#honestly that is a ridiculous statistic

[rb9]

currently thinking about how max verstappen has only ever taken the chequered flag in a non points scoring position in a red bull f1 car ONE singular time ‼️ do u understand how insane that is ⁉️

[sinni-ok-sessi]

sometimes I look at the (frankly absurd) number of people who have subscribed to Me, Specifically on AO3 and wonder if they feel like they're getting what they signed up for. Apologies to everyone who signed up in my TMA days, I guess? though I suppose I am still delivering on sad, ace-flavoured protagonists ┐⁠(⁠ ⁠˘⁠_⁠˘⁠)⁠┌

[fairuzfan]

This is a ridiculous article that honestly is one of the worst examples of "journalism" I've seen. The identification of bodies means that they were claimed and counted. The unidentified bodies means they didn't meet the requirements for identification (they could be damaged bodies beyond recognition, they don't have people alive to claim the bodies to know who they are exactly because entire families are wiped off the registry, etc). They would know that if they actually examined what "identified" means.

Like it's so ridiculous, there are just so many corpses in Gaza coming all the time that they can't technically identify them. They have bare minimum requirements because they don't want to MISidentify.

Also yes, people are estimating people under the rubble are dead because they can't physically get to them. It's impossible most of the time. The article goes into saying "its hamas' fault but I guess also israel" when Israel literally kills UN workers. UN workers are free to examine, they just CANT because of Israel KILLING them all.

The article says "a competent reporter" will know how to avoid bias but the author themselves are so obviously biased, painting hamas as the main aggressor when it's Israel who is killing THOUSANDS of people. And having the Atlantic publish this excerpt during a massacre of children just hours ago:

To rebut Hamas’s allegations by letting journalists see the war up close would be a calculated risk. Even when conducted legally, war is ugly. It is possible to kill children legally, if for example one is being attacked by an enemy who hides behind them. But the sight of a legally killed child is no less disturbing than the sight of a murdered one. And Israel has discovered that shutting out the press carries its own risks. An infanticide that no one can see is also going to attract suspicion. 

Yeah this is "competent" journalism /sarcasm.

[captainjonnitkessler]

Hello again.

I just saw a very vaguely worded prison abolitionist post talking about how 'if you just make the system better, then the amount of people in jail would shrink' which A) feels rather reform-y for a post starting off talking about how no reform is possible, the system is a lost cause...and B) it feels that these people don't get that there are just assholes out there?

Because it goes on this long rant at the end talking about all the things in the system that would need to be fixed, like helping the homeless, having healthcare focused on the mentally ill, lifting up impoverished communities. And honestly, you know what, sure I approve of all of that...

But then the phrase "Next we tackle sexual assault" is uttered without any context or ideas of how to handle it. And I was like oh for fucks sake... Everything else in this post was like, here's the magic button on how to fix this but then SA is just dropped at the end.

I don't know why prison abolitionists lock up and get defensive when it comes to the question of "what about rapists?" but it seems as though they never fully take it seriously. And while I cannot speak to the full intricacies of the prison abolitionist movement, I'm only starting to be exposed because of someone on my dash I'm considering unfollowing, I can speak to statistics when it comes to sexual assault and incarceration.

Because the fact of the matter is that the vast majority of perpetrators of sexual assault will not go to jail. And so handwaving the idea of the few who have have in fact been incarcerated feels so incredibly dismissive of the hell that survivors have to go through to even get a perpetrator in court. It devalues the incredibly hard work done by the survivor to make sure that the perpetrator doesn't skip off into the sunset.

I don't know, it just got my hackles up. I know too well of how many pupatrators slip through the cracks and of how incredibly hard it is to even get a conviction in the first place. And yet prison abolitionists dismiss even the small percent as an afterthought not worth nuanced discussions.

Sorry for dumping this all into your askbox, it just seems to help to be able to type everything out so it's not just swirling in my head...

The constant pattern I see from prison abolitionists is that someone asks okay, so what are we going to do with the murderers? "Well, if we improve social conditions there won't be as many murderers!" Okay cool. But what are we doing with the remaining murderers? "You know, most murderers aren't even caught, so most of them aren't in jail anyway!" Okay cool. So what are we doing with the murderers we do catch? "You know, putting people in jail doesn't bring the victim back. Most murderers don't murder again!" Okay cool. So what do we do with repeat offenders? "Oh my god, I'm so sick of people constantly asking that question when I've answered it a million times!"

And I think it's because at some point you have to argue either a) you are a genuine prison abolitionist and don't believe serial murderers and rapists should be incarcerated, which is insanely unpopular and will cause 99% of people to stop listening to you, b) some murderers and rapists SHOULD be incarcerated, at which point you are arguing for prison reform and not prison abolition (and this will make you A Liberal, which is the worst thing a person can be), or c) if we solve all of society's problems, nobody will ever commit a violent crime ever again because humans are Good At Heart and only ever do bad things out of necessity or poor social conditions.

I think c) is a ridiculously naive view of the world, held by people who shape their view of reality based on their ideology instead of vice-versa, but it's the most palatable option for a lot of people. So you have to pretend that there's some fixable underlying condition that causes people to rape, because otherwise c) won't work and you're back to the other two options.

So yeah, I think a lot of abolitionists - at least the ones I've interacted with - can come off as though they don't care about victims of crime, because admitting that there are serial perpetrators that will not stop as long as they have access to victims really kind of undercuts the entire abolition argument.

[silcoitus]

Some AO3 statistics that make me happy, with numbers pulled as of today:

Out of 913 Silco/reader fics, I've written 72 of them. So, 1 out of every 13 fics is written by yours truly.

I currently hold the word count record for any Silco/reader fic—finished or unfinished—at 201k words. (Though I see starryeyedspacegirl is closing the gap each week. I might be dethroned in the next few months.)

Some personal milestones

I just passed 100k total hits on all my fics

I'm a little under 13k words away from hitting 600k total words, written over the span of 2.5 years. That's roughly 20k words per month.

Idk why I decided to share. I know it's essentially just me bragging, but it's honestly ridiculous how much writing I have done since the Silco brainrot hit May 8, 2022. For someone that never shared their creative writing online until now, it's been a wild journey for me.

Anyway, thanks for reading, sharing, commenting, and supporting if you have been. I'm having the time of my life and season 2 is just getting the juices flowing even more.

[capseycartwright]

oh my god lorna well, that happened pls pls pls

“Well,” Buck sounded as out of breath as Eddie felt, taking a brief pause before he continued speaking. “That happened.”

Eddie felt – well, sticky. He’d never enjoyed this part – the after, of sex, when the endorphins that raged through your body started to calm down, and you were left sort of just – well, sticky. It was kind of gross, frankly, when the excitement wore off.

“Yeah,” Eddie managed, gaze fixed on the ceiling of his bedroom. He’d missed a spot, when he’d repainted, one corner slightly yellowing compared to the crisp cream of the rest of the paint. He made a mental note to fix it later.

“We should – well, we should talk about it.” Buck’s presence next to him was overwhelming, honestly. Eddie didn’t have the biggest bed in the world – not compared to the utterly ridiculous California king that Buck had in his loft – and they weren’t exactly small people. Buck was huge, actually, broad, and strong and all-encompassing, able to hold Eddie down in a way he hadn’t known he was very much into until an hour before.

Willing his face to return to a normal colour, instead of the bright red it definitely was, there and then, Eddie hummed. “We should.”

“You should start.”

Eddie snapped his head to the side, fixing Buck with a glare. “Why should I start?”

Buck’s smile was devastatingly familiar, a reminder of how well Eddie knew the other man – and a reminder of how they might have just ruined everything, sleeping together. Sex made everything complicated: that much Eddie knew. It had always been the additional level of complication in his and Shannon’s relationship, a sticking plaster for their problems that only ever served to cause more problems.

“You don’t have to,” Buck grinned, propping his head in his hand, unashamed in his nakedness in a way Eddie could only be jealous of, given he was clinging to his thin top-sheet, as if that could hide the fact that he was bare-ass naked in bed with his best friend. “I just wanted you to look at me.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, returning his gaze to the ceiling. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re freaking out,” Buck pointed out.

“And you’re not?”

“Not as much as you, clearly.”

“We just had sex,” Eddie hissed, sheet fisted tightly in his grip as he twisted, looking at Buck. “What else am I supposed to do except freak out?”

“Was it bad?” Buck asked, sounding as though he already knew the answer to that.

(He did – of course he did. Eddie, quiet Eddie Diaz, hadn’t been able to hold in the breathy noises and strangled moans as Buck had touched him, too far gone to be embarrassed about the way his voice had hitched in his throat as he’d begged and pleaded for more. Eddie didn’t beg. Except – well, he clearly did, when it was Buck who’s teeth were grazing against the thin skin of his neck, making him question if God maybe was real, after all.)

Eddie huffed. “You know it wasn’t.”

Buck grinned. “Just making sure. You know, 38% of –“

“If you quote a statistic at me right now, Evan Buckley, I will kick you out of my bed and never let you back in it again.”

Buck instantly quietened. For a second, at least. “Again?” he asked, uncharacteriscally nervous sounding, the confidence of the man who’d pressed finger shaped bruises into the dips of Eddie’s waist gone.

“That’s why I’m freaking out,” Eddie sighed. “Because now I’ve had you, I don’t think I can stop wanting you. And I’ll probably ruin everything, because I think that – I think that if I get to have you, I’ll stop being able to pretend like I’m not in love with you, and then I’ll definitely ruin everything, and – and I really need a shower,” he grumbled, wincing at the sticky feeling plaguing his entire body – or it felt like his entire body, at least.

“I think I can solve a lot of those freak outs,” Buck hummed. “Because I love you, and you’ve got an ensuite.”

“W-what?”

“You’ve got an ensuite,” Buck said. “There’s a shower, like, ten steps away.”

“No – no, the first bit,” Eddie felt like he was about to pass out. Was it insane, to be more nervous now than he had been when Buck had kissed the breath out of him in his kitchen? Because he was – more nervous.

“Oh!” Buck’s eyes lit up. “I love you,” he said, as if it were entirely obvious: as if Eddie should have already known.

“Oh.”

“Is that okay?”

Eddie nodded. “Yeah,” he smiled at Buck. “It’s more than okay.”

“Good,” Buck beamed, pressing a sloppy kiss to Eddie’s gaping mouth. He was sort of still in shock. “I’ll start running that shower.”

He was gone, before Eddie could reply, warbling a song Eddie didn’t recognise in a key it probably wasn’t supposed to be in, the sound of the shower filling Eddie’s otherwise quiet room.

“I love you too,” Eddie called, realising he hadn’t said it yet.

“I love you!” Buck yelled back. “The water is hot, hurry up!”

[decadentpostnacho]

Rant. Trigger warning, r@pe, and sexual assault.

I can say with utmost certainty that I passionately hate all male specimens who try to ridicule and belittle women's very real fear of men. Women are saying confidently and honestly that they would rather encounter bears in the forest than men. And instead of reflecting and asking yourself why that may be, you make fun of them for it.

"My mom got mauled by a bear and wrote a book about it, y'all are just too privileged, so you choose the bear." No, Chad. Use your frontal cortex. You look at least thirty. What happened to your mom happens so rarely that she got a book deal out of it. Do you think every molested and r@ped woman could write and sell a book about that?

"You are just repeating the same points over and over again." Yes. Because they are valid. The real problem is that you don't even seem to get the things we repeat over and over again into your thick skull.

Bears are more likely to leave you in peace than men. Statistically, there are about 40 bear attacks per year. Globally. This is offset by the following, annually, globally: 89 000 femicides. 250 000 rape cases. 433 648 cases of sexual assault.

Junko Furuta, Mary Vincent, Kelly Anne Bates, Anita Cobby.

There's a registered case of men r@ping, killing, and eating a lizard. I repeat, a lizard.

These are the registered cases. How many women don't talk about those experiences?

Sincerely, I would rather be brutally mauled by a bear than encounter a man in the woods, and I'm not even conventionally attractive.

Edit

I forgot to mention this in my fit of anger from before. I have encountered a bear once, while hiking in a wild park in Norway. It came out of the brush, maybe 50 meters away from me, and looked at me for about five to ten seconds before turning around and leaving. That was my wild encounter with a living, breathing brown bear. A very fascinating and incredibly beautiful being I kept a respectful, intimidated distance from.

Now men are a very different thing. Experiences with men on hikes or even just peaceful walks through forests range from ignorance which is very fine, over slightly creepy questions such as "Are you alone here?" to following me for twenty minutes until I had to fucking climb a tree and watch this fucker walk by.

Not all men, no. But enough that women have to worry about every man they encounter being like this. With the bear, I know I'm not supposed to bother it, especially when it has cubs. Men are unpredictable.

[tcwmatchmakingau]

An Awkward Kind of Charm

Pairing: Fives x GN!reader Rating: General Audience (but minors DNI) Summary: Dates always brought out your most nervous, anxious side. You had hoped that going to Right to Love Matchmaking would ease that burden, but now, pacing outside the venue of your first date, you weren't so sure. A.N: I'm just really in love with the idea that Fives likes shy people, I just think they help balance him and in turn he'd bring his love out of their shell. This is a little shorter than my usual work, but I hope you guys like my first take on the matchmaking AU! <;3 Word Count: 1618

Warnings: descriptions of anxiety, spiraling thoughts, and some minor self-deprecation.

"Alright, okay, I can do this!"

You had honestly lost track of how many times you had said that to yourself. It started all the way back at your apartment, as you stared into the mirror and hyped yourself up... and as you stood in your open doorway for a good three minutes. Then it continued on the cab ride here...and while you convinced yourself to climb out of the cab. Now it continued, as you stared at the doors for maker only knew how long.

Dozens of clones and natborns alike had gone inside as you stood frozen in front of the steps. It was an event hosted by Right to Love itself, apparently, there had been such an influx of customers recently, that they had whipped this up: a casual party newcomers could opt in for as their first date with their matches. The idea was that the group setting would make you less nervous, that's why you had agreed when your matchmaker brought it up.

Instead, standing here now, your brain was cooking up 89 different reasons this could go horribly wrong!

What if there were too many people inside? What if your match thought you were boring and sat with his brothers instead? What if you did something stupid in front of not only your date, but his brothers too? What if you mistook your date for one of his brothers?? Oh maker, you would never recover from the guilt of something like that!

"No, stop that, stop spiraling!" you muttered under your breath, making yourself close your eyes and take in a deep breath. In. Out. One, two, three. "I can do this!"

Your eyes shot open, determined as you marched up the steps, put your hand on the door- then turned right on your heel and ran back down.

"I can't do this!"

To stop yourself from marching back to the landing platform for a cab out of there, you started pacing instead. Your clothes were way too tight, your skin too hot and sweaty, even as you pulled your top away from your body and started fanning yourself.

This was ridiculous, the whole point of going to this matchmaking service was to make you less nervous! The thought that you were meeting someone who was statistically supposed to like you was meant to ease your mind, not create new fake scenarios to stress over. Now all you could think about was how you might fail to meet his expectations, this was way too much press-

Just as you were making another turn in your frantic pacing, your body hit something large and firm. You had barely stumbled back before hands were gently gripping your arms.

"Whoa there," the person said, a deep warm chuckle ending the words.

After shaking your head, you righted yourself enough to stare up beyond the firm chest you had run straight into. He was a clone, that much you could tell, like half the others who had already gone inside. He sported a goatee and was smiling at you with warm, dark eyes.

"You okay?" he asked, "You were looking real nervous, even before you bumped into me."

"Oh- I'm so sorry!" you couldn't meet those soft eyes, so instead you stared down at his broad shoulders while your face became an inferno of embarrassment. "I should have been looking where I was going, I wasn't trying to get in your way."

"In my way? Nah, I kinda stepped right into your path, I saw you pacing and wanted to make sure you were okay."

Rather sheepishly, you tilted your gaze back up to his. His smile was less toothy now, but no less warm. "Tha-that was very kind of you," you managed, but that was also the moment you realized he was still holding you, which made your skin heat up even more.

He must have noticed you fidget, because he instantly dropped his hands from your arms and took a small step back. "You still haven't answered my question, you know," he teased.

"What?"

"My question. I asked if you're okay," another deep chuckle, "you look like you're about to jump out of your skin."

"Oh! Oh, I was just trying to calm myself. I'm just really nervous about this date."

"Nervous? Worried your trooper won't be a prince charming?"

You blinked stupidly at him, "Him? No, no I'm nervous about me! I'm a total wreck when meeting new people, especially on dates."

"Ah, I see," he folded his arms over his chest, "so you're just shy?"

"Something like that," despite yourself, you let out a little laugh, feeling just a little of the tension in your shoulder loosen.

The man stroked his goatee with a hum, "What's your dates name? If I know him I can tell you a bit about him. Maybe that would make him seem less like a stranger?"

You were smiling now, it was a sweet offer, whoever this man was, his date was lucky. "Fives- his name, it's Fives. That's all they told me about him."

His eyes went a bit wide, "Fives, really?"

"You know him?"

The hand that had been stroking his goatee was covering his mouth now, "Oh yeah, I know him. Great guy, super funny and charming, brave, a war hero to boot."

Without missing a beat you stomped your foot on the ground, making him jump, "Kriff- of course he is!"

"What? Don't like funny charming war heroes?" he asked, looking just a little wounded.

"Of course I love funny charming guys, that's the problem!" Your feet were moving again, pacing, just like your brain was twirling back into a spiral. "I can't ever get my act together on dates with those types of guys. Which sucks because I'm not this shy all the time! It's only on dates where I overanalyze everything. In a casual, no-expectations setting? I am actually incredibly charming! I'm hilarious and witty and can carry on a conversation just fine! But when I'm on a date? Nope, nada, I'm all flustered and nervous, and everything that comes out of my mouth- if I can manage anything at all, is stuttering nonsense! And it's even worse when the person's a total hottie!! I never get a chance to become my witty, funny, charming self, because I've already scared them away with my awkward stupid self! And-!"

Finally, far far too long into your rambling, you stopped yourself, face hotter than ever,

"And, now" your sigh turned into a tired, defeated laugh, "now I'm standing here keeping a very sweet man from his date because I'm dumping my issues on him. I am so sorry," a wave of your hand towards the entrance, "I don't want to keep you, thank you for checking in on me, it was very kind of you to ask."

You had hoped that he would just nod and be on his way, but instead, the man's grin was wide as he stepped closer to you, his hand holding his chin in mock contemplation.

"Oh don't think I can do that, cyare. Fives would never forgive me if I left you out here alone, you look like you're about ready to take off."

That made your back straighten as you put your hands on your hips, "I don't run, I never run from my dates, I always face it.... I just freak out and overanalyze every cringy thing I did for weeks after I scare them away."

He let out a laugh at that, and it was only then that you noticed he was even closer now. His breath fanned your ear when he leaned in close to you, "You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that to scare me away, cyar'ika."

By the time he leaned back, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, your mouth was hung open, eyes wide. Slowly, the pieces fell into place, especially when you noticed the 5 tattooed on his temple.

You couldn't even meet his eyes as you moved to walk passed him, "Excuse me, I'm going to launch myself into air traffic now."

He- Fives, laughed as he stuck out an arm and scooped you back to your place in front of him. "Didn't you just say you don't run away?"

"Well this hasn't exactly happened on my other dates," you grumbled, "I just info dumped all my issues on the man I'm supposed to be charming!"

He made a dismissive noise then took your arm, tucking it under his own. "Oh, baby, I'm definitely charmed."

"You're teasing me," you failed to keep the slightly petulant tone away as he started walking to the door, arm still secure around you.

"Eh, maybe a little, but I'm not lying. I kinda liked seeing that side of you, lets me know I need to take my time with you. Now, if you get quiet at all during our date, I'll know it's just because you're being awkward, not because you don't like me."

Despite yourself, you found your smile slowly coming back. He was so free and open with his thoughts, it was honestly pretty refreshing, especially with how understanding he was being about the whole thing. He forgot to say 'incredibly sweet' when describing himself earlier. Maybe once you got over your first date awkwardness, you'd joke about holding him accountable for that little charade he played.

"Now, how about we enjoy our first date, cyar'ika. I promise I'll be funny and charming, and give you a chance to do the same."

Your face was still hot, but pleasantly so now, and you leaned into his arm as you said, "I'd really like that, Fives."

[velvetvexations]

honestly i don't understand people who are like "you HAVE to read all these books or anything you say about your experiences is meaningless and unimportant" as someone who not only understands things better but is more easily convinced of things when people can point to real-world experiences and material consequences of phenomena. like if you just say a bunch of shit that sounds good and don't actually give examples or evidence i don't think i have any reason to trust what you're saying and i don't get why it seems to be the exact opposite for these people (people's lived experiences and evidence like statistics don't matter if they're not using the right words to talk about it), it just doesn't make any sense

They're ridiculous clown people who should be laughed at and ridiculed into giving up their terrible clownish behavior.

[sewmice]

"Hey Sewmice, how'd the Tokiya gacha treat you?" BAD

120 pulls and I have nothing to show for it! Not a single UR!!! Which at a 2% rate, is ridiculous!!! I'm washed up on my stats, but I'm pretty sure it's an incredibly low chance to have not gotten a UR by then. Like 8%-9% if I did my math right? Not impossible, but so fucking unlikely. There's a reason why so many games put a 50/50 pity on their 2%'s at 50-100 pulls. SL did 50, right at odds. Genshin has it at 90, right when you hit stupid unlucky territory.

Honestly I could go on a whole rant and am resisting it. I was fine with how the pity worked until now. It's not great. It could be way better. But statistically....you'll probably get the card you want before 200 so it was fine. Because you'll pull a couple URs before then in theory and one of them will probably be what you wanted.

They did not account for the stupid unlucky chance of getting NO URs.

Just....add a 50/50 pity between 50-100 pulls....Let pity carry over maybe? And god raise the amount of tones we can earn.

Maybe then we consider pulling on banners for other boys too! Or our boy's SRs! (Also add more new SRs to banners too. God 1 UR and 1 SR is so annoying)

God I miss everything about Shining Live's rewards and gachas....Aside from having to tier to max cards of course

[radiant-reid]

spencer reid absolutely hates "i hate my wife" jokes. i mean despises them.

someone made a joke like that around him once, ONCE, and he immediately "🤨🤨 why would you say that? thats so disrespectful, dont you love your wife? i love MY wife"

dont even get him started with "the old ball and chain" or "freedom" comments... he rolls his eyes and scoffs so loud

eww those 'jokes' need to be left in 2022. it's just so rude and disrespectful, like why do you hate your wife so much, john ?? and those really disgusting wedding toppers where it's the wife dragging the husband to the alter. if anyone said anything like that to him, he'd lose respect for them so fast

there are so many other lowkey misogynistic/terrible husband things that would disgust him so here's my list

people who make comments about him having only/mostly daughters and say shit like it's "unlucky" he has to deal with so many women, how he had to keep trying to go a boy, comments about how it's going to be a struggle when they become teenagers and he'll have to keep them under control, and anything weird relating to their menstruation

those ridiculous comments about dad's "babysitting" their kids. honestly, he'd be so annoyed with any guy who makes it seem like looking after their kids is a chore

also regarding chores, any guy who brags about how it's his wife's job to do the cooking and cleaning or any other domestic tasks, spencer's not going to be part of the statistic of women doing more housework than men

[randomprose]

"You're more important than god." "You paid attention." "To you? Always."

anyway, that marvelous mrs. maisel scene (s04e08) where bruce tells midge she’s more important than god but make it satosugu.

now posted on ao3!

—

Satoru is monologuing again. 

It’s not something new. Satoru ha sthe inane talent to talk for hours on end when left to it—of which Shoko and Suguru often lets him otherwise…they think he’ll burst? To this day they haven’t really thought about interrupting him. Mostly because they realize early on it’s futile but also because…it would just require too much effort to engage and most of the time they’re exhausted from all the shit Jujutsu Tech makes them do. 

The monologues are usually of the mundane. Often word vomits and infodumps of things Satoru has fallen into a rabbit hole (the history of fastfood, the mating practices of otters, the statistical probability of getting killed by lightning, the rise and fall of cults, and the list goes on and on — last week, it was about genetic mutation and “Suguru, did you know that humans share about 50% of our genes with plants—”) or petty complaints about school, the mission, or how the corner store stopped carrying his favorite flavor of Hi-Chew.

But sometimes the monologues get deep, more academic, and less fun facts-y. It’s usually after a long solo mission. Satoru’s monologues gets philosophical, getting more on more political lately, little existentialistic, rarely nihilistic — those are Suguru’s favorite actually, something about Satoru spitting cynicism just tickles Suguru because it directly contradicts Satoru’s actions and he doesn’t realize it. Or he does and he just wants to run his mouth. Still, it’s honestly hilarious to Suguru. 

Today, it’s about the existence of god and whether or not they are real or man-made and—

“—do you think there really is a god, Suguru? Like just one to rule all? Or are there gods, plural, and factions of people are just stupidly insisting their god is the right god and do you think—”

Suguru, bone-deep exhausted from his own long solo mission and immediately jumping back to teaching his students and also tending to Nanako and Mimiko, is just humming along until something Satoru says catches his attention (something about gods and mortals and “...isn’t being a sorcerer kind of like being a god? If I’m the strongest then I’m—”) and annoys him more than the rest of his drivel does.

“You’re not a god,” Suguru says, annoyed, and Satoru immediately looks like he’s got a retort to that (of course he does, he always does) but then Suguru’s face shifts into something fond, eyes gentle and soft (always so soft when he’s looking at Satoru), and in a tone wholly reverent he says, “You are more important than god.”

“You—” Satoru chokes, entirely unsure how to respond and completely caught off guard at being on the receiving end of such tenderness. “Suguru, you…you paid attention.”

“To you?” The question comes out in a huff, a tiny laugh like Suguru finds Satoru’s surprise ridiculous because the answer is so obvious, it’s a no-brainer. As if there’s anyone else Suguru pays all his attention to.  “Always.”

Satoru, speechless once again, feels heat creep up his spine, his neck, his ears, and—oh, shit. He has to say something before it reaches his cheeks—ah, too late! Suguru’s already laughing, teasing him about being embarassed as he pokes Satoru’s pink and very hot cheeks. Why couldn’t Infinite’s shield be opaque?

“Shut the fuck up! I’m not embarassed! It’s just hot here.”

“It’s autumn, Satoru.”

“Whatever! It’s hot with you all over me like this—I mean! You’re hot—! I mean—Shut up! Get off me!”

Suguru laughs but doesn’t let go of him and Satoru lets him because what else is he supposed to do? Suguru has an arm over his shoulder pressing him to his side in an almost possessive hold that he does not mind in the slightest. 

In this angle, Satoru is free to look at Suguru’s delighted face. He’s still got black circles under his eyes but they’re not as deep or dark as they were compared to the past couple of months. Suguru still looks a little gaunt and his cheeks still looks a bit hollow but nothing Satoru couldn’t fix with his slowly but surely improving cooking skills. He gets lost counting the crinkles in Suguru’s eyes, still shut close as he’s laughing, and the dimples in his cheeks, and Satoru thinks he’ll gladly suffer any humiliation at his expense if it means Suguru can keep laughing so freely.

And what did Suguru say about Satoru not paying attention to him?

“You’re wrong, you know,” Satoru says as Suguru’s laughter dies down. “I do pay attention to you. All the time.” 

Getou Suguru has held Gojo Satoru’s attention since their first meeting in Jujutsu Tech’s first year classroom. 

“No, you don’t.”

“Haaah?” How dare him? What does Satoru have to do, to say, to get it into his thick skull? How can Suguru not know that he basically occupies Satoru’s every waking thought. “Say that again you—”

“You don’t.” Suguru’s tone is light but firm, and it’s not an accusation, but Satoru hears it as one because he’s still guilty about that summer before their third year. He’ll probably be guilty about it forever. “Not the way I do to you.”

It’s not an accusation, but Satoru hears it as if it is and wishes that Suguru will mean it like it is. 

Lost in his soul crushing guilt and remorse, it completely goes over his head that this is, for all intents and purposes, a confession.

“After all, how can someone expect to hold the attention of someone more important than god?” 

Satoru hates that Suguru sounds like he thinks his devotion is a one-sided thing. Shouldn’t he know better by now?

“I should already consider myself to be so luck as to even get a modicum of the great Gojo Satoru’s time.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Satoru mumbles in response because he’s eloquent like that. He sags against him, lets his whole weight slump against Suguru’s and revels at the feeling of his strong built. He remembers a time when Suguru felt too brittle to even touch. Satoru turns to rest his chin on top of a bony shoulder. “You’re wrong, you know? You’re so wrong you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?”

Suguru’s head is turned to him. If he angles just right and lifts himself a little he could easily kiss him. Satoru wants to kiss him so badly.

“You really don’t.” 

Suguru just hums in that way of his that means his indulging Satoru. Always indulging Satoru

“But that’s okay, you know? That you don’t pay attention to me as much as I do you.” 

‘No, it’s not,’ Satoru thinks and resolves to remedy that immediately, mind already whirring thinking up of over a hundred thousand ways to prove to Suguru how wrong he is. Satoru likes being right after all, especially when it’s against Suguru.

And then Suguru hits him with—

“That just means I get to look at you more without you being annoyingly smug about it,” Suguru finishes with that stupidly devastating pretty boy smile of his. He’s so, so pretty Satoru wants to fucking die.

“That’s—” Satoru clears his throat and narrows his eyes into a glare. He refuses to be rendered speechless by this oblivious fool once more in just a span of roughly ten minutes. “Skill-issue. It’s not my fault you get shy and can’t handle me in all my dazzling glory, but do feel free to indulge.” He lets out a put-upon sigh. “I promise to not be too smug about it when I catch you looking I guess.”

“Why, thank you, oh gracious honored one.”

The problem with Suguru, much to Satoru’s eternal chagrin, is that he doesn’t know that he can look at him wherever, whenever, and Satoru honestly wouldn't ever mind. Not even the slightest. And of course he’d be smug about it, but Suguru should know he shouldn’t be deterred by that! What was he supposed to do? Not bask in the warm glow of Suguru’s attention? When he’s fussing and fretting over him, does he expect Satoru to bat him away and tell him to stop?  

“You know I’m just thinking aloud, right?” Satoru says after awhile of just sitting together. “As in, I’m just making conversations. I don’t actually think I’m more important than god, or any god for that matter, you know.”

“To me you are,” Suguru responds without missing a beat.

Fuck him. Truly. He’s just full of lines today, huh? Satoru expected him to respond in jest. Something along the lines of ‘Oh? So, what? You were just talking out of your ass?’ and then they’ll return to ribbing each other because Satoru knows how to reply to that. It’s easy, it’s routine, it’s what they do. But Suguru today seems hell bent on making Satoru’s heart jump out of his chest because what was he even supposed to say to that? When someone tells you that you’re more important than god to them, what do you even say? Does anyone know?!

“I—Shit. Wait. Let me just—” Satoru turns his head the other way and tries to pull away to try and collect his thoughts but Suguru’s arm around his waist won’t let him. “Fucking hell, man. What was that all about?”

Fuck. Shit. Whose idea was it for them to sit outside in the field? And why is it so damn hot suddenly? It’s fucking autumn and it looked like it was going to rain when they first sat. Suguru’s heavy arm around him and the way he’s closing in is definitely not helping. 

“What was what?”

“That!” Indignation is clear and high in Satoru’s voice and no he did not keen when Suguru pulls him back to his side and bends down to peer at Satoru’s now clearly red face. “Will you stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Being all smooth and shit!”

“You think I’m being smooth?”

Suguru smirks, all boyish charm and—oh, mmm, fuck. Satoru thinks his heart just skipped a beat. Godfucking damn him.

“Stop fucking with me, Suguru.” Satoryu lets his glasses slip down his nose to level Suguru with a glare. “I mean it.”

“Are you kidding?” Sugura laughs—the damn fucker laughs! “Why would I stop when that’s all I’ve been wanting to do since we first met!”

His words don’t sink in at first and Satoru’s first reaction was anger as he tries to get away from Suguru’s hold for real this time.

“Hah? You trying to pick a fight now? What the fu—”

But Suguru just keeps him in place, waits for the moment his words finally register, and watches as Satoru’s brain short circuit in real time.

“Wait. What do you—Are you—?”

“I’m not trying to be smooth, Satoru.” The hand on his waist feels like a vice grip and Satoru swallows the embarrassing sound he nearly lets out when Suguru’s grip tightens. “I meant every word I said.”

“What the—Are you saying you—me?” Suguru is being so intense right now, it’s messing all of Satoru’s higher brain capacities. He’s in so much disbelief he can’t even say the word. “You—me?”

“Yes. Me. You. You and me. Us.” Suguru rolls his eyes and his voice is exasperated but fond. Always so fond when it comes to Satoru. “What part of me saying you’re more important to me than god did you not understand?”

“I—” Satoru looks down at his hands. He feels his glasses slipping further but it doesn’t cross his mind to push it back up. Suguru’s words are ringing in his head, and like the first time he said it, he still doesn’t know what to say to that. He says this as much. “I…I really don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“I feel like I should though. Say something. Or…or like…do something.”

“Well, since you don’t know what to say, what do you want to do then?”

Satoru looks up—at Suguru’s boyishly handsome face, his gentle eyes patiently waiting for Satoru’s next move, at his lips that are just…there, arched in a soft smile, wry and quirked up unevenly just a little to the right, and knows immediately what he wants to do.

“This.” 

And he leans in for a kiss.

He could feel Suguru smiling against his lips. Warm and soft and sweet because he’s been using the lip balm Satoru had bought for the twins in one of his trips but they said they didn’t like the flavor (who doesn’t like coconut? Suguru is not raising does kids right—). And it’s like Suguru just feels he’s thinking of something else because he licks at the seam of Satoru’s lips, bringing up a hand up to cup at his cheek. Satoru opens up easily and his tongue immediately tastes coffee, mint, and tobacco—a flavor profile distinctly Suguru—and he knows that Suguru is tasting the watermelon lollipop he’s just been sucking on earlier.

Ever the one with better self-control, Suguru is the one who pulls away first, but he makes up for it by planting one, two, three chaste kisses on Satoru to chase away his pouting.

“Ah, good response. Perfect even. A+ overall. Ten over ten.”

“Oh, shut up.” Satoru drops his forehead on Suguru’s shoulder, hits him weakly on the chest, and smiles when he feels his shoulder shake in laughter. “You know you’re important to me too, right? My one and only. I don’t want anyone else but you, Suguru. You’re it for me. I hope you know that.”

“I know.”

“So. Can I kiss you again?” Satoru lifts his head up, hopeful. 

“Satoru,” Suguru sighs and Satoru marvels at how his name sounds like something holy coming from his lips. “You don’t ever have to ask.”

--

edit: now posted on ao3! i did some editing and added some more dialogues at the end hehe

[hauntingofhouses]

i think fandoms can be soooo ridiculous a lot of the time (see: all the nonsensical fan wars, discourse, etc) but i cannot understate how much i actually love fandoms.

like yeah it may be super nerdy and even cringe and outsiders look at it like "why tf do you care about these fictional characters so much?"

but 1) my field is literally..... literary studies..... in which all i do is study fiction and analyse it like an insane person, and 2) even if that WASN'T my field, thinking about the stories we consume is important even for any person to do, because thinking about stories exercises our brain to think critically!! why do you think our ancestors used stories as a medium to share knowledge, to propagate moral values and lessons? stories—telling them, thinking about what they're saying, and caring about the characters within them—are all inherent to the human experience!!!

so that brings me to fandom. because we are literally just making these little communities with each other based on our shared love for a particular story, and for a particular character or theme within them that resonated with us, or whatever. we're all here because we loved a thing so much that we built connections from it!!!

like yeah my irl friends laugh at me when i tell them i write fanfic, cuz ha ha what a nerd what a loser etc, but dude. i made genuine real friendships from fandom alone. from just obsessing over two characters we thought were cute together, we've gone to sending each other gifts and postcards and having voice calls and confiding in each other and sharing parts of us and our personal lives and our cultures (cuz we're all from different countries) with each other! like now i don't even share a fandom with most of my old fandom friends anymore but we still stick by each other and that's amazing???

also like, i cannot emphasise enough how amazing and encouraging it is to share your craft (art/writing/etc) with others in fandom. because for example if i make my own personal art or write my own original work, i'd have no one to share it to, no one interested to see it, and thus no one will be there to provide feedback or encouragement.

but if i post a piece of fan art or fanfic, people actually do see the work i post and care about the craft and the content it's depicting and even share their thoughts on it and that ??? is so motivating and lovely ??? because even though i make art for myself, art is still meant to be shared and seen at the end of the day—even if only with one person. so to be given the means of sharing our art in such a way, to have such a community that fosters so much creativity, it's amazing. i don't really get that anywhere else.

and especially to have this in like, a casual setting, you know, where you can just be yourself and do things according to your own time and energy without the pretenses of professionalism and a perfectly curated resume or portfolio, and all the confines of a rigid work schedule, which would all make the process of creation less fun and less genuine, and instead just more taxing and chore-like.

because fandom is essentially meant to be about doing what's fun for you! it's about sharing your creations and enjoying what others share with you. you make friends and you go ham with it.

and also it's why it's more frustrating when people take things too seriously and legitimately get upset over assumptions of other people's beliefs and hold the most minor grievances that could only be felt if you're like, chronically online.

but on that note, there are definitely still honest-to-god bad people in fandom spaces too (see: racists, TERFS, homophobes, groomers, harassers, etc). but that's the case with all communities, because bad people are always going to exist, and thus statistically speaking, the bigger a group or community is, higher chances are there's gonna be some awful people in there. but honestly that is its own can of worms and also that's not what this post is about, but i felt it necessary to address because i don't want to paint fandom as like, the best thing ever in the world, because fandom spaces are incredibly flawed, as everything is.

but i've always been one to appreciate things despite its flaws. and though this may be very personal to me, when i love things so much, i am still willing to stick around and try to change the culture around it in the ways that i can (like promoting internet safety measures, creating safe spaces for thoughtful and polite discussion, raising awareness on harmful stereotypes and fandom depictions or opinions, etc).

so regardless of the bullshit that online fandom spaces tend to perpetuate, i do very much still love the way that fandom allows me to connect with folks over something as silly as our little blorbos, and from there end up making life-long friends, or at the very least new acquaintances. insert reinforcement of my thesis statement about stories fostering human connection here. the end. send post.

[stillarandom-radfem]

Men, having a superiority complex is not the same thing as being actually superior, and actual hard evidence disputes that notion you have about yourselves all the goddamn time. Shall we take a good, hard look at it?

Men are statistically responsible for 99% of all violent crimes, and 98% of all sex crimes. Yes, that includes sex crimes against men.

All wars in human history were started by men.

Men did not invent everything. In fact, in many cases, a male stole credit for a woman's accomplishments when it comes to invention and ingenuity. I could probably compile a list of female inventors and their accomplishments, if anyone is interested.

Nor did men create everything of beauty or academic interest. In fact, many famous books were either ghostwritten by the authors' wives or stolen directly from their diaries, and many famous male artists copied their style directly from female artists of their time. I could probably compile a list of these women, too.

Ditto, again, with regard to scientific discoveries made by women. You guys really just have a knack for stealing our shit, don't you? What's the matter? Are your piddly little male brains just too nonfunctional to come up with anything useful on your own?

Speaking of which, there is exactly zero hard evidence that proves women's brains to be in any way deficient in comparison to men's. In fact, the whole notion of brain sex has been debunked about a million times over. So, I guess it must just be laziness and willful stupidity that explains why men can't seem to come up with anything useful on their own.

Women are better drivers than men. No, I'm serious. We get into fewer accidents. That's the whole reason why our car insurance rates are typically lower than men's are.

Women are currently getting more college degrees, and more advanced degrees, than men are. So, while brain sex may well be a myth, we certainly seem to be a lot better educated than you are on the whole.

The X chromosome is much bigger, hardier, and healthier than the Y chromosome, which means that female fetuses/babies are much hardier and more likely to survive in times of struggle, and women also live much longer than men on the whole. And, of course, vice versa: male babies are less likely to survive a stressful pregnancy, and males tend to die much younger than women do thanks to their deficient Y chromosome. In fact, according to science, the Y chromosome is slowly going extinct.

Honestly, gentlemen, the more I learn about this stuff, the more self-evident the reason becomes about why you keep making ridiculous superiority claims without offering any kind of supporting evidence. It's because such evidence does not exist. There is only hard evidence of female superiority, not male superiority. Yes, I said it. You are not superior; we are. Seethe and cope.

[eryiss]

Summary: Laxus had quickly written off his college roommate. He didn’t party, didn’t go out, and didn’t do anything but study. All it would take was an unfair professor, a lot of door slamming, and the perfect prank to show Laxus how wrong he could be about a man who slept only six feet away.

Notes: Hey all. Welcome to Fraxus week. Head over to @fuckyeahfraxus to see all the posts. There’s no real theme between my fics this year, but there’s a tone of rebellion. Hope you enjoy.

Links: Ao3, Event Masterlist

Six Feet Away

December - 1987

Laxus' tapping of his pen was interrupted when the door was yanked open and slammed shut. He raised an eyebrow, kicked his chair back away from his desk and swivelled around to see the source of the noise. There was only one person it could have been, but the idea of him slamming any door was so ridiculous that…

No. It was him. Freed Justine – preppy, up tight, rule following Freed Justine – had just slammed a door.

He and Laxus looked at each other for a moment. Despite sharing a dorm room for just over three months, they hadn't exactly become friends. Or had a conversation longer than one minute, honestly. They were different people; Laxus was on an athletic scholarship and was working his way onto being the next star quarterback, while attending every party that he could. Freed, on the other hand, was a math student, or something like that; Laxus was pretty sure about that. He'd never asked what Freed was studying, but a guy like that wasn't going to be taking any of the good classes, was he? It was either math or science.

Either way, they weren't close. But there were a few things he knew about Freed he'd gathered through osmosis, and one of them was that he didn't ruffle feathers. At all. For Laxus, it had been a pretty good quality; an unobtrusive roommate was ideal. So to have him slam the door loud enough for the entire building to hear, was not expected.

"You okay-"

"Five professors," Freed snapped, voice holding more emotion than it ever had before. "Five individual professors looked at it and gave it the same grade. There was no conferring, no knowledge of what I was doing, and they all agreed."

Watching as Freed paced around their small room, Laxus spoke with hesitance. "Agreed on what?"

Freed approached Laxus' desk, slammed a small stack of paper on it, then went back to pacing. The papers, Laxus saw after picking them up, were five copies of the same essay. It was an analysis of a Hitchcock film – Freed was a film student? – and at the end of them all lay a good grade and a small summary of thoughts. The grading on each essay was written in different handwriting but seemed to broadly agree on the quality of the work. Laxus looked back to Freed, who was clearly expecting him to join in his outrage.

"I'm gonna need a little context."

"That bastard," Freed spat, gesturing towards the main building of their college. "Every professor in the film department read my work and agreed it was almost perfect. Every one of them concurred. Except for my actual professor, who failed me."

Another, smaller stack of paper was thrown onto his desk. It was the same essay, though obviously handwritten rather than being a product of the xerox machine, and with a very different grade written on the top. Practically every other sentence had feedback scribbled onto it, and none of it was positive. Laxus actually hissed out a breath after reading some of it, and thanked his past self for choosing courses that were entirely fact based rather than up for interpretation. Pre-Med and statistics were boring as hell, but at least he didn't deal with feedback like this.

On the last page, a thought struck him, and he wheeled his chair back so he could get into his desk drawer. It took him a moment to rifle through the files before he found his welcoming packet. Included in it were letters from the board of directors, giving the usual crap about how college is an amazing time, but they need to focus on studying. He pulled out one letter, compared the handwriting, and had his suspicions confirmed.

"You got Jose Porla, huh?"

"Yes," Freed stopped pacing. "Why, is he known for miss marking?"

"Not that exactly, but he plays favourites," Laxus shrugged. "He used to be on the board but got demoted after he was found giving dumbass students scholarships because he liked the families, so they pawned him off on some classes that nobody cared about," He cringed. "No offence. You didn't hear?"

"No. Why wasn't he fired?"

"Gives a lot of money, can't afford to totally piss him off," Laxus shrugged. "He doing it to your whole class, or just you?"

Freed didn't answer the question, but the tenseness of his jaw was enough to jump to an answer. "So, to conclude, my teacher has engaged in a known scandal, but has all but bribed himself into a position of tenure. To add to that, he's decided that I'll be his personal whipping boy for the year, and there's nothing I can do about it?"

Laxus clicked his tongue. "I could give you directions to the gym, so you can burn the energy off?"

Freed actually growled, turned, and stormed out the room. Laxus whistled and went back to looking at his own work.

Two Weeks Later

Laxus had taken a pretty good nap when the door clattered open and nearly slammed into straight his head. He shot upwards on instinct, his covers pooling at the waist as he looked on. Freed, after two unsettling weeks of not mentioning the incident, looked furious again. Even more furious this time if it were possible. A stack of papers was flung at Laxus as he blinked away the sleep, and he looked down and winced at what was scribbled at the top.

'Abject failure.'

"That counts to my final grade of the year," Freed snapped. "He graded it un-markable."

"That's bullshit," Laxus agreed, voice grumbling. "You should do something about it."

"Like what?" Freed huffed and collapsed into his own bed. "I've looked into lodging an official complaint against him, but the consensus of everyone I've spoken with is that it won't change anything, and if he found out about it then he'd only make things worse. There's going to the press, of course, but social pressure can only do so much so quickly, and he can more than destroy by GPA before anyone starts listening."

"Maybe try another kind of pushback."

"Like what?" Freed demanded.

Laxus thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Nothing you'd wanna do."

"Tell me."

"You ain't gonna do it, you ain't the type," Laxus ran a hand through his hair, his tired mind missing the quick glance Freed gave his flexed bicep. "But, maybe go below the belt. He's only doing this shit because he thinks he can get away with it. Just because you can't get him fired doesn't mean you can't get him off your back. If I was on the field and some guy kept giving me trouble for no reason, and was fucking up my game, then I'd punch the bastard. I'd get a penalty, but he'd know not to keep pushing me because it wouldn't end well for him," Laxus shrugged and looked over to Freed. He was met with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"Field?"

"I'm a footballer," Laxus said slowly, because surely Freed knew. "I'm the quarterback. The guy who-"

"I know football terms, I quite enjoy it actually," Freed countered, and the idea of Freed being a football fan didn't fit with Laxus' image of him at all. The thought of him screaming as part of the crowd seemed impossible. But Freed could show passion when pissed off; maybe when supporting a team, that side of him might come out too. "I just didn't know you were on the team. I assumed it would be more," his eyes glanced around the room. "Obvious."

"You thought I'd have jerseys and flags on every surface?" Laxus grinned.

"That, or the cheerleaders."

"Cheerleaders ain't my thing," Laxus said before thinking. He quickly amended himself. "Not the ones we've got, anyway."

Technically it was true, too. Some colleges had started to allow guys to join the cheer teams, and they always were hot. Freed clearly didn't notice Laxus' shot of panic and his amendment, and instead turned the topic back to Laxus. "I haven't had the time to go to any games."

"Really? You don't do anything."

It was a rude thing to say, and Laxus could see Freed's eyes snap onto him before he could take it back. "There's a reason I prioritise my studies, just as there's a reason why I can't enter into a pissing contest with my professor."

It was probably meant to be mysterious enough to not encourage any further questions. Laxus didn't work like that. "And that reason is?"

As expected, Freed hadn't anticipated any further questions, and perhaps that shock led him to answer. "There are… terms to my enrolment here." Again, Freed seemed to think that this was enough. Laxus kept looking at him until he continued. "My high school had a senior pranking tradition. It was meant to be harmless, but there was one student – Jackal – was cruel beyond excuse. I decided to get some payback on behalf of his victims. Some people thought I took things too hard, and as such my place here is only allowed if I keep my head low and my grades up."

"What did you do to him?" Laxus asked, curious.

"There's a basic chemistry experiment called Elephant's Toothpaste. It creates an expanse foam, you've probably heard of it? I sent a note to him to go to a certain storeroom which wasn't used, and set up a trap so sort," Laxus saw a grin splinter onto Freed's face. "The moment he walked in, a cord was pulled and a version of the Elephant's Toothpaste – a much larger version – exploded. It was harmless, and only made a mess of him, but he didn't take kindly to it. He also didn't like the stink bomb that I threw in after him."

Laxus snorted. That would have sucked, but it wasn't all that bad as pranks went. It also sounded slightly familiar. "Not as bad as it could have been?"

"Well, I think the aftermath is what really set things off," Freed laughed. Had Laxus ever heard him laugh before? "As I said, he was angry. People were laughing at him, which made it worse. He got to the parking lot and must have snapped, because he picked up a stone and started to smash his own car up with it. He looked deranged, actually. He then moved onto the next car, which happened to be the principals."

"Shit."

"Yes, but that's still not the worst of it," Freed smiled. "You see, he really was awful. Everyone hated him, and so I thought it fair that the entire school enjoy his embarrassment. I'm a film student, I have a video camera, so I thought I would record it and make a few copies to hand around school. What I didn't-"

"Holy shit that was you!" Laxus leapt up, grinning and gawping at Freed simultaneously. "That video was on the national news. People said our generation were influenced by satan because of it. It was you!"

"You can see how people think it got out of hand," Freed said, burying his face into his hand.

"Dude, that was badass. You got a load of old fucks pissing their pants on the news. And apparently the guy deserved to look like a dick too." He clasped Freed on the shoulder with a wide grin. "I mean, you've kinda shot yourself in the foot, but if people found out that was you, you'd be a campus legend. Pretty much anyone would defend you."

"Anyone other than the people who could expel me, I suspect," Freed sighed his words, then stood up. "You don't mind if I use the shower, do you? I think I need some time to think?"

"Sure, go ahead."

Freed walked into their shared bathroom, and Laxus watched him go. After a moment, when he heard the water hitting the shower floor, he closed his eyes and thought back to the video that had been on every news station for about a week. The student – Jackal – had looked like a total jackass. The prank was pure brilliance, Laxus had thought that even before he knew about the stink bomb. It was hard to reconcile with the realisation that Freed had been the person behind it.

Just weeks ago, Laxus had written Freed off the personification of a boring middle manager. But, there was something about Freed's eyes when he was talking about the prank. A sort of manic delight at the memory. That was why Laxus believed him; you couldn't fake something like that. He wondered what Freed was like in high school, before the threat of expulsion. Was he a punk? Laxus could kind of imagine it.

He'd look hot in a leather jacket, a stray thought suggested.

That didn't matter, for two reasons. One: Freed wasn't going to show any of his possible punk side so long as he was under Jose's thumb. Two: Laxus wasn't going to risk his position in school by going after a guy. He was an athlete, would be joining a frat next year, and needed college to work for him. Frat boys and athletes don't date men, no matter how manic their eyes looked.

Three Days Later

"I've got an idea," Laxus said as he walked into their dorm room. A large whiteboard and stand clattered behind him as he dragged it into the room and set it up in the small amount of space that was left unused. Freed looked up from his desk, face crunching.

"How quaint, an athlete using his mind," He deadpanned, obviously joking.

"Keep making those jokes and I'm gonna start playing the part of a dumbass jock bully, and then you'll regret it," Laxus grinned and looked over his shoulder. "Unless, o' course, you wanna be hanging from the flagpole by your underwear."

"I've always wondered about the mechanics of that. Surely, they'd tear, and what would you actually hook them onto? Not the rope, surely," Freed mused, and Laxus breathed out a laugh. He and Freed had been talking to each other and the more Laxus listened to him, the more he liked him. Talking with Freed was always surreal. He was a weird guy, but not bad. "Anyway, hardly the point. What do you mean you've had an idea?"

"On how you can get payback on Jose without getting in trouble," Laxus grinned, turning and writing 'Prank Ideas' on the top of the whiteboard.

"How?"

"I'll do it for you."

Freed looked at him as if he were stupid. "Then you'd get in trouble."

"Nah, I'm on a winning streak and, not to brag, but I'm bringing in a lot of fucking money for this school," Laxus ignored Freed's quiet 'Do you know what bragging is?' and turned to face him. "I could take a piss on the chancellor's desk while he sitting at it and he'd thank me. So, I'm pretty much as invulnerable as Jose is right now."

After a second of consideration, Freed shook his head. "I'd be blamed either way."

"No. Because I'm going to 'steal' your camera and record whatever we do to him, and I'm gonna make sure you can hear my voice taunting him so I'm obviously the guy behind it. He'll probably figure it out that it's you, but who would believe him. He'd have to tell everyone why he thinks it's you, and that means he'll have to confess to giving you bullshit marks. If he does that, he's really gonna lose his job." He could see Freed considering, and tried to give him the extra push. "Come on. The fucker deserves it; and I really wanna see what you can do when you're pissed off."

"You act like I'm some sort of… prank aficionado."

"And maybe you are," Laxus smirked, tapping the board with his marker. "We'll only know if you do it."

One Week Later

They both sat in wait outside the side door of the film and music department. They knew that Jose had a class ending in the next few minutes, and that he was the only person who would be using this door. The trap had been laid, the camera was waiting on Freed's tripod, and all they had to do was wait for it.

Although the plan being that Laxus would take the whole blame, Freed had insisted on being there to see the results of his work. Despite claiming he wasn't a regular prankster; Freed had come alive during their plotting sessions. That manic delight in his eyes was burning brightly, and Laxus had more than once found himself lost in them. He'd blamed that on the beer - they'd gotten pizza and beer to help the creative process – and had quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. Also in the back of his mind was the realisation of how nice Freed's laugh could be.

But now, huddled in the darkness right next to Freed, it was hard to ignore any part of him. He'd really come alive over the last few weeks, and Laxus couldn't ignore it. Freed was… mesmerising.

"That's his class," Freed whispered, nodding to a huddle of students walking out from the front of the building. "You ready?"

"Definitely," Laxus grinned conspiratorially as he flicked on the camera.

Their plotting had been successful, and they'd come up with too many good ideas to simply use one of them. After a while, they'd concocted a way of using all the highlights together, giving Jose the treatment he deserved. Any doubt about whether they were doing the right thing flew out the window when Laxus had spoken with a few of his teammates and heard their own stories of what he was like. Apparently, he made problems with any student he deemed an easy target.

The door opened, and Laxus acted instantly. He pushed down on the air horn, the sound splitting the silence. Jose jerked in fear, stumbling forward a few steps just as planned.

With a quick tug on a string, a well positioned bucket that had been on the awning above the door clattered forward. Laxus grinned as it fell directly onto Jose's head, covering it completely. He caught Freed smirking as Jose pulled the bucket off, revealing the neon pink gloop that was now covering his hair and face. Jose was spluttering and obviously furious. Laxus felt the rush already.

After a few moments of Jose flailing, Laxus raised the leaf blower and aimed. Between him and Jose were a large pile of arts and craft feathers, which flew through the air on the wind of the leaf blower. Jose raised his hands and tried in vain to stop the barrage of feathers. It didn't work; and they clung to the pink goo that covered him. Pink goo that he now realised was glue.

"Hey Professor," Laxus yelled cheerfully. "Love the new look. Suits you. Always thought you looked kinda like a chicken!"

"You!" Jose snapped, looking up through the mess. He spotted Laxus, then Freed. "You! I am going to-"

He took a step forward and cut himself off. A Slip and Slide had been set up and covered with water, which was just starting to freeze in the cold air. The Fairy Tail campus was built on a slight hill, and it sent Jose tumbling down the slide without dignity nor a chance to save himself. Freed quickly pulled the camera off the tripod to follow the journey, smirking amazingly as he did. Jose's short slide ended with him landing in a small kid's pool, filled with pond water and ice cubes. He gasped and squawked, and Laxus chuckled. Jose really was a chicken at heart.

Swaggering towards him, they both loomed over the professor. Jose looked at them with hatred, eyes aflame.

"You okay, Prof?" Laxus taunted. "These hills are dangerous for a man of your age."

"You are-"

"Ready men?" Laxus yelled before Jose could say anything that would incriminate Freed. "Aim! Fire!"

From numerous hiding places, every member of Laxus' team shot out, each holding snowballs. They began to pelt their professor with them at a rate nobody could block. They were coming from all angles, melding with the glue and feathers while obviously freezing him to the bone. It could have only lasted a minute, but it seemed to go on forever, and once again Laxus found himself entranced by Freed's expression, even if it was half hidden by his camera.

As the deluge of snowballs ended, Laxus walked forward again, making sure that he was in front of the camera. He leered down at Jose with exaggerated arrogance and delighted at the rage on the man's face. After all he had done, this was what he had coming to him.

"You think maybe this is your own fault?" Laxus taunted. "Maybe you deserve this? Maybe you shouldn't fuck with my team and my friends? That make sense?"

"I am not going to forget this!" Jose growled; the effect dampened by the fact he was a grown man in a kid's pool looking like an idiot.

"Of course you won't. Not when I had this commissioned," He gestured to the nearby building.

Spray painted by one of the art students, who also had a problem with Jose, was a brand-new mural of the man. It was a caricature of Jose covered in pink glue and feathers, sitting pitifully in a pool of dirty water, with a torrent of snowballs flying towards him. He was crying, looking entirely ridiculous, and Freed was making sure the entire piece was caught on camera before panning back to Jose, who spluttered indignantly.

"Happy Christmas Jose," Laxus grinned. "And again, this really is your-"

"What the hell is going on here!" A booming voice cut Laxus off, and flashlights danced over them. Campus security. Fuck.

"Get outta here," He demanded to Freed. "If you get caught you're gonna be kicked out."

"So will you," Freed hissed, the flashlights getting closer.

"I was always gonna be found out, that was the plan."

"There's a difference between confessing after a few weeks have passed and being caught in the act. Jose won't just let this go," Freed snapped, then took Laxus' hand in his own. "Come on."

Laxus didn't have a choice, as Freed pulled him forward with a surprisingly strong grip. Running through a part of the campus he barely knew, Laxus kept his head down so his face couldn't be seen by the security that were chasing them. They took corner after corner, getting further away from the guards each time, and eventually hid in a small alley, where they settled. Freed moved two large trash barrels so that the alley appeared blocked up. He ducked behind them, and Laxus did the same, listening as footsteps ran past them.

After taking a few moments to be sure they were gone, and to catch his breath, Laxus spoke again. "You already knew about this place?"

"I've been on my best behaviour. That doesn't mean I haven't made plans if I decided to have some fun."

"I knew you had a punk side to ya," Laxus grinned as he nudged Freed's shoulder.

"I would have thought that were obvious. Though I suppose you've only seen me dressed like this. I only brought the clothes to look inoffensive; my actual wardrobe would probably shock you."

"You'll have to show me it sometime," Laxus said before he could stop himself.

"If we both survive this without being expelled, maybe I will," Freed shrugged. He leant back against the grimy old barrel without thinking – even that would have seemed impossible of Freed a month ago – and closed his eyes. His face lit up. "I think I needed this. I've been too focused on not making ripples and getting good grades. I needed something cathartic. And God it was cathartic. His face was just amazing."

Freed continued to speak, but Laxus stopped hearing him. Looking at him in this crappy alleyway, his face illuminated by a flickering light a few feet away, Laxus was breathless. Freed was relishing in their victory with a smile that was almost feral, and there was a light in his eyes that Laxus had never seen on another man before. Freed looked alive. Like the life was shining out of him.

He moved before he could think, taking hold of Freed's cheek to turn him. He leant down, tilted his head, and kissed Freed. His chapped lips against Freed's sent a shot of lightning through him, and he felt as though fire was rushing over him. He shifted to get a better position and his knee nudged a dislodged brick, slamming agains the metal barrel they leant against.

Pulling back, his face was red, and panic overthrew delight. "Shit. I'm sorry. I shouldn't-"

Freed took a hold of Laxus' hair, tugged at it, and dragged Laxus into another, heated kiss.

One Month Later

"So," Freed said as Laxus walked back into their dorm room. "How did it go?"

"Not too bad," Laxus shrugged.

He had returned from a meeting with his coach, the school's principal, and campus security. They had spread copies of the tape throughout the campus, and eventually Laxus had been deemed the ringleader. It was decided that he needed to face punishment even despite his success on the team. The meeting had been to decide what would happen.

"I've got to paint over the graffiti on my own every Saturday until there's no trace of it," Laxus shrugged off his jacket. It was leather, spiked on the shoulders. Freed had gotten it him for Christmas. He, in return, had gotten Freed a pair of combat boots and insisted Freed wear them. They looked great on him; Laxus would turn him back into a punk if it killed him. "I've also gotta do a couple talks at a load of schools. It kinda sucks but could be worse. And I have to do a fuck load of interviews to raise the profile of the college, so that's good for you, huh?"

"Why would that be good for me?"

"Because they'll wanna take pictures. And one of them is a men's health magazine," Laxus swaggered forward. He grinned down at him, relishing the smirk on his face. "And I'm pretty sure they're gonna want me shirtless."

"Interesting," Freed stood from his desk and placed both hands on Laxus' waist. "While that's all well and good, and I'll be sure to get that edition, I think I have access to something better than some risqué pictures."

"Really?" Laxus asked in a hoarse voice. "What's that?"

"You. Ready for me, any time I want you," Freed smirked, placed a hand on Laxus' chest and pushed. Laxus fell onto their pushed together beds and watched as Freed climbed on him, grinning down on him. He was never so happy to have misjudged someone.

[maslows-pyramid-scheme]

Glad to see someone else doesn’t like the “bisexuality is a spectrum” nonsense (also popular: “bisexuality has grey areas”). I feel like a lot of people, including bisexuals, use it as a way to measure whether we’re more on the “gay side” or the “straight side” of said ~spectrum~ and try to analyze our experiences through that heterosexual vs homosexual framework when it’s far more meaningful to understand that we are all fully bisexual and so are our experiences (regardless of preference or dating history), and those experiences have value specifically for being bisexual, not through proximity to some other discrete orientation. I’m sorry, that was a super long sentence and I hope it made sense 😅

Agreed!

It's honestly unsurprising that so many bisexuals struggle to correctly identify their bisexuality; we're only every encouraged to think of ourselves in terms how heterosexual/homosexual our experiences are (both in terms of whether we're actually heterosexual/homosexual and whether our bisexuality is closer to heterosexuality/homosexuality).

Plus, it's a bit of a vent, but I hate how the 'pro-material reality' group who understand that it's ridiculous for 'cis women to have privilege from their proximity to cis males' talk about us in academic terms and with reference to our proximity to everyone else. Like, here's a crazy idea - maybe our statistics aren't caused by society's aversion to homosexuality and our 'proximity to heterosexuality,' maybe our statistics are caused by society's aversion to bisexuality.