#either by choice or by necessity

[ehlnofay]

I like to think that disability of all kinds is very accepted and accommodated in much of orcish society, given their cultural emphasis on acceptance of the outcast and the socially excluded. Strength is valued, yes, but not only physically or in combat; strength of all kinds is prized, and not at the expense of the weak. Ostracising those with physical or mental limitations is entirely counter-intuitive (making them more vulnerable and so weakening the group) – by accommodating those limitations and supporting the individuals with them, the group as a whole is strengthened.

[hauntingblue]

Justice for jolyne wdym emporio defeated pucci

[thereal-beanbean]

I am going to be FLEXIBLE

I am going to GO WITH THE FLOW

I am going to BEND so that I DO NOT BREAK

[scribblingface]

man I REALLY see what everyone was talking about re: wyll's story in the latter game fucking sucks and is a big disappointment. the whole wyrmway bit had no emotional depth? his decision after killing ansur seems kind of random and sudden? the resolution with his father after I rescued him from the iron throne was pretty lackluster too, and also some of duke ravengard's dialogue was as if wyll had made the second deal with mizora, which he hadn't (I think the fact that he chose to be blade of avernus triggers the dialogue for that, but. he can choose to be blade of avernus after rejecting mizora's deal.)

like, especially in contrast to really emotionally rich and intense storylines like astarion's and karlach's, it's like. come on.

[pocketramblr]

I won't deny the fun angst of an outcast and maligned hero, but there really is something exquisite about the hero loved too much. He is beloved as The One Who Made It Out, he's a symbol of Victory Over Darkness, he's the hope of the land, he's a sign and blessing and miracle from your gods that they still tend to you, he's The One Who Saved Everyone, and if he dies now then everyone does. He's every son that didn't get to grow up, and he's the reasons new ones will know peace, so of course you'd love him like a son. You'd die for him, like a son, like every son combined. But he's not just a son. He's a Hero. And you aren't allowed to die for those. So this hero isn't left, abandoned, betrayed, forgotten or hated. He's the one who must leave, again and again, to always be a hero nothing less nothing more, to not allow himself to be a son, to not allow himself to become something kept safe. Not just because it might be a trap, but because it might be genuine, and the land and the story can't take either.

[transingthoseformers]

Oh Oppy... I've been there. Hell, I am there.

He's having trouble adjusting, and he will continue to have trouble, as it's just such a sudden change to Orion. It's a fucked up feeling, and I feel like this is setting us up for a very emotional scene with his reflection. Because here's the thing: people may treat logic and emotion like antonyms but they aren't. Emotions make sense, emotions are a response. For all intents and purposes, Orion is Orion here, and I would say this is some frame dysphoria tbh. Something screwy is going to happen here real soon, and Ori will be entirely valid on it

[geoffrey]

just read the first snowpiercer comic. that was literally one of the worst things ive ever read

[inaviolentnature]

[limewatt]

jesus fucking christ learning anything about american healthcare makes me so sad and angry. what a fundamental failure to provide a vital service to a populace.

[heartless-curr]

i want to talk about the moment that both made me fall in love with atsushi nakajima as a character, and which made me realize that I was probably going to get obsessed with BSD.

specifically, it was this moment.

words can not describe how important this moment was to me, and how vital this is to both atsushi as a character and his relationship with dazai as a whole.

as someone who is currently living with my abusive parents, this was something that resonated with me a lot — oftentimes, media when attempting to portray abuse (specifically parental abuse) and victims of abuse, does 1 out of 2 things:

1. Tries to justify the abuse and protect the parents — having the kids be okay with the treatment they recieved.

2. Has the kids utterly despise their parents with no shred of good feelings.

And whilst, sure, both of these can happen — and I'm sure there are victims who actually feel like this — it's not the most common response.

Speaking from my own experience — I don't know how to feel about my parents. If they died, I wouldn't know what face to make. I hate them more than anyone else, but at the same time, I grew up with them. I hate them, but I also love them. If they died, I don't know how I'd feel about it. And we get to see Atsushi having that exact breakdown — the elation over the person you hate dying, versus the grief and frustration and confusion. Abuse isn't simple, and feelings aren't simply — your abuser dying isn't something that's clean cut, it comes with a million different conflicting confusing emotions.

And the fact that Atsushi is allowed to have these feelings, is allowed to hate the headmaster, is allowed to grieve without forgiveness, is so important. BSD doesn't try to justify his abuse — it's okay to mourn someone that hurt you even if you don't like them. Their death — or their intentions — don't make forgiveness a necessity.

And even moreso, the fact that he gets explicitly told that regardless of the fact that that abuse was what molded him into the person he is today and has helped him survive, and the fact that the headmaster had good intentions, it was bad and unforgivable, is extremely important.

dazai not forcing atsushi to feel a certain way about his abuser, and encouraging him to mourn without forgiveness and to actually feel, is an incredibly important moment — i doubt that i'm only speaking for myself here when i say that when dealing with these subject matters, these are the types of things we'd like to hear.

the fact that dazai is the character telling atsushi this isn't lost on me, either — considering that earlier on this chapter, he sent ryuunosuke to tell atsushi about the headmaster, and they had this interaction:

everything about this is so fascinating and well written — from atsushi having an extremely realistic breakdown over the death of his abuser, to dazai telling him that he has zero obligation for forgiveness — and the implications that he's aware that what he's done to ryuunosuke is wrong regardless of intentions, is fascinating.

to me, atsushi nakajima has always felt human in a way most protagonists don't — his trauma impacts him, he has complex messy feelings that can't be easily resolved. it's his choice what to do with his emotions, and all others can do is give advice, and let him figure out how to deal with them.

atsushi nakajima crying over the man who simultaneously raised him and made his life a living hell is accurate in a way that almost hurts.

(slightly unrelated, but i sure was accurate with this prediction from a month ago, huh!)

[yandere-daydreams]

your puppy!yuuta got me thinking about being hybrid!sukuna mate🗣️he'd either be regular house cat(probably stray) or a tiger

i did actually want to write a hybrid sukuna piece sometime soon, but,,, he's such a hard character to pin down T-T there's a lot of options, but nothing that really clicks, so if i may present some options for the judges:

Stray Cat!Sukuna, who's the scrappiest, most feral tomcat you've ever met. He's quick to hiss, covered in scars, and yours is the only house he'd ever be seen inside of (and, even then, he'd rather not be seen spending time with a human). He lets himself in through open windows, helps himself to any meat you've got on-hand, and only ever purrs when he's asleep or ""scenting"" an article of your clothing. He's a nuisance of a cat, and even if you wanted to, you'd never be able to get rid of him. If he's going to put up with a human, that human's going to have to be his mate, and that's not a decision he needs your input on.

Tiger!Sukuna, who's less of a predator and more of a king. Most carnivorous hybrids only hunt out of necessity, but not Sukuna - he seems to take joy in cutting down anything that crosses his path. He's a beast, even for a big cat, but around you, he might as well be a housecat - always purring and sprawling across your lap, making sure that you know that he'd rather chew off his own foot than ever dig his teeth into you. It'd be a sweeter sentiment, if you weren't so aware that his kindness doesn't extend to those he feels have spent a little too much time too near to his territory.

Fox!Sukuna, who's as fox-like as they come. He's mischievous at the best of times, but he's more like a trickster spirit than a forest hybrid, always teasing and taking advantage of his kind-hearted, empty-headed rabbit mate. You're always getting stuck in his snares and falling for his silver tongue and somehow, you always end up on your hands and knees, drooling and sobbing as he forces you to take his knot. It's just unfair, but as a smaller prey hybrid, you don't have any other choice but to rely on him. No matter how mean he might be to you, Sukuna always makes sure to take good care of his stupid little mate <3

[autistichalsin]

So I don't usually post all that many Astarion thoughts here, but I have noticed that some people feel that a certain set of lines spawn Astarion and ascended Astarion have in the new evil endings would have been better suited for the other. Namely, after the Dark Urge stabs either of them, Spawn Astarion cries, "I should have killed you when I had the chance!" while Ascended Astarion breaks down into inelegant blubbering, "no! No, this can't be. I can't- you can't- no!"

And I can definitely understand where it might feel like these would be better responses for the other- but I happen to completely disagree.

So, Astarion, first and foremost, is a fear-driven person after what he's been through. Everything- manipulating others, seeking power, lacking empathy- comes from his belief that power is all that matters, the only way to avoid being hurt, and only his quest to become the powerful one at last matters.

Through his friendship or romance (in this case, obviously, romance) with the player, though, he starts to find this being challenged. He sees genuine kindness for the first time. No expectations that he lay down his body to get advantages. No using him. His dignity and boundaries respected for the first time that he can remember. This is set against the backdrop of Cazador and the other spawn. If he kills them and takes Cazador's power, he can become powerful enough to never fear again. But if he doesn't, he can be something more than the game Cazador pulled him into when he made him a spawn.

Your confrontation with Cazador is the moment you either entrench Astarion in this belief, or free him from it. If you let him ascend, he becomes all-powerful- at the cost of believing forever that the world is nothing more than an extended power trip, a system where by necessity there are lower people and higher people and only the strong can be free. And he has finally become the strongest of the strong.

So imagine his surprise when you, who he thought was under his thumb, grab more power than him and kill him just like that. No chance to fight back or use his vampire lord powers. He went through all that, sacrificed the core of who he was- and it still wasn't enough. His one concession to his dog-eat-dog philosophy, his love for you, was the thing that let him die. No wonder, then, that all he can do is babble out something between disbelief, a plea, and a last attempt to assert power over you. He was as powerful as he ever could have hoped to be, and he still lost, cast aside by you as soon as he was no longer useful.

Meanwhile, there's spawn Astarion, weaker in every measure- but free of his belief that power is all that matters. He's fought hard and discarded Cazador entirely- including all the power he offered. He committed himself to becoming better. To experiencing a life where things like happiness and love have just as much of a place as sheer power. And he was enjoying it, too, especially with you at his side.

And then you show him that that was all a lie, that he may very well have made the wrong choice by abandoning all that; for all he knows, you may even have talked him out of the ritual specifically so he would be easier to kill later.

So it's not disbelief and begging. Spawn Astarion actually loved and trusted you and foresook his social-Darwinist beliefs for you; what he feels is raw betrayal. And betrayal gives way to anger rapidly. So instead, he's the one cursing you with his last breath. Lamenting that he let you live at all, let alone falling in love with you.

Ascended Astarion became more powerful but more arrogant, so his reaction is that of someone who can't wrap his head around how this could have happened. Spawn Astarion foresook power for the sake of a real relationship with you, so his reaction is utter fury and betrayal.

[fellshish]

Goddddd good omens is SUCH a queer allegory isn’t it. Crowley’s already been rejected by his family. Thrown out. But he’s out and proud and unapologetically himself and yes that’s part really cool but also part necessity. He’s had to build himself from the ground up and declare who he is and find a place in this world, from the moment he fell he had no other choice. And he’s at peace with that. Now aziraphale. Aziraphale is still Accepted by his family, or — or tolerated. They do sense that he’s different. They frown at what he loves and at his habits. But really choosing — really going for all he is openly and standing up against his family when they’re wrong, it’s going to take some guts, it’s going to take giving up a lot of safety and comfort, and a lot of vulnerability. And any queer person who has ever stood on that ledge, who has ever felt that choice between — what is known, and flawed, but good, in many ways, but also not truly you — and what is new, and scary, and possible rejection — any queer person who’s ever been there and chosen either way will get what aziraphale is facing

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, smut, creampie, fem!reader, rough smut, fingering, semi-public, pro hero Bakugo

A/N: this request got the highest number of votes during the Sinful Sunday poll. Thank you to everyone who voted!

SINFUL SUNDAY MY HERO ACADEMIA & MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

The day had been long, grueling, and sweat-inducing. As a pro hero, keeping in peak physical condition was not just a choice but a necessity. 

The air was thick with the smell of sweat and the faint hint of metal, the rhythmic clanging of weights creating a steady soundtrack to your exertion. 

Bakugo Katsuki, your relentless partner, trainer and one of the top pro heroes, was pushing you harder than ever. His methods were harsh, but you knew they were designed to break your limits and build you up stronger.

"You're slowing down, weakling," Bakugo growled, his voice rough with exertion but tinged with a hint of challenge.

You rolled your eyes, slowly trotting on the treadmill. "I kept up with you for nearly two hours, didn't I? Besides, I think you're just trying to cover up how tired you are."

His eyes flashed with annoyance and something darker, more primal. "Watch your mouth, or I'll show you just how much energy I have left."

Soon, he decided to move to another thing on his to-do list.

You were on the leg press machine, your muscles screaming in protest with each rep. Your tight, grey tank top clung to your sweat-drenched body, the fabric almost translucent against your skin. Every bead of sweat that slid down your nose felt like a drop of fire, a testament to your hard work and determination. Your shorts, snug and form-fitting, accentuated the curve of your ass, catching Bakugo's keen eye every now and then.

"Come on! Push harder!" Bakugo barked, his tone leaving no room for excuses. He stood close, his intense gaze fixed on you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

You gritted your teeth, the burn in your legs almost unbearable. "I'm trying," you managed to gasp out, your breaths coming in ragged bursts.

"Trying isn't enough," he snapped back. "You either do it or you don't. Now give me ten more!"

With a frustrated growl, you summoned every ounce of strength left in you, pushing against the resistance of the machine. Sweat poured off you, dripping onto your décolletage, glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights of the gym. Your body was a study in tension, muscles straining, every fiber of your being focused on completing the set.

"Eight... nine... ten," you counted aloud, finally locking the weights back in place. You collapsed against the seat, your chest heaving, muscles trembling with exhaustion.

Bakugo was immediately in your space, his presence as overwhelming as ever. He crouched down, his face inches from yours, eyes blazing with a mixture of pride and challenge. "You did it," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But you're not done yet. Get up."

You groaned, the thought of more exercise almost unbearable. But you knew better than to argue. Bakugo's training methods were brutal, but they were effective. And you had a point to prove, both to him and to yourself.

He led you to the next station, a set of free weights. "We're gonna work on your shoulders now. I want to see perfect form, or we're starting over. Got it?"

You nodded, gripping the weights with determination. Bakugo's eyes never left you, his scrutiny both motivating and nerve-wracking. As you lifted, you could feel his gaze burning into you.

"Keep your back straight," he instructed, moving closer. His hands brushed against your skin as he adjusted your posture, sending a shiver down your spine. "Good. Now, lift."

You followed his lead, lifting the weights with as much precision as you could muster. Every muscle in your body was on fire, but you refused to back down. 

"That's it. Keep going," he urged, his voice softer now but no less demanding. "I want ten perfect reps."

You lost yourself in the rhythm, each lift a battle against your own limits. The sweat continued to pour, dripping off your chin and landing on your chest, mingling with the fabric of your tank top. 

Finally, you finished the set, dropping the weights with a triumphant gasp. Your body was exhausted, every part of you trembling from the exertion. But there was also a sense of exhilaration, a rush of endorphins that made the pain worth it.

Bakugo stepped closer.

For a moment, you thought he might critique your form again, push you for another round. Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat. "You did great, Y/N," he said quietly, his voice a rough whisper. "But don't think this means I'm going easy on you next time."

You smiled, a sense of accomplishment swelling in your chest. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Suki."

His eyes darkened, a flicker of something more intense passing through them. "Good.”

Before you could respond, Bakugo's lips were on yours, the kiss fierce and demanding. 

You kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands gripping his muscular shoulders, feeling the strength and heat of his body.

He pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your lips. "Shower. Now."

You nodded, unable to form words, your body already responding to the command. The journey to the locker room was a blur, your mind focused solely on the promise of what was to come. 

The familiar scent of sweat and the sterile cleanliness of the gym's showers greeted you as Bakugo practically dragged you inside.

You stripped off your clothes.

Bakugo was quick to follow, his eyes never leaving your body. “Fucking hot as hell,” he commented, licking his lips. 

There was no shyness between you; the raw attraction was too overwhelming to allow for any hesitation. 

Inside the shower, the steam enveloped you both. The water was warm as you stepped under the spray.

Bakugo couldn't help but steal glances at your toned figure, his eyes tracing the contours of your muscles as they flexed beneath your skin. You, in turn, couldn't resist sneaking peeks at his powerful physique, the water sluicing off his rippling muscles.

Bakugo's body was pressing against yours from behind. His hands were rough, calloused from years of hero work. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his broad chest as his lips found the sensitive spot on your neck. 

Bakugo's lips traveled down your neck, nipping and licking at the sensitive spot just below your ear. 

You moaned, your head falling back to give him better access. 

He took full advantage, his tongue tracing a path down to your collarbone before moving further still. His fingers found your hardened nipples, teasing them into peaks as his mouth closed around one, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. 

You gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Bakugo smiled against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast as his hand slid down your body.

Your breath hitched as his calloused fingers brushed against your clit, the sensation almost too much to bear. 

He began to circle the sensitive nub, applying just the right amount of pressure to make you squirm. 

The teasing motions of his fingers had your legs shaking, threatening to give out beneath you.

Sensing that, Bakugo wrapped his strong arm around your waist to support you, his grip possessive and firm. With his free hand, he guided you closer, your bodies now pressed tightly together. 

The feel of his hard cock pressing against your stomach, made you gasp, and you reached out to gently brush the pads of your fingers against his mushroom tip.

He let out a hiss while his fingers continued their expert ministrations, sliding easily through your wet folds. He increased the pressure, his movements more insistent as he focused on rubbing your clit with his thumb while his middle finger teased your entrance. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice a low, husky growl. "You like this, don't ya, bitch?”

You could only nod, your voice lost to the overwhelming sensations. 

He slipped a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right to hit that sweet, spongy spot. 

Your inner, velvety walls clenched around his digits. “Suki,” his name fell on your lips like a mantra.

The intensity of your orgasm was almost too much to handle, your vision blurring as you were consumed by the release. 

Bakugo's mouth found yours once more, swallowing your moans with a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue danced with yours, the kiss wild and unrestrained.

Finally, he slowed, his fingers slipping out of you, leaving you feeling both satisfied and achingly empty. He rested his forehead against yours, his breath ragged. "You look so fucking beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice filled with awe and desire as he brought his fingers up and tapped them against your lips.

Without hesitation, you parted your lips, welcoming his fingers in. The taste of your own, sweet juices on his fingers was intoxicating, a reminder of the pleasure he had just given you. You met his gaze, your eyes dark with desire as you licked his fingers clean, savoring every drop.

Bakugo's eyes flashed with something primal, his breath hitching as he watched you, jerking his cock with a free hand. "Fuck," he muttered, his voice low and rough. "You're gonna be the death of me."

The hot water cascaded down your bodies, washing away the sweat and grime of the training session.

With a fierce kiss, he lifted you up.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, feeling the hard length of his erect cock pressing against your wet folds. Your core throbbed with need, and you rocked your hips, seeking friction. “Shit.” You looked into his crimson eyes, silently giving your consent.

Bakugo's breath was ragged as he reached between you, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance, running it up and down through your folds. "You're gonna regret challenging me," he muttered, his voice thick with desire.

"Oh, Suki," you moaned, his name a plea on your lips.

"Say my name again," he commanded, his voice rough with desire.

"Katsuki," you repeated, your voice trembling as you wrapped your hands around his neck.

With a powerful thrust, he entered you, the sensation both painful and pleasant. The feeling of being filled by him was overwhelming, and you clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders.

You gasped out an "Oi!" as he started moving, thrusting into you, allowing his cock to drag back and forth against your sensitive fold whenever he was withdrawing, feeling your hands grip his shoulders and your breath panting against his neck.

The sound of water, mixed with your moans and his grunts, filled the shower. 

Bakugo's pace was relentless, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. 

"Fuck," Bakugo groaned, his movements becoming more erratic. "You're so tight."

The rock of his hips picked up the pace, thrusting in the heat of your pussy as if you had not fucked in weeks, even though it had only been a day. It just felt too good to be inside you, thrusting and grinding, the slap of his hips against your mound filling the bathroom with lewd sounds. Bakugo grunted. “Yeah, fuck.” He thrust in and out, in and out, feeling your pussy stretching to take his cock, getting wetter and wetter with each of his thrusts.

Katsuki pounded into your cunny with a vengeance releasing his pent-up frustrations with each massive thrust. He grunted and panted as he plowed deeper and harder, slapping his body against yours until suddenly he stiffened as an exquisite, convulsive explosion ripped through him. As he exploded deep into your quivering pussy, he felt your echoing response as your body milked the cum from his cock with the force of your own orgasm.

“Katsuki!” you raked your nails down his shoulders, gasping for air.

Soon, the pro hero felt the second load building up, the tension coiling in his body. He gripped your hips tighter, his movements becoming more erratic. Within a minute, he shot another load of thick cum deep inside your quivering pussy. The sensation of his release sent you spiraling into another orgasm, your body clenching around him as you cried out his name.

“Katsuki!”

You were both breathing heavily, the air thick with the scent of sex. 

Bakugo leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a slow, languid kiss.

When he finally pulled out, a mix of your juices and his cum began to drip down your trembling thighs, leaving a trail of slick, glistening evidence of your shared ecstasy.

After you finally stepped out of the shower, toweling off and getting dressed, you couldn't help but steal glances at Bakugo. 

"Don't get too comfortable, Y/N,” he announced with a smirk, catching your gaze. "We're back in the gym tomorrow. No slacking."

[existentialgaybirdnerd]

Unknown facts about the 141 that even they don't find out from each other until specific circumstances:

Soap knows how to make jewelry, his sisters tricked him into liking it at 10 and it became a hobby he uses to destress. He sells his stuff online or gives it to friends and family for special occasions or just because he wanted to. His specialty is earrings.

His favorite color is purple. Not because he got it from someone else or even because he thought it was genuinely the prettiest color, but because it's a mixture of red and blue, his real favorite colors. He just couldn't pick one so he went with purple for simplicity.

Because his sisters can't sew worth their lives, he learned. It was a necessity, and something he didn't grouch about being "girly" like he jokingly does with the jewelry making sometimes. He thinks everyone regardless of gender or upbringing should know how to sew. Can make an entire outfit just hand sewing, but likes using a handheld sewing machine rather than a desk machine or actually hand sewing. Doesn't make outfits often unless they're gifts.

Has panic attacks. Not because of his time in the military, but because he's had a panic disorder since he was young. Once, he and Ghost get stranded at a safe house for about 2 weeks and he starts thinking about what would happen if they are forced to stay longer. Ghost walks in on him curled up on himself on the side of the bed, breathing so fast it's more of a wheeze than actual air being moved, and comforts him to the best of his ability. He somehow gets out not to touch him, so Ghost sits 2 feet away and starts talking about his life and his family. This was the catalyst for Soap realizing he's been madly in love with Ghost for a long time.

He fell first.

Whenever Ghost gets the chance to, he cooks. This is not a known fact to Soap until they get stranded at a decently stocked safe house with Price and Gaz and he Jerry rigs MREs to taste better.

Ghost likes to grow his fingernails out because to him it's a sign of being healthy. He hates when a nail breaks and tries to resolve any weakness in them to show he's strong and healthy.

He has a (probably) 15 year old pillow he keeps in his bunk. It's a gross color and can be folded so many times, but it's his favorite pillow and he finds he can't sleep well without it. Soap stuffs it full of cut up memory foam when he learns about it and it makes the sleep with it even better. This is the catalyst for Ghost realizing he's madly in love with Soap.

Likes having long hair, hates that he has to crop cut his hair for his work and takes as much time as possible between cuts, thanking the universe that his mask covers his hair because he'd be getting reprimanded often for his choice in how long it gets before he gets it cut.

He fell harder.

Gaz reads romance novels. He likes to make fun of the "my alpha" ones but genuinely gets interested sometimes because he has a habit of putting himself in the MC's shoes.

He likes receiving flowers. One time in secondary school another boy gave him flowers as a prank, this is where he finds out he likes lilies and dahlias the most.

Doesn't like wearing shoes or socks. He's got this thing where something being on his feet feels restrictive, and can't relax unless barefoot.

Doesn't like loud and sudden sounds. Bombs make him nervous and he can compartmentalize around them, but if someone slams something near him when he's relaxing he'll either go into a panic attack or blank out completely. It reminds him of being bullied and abuse more than it does war.

He won the bet on who would be the reason the Ghoap relationship got exposed to them.

Price grabs a newspaper every chance he gets, not because of staying caught up on the news, but because he likes to read and keep his favorite comic strips.

LOVES spicy food, Ghost will walk up to him randomly and hand him a jalapeno or habanero and he'll just crunch it. His favorite takeout when off duty is Indian food. No one said he can HANDLE the spice, just that he likes it.

Always has a bag of skittles on him. One time early on in their friendship Ghost was being mean to himself and refusing to eat more than bare minimum to not die. Being a big man, this means he expended more energy at one point than he had given himself, leading to a black out during a debrief in Price's office. This scared Price so badly until he found out Ghost's blood sugar just bottomed out, now he carries his favorite candy with him. He later adds Reese's for Gaz and twizzlers for Soap.

Price writes a journal every day before going to sleep. He carries a tiny one with him on missions to later transfer into the big one at his bedside table. He confesses his worry for his boys and his observations on their behaviours and likes and dislikes. He keeps a stream of consciousness going on some pages trying to figure out the best way to help if someone has a panic attack in front of him.

He was really hoping his lieutenant was better at stealth while distracted than THAT.

[schattenhonig]

The A in LGBTQIA+ doesn't stand for aspec because they're not repressed!

(please read the disclaimer at the end of this post)

Ummm, excuse me? Would you mind telling me what your definition of repression is, then?

Because I feel repressed when a doctor asks me about my sex life, and if I say I have none, it gets marked down as a symptom without being asked if I suffer from it.

I feel repressed when my gyn tells me I can't get a hysterectomy yet despite losing so much blood on every period that I need to take iron supplements all the time, because I could change my mind about not wanting children (which is a whole other post, I know, but it's most likely linked to sex).

I feel repressed if I can't use dating apps or platforms because my sexuality doesn't even exist there, and the one time I tried, I got called names because I didn't want to meet for because it was clear where this date would go, despite my explicit "what I'm looking for".

I feel repressed when I think about how recently a paragraph was finally abolished in my country that considered sex a vital part of a marriage, basically entitling the spouses to having sex with their partner (both gender neutral, because entitling people to having sex with somebody else by law is wrong. It's basically a rape permission).

I feel repressed when I can't watch any film or show without it being about love and/or sex, no matter if it fits the narrative and furthers the plot.

I feel repressed when I plot my own stories and automatically put a romantic couple in there as main characters, even though I have no idea why this would be important for the plot. Not even my own stories, my own thoughts are mine.

I felt repressed when I was asked accusingly in a relationship if I wasn't missing something before I even knew asexuality as a spectrum was a thing, and having to lie about this being a side effect of my medication instead of genuinely not feeling attracted to someone in this way.

I feel repressed when I can't tell people I'm not sexually attracted to them because they will take this personally no matter how well I explain myself.

I feel repressed when everywhere I look there's advertising relying on naked skin, suggestive posing and objectification. Why are expensive cars still presented by women considered beautiful and tempting? It's not like that's necessary to convince people of spending so much money on a thing that gets you from A to B. Couches with women in smart dresses and high heels. That's not what a normal person looks like on a couch. But the worst is a truck in the town where I live: it's from a small fruit and vegetable stand, so whenever I see it, it comes from the warehouse, delivering groceries. On it is a woman clad in very little, presenting fruit. I'm sorry, but why? Does a misogynistic picture convince you of the necessity to avoid scurvy?

I feel repressed when I tell people and get the answer "you just haven't found the right person yet", because there are two possible assumptions from that point: I'm either not trying hard enough (so it's basically my own fault) or something about me is not right, appalling even (which circles back to I'm not trying hard enough or frames me as a victim of my genetics, upbringing or circumstances to be pitied).

Do not tell me how I feel. Do not try to tell me everything is fine and I shouldn't complain or ask for acknowledgement if everywhere I look, I'm reminded of how odd, how weird and how not normal I am. How much it inconveniences you to even acknowledge my existence, let alone respect any of my traits, views and choices.

And while I can only write from my own asexual point of view, I wrote this with all kinds of flavours of aspec in mind, so I'm explicitly including aromantics, aroace people and every shade of the spectrum in this. Not all my examples may apply to you, but I hope you can find something to relate to.

ETA: please feel free to add your own experiences of repression!