#if you comment on this to say something to the effect of

[kaisentine]

݁ ִ  ۫ ⸺ ❝ 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔　.ᐟ　❞

⌗ ⸺ ❝ 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯’𝘵 . . ! ❞ the one thing you dread the most is your friends overanalyzing and hyping you up all because of a simple interaction with your crush—so annoying! ft. michael kaiser, itoshi sae, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, & oliver aiku general cw. just idiots in love, reader is so deep into denial it’s infuriating, highschool au, shidou, fem reader . . . ( MY BAD ) sticky-note i think i just yapped my brains out with this one ( what’s new! ). bomb idea, explosive writing! NAWT PROOFREAD

sticky note. BAEE 😁 thought of this cuz i was also doing snapstreaks

𐔌 . 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑 is apparently so into you because . . . ❝ he snaps you in the morning ! ❞

your friend seems way more excited than you are. it’s way too early for her to already be geeked out at you opening kaiser’s snap for streaks. “i don’t get it,” you say as you open the image—he’s still at home even though most students are already in their respective classes, it’s the side of his face and really nothing special ( if you didn’t like him ). “he’s the epitome of ‘i don’t snap til i’m done with training.” she explains further yet you still don’t understand why she’s pointing it out. “does that quote even exist?” you ask, she’s off with your phone to observe the very thought out ( not really ) photo and shoves your phone into your face with her manicured finger pointing something out. “never mind that! look!” she has effectively made your brain’s circuit cut short because you don’t understand. you grab her wrist to control the distance so you can actually see. why is she pointing at his hair? “what am i looking at?” you voice your exact thoughts. “not tryna be mean to your crush or whatever, but it’s clear he has bed head!” she exclaims, attempting to remove your hand from her wrist, “there’s a reason he only snaps after training . . .” she ends in a murmur. “ha-ha, very funny. i still don’t get it.” you fake laugh at her sly comment and finally surrender her arm—letting it drop. “he hates people seeing him in the morning because of that,” she contemplates saying what she is just about to say—when has she ever done that? “maybe he wants to be the first man you see in the morning, that’s why!” she giggles, and your jaw drops; that is the biggest stretch she has ever came up with! “are you a lunatic?!? the last thing i’d want to do is show him me in the morning . . . he probably hates me!” this reaction of yours wasn’t what you friend wanted to get out from you. she was expecting to see a gleam of hope in your eyes but instead she’s met with a gloss of panic.

actually, your friend was spot on—he snaps you in the morning because he wants to be the first man you see in the morning. the strategy isn’t as effective as he would like it to be because despite the fact he has a pretty reasonable schedule like how he sleeps 7 hours every night, he only knocks out at about 2 am. he’s probably more effective at being late for school if anything. however, he’d rather you see him as at least one of the first males you see at such an ungodly time with ungodly bed head than you seeing him rush into the classroom because he’s late for the first time you glance at his ( glorious ) face that day. the man also decides he’s way too good for the stupidly cute filters you can find on the app so those are out of question—random wall photos are too. gets ness to hype him up and then chastises him if you don’t even look his way.

sticky note. i feel like this is a stupid reason but it’s such a funny concept

𐔌 . 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄 is apparently so interested in you because . . . ❝ he ate a fry . ❞

your friend is dead serious but you’re just looking at her like ‘oh you actually serious?’. “sorry, what?” you bring your ear closer to her mouth in hopes you probably just misheard what she said. “he. ate. a. fry.” she repeats—nope she is definitely not joking with you. “i don’t see how sae eating a fry relates to him liking me,” you start deadpanning at her attempt at convincing you itoshi sae likes you—she sucks at this! she cocks a brow and gives you a dirty look, “i have a theory you might not actually like him . . . God that man hates fries.” she shudders at the thought. “they were the fries you brought!” she adds on, quickly regaining her composure from pure terror. “okay . . . yeah but it was one singular—not plural—fry, are you okay?” yes, you have a point, it was one fry, and now you’re concerned for you friend. she raises her hands up in surrender while sighing like she was just defeated—have you finally tamed the hostile creature? nope. there’s a sudden stupid smirk on her face that looks straight-up devious, “and plural—not singular—reasons why he is sooo interested!” she elongates and dramatizes the ‘so’, and you mentally slap yourself to make up for the stupidness you can feel radiating off her words. “i can never win with you, can i?” you ask but the answer is already clear—you cannot.

yup, sae hates fries, dearly—that isn’t some kind of secret because he is pretty open about it. once even telling you friend to . . . “fuck off,” when she thought it was a good idea to offer him the stick of pure deliciousness ( hence why she gets shivers thinking about it ). he doesn’t care about a lot of things like how he doesn’t bother himself with keeping most things private or public because he simply just does not give a flying shit. neither does he really care if he makes his feelings clear or not—mixed signals king! sure, he likes you but that doesn’t stop him from being nonchalant. the only time he’ll make openings are in soccer and anything other than that—he just lets it happen. that means if he is given a chance to ‘make a move’ and it’s served on a silver platter without him needing to excerpt any more effort? he’ll take it. if he isn’t, he waits for the next time. but that man doesn’t know anything about feelings so he thinks eating something you brought is making a move.

sticky note. this man is a FREAK but he’s a simple guy promise

𐔌 . 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐔 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐈 is apparently so downbad for you because . . . ❝ he said ‘if i was a velociraptor, i’d eat y/n first’ ? ! ❞

your friend reads off her phone and accidentally pushes her desk towards your chair. “HUH?” you’re just as surprised as your friend is—shidou ryusei actually said that? “you have to look at this,” she states and smacks you in the face with her phone ( deja vu WHO ), it’s the school’s blog and the post is exactly what she just said. “that’s just . . . i mean—what?” you find it quite hard to comprehend what you were reading because what do you mean the weird guy you like posted that? “is that edited?” you ask for confirmation—you literally can’t believe it. she clicks the profile and it is him, you feel your face flush when you’re bombarded with images of him. “i get it! i get it!” you bark and swat her hand away, “whydoievenlikehim—“ you mutter before covering your eyes like you just saw something so distasteful. “girl, i don’t know . . . but he totally likes you,” she shrieks, turning off her phone so such madness is no longer seen. you aren’t entirely buying it, “i doubt it, if i was some kind of carnivorous animal, i wouldn’t eat the guy i like—at all!” you say with a frown on your face. she looks at you, looking even more horrified at what you just said to her. “his thinking process is probably out the window, y��know? he probably just means he wants you to be with him forever!” “in his stomach? no thanks.”

what makes you think shidou ryusei is okay in the head in the slightest? if he likes someone—he makes it so obvious! he doesn’t second guess his words, much less his online posts so as soon aas he was done typing out the words, he clicked post almost immediately. doesn’t regret it one bit. his eyes land anywhere but sae? that is truly a feat . . .

sticky note. does this even happen. also nagi really likes sleeping

𐔌 . 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 is apparently so desperate for you because . . . ❝ he sleeps on your shoulder . ❞

your friend is referring to the multiple times your crush has decided to accidentally fall asleep on your shoulder. “so . . .” you urge her to elaborate her point further than she already has. “and he only does it when he’s next to you,” she discerned, whipping out photo evidence in the form of a printed piece of paper. it’s really nothing too special—just the two of you sitting next to each other on the waiting lounge’s couch, waiting for your guys’ turn for the school’s mandatory medical check-up. he looks quite comfortable, arms crossed and manspreading ( 😭 ) but his head is rested on your shoulder—sleeping. “. . .why’d you print it,” you gasp at such an absurd action to prove a point and you quickly rip the paper out of her hands, “you’re insufferable.” you shake your head in disappointment. “a girl gotta do what she gotta do, y’know! how much more obvious does he need to be???” ugh, she’s being so dramatic—he’s just sleeping on your shoulder. “he probably realized i . . .didn’t mind so he doesn’t care,” you reject the idea. “you might be the insufferable one—why do you think he keeps doing it?” she says and you so want to side eye her but you aren’t going to turn sideways to do that because that is mad embarrassing. “i don’t know! he’s just some sleepy guy like,” you give her a pout before continuing, “. . .and people said that they feel sleepy around me.” you admit. “nah, they’re just saying you’re boring!” she giggles—did you not put that together? you playfully push her shoulder in annoyance. “but i’ll give you the answer—he wants to close to you, or in other words; he likes you!”

nagi is the type of lazy where he thinks it’s too much of a hassle to confess first but thinks making physical advancements don’t count. he can easily sleep anywhere, honestly. he likes his sleep but he loves good sleep and you just feel like a good person to sleep on so he decides to try it—and he’s right. he did do it accidentally the first time, it was on his mind but he really didn’t mean to! sleep just drenched his eyes and he was out cold—on your shoulder. there, he decides he likes you more than just a comfy pillow to doze off on.

sticky note. i feel like reader is very justified LMFAO. yk i have a friend who has more than a mu or a situationship but aren’t dating and she said he longest more than friends but not not dating was like 4 years

𐔌 . 𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐔 aiku is apparently so smitten for you because . . . ❝ girl, he confessed . . . ❞

your friend resists the overwhelming urge to bitch-slap you because you long-pressed your dms with him. the message wasn’t some kind of special confession just a simple ‘hey i know we just started talking but i think i’m inlove with you’ God reading that made you cringe. “yeah nope, not buying it.” you know he probably knows you saw it because of that stupid green dot on your profile but his message is still left on delivered. “why not?” she asks, “he knows you’ve read it, why edge him?” she pulls out her phone from her bag and faces her back towards you. “what are you doing . . ?” you’re honestly scared what she’s planning because even though you could also just stand up and look over her shoulder—she’d run out of the classroom and disappear. “texting someone,” she says while she’s rapidly typing out something, her shoulders shaking. “i don’t like the sound of that,” you refer to the hidden underlining of her tone, “you’re scaring me—ugh—whatever. i just started texting him, he barely knows me, he’s probably had 4 girlfriends in the span of 5 months—what makes me any different?” like—not trying to degrade yourself but you’re worried that he’s just going to play you too. “if he does, i’ll break his heart!” she says in resolve, doing the cliche moment of lifting up a fist and you giggle at her. there’s a quick buzz from your phone and it’s from the girl in-front of you, “what’s this?” you raise an eyebrow, clicking the notification pop-up. “just read it,” okay . . . if she insists. dot. dot. dot. there’s invisible crickets going off in your head. “is this from sendou?” “uh-huh.”

unbeknownst to you, your friend was actually texting her situationship ( of like 8 months LMFAO )—sendou shuto to ask him about oliver’s confession since they’re friends and all. ‘aiku n y/n? oh yeah he’s totally smitten man, i ain’t never seen aiku talk about a girl like he does w her’ is the message she forwarded to you that let the crickets rip! no but seriously, he normally has cycles like when he’s with one girl but then breaks up with her because he got eyes for another but now he promises that he only wants you!

bonus on why reo likes you because i might not be writing as much as i did this week because of school :p

mikage reo ⸺ ❝ he bought your entire christmas wishlist . . . ❞

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 2: Harbor Gateway]

A/N: Thank you for the warm welcome you have given this series!!! I am sick with bronchitis currently so this has been a big bright spot in an otherwise miserable week 😅 I can't wait to show you where this story is going, I hope you're ready for it 🥰💜

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent...at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon's right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, a tiny bit of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, ice cream, judgmental parents, aggressive Akitas, we're literally in Minnesota!!!

Word count: 6.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

Afterwards, Mason pulls his clothes back on as you are absentmindedly drawing stars in the steam on the windows of his Chevy Silverado. On the other side of the glass is inky Minnesota night, a full moon dissolving away, glowing freckles of constellations. You’re staying with your parents and Mason has roommates, so the truck was the expedient choice. It was good, not that you finished; you didn’t say anything, he didn’t ask, but even if he had you would have told him not to worry about it. It can take forever, especially with an audience. You’d rather wait until you’re alone.

Mason glances down at the used condom on the floor of his Silverado, hastily discarded, viscerally slick in a way that becomes sickening in the letdown, as the endorphins and the adrenaline slip away and the blood pumps slow and unclouded. He smirks as he asks: “You sure you don’t want to get back on the pill?”

You sigh, drawing another star. You are still naked and sprawled across the back seat, glistening with sweat in the moonlight. “Well I tried three different prescriptions and had three miserable experiences, and I’m really not interested in playing side effect roulette again. And I can’t risk my skin going insane and random bleeding when I’m running around all over L.A. trying to get parts.”

“What about that little sperm assassin T-shaped thing?”

You look at him. “An IUD?”

“Yeah.”

You wince, engraving another star into the steam on the window. “I don’t think I like the idea of having a piece of metal shoved up inside me.”

He laughs. “But you’ll get silicone implants?”

You shrug; you can’t deny the irony. “I don’t need an IUD to be an actress.”

“Look, I’m not complaining about the tits thing,” Mason says, holding up his hands. “Obviously I’d enjoy them too. And you’d still have them when you move home, so it’s not a waste even if the acting thing doesn’t work out.”

You already know he feels this way, and yet still, it hurts. “When I move home?”

He smiles and crawls back on top of you, his Carleton College hoodie whispering against your belly and chest, soft royal blue cotton on damp skin. He had been a Political Science and International Relations major who took Theater Arts 195: Acting Shakespeare for an arts credit. He was beyond terrible and had no appreciation for the field whatsoever, but he was tall and strong and jolly, an earnest corn-fed Midwestern boy, and when one day after class he’d asked if he could take you to Culver’s for a burger and frozen custard, you’d said yes.

Here and now, in the back seat of his Chevy Silverado, Mason kisses your forehead. Then he ghosts his thumb over the ridge of your orbital socket and cheekbone, where your dark glittery eyeshadow has smudged like a spreading bruise: Galaxy by Anastasia Beverly Hills, Elysian by Natasha Denona. “I’m not saying you aren’t good. But how many people on this planet get to be movie stars? It’s just not realistic. And it’s about so much more than talent. It’s about who you know, and luck, and chemistry, and looks, and a bunch of other things that are mostly out of your control. You’re never going to be the type of girl who’s an influencer or winning Miss America, you’re just not. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t very, very pretty. And I loved you anyway.”

Loved, past tense. You and Mason stopped using that word a year ago; now the nostalgia is painting memories like the walls of an old house. His memories, anyway. You sit up and start yanking on your clothes: oversized yellow Santa Monica crewneck, black sweatpants with elastic cuffs at the ankles. “I think I’m going to get the gummy bear implants.”

Mason licks his lips. “Yum.”

“They’re a type of silicone, but they’re supposed to feel more natural and be less dangerous if they rupture.”

“Will you have scars?” he says as if the notion has just occurred to him, troubled, perhaps a little revolted.

“Well yeah, they have to end up under my skin somehow.”

Mason shudders, then he has another thought. “Who’s going to take care of you after surgery when you’re all sore and zonked out on opioids?”

“My roommate Baela said she would. She’s had friends who have gone through it already.”

“Okay, good. I wouldn’t want you to be alone out there.” Mason touches the back of your head, a quick fond gesture. He’s the only man you’ve ever been with, and even that took a while, months of trying to envision him undressing you before you were sure you could do it without flinching, without being afraid or shy or bewildered. But in the end it had been easy, always easy, which is why you keep coming back to him like a comet. Your elliptical orbit takes you far away and then close again, and such natural patterns are effortless to keep.

You say, the edges of your lips curling into a furtive smile: “I’m definitely not alone.”

Mason groans. “You’re going to hook up with that new agent guy, aren’t you?”

“What? No! No way, he has a fiancée.”

He rolls his eyes, but he’s more amused than annoyed. “Okay, whatever.”

“You know I don’t date anyone.” Which is why each time you’re home visiting, Mason gets a text: Want to get lunch at Culver’s? or Can you drive me to Target? or Pick me up around 9 p.m.?

Mason smirks and taunts: “I don’t know, with the way you talk about him you sound kind of obsessed.”

“I’m just grateful. Someone finally gave me a chance.” You look to the window; the steam and your hand-drawn stars have evaporated away. “And yeah, he’s interesting and he’s cute, and he’s kind of mean but then unexpectedly caring sometimes, and I think he’s one of those people who are really good at what they do but only when they’re inspired…but that doesn’t mean I’m into him romantically.” A pause. “And even if I was, there’s no harm in a super-secret, one-sided crush.”

“Okay. Have fun with all the adulterous sex.”

You chuckle. “Thanks, but that is not the plan.” You slip on your flip-flops, shimmy out of the back seat, and trot around the Silverado to the passenger’s door. Mason climbs into the driver’s seat and turns his key in the ignition. You ask: “What happened to that ballerina girl who was in your Instagram stories for a while?”

“Had to ghost her, she got super clingy and controlling. She was texting me at work all the time and got pissed off when I was putting a ton of hours into that election thing for CNN.” Mason is a political analyst. He turns to you. “You ever feel like people are the best versions of themselves before you really know them? Then you get too close and all the cracks start showing.”

“I think people are wonderful. You just have to find the ones you click with.”

“I should have figured you’d say something like that.” He steers his truck out of the otherwise empty parking lot in Lac Lavon Park. “I’m looking forward to you being home again.”

“I’m not.”

You both laugh, and then Mason drives you to your parents’ house.

At the dining room table, Mom and Clara are researching wedding venues, vast countryside estates and metropolitan historic hotels. Clara got engaged two weeks ago during a vacation to Turks and Caicos. In the living room, Dad and Tripp are watching commentary on the NBA Finals. Tripp’s name isn’t really Tripp; he is the third James in a row, named after your father and grandfather, and Tripp is short for triple. All over the house, there are Akitas lolling in plush dog beds and clicking around on Brazilian Cherry hardwood floors. They have faces like teddy bears, but their dark eyes track you mistrustfully, as if you are an intruder.

No one asks where you have been. They barely acknowledge that you are back. “Hello, dear,” your mother calls distractedly from the dining room, and that’s all. You jog upstairs to the bathroom you share with Clara before anyone can notice your smeared makeup and the unsavory post-car-sex sweat gleaming on your skin. You get into the shower, turn on water so hot it is nearly scalding, and close your eyes. With your back pressed to the jade green tiles, your hand wanders down over your belly and stops between your legs. Your mind cycles through fantasies, but nothing seems to be working.

It’s not real. It can’t hurt anybody.

You imagine that Aegon is the one touching you, and in under a minute it’s over.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I want there to be horses,” Clara says, scrolling through her phone and ignoring the food on her plate: roast chicken, homemade mashed potatoes, green beans sauteed in garlic and olive oil, panzanella salad. Mom prepared it all herself, not because there was no help available—your parents have a housekeeper named Angela who comes by several days per week—but to prove she could. In the living room are shelves heavy with books by Martha Stewart, Ina Garten, Cat Cora, Julia Child, Nigella Lawson. You hear echoes of ambient clicking, Akitas meandering down hallways and staircases.

“Horses?!” Tripp replies with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, gesturing to the sliding glass door. “Don’t you get enough horses in your everyday life? Don’t you have like five right out there?” Your parents’ house sits on ten acres of land, including a barn and several paddocks for Clara’s rescued Thoroughbreds.

“I want beautiful horses,” Clara insists. “Unusual, photogenic, so they can be in the background of all the photos. Maybe Friesians or Haflingers?”

“I’m not sure we can sort the venues by types of horses available, dear,” Mom says. All that’s on her own plate is a heap of green beans and a few pieces of skinless white meat chicken.

Clara moans and drops her face into her hands. “It’s so overwhelming!”

“You’ll find a place you like, Clara Bear,” Dad says mildly, painstakingly slicing meat off a drumstick with his fork and knife.

“And Owen is no help at all. Every time I ask for his opinion he just tells me to do whatever I think is best, but I don’t know what’s best, that’s why I’m asking him!”

Your mother pats Clara’s shoulder reassuringly. “Guys don’t care about weddings,” Tripp says, twisting around in his chair to see the television in the living room. On a rerun of E! News, the hosts are discussing Chris Hemsworth’s rigorous fitness regime and Meghan Trainor’s “mommy makeover.” You peek under the tablecloth. One of the Akitas, Yuki, is glaring as she waits for you to drop something for her to eat.

“You could do something like that,” Mom says to you, and you realize you haven’t been listening to the conversation.

“Sorry, do what?”

“You could be a wedding planner or a real estate agent. Those are actual careers, but there’s more creativity involved, isn’t there? And didn’t you take a design class in college? That would certainly come in handy.”

“Hm,” your father says with a frown, still dissecting his chicken. He would rather you go to law school like Tripp. You would rather lie down in traffic.

“I took a set design class, Mom. Because I was studying how to be an actress. And that’s what I’m doing right now in Los Angeles, trying to be an actress.”

“You could become an architect!” Mom bursts out with sudden enthusiasm. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

You titter evasively. “I can’t draw, Mom. Or use the modeling software, or do math.”

“You know, you don’t need any specific degree to get into law school,” Tripp says, and your father gives him a nod of approval. “You could have majored in dance or bagpiping or Egyptology, it doesn’t matter. All they want is a high undergrad GPA and a 168+ LSAT score, and I bet you could get that if you studied. You can even retake the test a few times if you need to.”

“Why do you do that?” Clara snaps at him. You eat your panzanella salad and pretend not to be listening. Beneath the tablecloth, Yuki growls. You toss her a few cubes of Italian bread so she won’t bite you.

Tripp shovels mashed potatoes into his mouth. “Do what?”

“Why are you always wasting your time trying to convince her to grow up and get a real job? If she wants to embarrass herself, let her. I have problems that I’m trying to solve, so how about applying yourself to those instead?”

“Are you serious? You think I should be calling around to wedding venues asking about their selection of exotic draft horses?”

Clara aggressively stabs at her green beans with her fork. “Fuck off, Tripp.”

“Hey, hey, kids, no swearing,” your mother says. “It’s Father’s Day. Be respectful.”

Dad turns to you. “You could be an entertainment lawyer, how about that? You could work in intellectual property or negotiating contracts.”

You smile warily. “I’ll think about it, Dad.”

Clara says to your parents: “Well I hope all the money you’re throwing out the window to support her in California isn’t coming out of my wedding fund.”

You close your eyes and think: I can’t spend my life in a cubical. I can’t spend every minute of every day trying to forget who I am.

“Shh, shh,” your mother pleads, rubbing the back of Clara’s clenched hand. “You will get exactly what we promised you, that amount is still set aside for your wedding. Nothing she does affects you.”

“And it’s only until the end of the year,” your father adds. “Then the vacation is over.” Then the meager allowance they are funneling to you will stop and you will be ordered to return home to pursue an honorable course of existence. You have six months to succeed in Hollywood, or the dream dies.

Your father is now asking Tripp about his summer associate position at Latham & Watkins in Chicago. Your mother is advising Clara to get a wedding dress with a corset back so it can be adjusted in the event she gains or loses weight at the last minute. Underneath the table, Yuki is growling again; she noses your knees threateningly.

“I got an agent,” you say, and everyone looks at you.

“Really?” Mom asks, sounding a little perplexed.

“Who is it?” Dad says.

“Aegon Targaryen. He has a small office in Elysian Park.”

“Oh, I think I recognize the last name.”

“His family is in the industry.” You are beaming; you can feel the heat rising in your face. “But Aegon kind of does his own thing and tries to stay out of the limelight. He was an actor when he was my age. And I guess he thinks I can get roles, so that’s really exciting.”

Your mother seems concerned as she nibbles at a shred of white meat. “Is he an older man?”

“Not that much older. He’s thirty-five.”

“Well, be careful, darling,” your father says gravely. “Who knows what his intentions are.”

Clara evidently agrees. “Men can be so creepy. I had this one professor in pharmacy school who cheated on his wife with one student, then cheated on her six months later with a different student. And then he retired to Boca Raton and was never heard from again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Tripp says to your father. “We read about Clinton v. Jones in torts class, it was wild, I didn’t know he was such a freak even before the Monica Lewinsky thing…”

After dinner, while your father and Tripp are flipping through television channels in the living room and Clara is upstairs on the phone with Owen, you go to the kitchen where your mother is washing dishes in a bubble-filled sink. Again, she doesn’t have to do this; Angela will be here to clean the house tomorrow. But it’s part of being a perfect homemaker, and if she’s not good at this then she’s not good at anything.

She glances over when she hears you come in. “Did you get an appointment with one of the doctors your father recommended?”

“I did, yeah. I have a consultation on Friday.” You lean against the marble countertop and cross your arms so you don’t fidget nervously. From a dog bed on the floor, Mochi glowers at you. “Do you think I should get the surgery?”

She shrugs; you’re not certain if she is more indecisive or apathetic. “Your cousin Madison had a nose job the summer before college. Your old classmate Emma got a blepharoplasty and then met her husband three months later. Practically all of my friends have had breast augmentations, and I’ve certainly never regretted mine. I think if you’re going to get anything fixed, it makes sense to pick that.”

You try again to elicit a strong opinion, whether an endorsement or objection. “I don’t think I’d want to do it if I didn’t feel like it was necessary to be an actress.”

“Well, regardless of whatever you have going on in California, you’ll either have to get them done now or after you have children,” Mom says. “I love you and Clara and Tripp, but you destroyed my body. At least doctors can repair breasts. My bladder is still useless.”

You stare at Mochi distractedly. The dog huffs, unwelcoming. “What was the recovery like?”

“Oh, hell,” your mother says. “But once you heal up it’s worth it. I can wear square necklines and strapless dresses again.”

“Technically, you could have worn whatever you wanted.”

She gives you an impatient look, a you’re too old for that sort of frustration. “No one wants to see some sad flabby woman.” She is including your father in this statement. You remember being home for Thanksgiving Break during your freshman year at Carleton and inadvertently stumbling upon emails from one of the hospital interns when you used his laptop to buy movie tickets: indecent inuendoes, flirtatious photos, no smoking gun but certainly more than was appropriate between colleagues. You had tried to tell your mother, and she had deflected over and over again until you realized that she didn’t want to know; it was easier to be carried by the currents of momentum than to rock the boat until it sank. “This agent of yours…is he celebrating Father’s Day with his family?”

“No, Aegon lost his dad when he was in college.”

“That must have been difficult,” she says vaguely as she scrubs a pot with a green Scotch-Brite dish wand. Your parents are now at the age when their friends have begun to succumb to strokes and heart disease and cancers, and the lurking specter of mortality both horrifies and fascinates them. “What did he die of?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Mom?!” Clara shouts from upstairs. “Osaka is puking in the hallway!”

Your mother sighs and dries her hands on a dish towel, then leaves you alone in the kitchen. You linger there for a while, listening to the faint drone of CNN from the living room television, then leave the house through the sliding glass door in the dining room. Outside the sun is setting, and you gaze westward as the aging daylight turns the tall green grass and silhouettes of horses to gold like the mines that first brought settlers to California. You slide your phone out of the pocket of your denim shorts and take a photo, then post it to your Instagram story with the caption Home and a smiley face emoji.

A minute later, you receive a DM. Aegon has typed: This explains the big horse girl energy

You laugh and respond: They belong to my sister, I am personally very anti-horse

You hope he’ll continue the conversation. You don’t have to wait long. How’s Minnesota? Aegon asks.

You stop and consider how to answer, then decide not to overshare. Devoid of palm trees…but good!

There is a pause—perhaps thirty seconds—and then Aegon types: How’s the ex-boyfriend?

Is he curious or jealous? You smile. Still not standing in the way of anything :)

Aegon reacts with a heart emoji, then immediately switches it to a thumbs-up. You cannot ignore the wave of warmth and fondness and exhilaration that overwhelms you. Logically, you know he’s engaged to another woman. Emotionally, it doesn’t seem relevant.

You think: It’s just a crush. It can’t hurt anybody.

Then you remember what your mother asked, and as you stand outside in the fading dusk light you Google Aegon’s father Viserys Targaryen. He has his own Wikipedia page. You scroll to the bottom, where it reads in nondescript black letters: On October 27, 2009, Targaryen passed away at his Malibu residence after a long illness.

~~~~~~~~~~

You have just finished ringing up a Like It-sized Apple Pie A La Cold Stone when Josh says: “Hey, there’s an old guy asking for you.”

“What?” You look towards the ice cream freezer and there he is, dark jeans, green Nike Killshots, a yellow Hawaiian shirt that’s too big for him. “It’s my agent!” you shout as you rush over to meet him, loud enough that everyone in the shop turns to stare.

“Shh,” Aegon says, but he’s laughing.

“What are you doing here?” you ask from behind the counter.

“I got some good news, and I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Cool! Should I make you ice cream first?”

“Um, sure.” Aegon surveys the menu of Signature Creations. He seems overwhelmed; he actually looks a little panicked.

“Are you usually a chocolate or vanilla person? Or peanut butter, or coffee? Or mint?”

“Strawberry,” Aegon says.

“Strawberry,” you echo, surprised. “Okay, I think you’ll like Our Strawberry Blonde.”

“Neat.”

“Because, you know, it has strawberries and you’re blonde.”

“Sounds literally perfect for me,” Aegon says, smiling.

“What size?”

“Uh…” He reads the labels on the cups in the display case. “The big one.”

“No, you have to say the real name.”

He chuckles. His cheeks are pink, his turbulent blue eyes sparkling. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I’m not making you ice cream!”

He groans. “I want an Our Strawberry Blonde in the size Gotta Have It.”

“Cup, cone, or waffle cone bowl?”

“Stop asking me questions or you’re fired.”

“Waffle cone bowl,” you decide. Aegon studies you as you work, his head tilted thoughtfully to the side: scraping a mound of strawberry ice cream out of the freezer with your metal spatulas, taking it to the cold countertop, and smashing in graham cracker pie crust, caramel, fluffy whipped topping, and fresh strawberries. You use one of the spatulas to expertly scoop the mixture into a waffle cone bowl, not spilling a drop. Then you hand Aegon his ice cream and ring him up at the cash register. He pays in cash.

You ask Josh, the manager on duty, if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. He frowns. “I thought you were going to refill the yellow cake and Oreo cookie mix-ins first.”

“Hey,” Aegon says. He waves a ten-dollar bill in the air to show it to Josh and then dunks it in the tip jar. “Do it yourself.”

“Fine,” Josh mutters to you. “But you don’t get a second over fifteen minutes.”

There’s no time to waste. You hurry to a small table by the window. It’s 8:30 p.m., and outside the world is indigo-dark and threaded with inorganic sparks of headlights, streetlights, kaleidoscopic neon signs. Your eyeshadow is vibrant and pink, because no one cares about that when you work at an ice cream shop: Push by Natasha Denona, Coax by Urban Decay.

Aegon takes his first taste of his ice cream as he sits down in the chair across from you. “You were right, this is delicious. A bop, not a flop.” Then he notices the bruise on your right wrist. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

“Oh. One of the Akitas bit me. Don’t worry, I can cover it up with concealer.”

Aegon is irritated. “Why is your mother letting her Akitas bite you?”

“It was my fault. I forgot that Oni doesn’t like when people pet his feet.”

Aegon sighs, stirring his Our Strawberry Blonde. “You want some of this?”

“I can’t,” you say reluctantly.

He raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“I already had a little cup when I got here this afternoon so I have regrettably hit my ice cream quota for the day.” And then, when Aegon clearly does not approve: “I try not to restrict too much but obviously staying the same size takes effort. That’s not a disorder, it’s just reality.”

Aegon seems to debate arguing, then instead scoops up a heaping spoonful of ice cream and holds it out across the table. “Come on. It doesn’t count if it’s on my spoon.”

You smile sheepishly and open your mouth for him. Your lips close around the plastic spoon: coldness, sweetness, the grit of pulverized graham cracker pie crust, the infinitesimal black seeds of strawberries that catch between your teeth. When Aegon begins to pull it away, you grab his hand and don’t let go until you’ve licked the spoon clean. He laughs hysterically as he watches you. “I haven’t had strawberry ice cream in forever,” you say.

“Don’t tell me you’re a vanilla girl.”

“I am,” you confess. “I know the joke. But I really do always get the vanilla-adjacent flavors. Cookie dough, French vanilla, sweet cream, cheesecake…”

Aegon smirks playfully. “Pathetic.”

“So you’re an enlightened being because you eat strawberry ice cream.”

“Boring people like vanilla. Kids like chocolate. Interesting adults like strawberry.”

“Do you actually have good news for me or did you just come here to be a ghoul?”

“I got you a part.”

“What?!” you squeal, and people are gawking again. This time, Aegon doesn’t tell you to be quiet. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies, grinning like he can’t help it.

“A part in what?”

“It’s small,” Aegon warns. “It’s an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

You scream; Josh scowls at you from behind the counter. “Oh my God, no way, no way!”

“You’re going to be the wife of a guy the doctors kill with negligence. Three scenes, two are pretty short and unremarkable but then you get to yell at the surgeon in the last one. Gives you the opportunity to show some range and make an impression.”

You can’t believe this is happening. “They aren’t going to make me audition first?”

“Well…it’s very last-minute,” Aegon says. “The actress who was supposed to do it has a drug problem or something, I guess, so she ghosted and they were scrambling for a replacement. And I completely fabricated your credentials.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I typed up a resume and sent it over and they loved it. So try not to talk about your actual experience because none of it will match.”

You shake your head, stunned, amazed. “What if they try to contact one of my alleged former employers?”

“Then they’ll be talking to Aemond, and he will lie and say you were an absolute pleasure to work with.”

Aemond Targaryen: Aegon’s younger brother, a screenwriter, a philanthropist, a well-respected entity in Hollywood, and you know this from the Googling that preceded your first meeting with Aegon last week. “And Aemond doesn’t mind helping you commit fraud?”

“It’s not a favor I call in very often.” Aegon finishes his ice cream, then begins breaking apart the waffle cone bowl and shoving shard-like pieces into his mouth.

“When’s the shoot?”

“Very very early on Thursday, that’s the bad news.” Thursday is two days from now. “So I’ll have to pick you up at your apartment at like 5 a.m.”

“That’s fine. I’ll be ready.”

He smiles, gnawing on a chunk of his waffle cone bowl. “I figured.”

“You’re going too?” The hope is unmistakable in your voice.

“Of course I’m going.”

“I didn’t think agents usually went to film shoots.”

“Well, fortunately for you, your agent is imminently fleeing Los Angeles and has already parted ways with most of his clients and really has nothing else going on besides hiding in his office and playing a Nintendo 64, so I figured I could make it. And also if I’m going to be enthusiastically recommending you to people, I should probably see you work at some point.”

You wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. “Do I get to make out with my fake husband?”

Aegon is amused. “From what I understand, you get to chastely kiss him once. They’re sending the script over to my office first thing in the morning, so you’ll only have a day to learn your lines.”

“That’s enough time. I’ll make it work.”

“Always so agreeable,” Aegon muses. So desperate is more like it.

Thursday. “Is the shoot just one day?”

“Yeah, they should be able to get everything they need from you on Thursday morning. Why?”

“I have a doctor’s appointment on Friday and I was just wondering if I’d have to reschedule it.”

Aegon is immediately vigilant. “What kind of appointment?”

“Uh…” You smirk guiltily. “It’s just a consultation. No slicing yet.”

“And you’re going to cancel that,” Aegon says flatly.

“Seriously?”

“Do you want implants because you want them or because you think other people want you to have them?”

You hesitate. “Both.” That’s probably a lie.

Aegon leans back in his chair and studies you. “Yeah, you’re cancelling that appointment.”

“Why?”

“Because when I agreed to sign you, you told me that you’d do anything I say. And I’m telling you to cancel it.”

“But why don’t you want me to get implants? Everyone gets implants.”

“Because once you begin to treat scalpels and needles as prescriptions for everything you don’t like about yourself—or everything that other people don’t like about you—it’s very difficult to stop. First it’s your tits, then it’s your eyes and your nose, then it’s your chin and your cheeks and your neck and your ass, and it’s just this revolving door of painful, dangerous, unnecessary procedures that are condemning you for being mortal, that are carving away your humanity one incision at a time. I’ve seen it happen to more people than I could count, and I don’t want it to happen to you. Because you seem very, very human, and I’d like you to stay that way. Which means you don’t cut yourself up because some agent or producer or casting director told you to.” Then he adds, perhaps as an afterthought: “And anyway, you don’t need implants.”

You smile, then reply quietly: “You’ve never seen me.”

Aegon grins. “I don’t care if you have twelve nipples under there like a fucking beagle, you don’t need plastic surgery.”

You both laugh, and the tension evaporates, and even if you don’t cancel the appointment—Aegon is one person, the entertainment industry is omnipotent and eternal—you are glad he seems to like you the way you are. Behind the counter, Josh is waving manically to get your attention and summon you to return to work. You pretend not to see him.

Aegon asks: “Why don’t you like horses?”

“They freak me out. They’re all teeth and legs and they’re huge, I’m always scared they’ll step on me.”

“Your dad’s a doctor, right? I thought all rich girls had horses.”

“Where I’m from, a lot of women ride horses to distract themselves from the fact that their husbands are riding their receptionists or interns. I’d rather have no horse and no awful cheating husband.” And Aegon stares at you and turns serious, because perhaps you’ve inadvertently addressed the elephant in the room: he has a fiancée, and neither of you are acting like she exists. You swiftly pivot. “I’ll make an exception for you, though.”

He appears startled. “What?”

“The Chinese zodiac. You’re a horse. So you’re the only horse I like.”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Aegon chuckles uneasily and gets up to throw his trash away, then stands under the florescent lights with his hands in his pockets, his blonde hair falling out of its gel and hanging over his forehead. He gazes down at you pensively; you are still seated at the table. “When does your shift end?”

“I’m closing tonight, so I’ll be done around 10:30 or 11.”

“Okay. Can I come back to pick you up and drive you home?”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

He gestures to the inky dark window, incredulous. “Because obviously you shouldn’t be walking alone in Harbor Gateway at midnight? You know there was a shooting a block from here last week. I looked it up.”

“I walk home all the time.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“You are being very dramatic for a non-actor.”

“Listen, I can’t go to my house and try to fall asleep while I’m wondering if you’re getting mugged or murdered.”

You look at Aegon. He does seem genuinely worried. “You can drive me home.”

“Great. See you in two hours.” He strides away and shoves open the glass door; the little metal bells hanging there jingle.

“Aegon?”

He halts mid-step and turns around. “Yeah?”

“Does Becca know where you are right now?”

His face is some amalgamation of emotions you can’t read, and this is unusual.“Why do you think I paid in cash?”

And before you can reply, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

On Thursday, June 19th, Aegon picks you up in his white Chrysler Sebring convertible while the city is still asleep. The sky is dark, the streetlights passing by overhead, infinite pinpoint supernovas. There are hardly any other cars on the road. Aegon’s hair is a mess and his eyes are bleary; he’s sipping a Starbucks coffee with one hand and holding the steering wheel with the other. He is wearing a suit, but he still manages to look unpolished, his white shirt half-untucked and his black tie too skinny. He sets his coffee down in one of the cup holders and passes you something venti-sized and iced.

“I got you a vanilla latte, vanilla girl.”

“Aw, thanks! Skim milk?”

“Nope,” he says, smiling. You smile back and take a gulp of it, cold and sweet and bracing. “What’s your hype song?”

“I can’t tell you,” you say, embarrassed.

“Why not?”

“You’re going to terrorize me.”

“Don’t Stop Believing? Don’t Stop Me Now? I Gotta Feeling?”

“Lose Yourself.”

Aegon throws back his head and cackles, his hair flying in the wind. “That’s definitely a fireable offense. I’m ditching you the second we finish this shoot.” But he taps around on his phone and plugs in the aux, and then Eminem is thudding through the speakers as the Sebring sails north and the red-gold dawn rises on the horizon, a celestial message from the East Coast, an omen from the future.

Aegon drives you to Prospect Studios in Los Feliz, just east of Hollywood. Filming will be indoors on a soundstage. You spend what feels like forever in hair and makeup, and the costume designer—who had prepared for a different actress—dresses and redresses you over and over again, frowning at your chest and waist and thighs, and you have a sudden pang of nauseating panic and dread: I don’t belong here. What the fuck was I thinking?

Then you are in the scenes under intensely radiant artificial light, and just like it did in your roles back in Minnesota, the real world vanishes and all that exists are these characters, these moments, and your body and mind become theirs, and perhaps even your soul too. Your husband is handsome and kind, and here in this liminal fictional space you love him, and when the surgeons wheel him off to the operating room you are full of blind naïve surety. Then the doctors update you on his condition and you are still hopeful, but it becomes a fragile thing, like something that shatters when it’s dropped from a height. And then he is dead, he has been taken away from you, he has been stolen, and you are eclipsed by a blood-red wrath that is animalistic and unforgiving. After each take when you are ripped back through the veil and into reality, you can’t remember exactly what you did or said, and the director doesn’t have many critiques so you aren’t sure how it’s going.

But when it’s over, while you are still standing on the soundstage with the other actors, Aegon puts on his sunglasses and smiles at you from across the room; and you remember what he said outside his office on the day you first met—you are so bright, sunshine—and you know you’ve done a good job.

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

Ask Masterpost 2/1/2024

Fourth edition! I changed some formatting things for better readability.

Summary:

Permissibility of creator-leaked/teased soundtracks (Not allowed)

Proposal of demographics poll

Permissibility of Simlish covers (Allowed)

What franchise has the most polls?

Permissibility of remixes of licensed music (Allowed)

Inquiry about duplicate submissions

Permissibility of pinball soundtracks (Not Allowed) and Inquiry about ports of older games

Permissibility of unused tracks in the game files (Allowed)

Permissibility of roblox game tracks (Allowed)

Highest "I like & I know it" song?

Inquiry about revealing the composer before the reveal

Proposal of demographics poll

"Can we submit 'leaked' soundtracks from games if the creator leaked/teased them?"

I'm going to say no, because there's a broad spectrum of scenarios that could happen in between the 'leak' and the official launch of the song that would technically make the 'leak' not indicative of the final product and of course you don't know that until the final product is released :').

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@pomrania asked:

Is there any chance we could get a poll on what people mean when they vote for that they like a song, or that it sounds familiar? For me, "I like this song" means "I'd want to listen to it again once it's revealed", and "it sounds familiar" generally means "I'm not sure whether I've heard it before but I might have" also sometimes it's "I know I haven't heard this SPECIFIC song before, but I recognize the motifs in it".

Or if that's not something you'd want to make a poll for, then I'd still be interested in seeing what people say for how they vote on things, like in the comments.

I think this would be super interesting to do for a special event or something like that! I've been curious about demographics and other general statistics for a while now. I'm actually starting to have quite a good rhythm with managing the blog now so I may begin implementing the fun side ideas I've had sometime soon (or at least, I hope so, this semester is looking rough LOL)

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Can we submit simlish versions of popular songs, like simlish Katy Perry?

They're remixes for a game so absolutely! I think we already have some in the submissions queue.

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Which franchise/game has the most polls?

It's probably destiny (forlorn, distant stare).

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@haellen-o asked:

Is licensed music created/remixed for video games allowed?

(examples being the version of rob zombies dragula in the original jet set radio. And ludens by bring my the horizon)

It's an official remix for the game's soundtrack, so absolutely :).

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Out of curiosity, how often do you get duplicate requests from different people (or maybe the same person, worried you never got their first response, lol)? I think you've said you have around 7,000 requests, is that after removing duplicates or before?

We honestly have a lot of duplicate requests for popular games, and we've been shaving down the duplicates as we go along and queue new submissions. I think we've cut down AROUND ~1000 duplicates so far (we're not done!) and these are mostly very popular (at least on tumblr) games such as disco elysium, sonic series games, in stars and time, final fantasy, pokemon, tf2, mass effect, hollow knight, legend of zelda, just off the top of my head. The 7000 number was from before removing duplicates.

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for older games where the music is ported to different consoles, would the soundtracks be considered separate if the soundfonts impact them enough, or do they have to be very, VERY different? Like if a game was released on pc vs a 32x port.

Also, if a pinball cabinet includes a soundtrack, is that considered a video game soundtrack?

I would honestly just submit your PREFERRED version (if the soundfonts did differ), and I would put BOTH versions into the reveal, since I don't think this is a common enough occurrence to be significantly obnoxious/unfair for whatever reason. As for the pinball question, last masterpost answered overwhelmingly 'no', so I'm going to say no as well :').

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Are unused vgms allowed for submission? So in the files but never added to the game itself.

If you can credit the creator of the tracks then yes! (provided they're in the files in the final publicly released version and not from a demo/waiting for a future update to be implemented in a live service game/etc)

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are roblox games allowed?

Yes, if you can credit the creator of the tracks and they were made for that roblox game :).

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what song had the highest "I like it and I've definitely heard it before" percent?

I think it is still #100, which was Megalovania from Undertale (85.20%) Correction: It's Death By Glamour, #460, at 87% :)

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@enderlordisadumbusername asked:

are we allowed to mention song composers before the song has been revealed?

Absolutely!!!!!!!!!!!!!! And please do!!!!!! (This will literally only give away the game if you were already familiar enough to know the composer, so it's actually very perfect)

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Would you or have you ever run a poll to gauge how much of a song your followers listen to before voting?

Definitely considering it after learning a lot of people don't listen to the full song or even at least the first minute...

[freshl6ve]

𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒. 𝐒 | 𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 & 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄⁶

⭑.ᐟ : 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, assaulting my sensitive eyes and exacerbating the headache pounding in my skull. I groaned, rubbing my forehead as I tried to wake up properly.

As the events of the previous night slowly came back to me, I sat up, rubbing my forehead to relieve the throbbing pain.

As I sat up in bed, the haze of sleep slowly clearing from my mind, the memory of Chris being at my side the night before resurfaced. I faintly remembered him helping me change and then telling me he would sleep on the couch.

I pushed myself up from the bed, wincing slightly as the headache made itself known again. With slow, deliberate steps, I made my way downstairs.

As I reached the living room, I called out, my voice still rough with sleep. “Chris?”

I searched the living room for Chris, but he was nowhere to be found. Confused, I made my way to the kitchen. There, on the island, I found a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. Laid out neatly next to them was a note.

I picked up the note, scanning the words written on it.

Had to take off, needed to take care of something. Make sure you take the painkillers. Might be back, might not. Who knows ;)

- Chris

Following his instructions, I reached for the painkillers, popping them into my mouth and downing them with a gulp of water. As I did, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was off to take care of.

The painkillers began to take effect, dulling the throbbing in my head. I took another sip of water, sighing as the discomfort subsided.

Setting the glass down, I looked at the note again, a part of me hoping he would come back, despite his ambiguous message.

I was lost in my thoughts when the doorbell suddenly rang, jolting me back to reality. I blinked, momentarily disoriented as I snapped out of my reverie.

With a slight grimace, I made my way to the front door, bracing myself for whoever was on the other side.

As I opened the door, I was met with the sight of Matt standing there, his usual charming smile on his face.

“Hey,” he greeted me, his eyes taking in my disheveled state for a moment before returning to my face. “Rough night?”

“Honestly, yeah,” I replied, my voice still hoarse from sleep. I stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. “You could say that.”

I closed the door behind him, turning to face him as he made his way further into the penthouse.

Matt stepped further into the living room, his gaze on me as he spoke. “You good after everything last night?” he asked, his tone laced with concern. His brows furrowed as he studied my appearance, undoubtedly noting the signs of a night that was less than rejuvenating.

Matt continued, leaning against the back of a chair as he spoke. “You know, with the police chase and dealing with Chris the whole night… he must have been a real pain in the ass.”

I smiled slightly at his comment, leaning against the island as I replied. “Actually, he wasn’t as bad as I thought he would be.” I paused for a moment, my mind replaying the events of the previous night. “He was… surprisingly decent.”

Matt looked around the living room, his gaze sweeping over the place before he turned back to me, his face a subtle mix of curiosity and concern.

“Did you two...you know, hook up?” he asked bluntly, his eyes searching my face for any sign of a response.

I was caught off guard by the sudden question, my eyes widening slightly. “What?” I repeated, my voice a mixture of surprise and disbelief. “No, absolutely not. Why would you even ask that?”

I looked down at the jersey I was wearing, realizing that it was indeed the one Chris had been wearing the night before. He taken it off to put it on me last night. I hadn’t even noticed when I got out of bed this morning.

I looked over at the coffee table, where Chris’s hat was still lying exactly where he had left it, confirming Matt’s observation.

I turned back to Matt, my voice a little defensive. “Matt, it’s not what it looks like, I swear. We didn’t do anything,” I insisted. “Chris helped me to bed last night. He helped me get changed for bed and he must have put me in his shirt because he probably didn’t want to go through my closet. And his hat, he probably forgot it since he slept on the couch.”

Matt listened, his expression softening as he took in my explanation. He looked at the shirt I was wearing again, then at the hat on the coffee table, before his gaze returned to me.

“So nothing happened?” he asked, his voice tinged with skepticism.

I ran a hand through my hair in frustration, letting out a sigh. “Matt, you’re killing me here. Nothing happened. Nothing. At. All.” I said firmly, my tone leaving no room for doubt, as I walked over to the couch and sat down.

I sat down on the couch, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. I knew that technically, something did indeed happen between Chris and me last night. We had almost kissed, almost went further. But the circumstances made it complicated, and if Matt knew about it… well, it was safer for everyone if he didn’t.

“Nothing happened, okay?” I reiterated, my voice steady despite the guilt gnawing at me.

Matt leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, his expression serious.

“It’s just I don’t want you to become like one of those girls he plays around with,” he said, his voice tinged with genuine concern. “You don’t deserve to be treated like that. He’s not a good person, romantically, Y/N.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words sinking in. I knew Matt was right. Chris was known for his womanizing ways, and I knew getting involved with him would only end in heartache. But the way he was the night before, the moments we almost shared… it made me want to believe that there was more to him than just a playboy reputation.

“I know,” I replied quietly, my voice subdued. “I know what he’s like. Trust me, I do.”

Matt nodded, a look of understanding passing on his face. He leaned forward in the chair, his eyes never leaving me.

“Just… be careful, alright?” he said, his voice soft but firm. “Just… don’t let him take advantage of you. You’re better than that, Y/N. You deserve better than that.”

I looked down at my hands, picking at a thread on the sleeve of Chris’s jersey. “I opened up to him last night,” I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. “I told him things I’ve only told you.”

I swallowed hard, my eyes distant as I continued. “It was bound to happen, so I just told him,” I said softly. “I never expected to open up to him, but in that moment, it just… happened.”

Matt was watching me intently. “Is that what you really wanted, or did he push you to?” he asked gently.

I shook my head, a mixture of emotions swirling within me. “No, he didn’t push me to do anything,” I replied, my voice steady. “It just kind of…came out. We were talking, and…I opened up to him. It was my decision, no one else’s.”

Matt nodded, seeming to accept my response. “You’re sure?” he asked, his eyes searching my face. “You felt safe with him? You felt comfortable telling him these things?”

Matt sat back, running a hand through his hair as he processed this new information. He looked at me silently for a few moments, before speaking again.

“Can I ask you something, Y/N?” he said, the timbre of his voice serious.

I looked up at him, my heart clenching involuntarily. His tone of voice indicated that whatever he was about to ask was important.

“Of course,” I replied, bracing myself for the question.

Matt leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as his gaze met mine. “Do you trust him?” he asked, his voice low, his eyes never leaving mine.

I paused, trying to formulate my thoughts into words. The question of trust was complicated, especially when it came to Chris.

“No,” I said, my voice faltering. “But also, yeah. Kinda. It’s really complicated.” I took a deep breath, continuing. “He...he asked if it was my first time getting chased by the police, and I told him about how I used to be a street racer, and then he lit up a joint, and I had some, and then everything just... came out.”

Matt shot upright in his chair, his eyes wide in shock and concern. “You smoked?! What the fuck, Y/N?!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of disbelief and agitation. “I thought you were over that bullshit. Did he force you? That son of a bitch,” he grumbled, pacing the room.

I immediately put my hands up, trying to placate Matt’s growing anger. “It was just one hit, Matt. Just a little bit. I chose to take it,” I said defensively. “He didn’t force me into it. In fact, he took it away from me when I told him about my past addiction issues.”

Matt ran a hand through his hair, a mix of worry and irritation on his face. “You told him everything?” he said, his voice strained. “Jesus, Y/N, he can’t be trusted. And you know it.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, raking my fingers through my tangled hair. “I know. I know, okay?” I replied, my voice shaky. I slumped back into the couch, the weight of Matt’s words sinking in. I knew he was right. Chris couldn’t be trusted. But even so…

“It’s just…” I protested weakly. “He was actually… different. Last night. He wasn’t the same Chris I’ve come to know.”

Matt stopped pacing and turned to look at me, his expression a mixture of understanding and concern.

“Because he got you to open up to him,” he said quietly. “It’s what he does. He weasels his way in, makes you feel like you can trust him, and then he uses it against you.”

I flinched at the harsh truth in his words, knowing deep in my gut that it was the truth. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different about Chris last night. Something that felt too real to dismiss.

“Maybe, but-” I started to protest, but Matt cut me off before I could continue.

“No buts, Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice brooking no argument. “He’s used to getting what he wants from girls, and he knows how to play them. You can’t let yourself be just another notch in his bedpost.”

I looked down at my hands, fidgeting with the fabric of the jersey as I tried to come up with a response.

“But he was actually listening,” I said, my voice pleading. “He wasn’t just pretending to listen so he could get me into bed. He actually listened and… cared.”

I paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “And when he was helping me to bed, he was… respectful. Most guys like him wouldn’t even consider being respectful and would just want a quick fuck. He didn’t try anything. He was different.”

Matt listened in silence, his jaw tight as he absorbed my explanation. I could see the struggle in his expression, the war between his protective instincts and the reality of the situation.

“Y/N” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm. “Chris… he’s good at what he does. This is just the first stage. Don’t let him fool you into thinking he’s something he’s not.”

I bristled at his words, knowing deep down that he was right. But the memories of last night, of the genuine conversation and the respectful treatment, were still fresh in my mind, making it difficult to fully accept his statement.

“I know he’s good at what he does, Matt,” I said, my voice betraying a hint of defensiveness. “But you weren’t there. You didn’t see the way he was last night.”

Matt threw his hands up in frustrated agitation. “Are you even listening to yourself?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising. “You say you know, but then you’re sitting there, defending him like he actually cares. He’s played this game hundreds of times before.”

I met his gaze, my own frustration mounting. “I know he’s played this game many times before, Matt,” I snapped back. “I’m not stupid. But you’re not listening to me either. There was something different about him last night. Something genuine.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, my defensiveness flaring. “I don’t even know why you’re so upset and making it such a big deal,” I said, my voice tinged with annoyance. “I just got high and had a conversation. It’s not like I’m in love with the guy or anything.”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “I opened up to him, and it was fully my choice,” I said, my voice firmer this time. “I know you care about me, Matt, and I don’t want you to think I’m being impulsive or careless. But you need to understand and trust me with my decisions, because right now it feels like you don’t trust me at all.”

Matt’s expression shifted, a flicker of hurt passing over his face at my words. But then his jaw tightened, his resolve hardening.

“I do trust you, Y/N,” he replied, his voice earnest. “But I also know Chris. And I can’t just stand by and watch you put yourself in a position to get hurt by him.”

My annoyance quickly dissolved, replaced by a wave of guilt. I knew Matt was just trying to protect me, and I couldn’t really blame him.

“I know you’re just trying to look out for me,” I said, my voice softer. “But I’m not some naïve teenager. I can handle myself around him.”

I paused, collecting myself before continuing. “And with the smoking...” I began, my voice steady. “I’m older now. I have more self control than I did at 18. And I promise you, I won’t fall back into that addiction again. I know when to stop now.”

Matt studied my face, his expression still conflicted. He wanted to believe me, I could see it in his eyes. But years of being my friend, of seeing me struggle with self-destructive behaviors, made it difficult for him to fully trust that I wouldn’t slip back into old habits.

Matt’s voice was low, his gaze never leaving my eyes. “You promise?” he asked, his words a mixture of skepticism and hope.

“I promise,” I replied, my voice firm and unwavering. I needed him to trust me, to believe that I had matured and learned from my past mistakes.

A flicker of relief passed over Matt’s face, and he gave a slight nod. “I trust you, Y/N,” he said, his voice softer now. “And no matter what decisions you make, I’ll be there for you.”

Matt’s smile then turned into a sly grin. “But just know,” he added, a hint of menace in his eyes, “I won’t hesitate to beat Chris’s ass if he tries to pull anything.”

I chuckled, relief washing over me as I pushed myself up from the couch. I walked over to Matt and wrapped my arms around him, burying my face in his chest.

“Yeah, I know,” I replied, my voice muffled against his shirt. “Thanks for looking out for me, Matt.”

He hugged me back fiercely, his arms wrapping around me in a protective embrace.

“Always, Y/N,” he said gruffly, his voice betraying the affection he had for me. “You know I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

Matt pulled back slightly, looking down at me with a sheepish expression on his face.

“I’m sorry for making an argument,” he said, his voice sincere. “I just… I worry about you, alright? I never want to see you hurt, again.”

I smiled, touched by his apology. “I know, Matt,” I said, resting a hand against his chest. “And I appreciate it. I really do. But sometimes…you just need to trust me.”

He sighed, the tension slowly leaving his body. “I know,” he replied, resting his hand over mine where it was on his chest. “It’s just not always easy to do, when it comes to you, Y/N.”

“I'm gonna trust you on this. Just don't make me regret it, okay?” he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

I squeezed his hand, my own smile mirroring his. “I won’t,” I assured him. “You know me. I’m not the same girl I used to be. I learned from my mistakes. Believe me, Matt, I don’t plan on making any new ones.”

The atmosphere between us was almost intimate as Matt looked down at me, a small smile on his face. His eyes were soft and warm, the tension finally lifted.

Then the moment was broken when his phone buzzed with a notification. Matt reluctantly pulled away from our embrace, checking his phone.

I stepped back as Matt checked his phone, a wave of disappointment washing over me. “You gotta go?” I asked, trying to hide the reluctance in my voice.

Matt looked up from his phone, a sigh escaping his lips. “Yeah,” he replied, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Gotta make a delivery.”

I gave him a small smile, reluctantly accepting the reality that he had to go. “Okay, see you soon then?” I said, trying to inject some positivity into my voice.

Matt nodded, his smile now tinged with a hint of regret. He didn’t want to leave either, but duty called. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon,” he said, heading towards the door. “Be careful, okay? And call me if you need anything.”

I let out a long sigh, feeling a pang of loneliness in the sudden silence. But I pushed it aside, reminding myself that I could handle a few hours alone. I’d done it before, and I could do it again. Besides, I had a lot to think about, especially after the events of the previous night.

A/N: BEEN SO BUSY THAT I CANT EVEN POST MY DRAFTS BUT IM TRYING TO BE AS ACTIVE NOW! THANK YOU ALL FOR THE BDAY WISHES I LOVE YOU ALL<3

TAGS: @st6rify @jetaimevous @certifiedstarrr @slvtf0rchr1s @l3sbiancvnt @wh0remikasas @r0s3luvr @emely9274 @mimiluvzpicklez @courta13 @talia-unknown @ivysturnss

── .✦ MASTER—LIST ⭑𓂃

[achaotichuman]

ACOTAR Discussion

Okay, so recently my mutual @sonics-atelier posted this fic Perfect To Me (which is so fucking amazing, I cried, go read it rn) and in this fic, they write about Tamlin developing an eating disorder (specifically anorexia) since his body changed after starting to get Spring back on its feet. And it started me down a whole rant about fictional characters being the pinnacle of beauty standards, specifically in relation to what they're bodies look like. So, to save my mutuals the long spam texts about my thoughts, I'm gonna post em here.

General trigger warning- Discussion of a variety of eating disorders, body dysmorphia and Cassian.

SJM covers disordered eating within ACOTAR, it happens specifically to the female characters. And this is something, I have a huge problem with. That might seem like a massive asshole sentence, but let me explain my thought process.

These eating disorders are not well respresented, they do not further affect the plot, they only serve to be an outward appearance to the male saviour characters that something is wrong, and they never appear on the female characters in a way that makes them any less pretty, in fact, I would say, the resulting skinniness from said disordered eating, is the desired result. By that I mean, yes I think SJM writes her female characters starving themselves to make them fit the female beauty standard.

This is very evident with Nesta, who somehow miraculously only grows thinner in the waist and hips when she is starving herself. But still has massive breasts which Cassian makes a point of oogling, despite noticing how thin she is everywhere else. Instead of taking Nesta's not wanting to eat anything and turning it into a plot point for her character in which she learns to take care of and eventually love her new Fae body, SJM decides to further starve Nesta, but Cassian limiting her sugar intake, so she reminds the same 000 size in the waist.

Now, onto what really, truly makes me angry within SJM's series. Character's gaining weight, rather than losing it.

This happens once in the series. It is one singular comment, that put me off Cassian forever.

"You need to get out in the practice ring, brother. Don't want your mate to find any soft bits."

This comment was from Cassian to Rhysand in the third chapter of ACOSF, after looking Rhys up and down pretty much.

May seem like a harmless jab to a lot of people, but take into account all of the context around it.

Cassian had just been eyeing Nesta's body-clearly suffering from the effects of long-term starvation, like a hunk of meat.

They had just won a war not long ago-still coming down from the stress highs that would have no doubt been enough to put any normal person in bed for a month.

Rhysand had only recently found out about Feyre's pregnancy, if I remember correctly-would have also found out about the risks, and would be dealing the extreme stress that would be causing.

It would be incredibly normal for Rhysand to gain weight because of all these factors. Not to mention this being the first (and I'm fairly certain) only time, SJM's mentions a male character gaining weight, and it being in such a negative light, could only suggest she, and thus Cassian, find the idea unappealing or perhaps downright abhorrent.

Which really fucking pisses me off.

Most of her female characters have experienced a form of anorexia throughout the books as a trauma or stress response. And it never exists to go further than making them more conventionally attractive.

Now further on her male characters, not a single one of them ever has an ounce of fat on their body. Weight gain is entirely out of the question, even when it should be the obvious occurrence due to whatever change in their situation.

Now this also brings me to another problem I have, which also leeches into fandom behaviour.

We all love Tamlin's tits, ofc, ofc, but muscle behaves like fat if its not being actively flexed. Tamlin's pectoral muscles are no doubt incredibly strong, and would, probably be able to crack a nut (no pun intended) if flexed. But if they werent, they would be soft and squishy. No one talks about THAT THOUGH DO YOU???

Not to mention, that, Tamlin is a beast creature, wandering the forests, not training or exercising properly, and is only gouging on the carcasses of animals he kills. This could be an excellent time to lean into weight gain, and the intense feelings of guilt, and body dysmorphia that it brings.

Lets also discuss Gwyn, a traumatised young woman who fled to the Library in order to live a life of peace. She has never trained a day in her life before becoming a Valkyrie, why is she so skinny?

It's never mentioned Gwyn having any kind of reaction to her trauma that affects her eating (as far as I remember) and I think it would be far more interesting to delve into the effects grief and the lose of a dear loved one has on the body and ones eating habits.

Lets talk about Elain, who is said to use baking a coping mechanism, why is she skinny? This is the perfect opportunity to delve into a character binge eating, then extreme guilt from the times where they were in poverty, and purging. But finding comfort in food because food = wealth, wealth =safety.

And in the end, a character can be fat and be happy. Why do we have so many characters that are so thin at the end of their books?

So many of these characters also have near no stability, their diet would not doubt be changing constantly from the inconsistency in their living situations. Which should to lead to drastic changes in their body. This could be a very interesting way to explore body dysphoria. Hating seeing yourself in the mirror even if you just survived battle, because you can hardly recognise yourself. Changing so much in the mind and not even having the comfort of your body being the same. Especially with Nesta and Elain being Made against their will. I honestly believe Nesta's starvation should have been her hating her new Fae body so much that she just wants to destroy it. Her healing, should have been learning to love herself, no matter what body she is in.

In the end, your body is you, but you are more than your body. Bodies are such incredibly fascinating tool, and people don't always have to like what it looks like to care for it. Bodies can be smaller, bigger, stronger, they take your brain wherever it wants to go. But they are not all of you. And that should have been what especially Nesta's journey could have been.

Anyway, this is incredibly sensitive topic for a lot of people, so I do really want to open this up to everyone. What are your thoughts on this topic? Do you think SJM's portrayal of eating disorders is justified, or do you think I'm wrong on any of these points? Let me know in either the comments or the reblogs, I would be happy to discuss it.

[mylittleredgirl]

look. look. there was a livejournal comment ficlet i wrote once for stargate atlantis. i couldn't find it when i first made a fic index on livejournal in 2011. looked again when i started archiving on ao3. searched again every time i remembered that i still have a livejournal. i'm telling you this thing stuck in my memory banks for no reason except that i could SEE IT i KNEW it was in my journal and not someone else's and i could. not. find it. it's like 500 words of angst and i remembered it being even shorter, like it was not worth all of this!!! but it was symbolic white whale of all the long-lost livejournal comment ficlets.

and today i decided to organize my browser bookmarks for the first time in living memory and it was in there the entire time.

(ao3 link below, but in the spirit of ephemeral livejournal comment ficlets it's also below the readmore)

--

Brother

(579 words, gen, angst, elizabeth weir lives)

Ford hesitates before saying, "I found something you might want."

--

They don't bring Aiden Ford home. He brings himself back after almost six years. When he looks Sheppard in the eye, John thinks the man might throw a punch. And he is a man, not a kid anymore. His face is scarred. He's been clean two years. He knew the location of Atlantis almost all that time – It's not as well-hidden as you think – but it took this long to choose to come home. He lets Beckett – the new Beckett – examine him. He tells Woolsey and Sheppard where he was, what he did, helping a few different worlds, militia to militia.

Sheppard can't feel a thing – relief, guilt, confusion, nothing. He hasn't felt much in a while, going through the years by going through the motions. Even with that, he's aware that this is extreme. Normally, he can at least feel anger. This man was his second-in-command, his enthusiastic right hand, his responsibility. He didn't come home, not even when he could. Not even, he learns, when Ford saw them on a planet, Sheppard and McKay joking around, Teyla and Ronon walking the perimeter. Teyla presses her forehead to Ford's. He lets her. It doesn't soften the glare on his face. "Why now?" John finally asks. Ford hesitates before saying, "I found something you might want." He found Elizabeth. At first, Ford only lets Beckett see her, and only on the planet where he's holed up in a Wraith-damaged village where they treat him like one of their own. Teyla pieces together the story. Ford found out about her, bribed and threatened his way across the galaxy for information. Rescued her, with these natives and their antiquated weapons. Brought her here. "He must not have known that she's dangerous," McKay assumes aloud. The enemy is inside her and can't be taken out. John shakes his head. Ford was at the SGC when the human-form replicators first appeared on the scene – different than the Asurans, but the same. Ford knew, and he did it anyway. Ford won't let them in the hut without handing over their weapons. "We're not going to hurt her," John snaps, insulted at the implication, but if that were a guarantee, it would be easy to disarm. She's dangerous. Beckett says she's unconscious – malnourished, close to organ failure, mental effects unknown, but the replicators inside her aren't actively replicating. Ford fed her the same Wraith toxin that nearly killed him, and her drug-bolstered immune system and the replicators fought each other to a stalemate. She'll suffer withdrawal, according to Beckett, just like Ford did. That sounds like the least of her problems. "She's my responsibility now," Ford insists. McKay obviously winces. John doesn't. "You need our help to cure her," John points out. "Beckett's help." Beckett, who still isn't the same. Ford, whose motivations are foreign, and who wants them unarmed on his terms. Elizabeth, who might still die. "But if you want to see her, no weapons." Without waiting for John's okay, Teyla hands over her gun and says, soothing, "You can trust us. And I trust you." John grudgingly hands over his weapons, one by one. He goes to follow Teyla into the hut when Ford's hand clamps around his arm. "I left," he says, low and dangerous and full of old betrayal. "I get that. No matter what happened to me. But this was Doctor Weir. And you left her." Right then, inconveniently, two steps from seeing her, John starts to feel again.

[boo-cool-robot]

Note from our AU (subject to change as we build it out):

Megumi realizes she is a girl during her fight with Sukuna at the detention center during the Cursed Womb arc (because he wants to make her a stronger sorcerer). This is. A mixed experience. [Fic here] 

Here’s the thematic justification. (In short: Canon Megumi has a weak sense of self, kind of wants to die, and cannot reach full sorcerer potential for that reason. What if she transitioned about it?) 

Right now this AU is 15% serious scenes exploring what this means for Megumi and 85% a sitcom. There isn’t a “plot” per se, but Megumi does 1) Manifest a complete domain and 2) Kill Sukuna in this universe, because she has to. (Our thinking on the domain isn’t set yet, but perhaps her complete domain has the spine tree thing become enfleshed. There are 10 of them, all blooming into hands at the end of the branches. She can use all the Shikigami she’s mastered simultaneously, and all the shadows pooling are in her silhouette, sharper than ever.) 

(Before Toji drives a spike through his skill in Shibuya, he thinks of Megumi's mother. "You look just like her." Megumi stares at his corpse and thinks, I look like Maki? Does he know Maki???)

Okay so anyway Megumi starts transitioning while she thinks Yuji is dead. Sitcom ensues!

She comes out to Gojo first, despite it all. “I'm transgender. I'm a girl. I think.” Gojo blatantly searches it on his phone for 30 seconds and then grins. “Ohhh no problem, Megumi-chan! Sensei will take you to Thailand and pay for all your surgeries!” Megumi: “I think I should start hormones first actually.” Gojo, undeterred, continues: “And I won't even trick you into exorcising curses afterwards!” Megumi’s eye twitches. “You didn't trick me. I knew that you were actually making us fight curses all those times!” Gojo: “Wow, so your dad must have known deep down when he named you!” Megumi storms out at that. But he starts importing hormones and clothes for her and leaves them in her room without telling. 

Maki is a fundamentally insensitive person, so when Megumi tells her she’s trans during a spar, Maki takes the opportunity to whack her with the practice sword and then asks, “Oh. Why?” Megumi rubs her head and squints. “Why am I transgender? I don’t know…genetics???” Maki, with a viscous grin: “Hmm. Well, good for you. The Zen’in are going to hate this.” Megumi resumes the spar in lieu of an answer.

When Nobara grasps what Megumi is saying, she begins shrieking and shaking Megumi like a ragdoll. “You’re a girl?! YESSSS I ALWAYS WIN!” she screams. “I get to have a girl friend in my year.” She gasps. “We have to go shopping. We have to do your makeup. This is so so perfect!” And Megumi is so charmed by someone finally not saying something stupid about her family when she comes out to them that she’s lulled into going to three stores with Nobara before she remembers that she doesn’t like shopping. 

Ieri tells her how to do injections, and then adds "Actually, let me give you a little boost with Reverse Cursed Technique" and then Ieri gives her a year of estrogen effects all at once. “It worked! Humans are sexless when we first form in the womb, you know. I always thought that I could, but no one wanted to let me try it.” Megumi: “....You did this to me without knowing if it would work?”

And of course Yuji learns when he pops out of that stupid box before the Goodwill Games! While Nobara and Megumi are trying to process the fact that he is still alive, he looks Megumi up and down. He leans in, eyes widening. “Megumi…you smell different!” Yuji whispers. Nobara immediately shrieks, “Don’t comment on how a girl smells!” and kicks over the box with him in it. Yuji perfectly blocks all her subsequent slaps with one arm while clutching at Gojo’s shoulder with the other. “Sensei!” he wails. “Why didn’t you tell me Megumi’s a girl?” Gojo waves his hand. “Ah, my bad, my bad. I should have explained it. So you know The Matrix? It’s kind of like that.” Meanwhile, Maki is tugging on Megumi’s ponytail teasingly and Mai is glaring absolute daggers at them, and Megumi really wishes they could just start the games already. 

Transitioning makes Megumi give a fuck about Zen’in stuff even less. When Kamo Noritoshi corners her in their fight, he shouts: “You're just like me!” Megumi, pulling herself up: “Uh. You also want to transition?” Kamo: “No! I mean you're an outsider trying to prove yourself to your clan.” Megumi: “I am not doing that. I am only doing estrogen.”

The bracelet that Megumi is wearing in the picture above is a matching set with Nobara and Yuji! Nobara got her and Megumi matching necklaces when Megumi was first transitioning because she’s always wanted to do that with a girl friend. And then when Yuji reveals he’s not dead he makes this face ;_; even though Nobara insists that the necklaces are girls only, so Nobara agrees that they all can have friendship bracelets too. 

It turns out that she does actually have opinions about her look now, and she settles on soft goth-ish. Her casual clothes include a lot of big jackets, longs skirts, and chunky boots. Gojo lied and said that they were going to fight curses and then took her to a piercing parlor. (Megumi: "You've completely ruined missions for Kugisaki and Itadori. I hope you know that.") Her casual clothes include a lot of jackets, long skirts, and chunky boots. Her uniform includes a capelet and palazzo pants because they cast interesting shadows she can use for her technique. (Tsumiki always wore her hair up in a ponytail too.)

Both Nobara and Yuji developed little crushes on Megumi but they have sworn a pact not to bother her with it while she has so much going on :)

Megumi seriously considers changing her name so it doesn't look like her horrible deadbeat father somehow knew a single thing about her, but in the end, it does feel like her name.

trans girl megumi au, au where megumi is a trans girl!! from my and @boo-cool-robot's au. you can read fic they wrote for it here.

[id in ALT]

[artistformerlyknownasbutttrumpet]

casual reminder before tomorrow arrives that abstaining or voting 3rd party instead of voting for harris is THE most selfish thing you can do. i know you think you are doing the right thing, but i cannot emphasize enough that these two candidates are NOT "equally bad." palestinians will be in significantly more danger if that criminal shitstain wins, IN ADDITION TO every other minority and less privileged person. if you really and truly want to prove your motivation is to stop the harm of others, then you MUST put your ego aside and do the uncomfortable thing. this is not the time for a boycott. this is not the time to dig your heels in the sand and claim you can't possibly go against your morals. the truth of the matter is that palestinians will be safer if you vote for harris. as a queer woc, with so many friends and family whose well-being is at risk, i will feel more betrayed by you than by the people who vote for trump, bc we are supposed to take care of each other, and yet you'd rather watch us burn than do the uncomfortable thing. abstaining is nothing but a selfish, holier-than-thou, performative act. if you abstain, then you are actively causing harm, and if he wins because of it, those of us who can use our common sense will never forget how much you fucked us over. if he wins, more people (including palestinians) are going to get hurt, and that blood will be on your hands. do the uncomfortable thing. it's a better show of moral integrity than abstaining will ever be

[tariah23]

oooooo white people in my replies really saying ‘I can excuse racism but I draw the line at homophobia’

Not surprised since this is the site that only talks about racism and thinks it’s a big deal when they see it demonstrated in the cartoons and comics they like *coughs* dungeonmeshi *coughs* (for example at least. I haven’t seen THIS many white ppl talk as in depth about racism on here as much as these fandom nerds, man. I stg. Like “Ohhhh, so you all DO acknowledge that racism is real? Just not in real life even if you could feel it slapping you in the face at high speed. Gotcha.” It’s crazy.

Tumblr is like, 90% white and is extremely centered around them. That’s why you barely see stuff that’s important to black and brown people ever trending here or being talked about. It has to be something incredibly huge to the point where even white people can’t ignore it like they usually do, to talk about it here.

They only talked about George Floyd here because the topic of his death became world news. Even people in other countries were talking about it. Before him, it was probably Ferguson and Trayvon Martin… most of them are still trying their best to ignore the genocides because it’s a “touchy subject.” What do you expect from white people who live in their own bubbles of comfort and refuse to pop it with a needle??? They find comfort in their privilege and faux ignorance (they love playing stupid to avoid conversations about important things outside of fandoms like, are these mfs born with half a brain dedicated to fandom or what.) That’s literally all these mfs make a big deal out of, especially on this annoying ass platform. The ao3 mfs will go to war for the site that allows racist ff and cp like it’s no big deal. I wonder how many people here even donated to the site while actively scrolling past dono posts from folks who really do need help. They act like they’re doing a civil service by defending this site that makes over the amount of it’s intended dono goal in minutes.

Then you already know as soon as you even bring up racism in the stuff they like, they start ganging up and harassing black bloggers especially, calling them TERFs and the whole nine. Anything to make that person look bad for being concerned about the racism that they have such an intense aversion to. God, it’s absolutely exhausting knowing that these people would have no problem choosing a cartoon character over your entire existence if they COULD. Isn’t that fucking sad, man?

[spywhitney]

How I sleep knowing I'll never trust anyone that hates Sydney but worships Richie:

[edarull]

Screaming from the rooftop:

It's time to stop calling the paragon/renegade system a morality system! I argue that it's a reputation system that has been for too long mislabeled.

[moths-in-a-coat]

so i finally got my pcos diagnosis this year last year and i decided to look into online communities for people with pcos to see how people deal with a lot of the symptoms because the whole never ending period thing is really fucking annoying. and shaving all the time is really annoying. and having a five o'clock shadow is really annoying.

and i totally thought these communities and overall people with pcos would be a lot more welcoming and understanding with trans women. but they're not. specifically on reddit and tiktok, i've seen trans women who've attempted to relate to cis women with pcos be met with vitriol and loathing. it's very baffling to me. because i feel like if anyone could relate to having an unwanted ability to grow a beard caused by pcos, it would be trans women.

and overall there's a lot of self loathing within a lot of cis women with pcos. i've seen many refer to themselves are diseased and seemingly experience a lot of dysphoria from the excessive hair growth. on top of that, i've seen a lot of fatphobia being internalized and shared around in these communities. there's just so much self hatred from cis women who hate their bodies for their inability to conform to popularized beauty standards.

i have a very different view of having pcos from these people, so i find myself unable to relate to a lot of their experiences when so many people have such large emotions around having this condition. and those emotions and feelings are valid!! however, i just don't have any emotionally charge experiences with pcos outside of annoyance. it just makes my life a bit more inconvenient, but i don't find it all encompassing like so many people seem to

[milfspiggy]

something i always find really interesting is when an artist makes a lot of ~*~*~cute wholesome art~*~*~ sometimes you will go into the replies to their posts and find them just being kind of a huge jerk to people interacting with their art in a pretty normal way

[hauntingblue]

Inept 8 year old boy dragon tries to save floating island is such a concept

[icedille]

there's this one dude i keep seeing whenever i use youtube without being logged in whose main thing is playing the guitar while adding something that will most likely completely ruin the instrument and it just. makes me so angry. so far i've seen him put fireworks inside one drill holes into another and drown two (three?) different guitars. it's obviously an incredibly wasteful gimmick but worst of all it's useless it doesn't even sound good or special it's so blatant that he just adds a ton of reverb afterwards and emphasizes the additional noises (water splashing around the fireworks burning etc) a little bit but that's it there really isn't anything gained musically from him just. wasting a perfectly fine guitar for one (1) video. and i'm aware that dramatically destroying instruments for some sort of statement has been A Thing for a long time but there really isn't any statement here it's just clickbait content and it WORKS everyone eats this shit up i hate it so much

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

The rescent riots in the UK are despicable (but sadly not surprising).

Yes, what happened to those little girls is a tradgey, but the person who was responsible wasn't an asylum seeker, and even if he was, that would NOT excuse the racism displayed these past few weeks.

The people taking part clearly don't care about the safety of children as they're, scaring other people's & indoctrinationating their own into perpetuating racist acts.

Seven years is a lot, though! Then don't fucking join a hate group.

But the non white people are being violent too! Yeah, well, that tends to happen when you attack people. I'm not going to hate on people for standing up for themselves.

They're taking our jobs! Why do you believe that those jobs are YOURS? Are you actually qualified & able to make a good impression on bosses, or do you think just being white should be enough.

They don't work! Well Asylum seekers litrually aren't allowed to until their case gose through but plenty of other POC have jobs (I know you've seen them though it must be hard to make them out through that fog of hatred) & I've met plenty of white people who don't want to (no hate to those who can't because of disability or mental health issues) or loose jobs because they're just overall terrible employees (some of the shit I've seen middle aged white people do at their jobs is crazy).

They're all criminals! Well, that's just not true now is it plus it's been proven multiple times that the biggest factor in crime is poverty, NOT race & again I've encountered plenty of white people who've broken the law yet most didn't seem to get more than a slap on the wrist (if that). Strange, that isn't it?

Well, "those kinds" of men hate women! Ahh, yes, because there's never been white rapists, woman killers, stalkers or harrasers. Its been proven that hating women is a problem in all races & and sadly, the biggest threat to us is usually our own partners or family, not some random aylsum seeker (who if they do hurt women tend to go after the ones from their own community).

They're not from here! Ok, so I don't know if anyone told you, but you can actually be born here without being white and you can't ban people from a country just because of the colour of their skin. Also, neither was half my family, yet we never get told to go back to our own country. Hmm, I wonder if our white skin could possibly have anything to do with that.

They can't speak English! A lot of them are multilingual, actually (& you make fun of their accents) & for the ones who can't well you seem to hate them getting anything (such as English lessons) for free. Also, how many Brits go abroad despite refusing to learn absolutely anything about other countries (there's a reason we're known as disrespectful, violent, sex obsessed, drunks by most of the world).

Also sooner or later we are going to have to accept that a lot of the issues that make immigrants flee their home countries are caused (or at least made worse) by ours & other Western governments.

This country definitely has problems, but we should be taking them up with politicians & their rich mates. Who are the ones actually hording wealth made from the exploitation of the poor, not random people of colour who are just trying to live their lives.