#if something happens and this doesn't post

[infatuatedlilbitch]

SOCIAL MEDIA "ACTIVISM" IS KEEPING YOU FROM ACTUAL ACTIVISM - HERE'S THE TRUTH

You think you're staying "informed" by doomscrolling through your social feeds 24/7? That's exactly what they want. It's literally designed to keep you angry, scrolling, and - most importantly - doing absolutely fucking nothing.

HERE'S WHAT NO ONE TELLS YOU:

It's OKAY to edit your feeds so you don't see that shit when you're just trying to exist

You do NOT have to consume the world's suffering every second of every day to be a "good activist" - and by the way? You're not even getting "informed" by scrolling. You need to actually look up real articles OFF of social media to understand what's happening

Hitting like and share isn't activism. Sorry. It just isn't.

You wanna actually do something?

Learn your neighbors' names. ACTUALLY TALK TO THEM about what's happening

Join your school board and ask them face-to-face why they're against queer education

Stand up to your racist uncle instead of "keeping the peace" (peace for WHO exactly?)

Find out what abortion rights groups are ALREADY DOING in your area instead of reinventing the wheel

Join an actually inclusive church (you know, like Jesus would've wanted) and see what they're ALREADY DOING to make the world better

And for fuck's sake, stop saying "oh I don't talk about politics" - YOUR SILENCE IS POLITICAL

NEWSFLASH: You don't have to start the fucking underground railroad by yourself. That shit ALREADY EXISTS - you just never had to use it before. Lucky you. So volunteer if you're a safe person, at whatever level works for you:

Send money

Show up in person

Pack supplies

Make pamphlets

Whatever you can do

Not everything's gonna get you in the history books and you know what? IT DOESN'T FUCKING MATTER.

And here's something else that matters: Going to trauma therapy - REAL trauma therapy with a therapist informed in decolonization practices - is a RADICAL ACT. If you have the means to do it, DO IT. Healing yourself is part of the work too.

AND LISTEN UP BECAUSE THIS IS IMPORTANT: IT'S OKAY THAT IT TOOK YOU THIS LONG IT'S OKAY THAT YOU'RE STARTING SMALL IT'S OKAY THAT YOU DON'T KNOW EVERYTHING

NO ONE EVER PUNISHED THEMSELVES INTO SUCCESS.

You grew up with some racist/sexist views? Yeah, most of us did. You can't get stuck there. There's too much at stake. It's time to deconstruct. It's time to do the work.

But scrolling and sharing posts while feeling guilty? That's not the work. That's what they want you to think the work is.

Get off your phone. Talk to your neighbors. Show up at meetings. Stand up to family. THAT'S the work.

[talisidekick]

Someone tagged this with the following and I actually want to talk about this:

This isn't the first response like this. I've had comments, asks, tags like this one, reblogs, and even comments on other platforms where this has spread to that bring up racism and xenophobia. Whether thats accusing me of being racist or hating immigrants (despite coming from a family if immigrants) or just pointing out, like this person did, the inherent xenophobic attitude the world has for my pharmacist to want to change his first name to an English sounding name. And it gets worse, I was given an English name at birth because my mother wanted me to "have a name that fit in". They weren't English, my last name was German, my great-grandmother who was a pillar in the family used German and Norweigan words mixed in her English that carried into my life and still does to this day. And because I wasn't "English", I still got picked on at school to the point I filtered out the german/norweigan in my vocabulary and learned to mimick accents to remove any germanic lilt I had in my speech.

Point being, I made this post recognizing the inherent xenophobia present. That's one of the reasons I told my pharmacist he didn't need to do that for my sake. I kind of suspected he wasn't just being kind. The way he said it had intent. The next time I saw him, nametag out, proud, it was touching to see the name I was given to protect me from xenophobia going to protect someone else, but also a bit bitter that I know part of the reason for wanting to find an English name was the pressure to blend in and sidestep a LOT of bullshit.

My name now is Germanic, my middle name Italian, my last name Ukrainian, and my nickname I use everywhere to make peoples lives easier is Talia or Tali <- To which I've learned "Tali" is a common short-hand/nickname or name for some in the middle-east (I didn't know, I just mashed up my middle name with my childhood nickname 'T' to get it so my friends would have an easier time transitioning over to my new name and it stuck. I just recently found out from a co-worker who just got back from a trip to the middle east and asked me about it). I'm no longer side-stepping the bullshit, I have noticed a difference in treatment. If people don't know me, and haven't seen me, like when it's over the phone or in email, it takes much longer and I have to be more precise with my wording. In fact, I've noticed it a bit when in person too. Next to my English named co-workers, I am treated by some like I know less and I'm scruitinized a bit more. Now obviously if I was a woman of colour and not off-white canvas, this would be 10-times worse in ways I'm not qualified or experienced to explain or get into. I'll leave that to someone WITH that kind of experience to get into.

I've never mentioned whether my pharmacist is a coloured man or not, and I never will. It's not that it "doesn't matter", every aspect of that man shapes his existence and experience of this life. I'm just not clarifying because the moment I do, I know some of you are going to solely focus on his race and miss the nuance of everything this post is about. It's about transgender positivity, discrimination, humour, and the kind-hearted actions of an incredible man in his journey of immigration. By leaving him faceless, every one of you brings something of yourself to this post. Be it simple joy, or further commentary.

The person who tagged this post is one of many who've accurately pointed out one underlying truth about this post. Not everyone is treated equally in society. This happened in Canada. Do you begin to understand the depths this post goes to with all that I've said here? With what you now know about me? Because I think some of you should now re-read the post again.

A while back my pharmacist saw my deadname on my profile and accidentially called it out, he corrected and deleted my deadname from the system so only my preferred name shows up now. There was a crowd of people behind me, so as he hands over the pills he apologized, in equal tone and volume as when he called my deadname and lied saying it's been a long day and he didn't mean to call out -his own- name. I quietly told him it was fine and he didn't need to do that for my sake.

His response: "No, it's my name now."

I went to the pharmacist yesterday, his nametag is my deadname. He informed me he's immigrating and in the process he's changed his first name to my deadname to have an English sounding name. That's why he's now able to get a reprint of his nametag to be my deadname. And repeated, with the intense seriousness of someone who is going to die on this hill: "It's mine now. Not yours. I'm taking." His tone indicated that decision is final.

Bro literally deadnamed me once, and has committed to flat out stealing my deadname. It's his now. Legally. Officially. I over heard his co-workers call him by the name.

[bucketbueckers]

TEAM BUECKERS

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

content: language, kinda silly, kinda rushed

wc: 5.9k

synopsis: For you and Paige, the line between “friends” and “something more” wasn’t always this blurry. You weren’t quite sure how you got here, and if you were being completely honest, you didn’t know if you were brave enough to ever cross that line fully. It’s not until Paige ropes you into a Valentine’s Day couples contest you realize, with the two of you, that line never really existed at all.

notes: happy (late) valentines day 😋 yes i'm posting this after midnight on february 15 and yes i tried my best to get this out on the 14th when it was, you know, actually valentines day, but i fumbled majorly and im like 50% sorry. not proofread bc im sleepy. i lowkey don't know how to feel about this but i think the end makes up for it but i had an idea for this and it honestly derailed. i still don't know how taglists work (if you've asked and you're not on here, i'm sorry i will just throw up and die if i tag someone who doesn't actually want to be tagged in all of my works i hope u understand, pls be super specific my brain doesn't function like it used to) uhhh so yeah lmk what we think & happy vday 🫶

tags: @jnkbueckers

You and Paige weren’t always like this. There used to be a clear boundary in your friendship, a strictly platonic one where her embrace didn’t make your heart race and where her mischievous smile didn’t fill you with an exasperation that bordered on endearment. You didn’t always wear her jersey at games, didn’t always keep her favorite ice cream stocked in your apartment for nights she came over to binge watch the same show the both of you have probably seen a combined thousand times, didn’t always confuse where you begin or where she ends. There used to be a time where the two of you weren’t so inexplicably intertwined in the fabric of each other’s lives. 

If anyone asked, you wouldn’t be able to identify when everything shifted – when your feelings transformed into what they are now. It just happened. The realization was as easy as waking up next to her on the couch, your legs tangled under a blanket far too small for the both of you, her arm tight around your waist to prevent you from falling off of the cushions entirely. It was as easy as the spare toothbrush you keep in your bathroom because she sleeps over so often, as easy as the drawer you have in her room because sometimes her dorm is just closer than your apartment.

So maybe it was kind of inevitable that ‘you and Paige’ turned into a ‘You & Paige.’ The two of you have a simple understanding. You keep her grounded, she encourages you to dream a little bigger. You talk, she listens. You round each other out in so many ways that you’re not the least bit surprised by how many people think that you and Paige are dating. If anything, they’re more surprised when you correct them, saying, “She’s just my best friend.”

You’re content to take your feelings for her to the grave. Maybe you would get over her eventually. She’s Paige Bueckers. She has a national championship and the upcoming draft to focus on and you have your senior thesis due at the end of the semester. The both of you have a lot on your plates – you care for her too much to complicate things for her, even if that means putting your own feelings on the back-burner.

You’re sitting on your couch, twelve pages into your paper, sifting through the twenty-eight (yes, twenty-eight) tabs you have open for your research when you hear your door knob jiggle. You don’t think too much of it, trying to stay focused on the task in front of you before you give up and start scrolling through social media again. However, your discipline doesn’t last for too long because the familiar rhythm of footsteps could only belong to one person. You look up to find Paige making her way into your living room like she owns the place (which she may as well, considering how often she’s around), depositing her duffle bag on the armchair. You greet her, returning to your work, but you feel the couch dip under her weight as she takes a seat next to you.

And then she sighs. Loudly. Dramatically, like she’s begging for your attention. Like you’re not busy. You glance at her from the corner of your eye, finding her staring straight at you, but she says nothing. A few beats pass. You add a new sentence to your paper, pausing to go back and find the reference page. She sighs again, more purpose and intent behind it this time, and your lips quirk slightly. Still, she says nothing, and the silence stretches on for so long that you’re sure she’s given up on trying to annoy you.

You write one more sentence before she leans over, sprawling out across your body, chin pressing into your keyboard. Your eye twitches as a long string of ‘M’s takes over your Word document. Paige sighs again, sounding forlorn, like a kicked puppy, and you know you’re not going to get anything done unless you entertain her.

“Okay,” you say, pulling your computer out from under her head, making sure to save your paper before you close the lid. “What’s wrong?”

Her face brightens almost immediately. “I am so glad you asked,” she states. “So, I’m walkin’ through campus today, right?”

“As one does.”

She hums. “And there’s a shit ton of tabling outside the student union. Frats, clubs, some vegan guy giving out pamphlets –”

“Paige,” you interrupt, raising a brow. “The point?”

“Oh.” She nods, collecting her thoughts. “So there was this club – forgot who they were, lowkey, there was a lot of letters – but on Friday, they’re hostin’ a Valentine’s Day contest and the first place prize is insane. I’m talking gift cards, cookie decorating kits, I think there was even a coupon in there for a fucking spa trip, or some shit, but you get the point, yeah? I wanted to sign us up for it.”

You had to admit – you were a little intrigued by it. Between your class work and Paige and her teammates giving you an aneurysm every week, you were in dire need of a spa trip and a little bit of relaxation. But more than anything else in the world, you knew Paige. You recognized that gleam in her expression – it was a feigned nonchalance, like she was being slick and trying to hide it. “What’s the catch?” you ask bluntly.

She laughs, the sound more surprised than amused, and her head shifts in your lap to gaze up at you. You try to ignore the way it sets off a swarm of butterflies in your belly. “What makes you think there’s a catch?” she asks.

“You’re Paige Bueckers,” you state. “There’s always a catch. Like I knew there was a catch when you asked me if I would hide fourteen blonde wigs in my apartment.”

“They were for CD!” she argues. You narrow your eyes at her and she huffs a little, amused, her lips quirking into a radiant smile. “A’ight. I guess you got a point.” You hum, because of course you do. Her expression turns serious as she sighs, for real this time. “It’s a couple’s contest,” she admits. “But hear me out, okay?”

“I don’t think I have much of a choice,” you grumble, but your mind is racing.

“There’s a couple rounds,” she explains. “Like, the first round is trivia. How well do you know your partner, type shit. They score you, then they eliminate the people who don’t know shit about their partners. Second round is teamwork. They’ll give you a couple of puzzles and the most points will go to the teams who work well together and solve the puzzle quickly. More eliminations, then the partners are separated and they’re asked questions about each other – about what, I’on know. That should be the final round of eliminations and then the remaining couples are ranked based on points and prizes are given. Light work.”

“Light work?” you echo, a little self-deprecating. “Paige, we aren’t a couple.”

“Well, not exactly,” she concedes. “But we know each other pretty well. And can you really say no to the spa coupon?”

You bite your lip, sighing as you truly contemplate it. She’s got you there. The prize itself is worth the heartache that will come with pretending like you and Paige are actually dating. “You sure we can handle it?” you ask.

She pats your side, almost ignorant of the way it sends electricity coursing down your spine. “Duh,” she says like it’s obvious, her lips growing into a confident, assured smile. “We’re a dream team, baby. We got this.”

You could only hope so.

You nervously adjust your dress as you and Paige stand outside of the large room that the Valentine’s Day contest was taking place in. You spent the entire week leading up to Valentine’s Day an anxious wreck – part of you was worried that you would slip up and say something that you would come to regret, maybe say something a little too real. You had to keep reminding yourself that you and Paige were playing a part and once that gift basket was in your hands, then things could go back to normal. 

The two of you dedicated the better part of the week to perfecting your cover story. How you met, where you met, how long you’ve been together, all of the cheesy romance milestone moments that you were certain you’d be asked about. You mutually decided to not get too creative as maintaining the lie would become even more difficult, but you were confident in your ability to sell a story.

“You ready?” Paige asks you, drawing you from your racing thoughts as she squeezes your hand gently. You didn’t even realize her hand had slipped into yours. Now that you’re aware of it, it’s all you can think of. Her hand is strong, enveloping yours completely, and it brings you a calming peace you weren’t even aware that you’d been seeking out. Feeling yourself relax, you meet her eyes and nod, trying not to smile too hard when she beams at you.

As she leads the two of you inside the auditorium, you do your best to not stare too much at her. She’s dressed simply yet elegantly; donning a fitting suit that’s a light pink in color in honor of the occasion, the fluorescent lights overhead reflecting off of her stunning chains and the rings adorning her fingers. Her hair is tied back in her formal slick-back, the diamonds in her ears sparkling, and you really have to drag your eyes off of her. You’d already spent so much of the drive over staring at her and you’re sure she’d caught you a few times but was too nice to say anything to you.

The event had a decent turn out. You count fourteen couples at most, fifteen including you and Paige, although you couldn’t really tell if that was good or bad. Beating fourteen other real, actual, dedicated, in-love couples was totally manageable. So what if you and Paige weren’t actually together, but you were the most convincing pair of best friends the world had ever seen? She said you could do it, and damn it if you weren’t going to get that spa treatment.

The auditorium, however, was decorated to the nines. Lights and streamers were strewn about, various complementing shades of pinks and lilacs matching the Valentine’s Day themes. The tables were covered in pink tablecloths with gorgeous centerpieces. Honestly, you had to give props where they were due – this club has gone all out for this Valentine’s Day event, although you’re sure they probably splurged their semesterly budget on all of the amenities.

Before you or Paige have the chance to say anything to each other, you’re approached by a young woman wearing a pink polo shirt with the club's name and logo emblazoned on the chest. UConn, UMatter. You glance quickly at Paige, trying not to let the amusement show on your face as you remember her words – ‘There was a lot of letters.’ She was so full of shit. “Hi guys!” the young woman greets enthusiastically. “Thanks so much for signing up. What’s the last name?”

“Bueckers.”

The girl nods, scanning her clipboard before finding Paige’s name. “Okay, perfect. Let me show you guys to your table.” She leads you diligently through the room, craning her head over her shoulder to explain. “Madelyn’s gonna be around soon to walk you guys through the trivia section once we start, alright? She’ll let you guys know everything you need.”

You and Paige thank the club member and she offers you two one last smile as the two of you sit down next to each other. Paige’s hand finds your knee, almost subconsciously, and you try to find your dignity. It’s then that you notice the placecard in front of you – elegant script reading TEAM BUECKERS. With a quiet laugh, you nudge Paige’s elbow, drawing her attention to the paper. “‘Team Bueckers,’ huh?” you ask her teasingly. “You forget about me?”

“Never,” she swears. “I think they assign the names based on who registered. Trust me, I had a name lined up and everything. We were gonna be PB & Slay.”

You snort. “I’m Slay?”

“No,” she deadpans. “You’re PB. Keep up, please.”

“Of course,” you say obviously, like it’s definitely your fault. “I’ll do better next time.” She squeezes your knee under the table, smiling wryly at you.

Once everyone filters in, the girl who’d greeted you at the door makes her way to the front of the room, adjusting the microphone. She introduces herself as the president of the UConn, UMatter club, explaining some of their objectives and goals for the spring semester – you tune out a lot of it, which you’ll probably feel bad for later, but you weren’t here for the club recruitment. You were here for the pedicure that was calling your name this weekend. She makes it through the rest of her opening remarks, officially announcing the beginning of the first challenge: trivia. Several club members make their way to designated tables and a short, brunette girl takes a seat in front of you and Paige.

“Hey, guys,” she says, grinning widely and handing the both of you dry erase boards and a marker each. “I’m Madelyn. I’m gonna walk the two of you through today’s challenges. We’ll go back and forth – you answer one, then the other, so on and so forth. If your answers are the same, then you’ll get a point. Ready?” You and Paige hum affirmatively. “Alright. Question for Paige – when is your partner’s birthday?”

Paige huffs, her lips quirking into a smile as she uncaps her marker. “Light work,” she murmurs as she writes her answer down. “It’s a national holiday.” You roll your eyes as Madelyn laughs. Paige flips the dry erase board around, showcasing it to you and Madelyn, and you nod as Madelyn awards you both one point.

“Same question for you,” Madelyn says to you. “When is Paige’s birthday?”

You uncap your marker and write down your answer. October 20, 2001. “The world hasn’t known peace since,” you murmur under your breath, drawing laughter from Paige. You flip your board around and Paige nods smugly.

“Two for two,” Madelyn states. “Next question for Paige. What trait of yours is your partner’s favorite?”

You and Paige exchange a glance, her brow raising teasingly. She writes down her answer and you do the same, eventually flipping your boards over for the reveal. The two of you hadn’t exactly prepared well to answer this one, so you were hoping that you and Paige were on the same wavelength. You lean forward, glancing at her whiteboard, and smiling with relief when you see her answer: she likes my energy. Paige’s smile is smug, but there’s an underlying softness in her eyes. “Don’t laugh at me,” you huff, trying to explain. “You just — you have this way about you, like you’re kind, warm, you make people smile, and you always support them. You’re just genuinely good and, I don’t know, I really like that about you.”

Paige’s smile isn’t any less confident, although she seems a little bashful now, her cheeks tinging pink. “Three for three.” she says.

Madelyn tries to stifle her grin, but it’s clearly not working. “Next question is for you. When Paige is having a rough time, how do you help her relax?”

“With great difficulty,” you gripe, making Paige and Madelyn snort as you write your actual answer. By forcing her to chill the fuck out. You and Paige flip your boards, hers reading a much politer She makes me do nothing all day. Madelyn nods, awarding you the point, but you hardly pay her any mind as you meet Paige’s eyes. “You do too much,” you say, which makes her groan. “You overwork yourself and you microdose a burnout and I have to make you sit down and remember that you’re human.”

“You’re worse than me!” she points out.

You sniff. “This is about you,” you declare, “not me.” Paige rolls her eyes fondly, but she can’t help her laughter. 

“Next question,” Madelyn says, grinning. “Paige, what did you guys do on your first date?”

This was a question that the two of you had prepared for. You both decided that a little bit of the truth went a long way and the truth was that you and Paige had no shortage of quasi-dates that you could easily draw from. You tried not to think too hard about that as the two of you write down your answers. You turn your boards, revealing similar responses of ‘we went to her dorm and made dinner together after one of her games.’

You glance at Paige and she sighs. “Don’t start,” she pleads. 

“I’m actually a little invested now,” Madelyn chirps, which makes you grin and makes Paige bury her head in her hands. 

“All I’ll say is that Paige shouldn’t be in the kitchen without supervision but I really admire her, um, willingness to get creative,” you say kindly. Your best friend pinches your thigh under the table and you jerk back, laughing. Not wanting to embarrass her in front of a stranger, you leave it at that, although you smile at Paige like you’re the only two at the table. “I had a good time, though. She made it memorable.” She smiles back at you, something tender that has your heart constricting. 

The both of you knew the truth, though. Paige was not a good cook. She doesn’t make terrible food — dinner was delicious, but Paige is chaotic and an actual hazard. Watching her chop an onion hurt something deep inside you although she’d seemed so proud of herself. You didn’t have the heart to make fun of her. 

“Five for five,” Madelyn says, drawing your attention back to her. “Next question for you. Who confessed to who?”

You and Paige lock eyes again, a silent conversation passing between the two of you, and you write down her name. You turn your boards, Paige’s name written on the both of them and you smile to yourself. “She was pretty oblivious,” Paige says, referring to you, and your smile falls as your jaw hits the ground. “I dropped so many hints and she just didn’t pick up on them. I eventually got tired—”

“Desperate,” you cut in. 

“Tired,” she emphasizes, smirking at you, “so I planned out this huge romantic thing and at the end, she still didn’t understand so I told her straight up.”

You roll your eyes. “Maybe you’re just not as slick as you think,” you tell her. 

“Nah,” Paige says. “I’m super romantical.”

“Sure,” you concede. 

Madelyn stifles her smile. “Alright. Two more questions for both of you. Paige, what is your partner’s pet peeve?”

“If you get this wrong,” you grumble, hearing Paige snicker as the two of you write down your answers. After you flip your boards, she grins proudly when your answers line up. 

“She hates not being taken seriously,” Paige recites. “She’s an English major. People always think it’s just easy or unimportant shit, like reading and writing papers, but she actually does a lot of interesting analysis and stuff that I never even considered. I’ll admit I was a little ignorant but she set me straight.”

“Wait, I didn’t know you thought that,” you say, honestly confused. 

She shrugs, a little bashful. “I talk a lot but I listen. Sometimes when you leave the room, I’ll read your paper just so I can ask better questions. You get all… glowy. And… I’on know. I like seeing you happy.”

You blink once at her, genuinely touched, and if you weren’t head over heels for Paige before then you definitely are now. She squeezes your knee again, her smile crooked yet tender. Damn it. You are hopeless. 

“That’s so sweet.” You’re a little shocked by Madelyn’s voice, but you clear your throat, refocusing. “Next one for you. What’s Paige’s least favorite season?”

“That’s easy,” you say, writing your answer down. Paige does the same. When you flip your boards, you glance at Paige’s, smiling wryly. “Paige hates spring. She has really bad allergies and all of the pollen is honestly a death sentence, so she’ll get all congested and sneezy and will spend a good two weeks bitching about it and how it makes her Jeep dirty.”

You glance at Paige, waiting for her to say something, but she just shrugs with a smug expression. “Last question for Paige,” Madelyn says. “What is something your partner does to show her love for you?”

Neither of you say anything, but Paige stares at you thoughtfully, another silent conversation passing between you. You don’t need to think about your answer as you write it down. On cue, you both flip your boards, Paige’s reading simply, She takes care of me. You can’t help the way your heart swells, a fond smile overtaking your face. “Before you, I wasn’t really the… you know, the receiver, I guess. Always in control, always expected to lead. You make me feel like I can just be me, which is really hard sometimes.” Paige laughs off the vulnerability, but you see right through it – the painful honesty.

“We’re equals,” you remind her, nudging her leg with your knee. “We take care of each other.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, her voice soft as she gazes at you. “I’m glad that we do.”

You spot Madelyn out of the corner of your eye, which sobers you up quickly. She smiles. “You guys are so cute,” she gushes. “Final question for you and we’re done with this round. What is Paige’s love language?”

You feel Paige’s stare on you as you write, but you don’t glance back at her. You can hear the scribble of her marker, her capping it. When you’re finished, you finally look at her, taking in the soft expression on her face, and despite yourself, a smile grows on your face too. Together, you turn your boards, your answers being the exact same once more — quality time and physical touch. “Ten for ten, baby,” you croon, raising your hand for her to smack her palm against.

“Great job!” Madelyn says. “Let me just go submit these scores and I’ll be back to walk you guys through the puzzle round after eliminations. Sit tight.” She offers the two of you a quick grin before she’s walking off.

“Ten for ten,” Paige repeats, nudging you a little. “We’re like that?”

“I guess we’re actually kinda good at this friends thing,” you retort, although part of you wishes you were anything but.

Paige’s subsequent grin is far too knowing, like she has a trick up her sleeve. “Maybe a little.”

You laugh a little under your breath, adjusting your dress and leaning back in your chair to get comfortable. Before you know it, the scores are officially in. You and Paige had a perfect one, so you weren’t all too worried about getting eliminated in the first round, but five unlucky couples ended up leaving. The two of you watched from afar, trying not to stare too hard at the retreating couples, although they made it hard. One girl walked out crying, gesturing wildly as her partner trailed behind her, a desperate expression on her face. Another one was pure anger, slamming the door behind her. You didn’t think that this club contest would get people so riled up, but you considered that it was probably the realization that your partner truly didn’t know anything about you. You just lucked out with Paige – she understood you.

Madelyn returns quickly and cuts straight to the point. She instructs you and Paige to stand up, handing the both of you a towel, and adjusts your arms until you’re holding the towels perpendicular to each other, almost intertwined. “The goal here is to separate from each other, but it can be tricky because the towels will tangle you up. We’re looking to see how fast you can solve this puzzle and how well the two of you work together. Are you guys ready?” You and Paige nod and Madelyn grins again. “Alright. You can start.”

Instantly, the room around you two is sheer pandemonium. The couples around you are moving quickly, trying to untangle themselves, but it’s clear that the panic is settling in. You and Paige exchange a glance, laughing to each other softly. “Game plan?” she asks you.

“We need to get these like…not perpendicular,” you offer helpfully, and Paige nods, adjusting her arms. The angle change makes your towels bunch up and twist at their centers.

“Spin around,” she instructs. You do as so, the towels untwisting around the middle. You pause to analyze your situation, trying to plan out the moves in your head as Paige does the same.

“Okay, bring your towel over my head and let me step through it.” After that move, the both of you glance down, taking in your situation.

Paige hums. “The rest is easy,” she says. You nod in agreement, a silent understanding passing between the two of you and you move in tandem, twisting and shifting and stepping up until you’re both finally separating from each other in record time, having completed the puzzle. “We’re like that?” she asks you again, her expression smug and satisfied in a way that’s only comparable to when she’s on the court and her lips are curling after sinking a contested three point shot.

“Dream team,” you remind her, letting the victory wash over you, clapping your hand against hers, although she doesn’t immediately release you, squeezing your hand with a proud smile.

“I don’t think I’ve actually seen anyone solve it that quickly,” Madelyn admits. “Or that calmly.” As soon as she says it, a commotion from the other side of the room draws your attention. There’s one couple that are twisted so unnaturally that it looks like they’re playing Twister, but it seems that the girl gets tired of the shenanigans because she drops her towel and storms out with a frustrated yell. “Case in point.”

You laugh and Madelyn walks away again to tally the points and make their final eliminations. Once everything is set, five couples remain out of the initial fifteen. After the last challenge, two couples will be eliminated once more and the remaining three will be given prizes in order of points. You and Paige were determined to finish strong – if the first two challenges were any indicator, you two had this in the bag. True to Paige’s word, the couples were being split up for the last challenge, and she offers you a competitive smile as Madelyn whisks her away.

You pass the time on your phone although Paige isn’t gone for long. However, what does shock you is the sudden bashfulness that’s clear as day on her features, like the last challenge had made her confess something important or she had to be vulnerable. You can’t help the sudden worry that seizes your body, but Paige rests a hand on your hip, squeezing you once with a confident smile. It couldn’t be that bad.

Madelyn leads you into an adjacent room where the president of the club is sitting at a table waiting for you. She smiles when you enter, motioning to the seat across from her, and it feels strangely like entering the principal’s office in elementary school, like you’re in trouble for something. The club president doesn’t spare any time for pleasantries and instead cuts right to the chase, something that you’re grateful for.

“I’m not gonna take up anymore of your time, but after seeing you and your partner perform so well in this contest, I only have two questions for you,” she explains. “This is our second year running this contest and no one has scored as high as you two have, which is kind of insane because the third round scores haven’t been added yet.” You smile politely, honestly unsure of what to say, but the club president continues. “How long have the two of you been together?”

“Going on three months,” you respond, thinking back to the timeline you and Paige had agreed on, hoping your voice doesn’t shake. You are a little surprised by how real your next words feel. “We were best friends for a really long time before then – we still are. Paige is just…that kind of person that makes you feel like you’ve spent forever with her, you know?”

The club president hums, agreeing. She pauses before glancing up at you, studying your features. “What’s something that you haven’t told your girlfriend, but you would want her to know?”

You hardly need the time to think about your answer, responding, “That I love her.” The club president’s expression softens, a smile growing on her face. “We haven’t, um, gotten there yet, but I mean it. I wanna make it perfect for her. She’s given so much to me in the short time we’ve been together and in the time we were friends. And she just…she means everything to me.”

She smiles. “I think you guys are perfect for each other.”

Despite yourself, you smile, a blush spreading across your cheeks. “I think so, too.”

After your solo questioning wraps up, you meet Paige at your table and you offer her a bashful grin, similar to the one she’d offered you when she returned. You don’t have the chance to say anything else to her as the final round of eliminations are being announced. You and Paige are spared, which doesn’t surprise you, and the two eliminated couples take their loss with dignity as they exit. Paige links her hand with yours – final three. In third place, Team Parker. In second…Team Hayes, which means that first place can only be –

“Team Bueckers.”

You and Paige relax immediately, high fiving each other in celebration. What you’re not fully expecting is the tight hug that Paige pulls you into, whispering a fond good job into your ear, although you can’t help the way you soften, sinking into her embrace. She leads you to the center of the room to collect your goodie basket. The various club members send you off with their congratulations, too, and you pretend to not notice the slick wink that Madelyn shoots you as you and Paige walk out.

The night air is cool, making you shiver slightly, and Paige doesn’t hesitate before she’s sliding off her blazer and settling it over your shoulders. You smile gently at her. “You won’t be cold?” you murmur.

“Nah,” she promises, nudging you. “I can handle it. You, though? I’on know.”

“That’s no way to treat someone who just won you these spa coupons,” you say, reaching into the gift basket to wave said coupons in the air. “C’mon, I clutched up, you can’t lie. And to think you wouldn’t have even had a partner for this if you didn’t rope me into it. I think we played our parts pretty well.”

Paige laughs gently, a tinkling sound that carries over the drag of the wind. “You still don’t get it, do you?” she asks, but there’s no true offense behind her words.

You stare at her in confusion. “Get what?” you respond.

“Do you remember that question Madelyn asked you earlier?” Paige says, her steps slowing, tilting her head down to look at you. The street lights reflect off of her face so beautifully, the blue of her eyes illuminated by the soft light. You can’t help the way your heart constricts at the sight. “‘Who confessed to who?’” You hum, urging her to go on. “You remember what I said? That you were oblivious and I dropped a lot of hints you didn’t pick up on?”

The gears in your brain spin for a few revolutions before everything clicks into place. “Oh my God,” you breathe out. “Are you–”

“Confessing?” she says, her lips quirking into a smile. “Yeah.”

“You dropped hints before?”

“So many,” she confirms.

“Oh my God,” you say again. You stop in your tracks, prompting her to do the same. The expression on her face is endlessly amused. “You planned a huge romantic thing – this?”

She shrugs. “The contest was the club’s shit, but yeah. I planned on asking you to come with me to this. I didn’t actually care about the prize, but the coupons are pretty sweet, right?”

You shake your head, ignoring her rambling. “You planned a huge romantic thing, but I still didn’t get it at the end, so you told me straight up,” you finish, partly in disbelief. “You think you’re so fucking slick, don’t you?” you accuse, which just makes her break out into laughter. “You literally sat next to me and told me exactly how you were going to ask me out and I didn’t know? And not only did you do that, but you were right about it?”

“I know you,” Paige says a little smugly. “And I told you that I could be romantical.”

“You are such a pain in my ass,” you whisper, but her arm is slinking around your waist, pulling you into her body as she grins insufferably, and you let yourself be pulled, your hands resting on her chest. “You are literally so annoying.”

Her nose brushes yours as she inches a little closer. “You know what they asked me in the final round?” she says, her voice loud enough for only you to hear. You nod. “They said, ‘What’s something you haven’t told your partner, but you’d like to?’”

“Funny,” you say. “They asked me the same thing.”

She smiles at you. “I told them I’d tell you that I love you,” she confesses.

Your cheeks burn as you register her words. “Funny,” you say again. “I told them the same thing.”

Her expression shifts, something like relief flashing in her eyes, something tender in her gaze. “Did you?”

“Well, I told them that’s what I would tell my girlfriend,” you trail off intentionally. “Seeing as I don’t currently have one of those…”

“Don’t play,” Paige murmurs, squeezing your hip gently, drawing a laugh from you. “Be mine?”

“You gonna share those coupons?”

Her eyes are bright when she responds. “I’on even care about them. Just want you.”

“You’ve got me.”

That promise is all she needs. She smiles at you, happiness in her features, and she doesn’t waste any time before she’s leaning in fully, her lips finding yours. You’re eagerly responding, melting into her as her arm tightens around your waist. You loop yours around her neck, standing on the tips of the toes for better leverage. Before you know it, her grin grows too wide and the two of you are laughing against each other’s lips, the sound of your love and giddiness the perfect way to end a perfect night. If you had Paige Bueckers and her annoyingly charming antics to look forward to, then one thing is for certain – you couldn’t wait to see what she had in store for Valentine’s Day next year.

[dduane]

Erotica and anniversaries

...The big E, first. Here she is. Isn't she lovely?

...Right there upstairs at the Library of Congress, on the second floor. (I noted at the time we passed through some years back—and continue to smile at the memory—that her artist has included his copyright statement right there, to make sure no one misses it.)

...Anyway, where were we? ...Oh yeah: the local takes on erotic writing and smut.

This subject seems to come up every couple of years. What nudged me into revisiting it this time was the notes off a comment to a post earlier today, responding to someone working on an explicit-leaning AU, and discussing the writing of (story) bibles for projects.

Anyway, the notes:

#love that the advice was not just 'stick to porn' or 'don't write porn at all' but 'ah yes; common problem; let me explain to you how to write a series bible'

Well, disclosure here: in my case, it can't really be otherwise. :)

Let this act as everybody's sort-of-biennial reminder (if needed) that I'm not going to be caught condemning people for writing smut, as I've written it myself. (And continue to do so when the mood moves me.)

The post from very nearly two years ago, discussing the issue in more detail, is over here. As you'll see if you read it, there were some folks who experienced brief episodes of cognitive dissonance on learning I was a cheerful writer of explicit material. Some of the surprise was probably due to the fact that a lot of people see me—mostly due to the relatively-higher profile of the Young Wizards books—as primarily a writer for younger readers.

But that's not how I got started. My (1979) debut novel centers a universe where the following exchange between two of the protagonists appears—they then being wrapped up in blankets and afterglow in the wake of a prolonged and enthusiastic post-reunion shag:

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Nor was this a one-off. This book and its sequels contain a fair number of passages in which human (and occasionally non-human) sexualities, both in the abstract and the experientially concrete, take center stage. And the mode in which they're expressed and discussed is intended for adults. Those sequences can probably be described as at least borderline erotica. (I certainly try had to be as graceful about such passages as I can, when and where it's appropriate to be.)

With this in mind, it's worth repeating what turns up in that earlier post, which came off a query to a ficcer about "how do you feel knowing that people may be jerking off to your work?":

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say...

Other people's art in these modes certainly is entertaining for me: and I desperately hope mine is for other people. (Almost all my more explicit writing is published only pseudonymously, which from my point of view is just fine. There's a fair amount of writing work out in the world that [for contractual or other business reasons] doesn't have my name on it. This is just more of the same.)

(Per that, adding here again my own tags from that earlier post:)

#and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:)

Anyway, finally: from that earlier post—on nearly the thirty-eighth anniversary of something happening to me that would, just a year before the event, have seemed wildly unlikely—this note, unusually apposite because of what today is, and what's coming tomorrow.

I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed…) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you’re willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it’s to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-plus-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and more than three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added… let’s just say nuance. 😏

So, happy Valentine's Day to all those who choose to celebrate, in whatever mode.

And to the Man Upstairs:

...See you in a few, sweetie. :)

[sunsetmaidenwrites]

An Essay on SamBucky

Just got back from seeing Captain America: Brave New World and am full of thoughts. The following contains Sambucky-centric thoughts, head canons, and spoilers based on the movie. (I have a separate post that includes my overall thoughts on the movie but this one is solely Sambucky.)

Sambucky nation--we rise! No divorce era for us! (Though it did provide for some awesome, angsty fics). I hope the trend continues with Thunderbolts*. Bucky is obviously looking rougher there than he did in this movie, so we're not out of the woods yet, but I'm feeling pretty good about our chances.

There's so much to say here. Multiple Bucky mentions (Sam alluding to Bucky when he talks about having a friend who was controlled by trigger words.), a picture of SamBucky prominently displayed at Sam's headquarters, Bucky showing up as emotional support when Sam needs him most, the hug, the "Buck" and the "I love you, Buddy." All of these have already been mentioned a lot, though, so for this post (who am I kidding this is an essay!), I would like to highlight a few points pertaining to the movie. I haven't really seen discussed in the Sambucky tag yet.

First, Sam says the following to Bucky at the hospital:

"Joaquin’s in here. Isaiah’s in prison. And Sterns…I had him. I had Sterns right in my hands but he got away." Bucky is given no additional backstory here, which means he already knows who Sterns is and what Sam is dealing with. This indicates Sam and Bucky are in regular contact with Sam keeping Bucky filled in on what's happening. This isn't just a case of Bucky seeing news footage and immediately going to Sam. Bucky is an active part of Sam's life and support system.

Then we have Bucky's line:

"Steve gave people something to believe in, but you give them something to aspire to." Bucky's admiration and devotion to Sam here is quite evident. I fully believe Bucky Barnes is all in for Sam Wilson and has been probably for longer than even he realizes.

Then toward the end of the scene where we get our iconic "Thanks Buck" and "I love you, Buddy" moment:

We have a wealth of unspoken communication here. Sam and Bucky seem to have a whole conversation with both their eyes and body language before they speak these words. Sam looks at Bucky. Looks down at (presumably) Bucky's outstretched hand. Then his eyes cut back up to Bucky. Then they cut back down as he shakes Bucky's hand, then he looks back up at Bucky. For Bucky's part, his eyes never leave Sam's face during the entirety of this. It's only right before he says "I love you, Buddy" that his gaze cuts down from Sam's face. After saying the words, Bucky proceeds to back away and Sam watches him go. The way this scene plays out, and the choices Mackie and Stan make leave a lot of room for subtext and interpretation, imo.

Right after this scene, we also get the female agent coming in with questions/comments about Bucky to Sam, alluding to a possible interest which Sam shuts down with "He's 110 years old." Look, it might make sense for Sam to try to nip a Bucky/Sarah potential connection in the bud like he did in TFATWS and it not mean anything (that's another essay for another day. I wasn't on Tumblr back then to share my thoughts on that.); after all, that's his sister and Bucky was riding on his last nerve through all the previous episodes at that point. It does not, however, make sense for Sam to insert himself into the narrative at this point and try to dissuade a random CIA agent from showing interest in Bucky if Bucky is just his friend and/or Sam's interest in him is purely platonic. It just doesn't. I cannot come up with a logical explanation for this besides the obvious 'that man is mine, step off' conclusion.

And for my last point:

During Sam's final showdown with the red hulk, with the outcome uncertain, and defeat (and therefore death) potentially eminent, Sam proceeds to bitch about Bucky under his breath. "Bucky is full of so much shit..." I know this is supposed to be funny and snarky, but it's also quite telling. We know that the signature of SamBucky's relationship--whether it's platonic or romantic--is the bickering. Not only is Sam spending his potential last moments ranting about Bucky (again, the staple of their relationship), he's also spending them thinking about Bucky. He's going out there facing odds that seem insurmountable and it's Bucky that's on his mind.

So, in conclusion, they're in love.

[vacuously-true]

Okay yes that is often the complete explanation, and I'm sure that's part of the explanation in the case of allergies, but also allergy prevalence has actually changed over time.

Allergies are what happens when our immune systems flip out and think that something that's actually harmless is an invader. There are lots of theories that could explain why allergies are becoming more common and probably reality is a combination of these theories. One theory is that allergies are becoming more common because our world is much cleaner than it used to be, since we know how to do crap like wash our hands and treat diseases and disinfect our homes and public places and filter air. This means that our immune systems mature differently than they used to. We aren't exposed to as many diverse stimuli as children as we used to be so our immune systems don't get as much training, so they're worse at identifying the difference between a deadly pathogen worth freaking out about and like, a tasty protein-filled legume snack. Then they're more prone to freaking out about stuff that's actually harmless. One specific example of "coming into contact with less stimuli" is that there's lots of evidence that a child born via c-section is more likely to have allergies than a child that is born via the birth canal. Why? Traveling through the birth canal lets the child pick up a more diverse microbiome- more stimuli for the maturing immune system to learn from.

This DOESN'T mean we should like, stop cleaning and doing reasonable medical procedures in order to prevent allergies or something. Here we DO come back to a sort of twist on the original post: it's not entirely "kids with allergies used to just die" it's also "kids were less likely to have clean homes and public spaces and medical procedures so they didn't develop as many allergies but also sometimes the lack of cleanliness killed them." The world where we have hygiene practices that prevent far more suffering and death than could possibly be cancelled out by a small but very real increase in allergy rates IS the better timeline. But it's objectively false that allergy rates haven't been rising, and researching what makes them rise is important because if we can nail it down we can try to prevent it, without giving up life saving hygiene.

Here's a podcast episode about this that I found useful enough that even though I first heard it two years ago, I still remember it and thought of it while writing this post.

[darinawrites]

♧|Aib characters protecting you in lights out|♧

Characters: Kuina, Arisu, Chishiya, Ann, Niragi

A/n: Since the Aib fandom on tt is only talking about how they would be in squid game, I thought this would be interesting. Also, I lost the longer version of this and cried at the loss of the 1.7k words I wrote 💔 I'm too sleep deprived for all of this, I just want my sleep man I also can't tag Ann without my post glitching out for some reason. Had to sit here 40 minutes trying to decipher what I did wrong with the tags.

┆彡Chishiya

He would be prepared, immediately figuring out what the game is trying to provoke and would make a plan

He knows physical strength is something he lacks in, so he'll try and make weapons out of everything. Give him toilet paper and he'll somehow make it explosive. Don't test this mans concerning knowledge of weapons.

While telling you his plan, he'd try and convince himself it's for his own greed. That you fight well and could even be a potential sacrifice, but he knows it isn't true. He knows there's a sincere affection beneath his actions. He's confident in his plans, he doesn't need you as backup. Especially since it would hold him back, your scrupulous personality picking fights with ever other person, making you a target. Yet the words still flew out of his mouth

Oh, love. How much he loathed how it made him act against what he believes. How your wellbeing is in his thoughts much more than he'd like

But he won't ever tell you his worry, not at all. He'd hide it behind the apathetic personality he built up.

Overall, he would protect you in a way you wouldn't notice, but put his thoughts at peace

"Chishiya, how the fuck..." you were astonished at what he could make with such little resources. A makeshift knife shining on his hand.

"For what do you need that anyways? I thought your confident in your plans, not the genius you thought you were?" you teased, earning yourself a small, barely noticeable grin on his face.

"It's good to have a weapon, regardless of the fight happening today. Besides, with all the enemies you have it wouldn't be so bad to have a little help." his words made you gasp loudly and dramatically. Staring at him with an over exaggerated shock on your face.

"You really think I can't beat their asses, Chishiya? You think so low of me." clutching your heart as if its broken, your words flowing out with fake emotion.

"Oh, I would never." he said with as much emotion he could muster to imitate your disappointed voice. Quickly hiding his weapon as he saw the guards come with breakfast.

"You better! Or else I'll kick your ass too." you giggled, standing up to get food that will only last for a few hours before hunger rumbles in your stomach again. But you'll take everything you can.

┆彡Kuina

While she wouldn't notice immediately what the game is trying to do, she surely will notice what the O players plan to do. She isn't stupid and it wouldn't surprise her once she realizes. Noticing how petulant people around her are.

She wouldn't worry lots though and not put much thought in what she'd do when it happens. She can easily beat all the inexperienced players around her, she's strong and has nothing to worry about.

Kuina wouldn't be an outstanding target either. She's amiable, but also reckless. Earning respect of some and being looked down by others. But you? You aren't a target, you're a victim. Your closed in personality earning yourself to be pushed around by others. Kuina is always there to protect you though, whether that be with words or her fist.

And did I mention what an absolute sweetheart she is? She would always want you to be near her, near enough to protect you. You can count on her to make you feel safe

The flashing of the lights made you panic, losing sight of Kuina as screams emerged around you. You remember her warning you of this, of the bloodlust. The sight around making you want to throw up.

You know you were weak, a target to many. Your breaths were irregular as you frantically looked around for Kuina, her presence seemingly nowhere to be seen around you.

Yet as you tried to call out for her, your weight was suddenly dropped as you made a thud sound. Looking up, you noticed the person who pushed you. A brute who also partook in 'bullying' you.

The smirk he gave you made you nauseous, a smirk that held power over you. You didn't even fight back, no, you gave up. Knowing what as about to come, you closed your eyes and simply waited for the impact.

But instead of pain ringing trough your body, a loud smack and groan could be heard. As you opened your eyes, you were shocked to see Kuina skillfully beat up the man before pulling you up and to a corner.

It happened so fast, your brain barely processing what was going on as you were pulled away from the fight. It's only once you had a moment to take a breath did you speak.

"Wow, I didn't know you could fight so well." you said. She didn't fight just to fight like the others, her moves were thought out. It was impressive and you were immensely grateful for her.

"Well, I'm not just all looks. Even if I am hot." she replied sarcastically, a trait you've always admired and loved about her. The screams in the background nearly forgotten as you laughed together.

┆彡Niragi

Niragi would know a fight will be starting because he's the one to initiate it. Planning to do so with his side, not to win the vote tomorrow but simply for fun. It gives him a sense of pride and superiority when hurting others, he loves it.

What he wouldn't love though is people hurting you. He'll make sure to make it clear to anyone what will happen if they dare to do so. And they definitely did see it. His tracksuit all bloodied up after starting a fight in the bathroom with a guy who got closs to you.

Safe to say no one will be near you

Niragi is also the type to worry, but hide it. He couldn't let anyone see such a side of him, who knows what they'll think. He will be denial, trust me. Denying his care for you

Well, sure. Maybe he'll beat up any guy that comes near you. Maybe he told you to hide tonight, even if he knows no one will come near you. Maybe he'd give you weapons, but that definitely doesn't mean he cares. Not at all.

The delicious flavours of kimbap filled your mouth, a small yet filling meal. Something proper to eat after they basically starved you for days.

The satiating of your stomach, the rumbling quieting down. It felt so good, enjoying yourself in the little blissful moment you had.

That was until a familiar voice called out for you, bringing your focus away from the food. You silently groaned at the voice. The figure now entering the corner of your eyesight.

"What do you want now, Niragi" you asked him, now standing in front of you. Does the universe really hate you that much to ruin every small nice thing you have?

He gave you a small smirk at your frustration before handing you a fork. "Take this and keep it with you" he said with no explanation.

"The hell, you don't need a fork to eat kimbap. Where did you even get this??"

"It's to attack others, dumbass." he rolled his eyes. And it pleasantly surprised you that he cared over something like that.

"Gee, since when did you care about something like safety?" you giggled as you teased, but instead of a smirk or a returning choice of words he was reacted unusual.

"Don't push it and don't fuck with me. Just keep it with you." he said much too loud for your liking, a few heads turning to look at you both.

"Alright, goodness." you murmured more of so to yourself, but a tinge of happiness rang trough your body at his gesture. And when he finally left you alone, you let a smile slip. If only you could see him more often like this.

┆彡Ann

She immediately noticed the games intent. It's simply in her nature, she's observant and watches everything with meticulous care to the details. It's stupid to think he wouldn't notice. She'd tell you her observations and set out a plan together

And it is the most detailed yet somehow simplest plan.

Ann wouldn't be an outstanding target. She only surrounds herself with people who are trustworthy, not letting other players have a chance to know her much. She sees everything, she watches everytime she can so she knows a lot about other people and who to trust.

In that area she protects you, from bad influence. Your bubbly personality loves to socialize, so she'll always keep eyes on who you're being friendly with.

It felt like an eternity before the flickering of the lights stopped and the guards came back to shoot the ceiling. You flinched just as much as your body allowed you to before the pain came back in.

You should have paid more attention. You should have taken the warnings of Ann seriously. Maybe then you wouldn't be leaning against a wall with a big gash on your arm, a mark of betrayal. You felt so stupid to have trusted them, resulting in you loosing Ann and being attacked.

The thoughts clouding your mind got stopped for a moment as you heard your name being called, looking up to meet her gaze. Hand clutching your other arm as it bleed trough.

She didn't let a word out, calmly grabbing her green jacket to properly care for your wounds, her limited medical experience being able to do so.

"It'll hurt, be ready." she hummed, tying the tracksuit around the wound securely, staying very calm while doing so as you groaned out at the sharp tug of the pain.

"I'm sorry, Ann.." you hushed out once she was finished, a guilty look plastered on your face.

"Mhh. Don't be so reckless next time, alright?" she answered, making you nod in agreement as you gave her a small smile. Clinging onto her as the wound still stung, and she allowed you to. Even with not being fond of affection so publicly, she simply stayed silent with a small tug of a smile on her face.

How glad you were to have her in such a place.

┆彡Arisu

Arisu is smart and can see trough the hearts of others, of course he'd notice the voting splitting the people. He's quick witted and would come up with a sensible plan immediately

But you'd have to constantly tell him to not worry so much. He can only suppress his anxiety when it tense situations, but knowing that the fight will break out days before it actually did simply gives him time to overthink. He wouldn't dare to think what would happen if he did something wrong and the cause would be your death. You're practically his will to live, he can't continue without him.

So, he'll try to keep you close to him. He'd be awkward about it and, of course, tries to know you're comfortable with. But he'd prefer for you to stay close

He'd protect you with his greatest strength, his intelligence. That man is lanky and wouldn't be the best fighter to protect you physical, but if he had to he would.

"Can you believe she said that. You just had to be there, it was such a cool fight." you rambled on and on about something you saw today, ranting to skip the time in this boring and ruthless place. It always felt nice to use your voice heavily, and you were grateful that Arisu always let you.

But as you looked up, you saw him paying you almost no attention. His eyes staring into the abyss, his thoughts occupying every sense in his body. And you immediately knew what was going on.

"Hey, Arisu. Is everything alright, something worrying you?" you asked, shifting his attention over to you as his face morphs into an apologetic one.

He ignored your question and started to incessantly apologize for not hearing you out, frustration pulling on your furrowed eyebrows as you tried to stop him.

"Arisu!" you managed stop him "Let me reword my sentence. Stop worrying so much about the plan." the words lingered in the air as you let it sink in, Arisu softening his features as he looked at you. Worry still there, but not as immense before your words.

"10 minutes until the lights go off!" the familiar yet mysterious voice rang again trough the speaker.

You smiled, softly locking your hands together as you held his tightly. Red slightly tainted his cheeks, something so small that you missed it as you simply enjoyed it while Arisu was nervous with this much contact.

"It's almost time, come on, let's go. We'll be fine" you tugged on his hand. You couldn't even deny your own anxiety now bubbling inside, standing upt to get ready. But as you saw Arisu beside you, alive and well, you knew everything will be alright. You trust him, even if he doesn't trust himself.

[cheeseceli]

Mornings with SKZ

Pairing: Ot8!Skz × Gn!reader (individually)

Genre: fluff, headcanons

Request: Ot8 skz and their s/o mornings together

Warnings: mentions of food, skinship, established relationship

A/n: posting this as a reminder I still exist 😭 | Daily click

Bang Chan

First three times you shared a bed with him freaked you out because Why'd you always wake up alone??

He'd already be starting his day

Showering, making breakfast, even working already depending on the day

But he'd always be as silent as possible so to not wake you up

Once you inevitably do, he stops whatever he was doing so he can say hello to you

Good morning hug 🙂‍↕️

"Hi babe, did I wake you up? Sorry, I'll be quieter next time. Come here"

Lee Know

You'd wake up with the smell of something delicious being made

Best breakfast ever!!

And he'd keep cooking after he feels you hugging him from behind

Asks you if you slept well 😔

Of course you slept well, how could you not with his three cats sleeping with you?

They'd only wake up later on though

It gives you two time to spend together before the day actually starts

"I'm almost done cooking it, you can go sit if you want."

Changbin

Please be someone who likes mornings

I see him as such an early bird for some reason

A very energetic one for all that is worth

So he'd love it if you wanted to be active since the early morning

Going out for breakfast, jogging a little bit, maybe just walking around the town

He loves to start his day with you, no matter what you're doing

"The day is so beautiful already! Do you want to go out? We can go to that cafe you like."

Hyunjin

He'd probably wake up before you, but he's not getting out of bed until you do

He's on the lazy morning racha, what can I say

But he's there, laying with you and cuddling you, sweetening your dreams a little bit more

It's a little bit funny cause he's waiting for you to wake up but he's not doing anything to entertain himself

Not even using his phone

Maybe he's still a bit dreamy and is just savouring this peaceful moment

Brightest smile ever when you open up your eyes

"Hello, love. Did you sleep well?"

Han

There's no such thing as morning with him

Bro is ready to wake up only after eleven am

And please don't be an early bird because he needs to be with him

Yes, he will be asleep, but he also wants to be with you

He's such a cuddler

Even if you woke up, I'm not sure you'd be able to get away from his hold

"C'mon, baby. Just five more minutes."

Felix

Breakfast in bed!!!

I cannot imagine a morning that is more him than that

He's so gentle when waking you up as well

Softly calling out your name and maybe even kissing your forehead

It would be like 8/9 am when he'd wake you up

So that gives you two quite a time to spend together

"Wake up, angel. I made some food for you."

Seungmin

It doesn't always happen, but whenever it's possible, he loves to watch the sunrise with you

Even if you're so sleepy you barely register the scene

It's kinda magical

He won't admit it though

Mornings with him are low-key quiet, you both still a little bit sleeping

It's also when he's the most vulnerable

"Come here" he asks with open arms, just waiting for your touch.

I.N

He's the second part of the lazy morning racha

He loves doing absolutely nothing with you

Just laying in bed or on the couch and catching up with your favourite drama energises him so much

He especially lives to this on his days off

It's rare to be able to do nothing for a while, so he won't lose an opportunity to do so

"Oh, there's a new episode of the drama we were watching last week. Wanna see it?

Masterlist | you'll probably like: first relationships

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143 @sleepyleeji @jinnie-ret @sheraayasherrecs @rockstarkkami @urlocalmultigroupfan @aeinzzzketchup

Dividers by @cafekitsune | images 1, 2 and 3

[nabi-unveiled]

Hagiwara isn't off the hook.

He shares responsibility in the state of his and Kaori's relationship, and I'm not talking about the cheating.

Put down your pitchfork. Just hear me out.

I adore Hagiwara. He cheated. I don't care. I have mentally added him onto my list of "good boys". I will make a special category just for him.

I'm also not making excuses for Kaori. She must own up that she kept Hagiwara on a string while knowing it was hurting him.

However, their relationship was doomed to fail. They need different things. Kaori needs a relationship where sex isn't expected, and Hagiwara needs a relationship where he can be fully open and honest with his feelings and desires. Frankly, he needs something deeper than Kaori can offer, and I'm not talking about sex.

But the relationship shouldn't have lasted this long, and that's on BOTH of them. It's perfectly okay that Kaori doesn't want sex. It's perfectly okay that Hagiwara does want sex (and intimacy). The problem is that neither of them communicate about it.

Before we go further, there are some points that need to be established. Also note - the symbols are EVERYTHING to me.

1 - Kaori/Hagiwara's relationship is NOT the same as Fujisawa/Sei's.

Their relationships share similarities, but they are NOT the same.

Sei's relationship with Fujisawa developed as a trauma response to a violent car crash. It has carried violent undertones the entire time.

The symbols convey that Fujisawa has methodically trapped Sei in this relationship.

But Kaori and Hagiwara's relationship? It starts with a romantic meet-cute. It was warm. It had saturated colors.

Their relationship does not have a violent undertone. It has an undertone of passivity and complacency. Of note, Hagiwara didn't initiate anything in this relationship. He's waited on Kaori's lead.

The door is open. Hagiwara could leave at any point.

These two relationships also do not have the same power dynamic. Kaori DOES control many aspects of the relationship. However, Kaori has control of the relationship because Hagiwara lets her. Fujisawa has control over his relationship with Sei because Fujisawa demands it. There is a difference.

In fact, the show actually has already acknowledged that there are different types of "controlling". The coworker's relationship isn't painted as unhealthy. Some of us may see it as unhealthy, but the show doesn't give ANY indication of that itself in sound or symbols.

2 - I am in the camp that thinks Kaori DOES like or care about Hagiwara.

Not because I believe her words, but because I believe in the symbols. Kaori made Hagiwara rice.

The rice that represents home and affection? Kaori made it. It's just her version had a sour plum in the middle.

And when she offered it, Hagiwara willingly chose to eat it. He knew the plum was there, and he ate it anyways.

In this week's episode, Kaori explains herself, and she's in black. This is not a typical color for her. She may be smiling, but she is mourning.

We could discuss in length about whether emotional abuse is in play here or if it's just an unhealthy relationship. That's not really the point of this post. Either way, we know that Kaori was finally being honest and vulnerable.

WE SAW HER FEET.

Feet shots happens when our character's true feelings and motivations are exposed. Sei has beautiful heels (desires) but his toenail is broken (😭 Just like his Sim card, but I can't go there right now). Both Kaori and Hagiwara have feet shots too. No broken toenails. In this case, Kaori's feet stop moving. Unlike Fujisawa whose body moves on it's own, her body won't move. We haven't seen Fujisawa's feet.

Kaori can't make herself take action to deal with the situation with Hagiwara. Her choices are selfish, and they hurt Hagiwara. However, I actually think that's very realistic and very human. In unhealthy relationships (and even healthy ones), we can often hurt the people we care about. It's not easy leaving an established relationship. Especially, one that you want. We're not all as altruistic as Hagiwara.

But Hagiwara isn't off the hook.

He shares responsibility in the relationship lasting until this point.

Sei admits his relationship has problems.

But Hagiwara? He denies that they have a problem at first. He's choosing to ignore reality. A conversation with Sei later shows it too.

He wants to believe they've been honest with each other.

Even though he's not verbalizing his actual thoughts to Kaori. For those that don't remember, he has an entire sequence in his head at the BBQ with their friends of what he wants to say. But he doesn't say it. He's not being open and honest with Kaori.

He's also hiding what he truly desires. Kaori didn't say he couldn't drink the sweet coffee. She said it was unhealthy. Sei said it was unhealthy too. He drank it around Sei anyways.

He even bought it FOR Sei even though Sei thought it was too sweet. Hagiwara initiates with Sei.

It's actually been shown that Kaori doesn't care what Hagiwara eats. He's allowed to eat whatever he wants. Kaori isn't telling Hagiwara to go to sleep or eat the yogurt.

She controls sex (and maybe their social agenda). However, unlike Fujisawa, Kaori doesn't keep tight control on Hagiwara as a person.

Unlike Sei, Hagiwara isn't isolated. There's no traumatic backstory. He's more self-confident than Sei. Unlike Sei, he talks about the things he CAN do rather than things he can't. For example, in episode 1, he mentions that "he's good" at organizing parties.

Unlike Sei, he's not trapped in a locked room.

His affection might have been contained and hidden. I think he wonders whether Kaori has things she has to keep inside, because he knows there are things that he keeps inside. But...

He's not trapped. He's stuck. There's a difference.

Hagiwara didn't forget his ID. He didn't forget who he was. He lost his ID, because he's losing confidence in his relationship.

But he's still walking around this building freely. Apparently, he's been walking free without that ID for months. And when he gets a new ID? He chooses to put it back in the case that Kaori gave him.

He wanted to change his picture, but he hadn't taken the steps to do so. He could've changed the situation by being frank with Kaori at any point. Just like Kaori, he avoided. He has chosen to stay.

He chose not to call Kaori out. He doesn't like making people uncomfortable. His nature is to prioritize the other person. Unlike Kaori, his avoidance is inherently unselfish. But it got him stuck. I'm someone who was actively taught to avoid confrontation and to always think of others first. This hits hard.

Kaori was too selfish, but Hagiwara wasn't selfish enough. Being a little bit selfish is a good thing.

He chose NOT to talk about sex with her. He's not comfortable bringing it up with her, because he's not open with her.

Kaori doesn't communicate about sex, because she's afraid that not wanting sex makes her a bad woman. She's surrounded by heteronormativity after all. As @babyangelsky points out, this is what society treating libido as swamp does to you.

Hagiwara doesn't communicate about sex, because he's afraid prioritizing sex makes him a bad man. After all, wouldn't breaking up with his girlfriend just because of sex make him a bad person? Isn't his desire just making the river murky with swamp water? Stupid swamp. He doesn't realize sex is not the real issue. In the end, he has chosen to stay in this relationship even though he's unhappy.

It's why I had positive thoughts about the breakup scene. A lot could be said about Kaori forcing Hagiwara to be the one to breakup, but I was actually glad that Hagiwara said it. It was on both of them that the relationship lasted this long. Neither of them had been willing to speak up about what wasn't working. They both stayed stuck.

Hagiwara is finally speaking his mind. He calls Kaori out.

Hagiwara is no longer being passive. He's asserting control.

Hagiwara is no longer hiding what he wants. He's being open.

Hagiwara is now taking action to change the picture on his ID.

Previous posts about Hagiwara:

The Desire to Be A Good Man

I also have two additional posts about Hagiwara in my drafts. I'll try to get them posted this weekend.

[lobautumny]

So, emptyheadgamer's reply here illustrates a sort of lack of understanding of how writing works, and it's a fairly common misunderstanding too. Not every detail of the world a story takes place in does or should make it into the story itself on a direct textual level. That's not what's being suggested, here (at least, not inherently.) Rather, this is about worldbuilding, a process that is majorily writing things that will never be directly addressed for more than a passing remark within the text of your story.

The reason this is important is because the more well-considered your world is, the more it feels like your story takes place within the world as a part of it and its history, rather than the world existing as a formality/convenience to justify the story. It also gives you more points of attachment to naturally come up with plot threads and events that can intertwine with the story that feel natural and grounded and immersive.

Considering things like trade relations between nations, or the force of imperialism, or the effect of climate on available crops, or domestic political tensions, or natural disasters happening outside of where the story is explicitly set, or whatever else fits along these lines adds texture and life to your world, and can easily set the groundwork for things your audience didn't anticipate happening to your characters that don't feel forced or like a deus ex machina. It lets you indirectly add more personality to your characters.

If your setting has a bunch of miscreants randomly jumping adventurers on the road just because you wanted to have some bandit encounters, then sure, you can just leave it at that. But that's a lot less interesting and dynamic than considering why the nearby government doesn't do something about the bandits. Are they particularly well-defended and just more trouble than it's worth to clear out? Are they well-funded organized criminals who bribe law enforcement to look the other way? Do they live in some extremely treacherous area that the guards simply refuse to enter? Are new bandit groups literally just popping up faster than the guards can stomp them down? Really, who even are the bandits? Why did they form their groups? What draws in new members, and why are they robbing people on the streets? Is everyone from these groups attacking people, or are the ones who do fringe lunatics? Militia members who feel they're protecting their communities? What are the relationships between different bandit factions? Etc.

Sure, the answers to most of these questions will likely never reach the text of your story and be largely invisible to your audience on a micro level even when they are explicitly referenced unless you decide to base a plotline on said worldbuilding. But it's still valuable to consider these sorts of things because they get you in the habit of thinking about your own world on a deeper level as a world in which things happen even when they aren't happening to/because of your major characters, and which your characters live within and interact with. It's easier to write a more in-depth backstory for your bandit-turned-goodguy character if you already know why and how the bandits exist. It's easier to have the main road west be blocked off by ransom-demanding bandits who are simply too strong for your protagonists to pass if you know why the guards won't or can't sort the issue out quickly. It grounds your story when the audience hears characters reference goings-on in the world around them that don't explicitly have anything to do with your protagonist's adventure. It lets you subtly establish the groundwork for future surprise plot events such that they feel like a natural consequence of events in the world and not an out-of-nowhere twist that was written for the sake of having a random twist.

Beyond the very interesting political point raised by the original posts here, this toy cannot stress enough that thinking about these kinds of things will literally lead to you writing better stories. It's not just frivolous details that exist for no reason.

👀

[scoutofmymind]

Momma I request a prompt inspired by a song of your choosing (: I L Y

Couldn’t Make It Any Harder — { Luigi x Reader }

Content: mental health issues, mentions of past trauma, TorturedArtist!Reader, Empath!Luigi, Luigi says “go birds” after flipping off a woman, confused feelings, situationship, reader is just Very Confused in general, angst, eventual romance.

Wc: 5,107

I couldn't make it

Any harder to love me

Oh, one day, believe me

You’ll want someone who makes it easy

This has been floating around in my asks for awhile, and I wasn’t feeling practically inspired by any songs lately until Sabrina released Couldn’t Make It Any Harder and I couldn’t stop thinking about writing it.

This work was done quickly between my other ongoing Luigi projects, so I apologize for any inconsistencies or skipped backstory (you know I’m a backstory bitch) but I simply needed to get this out of my system, and remembered that an anon had asked me to write something based off of a song quite awhile ago!

Also, how could I leave you hanging on Valentine’s Day? Even if I’m posting this at 2 AM….

It's 8:30 AM at your usual coffee spot — that tiny café two blocks from Luigi's apartment where the barista always draws terrible attempts at latte art, and you’re still wearing yesterday's mascara, not because you've been crying, but because you spent the night in your studio, channeling your frustration into a new piece that's all sharp edges and bold strokes.

"I mean, we had a great time!" You're gesturing with your coffee cup, nearly spilling it. "We went to that new gallery opening, and he actually understood my rant about contemporary minimalism. Then dinner, drinks, great conversation — and now? Radio silence. Three days of nothing."

Luigi, sitting across from you, is trying not to smile at how animated you are, his laptop open beside him — he's probably got a Slack channel blowing up with messages from his dev team, but he rushed to meet you for this emergency coffee session, anyway.

The startup's dress code might be casual, but he always manages to look put-together in that effortless way that makes other tech bros look like they're not trying hard enough.

"Maybe I'm just-“ you pause, stirring your coffee aggressively, "too much, you know? Too loud, too passionate, too-"

"Stop," Luigi cuts in, closing his laptop and fixing his gaze on you again, "You're not too anything. You're exactly enough. So don’t even go there with me.” He massages his temples, “Too early for it.”

"I know that," you say firmly, because you do. "That's the thing — I like who I am. I like that I can talk about art for hours. I like that I get excited about things. I like that I feel everything so intensely. I'm not going to make myself smaller just because some guy can't handle it."

"Then don't," Luigi says, and there's something in his voice that makes you look up from the foam disappearing from your cappuccino. "The right person won't want you to."

"Exactly! And you know what? If Jake can't handle a woman who knows what she wants and isn't afraid to say it-“ you trail off, reaching for your sketchbook. You start absent-mindedly drawing on a corner of the page.

“Ugh,” Luigi’s face screws in mock disgust, “His name was Jake?”

Putting down your pen, you lean back in your chair with a frustrated sigh. "But then again, if I'm so great, why does this keep happening? Three first dates in two months, Lu. Three. And they all end the same way."

"You mean with guys who can't handle someone who actually has opinions?" Luigi takes a sip of his coffee, his fingers tapping absently on his closed laptop. A notification buzzes on his phone — probably his team wondering where he is — but he doesn't even glance at it.

"No, see, that's just it," you lean forward, your hands moving expressively as you talk. "They love it at first. They think it's so fascinating and refreshing that I'm 'not like other girls', or whatever." You roll your eyes at the phrase, hating the taste of the words in your mouth. "But then it's like they realize I'm actually serious. That I'm not just putting on some manic pixie dream girl act for their entertainment."

Luigi's mouth quirks up at one corner. "Heaven forbid you be a real person with actual thoughts and feelings."

"Right? And I know — I know I'm not too much," you say, but your voice wavers slightly. You start fidgeting with your rings, a habit Luigi's seen a thousand times when you're wrestling with something in your head. "But sometimes I wonder if-"

"If what?"

"If maybe I should just- you know.. tone it down? Just a little? Just at first?" The words sound wrong coming out of your mouth, and you can see from Luigi's expression that he knows it, too. "No, you're right, forget I said that. That's stupid."

"It is stupid," he agrees, but gently. His eyes catch yours across the table again, his gaze steady and genuine. "Remember that installation you did last month? The one about authenticity?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you tell that bag of bones professor who said it was 'overwhelmingly honest'?"

A smile starts to spread across your face. "I told him that was the whole damn point."

"Exactly." Luigi checks his watch and starts gathering his things — he's definitely late now. "So maybe the problem isn't that you're too overwhelming,” he pats the top of your head, slinging his bag over his shoulder, “maybe they're just underwhelming."

•

You're standing in front of your last piece, forcing a smile that feels like it's splitting your face in half, as another guest explains to you what your own art means.

Behind you, you can hear snippets of conversations that make your skin crawl.

It's a bit... aggressive, isn't it?

Not quite gallery standard... these nepo kids..

Experimental, but perhaps too experimental..

Your hands are shaking, so you clasp them behind your back. You've been doing this grim waltz for two hours — nodding, smiling, explaining yourself over and over to people who look through you rather than at you, and the gallery owner keeps shooting you these looks, these little disappointed glances that make you feel about two inches tall.

You catch Luigi's eye across the room.

He's been watching, you realize, while pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with some tech entrepreneur who probably thinks art is a good investment opportunity, and he tilts his head slightly — a question.

You shake yours — you’re not okay.

"The brushstrokes here," the current patron is saying, pointing at your most vulnerable piece, "they're rather — well, chaotic. Unorganized. Muddy. It’s strange to see. Was that intentional?"

Something inside you splinters.

"Excuse me," you manage, your voice surprisingly steady for how the room is tunneling, how your fingers begin to tingle, how your lungs have lost the ability to draw in a full breath. "I need some air."

You make it through the gallery, past the whispers and the stares, past the owner who starts to say something about maintaining appearances, past the front desk and around the corner to the back alley.

Then your legs give out.

You're gasping, trying to remember how breathing works, your back against the cold brick wall. The dress — that stupid yellow dress that Luigi said was his favorite — feels too tight. Everything feels too tight.

You tear at your collar, needing air, needing space, needing- "Hey." Luigi's voice, close but not too close. "I'm here."

"I can't-" you choke out. "I can't breathe, I can't-"

"Yes, you can." He moves slowly into your space, hands hovering but not touching. "Look at me. Just look at me. I’m right here. It’s all good.”

You shake your head violently, sliding down the wall. "They're right. They're all right. I'm not- this- This isn't-" Each word feels like it's being ripped from your throat, bloody and raw and dishonest and horrific. They aren’t right. You know they aren’t.

"Bullshit." The sharpness in his voice makes you look up. He's crouched in front of you now, his tie completely undone, his eyes fierce. "They're not right. They're not even close to right. They're looking at fireworks and complaining about the noise. Old fuckin’ bunch’a assholes.”

A sob catches in your throat, half laugh, half cry. "That's a terrible metaphor."

"Made you look at me, though." His voice softens, his hands resting on your clammy shoulders. "Breathe with me, okay? Just breathe."

You try to match his exaggerated breathing, your hands still shaking. "I put everything into this show," you whisper after your second deep breath. "Everything."

"I know."

"And they just- they- they just-“

"I know." He shifts, sitting beside you against the wall, careful to leave space, but still your shoulders bump together. "But. Want to know what I think?"

You turn your head to look at him, makeup probably ruined, dress definitely stained from the alley ground, but you’ve already abandoned ship, you’ve waved your white flag — there’s no use in pretending you haven’t crumbled in a New York alleyway now. "What?"

"I think they're terrified of you."

That startles a real laugh out of you, “What?"

"You heard me." He's looking straight ahead, but there's something fierce in his profile. "You walked in there with your soul on full display, unapologetic and raw and real, and they don't know what to do with that. People like that, they're comfortable with art they can hang in their dining rooms and forget about.” You watch him blink, gathering the words, “Your shit doesn't let them forget. It makes them feel things they don't want to feel."

You nudge him gently, a laugh flaring your nostrils. "That's a lot better than the fireworks metaphor."

Now he does look at you, a small smile playing at his lips, his cheeks blushed crimson from the wine he’d gulped down just to make himself a bit more sociable. "Yeah, well, I've had three glasses of their overpriced wine. I'm feeling poetic."

Another laugh bubbles up, watery but real. You let your head fall against his shoulder, just for a moment. "I don't want to go back in there."

"So we won’t." He doesn't move, letting you lean on him, his head leaning atop yours. "Let's go get real drinks instead. You can tell me all the things you wanted to say to that guy who tried to explain color theory to you."

"God, he was the worst." You straighten up slowly, wiping at your eyes. "Did you see his socks?"

"I was trying not to."

•

You're standing at the open bar, counting the minutes until it's socially acceptable to leave, when Madison — a college friend you haven't seen in years, who always seemed to help herself to open bars beyond her means — sways over.

Her champagne sloshes dangerously close to your dress, but for some reason, you don’t step back.

"Oh my god, it really is you!" Her voice carries just a bit too loud, and you can feel a few heads turning in your direction. "I almost didn't recognize you without, you know-“ she gestures vaguely at all of you, that sick smile still on her blush pink lips. "All the paint and shit all over you.”

You take a long sip of your drink, hoping it would wash away the rising tide of anxiety in your core. "Good to see you too, Mads.”

"So,” She leans in conspiratorially, her breath smelling of booze and mid-tier champagne. “I heard about your gallery show last month. The one at The Maxwell? God, that must have been-“ She trails off, eyes wide with what looks like concern but feels like something else entirely.

Your hand tightens around your glass. "Must have been what?" Your lips tighten into a line, “It was an- an honor to have the opportunity.”

Words your father had always said to you growing up echo in the far depths of your mind; Honor and Integrity.

There’s a humility in it, in accepting such a nightmare as privilege.

"Well, I mean — I saw that article that was going around Instagram. About how you just up and left? In the middle of opening night?" She takes another sip of champagne, watching you over the rim with her big, stupid brown eyes. "Is that true? That you didn't even come back to collect your pieces? God, that's crazy!"

The word crazy hits like a slap, and you can still feel the panic from that night, the walls closing in as people whispered, pointed, discussed your work like it was a car crash they couldn't look away from and did nothing to aid.

"It's not exactly-"

"And after everything with Matt, and then Jason- ugh,” She shakes her head. "I mean, I get it. Using art as therapy. But maybe actual therapy would be — I dunno — you know, beneficial?”

"Madison-"

"I'm just worried about you," she continues, reaching for your arm and her fingers feel like serpents, coiling around your skin, suffocating you. "We all are. First the whole thing with your poor father — god, remember how he used to say you were just too-"

"Don't." Your voice comes out sharper than intended, your brows furrowed at her like she’d backhanded you. “Don’t you fucking say another word.”

Madison almost gasps, clutching her necklace. “See? This is what I mean. All this reactionary stuff. The anger. The intensity. Have you thought about getting help? My therapist says sometimes when we've been through things-"

The garden somehow feels too small, the fairy lights too bright, the music too loud. Across the room, Luigi is trapped in conversation with the bride's uncle, but somehow he must sense something because his eyes find yours, his head tilted at you, his usual question.

Everything okay?

This time, you look away from him.

"I’m going to leave this conversation before-“

"No, wait, listen." Madison's grip on your arm tightens, slithering, sneering, hissing. Fangs, poison. “That show — people were talking about it for weeks. How raw it was. How fucking uncomfortable it made everyone. One of the pieces — the one with all the broken mirrors? Someone said it looked like a cry for help."

You can feel your pulse in your throat. "It wasn't a fucking-“

"And then you just disappeared! Like, who does that, girl? Just leaves their own show? The curator had to pack up your pieces himself. That's what the article said. Is that true?" She may as well have a microphone beneath your trembling lips, taking on the role of some cheap reporter for a local shittalking magazine.

Of course she read the article.

Everyone read the article.

The one that called your work a disturbing glimpse into a clearly troubled mind. The one that suggested your artistic breakdown was inevitable given your history of emotional instability.

It was laughable, truly, and anyone that knew you well enough had known so much to be so very far from the truth.

"I had my reasons," you manage, but your voice sounds distant even to yourself. “I had reason for leaving the way I did.”

"Obviously you did. That's what I'm saying. Maybe if you got some help, you know, dealt with all this and found ways to properly cope-“ She waves her hand vaguely again, like swatting away a pesky fly. "Then maybe you could make art that's more you know.. accessible. Enjoyable. Less-“

"Less me?" The words come out before you can stop them. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t know, Madison. You haven’t seen a single one of my shows, haven’t shown yourself at any of my gallery openings-“ your cheeks burn red hot, your glass of wine discarded and your hands balled into fists. “You’re lucky I don’t fucking pop that smirk right off your-“

"That's not what I-"

“It is exactly what you fucking-“

“No, it’s not! Look at yourself!”

"Hey!” Luigi's voice cuts through the rising panic. He's suddenly there, solid and real. "Sorry to interrupt, but we have that thing that we have to get to-“ he loops his arm around yours, and he swears he can feel the heat radiating off of you, hot and quivering like a volcano deciding if it’s time to erupt just yet or not.

Madison blinks at him, her nostrils flared at the sudden interruption. It seems as though this is exactly the reaction she wanted, and was pissed the show had called curtains so quickly. "What thing?"

"That very important thing," Luigi says firmly, already guiding you away. "Great catching up. Green is not your color. Go Birds.” As he turns you both, he raises his middle finger behind your back — not because you needed defending, but because that's who Luigi is; all sharp edges and fierce loyalty, a guard dog with his teeth bared in your honor, though, you catch the gesture in a reflection, and something warm unfurls in your chest.

Not because you needed saving, but because he'd always take your side, no matter the circumstances. He didn’t need to know why you were barking at this girl he’d never met before — he already knew you had good reason to do it.

You make it to the venue's back garden before your legs give out, and the fairy lights blur through tears you refuse to let fall. "Did you— fuck,” Your voice shakes as you reach to wipe away the tears before they even get the chance to glide down your cheeks. "Did you actually hear what she was saying or just see it?”

"Caught the greatest hits." His jaw is tight, his hand resting on your lower back as he hunches forward, clearly concerned but approaching all of it carefully.

You can’t help but wonder then how many times you’ll find yourselves like this — Luigi rescuing you from yet another mishap, and that alone could become a new reason to feel sorry for yourself.

And him.

"The article." You wrap your arms around yourself. "She read the fucking article."

Ironically, you had originally taken the article well.

Too well, in fact.

You'd invited them all over — Luigi, Anna, Theo — for what you called A Reading of My Professional Obituary. You'd spent all day in the kitchen, channeling your grandmother's stress-cooking legacy; bouillabaisse simmering for hours, Tarte Tatin caramelizing to golden perfection.

The good wine came out, the kind you'd been saving for a real occasion.

Perched in your chair like it was a throne, wine glass dangling from your fingers, you'd performed dramatic readings of the choicest quotes. "Sources close to the artist describe a history of emotional instability," you'd intoned, affecting a pompous art critic voice that had Luigi choking on his wine. "An unsettling collection that seemed less like art and more like a cry for help.”

The evening devolved into a tipsy game of "Guess the Snitch" — everyone taking turns suggesting increasingly ridiculous candidates for the mysterious source. "It was Gabby, in the gallery, with the emotional manipulation!" Theo had declared, wielding his bouillabaisse spoon like a gavel.

But Luigi had watched you through it all — the way your hand shook slightly when pouring wine, how your laugh got a little too loud to be genuine, and how you'd spent three hours making a perfect French dessert like your life depended on proving you weren't falling apart.

"We all did." Luigi reminds you, his voice gentle but firm. "Christ, we turned it into dinner theater. Remember how Anna did that dramatic interpretation of ' the unsettling collection'?" His hand finds your knee, squeezing. "And it was shit. Not only was it shit — it was cowardly. Didn't even have the spine to name you."

You tilt your head back, using the stars as gravity's help against the tears threatening to spill. The fairy lights from the wedding garden blur into little halos. "I know, but — these people, Lu." Your voice catches, and you hate how it betrays you. "They believe it. They're all walking around thinking I'm some unhinged artist who needs to be sedated and locked away from sharp objects." A laugh escapes, but it's wet and hollow. "God, I wish I'd understood what that article would do. I wish-"

But there's no point in wishing.

The damage was done with surgical precision.

They hadn't needed to use your name — everyone knew exactly whose exhibition had opened at Maxwell Gallery on August fifteenth.

Yours.

•

The hotel room feels smaller with each passing hour.

You've mastered a careful choreography — sliding past each other in the narrow spaces, maintaining precise distances on the king bed as you both pretend to watch some mindless cooking show. But sometimes, despite your best efforts, you slip. His hand brushes yours as you both reach for the room service menu, your feet touch under the shared blanket; each accidental contact sends you recoiling like a startled cat, though you used to fall asleep during movie nights without a second thought.

When your knee accidentally bumps his as you shift position, you jerk away so violently you nearly fall off the bed.

"Okay." Luigi mutes the TV, turning to face you. "We need to talk about this."

"About what?" But you know exactly what, can feel heat creeping up your neck and it makes you want to run.

"About how we used to share my twin bed during college when you crashed at my place, but now you act like my skin is fucking toxic." His voice is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of hurt that makes your core ache. "Remember that road trip to Detroit? You slept on my chest the whole way back because the car heater was broken.“ he looks desperate, grasping at the last straws of you. “I feel like we hardly look each other in the eyes now.”

You stare hard at the geometric pattern on the duvet, picking at a loose thread. "Things were different then."

"Were they?" He shifts closer, and you fight the urge to move away. "Or are you just scared they weren't?"

You get up abruptly, needing to put physical space between you and that question, the Chicago night spreading out beyond the window, a constellation of lights blurring through unshed tears; each one feels like a witness to this moment, to your cowardice.

"You know what changed," you say finally, arms crossed tight against your chest like armor. "After Maxwell, after the article, after everything became public consumption — I can't be that person anymore.”

"Why not?" His voice is closer now — he's moved to the edge of the bed, but he doesn't approach further. Giving you space while refusing to let you run.

Very classic Luigi.

A laugh escapes you, bitter and dry. "Because now everyone's watching. Waiting for the next shoe to drop. And you-“ You turn just enough to catch his reflection in the window, superimposed over the city lights. "You're too important to me, Lu.”

"So you'd rather just — what? Keep pretending?" There's frustration in his voice now, raw and real. "We both know that's not sustainable. Not when we used to-“ He trails off, and you recall the many countless nights on his cramped couch, your head on his chest, his heartbeat your lullaby to the most restful sleep you’d ever known.

"Maybe not," you admit quietly. "But it's safer than the alternative."

"Safer for who?"

The question almost knocks you off your feet.

Because he's right — this careful distance isn't protecting him. It's protecting you. From vulnerability. From the possibility of loss. From the terrifying reality that despite everything, despite all your jagged edges and dark corners, he's still here.

Still looking at you like you're something precious instead of precarious.

The silence stretches between you, heavy with all the things you're afraid to say, all the ways you're afraid to need him, and even more terrified of the way he needs you.

Eventually, you turn from the window, facing him. "It can't be simple. I won't let it be." Your voice catches. "I push and I pull and I keep everyone at arm's length until they prove me right by leaving."

Luigi stands slowly, like he's approaching a wild animal. "You've been trying so hard to make it impossible," he says softly. "Creating distance, convincing yourself I'll give up." He takes another step closer. "But loving you has always been the easiest thing I've ever done."

"Don't." The word comes out choked, your hand pressing against his chest in hopes that he’ll back away. "Don't say that when you know how complicated — how- how difficult-"

"Difficult?" He's close enough now that you can see the flecks of gold in his eyes, stood firm but not inching any closer. "You want to talk about difficult? Try watching you date other people. Try sitting across from you at coffee shops for years and watching you cry over them. Try fucking loving you quietly through every gallery opening, every crisis,“ his brows furrow, his nostrils flare, “you don’t get to tell me what loving you is like.”

Your breath catches as he reaches for you.

"You think you're pushing me away?" His voice is barely above a whisper, his hands finally cradling your face, tears dampening your cheeks that blaze with warmth. "I've been yours since that first night you fell asleep on my shoulder during finals week. Everything since then — it's just been waiting."

You clench your jaw, your heart a wild thing against your ribs. This tightrope you and Luigi have been walking for years — this delicate balance of almost-but-not-quite, of maybe-someday-but-not-now — has finally frayed beneath your feet. All those careful steps, those perfectly maintained distances, those nights of pretending your skin didn't burn where he almost touched you.

They’ve led you here, to this hotel room in Chicago, where the fantasy of staying safely suspended between friendship and something more has finally given way to gravity.

And what, you wonder, has Luigi seen in you to make him want to dive deeper into your chaos?

He's already witnessed the 3 AM phone calls when your mind won't quiet, the obsessive cleaning episodes that leave your hands raw and your apartment sterile. He's held you through the tears that come without warning, weathered the anger that burns hot and fast like summer lightning.

You're no manic pixie dream girl — you're the real thing, messy and unpredictable, with a heart that bleeds all over everything it touches.

He's either a storm chaser or a fool, you think.

Some hopeless beast tamer who hasn't realized that some creatures aren't meant to be gentled, that some storms leave nothing but wreckage in their wake.

But that's the thing — to Luigi, you've never been a storm to weather or a beast to tame. He doesn't look at you like you're broken machinery in need of repair, doesn't treat your edges like something to be smoothed away.

Instead, he's spent years matching your pace, stepping back when you needed space, stepping forward when you needed anchor. And now, finally, the weight of all that careful patience has brought him here — raw and honest in this dim hotel room, asking you to either meet him in this space between what you are and what you could be, or lay him to rest.

"Touch me," he says, the words falling soft but heavy in the space between you. His eyes hold yours, steady and sure, "Or let me go.”

The city lights paint his silhouette in gold and shadow, and you realize you've never seen him look so vulnerable, so stripped of the careful composure he always maintains. Your Luigi laid bare — not the patient friend, not the steady shoulder, but a man who's finally reached the end of his endurance.

"What if we break?" The question slips from your lips, small and honest, carrying all the weight of your fears that kept you at such a distance all these years — shattering to pieces, left broken by the man you’d loved the most.

Luigi's eyes soften, and something like a smile — sad and sweet and knowing — tugs at the corner of his lips. "Then we break," he says simply, his thumbs swiping away the tears that slide down your cheeks. "But I'd rather that than spend the rest of my life whole and wondering."

His hands haven’t moved. Patient, steady Luigi, who has never pushed but never fully retreated, either. Who has somehow found this perfect middle ground between staying and going, between asking and waiting.

And maybe that's what finally does it — the realization that he's offering you both beginning and end in the same breath. That he's standing here saying yes to all of it; the possibility of breaking, of shattering, of ending up with nothing but deadly carnage between you.

That he knows exactly what he's asking for, and he's asking anyway.

Your hand moves before you can think yourself out of it again, crossing the space between you like a prayer finally answered. When you cup his face, the scrape of stubble against your palm is both foreign and achingly familiar — like a song you used to know by heart, now half-remembered.

His eyes flutter closed at your touch, and you feel the slight tremor in his jaw, the way he leans into your hand like he's been starving for it.

His breath catches, shaky and soft, and when he speaks, his voice is rough with emotion. "There you are," he whispers against your palm, like he's greeting someone long lost, like you've finally come home after years away. "There you are."

His lips brush your palm once more before he lifts his gaze to yours, eyes dark with something between hope and heartache. "Tell me to pull away," he whispers, voice rough. "Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll go. I'll understand."

But his body betrays him — the slight tremor still present in his jaw under your touch, the way he's still leaning into your hand like he can't help himself. He's offering you an exit, even now. Steady, selfless Luigi, always making sure you have a way out, even when it's killing him to do so.

And that's what breaks you finally — not his touch or his words, but this endless capacity of his to put your needs first.

To stand here offering everything he has left and the chance to walk away from it.

His hand finds your waist, fingers pressing into soft flesh with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. That small sound seems to undo something in him — his control fractures, and suddenly he's pulling you down to him with a urgency that matches your own, your hands bracing against his chest, feeling the thundering of his heart beneath your palms.

"I've thought about this," he confesses roughly, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that makes heat pool low in your stomach, his thumb tracing a burning path along your hip bone. "Having you like this.”

You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way he's still holding back despite everything. Even now, he's giving you the chance to set the pace, to decide how far this goes. But you're done with hesitation, done with the careful distance you've maintained for so long.

You lean down, letting your lips brush against his ear. "Show me," you whisper, and feel him shudder beneath you. "Show me how you wanted me."

He moves with a swiftness that steals your breath, flipping your positions in one fluid motion. Now he's the one hovering above you, his forearm braced beside your head, other hand still at your waist.

The weight of him, the heat of him so close — it makes your head spin.

"Like this," he breathes, pressing his forehead to yours. "Just like this." He holds you like you’ll run from him — just like he’s watched you run from everything before that doesn’t run from you first.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, feeling the tension there, the way he's trembling slightly despite his strength. "I'm here," you whisper back, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

[calware]

there's something to be said about how at a certain point it doesn't matter how well you explain yourself or how thorough the explanation is or how often you do it there is always going to be someone who misconstrues your words (maliciously or otherwise) and broadcasts that to everyone else and it's only a matter of time before you've got people sending anons to your friends and followers about something you aren't or never did or don't believe in and you might even end up on a public blocklist. and i've had those happen to me and it feels like just just a matter of time before i get the capital C Callout and there's nothing i can do to mitigate that

i have to always watch what i say and how my words might be twisted or what i associate myself with and how that will reflect on me. and a little bit of that is always good practice for everyone but the consequences should not be this dire. if i've had to tell you (you) in the past that i can't interact with a certain post or promote a certain project for x y or z it's because this is the reality when you're in a position where people are waiting with their finger on the trigger for you to say or do something that can be used against you. i've seen it happen to my friends, mutuals, bloggers i look up to where they're bullied or driven off the site for stuff that is blatantly untrue. it never escapes my mind that i'm in a box that's slowly shrinking

and again this isn't "i have #controversial opinions and i can't have anyone disagree with me because ill get #canceled" or "i have never done anything wrong and never will" it's literally "the more followers you have, the more people there are that will lie about you on the internet and there is nothing you can do to stop it"

[susitseart]

Our Heart.

Made of us.

Together, it’s whole. And so are we.

Separated, it’s broken. And we are nothing.

Only love can form this heart. A love that can exist in many forms for us. As platonic or romantic. As lighter or deeper.

But maybe we’re talking about true love, when the soul of another touches our soul. When our soul touches the soul of another.

This mutual touch implies unconditional understanding and acceptance. A sense of affection and belonging. A shared wish that this lonely world wouldn’t be so lonely for us anymore.

And when our souls accept each other as their own, something wondrous happens.

The other becomes our counterpart. Another side of ourselves.

Vital to us. Or so we are willing to swear. For one’s bliss is our bliss, and one’s pain is our pain.

It makes us whole. Makes our heart whole. When we are together with the one we love.

But once a heart is formed, it can also get broken.

The halves of the heart can grow apart. The halves of the heart can betray each other. The halves of the heart can realize that this heart should never have existed.

When one half of the heart hurts the other, the heart becomes cracked.

When the heart becomes cracked enough, it breaks.

And then there’s heart no more.

That’s when our soul also detaches from the other’s soul. It can hurt us deeply. Even somehow permanently.

It may be the worst pain we ever feel.

But sometimes it can be good. Sometimes growing apart or being torn apart is good. It’s good, if we need it. If sharing a common heart with another has become toxic for us.

It’s true that when this happens, we drift back into lonely darkness. It’s true that maybe the fear of the dark has held our broken, toxic hearts together for too long.

But after all, we are lucky. Lucky because nothing in our lifetime is final. Not even the darkness or pain.

Everything is temporary. We as well.

That is why we are lucky if we love, or ever have been able to love.

It may be the most wondrous thing we can ever experience.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Is your heart whole or broken?

- - - - - - - - - - -

Right now, my heart is whole. Maybe a little cracked here and there, because many years have passed. But whole and strong nonetheless.�

Love means a lot to me. The fact that my soul can and is able to connect with someone else's soul feels more than I dared to hope for in this lonely world. Almost like a privilege. Because so many are alone in this world.

Love is like a blessing and a curse. I know it's not for everyone, and it doesn't have to be.

The main thing is that each of us strives to be as happy as possible in our own way.

That's why I hope that all those who long for love in this lonely world will eventually find someone to share their soul with and form a common heart with.

Also. A few more thoughts on a broken heart.�

If my heart, our heart, was torn in two for some reason, I would be scared. Of course I would, after so many years. I would be lost and desperate for a long time.

But while writing this story, I realized that despite the pain, I might make it. Eventually.

Even though my heart is strong and whole right now, it feels comforting to know that even the worst wouldn't be the end of the world. It wouldn't be. Because few things are the actual end of the world, even if it often feels like it.

We will make it. Because we are often stronger than we can imagine.

We'll be fine. Whether our hearts are whole, in danger of breaking, or broken.

Happy Valentine's Day friends ❤ I wanted to post these little Patreon illustrations for you as a gift today. It's a privilege to have you here with me. More times than you know, you have taken away my loneliness and given my life a purpose. And for that I am very grateful.

I hope that this and each day has been great for you 🐺💜

[dolche-tejada]

"I respect shirakumosolos opinion because he's realistic"

Saying villains shouldn't get an happy ending because it's unfair isn't realistic, it's just moral. And claiming these villains deserved to die because "an eye for an eye" isn't either, it's the classic edgy teenager bs you can find everyday on the Punisher subreddit.

"and I also see what you're trying to convey but the world didn't work like that."

Yes and that's kinda the problem in MHA. The Hero Society is consistently framed as heavily fucked up but in the end, problems are either swept under the rug or superficially addressed. Yet Horikoshi treats this situation as if everything was fixed or soon to be when no, shit barely changed.

"You are disappointed with the ending of the manga because the Hero is alive and well after they save the world from the villains."

Nope, I'm actually disappointed by how villains are either dead or incarcerated for life in miserable conditions despite Horikoshi spending hundreds of chapters building up themes and a development for them which should have logically resulted with them being saved.

If a story promise its audience something only to do a 180° at the last minute and pretend it was the logical conclusion, it's perfectly legitimate to call out this bullshit for what it is.

And since this is the topic of this post, I'm also annoyed by how Horikoshi unfairly favored the heroes with a blatant lack of consequences for their actions and stakes overall while the villains suffered from them at every corner. Not by the heroes winning a conflict they were obviously going to win at the end...

"Villains who caused the mass destruction in Japan, which in turn cause harm to the public."

Which doesn't change anything to my point. Yes the LoV committed atrocious crimes across the plot, it's undeniable. But the thing is it isn't the point, the question wasn't about whether they should be forgiven or if they deserved a redemption. Hell Tomura, Toya or Toga never even asked for that to begin with, none of them seeked forgiveness (at least not for killing people).

Their entire point was about them being saved by Deku, Shoto and Toga, this was literally their arc but they weren't. Horikoshi can sugarcoat that with all the "Toga was truly happy thanks to Ochako", "Toya got to reunite with his family" or "Tomura got his soul saved by Deku", it's just narrative gaslighting.

Despite all his speeches about trying to understand and rescue Tomura, Deku didn't save him. Worst, he never made a proper plan to save Tomura or tried to talk with him despite this being literally his goal for weeks

The only thing Deku did during the final arc was beating the shit out of him so hard his body crumbled to dust. That and taking a look at his backstory...

Toya spending some time with his family is sweet but it would have been way more coherent if Horikoshi wrote an ending where he was actually saved by them like they textually intended to. Instead of painfully keeping him alive for a few years before passing out offscreen...

As for Toga, I'm pretty sure that suicide doesn't count as "being saved" either, even if it's to save someone you care about.

"I see your point and I truly wanted the Lov to live but they already redeemed themselves by saving the people they care about.

Except again, that was never the point, this story wasn't a redemption one about a group of "evil" characters trying to be better and actually doing so by sacrificing themselves at the end.

It was a story about a new generation of heroes learning from the mistakes of the previous one and improving society by saving villains instead of just beating them to a pulp (something textually framed as wrong many times) among other things.

But again, it just didn't happen. None of them were saved.

"Toga bleeding to death trying to save Ochako not because she scared of Tartarus"

Meanwhile Toga a few instants before sacrificing herself

"because she finally have someone who understands her and sees her. A friend."

And because from her own admission, she knew dying was still better than rotting her whole life in prison, even with Ochako for friend.

"Shigaraki is free from AFO control. Cool."

And he died like 15 seconds afterwards due to Deku beating him into dust so it may just be me but I don't get how he's supposed to be free now.

"No concrete proof that villaint will murder innocent people. Didn't Dabi confessed on the live TV that he killed 30 peoples include innocent people?"

This point concerned Twice, why are you switching the subject on Dabi ?

"The hero shouldn't kill the villain but the villain can kill the hero?"

When your job is literally neutralizing criminals without killing them, that you can effortlessly subdue them at any point and that they are trying to run away, yes stabbing them in the back is rationally not justified, in addition to being also outright fucked up.

"I can't take the logic because look at Batman and Joker."

Yes and Batman isn't in the wrong for not murdering him. I've already had this debate hundreds of times, I won't refute the same eternal bs arguments once again.

"Eye for an eye."

Believe it or not but most modern societies have evolved over the last few centuries beyond this childish and stupid approach of justice.

Also for someone who truly wanted the LoV to live, it's strange that you're reasoning exactly like the people who wanted them dead.

You know, I think this ending would have been slightly less of a fucking disappointment if the heroes hadn't been so unfairly favored by Horikoshi compared to the villains. I mean, seriously

Deku destroys every bone in his body multiple times throughout the story and is warned that if he continues, he'll permanently lose the use of his limbs ? Everything's fine, his body's just got used to being reduced to a bloody pulp somehow so there's no consequences for him. In fact even when he literally loses his arms to Shigaraki, he gets them back two minutes later thanks to Eri because guess what ? Her horn still works even when cut off from her body. How convenient.

Gran Torino gets his ribcage obliterated by Shigaraki ? Don't worry guys, he'll survive that despite his old age and injuries, and this to have no particular role in the plot afterwards.

Bakugo dies heroically trying to buy time before Deku arrives ? Lmao, did you really believe it ?? No of course not, Edgeshot just uses his last-minute Deus Ex Machina to save his life at the cost of his own and- Oops nope he's fine too, my bad !

Hawks murders a criminal fleeing for his life in cold-blood ? The best Hori has to offer is him completely free and in charge of the HSPC.

And no, losing his quirk isn't a real consequence for him because not only it literally played a major part in saving the world with Vestige!Hawks raising an insurrection among AFO's quirks, but also because his quirk has always been the element through which people exploited him.

Endeavor abused his family for years and completely destroyed his eldest son ? No jail time and no media backlash for that, the only blame he received was due to the heroes' failure to stop the League during the Raid Arc.

And don't even get me started on this bs about facing hell or whatever for what he's done : He's literally free and wealthy ; he has Rei, Fuyumi, Shoto, his sidekicks and Hawks on his side ; and all the difficulties he's apparently going to suffer are off-screened.

Deku had to sacrifice OFA and his future hero career to save the world ? Guess what, Bakugo invested all his time and money to make him an Iron-Man suit and now he can still be a hero with everyone else.

There are plenty more examples of this but I think you get the idea. Now let's take a look at the villains' ending :

Toya is now a piece of charcoal kept artificially alive for the few years he has left, unable to move a finger, and whose few minutes a day during which he can stay awake will be spent talking to his father who abused him as a child.

Toga, a literal teenager, killed herself to save Ochako and because she knew it's still better than rotting at Tartarus her whole life.

And not only did she die but she did by bleding to death. Let me repeat for those who have trouble grasping what I've just said : In a manga where the heroes can survive having their heart blown to bits, being impaled Kakyoin-style or smashed against buildings like a fly on a windshield, one of the main antagonists died of a fucking hemorrhage…

As for Shigaraki, after learning that his very birth and all the tragedies of his life have been orchestrated by AFO, after all this development and narrative promises about him being saved in the end... Deku just kills him.

Because despite all his speeches about saving him, it seems like the best our MC could do was beating him both physically and mentally until he crumbles to dust…

Compress on his side is apparently locked up for life and kept alive by machines too.

A begging Kurogiri tried in a desperate attempt to save Shigaraki, only to be unceremoniously blown up by Bakugo and dying off-screen without anyone giving a shit, including Aizawa and Mic.

And Spinner will now spend the rest of his life struggling with the extra quirks inside him that affect his body and mind, while having to cope with the thought that his boyfriend best friend and companions have either died alone or are locked away for life in horrifying circumstances.

Clearly not the same as with the heroes...

Now don't get me wrong, even if they suffered just as much from the consequences of their actions or the plot as the League, this ending would still be a disaster in terms of writing but AT LEAST it wouldn't reek that much of hypocrisy.

[wee-larceny]

Time to Orbit: Unknown liveblog Chapters 011-020

Chapters 001-010

So recently I've been reading Time to Orbit: Unknown by @derinthescarletpescatarian who may or may not appreciate being tagged in this thing again; a sci-fi mystery you've probably heard about if you're on this webbed site. I am definitely having Thoughts about it, so I'm abandoning my uncomfortably long post for a shiny new one, and also grabbing the opportunity to organise some of those thoughts; we have 180+ chapters and any minor detail might be key. It's only getting more complicated, so let us go through unanswered questions and assorted fuckery. Mysterious, frankly bizarre, and/or outright shady behaviour exhibited by characters:

Captain Joshua Reimann: grabbed an axe and started attacking the walls. Wrecked CR1 and his own arm in the process. Died of an untreated infection. Science Officer Claire Rynn-Hatson, possibly also Science Officer Mohammed Aziz and/or Maintenance Officer Ash Dornae: did some sort of experiment involving dangerous chemicals: the experiment ended in disaster killing Rynn-Hatson on the spot and Aziz&Dornae later due to poisoning. The experiment was conducted for unknown reasons despite the lack of any available medical professionals. Captain Kinoshita Keiko: did not authorise the jettisoning of CR1 even though it cut more than half the crew off from her and made it impossible to turn fore engines on from her position. To be fair it's kind of understandable considering the number of people in there. She also died trying to move a giant, heavy crate of protein bars for some reason. Engineer Leilea Arc Hess: spilled coffee all over a keyboard and didn't clean it up. Also kept a physical calendar even though I don't think you need the AI for the calendar or timed reminders to work. The ship's AI: so many things. Didn't wake any new crewmembers when the deaths started; didn't decrease "gravity" or do anything else to save Captain Kinoshita; woke Aspen and Aspen alone when the fore engines needed turned on; needed Aspen to identify by chip even though it was the one that woke them up just a bit ago, who the fuck else would they be; is definitely lying about CR1; is definitely acting outside its parameters; other stuff probably. The organisation that sent them up here in the first place: doesn't allow personal effects which is comic-book villain behaviour. Also made the AI. Doctor Aspen Greaves: upset the bees.

My questions at this point: Why did Captain Reimann try to damage the ship? I've read Solaris, I know that sci-fi characters don't just go crazy for no reason. Why did no one treat Captain Reimann's wounds? Whose body is missing and where is it? There were only three frozen corpses for four potential dead people in the back of the ship. What is in CR1? How did the 120-something people die there? If a guy with an axe in the process of being subdued can actually cause a hull breach then that's not a spaceship I'd like to travel on. When and why was CR1 locked ? We know when it was damaged but not when it was password-locked. Which captain did it? Riemann probably didn't have the opportunity (it was still open during his rampage and I sure wouldn't have allowed him computer access after.) If it was Kinoshita, why? Why didn't the two halves of the crew reestablish contact? What killed the people at the front of the ship? What's up with the disgusting air filer? What was the experiment that killed three members of the crew? Why can't the new captain override the previous one's orders? Captain locks a door, dies, door is locked forever. That's just bad design. How did the aft engines get irreparably damaged? What happened when the ship lurched sideways? It can't have been just the rotations slowing, because that would decrease gravity unless there's a complicated science reason as to why it doesn't. There can't be a complicated science reason because Derin explains those immediately. Did the crew keep logs? If yes, read them. Current suspects:

Captain Reimann: convenient scapegoat but probably not the root of the problems. The AI: could be. Computers sometimes do stupid shit. My company had to change one of their domains once because a widely used cybersecurity AI decided that we're a phishing scam pretending to be ourselves and wouldn't let the programmers whitelist us. The organisation that launched the Courageous, whatever their name is: programmed the AI. Aspen: no, that's stupid.

[utilitycaster]

while reading sone c3 meta i realized c3 defenders are as incurious about the world as bells hells. not to say read/watch the lore but they could do some research. the biggest thing rightniw is the calamity is a family scabble on exandria but i never see them acknowledging why the gods are fighting. or that the gods always chose each other which is so wrong. calamity is because the gods dont chose each other, they chose mortals. the entire fight is to save mortals and at the end they saved 1/3 of mortals vs the total wipeout that could have happened. im reminded that in a world with living gods bells hells didnt even know their names or what they were like. i can see why this party resonates with the incurios.

So on the one hand I would say that the Prime vs. Betrayer fight is complicated, because the motivations that lead to it are them torn between what they want and their refusal leave or kill each other. The Schism happens because the Betrayers want to leave, but won't leave without the Primes, and the Primes don't want to leave and want to help mortals against the titans. The Calamity happens at least in part because the Betrayers want to kill the mortals, which in turn is at least in part motivated by the fact that they see the mortals as coming between them and the Primes. The Primes meanwhile do want to prevent the Betrayers from killing the mortals, and as we've seen, make an effort to spare noncombatant mortals (an effort which in Divergence largely succeeds, and Downfall fails), but are unwilling to kill the Betrayers and instead seal them both times.

However, the larger point, both that Bells Hells are exceptionally ignorant of religious knowledge and history in Exandria and make little effort to rectify this or even acknowledge that they don't know much, and that many of their loudest fans are incurious as well, is true. The thing that actually strikes me is that, given that of the Predathos options that did not involve either a simple defeat of those trying to unleash it or a simple unleashing and destruction of the gods, both involved the Luxon, there was a profound not just lack of curiosity, but dismissiveness of Ashton learning about the beacon earlier in the campaign by their alleged fans. Whether or not you liked it, the potion of possibility and beacon in their head, more so than the shard, was the culmination of their arc and absolutely plot crucial - and it was not uncommon earlier in the campaign for people to be like "who CARES, fuck Essek, let's go to the Hishari." When, in the end, the shard served more as an interesting mechanical bonus, an opportunity for some of the best roleplay of the game that was then mostly abandoned, and an excuse to go to the Shattered Teeth; the role of the titans was ultimately only something to bring up in fruitless arguments and justify dickish behavior. Even more so than the ignorance of Exandrian lore that I saw with some frequency, that stands out to me: even within the campaign they purported to love, they didn't care about exploring something that might gently brush up against Campaign 2. It's a real cutting off one's nose to spite one's face, and it made them look stupid, and Bells Hells felt similar: they did not want to find out information that might show them to be wrong, or show people whom they disliked to be right.

This incuriosity is still alive and well:

This is probably a vague of this post by me - but that post, I should note, came from me checking something in the transcript:

The fans of Campaign 3 don't even care enough about the campaign and party they are expending so much energy to defend, to engage with the questions the characters thereof are thinking about. They're willing to throw Dorian under the bus in a failed attempt to win an argument. Dorian cares about this, actually, is the thing, and he's mostly brushed off, and even if Bells Hells had said "oh damn you're right", my point is not "why doesn't Bells Hells care" so much as "framing this as the merciful option is again a very self-centered perspective, rather like how donating your impulse purchase fast fashion clothing still often puts it in a landfill, but there's a middleman that lets you pretend you're doing the more eco-conscious option."

And yes, it is similar to how Bells Hells, as the party of Campaign 3, didn't care enough about the people and world they claimed to speak for to learn about it. Recall how many NPCs told Ashton that the titans were dead? I think a fair interpretation is that party didn't want to talk to people because they might have told them something that challenged their limited worldview and required they change, grow, and empathize with others.

There's a line from I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings: "[My mother] said I must always be intolerant of ignorance but understanding of illiteracy," with the implication that there is a difference between a lack of knowledge that comes from lack of opportunity, vs. lack of knowledge that comes from not caring. And that's the thing. If a fan doesn't know all the lore, or even gets something wrong in good faith? That's fine! There's a lot, and if people don't know every detail of the history of the Calamity that's not a failure on their part, particularly if they acknowledge that they might be missing some information and are still learning. But if someone looks at the story, and looks at the questions within it - in some cases, questions directly stated by the characters within it - and says "who cares?" that's incuriosity. It's not a lack of knowledge; it's a disinterest in gaining it, and a lot of fans of C3 are not just incurious but openly proud of it.