the truth is the only option left.

"Just-... uhm-...", you stutter as you're now chewing at your fingernails.

"A-Are you alright-... if w-we s-snuggle?"

Your eyes are squeezed shut, so much that you aren't able to see him extend his arms and pull you into his lap. You're startled at first, but eventually open your eyes, to see him with his back to the headboard, and he's inviting you to lay your head on his torso.

This is comfy for you. It feels like home, in ways you could never describe with words. Without another thought, grateful that he accepted your request, you let your arms wrap around his stomach, causing his hand to rub circles on your back.

"I gotchya, Babes. I've always gotchya."

"I know you do.", you reply as you snuggle deeper into his chest. "I love you, BJ."

"I love you too, Babes."

- ★ - Written by Saddled_On_Stars - ★ -

[multiplicity-positivity]

Time for a Check Up!

Hello! How are you doing today? Have you taken care of yourself/your system lately? We’d like to ask you some questions to help you check in with your body, mind, and headmates! This list of questions is not exhaustive - there may be some things we’re missing that are important when it comes to managing your self care. This is just something to get you started if you’re feeling stressed, overwhelmed, or just Bad and need some direction to figure out what’s been bothering you lately.

Physical Health Check Up!

Nourishment: When did you last eat? What did you have for your most recent meal? Have you eaten any fruits or vegetables lately? How about something substantial, like grains, rice, potatoes, or pasta? Or something with protein, like eggs, meat, or legumes? Do you normally take a multivitamin? If so, have you taken one today?

Hydration: When did you last have something to drink? When did you last drink water? Do you have a water bottle or beverage nearby that you can sip from regularly? If you don’t like water or can’t drink it for any reason, how about some milk, juice, coffee, or tea? Any liquids are better than none at all!

Rest: Have you been getting enough sleep lately? Does your sleeping space have everything you need in order to get proper rest? Do you need: a security blanket/plushie, a night light, an air purifier/humidifier, a white noise maker, an extra pillow, a water bottle nearby, or anything else in order to ensure your sleep is restful at night? Are you tired, groggy, or exhausted right now? Can you take a brief, 15-20 minute nap? Can you lie still and close your eyes for a while?

Physical Exercise: When was the last time you got your heart rate up? Is there an exercise you enjoy that you can do occasionally? When have you last stretched your muscles - your hands and wrists, arms, neck, back, feet, and legs? Every body is different, but almost everyone can benefit from regular exercise, even if it’s light! How about taking a walk, doing some squats or sit-ups, lifting some light weights, playing a game or sport outside, or going for a swim?

Mental Health Check Up!

Medical (this could be physical too): Did you take your meds today? Do you need to refill your pills box/dispenser? Do you need to refill any of your prescriptions? Are you keeping track of any upcoming doctor’s appointments?

Mental Exercise: Have you solved any problems/exercised your brain lately? When was the last time you built a puzzle, solved a math problem, or played a word game, sudoku, spot the difference, or other sort of mind-strengthening game? When was the last time you tried to learn something new? Have you had any meaningful discussions, read any interesting books or articles, or used critical thinking lately?

Leisure: When was the last time you did something you enjoy, just for yourself? Have you checked for tension in your body and relaxed your muscles lately? When was the last time you treated yourself with something tasty? Have you listened to some music you love recently? When was the last time you cuddled a pet or plushie, watched a calming/silly show or movie, played a low-effort video game, or done something to decompress and have fun?

Self-Expression: Have you done anything creative lately? Have you recently tried to express your thoughts, feelings, and ideas somehow? When was the last time you journaled? When was the last time you wrote stories or poetry, drawn, sketched, or painted, worked with modeling clay, made a collage, or experimented with another art form? When was the last time you created art just for you or your system, and not for others?

Cleanliness Check Up!

Mouth Hygiene: Have you brushed your teeth today? When you brush your teeth, are you getting your molars, the backs of your teeth, your gums, and tongue? If your toothpaste/toothbrush causes sensory issues, have you tried children’s toothpaste, fruit-flavored toothpaste, and a soft-bristled toothbrush? Have you flossed today? Do you need to use a WaterPik/water flosser or a plastic floss pick to help you floss? When was the last time you used mouth wash? If your teeth are sensitive, do you need special toothpaste to help rebuild enamel?

Body Hygiene: When was the last time you bathed? Do you need a shower chair, bath floor grips, or another accessibility tool to make bathing easier for you? If bathing is difficult, do you have wet wipes handy to help clean under your arms, your groin, and in between folds of skin? When was the last time you washed your face or brushed your hair? When was the last time you trimmed your fingernails and toenails? When was the last time you cleaned your ears? Do you need to change into some clean clothes? Even just a fresh pair of underwear can help a lot!

Living Space: When was the last time you tidied your bedroom, kitchen, bathroom, or other living spaces? Have you checked your house for stray dirty dishes lately? When was the last time you swept or vacuumed your floors, scrubbed your sinks, dusted, or wiped down your countertops? When was the last time you washed your clothes or bedsheets? Can you think of any accessibility tools that might make maintaining your living space easier? Have you considered making a chore schedule to balance out housework throughout the week? Living in a clean home can help improve your mental health and boost your mood!

Relationship Health Check Up!

Inside: How recently have you checked in with your headmates? Is there a member of your system who is struggling more than the rest who you can try to connect with? What have you done lately to help build your relationships and strengthen your bonds with your system members? Have you done anything nice for your headmates lately without expecting anything in return? Have you had any conversations with your headmates one-on-one lately? When was the last time you tried to get to know the different members of your system? When was the last time you communicated your needs to your headmates, and tried to learn their needs as well?

Outside: When was the last time you spoke to your friends and family? Is there anyone you care about who you don’t live with who could use a text or phone call? Have you recently had a good conversation with someone in your life? Have you shared something with a loved one lately? Have you told someone in your life how you’ve been doing lately, or asked how they’ve been doing as well? Have you been communicating your needs and expressing yourself to your friends, partners, family members, or caregivers? Have you let someone in your life know that you love and appreciate them lately?

Wrapping up!

Remember, when it comes to self-care, every little bit helps! It’s better to do something small and simple to take care of yourself, your body, or your system than nothing at all. We hope this post is useful to some of y’all, especially others like us who might struggle to know how to take proper care of ourselves!

Please try to treat yourself and your headmates with gentle kindness today, and remember that it’s okay to not be okay! It’s okay to struggle, and it’s okay to have difficulties with practicing self-care. We just wanted to check in with some questions you can ask yourself to make sure you’ve been meeting your needs. But even if you can’t meet all your needs, we hope that you can do something small to help yourself feel better!

As always, thanks so much for reading, and take care!

[extravagantliar]

veilguard spoilers ahead - as it has been fifteen days and Knife time

I haven't been explicit with the words, even though y'all know my thoughts.

I am glad he's dead. Oh my God.

NOW ONLY WE the people CAN FUCK WITH HIM

I cried like a baby the first thirty minutes because Tepid got the first run, and I will tell you this: Tepid said wait, hold on, but as soon as Solas opened his big mouth, I was like yep, he's cooked, put me in the ground too.

Let's briefly break it down to explain why I clocked it in as the knife went in. Peepaw is fifty-one— at most fifty-two at the start of datv, and he chooses to walk up a set of stairs and get into a hand fight with a man with a loaded gun. One, he's not that strong anymore. Rook helped him up over a barrier - which can be chalked up to being nice, but if we're playing in this sand box here's the truth - peepaw has been on a horse and walking around Thedas because Charter said so and is not in great shape at the start of DATV. He's tired, and this is an exhausted man's last march; you can call it if you listen and hear Varric ask Rook to take care of the team. Okay, Phil Coulson, see you in Agents of Shield for some reason.

To be honest with you Varric could have taken Solas in a fight in the middle of DAI - but to me that stops at the well.

Solid delivery and diabolical, very few notes. I love the elves, but I hate the skirting they get. Solas I am kissing you on your big bald dumb head, there are at least four ways around what you have to do and I love that you pick the messiest way each time. My favourite ending for him is the one where he goes a bit loony toon villain at the end. I get he was mad, but it's the same thing as the blood magic line; I listened to your funny words in Haven, magic man; I know who you are. Maybe. You're the star of the show. You're awful and the worst. Cried like a baby when Tepid's Inky and Solas chose to go to fade jail together.

I liked all the companions, but you can guess who I was most happy to have in the party at all times. Banter was good, I wish the team had more time to bicker and grow, but that's a me thing. Shorter timeline for this game than the last three - likely weeks or months rather than months and years.

However, I do not personally like the way Varric's death was handled outside of this. It makes my former little medical brain go mad because what do you mean your companions are just off letting Rook talk to what I assume is a table and a bed as Bianca is canonically in Harding's care - as the Xenon wants to buy her arms even in pieces. My dude, Rook, is so massively concussed. As I have had a concussion that should have killed me - someone should have been watching Rook a touch closer. Also, my gripe with DAI and having Inky wake up on a bedroll to the four idiots fighting in the snow, and then Sunday School breaks out.

I know what is happening here, and I understand why they wrote it this way as Phil Coulson'd him into the lauder of Heroes in the Great Big Sky. The good thing is I can be critical of their choices, KNOW why they made them due to pressures from EA, and then carry on with my boat.

I am fine with his death, I think it's apt as they couldn't keep all the choices, and Blabbermouth knows like everyone. Catch the one string to Rook? POWER IMBALANCE.

So what does this mean for me?

Nothing.

This blog is here to stay - and my swerve verse is simple. If you want a DATV verse, great. Peepaw is alive, and he's got a massive hunk of lyrium in his chest, or he's rattling around with Solas saying shitty things because they're stuck, and he's about to either commit a crime or figure out if he can be the crime committed.

Also, doubling down, I have built six years of Kirkwall, and I'm sinking with that ship. I'm taking Sid and Nik with me, and that's it.

Sorry.

[neuroticbookworm]

Another day, another Step by Step post I did not plan on writing but had to because my smart as fuck mutuals thunk some thoughts, and now my brain won't stop screaming unless I write some words.

Original post by @waitmyturtles here, where she levels criticism on the editing and writing on the show, and adds some excellent perspective on how some people can spend most of their time in work mode, and how that might leave less room to forge any intimacy with the people sharing the work with them.

My addition to this discussion could've very well been a comment, or even a reblog, but I HAD to make this a separate post because @wen-kexing-apologist decided that they wanted to add their INCREDIBLE, PASSIONATE, AND WELL ARUGUED piece defending the show's writing of Pat and Jeng, and their relationship, as a reblog, NOT A SEPERATE POST. I couldn't even like it because I had already liked the original post, why would you torture me like that!!

I will add a quick TLDR, begging you all on my hands and knees to read it, and then get to my point. In the post, @wen-kexing-apologist

Goes through the entire relationship timeline to justify that the reasons for Pat misreading Jeng as straight are realistic and understandable.

Makes a case for the actors' skills and how a very inexperienced but capable Ben and his performance as Pat might come off as a little duller compared to (an equally inexperienced but insanely talented) Man's incredible acting, and how it might contribute to us feeling the drag in narration.

Points out, with a beautiful metaphor, that the slowburn is ending, we're all exhausted because we're almost there, and when it ends, we're all gonna be engulfed in flames, along with Jeng and Pat (I worry for the mental health and wellbeing of all of us when that finally happens).

(that's right, @wen-kexing-apologist, I fully read the wall of text you thought no one would read, and I'm doing my very best to get other people to read it)

Now, @waitmyturtles, I love your addition that Pat has reasons to see all of their interactions as work, and how it is yet another reason for him to intentionally delude himself into thinking Jeng is unattainable. I understand your frustrations and why you would think the narration and editing do not and cannot sustain this slow burn anymore. I'm right there with you, and I think the show as a whole does suffer a little due to the pacing and the editing, but I digress.

My two cents: I have observed that sometimes, movies and TV shows choose to be intentionally frustrating to the audience, to add a feeling of immersion to their viewing experience. The best example of this I can think of right now is The Shawshank Redemption. The movie has a runtime of 2 hours and 22 minutes, which is considerably longer than a standard Hollywood feature, and most of it is spent with the characters inside the titular prison. (spoilers ahead if you haven't seen the movie. Also, howwww?!?!) When Andy finally crawls out of that shit tunnel, the audience collectively takes that deep breath of freedom with him, because they have spent the last 2+ hours of their lives trapped in that prison with him. They feel his euphoria, they can almost feel the rain on their faces because, with Andy, they have escaped the narration that had locked them up in that prison.

While Step by Step might not have executed this as intensely as TSR, I believe they are doing it to an extent, with the audience following the story primarily through Pat. Think of it this way: if we watched our best friend have a crush on a hot guy, find out he is his boss, hate the said hot guy because he is a strict micromanager, torture himself wondering if he is straight or gay, single or taken, and fight his desire for this man while he's also getting badgered by his manipulative ex, we would be understandably frustrated. Add to the fact that, unlike real life, we can actually see the crush reciprocated and the world-class pining Jeng does for Pat every single day. When we consider this angle, the fact that none of us has popped a vein in our heads yet is a miracle.

Another point that might factor into this is Pat's age. I'm not sure of the exact number, but I believe he's a college graduate starting his first job when the show begins. That would put him firmly in his early 20s. As a fellow 20-something-year-old, I strongly believe our twenties are when we are the worst, most emotionally inefficient versions of ourselves. I like to call it adulting with a teenage brain. There's a reason why actual adults can't stand us, it must be frustrating to watch a child in a fully grown body stumble their way through life, making mistakes that are so easy to avoid. Pat's relative immaturity is also contrasted with Jeng's age, introspection, and levelheadedness, and again, I believe it is by design. The writers want to drive us to the brink of our sanity, and so far, they are winning.

This post is not intended to win you over, @waitmyturtles. In fact, I'm firmly on your side, clawing my eyes out over this show. But I might have my teeniest, tiniest toe on the door, just enough to keep the sliver of the writers' intentions shining through.

[sayakxmi]

[Magi rewatch] Episode 7: His Name Is Sinbad [Part 1]

Oh, yeah, it was definitely the right call. I already feel less exhausted having to watch this. Should've done this from the beginning, but, well, a Pole is smart after a mistake, not before it.

Me for, like, half of this goddamn year. Hot as balls. For how long, actually? October or November. Jesus. I think October, cuz November/December I was on-and-off sick. What a fucking time to be alive.

The characters tend to look kinda eh at times, but man, are the backgrounds cool.

A bunch of characters nobody cares about, but in the manga they thought they'd be able to get people to join them in Balbadd, but here they're just. Going there, I guess.

He does look good.

Also SQUIRREL. And a BIRD

She looks good in here.

"You don't have to thank either of us! Alibaba did it, because he's a kind person!" Like, you're completely right, but also gets me how much Aladdin trusts and believes in Alibaba. And, the thing is, he isn't wrong to do so - Magi can kind of read people's Rukh, so Aladdin gets the kind of person Alibaba is on instinct. Still, F.

Also, gfdi, why does it all look so pretty. The colors get me, too.

What a character introduction. What a legend.

It kind of reminds me. You guys know, Magi is like one of the series that's the dearest to my heart. One of the few. Which is why I get so critical of it. And it's hilarious when I think about the fact, that this AMV is the reason I watched it in the first place. I'm not kidding.

"Why are you freaking out? :("

Also, gdi. Magi rewired sth in my brain, and whenever I hear Daisuke Ono I immediately think about Sinbad, it'll never stop. Did you know Jing Yuan from Honkai: Star Rail has Daisuke Ono as VA? And Wriothesley from Genshin Impact. I'm still processing that, lol. Other one I'll always recognize bc of Magi is Kaji Yuki (Alibaba). Funnily enough, he voices one of my fav Pokemon character - Clemont. Imagine my surprise. Man, maybe I do have a type.

I love low quality Magi.

He looks normal in the anime. Kinda nostalgic, good. Also, the wording seems to be a bit different, but mostly the sentiment remains.

Agh, look how excited he is to meet another adventurer! You get it, mister, you get it!

What if Aladdin became Sinbad's Magi, hmm.

There's some yt channel that posts Kimetsu no Yaiba videos, what ifs, and then offers like three scenarios. Lastly it was what if Muzan was a Demon Slayer. Can't help but think abt it whenever I consider some what if.

She smelled Hakuryuu's cooking.

It really looks nice. From afar.

Huh, in the anime they don't mention how various races mingle here.

Paper money. Something that Sinbad notices. Good characterization moment + good hint at what the porblem might be. Neat.

Reminded me abt one of the fics that I'm writing. These goddamn towers. Two fics, actually. Though one of them is just recalling the events from the other.

Anyway, back to the ep, I do think it's cool. Lots of show don't tell.

Yeah. In the previous arc we've heard that Balbadd wasn't doing well, and now we get to see it.

Down with the monarchy.

This entire scene is still hilarious.

"We're going to have to help him out, Masrur." "Damn."

I love Ja'far. What a pro.

Since I had to delete it from the chapter post bc of the photo limit. Here. Morgiana & Masrur noticing each other.

The Sinbad experience.

Pffff

The sound he makes, lmao. "Ahhhhh". He's so not getting paid enough to deal with this bs.

Also, sad: we don't have Masrur helping him :/ That was such a nice moment : (

White eyes. You killed him, Sinbad. You killed your future husband.

"You're Sinbad, the King of Sindria!"

[vintage-bentley]

Hi! I need to inform you that I decided to watch GO after stumbling upon your blog, and now I'm OBSESSED. What have you done? The show has completely consumed me. YOU CAN'T IMAGINE. And it's so nice to see that there is an unapologetically gender-critical side of the fandom. It makes my fandom experience much more enjoyable. So I wanted to thank you for basically making me watch this show❤ And please could you recommend some other shows or movies that you like? (I've already added First Kill to my list) Please please please

Have a nice day😊❤😘

YESSSSSS ONE OF US ONE OF US ONE OF US O

I’m so happy to hear you enjoyed the show and that you were able to find the gender critical side of the fandom! 💖 It really does make the fandom experience more enjoyable to know you won’t have to deal with a ridiculous amount of unchecked sexism and homophobia. Funnily enough, it was that aspect of the fandom that led me to peaking!

First I’d recommend that you read the book if you haven’t already. It does have homophobic slurs, but it’s still a very good book and it’s interesting to see the differences between it and the show, especially in the characterisation of Aziraphale and Crowley!

As for shows other than First Kill…

First is of course, Our Flag Means Death. It’s a lightheaded comedy about pirates, specifically Stede Bonnet, the Gentleman Pirate. Who is eerily similar to Aziraphale. The way they wrote Blackbeard is also very similar to Crowley in certain ways, and there’s lots of similarities between OFMD and GO in general that I won’t go into much for the sake of not spoiling it. If you like GO and you like pirates, you’ll probably like OFMD. It’s second season just came out at the beginning of the month, and it’s fairly easy to get through because there’s only 18 episodes of the show in total, each around 25 minutes. Unlike GO I would say the second season ends on a satisfying note.

What We Do in the Shadows is one of my favourites, the basic premise is “what if vampires were idiots”. It’s a mockumentary following a house of vampires and their human familiar (voluntary slave) who is the only competent one in the entire house. It’s hilarious in my opinion, and all the characters are really interesting. Nadja is a very well written female character I think, because she’s allowed to be stupid and doesn’t fall into the trope of “woman is the only one with a brain cell and is constantly exhausted by taking care of idiot men”. It seems like they were going to go in that direction in season 1, but quickly flipped it around. There’s also a movie about different characters which is hilarious. The actor who plays Blackbeard in OFMD is in it.

(I should mention that GO, OFMD, and WWDITS seem to have a huge crossover in fans, and are often considered to be a “big three” similar to SuperWhoLock despite not being as insane lol. Personally, I think First Kill deserves the third spot so much more than WWDITS, because I think it’s main plot with the characters is closer to GO and OFMD than WWDITS. But it’s an F/F show so I guess it’s to be expected that it’s overlooked).

I’d also highly recommend Lucifer on Netflix. It’s based on a Neil Gaiman comic, and I feel like it’s similar enough to GO that GO fans would enjoy it? The premise is that the Devil takes a vacation to Earth, finds he really enjoys it and decides to stay permanently against the wishes of Heaven. He becomes a civilian consultant for a detective named Chloe, so each episode involves a case they have to crack which I find really interesting. Lucifer always manages to make the case about himself and often uses it to work through his religious trauma. Also he goes to therapy. TW: heterosexuality, but there’s an F/F relationship in later seasons that I love.

Derry Girls is one of my favourites, it’s about teens growing up during the Troubles in Ireland. It’s mostly a cast of women save for one guy, and there’s a very well written lesbian character. It’s a rare instance of teens, specifically teen girls, being written and acted realistically, as there’s no glamorisation or sexualisation. They’re all just awkward idiots. I highly recommend it. It’s really lighthearted and funny but given the setting it has some really emotional moments that are so good. The ending of season one always makes me cry.

Some honourable mentions that I love but don’t have as much to say about, in rough order of how much I like them:

-Buffy the Vampire Slayer and by extension it’s spin-off Angel (this is actually one of my favourites, I just don’t have much to say because it’s fairly self-explanatory!)

-Shadow and Bone (based on a book series I haven’t gotten around to reading yet)

-Prodigal Son (has Michael Sheen and a female character who’s likely sociopathic and I love her)

-Cunk on Earth (parody of history documentaries, representation for stupid women)

-Inside Man (seems to be really unpopular, but I loved it. David Tennant is the lead)

-Warrior Nun (SUPER boring at first, but gets interesting)

That’s all I can think of right now! Thank you for your kind words and I hope you find something out of these shows that you enjoy! 💖

[veronicavanessavictoria]

Chaotic Thoughts on Femininity

I feel inspired. I just watched Sex and the City, and I was hit with the realisation, that being a woman has always had its unique challenges. That is to say, that besides the obvious like; the patriarchy, lack of rights and the constant fear of getting attacked when you are going back home at night. No, there are these generational unique little quirks to our lives, signs of the times maybe? But at their core they are all the same. I think it’s trying to keep your dignity as a person, while being of the female gender, and thus on some levels not a person (to many).

Like with sex, we are some years into the sexual revolution in the West, on the surface level as a woman you are allowed to fuck whoever and whenever you want. But I always am so extremely aware that this a façade and underneath this, lies a cemetery of broken egos, hearts and women. We know that most men who are so very enthusiastic about our sexual freedom, could care less whether we live or die or receive any kind of pleasure from this openness to sex. Their enthusiasm ends at the tip of their dick and any serious thought is only given to how to access as many women in as many ways as possible. Sexual autonomy is only important when it results in you letting him choke you while he pounds you until he gets too exhausted, not even giving you the satisfaction of making him come, because his brain is too scrambled by porn and thus he can only orgasm by violently jerking his limp dick to a video of a woman most likely drugged out of her mind so that she can block out the abuse that is being filmed. And so even just sex, becomes too complicated in my mind. Because I want to be respected above all, and I just doubt that a man who slaps my face truly has much regard for me. But at the same time, my brain is scrambled all the same. Because I do want him to slap me. Not because I enjoy it, I truly doubt anyone honestly does, but because I want him to remember me, if cannot respect me. 

I like sex but I hate it too. I am disengaged from my emotions and from my body and I think rather than live life, I am trying to recreate movie scenes. I do not listen to music, I am creating a soundtrack. Rather than have sex, I fuck, and fucking is cinematic to me. It is performative. My moans are rehearsed. My positions are perfected in front a mirror.  I often think of that quote, the one by a movie critic, that states that a woman watches herself move through life, as seen through the perspective of a man who watches her. Essentially, I see it as always performing a role, even when nobody is watching. How many men wear cute loungewear sets only to stay at home and be seen by no one? How many men fix their messy buns and wear blue light glasses so that their study session seems perfectly in line with their study Pinterest board? And while I do know that I do these things for a reason, they are also some of my favourite parts of being a woman. I love putting on a show for that invisible man. I adore changing my gait to fit the aesthetic of my outfit, which in itself fits into the specific mood I am in. Today I was a girl moving through the autumnal rain in the city, in my mind it was New York, and the movie was set in the early two-thousands. I felt mature, because I was a woman I watched in the movies that came out during my childhood. You know those specific movies that had a slight blue tint, a little grain and everyone had a flip phone in them? The women wore leather boots on a thin heel, and sweaters without a bra underneath and an ill-fitting coat. Anyways the rain today made me act out that movie and I loved it. Tomorrow it will be sunny so perhaps I will be Monica Bellucci in the Italian warn stricken countryside, my lips red, my hair perfectly curled, with that precise highly feminine saunter. 

[brian-in-finance]

Killing Our Darlings: A Fandom Expert on Why We Urgently Need to Get to Grips With the Hate Engine

With two of the pop star’s films on the horizon, we appointed a Senior Harry Styles Correspondent. Several exhausting months later, Sacha Judd concludes it’s time for Hollywood to get to grips with online conspiracies—and audiences to find new ways to approach films soaked in manufactured scandal.

Don’t Worry Darling, Letterboxd’s most anticipated film of 2022, finally came to cinemas last week, claiming the US Box office number one slot and topping this platform’s most popular rankings by the end of opening weekend. Anyone buying a ticket for the debut public screenings was inevitably either doing it because or in spite of the drama surrounding the film’s release.

I was definitely in the latter camp, going with two friends I met at Harry Styles’ first solo show in New York in 2017 and have been fandom besties with ever since—because what else do you do when you’re reunited with your fellow Harries after three long pandemic years than park up in recliners at Alamo Drafthouse to watch him in his first starring role?

Styles, famous in fandom for his rambling interview answers, was mocked relentlessly by Film Twitter for saying that Don’t Worry Darling was a movie that “felt like a movie”, and though it’s not at all what he meant, once you’ve seen a film soaked in so much manufactured scandal it’s hard to not reach the conclusion that it’s just a movie.

Florence Pugh and Harry Styles as Alice and Jack Chambers in Don’t Worry Darling.

Visually, it’s absolutely stunning to look at, with an incredible performance by Florence Pugh in the lead. It’s also so refreshing to watch something that isn’t yet another piece of franchise IP, or yet another prequel, reboot or sequel. But ultimately it’s just a film—there’s absolutely nothing about it that warrants the space it’s taken up in the discourse and no way to get back the brain cells wasted on all that spilled tea. How does anyone even watch a film critically (or uncritically) when there’s so much noise surrounding it?

It was a question that loomed large earlier this month at the Toronto International Film Festival. I was there in my newly-minted role as Letterboxd’s Senior Harry Styles Correspondent—a joke that became decreasingly funny as the hot takes and breathless explainers spilled over from Venice across every conceivable media outlet. There to promote his other new movie, My Policeman, you got the sense that Styles’ appearance was being tightly controlled. Questions for the press conference had to be submitted in advance, before anyone had even seen the film. On the red carpet, the stars didn’t speak to the media at all.

“What was it like??” my friends and fellow fans asked me. He’d sat across from me, after all, mere meters away. But the photos on Tumblr were clearer than the ones I snapped, the video from the Twitter livestream just as good. There really isn’t any insider access granted by a press pass when the fans are having the same or better experience, at the same time—ready to publish their own critiques before you even get out of the theater.

Emma Corrin, David Dawson and Harry Styles at the TIFF premiere of My Policeman.

Asked at Venice about the tabloid speculation surrounding Don’t Worry Darling, director Olivia Wilde said, “the internet feeds itself, I don’t feel the need to contribute, I think it’s sufficiently well-nourished.” There’s certainly been no better recent example of fandom, celebrity gossip, and film discourse combining into an ugly ‘well-nourished’ ouroboros than what’s unfolded over the last few months surrounding this particular movie.

You could look anywhere and find headlines promising the “truth about the drama”, memes, and endless TikTok unpackings. One friend even sent me a Powerpoint presentation someone had shared in her book club. The hot takes eventually simmered down to reflections about how enjoyable it all was, post-pandemic, to engage in “harmless” celebrity gossip again.

Harmless, reputationally, for Styles, who I watched quip about spitting on Chris Pine the following night at his show during a sold-out residency at Madison Square Garden. Harmless for Pugh, certainly—who became the internet’s “queen of quiet quitting”. Harmless for Pine, memed endlessly for his dissociating stare. Beneficial, even, for Shia LaBeouf—now cast in a Coppola film as part of an ongoing redemption tour. But for Wilde—one of a tiny handful of female directors to be greenlit on a second project—none of this seemed very harmless at all.

Director and actress Olivia Wilde on the red carpet at the 2022 Venice International Film Festival.

In watching all of this unfold, all I could think was that we are overdue a reckoning with the way the online environment is allowing misinformation, conspiracy theories, and outright falsehoods to be increasingly weaponized against women in cinema. And the Hollywood engine is beyond overdue in getting to grips with fandoms and the power they wield, even after over a decade of toxic hate and harassment being leveled at artists of color, widespread blowback over casting choices, and the inability of studios to protect their stars.

While a number of commentators rightly identified the misogynistic tilt to this whole affair, the rapid cycle of takes overlooked one crucial point. All of this happened to Olivia Wilde simply because she’s dating Harry Styles.

It helps to go back to the beginning and understand how we found ourselves in this particular mess. The rumors about the Don’t Worry Darling set didn’t start with TMZ or Page Six. They didn’t even start with the earlier gossip blinds shared on anonymous Instagram account DeuxMoi. They started on Tumblr and they started in the One Direction fandom.

To grasp what’s happened to Olivia Wilde online, you have to grapple not just with what may or may not have happened on set. She and Pugh may have fallen out for any number of completely justified reasons and it would never have resulted in the kind of digital hyena-pack that’s waited to consume Wilde at every turn. We would likely never have heard about it at all, if it weren’t for a dedicated subset of Styles’ fans.

Styles meets fans in Toronto ahead of the premiere of My Policeman.

Hating Olivia Wilde is an example of the depressingly common venom leveled at the romantic partner of a star with whom stans have a parasocial relationship. Styles has been notoriously private about his personal life, saying in interviews that regaining his privacy was paramount to him after five years of intense scrutiny as a member of the world’s most famous boyband.

And yet, all of the women with whom he’s been linked over the years have been subject to the same outrageous levels of hateful conduct and harassment. Styles, speaking to Rolling Stone last month alluded to this, saying “Can you imagine going on a second date with someone and being like, ‘OK, there’s this corner of the thing, and they’re going to say this, and it’s going to be really crazy, and they’re going to be really mean, and it’s not real.… But anyway, what do you want to eat?’ ”

These so-called fans are happy to dig through years of social media posts to find ways in which a romantic partner has been “problematic”, dismissing French model Camille Rowe for “supporting serial killers” (she dressed as Sharon Tate for Hallowe’en) and British chef Tess Ward for being fatphobic. In the eighteen months or so that Wilde and Styles have been seen together, Wilde has come under an even more intense array of criticism. The ten-year age gap between her and Styles makes her “predatory”. Her shared custody of her children with former partner Jason Sudeikis has been interpreted to mean she is a bad mother who routinely abandons her kids. She is “unprofessional” for embarking on a relationship with someone she met on set.

For the fans spreading these talking points, finding reasons to justify their toxic behavior is critical—that way they can deny that this is a case of, “if I can’t have him, no one can”. It’s not that they don’t want Harry to find love, it’s just that this woman (and the one before her and the one before that) is obviously completely unsuitable.

“But anyway, what do you want to eat?”

For Styles though, the problem is exacerbated by a core group of conspiracy theorists who have plagued his fandom since One Direction was first formed. Calling themselves Larries (after the portmanteau Larry Stylinson), these fans believe that Styles has been in a closeted gay relationship with former bandmate Louis Tomlinson for over a decade. No amount of denials from either man (or any number of people close to the pair) have dissuaded this group, nor the fact that Tomlinson is in a long-term relationship with a woman, nor that he has a son, nor even that Styles and Tomlinson haven’t been seen in the same room for over six years.

All of this nonsense seems “harmless” on the surface—just another example of toxic behavior in niche corners of the internet providing hilarious fodder for the group chat. And yet film and television stars are increasingly dealing with baseless conspiracy thinking taking on an ugly and outsized importance. Benedict Cumberbatch’s wife, director Sophie Hunter, is regularly accused of faking her pregnancies, being a drug user, and worse. Outlander star Catríona Balfe has spoken out about conspiracists (who think she is secretly dating her co-star) casting doubt on the paternity of her son, and even harassing staff at the church where she wed in an attempt to prove her marriage was a sham.

Harry’s own mother Anne, sharing a proud Instagram post this week praising the film and Olivia’s achievement, was so drowned in hateful comments that she posted a follow-up in her stories. “If you can’t say something nice,” she said, “don’t say anything at all. I’m astounded and saddened by the vitriolic comments… If you don’t like me, don’t follow me”.

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places.”

This behaviour by “tinhats” (as they’re known in fandom—a term first coined to describe fans of The Lord of the Rings who were convinced cast members were in secret gay relationships, unable to declare their forbidden love) has at its core the idea that everything is a stunt constructed for media consumption. Every paparazzi shot is staged; every time we see a star in a public place it’s “for promo”.

If you genuinely believe Harry Styles is gay and not allowed to come out, then every time you see a picture of him with a woman, you can assume it’s fake, that the woman concerned is being paid or getting something out of it for herself and thereby “profiting” off his closet. If it’s a stunt there’s no obligation to like this woman—in fact the opposite. You’re justified in thinking of her as a villain and behaving accordingly, as viciously as possible, something Alice Marwick has dubbed morally motivated networked harassment. Regardless of who gets hurt in the process.

On Tumblr, Larries tag their posts with an increasingly hateful taxonomy: “Don’t Watch DWD”, “Olivia Wilde is a Narcissistic Asshole”, “Fuck You Olivia Wilde”. Meanwhile, these same fans are keen to promote My Policeman at every opportunity because it’s deeply unthreatening to their false narrative. Styles’ co-star is Emma Corrin, with whom he has never been romantically linked. Styles himself is playing a closeted gay man, something they think is true in real life. “Michael Grandage seems like such a professional and competent director,” they say, as if the implications were not obvious.

Olivia Wilde at work with colleague Chris Pine.

Maintaining their ongoing hate campaign against Wilde puts stans in what should be some awkward spots, given the demographics of Styles’ fandom (female, progressive, queer). They side with Wilde’s former partner Sudeikis in their split, revelling in Wilde being served papers relating to custody on stage at CinemaCon, despite it being a cruel and humiliating tactic deployed against a woman in a professional setting. While they won’t come right out and say that LaBeouf is a hero, the glee with which his side of the story was received was a sight to behold. Even aligning yourself with alleged abusers is okay if it’s against a woman who isn’t what you want her to be.

Worse still, Media Matters found that right wing sites exploited the situation, amplifying the hateful content and using terms like “commie whore,” “Hollywood harlot,” and “bimbo” to describe Wilde, “eager for the downfall of women who are outspoken on progressive issues” (and for the income that clicks on these stories generate).

If all of this seems familiar, it should. We are only months from an unrelenting news cycle that painted Amber Heard as an unsuitable victim, reduced her defamation trial to popcorn emoji and endless memes, and cast anyone with a TikTok account in the role of expert commentator.

And none of this might matter, if the pernicious behavior of these conspiracists stayed in the pettiest corners of the internet, but in this case it broke containment, bubbling up through the gossip blogs and tabloids, repeated over and over until lies ossified into “facts” that even the trades were credulously republishing seemingly without any scrutiny at all.

People close to the Don’t Worry Darling project describe it as “famously untroubled”. The cinematographer Matthew Libatique has described it as “one of the most harmonious sets” he’s worked on. Forty members of the crew put their names to a statement saying all the stories were false. But it’s too late. The truth is boring: far better to green screen some cast photos behind you on TikTok and boldly state that Gemma Chan was pressed into service by forces unknown to keep Wilde away from Styles on the Venice red carpet.

Don’t Worry Darling cast members Nick Kroll, Pugh, Pine, Wilde, Sydney Chandler, Styles and Gemma Chan in Venice.

Even in writing this piece, I don’t get the luxury of just writing about the film (which, for the record, I enjoyed)—or about Styles’ performance, or Wilde’s directorial vision. No one does, anymore. Every review is forced to reference the ugliness and give further column inches to the opinions of people who genuinely don’t deserve them. I’ve chosen not to rate the film on my own Letterboxd because I know stans have been trying to identify my account.

I’ve been lucky enough to watch Harry Styles perform over the years at venues all over the world, including the Garden, Radio City Music Hall, the O2 and the Hammersmith Apollo. At every single show he encourages his audience to “feel free to be whoever you want to be in this room tonight.” The crowd always goes wild. It’s an invitation to participate in something so filled with joy and abandon. To dance and sing your lungs out and watch your fave do the same.

His exhortation to “treat people with kindness”, however, seems to fall on deaf ears when some of his stans are back behind their keyboards again, filing half-star reviews on Letterboxd before the film has even come out. It’s depressing to see a film-reviewing community being used in this way. Letterboxd HQ confirmed to me that Don’t Worry Darling has been one of their most heavily moderated films this year: online reviews yet another cudgel deployed against women in cinema, again and again.

It’s easy to enjoy Florence Pugh iconically wielding her Aperol Spritz, Chris Pine drifting drama-free above the fray, and ultimately Olivia Wilde is successful and seems unbothered and doesn’t exactly need our help. But if we let ourselves continue to be led around by conspiracists with axes to grind, we’re allowing a set of tactics to flourish that will continue to have dangerous consequences, something I’ve spent more time than I’d like to digging into over the last few years.

“Do you even know what the Victory Project actually is?”

Already the post-opening reviews of Don’t Worry Darling are making sly—or even overt—reference to the fact that the scandal may have helped the film, giving fans and the media alike fuel for future fires. Indeed, the distribution chief for Warner Bros suggests that “the background noise had a neutral impact” (financially, he means). But conspiracy thinking isn’t fun or neutral or harmless anymore. Believing everything you see to be constructed or manipulated is a dangerous onramp to far more significant political movements—something, ironically, that is explicitly raised in the film.

Celebrity gossip can—and should continue to be—a delightful, empty-calorie snack. But only when we take the time to think about where it’s come from, why it’s so popular, and if there isn’t a toxic amount of poison hidden inside. When the industry is still stacked so heavily against the very small number of women who have risen to the point Wilde has—her film taking in an above-forecast $19.2 million at the US box office opening weekend, and becoming one of the widest openings by a female director ever in the UK and Ireland—we should be interrogating much more closely the motivations of the people who seem ready, willing and eager to tear her down.

‘Don’t Worry Darling’ is in cinemas in the US, UK and Ireland now and opening in other regions over the coming weeks. ‘My Policeman’ opens in US cinemas on October 21 and streams on Prime Video from November 4.

Note: All bold text and pull-quote styling is Brian’s.

Letterboxd

Remember… it’s sad, because you meet the loveliest people who are fans of the show and they’re super supportive and they do the nicest things—and then you have that little thing, which just taints it. — Caitríona Balfe, Vanity Fair, 6 January 2022

[the-writers-bookshelf]

Aubrey I forgot how to write. Everything sounds awful now and I'm not interested in my old WIPs. I think about starting new ones and trying different voices and styles but nothing sticks and writing feels like a chore now.

Hi darling anon! As someone who has battled with this feeling for 3-4 years and I'm just now seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, let me look you in the eye right now and tell you: it does get better!

Don't worry: you did NOT forget how to write!

Your brain is just tired and needs to be refilled :)

When writing feels like a chore and you don't know how to put words together, that's your brain saying, "Help! I've run out of fuel!"

It's important to let yourself rest right now. The more you push an already-tired brain, you'll just drive yourself deeper into fatigue.

Watch movies.

Read books. Read A LOT of books!!

Listen to radio shows and watch plays.

Consume ALL the media you can!

I always recommend keeping a journal because it keeps you writing without the pressure to "produce". It can be a great place to work out whatever is going on in your brain that might have you tangled up and blocked.

But journaling isn't for everyone, so don't force it if you don't like it!

While you watch movies and read and stock up on fuel, also consider the answer to some of these questions:

1. Do I still see value in my stories? Or do I feel like they're not worth the time and effort?

If you still love your WIPs but you just don't have energy to work on them, that means you're just burned out and you need a break!

However, if you don't think your stories are worth telling anymore, this is an issue that runs deeper than just "need brain fuel". This will take time and effort to continually remind yourself that your stories ARE worthy.

2. Do I have a support system that encourages my writing? Or do the people in my life scoff at my writing?

Environment can have a giant impact on a writer. If you are surrounded with people who constantly tell you that you should "grow up" and stop writing because it's a waste of time, you will eventually come to believe it. That takes A LOT of brain power to overcome!

If you're feeling tuckered out because your environment isn't being supportive, try to find other people who will encourage your writing! You need people on your team who will support you, not tear you down.

3. Am I struggling in the aftermath of harsh feedback/criticism?

Sometimes, receiving harsh feedback or criticism (or NO feedback at all!) can leave you feeling listless and lost. Then when you try to write again, you second guess every word and nothing sounds good enough.

In this case, you might have to push yourself a little to get past it and keep writing, but always be gentle with yourself! :)

4. Am I dealing with an unusually high amount of stress in my daily life?

We are in a WEIRD world right now. PLENTY of writers, artists, and creative people have admitted to feeling like they can't create at the moment due to stress.

In the first few months of lockdown, I was in a haze of stress as my very-public-facing-job tried to navigate pandemic protocols for the first time ever and there were massive, drastic changes every single day.

I barely remember those few months because I was so exhausted, all I did was drag myself out of bed, go to work, and drop back into bed as soon as I got home again.

No writing was happening. And that's okay.

If you've got stress going on in your daily life, let yourself deal with it. Give yourself the guilt-free space you need in order to cope with whatever is happening! Writing will be there when you're ready to return to it again :)

***

I hope some of this helps, lovely!! Keep trying. Don't give up and let yourself rest as much as you need to. Take the pressure off of yourself to produce when you do write again and just write something for fun! ♥

It might take longer to recover than you would like, but as long as you don't give up, you'll make it through to the other side! :)

[sweet-dreamins]

careless (f+a)

○ pairing: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x gn! reader, pro hero! reader, established relationship

○ word count: 3.5k

○ summary: after a successful battle you’re confused when katsuki isn’t happy for you, in fact he’s furious. shouldn’t he be proud of you?

○ content: a bit angsty, a bit fluffy, hurt/comfort, mention of cuts and blood

○ a/n: i rewrote this like 4 times lol but here it is!! (i may come back nd edit bc passive voice) feedback is appreciated, enjoy!

You and Bakugou were partners, but you weren’t partners. Sure, you were lovers in the nighttime, but on the field? Yeah, no thanks. The two of you had only partnered up a few times, and that was more than enough for you. Before even entering the field, you were hesitant that he’d let himself get distracted by you and you were right, just not for the reasons you think.

The dynamic shifted juuuust a little too much for your liking. One of the most...memorable times was when you were up against one of the more powerful villains. Anytime the villain would make a move towards you before you could even retaliate, Bakugou would slip in front of you- even going as far as to shove you back. To others watching, it seemed as if he was falling back into his attention-seeking habits or that it was so romantic that he put your safety over his, but you knew better (or at least you thought you did).

After that fight, you two had quite the shouting match in the ER afterward. Until he dragged the two of you home, insisting he was more than capable of taking care of the both of you. That, and his publicist was this close to having another conniption after hearing about your rather loud discussion….that the whole hospital heard.

You knew Katsuki only acted that way out of love and concern for you. You know that he sees you as strong. So, why did it still feel so demeaning? Why did it feel like he didn’t, maybe still doesn’t, see you as strong enough?

Even though after your discussion, you had decided to not do hero work together, the little voice in the back of your head wasn’t erased. Creeping in concluding that you were nothing but a pity fuck. The skewed, brutal honesty of the public never failed to make the little voice louder.

You did your best to not let it get to you, you really did. You ignored the tabloids and told your friends you didn’t want them telling you about the articles they had read. But this past week was just atrocious. Katsuki and you had gone on a coffee date, knowing that he was going to be swamped this week, trying to make up for crammed schedules. The paparazzi managed to find you-instantly getting into your personal space, effectively cutting your date short.

By the time you had got back to your apartment, the pictures were already released and practically everywhere. Katsuki tried distracting you by making you dinner and it was wonderful. But you stayed up that night reading every single headline, article, and comment about the two of you. Drowning yourself in the criticism as the voice began to get louder and louder.

Of course, you would never say it out loud, but since then you had been itching for a fight with a real villain. Somebody who can do some proper damage, somebody strong. Any kind of opportunity where you could prove your strength, show everyone that they’re wrong about you. That you’re good enough for Katsuki, that you’re strong enough to be a hero- that you are enough. And finally, finally, finally, the chance came.

You did wonderfully. The fight had dragged on for a while, long enough for reporters to arrive and commentate on the rest of it. Everyone could see how well that you handled everything, all the footage establishing your reputation.

Once the adrenaline from the fight had subsided, the ache in your body started seeping into your bones. Cuts that had been littered across your skin felt as though they had started glowing red, the cool night air kissing them. You still managed to put on a brave face for the crowd afterward, relief and joy filling your heart as the cheers far outweighed the jeers.

You let their praises wash over you, relishing the fact the little voice in your head had been silenced. Their words seeping into through your wounds, momentarily numbing the burning pain. Your heart was no longer squeezed by apprehension, finally at ease knowing that they believed in you, in your worth. As you gave your last interview and waved to the crowd, you made your way over to the ambulance.

His foot was practically tapping the ground at the speed of light, you were surprised he hadn’t made an indent in the concrete already. Katsuki stood there, arms crossed with a scowl on his face, furrowed brow, and glaring eyes. You didn’t know whether it was the exhaustion or if the night was that cold, but you could’ve sworn there was steam coming off of him.

He had arrived pretty late to the scene, coming from the other side of the city, but the footage of you was everywhere. Katsuki had seen the majority of the fight and despite not saying anything, it was obvious that he did not like what he saw. The lights from the ambulance bathed the two of you in red light. Strong arms envelop you in a firm but gentle hug. You close your eyes and breathe him in. You stand there in silence for a little while, simply basking in each other’s presence.

He leans down to mumble in a gruff voice, lips brushing against your ear,

“I already talked to the EMTs, we’re going home now.”

Although Katsuki had EMT training from when he was younger, only on rare occasions did he fully take patching you up into his own hands. Yes, he was always breathing down the neck of the poor medic who had the misfortune of having you as a patient, but typically he had enough self-control to let them do their job.

You were grateful to have privacy, but his reaction was off-putting to say the very least. He should be proud of you, right? That you handled everything so well, he should be congratulating you, right? So...why does he look like he’s two seconds away from grinding his teeth to dust?

The car ride to your apartment is as silent as the grave, thick tension weighing down the surrounding air, making your tongue heavy in your mouth. Katsuki’s knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel, not once sparing you a glance. Nearly all the lingering adrenaline from the fight and buzz from the crowd has faded, irritation and pain taking place.

Why the hell is he mad at me right now? He has no right or reason to be mad at me. Everything turned out fine!

As the city lights flutter past the window, you sit in the passenger stewing in confusion and anger. Wracking your brain trying to come up with a logical reason as to why he’s mad at you. Once you arrive at your apartment, you wait to hear the telltale slam of the front door, preparing to cringe- but it never comes.

Instead, Katsuki gently shuts the door behind him.

Oh. So he’s in that kind of mood.

Over time, you came to learn that there were levels to Katsuki’s anger. Everyone else in his life had been on the receiving end of his knee jerk reaction at some point. Yelling and slamming down everything he could get his hands on. But tonight, the type of anger in front of you. Only a few people had been privy to. The kind he has the force of an inferno behind it but is trying to channel it into a few million candles. The kind he wants to be careful with his words, spending every passing second trying to remove the barbs from his tongue, so as not to get it wrong.

Before you could get pulled back into your head, a large warm hand pressing at the small of your back kept you tethered to reality. Katsuki gently guided you to the bathroom, wordlessly turning on the shower, a silent signal for you to get undressed. The tension from the car had followed you into the apartment, a dark cloud, about to storm at any moment.

You slip into the shower, drinking in the way the water washes away the dirt and grime of the day. The peace is short-lived, the warm water trickling into your open wounds, your entire body stinging slightly. Peeking past the curtain, you see Katsuki rummaging through the closet for supplies. After he sets everything on the counter, he steps out to grab clothes.

Snatching the soap bar, you scrub your body down as quickly as possible, whimpers of pain involuntarily falling from your mouth. You had waited until Katsuki left, not wanting him to hear you crying out. Frantically blinking away your blurry vision, you finish washing up and wrap yourself in a fluffy towel, taking deep breaths. How are you going to keep it together?

In your shared bedroom, Katsuki was grabbing you a change of clothes while grumbling to himself. After throwing on a tank top and sweatpants, he paces back and forth with a scowl, running a hand through his hair. Trying to untangle the scribbles piling up in his brain, he takes a deep breath and looks into the mirror. He knows he needs to tread carefully, to get his words across in the best way possible. What you need right now isn’t yelling or anger, it’s honesty and support. He doesn’t want his anger to get in the way of what truly matters, repeating it over and over in his head,

I love you, and I care about you. I love you, and I care about you.

He makes his way back to the bathroom, clothes in hand, to see you standing there wrapped up tight in a fluffy towel. The precious sight in front of him squeezes his heart, making it a little hard to breathe. Here, in the safety of your apartment, you let yourself be a little more vulnerable and he loves it, wants more of it. But once you notice him walk in, you stand up a little straighter, wiping away the teary expression on your face. He grits his teeth at this but says nothing, reminding himself to keep it together.

You finish drying off and put on the clothes he brought you, one of his shirts and a pair of sleep shorts. Even though he’s standing right in front of you, being enveloped by his scent is still comforting. He leans against the counter, waiting for you to jump onto the space next to him, reminding himself one more time,

I love you, and I care about you.

He finally opens his mouth to say,

“That was really stupid of you.”

No response.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt, you realize that, right?”

Silence.

“You could’ve bled out and died.”

You spit back, “But I didn’t right? I’m still here, aren’t I? So it doesn’t matter.”

Katsuki grits his teeth, huffing through his nose, growling out,

“It doesn’t matter?”

“No, no it doesn’t because I’m fine. Everything else turned out fine, so who cares?”

You were certain you were right, no doubt about it! He was overreacting about this and it was honestly the last thing you needed tonight, so you had less patience than usual.

He snaps his jaw shut, opting for the silent treatment again with a scowl on his face. Katsuki douses a cotton pad in alcohol and swipes it across one of your cuts.

You yelp in pain and surprise, sucking breath in through your teeth, snatching his wrist. You shoot him a glare, at first he’s ready to glare right back, but once he meets your gaze he softens. That’s what you do to him. You’ve given him a safe space to be soft, to be loving- to be vulnerable. This is why this cuts him up inside so much more, he knows that you’re in pain, that you’ve been in pain for the past week. But every time he would ask, you brushed it off, adamant on shouldering it by yourself. He was even angrier at himself for not pushing harder, if he had you might not have pushed yourself tonight.

You were his safe space and your reluctance to be vulnerable with him, had him doubting himself. Was he not enough for you? Did you not think he could be your safe space? He had beat himself up over this, which added another layer of frustration that had to take the backseat tonight.

He continues working diligently in silence, repeating the process with the same care for every single cut. Rubbing alcohol, bacitracin, a bandaid, and then smoothing over it with his rough fingertips. Repeatedly, gently tracing plain patterns over the material, soothing the both of you. If the circumstances were different, he would’ve littered butterfly kisses over every single one. The amount of self-control that he was showing was unfathomable.

Katsuki was inches away from exploding, pulling his brain in endless directions between figuring out how to get through to you, wanting to just tactlessly spill his guts, and longing to smother you in frantic love. You were nearing eruption as well, desperately wanting him to say something, anything at all, but you also didn’t want to hear a single word of his lecturing. You also wanted nothing more but to hug him, to cling to him because fuck, tonight was terrifying but you couldn’t let him know that-you had to stick to your guns.

Both of you were stubborn as all get out, a trait that you both loved and hated in one another. Neither of you wants to be the first to give in, and yet desperately pray the other will. Here together, in your bathroom, and yet worlds apart, lost in your thoughts. You were unceremoniously dragged back to the moment in front of you by fear.

Whether Katsuki did it on purpose, he had left the worst cut for last. It was the biggest one, crimson and angry, your anxiety building as he prepared to clean it. You had handled the stinging of the rest of the cuts fairly well, this one was going to be your breaking point.

His warm, rough hands wrap around your thigh, lightly squeezing it to steady you.

“Wait! Please.”

Your hand shot out to wrap around his wrist, your brain still catching up to your outburst. He immediately stopped in his tracks, looking up at you and feeling his heart shatter when he saw your eyes. Pleading, looking for mercy in him, and full of fear. As soft as he could muster,

“Hey, hey it’s not going to be that bad, promise.” He carefully watches as you nervously chew on your bottom lip. He raises his large hand to gently cup your face, you instinctively lean into the warmth of his palm. A new, unfamiliar voice pipes up in the back of your head as you get lost in his carmine eyes.

Let go.You’re safe here.

You let go of his wrist to place your hand on top of his bigger one, absentmindedly stroking.

“Just take a deep breath, okay? It’ll be over before you know it.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, you nod and try to relax as he moves his hand back to your thigh. He gingerly wipes the cut, the alcohol instantly seeping in and burning. You cry out in pain, begging him to stop, but he doesn’t listen. He tries to be quick but still efficient, wanting to lessen your pain. He places a large bandaid on it, smoothing it down, and finally, finally, gives in and presses the lightest butterfly kiss on top. 

Fuck.

Your bottom lip is poking out, quivering as you do your best to swallow the sob clawing its way up your throat. Angrily rubbing away the tears that escape, you let out a trembling sigh, still trying to get a hold of yourself. Balling your hands into fists on your thighs, you sniffle and bite your lip so it’ll stop its ridiculous shaking. You instinctively berate yourself for how you’re reacting.

You should be stronger than this. What is wrong with you? 

The new, sweeter, softer voice comes back to say,

But it’s okay. Because it’s him.

Because it’s him. Because he’s the one who is fixing you, who is choosing to fix you. To be here with you, to choose you, and to love you. And maybe it is okay that you’re ‘weak’  in front of him. It’s safe here. Maybe you were wrong an-

“Do you understand why I’m mad at you?” His voice rumbles out, interrupting your thoughts.

“I-I don’t- honestly, no not really, I did nothing wrong tonight” You try not to roll your eyes at how watery and shaky your voice sounds. Katsuki sets his jaw and slowly breathes in and out of his nose, almost like a bull getting ready to charge.

“How am I going to get this through your head?” He mutters to himself, you roll your eyes in return and give him a pointed look. You know that you shouldn’t be getting riled up, but the exhaustion is sapping away your patience. Logically you know that you should just stop with the retorts, listen to him, and yet,

“Well? Are you going to tell me why you’re mad at me or am I just supposed to be a mind-reader?” 

That was the last straw.

“I don’t know how or why you can’t see this,” he starts slowly, mulling over his thoughts, “but the way you handled tonight was...it was...you shouldn’t have pushed yourself that hard.”

“But every-”

“I don’t care that everything else turned out fine!” He raises his voice momentarily, forcing himself to come back down, “I’m not mad that you took care of everything else, I’m mad that you didn’t take care of yourself.” Ruby eyes search your face for any sign of understanding.

“It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks,” he notices how your eyes widen, realizing that he knew your feelings all along. You were mistaken for thinking you ever needed to handle it by yourself. 

“You are already strong and you don’t have to prove that to anyone. You don’t owe anyone shit, you don’t need to push yourself to the point of breaking just to show that you can make it there.” He slips his warm, coarse hands into your softer ones, gripping tightly. He leans forward to put his forehead against yours,

“I need you. I need you in my life, and I need you to take care of yourself.” Desperation seeps into his voice, begging you to give yourself the love you deserve. Quietly, he adds,

“For my sake, at least, don’t be careless, dumbass.” He pulls back slightly to look at you, eyes glassy and full of pain. He doesn’t say anything else, letting his words float around in your head. You laughably admit to yourself,

He’s right. I am a dumbass.

Your face is wet with tears, salty drops still haven’t stopped cascading down your skin. You were being foolish, but you didn’t want to admit it, letting your pride suffocate you. You’re sniffling nonstop but still trying to keep your cries as tucked away as possible, your whole body shaking with stifled sobs. He lets go of your hands to cup your face, thumbs wiping away fresh tears. 

“You can let it out, you know. You let me.”

You throw your arms around him, clutching him, afraid that he’ll float away from you. Keeping him in a tight, tight, tight embrace, hands collecting handfuls of his shirt. Like a broken record, repeating over and over again, strangled, I’m sorry’s. He hums in response, rubbing circles on your back as he holds you. Unbeknownst to you, he’s thankful you can’t see his tears that manage to slip out, knowing you would only cry harder.

The two of you stay like that until your sobs have subsided. He pulls away, wiping away the rest of your tears and holding your face again. You stare into each other’s tired and bloodshot eyes.

“I don’t want you to be careless anymore. I don’t want you to feel like you have to prove yourself to anyone. I want you to see what I already know, what is already true. You are more than enough, you are more than strong enough, and I need you to see that. Okay?”

Nodding, you whisper, 

“I know,” You bite your lip and nod again.

“I know.”

Sometime later, after cuddles and soft voices, you lay in bed, wrapped up in fluffy blankets. Rubbing at the gauze around your arm, you stare at the ceiling, ruminating on what Katsuki said.

He’s right. I don’t need to prove myself to anyone, especially not to assholes who don’t even know me. Next time that I want to be reckless, I’ll just think of him. The one who loves me and knows me.

You close your eyes and smile to yourself.

The one who knows I’m strong.

[daikushiji]

his crush draws a heart on his hand (pt. 2)

pairings: bokuto x reader, oikawa x reader, atsumu x reader

a/n: now some show-off babies!! this is the cutest thing to do to your crush i won’t take any criticism (if you’d like to read it, here part 1 and part 3 !!)

Bokuto Koutarou

“he’s really cute”

bokuto overhears totally by accident the conversation you’re having with your friends

and when you call cute the guy on your friend’s phone

he goes immediately into emo mode

don’t you think he’s cute too?

plus that boy is so average, he just has some big tattoos on his arms

and that’s when he comes up with the awful idea of getting one as well

does he have to get a tattoo to make you call him cute??

said and done

the next day he comes to you asking for advice

should he get this big ass dragon on his back or a skull on his shoulder?

”ko, you’re underage and have zero money”

he tells you that he has already found a guy willing to tattoo him for a reasonable price

now you are actually worried that he’s gonna catch some disease in someone’s basement 

”what’s up with you? you never wanted a tattoo before”

”i find them pretty cool now”

”but aren’t you afraid of needles? you ran away when you had to get vaccinated”

oh fuck, right

he was so focused on getting your attention that he totally forgot about that teeny tiny part

he turns so pale at the very thought and you can finally breathe a sigh of relief

”if you really want a tattoo I can give you one”

you take his hand and draw something on it

he doesn’t care at all what the doodle is

his gaze is fixed on your small fingers wrapped around his pinky and ring finger

why are you so cute

”here your free, painless and legal tattoo”

and then he sees the heart

you can bet that when he walks into the gym, he’s shouting to look at his new tattoo

like he’s shoving his hand in everyone’s face

after practice, he searches for a plastic bag in the locker room

”I can’t take a shower if I don’t seal my hand first!!!”

Oikawa Tooru

he’s a lil bitch, we all know that

but you couldn’t imagine how annoying his ass actually is

you agreed on being his tutor when he asked you in the most hopeless way ever

and now you have to spend almost every afternoon with him

he always comes a bit late and calls you a cheesy nickname

”sorry sweetpie”

”I’m late again sunshine, arent’I?”

”hey hot stuff, I’m here”

his excuse is that he knows too many people and, unable to remember the name of everyone, he relies on nicknames

truth be told, he only says those things to you 

and would love if you’d call him some corny name as well

but he’s happy with just watching your cheeks going bright red every time

”okay, i guess my big brain has learned enough for today”

”i’m impressed that you got at least one question right this time”

”you’re such a meanie”

you both start getting your things

”i’ll text you tonight, pumpkin”

again you try to hide your face, sure that even your ears have become red

standing there with a grin, he looks at you getting all flustered

fed up, you take your marker and grab his hand

he jumps at the sudden touch and watches you writing your own name

”maybe this way you won’t forget it”

flicking his forehead, you leave the room

when he looks down he notices the little heart near the name

at practice he waves his hand in the air the entire time waiting for someone to notice 

but of course nobody wants to give him the satisfaction of asking about it

so while his teammates are chatting, he bursts in their conversation

”oh, were you talking about the thing on my hand?? what can i say, people love me so much that they have to claim me”

iwaizumi is now threatening him to rub it off

the next day he arrives oddly on time

“hi heart”

he shows you his hand, where your name faded away but the little draw is still there

Miya Atsumu

the only other student in the library gets up, leaving you two alone

”keep writing”

atsumu’s voice brings you back to reality

usually it’s the other way around

but today you had to wait for him to finish practice and then work together on your project

it’s already dark outside and you’re a bit exhausted

”right, I need to focus”

you try to wake yourself up gently slapping your face

the boy is sneaking glances at you, with a small smile

he pretends to sigh really loudly and dramatically rest his hand on your notebook

you often play with his fingers while studying together

you say that your hands always need to do something and he loves touching you 

so it’s a win-win

sometimes he teases you saying that it’s just an excuse to hold the prettiest hands of the entire school

“Osamu’s hands are nicer”

"....take it back rIGHT NOW”

finally you grab his hand and go back to writing your essay

first, you start playing with his fingers and then tracing the lines engraved onto his palm 

while you focus more this way, he’s suffering because he just can’t think straight

like he’s stuck on the same sentence for the last 10 minutes 

his eyes keep reading but his mind wanders off

for sure now he has memorized the feeling of your hands

but he wants to know how soft your hair is, how smooth your cheeks are, how your lips feel against his

oh your sweet lips

deep in thought, he feels you slightly squeezing his fingers

”i’m so sorry, the pen slipped from my hand”

you are pouting, looking at the little line that there is now on his hand

but before he can reply, you’re already drawing something

”let me fix it”

seeing the little heart, a lovesick expression takes over him

[furiousgoldfish]

Personal post about trauma under the cut, extremely upsetting content, do not read if you had narcissistic parents and don't wanna get triggered, I am very sad and mad and it's hard to talk about this. TW child labor, child torture, brainwashing, death threats, narcissistic abuse.

*

I was a hardworking child, I was happy and excited to work, I wanted to be a part of everything that's being done. I noticed work warranted for people to get respect, food, praise, acceptance, and I wanted to work hard so I too would be a part of that. My family lived in a rural area, they kept animals, grew fields of crops, were always in some sort of construction work, so me always being eager to work was pretty much ideal for them, or you'd think that it was. You'd think that.

I was working eagerly and I realized, that unlike for adults, I don't get respect, praise, acceptance, or sometimes even food. It was for some reason denied to me only. And I was still happy to work because I chased that feeling of personal accomplishment, even if there was no rewards. And again, you'd think this is perfectly convenient and ideal to parents who wanted free labour and to give no recognition or praise in return. You'd think that.

But it wasn't enough for them. Father got this idea to take me out to work with him alone, away from home. I remember the place we went to, only as a place I need burned down to the ground before I could breathe again. It was a demolition-construction of a house, and I don't remember how many time I've been there. All I know is, after first few times, I no longer wanted to go. I begged not to go.

I am guessing my father could not bear the looks of me working happily, or even working silently. Me doing everything I was told was not fun enough for him– so he would give me false instructions. As an easy setup for punishment. I did exactly what I was told, and would get screamed at and beaten up. Then forced to keep working in tears, shaking, terrified, injured, while being further berated. And that was only the start.

Even as a child, I was diligent and responsible about doing work, and I know I was getting things done just fine, because, I was doing the sibling's share of chores too. If siblings were called to work, they would simply mess up on purpose so I would be told to repeat it after them, correctly. Sometimes siblings would have me do it and take the credit, which I didn't mind because working made me feel better about myself. It made me feel useful. My mind was already dissociated from my body to the point where I no longer felt exhaustion, pain, strain, or any physical effect work was having on me. I would get berated and shamed if I showed signs of being tired or strained. So my body disregarded it all.

And yeah, that wasn't enough either. I was still sometimes feeling okay. If I was allowed to work alone, and let my mind wonder, if nobody commented on it I knew it was okay.

So this is where they decided to take a step further and disallow me to feel okay at any point. I was humiliated while working to the point of tears. I'd be ridiculed in front of guests. I could no longer enjoy my own thoughts, but constant criticism, insults, accusations and humiliation was raining down on me at every step. And when I was done, with tremendous effort it took to endure this, I would be told 'It would have been better if you had done nothing.' So my insane effort to endure abuse to get things done, was rendered worthless in a second.

Father kept taking me away to work alone with him, and forced me to listen to his monologues, which I hated, because he was boring, wrong and self-obsessed, but I wasn't allowed to say that, or argue. My silent compliance was never enough. He had to hit me. He had to find something to berate me over. He kept inventing reasons. I would clean his entire garage and he'd move a steel closet I couldn't possibly move and berate me for not cleaning under it.

I had a log thrown into my head, causing a head injury, and I had to keep working. I fell and fractured my shoulder so badly I could barely walk; I was brought to a forest to drag logs around, too heavy for me to lift. I was sometimes orchestrated to get injured; father would start a trailer I was standing on the edge of, and forced me to fall by quickly moving forward just enough. I was still expected to work after that. He hit me with a blunt edge of an axe and berated me for standing there. I was told to 'not expect a lift to the hospital'. I was brought to work while starved, grieving, suicidal. I was lied to about where I was going and what would I be doing, and for how long. I was never allowed to stop working.

And the game of giving me wrong instructions and punishing me for doing it 'wrong' never stopped. I caught on and begged for correct instructions. I would ask to explain, how to do it, to show me, anything. 'HOW OLD are you not to know this? I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO TELL YOU! YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW!' And by his rage, I could tell that if I don't do it any way I knew how, I'd be punished instantly. I had no choice but to try – and of course fail, and feel horribly ashamed for 'deserving to get beat up'. Eventually my brain started shortcircuiting at the simplest tasks, I would mess up because I was in terror. I couldn't think.

At this point, I no longer wished to work for people who would inflict violence on me. And that is when I was quckly informed that if I didn't work, I would be killed. Not in those words. It was 'You have to work if you want to live!' followed by 'We can kick you out and you will starve on the street. Nobody will take you in. There is no place for you. Nobody wants someone like you. You don't deserve to eat if you don't work.' My choices were taken away. If I still refused, the result would be to beat me and force me to work injured, shaking and crying.

All this, for what? I would have been HAPPY to work. I would have been chasing my little daydreams and singing the pokemon tune, and if I was ever praised, I'd be the happiest kid on the block. I was a kid who liked to work. I wanted minimal fairness, minimal acknowledgment. To be a part of the family. Only that.

It just wouldn't do for the narcssistic father. Watching a child be broken, terrified and shaking, crying, ashamed, guilty, working past exhaustion, in injuries, was just too tempting for him to pass up. Even free labor wasn't worth to him as much as the pleasure of child torture. He needed that like it was a drug. What kind of a sick high did he experience, breaking a defenseless kid? What kind of pleasure did it entail, getting someone rid of their natural happiness to work? Was it fun, tearing me into pieces, over and over again? Does he remember it as a delicious, satisfying pleasure? Does he daydream about it? He knew it was wrong; he forced me to stop crying and hide the tears before we went home. 'Don't say anything to your mother.' I was told before being stuffed back in his car.

And now... I can't work. I can't even move sometimes. It was torn away from me. My ability to work was ripped away from my child body when I had no way to defend it or to grab it back and protect what is mine. I can't work anymore. It's terrifying. It terrifies me to not work. Because I was made aware working is the only thing keeping me alive, and capitalism confirms this, so I remain to forever fight with myself about how even if everyone says otherwise, I still deserve to live. Heartbroken, abandoned, with my basic human abilities stripped from me. It doesn't make me deserving to die.

I am so angry and sad. If I had my natural ability to work back, I'd be fine. I would be able to live safely. I wouldn't spiral into feeling like an unworthy member of society. I learned to survive very insecurely like this, but I hate every second of it. To know that instead of this insane uncertainty, anxiety, guilt for being bedridden, guilt for existing and not moving, I could have just found a job, have normal income? I can't bear it. I can't bear knowing this was wrenched away from me, because it was pleasurable to do so, because tearing me into pieces was a fun hobby for people who didn't care if what they were doing to me killed me. And I couldn't have done anything to stop it. And I'm like this now. Unable to take any more torture, unable to endure any more of being triggered, wondering if I would die from lack of resources, or would my body fail permanently in attempts to process all the exhaustion and pain I was dissociated from for my entire childhood.

How was this worth it. How it could have been worth it to anyone, destroying someone's ability to work, only because it's pleasurable. I felt the plan was to work me until I no longer could do it, then kill me. It's what they did to animals. And I was told I was more worthless than an animal. I was called lazy and a monstrous name I can't even translate, that implied I was burdening everyone with my existence.

It was even a bigger punch to my face to realize, after I escaped, that he was profiting from everything I did. That it would have taken money – way more than was ever spent on my survival, to get all that labor done. He was profitting while telling me I was worthless and don't deserve to eat or sleep in his house. He is now renting the place I was broken to help build. I was torn apart and he is still benefiting from it. And I have nothing. Not even a functional body to work with anymore.

I know I'm not the only person who was constantly left alone with narcissists as a child and had this, or worse, done to them. They don't care which pieces of children are left over by the time they're done getting their high. We're only a thing to consume, not living beings, not people, not someone whose life matters. Our pain is food to them. My father readily became a predator who snached his own kid away for torture sessions, and felt proud and fulfilled to turn his own child into a creature who cannot work anymore to survive.

Don't leave children alone with narcissists. I am trying so hard to get better, but facing reality, is this a thing a person gets better from? It's not a bodily harm of once or twice, this was happening for the most majority of my lifetime. It makes sense I cannot move. It makes sense I'm terrified to be triggered into this. It makes sense I can barely bear the reality of it. A person tortured hundreds of times wont just get up and walk away. I can't either. I have to lie here and hope that one day it will get better.

If you read thru all this, and you relate to the parts of this story, know that I am so sorry for what you were put thru. It's devastating and horrenous. If this is how you grew up, it would have been better not to have a family. We all should have been protected from this.

[katsidhe]

could you do 9.10 and 9.13 for episode reviews.

Love your takes btw.

9.10 Final Thoughts

well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend season 9. God I love season 9. buckle in. 

Plenty of what season 9 tries to do with angel drama falls flat, but plenty of it doesn’t. It’s at its strongest when interrogating the ways that the angels are looking for personal purpose, rather than folding themselves into various suit-clad factions. In this episode, we have Gadreel, Abner, and Thaddeus, all with very different takes.

Thaddeus is the most boring of the three—a straightforward narcissist and sadist. (Lucifer will follow in his rockstar-impersonating footsteps in s12. SPN clearly has a dim view of the music industry.) We don’t care when he dies, and we aren’t meant to.

Abner’s found a family, and he’s let go of revenge. He’s clearly found peace and happiness—but it’s stolen.  I’m ambivalent about this. I guess I could take his word that his vessel was abusive and therefore deserves to have been permanently body-snatched, and I guess I could believe him when he says his new family loves him, even though they clearly don’t know what he is or what he’s done. His regard for humanity as something other than a project is… uncertain. Even if everything is as sunny as he explains to Gadreel, there is fundamental selfishness and short-sightedness here. Get what you want, Abner says, and never let go.

Gadreel asks Abner if his vessel is happy. This reveals both Abner’s scorn for his vessel, and Gadreel’s uncomfortable awareness of and respect for Sam (and his bartender vessel, who Gadreel stares at, and who accepts Gadreel back easily).

Gadreel! OF COURSE Gadreel’s gotta be the scapegoat for Lucifer’s release, HAHAHAH. I love him to pieces, oml. Seriously, the Sam parallels could not BE more blatant. I’ve talked about this before, that it makes the earned antipathy between them all the more alarming, all the more visceral. The big sticking point is that Gadreel’s years of pointless torture came prior to his “redemption” arc, rather than as a consequence of it. Gadreel has all of s5 Sam’s despair and helpless anger and self-loathing, all of his drive to set things right at any price, and all of it is amplified by his trauma.

Sam and Gadreel’s relationship is defined by its liminal spaces. Gadreel threatens to tear Sam apart, but he does not, even when he is tortured. He locks Sam away in a dream rather than force him to watch him kill, or to suffer. But when Sam forces Gadreel out, Gadreel leaps instantly on telling Sam he is weak, reciting back Sam’s fears and Gadreel’s own. This reads like Gadreel is aiming quite a lot of his own self-pity and self-hatred at Sam.

Cas’s murderous rage at Gadreel when his identity is revealed is fun. It shows that Heaven’s PR team did a good job, for one thing. But Cas is furious because it’s specifically Lucifer. And the Apocalypse, and all the attendant suffering, his and Dean’s and Sam’s. It’s a personal wrath.

“Stupid for the right reasons…” oh, Cas, your scarcity of positive human role models is showing. Also, Cas’s particular brand of reassurance here isn’t actually something Dean has a problem with. He expresses regret over having been tricked—he says he’s stupid, he says he got played—but he’s never in doubt that his intentions were good. He’s never in doubt that he did the righteous thing. He’s never in doubt that he’d do it again.

Dean apologizes to Cas for barring him from the bunker. (Sam will not receive an apology.) Cas compares what Dean did to Sam to what Cas did by trusting Naomi. There’s a key difference here. Cas’s moral compass is not the problem; it’s his critical thinking skills.

Crowley, Cas, and Dean are a hilarious trio. (Also, I really hope that Cas’s pimpmobile got to Heaven too, like the Impala.)

Crowley being genuinely sorry that Kevin’s gone and his willingness to risk his life to help Sam are the best two moments of the generally weak Crowley-has-human-blood plot line. They feel earned. [also Crowley’s ‘I told Kevin he should’ve run!’ is both accurate, funny, and sad.]

Let’s talk 4.21 parallels! I mean, first, the glaringly obvious: Sam locked down to be purged of something supernatural; Sam suffering; Dean unable to bear Sam’s tortured screams; a very atmospheric fan. Dean walking away.

and then, of course, there’s “at least he dies human.” Right off the bat, Dean tells Cas he’s going to kill Gadreel. Cas, concerned, says that this will kill Sam too; Dean, sounding tortured, says he knows. Now, obviously, Dean doesn’t kill Sam. He doesn’t even get particularly close. But it’s really interesting that this is the first thing Dean brings up! He declares unprompted that he’s ready to kill Sam rather than leave him possessed. Which is both a recapitulation of the save-him-or-kill-him mantra, and an ironic twist on the decision Dean made in 9.01. Then, Dean knew Sam would rather die than be possessed, but had him possessed anyway. Now, Dean has decided instead that Sam must die because he is possessed. Obviously Dean’s opinion on the possessing entity has changed in the meantime: Sam’s hasn’t, but Sam’s isn’t what matters. 

Dean reaches new levels of PEAK IRONY when he declares that Cas should possess Sam too. Cas has to actually point out that Dean can’t, in fact, volunteer Sam’s permission. Because apparently Dean had forgotten, lmaooo. Crowley, on the other hand, is happy to oblige. Dean directs Cas to burn Sam’s tattoo off.

The language of this entire scene is so sexual. I mean, it’s Crowley, of course it is, double entendre is his first language. But this theme recurs again and again. Here it is just more pointed than usual. It is queasy.

Gadreel has Sam trapped in a Dean-type happy place—a hunt with ghouls and cheerleaders, no organic produce to be found. And I don’t think it’s because Gadreel doesn’t understand what Sam likes. I think it’s because Gadreel’s aim was for Sam to feel comfortable, not blissful. It smacks of Hallucifer, just a bit—using the verisimilitude of Dean’s louder moods rather than trying to appeal directly to Sam’s contentment, because of his always questionable, always a question, sense of reality. If things were too smooth, too cheerful, Sam might just be suspicious. Sam is easier to trick by proxy. 

The HORROR of this episode for Sam: Gadreel washing someone’s blood off of Sam’s hands. Crowley pushing needles into his brain. Sam’s body and life as a bargaining chip as Gadreel threatens to kill him, and then as Dean threatens to kill him right back. The quiet heartbreak as Sam remembers Kevin’s death, as he realizes the magnitude of Dean’s betrayal. But the worst part of it, I think, is somehow still Sam’s face when Crowley comes to get him in the dream where Gadreel stashed him. How his expression just crumples as Crowley tells him he is trapped in a lie, that his mindscape is once again a prison, that he truly cannot trust his reality. The sheer devastation of this on top of Sam’s history, plus the knowledge that Dean did this—and he pulls himself together and puts his foot on Gadreel’s neck and casts him OUT anyway. Sam Fucking Winchester.

and then the Bridge Scene. The lighting, the staging… it’s fucking gorgeous. It’s one of those scenes where I knew as I was watching it for the first time, seven years ago, that it was going to be something. I held my breath and still hold my breath. I can’t take my eyes off the way that Sam is shaking slightly, the entire time. The way he can barely meet Dean’s eyes but he does it anyway. He SAYS HIS PIECE, says it clearly, says it with an even tone despite what he’s gone through, despite the holes in his head that were healed seconds ago.

I love the gentleness between Sam and Cas here. I love knowing that 9.11 follows this. I love that there is no question that Cas will leave with Dean—he is staying with Sam, to heal and support him, even after he spent this episode mostly reassuring Dean.

Dean does not start this conversation to apologize. He starts out with the intent to DELIBERATELY egg Sam on: “come on, let’s hear it.” It’s an incitement, because Dean wants Sam to act angry, so that Dean can feel more justified in leaving. Sam does not rise to the bait.

Dean has an excuse for every point Sam has: I had no choice, you were dying, it’s not in me, he saved your life. He says, “I did a bad thing with bad consequences and I would 100% do it again, anyway, bye.”

And then the most infuriating thing: Dean is in the wrong, so he tells the person he’s wronged, ugh, I’m just such an awful poisonous person, I’m going to burn for this. It’s so clearly wrong-headed. Intentional or not, it’s such an obvious invitation for Sam to comfort him that it might well have been embossed. If this were in e.g. season 15, or if the crime he’d committed had been less awful, I can easily hear Sam’s reassurance: no, Dean, I promise you’re a good person, we all make mistakes. It is the most toxic way possible to frame a potential apology.

The textual theme of Dean-as-poison (and, for that matter, the consequence of Kevin’s death vs. the initial crime of the possession) is an intentional muddying of the waters: Crowley, Cas, and Dean himself all bring it up in some fashion, linking some fundamental aspect of Dean himself rather than Dean’s choices to Kevin’s death. Crowley is trying to be cutting; Cas is trying to be supportive; Dean is both excusing himself and camouflaging that fact in his exhausting self-loathing. There is a complicated interplay of what the text says about Dean’s guilt and what it condemns; this pattern continues throughout s9, and reaches its apex in the next several episodes. Dean’s love as a condemning feature rather than a redeeming one is one of my favorite things about SPN, and s9 has it in HIGH gear.

But, here, at least, Sam doesn’t rise to this bait either. “Don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.” The problem is obviously, achingly, exhaustingly clear. Sam’s spelled it out in this very conversation: you tricked me. You lied to me. You got me possessed when I was willing to die. But Dean, and a fair portion of the audience, can’t hear it. So he doesn’t. And they don’t, and they pretend that this line is some sort of puzzle! a cliffhanger on a conversation unfinished! when it was the conclusion, not the beginning.

image that is now inextricable from 9.10

[bakugotrashpanda]

For a Good Time, Call

Dabi x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2724

!!: 18+, oral, hooking up, alcohol

Should you call the number you find? Probably not.

The cool tiles on the wall are a welcomed relief after being stuck in a crowded bar for over an hour. Your friends had dragged you downtown for some local band, and as fun as it is, it’s also exhausting. The only thing separating you from the noise is the bathroom door covered in stickers and graffiti.

It swings open and someone walks in. You check your appearance in the mirror, feigning grooming for just a moment longer in solitude. Figuring that the person doesn’t want an audience while they do their business, you mentally prepare yourself to head back out into the fray.

Just as you’re about to leave, a number scrawled on the wall in silver sharpie catches your eye. For a good time, call xxxxxxxxxx. That isn’t unusual. What is unusual is the reviews other people left of the mystery person. Total tease. Sends dick pics. 4/10 Rude af. The last one made you snort. There’s nothing like getting a text from someone you don’t know when you least expect it to put you in a standoffish mood. Snapping a picture, you open the door and are met with a wave of music. 

“What took you so long?” Jiro asks when you come back. You can barely hear her over the band so you show her a picture of the number. Jiro raises her eyebrows.

“You going to do it?” Jiro shouts. You shrug, but a hint of a smile creeps on your lips. Did you want to do it? Why not? Worst outcome is the person is ‘rude af’. Best outcome is… What would the best outcome be? Hook up? Friend? Something else completely? Best outcome would be not rude.

“How would I approach it?” you lean closer and ask, “Like what if the person turns out to not be my type?”

“Block the number then,” Jiro suggests.

You stew on that for the rest of the evening. Even watching the band and trying to smile and nod along, it’s still in the back of your mind. Did you dare take the risk and text the tease who sends dick pics and is rated four out of ten for being rude?

There’s a small thrill that shoots through your body at the thought of messaging the stranger. Every time you type a message and hover over the send button, your heart does somersaults. 

It’s only at 2 AM when you’re back in your apartment and fueled by liquor that you send a message. 

 Y/N: I was told to call this number for a good time

You stare at your phone and wonder if anyone will respond. The nervous energy of anticipation electrocutes your body, zinging from your toes to your brain and back.

Unknown: What kind of good time are you looking for?

Holy shit. Still have to play this cool. Don’t want to look desperate… Who am I kidding, it’s two in the morning. I already look desperate.

Y/N: What are you offering?

Unknown: Whatever you want

Fuck does he really have to make this hard? 

Y/N: What do I call you?

Unknown: Call me Dabi. but don’t waste my time.

Y/N: It’s two in the morning and you’re texting me back.

Dabi: Touché 

Y/N: Y/N. idk what i’m looking for

Dabi: when you figure out what you want, you know where to find me

 The next morning, you sit in your Critical Theories and Practices course, staring into space. What did you want… For starters, a class not at 8:30 in the morning.

“Uh, hello?” Jiro says, breaking your concentration, “You there?”

“Huh? Yeah,” you say and clear the spot next to you. Jiro plops her notebook down before easing into the chair. Eyeliner smudges under her eye blend with the dark circles from a lack of sleep. You know you look just as rough.

“Coffee?” you ask and push a cup towards her.

“You had time to stop for that?” she laughs but inhales the earthy aroma deeply.

“Not really, but it was either this or sleep in class,” you joke and take a sip of your own drink.

“So,” Jiro raises an eyebrow at you, “Did you do it?”

“Do what?” you respond innocently.

“You know what,” Jiro raps your knuckles lightly with a pencil, “Text the number.”

“I texted him, his name’s Dabi, but that’s all I know,” you lean back in your chair and remember how you spent the early hours of the morning. “Tried to look him up and couldn’t find anything.”

“Wow, you’re actually bothered by this.” Jiro says. Of course you’re bothered, and of course your best friend would pick up on it.

“It’s the thrill, okay? I get a rush every time I text him,” you say defensively and straighten up as the professor walks in, “I don’t know who he is or what he does, or even where he lives!”

“So ask him,” she shrugs and starts taking notes. If it was that simple, you would have done that already. Is it really the electric rush you feel when you text him, or is it something more?

 -

Two in the morning seems to be your go to time for making questionable decisions. The message you typed waits, ready to be sent. 

  Y/N: I know what I want

Would he be up this late again? The phone screen darkens as you wait for a response. Maybe this is a mistake.

Dabi: ?

Y/N: I want to meet you.

He doesn’t reply right away, and the longer you wait, the more anxious you become. What if he didn’t want to meet you? What if he was disappointed when he saw you?

Dabi: why

Y/N: humor me

  After a little back and forth, you end up setting up a meeting at the bar where you found his number. A nice public space where you could let people know where you’d be. 

--

“What can I get ya?” the heavily tattooed bartender asks.

“Surprise me,” you say and look around the bar. You showed up early to scope out the area. Nerves also refused to let you be late.

“Looking for someone?” the bartender asks and sets a drink in front of you. Maybe he knows Dabi and can point him out for you when he gets here. But it’s also none of his business what you’re doing.

“I’m supposed to meet someone here, but I got here a bit early. It’s our first-time meeting in person,” you say nervously. 

“Tinder date?” he asks, a knowing smirk on his face. 

“Sure,” you say, heat creeping up your face. You didn’t want to tell him that it was just some guy whose number you got from a bathroom wall. 

It’s a weeknight, and the bar is unusually quiet, especially for a college town. There’s maybe five other people in the whole place, and other than the bartender, there’s one waitress flitting around.

“Is it always this empty during the week?” you ask the bartender. Anything to get your mind off meeting Dabi.

“Depends. Finals week is usually slammed, but on average there’s more people in here,” the bartender drawls, “I’ve seen you here once or twice before.”

“Yeah, my roommate knew the band that played here a couple days ago. I came so she wouldn’t be alone.” Jiro was too proud to beg you to go, but you knew that if you didn’t, she wasn’t going to.

One drink turned into two, then three, then four. Still, no one approached you at the bar, but your conversation with the bartender helped pass the time. You told Dabi where you were sitting, and now he was an hour late. Jackass probably stood you up. 

“Can I get you anything else?” the bartender asks as he cleans the bar for the umpteenth time. You shake your head.

“How much do I owe?” you ask, trying to keep the sadness from your voice.

“Leaving already?”

“Yeah, he didn’t show, might as well salvage what’s left of the night,” you joke humorlessly. Digging through your wallet, you pull out a credit card. Your phone buzzes and you have half a mind to ignore it, but if it’s Dabi, you want to know what his excuse is.

  Dabi: or maybe i’ve been in front of you the whole time

   Confused, you look around the bar. Couples deep in conversation in hidden corners are too lost in each other to pay any attention to you. The people sitting on their own are lost in their minds and their drinks. The only person looking at you is-

“Dabi?” you ask the bartender hesitantly. He smirks and runs a hand through his black hair with red roots peeking through.

“Guilty,” he purrs. All your emotions sucker punch you at once and send you spiraling through the five stages of grief. There’s no way this man is Dabi. If he was, you would have seen it. But you also knew nothing about Dabi. How could you be so stupid and ask to meet a stranger without learning anything about them? For all you know, he could have been a serial killer and you would’ve been his next victim. Next time you meet someone, you’ll have to be more careful. If this is Dabi, he’s been watching you the whole night. He knows more about you than you do about him. What if he doesn’t like what he’s seen?

Bright turquoise eyes watch you process the information. All in all, you’re sure of two things; the bartender you’ve been chatting with all night is in fact Dabi, and Dabi is hot as fuck. He’s the type of guy your parents tried to get you to stay away from.

“You knew,” you accuse, “I’ve been sitting here for over an hour and you knew I was waiting.”

“Nothing personal, doll,” Dabi shrugs and sets another drink in front of you, “but I like to see the people that want to hook up with me.”

“Do you sleep with everyone who calls you?” you grumble. 

“No, only the cute ones,” he smirks. Your smile falls and suddenly you feel… gross, as if all the interactions with him were now tainted. You did have every intention of sleeping with him, but now… “It’s a joke, relax. Usually I send dick pics for fun, and when they want to meet up, I bring them here to see what they’re like before showing myself.”

“And you get to see what they’re really like,” you catch on. 

“Bingo.” He looks like the cat that got the cream. You take a good look at him this time, now that you know this is the man you’ve been waiting for. Tattoos reach up the pale skin of his neck towards his face, but barely crest over his jawline. A skull surrounded by flames at the jugular notch, where neck meets clavicle spreads beneath his fitted, black shirt. You assume it connects to his sleeve tattoos. Flames peeking out from under his shirt sleeves give way to smoke and clouds. A scaled creature wraps around his biceps and curls down his arms. Smoke turns into crashing waves which meet his wrists. 

Piercings in Dabi’s eyebrow and nose catch the faint light of the bar and reflect back at you. He is a tease, just like what the bathroom said.

“So, what do you make of me?” you ask. 

“You’re not as crazy as the others,” Dabi says bluntly. 

“Gee, thanks,” you roll your eyes. 

“So you must be wild in the bedroom.” There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes. “My shift is over in two hours.”

“I’ll be waiting,” you say. There’s no point in waiting here for him though. You’ll meet him outside. Standing, you gesture to the drinks, “Those are on you. See you outside when you’re done. 

—

The door isn’t even closed before Dabi has you pressed against the wall. Rough lips press hungrily against yours. It’s a bruising kiss that leaves you breathless and your heart pounding. Fingers fumble with pants and shirts as clothes and self-control are thrown to the side. Dabi wastes no time in sinking to his knees, one of your legs hooked over his shoulder. 

Your fingers glide through his hair and urge him closer to where you want him. He resists your pull and teases your entrance with his tongue. Warm metal is sturdy against soft flesh. Fuck, he’s got more piercings.

“You’re a fucking tease!” you gasp. In response, Dabi holds your gaze and flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue. He slides a finger inside and strokes your walls. You grind against his mouth and chase your pleasure, but when you feel the tingling sensation grow, he pulls away. A domineering kiss steals away your complaint, and you can taste your juices on his lips.

“To the couch,” he growls in your ear.

Dabi sits on the couch like a king on a throne, his cock standing ramrod straight. More piercings catch your attention. The thought of him stretching you out has you all but drooling. Straddling him, you sink down on his cock. He lets out a hiss as your nails dig into his shoulders. When you’re finally seated, you set a fast pace. You were so close before, and you’re not about to let your orgasm slip through your fingers.

Dabi’s lips fasten to your neck, leaving dark marks littered on your skin.

“I want everyone to know,” he growls in your ear and thrusts up against you. The sudden movement has you gasping as he hits deep inside you. “As long as you have these marks, you’re mine.”

Without warning, Dabi flips you onto your back. Strong arms push your knees towards your chest as far as they’ll go. Dabi pounds into you and all you can do is sit there and take it while the coil of pleasure tightened in your abdomen.

“D-Dabi,” you sputter breathlessly, “I’m-”

“Come for me,” Dabi groans. The rapid pace begins to slip and you know he’s close too. Relaxing hit tense muscles, the coil snaps and you’re seeing stars. You’re vaguely aware of someone crying out, it must be you?

Dabi grunts and slams into you one final time. Warmth blooms inside you, and in between your cunt clenching around Dabi post-orgasm, you can feel his cock twitch inside you.

The reality of what you did sets in as you come down from your high. You went home with a stranger and fucked him. And I enjoyed every second of it. But where do you go from here? Is it a one-time, quick fuck? Could it become a reliable booty call?

“Stop thinking,” Dabi chuckles as he gets up from the couch. He stretches and you marvel at his body while also feeling the need to cover up. “I can see the wheels in your head turning.”

“I should go,” you say after a lengthy pause.

“You could,” Dabi shrugs and saunters towards a closed door, “Or you could stay. There’s always the bedroom to explore.” You bite your lip and contemplate what you want.

“I should stay,” you say and walk over. Pulling Dabi into a passionate kiss, you bite his lower lip and tug it. Releasing it, you lean in and whisper, “As long as these marks are on me, you are mine.”

A fire burns in Dabi’s eyes and he tugs you into the bedroom.

--

When you wake up in the morning, you’re startled by the unfamiliar surroundings before the night comes crashing back in your mind. Dabi. The other half of the bed is empty, but your clothes are in a heap by the bedroom door. There’s a note on top in scrawling handwriting that reads: If you’re ever looking for a good time, you know where to find me.

--

“Why are we back here?” Jiro asks as you lead her to an empty table at the bar.

“That band with the bassist you think is cute is playing tonight,” you say. Pulling a silver sharpie out of your jacket pocket, you head to the bathroom. Turquoise eyes follow you, and you wink to Dabi as you disappear inside. Finding his phone number on the wall, you add your own rating to the mix. ‘I’d bounce on that dick all night if I could.’

[bakugoshrimp]

Comfort

Where Y/N has a breakdown, and Bakugo helps.

Pairing: Bakugo x Female!Y/N 

Word Count: 1.3k words 

A/N: So uhh, I feel like i took a lot of creative liberties here, but yeahh. This is purely self indulgent and ngl, most likely OOC (Out of Character) Bakugo. It also might seem dramatic considering she had a breakdown over a single grade, but again, it’s purely self-indulgent and yes I imagined this whole thing to calm myself down . Please be nice, but constructive criticism is welcome! Also, I have no clue what universe they’re in but its like a mix between BNHA and our reality lmao. Also I might come back to this and fix up grammatical errors and anything that sounds weird, and change up the title bc I’m extremely uncreative help.

Song: Ribs by Lorde (I’m in a Lorde phase don’t mind me)

It was loud. Loud in your head, loud in your ears, just loud. You tried to stop the feeling of numbness, tried to drown out the screaming thoughts by quickly stuffing your earphones into your ears, and increasing the volume of the music blasting through your earphones, tried to ignore the pain in your heart. 

My mom and dad let me stay home; It drives you crazy, getting old; This dream isn't feeling sweet; We're reeling through the midnight streets;  And I've never felt more alone; It feels so scary, getting old;

You tried to stop the tears from spilling as the meaning of everything just hit you, hit you so hard it just left you reeling, as you tried to reel all the thoughts all the feelings back into your heart, just to get everything to stop. You just wanted everything to stop, you didn't wanna feel hurt anymore; didn't want to feel scared anymore didn't want to feel pain anymore; it was all just so exhausting. 

But your brain wouldn't listen to you; drowning you with the thoughts swirling so fast you can only understand fragments of them. You can barely remember what happened as you ran out of the class, and to your room; lights off as you just curled up under your blanket, cuddling your plushie so hard as you tried, and failed, to keep the tears from falling.

It took him a total of 10 minutes for him to find you. He hadn't missed the heartbroken look on your face when they all received the marks for their weekly biology quizzes at the end of their class; hadn't missed the panic and exhaustion threading through your every movement for the month as you struggled to finish the overwhelming amount of assignments. 

He watched you as you waited until the classroom was empty when you tried to discretely flee to privacy, packing up your stuff as fast as you could, but not before he caught a glimpse of the big fat F scrawled on top. 

Cussing every single teacher under his breath, he jumped out of his seat. He knew you wanted to specialize in biology, and knew every single dream and worry you had, having spent nights just whispering to each other everything on nights you couldn't sleep from everything. 

He quickly followed you, knocking softly on the door to your room before slipping in, closing the door softly behind him because he knows how much you hate to cry in front of others; knows how much you hate showing this one weakness in front of others. You two were a lot alike in that regard. 

Crouching down in front of the bed, he uncovered your tear-stricken face from under the blanket, suppressing a wave of anger at everyone who made you cry. Your eyes were bloodshot, your eyelids swollen from all the tears.

You flinched slightly at the cool air sitting your wet face, a sharp contrast to the suffocatingly humid temperature under the blanket. You already knew who it was, had memorized the sound of his footsteps, but didn't dare to look at him, scared of crying if you do. 

"Why am I such a failure?" your hoarse voice was the only sound in the still room, hands still gripped tightly around your plushie. 

Bakugo chuckled slightly, clambering into your bed and hugged you, your tears wetting his dry shirt. "I ask myself that too, you know. Why are you such a dumbass?" 

A strong rough hand, gently but firmly gripped your chin, making your watery eyes meet his soft and determined crimson eyes. "Y'know, maybe you're a dumbass, but that doesn't make you a failure." 

"But I'm failing everything. This fricking course-"

"Two quizzes and an essay does not mean everything. You still have time, and you will still excel. And you can say f**ck you to those who say otherwise. So you bombed this quiz; that doesn't mean it's the end of the world for you. So many people around the world fail, but those experiences will only make them stronger and more fierce than ever." He said fiercely, fire red eyes burning into yours. "Why do you think we train so much? It's to make us make mistakes, and to learn from them." 

His warm lips touched your forehead in an endearing kiss, and added, "If you want, I can blow them out of the sky for you." 

You let out a watery giggle, and took a shuddering breath, inhaling his caramel scent and cologne. 

"So what do you do now?" Bakugo asked, after a few minutes of quiet contemplation. 

You simply burrowed your head further into his chest, your voice muffled as you said "I don't wanna do anything; I just wanna sleep here with you forever." 

Bakugo threw his head back as he barked out a rough laugh. "You and I know that's not possible, teddy bear. Plus would you let this one puny mark beat you down? Come on, you and I both know you're much stronger than that." 

"No I'm not." was your only reply. 

At that, Bakugo rolled off the bed, snatching the plushie from your arms as he stood up, the sudden loss of his body heat and the comforting weight of said plushie from your arms eliciting a whine. 

"Give it back," you whined, making grabby arms in Bakugo's general direction as you shoved your face into your pillow. 

"Nope, not until you admit to yourself that you're a much stronger person than you give yourself credit for," Bakugo demanded. 

"But that would be lying, and you hate lying." You accused, shooting up and turning around to face him. 

He simply leaned in, close enough that your noses are almost touching. "That's why you wouldn't be lying. Say it, or the stupid ugly thing gets it." To prove his point, tiny explosions crackled off his unoccupied hand.

"Hey!" you protested "it's not stupid nor ugly; it's just old. Stop bullying it." 

"Then say it." 

"Fine. I'm a strong person. Happy?" 

"Say it with conviction and believe in it too, dumbass." 

You let out a deep sigh, rolling your eyes as you said "I'm a strong person, and I won't let some puny stupid marks break me down because I'm much better than that." 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer, he leaned in and pecked your lips as he threw the plushie onto your bed. "Now get up. We have our chem lab report due midnight and I still haven't started mine, and I know you didn't start yours yet." 

You grumbled as you stood up and stretched, "I hate school." 

Bonus:

Bakugo grumbled over the stove, stirring the noodles as a delicious smell wafted around the mini kitchen. You were sitting on the counter nearby, hands wrapped around a mug of hot chocolate (it was originally black tea but Bakugo had swapped it quick so you would be able to sleep tonight), legs swinging slightly as you drifted away in your thoughts.

The explosive blonde turned around, smacking you back to reality with his wooden spoon. “Oi dumbass, stay with me here.”

He was well aware of your ability to dwell on past mistakes, even after your tears were long dried, which was the only reason why he decided to let you bully him into making fried noodles at 11 pm after both of you had successfully submitted your assignments.

You jolted back into reality, blinking at him. “Yeah I’m here don’t worry, ‘Suki”

He merely hmphed before turning to the stove, turning it off before separating the hot food into two different plates. Handing one to you, he gestured to the nearby table with his chin. After both of you finished your meals, a comfortable silence falling between you two as you simply enjoyed each others presence. Scooting your chair loudly to be next to his, you smacked your possibly greasy lips against his cheeks much to his disgust, and laid your head on his shoulder.

“ ’Suki?” you said, earning a questioning hrm from him. “Thank you.”

Ignoring the warm feeling blossoming in his chest, he simply slung an arm around you, pressing his lips to the side of your head in response.