#or deliberately ignoring and annoying you

[thanoskin]

JEALOUS

———

Pairing: Thanos x Fem!Reader

Summary: you tried making Thanos jealous by teaming up with Myung-gi during one of the games, he punishes you during lights out.

P-link <3

Warnings: minors DNI (18+), punishment, rough sex, dom! Thanos, sub! Reader, fingering, intercourse, slapping, breeding, Thanos is mean, unprotected sex, let me know if I missed anything.

———

The masked guards stood rigid, their red jumpsuits stark against the sterile white walls of the large room.

Thanos stood among the players, he seemed jittery and in his own world. His lover, y/n was beside him, her hand brushing against his arm in quiet reassurance, but he pulled away, annoyed and tense.

“You’ll stay with me this time,” Thanos muttered, it wasn’t a request.

TEAM GAME. SELECT A PARTNER.

Chaos erupted instantly. The players lunged for allies, shouting names, marking desperate bargains. Y/N’s heartbeat quickened as she glanced at Thanos, knowing he expected her to fall in line beside him like a fan, like she usually did. But then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Myung-gi.

The loan stark stood a few feet away, his sharp gaze scanning the room, his eyes on Jun-hee, the pregnant girl, or the “skank” as Nam-gyu called her. He was hoping she’d pick him, but she was teaming with Dae-ho, leaving Myung-gi stranded.

Myung-gi and Thanos weren’t getting along here after the coin scandal, they despised eachother and have been at each others throats since they got here.

A reckless idea sparked y/n’s mind. If she wanted to get under Thanos’ skin this was the way to do it.

She turned abruptly and strode towards Myung-gi. “You need a partner?”

His brow lifted in surprise, a hesitation. “Aren’t you Thanos’ girl, he’d kill me if I..”

Y/n heard Thanos’ calls behind her and glanced over her shoulder, Nam-gyu had his arm draped around him and Thanos started at her with anger.

Good.

“I’ll take my chances.”

AFTER THE GAME

That night, after the lights dimmed and most of the players asleep, y/n could feel the shadow looming over her before she even turned around.

He flipped her onto her back and pinned her arms above her head with a massive hand before she could react.

“You think you’re clever?” Thanos voice was deceptively calm, but there was an edge to it, a warning, and his hands tightened painfully on her wrists.

Y/n met his gaze, defiant. “It was just a game.”

His grip tightened, making her breath hitch. “You chose him.”

“You still had Nam-gyu,” she whined, squirming under him.

Thanos’ expression darkened, “I had no other choice.”

To her surprise, he loosened his grip on her wrists and placed his free hand on her waist. “You enjoy making me jealous, don’t you?” His fingers traced slow, deliberate patterns against her hip, his touch teasing and possessive.”

“Maybe,” she whispered, tilting her chin up. “You get all broody and it’s kind of cute.”

Thanos hummed, his cross chain dangling in her face as he squeezed her hip hard. “Cute?” He mused. “That’s not the word I’d use for what’s about to happen.”

Without warning, he tossed her over his lap and she kicked. “Thanos!” She whined.

Thanos ignored her pleas and began to take off her pants and panties, leaving her in nothing but her oversized sweater.

He flipped her over onto her back and grabbed her hair, hard, forcing her head back to meet his hungry gaze. He brought his hand to her soaked folds.

“I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

He delivered a firm slap to her clit, causing her to gasp and close her legs.

He tutted, shaking his head as he spread her legs wide, pushing them up to her chest.

“Keep them open, or it’ll be worse for you.

He slapped her clit again and she cried out, but kept her legs open. He hummed in approval, rubbing her clit hard and fast.

She moaned and whimpered, arching her back and struggling keep her legs open. He paused to open her legs again. “Don’t make me have to stop again.”

He resumed his relentless assault on her clit, rubbing merciless circles on your ball of nerves. Y/n moaned and cried, grasping onto his shirt. He chuckled down at her, and he finally stopped after what seemed like forever.

He stood up and took his pants and boxers down, before grabbing her ankles and yanking her to him, spreading her legs wide.

“ If you want to act like a brat, I’ll treat you like one.”

he aligned himself at her entrance without warning and slammed in, hard.

Y/n moaned loud and gripped the sheets. Thanos pumped his hips urgently, grabbing her legs for support, each thrust hitting that delicious spot inside of her.

The bed creaked rhythmically under his vigorous movements. “So fucking tight.”

Y/n’s cries only spurred him on further as he slapped her tits and face, before using her legs as leverage to slam into her even harder.

“This is what you wanted huh?” He moaned and gasped as he pounded into her relentlessly

Y/n could only whine in reply. “Im gonna cum!”

He groaned in reply, gripping her thighs hard enough to leave bruises. “come on, tighten around my cock.”

Y/n came, hard, spilling all over his cock and the sheets below her. He groaned as he came inside of her, not allowing her to close her shaking legs. He immediately bent over and kissed her face and forehead, mumbling praises and how much he loves her.

In the quiet that followed, she understood, she wouldn’t dare tease him like that again.

———

[hivemuthur]

i haven’t seen this before but a viktor x doctor!reader where his pains are extra bad one day but he’s come to a standstill to his discoveries so he’s extra irritated already. and so reader tries to help him and he just snaps. can be full on angst or angst w/ happy ending if you please. idk much about the topic of chronic pains so hopefully this request wasn’t ignorant, tweak it if you want! love ur writings!!

Hi Anon! Here's your fic!

It Never Entered My Mind

viktorxgn!doctor!reader general audiences, angst with a vague resolution

author’s note: Okay, so this wasn't easy to write because I'm on the both sides of this coin, as a person with chronic pains and someone with medical degree. So, when I'm in pain I want people to pat me on the back and make me a cup of tea, and when someone announces they are in pain I'm this annoying dude that asks WELL DID YOU DRINK WATER TODAY? :O Title from Miles Davis, cheers!

word count: 1,3K

—

The first thing you hear is the door slamming shut and then a long groan as Viktor kicks off his shoes and drops his keys in a bowl. His movements are careful, deliberate—like with each one, he calculates how to hide the fact that something is wrong. But you see it anyway. The stiffness in his shoulders, the slight hitch in his step. The way he lingers just a little too long by the door, gripping the frame before finally stepping out of the hallway.

“Hey,” you greet him, eyeing his posture from under your glasses. “You’re late.”

“Hm,” is all he offers in response before strolling toward the kitchen. No teasing remark. No tired but affectionate jab about you keeping track of his schedule. Just that vague, dismissive sound as he moves past you, his cane tapping against the floor in uneven intervals.

Undoubtedly, it’s going to be another one of those afternoons where he sighs and talks mostly to himself while telling you not to worry about it. So you brace yourself and follow him.

“Have you eaten?”

“Not hungry,” he mumbles while searching through the tea cabinet. You frown. His coat is wrinkled, his hair more dishevelled than usual. And up close, you notice the tension in his face—the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers curl into his palm even as he reaches for a cup.

Pain. It’s always there in some form, but tonight it clings to him heavier than usual.

You step forward, your hand already reaching out for his shoulder. “Viktor—”

“I am fine.”

The words come too quickly. A pre-emptive strike. Which only confirms that he isn’t and makes your frown deepen. You exhale and go for the obvious first.

“Do you want something for the pain?”

“No.”

He doesn’t even look at you. You can see his defences rising and feel yourself becoming annoyed with his martyrdom.

“Viktor.”

“I said no.”

He sets the cup down harder than necessary and sighs, defeated, as if you have just betrayed him somehow. As if it’s not the physical pain that he is looking to ease.

You cross your arms, studying him for a moment before shifting tactics. “Alright. Then tell me what happened.”

“It was just—” He waves a hand, as if dismissing an invisible nuisance. “Nothing of importance.”

“That’s not an answer,” you press, and all air leaves you. Why do you press in the first place? If he wants to sulk alone, you should let him.

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. His patience is thinning, but so is yours.

“Viktor,” you try again, willing yourself to be softer this time. “Just talk to me.”

He hesitates, then finally, “I am stuck.”

You blink but say nothing, making space for him to speak. Your features soften at the sight of him cracking—just a bit.

“With Hextech. With my research.” His fingers tap against the counter, restless, agitated. “It is like hitting a wall, again and again. Every theory, every equation—I run in circles, and it is infuriating.” His voice edges with frustration, exhaustion—something raw beneath it all. “And on top of that, my leg—” He cuts himself off, lips pressing into a thin line.

When he doesn’t continue, you take a step forward and place your hand on his shoulder. “You need to take better care of yourself, Viktor.”

His jaw immediately tenses. “Not this again.”

“You don’t take breaks, you barely eat when you get like this, and it only makes everything worse—”

“Enough,” he growls, shaking your hand off.

But you don’t stop—meaning well but making it worse. “You push yourself too hard. You know stress makes the pain worse. If you just listened to me—”

“I am not your patient,” he hisses through his teeth. It isn’t loud, but it’s sharp enough to cut through your little lecture.

You stare at him, startled, words stuck in your throat. Viktor exhales sharply through his nose, gripping the edge of the counter as he fights for composure. When he speaks again, his voice is lower but no kinder—disappointed, for that matter.

“I do not need a lecture. I do not need to be told how to manage my own body, my own limits. I live in them every day.” His knuckles whiten before he delivers the final blow. “I need my partner. Not my doctor.”

And that does it. Because he is right. You’ve slipped into doctor mode without even thinking. Instead of just listening, instead of just being there, you’ve tried to fix it—fix him—like he was just another case to manage. Or an inconvenience.

And the worst part? You can see it in his face, in the way his shoulders have drawn inward like a man bracing for impact—this isn’t the first time.

You swallow hard, and with the lump in your throat go all the possible words you could say to him. I am sorry sounds like not enough. That wasn’t my intention sounds accusatory. I just want you to feel better feels too dismissive.

“I’m sorry.” You pick the lesser evil and reach for him again. “I’m here for you. Tell me what you need.” You say it quietly, moving closer, and it hurts you disproportionately that he keeps moving away.

“Viktor.” You plead, taking advantage of his slower coordination and sliding your hands around his waist. He raises his arms as if he’s trying to shake you off, but you persist.

“I do not need to be scolded like a child, that’s for sure,” he mumbles grumpily but lowers his arms. Still not ideal, as now you are wrapped around his waist while he stands stiffly, arms hanging limply by his sides. But he does finally look at you. “I just need you to listen, that’s all. To tell me it’s going to be all right.” Just tell me that you love me despite all of this.

You never meant to make him feel like that—like a problem to solve rather than the man you love. But how else are you supposed to react? When he is in pain, when he is hurting, barely keeping himself upright?

You exhale into his chest, trying to find your footing, trying to push back the instinct to argue—to tell him you know what’s best for him. Because that’s not what he needs.

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I wasn’t trying to—” You shake your head. “I just don’t want to see you suffer when I know there are things that can help.”

Viktor rubs a hand over his face, still avoiding your touch as much as possible. “And I appreciate that. But you have to understand—I have lived with this pain for years. There is no solution. No cure. No treatment that will make it all go away.” His gaze lowers to meet yours. “Sometimes, I just need comfort.”

Something in your chest aches at the admission. “I’m sorry for not seeing you,” you whisper, placing your hand on his cheek. You see something shift in his expression. “No more lectures. I promise.”

Viktor huffs out something like a laugh, tired and wry. “That is a first.” But his hands do finally move, settling on your hips, making you sigh in relief.

You press your ear to his chest and close your eyes. His heart beats unevenly.

“Can I at least take care of you?” you plead quietly, your palms flattening against his back.

His eyes close for a beat when he sighs. And then he hums softly.

“Yes,” he admits. “You can do that.”

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #31

[Continuation of Poll #24]

"I'm home!"

Your captor's voice sounded unusually chipper after a long day at work. Taking a sip from your cup of tea, you barely hummed in acknowledgment, despite knowing that the peace and quiet you had enjoyed reading your book would be over now. Now, it was time for the usual song and dance, where they'd do their best to make you show them any kind of affection and attention while you simply tried to ignore them without pushing your luck.

The shuffling in the hallway went on for a while as they took off their coat, but instead of coming to see you right away, you heard their footsteps reach an abrupt stop—and you could guess why. You had left everything like it was before for them to find. The computer on standby, the lights in your captor's office out, and the door slightly ajar. It was only a question of who-staged-it-better, and whose suspicions would be confirmed in the end.

"Have you been to my office?" they asked, standing in the doorway to the living room. You barely looked up from your book despite already having lost the sentences you read last and just pretending to be busy.

"Hm? Oh, I saw you left the door open, but I thought you just forgot to lock it, so I left it that way."

Feeling their body move behind you, you tried your best to stay nonchalant and uninterested. However, the tension affected you, causing your pulse to rise and your body to cramp up. You took another sip of your cup, watching their expressionless face in the reflection of your drink. Your captor's weight leaned onto the backrest, shifting you slightly backward, but even so, you pretended not to care. Not even their hand brushing through your hair, playing with the ends, and rubbing them between their fingers made you falter.

"So you didn't go in?"

"Nope," you replied, popping the p deliberately. "What's for dinner?"

"Weren't you curious at all?"

"Should I? I thought it was an office. The last thing I want to waste time on is papers and documents. How about we order some of those fried vegetables we had last week? I am craving the garlic dip they came with."

"If I go up to the computer, I won't find any signs of you tampering with it?"

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly, trying to sound annoyed and disappointed in your captor that he'd keep accusing you. The truth was, you needed a few extra seconds to think carefully about what you were about to say. Because you had gone there. You unlocked the computer, even though you decided not to continue using it at the last second, and locked it again immediately.

Technically, there should be no evidence that you were on it. Unless your captor burst out his detective set to find your fingerprints, they wouldn't know you touched the PC. You only barely listened when they told you about their job. Still, you knew they didn't work in a tech-savvy field. You doubted they had much experience with which they could detect you logging in and out of their computer very quickly.

Still, telling the truth before they found out what you did could grant you some mercy... or it would result in punishment regardless of whether they found out or not. But not telling them, only to fall for the trap, seemed just as dangerous. You contemplated, seconds passing by. There was not much you could do other than decide right there and then.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[maxdibert]

It’s like when people say ‘oh but we only see two interactions between James and Severus, we don’t know if Snape was cursing him in the corridors the rest of the time’ and I just goggle because…it’s a book! This is how books work! They don’t exist outside of the interactions that are written, and we get all the context we need to extrapolate their dynamic from that. The characters aren’t wandering around off the page acting entirely differently to how they do on that page. They act like these are real people with real 24/7 lives and JKR just happened to forget to tell us those extra details lmao

They don’t realize that if we don’t know it, it’s because it didn’t happen—because if it had happened or been relevant, Rowling would have told us. That’s how plots work, that’s how narrative functions. The author discards information that doesn’t contribute to the story or is irrelevant. If we were supposed to interpret James’s actions as some kind of act of justice, vengeance, or payment for Severus’s actions, then it would have been shown to us.

But no, Rowling doesn’t do that. Rowling makes it abundantly clear that James was a bully. And if the reader still has doubts, she ensures not only that Harry is horrified but also that he compares James to the person he considers his primary bully—the one who has tormented him the most since childhood: Dudley. He doesn’t compare him to Draco; He doesn’t compare him to Draco; he compares him to Dudley. Why? Because Harry doesn’t see Draco as a bully but as an annoying idiot he can stand up to or fight against, knowing Ron and Hermione would gladly help him.

It’s Dudley who tormented him as a child. It’s Dudley who cornered him, Dudley who had power over him with the Dursleys’ protection and approval, with a group of friends backing him to make Harry’s life miserable, and who was bigger and stronger. It’s Dudley who was his bully, not Draco. And it’s Dudley whom Harry compares to James for that very reason.

Deliberately ignoring those details, overlooking or questioning them, is basically crapping all over the narrative structure just because you don’t want to accept that the character you write fanfics about, the one you’ve given a completely invented personality to treat as a queer social justice warrior, was actually a rich, privileged, white, straight kid who ganged up on people in weaker positions.

.

[777bae]

RAINDROPS (AN ANGEL CRIED) LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: In an empty rink, Luke Hughes breaks your heart, leaving you alone to face the silence and the pain of a love lost forever.

Warnings :: Heartbreak

Word count :: 1.5k

The ice is quiet tonight, but you feel the weight of every inch of it beneath your feet. The cold seeping up through your shoes reminds you of the emptiness around you, the void left by all that’s unsaid, all that’s broken. The arena is still, silent except for the sound of your own breathing and the faint hum of the overhead lights, buzzing like an annoying reminder of the stillness. It’s late—far too late—but you can’t bring yourself to leave. There’s something you need, something you have to know, even if the answer will tear you apart.

You stand by the rink, watching Luke Hughes skate in slow, deliberate circles, his movements sharp, controlled—like he’s been practicing for hours. His skates cut through the ice with precision, each glide smooth, effortless. But even as he moves with such grace, you can see the tension in him, the way his jaw tightens with every lap, the way his eyes flicker to the side, never quite meeting yours. It’s like he’s trapped in a world that doesn’t include you anymore, and you’re standing in the ruins of a connection that used to feel unbreakable. The same look he had earlier—detached, distant. Like he’s already gone.

The rest of the team is gone. The arena is empty except for the two of you. The silence between you two feels like an oppressive weight, one you can’t shake off. It’s not just the quiet of the rink—it’s the silence in your chest, the absence of the words that should have been spoken days ago. Hours ago. You should’ve left when he told you to. When he said he needed space. But you didn’t. You stayed. Because you didn’t know how to walk away, not from him, not from everything that had once been so right.

Your heart pounds in your chest, each beat feeling like a countdown, like time slipping away before you get the chance to speak your truth. The tension in the air feels unbearable, a constant pressure on your chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s almost like you’re suffocating in it, trapped by everything left unsaid, everything that’s falling apart. Every second you stand here, staring at him, it feels like the distance between you grows larger.

You take a tentative step forward, trying to keep your movements casual, but your legs feel heavy with the weight of what you’re about to face. Everything in you wants to scream, to demand answers, but you keep your voice steady as you call his name. “Luke.”

Your voice shakes despite your best efforts. It’s been weeks of this—weeks of pretending everything was fine, weeks of convincing yourself that things would go back to the way they were. But every time you look at him, every time he turns away, it becomes more impossible to ignore the truth. He doesn’t want to talk to you. He doesn’t want you here.

He doesn’t stop skating. Instead, his skates slice through the ice faster, as if he’s trying to outrun you, to outrun the conversation that’s been hanging between you two, unspoken but ever-present. But you won’t let him. You can’t let him.

You move closer, each step heavier than the last. The cold concrete beneath your feet feels like it’s pulling you down, but you force yourself to push forward, closing the gap between you. “Luke, stop,” you call, more forcefully this time, almost pleading. “We need to talk.”

Finally, he slows, glancing over his shoulder, but there’s no warmth in his eyes. No surprise. No softness. There’s nothing in his gaze. Nothing at all. And it breaks you.

For a moment, he looks away, and it feels like everything inside you shatters all at once. He doesn’t even look at you the way he used to—like he’s seeing you for the first time, his gaze soft with affection. Instead, he looks through you, distant, as if you’re a stranger. That’s what hurts the most: the way he’s already checked out, already moved on. You expected him to be just as hurt as you were, to feel the same pain gnawing at his insides. But all you see is indifference.

He stops skating and stands there, his posture stiff, his shoulders tight with something you can’t quite place. The air between you two feels like it’s suffocating you, thick with everything you haven’t said, everything that’s falling apart. You feel the words bubbling up inside you, but they’re lodged in your throat. Every breath feels like it takes an eternity to pull in, like your lungs are working harder than they should. The distance between you two feels like a chasm, one you don’t know how to cross. The silence drags on, and you can’t stand it any longer.

“You’re leaving me, aren’t you?” The words slip out before you can stop them, so quiet, so fragile. But they’re the truth. You know they are. And somehow, you already know what his answer will be.

His eyes flicker—just a momentary hesitation. But then he turns away from you, and that’s it. The way he moves, the way he shuts you out—it all says it before he speaks it. “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, his voice cold, distant. But there’s no conviction behind it. There’s no remorse, no hint of emotion.

You swallow hard, trying to hold back the flood of feelings threatening to break free. He didn’t mean to hurt you? Then why does it feel like he’s already gone? Why does it feel like everything you’ve shared is nothing more than a memory now, a forgotten moment in time? You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. But it’s like trying to hold back an ocean.

But the truth hits you harder than you expect. He’s not just drifting away from you. He’s already let go. He’s already moving on. And that realization tears through you like a razor blade.

You step closer to the rink, and with every step, the space between you two feels more unbridgeable. “Then why?” you ask, your voice raw and desperate. “Why are you doing this? What happened to us?”

His jaw clenches, and you watch as he struggles to find the words, but it’s too late for words now. He’s already made his decision. You can see it in his eyes, the way they avoid yours, the way his posture tightens, as though he’s already bracing for what he has to say.

“I don’t think we’re right for each other anymore,” he says, the words coming out blunt, calculated, like he’s trying to make it hurt as little as possible, but you feel it like a knife to the chest. Not right for each other—those words echo in your head, reverberating in your ears, each syllable ringing with the finality of a door closing, a chapter ending.

It hits you harder than you ever imagined. It feels like the ground has been ripped out from beneath you. The air feels thinner, colder, and you can barely breathe through the sharp pain in your chest. How did it come to this? How could everything that once felt so real, so vibrant, turn into nothing more than this cold, empty space between you?

You try to speak, to say anything, but the words are stuck. They’re lodged deep inside your throat, fighting to break free, but the lump there is too thick. He’s already turned away from you, his gaze cold, colder than the ice beneath you. You feel the last piece of yourself slipping through your fingers, the last shred of hope, the last faint glimmer of the love you thought you shared.

“Luke,” you try again, but your voice cracks, trembling under the weight of it. “I loved you. I still—”

But he cuts you off before you can finish. He turns his head, his eyes flickering to you for a split second, but the wall is already back up, colder than before. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice almost too soft, too empty. “I think it’s time for both of us to move on.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and you stand there, frozen, stunned. You want to scream. You want to say something, anything, but it feels like the air has been sucked from the room, leaving you standing in the wreckage of something you can’t fix, something you never had the chance to save. His figure begins to fade as he skates away from you, the sound of his skates slicing through the ice fading into the distance, and you can’t move. You can’t breathe. You’re stuck in the crushing silence, unable to comprehend what’s happening, what’s just happened.

Tears begin to fall then—slow, steady, burning your cheeks. The raindrops outside, the ones you didn’t want to acknowledge, are falling now, just like the ones you never thought you’d shed. It’s like the weight of everything finally catches up with you, pulling you under, drowning you in the realization that this is the end. He’s gone. And you’re left standing on the ice, your heart splintering in your chest, as the world around you continues to turn, indifferent to the fact that everything you loved has just slipped away.

You turn away from the rink, letting the tears fall freely, unable to hold them back any longer. He’s gone. And you’re left here, a shell of who you used to be, wondering how something that once felt so real could turn into nothing more than a distant memory.

[lotus-duckies]

i like that the manga actually shows kageyama getting mildly to moderately pissed off with oikawa's crap

[deoidesign]

A frustrating development with the growing lack of reading comprehension I've personally noticed is an emerging fervor of insisting things aren't canon unless they are explicitly stated beyond all reasonable doubt.

I can not emphasize enough how harmful a mindset this is to have. Yes, it's wonderful to have characters outright say "I'm trans," but to deny a character's identity for not saying that is dangerous.

Plenty of real people prefer not to use specific labels. Historically, people didn't have our modern terms or modes of expression. Many modern cultures don't use these terms, either, and plenty of people within those that do can't safely openly identify.

If the only representation you accept as canon is within modern (and let's be honest, wealthy white able-bodied American) standards, then you are denying yourself and others a huge amount of representation and seriously limiting the media around you.

[nartml]

Some of you are trying to find misogyny where it doesn't exist because you want to be victims so bad

[discountalien-pancake]

Somewhere in me there is a rant about how people bemoaning the use of social cues as “refusing to communicate” are just. Petulant. You complain about people relying on social cues not “using their words” but have you ever in fact informed them explicitly that you cannot pick up on social cues? Or asked them to clarify a cue?

People who use social cues had to learn how to use them and fun fact! Loads of them are neurodivergent just like you! They are communicating but in a nonverbal language and it is not them being an asshole. They do not and cannot know you don’t understand them if you don’t fucking tell them that.

Communication is a two-way street.

[mihai-florescu]

Im sorry that i keep coming back every half hour but i have more thoughts. One thing ive noticed on twitter mostly is that, when theyre unhappy with a story, people form 2 groups: those who start blaming the characters as if theyre real people, and those who jump straight to "happyele should fire akira". You can have nuance and find a middle ground of normal discussion without getting overly emotional in either direction. Sometimes a character's actions are telling of the writer's personal biases. Sometimes they're highlighting another trait of the character. There's a reason we have both Doylist and Watsonian frameworks of analysis. But i cant expect a huge fandom to sit down and have these conversations collectively.

[starbirdaltair]

adding to this(if I may-) you can be annoyed by autistic people. because they are people. and people are bloody annoying sometimes. it's ok. also you can be annoyed without being a douchebag. anyways point is this post is completely right.

"saying (x thing i find annoying) is a symptom of autism is actually ablest because you're implying autistic people are annoying and also i'm autistic and don't do anything annoying thing so" i think it'd be easier to understand that despite how memified autism is on this site, not every autistic trait is cool and sexy, sometimes people's autism manifests in a way that's not easily digestible, or genuinely off putting and obnoxious. and they still don't deserve to be bullied, but also you are not immune to being annoyed by autistic people (even if you're also autistic, i'm also not immune to this)

[yelloworangesoda]

do not undersfand the obsession with giving human homestuck oc type characters typing quirks. none of the human characters in homestuck have typing quirks

[myfandomhalf]

The only good thing that stupid best Dazai ships poll on Twitter did was provide me a convenient list of people to block

[sarahcmarie]

Don’t get me wrong I love the Tim drake tells his family about his trauma with out thinking to hard about it and them freaking out that’s great I love that hilarious BUT have you considered the hilarity of Tim Deliberately Hiding it from his family and the shenanigans he has to pull to keep them from finding out?

Que Tim drake trying to drink his coffee before Bruce comes to pick him up for lunch when suddenly one of Ra’s assassins come from the shadows to try to kidnap him and while Tim is trying to fight him he hears the alert that Bruce’s car pulled up his eyes widen as he shoves the assassin into the closet before Bruce can see and telling him to shut the fuck up for both of their sakes the assassin is so confused he just goes along with it

When Bruce comes in and see’s Tim’s ruffled shirt A broken vase in the hall and someone very clearly in the closet he chooses to ignore it because he REALLY does not want to know about his sons sex life

Red Robin gets stabbed mid patrol and has to pretend he’s worried about blood loss but actually he is annoyed because it was a rusty pipe so he KNOWS it’s gonna get infected and he does not wanna deal with that but can’t say that because then his family will know he doesn’t have a spleen

When a new supervillain comes around and starts cloning people Tim is the one who has the most information on how to catch him because of when he tried to clone Kon but only he and dick know this dick was obviously gonna bring this up so Tim could help on the case but it was also like 2:30 and he hadn’t slept in days so he decided to take a nap first only to be woken up by a shadow holding a hand over his mouth he nearly broke Tim’s jaw because of how bad he scared him and when dick asked him what the hell he was thinking Tim said to keep what happened with Kon to himself or else… the case was solved two days afterwards and dick kept his mouth shut but he had a new found fear for his little brother whom he loved (and feared) so much

There are many more fun instances that I am not creative enough to come up with so PLEASE feel free to add on

[maskedking06]

I shouldn’t have to explain this but apparently i have to cause tumblr likes being tumblr

Naotos desire to be a man doesn’t stem from internalized transphobia it stems from her desire to be taken seriously in a male dominated workspace and none of this is my interpretation this is information the game literally gives us ourselves

And saying that she is “struggling with internalized transphobia” because a trans person can “see it” doesn’t mean it automatically becomes canon

Now does this mean trans people can’t relate to any of naotos struggles no of course not in fact it’s understandable for trans people to relate to her struggles however disregarding the entire reasons why she wanted to become a man and the point her arc was trying to make in place of the headcanon you project onto her character is frustrating

Kamen goes into this subject better than I can

seeing trans naoto discourse on twitter has made me realise how many cis persona fans are just oblivious because they’ll say he’s a woman under the guise of ‘he says it in the game’ and say that people calling him trans haven’t played the game but literally every trans person can see that he is struggling with a LOT of internalised transphobia. and sure maybe that wasn’t the writer’s intentions with him but thats how a lot of us see him because we’ve been through it ourselves. we see ourselves in this character and maybe it’s just ignorance on a lot of cis people’s part (which i can’t exactly blame them for) but some people get so horribly transphobic about it and its unnecessary

[chuluoyi]

✎ rivals... in love?

- gojo satoru x reader

gojo is in shambles—so suguru might have a crush on you too?

genre: high school!gojo being a menace but pls spare him he just can't take losing, you see... crack, totally jealous!gojo, justice for geto, enemies to lovers, fluff

note: people have been asking for this so this is up next! i'm writing this while listening to bigbang's bang bang bang and fantastic baby so if gojo is a bit unhinged... you know why

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

No way. There is just no way.

Satoru felt his eyes itch and twitch uncomfortably. Despite the opaque black tint of his sunglasses, he could still distinctly see you happily giggling.

“Geto-san, that’s so funny!”

With Suguru. His ride or die. Your massive crush.

Your crisp laughter rang in his ears, scorching his ego and igniting it in flames—that was precisely the reaction he had hoped to receive from you too!

"Aren't they just cute?" Yaga was suddenly beside him with a wistful smile, looking at you and his other student a few feet away. "What do the television say again... a perfect match? In this case, a perfect match made in jujutsu school, then."

And responding to your bubbly self, creating the very picture of perfect match made in jujutsu school indeed, Suguru was every bit as enthusiastic. “Nah, wait until you see this—”

"Perfect match my ass," Satoru grumbled outwardly, rolling his eyes, but he immediately dashed away before his teacher could bonk him in the head for cussing.

It was harmless conversation, or jokes, or whatever. Because Suguru couldn't possibly reciprocate your feelings. His type is women of gravure magazines—Satoru had deemed it as such.

…Right?

At this point, he wasn't in enough denial to say that he didn't like you, because he had made it so clear that he was, in fact, obsessed. He wasn’t shying away from the things he did, which included annoying you constantly, asking you out after school, helping you in missions, and sending you few pick up lines here and there.

And he thought he was certain he could whisk you off your feet. After all, who else could measure up to him and win?

Heh, no one.

(or basically that's just him ignoring the intrusive little voice in his mind that whispered, “Suguru!”)

“So what's with the nice act, huh?” Satoru blew his bangs in a huff as he questioned his best friend with a twinge of dissatisfaction. “Do you like her or something?”

Suguru quirked his eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. I have noticed how you two have been joined at the hip lately,” and with deliberate intention to spite his best friend, he made the sourest face as he mockingly recited, “Wait till you see this~”

Instantly realizing what he meant, Suguru burst into a loud snicker. “Come on, Satoru, really? Surely you aren't that petty. We were just chatting—”

“Not that. I know. What I'm asking now is that do you like her or not?”

It wasn't a rare sight to see Satoru with a pout and a frown, and usually he'd humor him. But this time, even Suguru could see that there was something different in the way he asked this. And should he say something that irked him then—

“Heh, so what if I am?”

That's the wrong answer.

Satoru halted abruptly, whipping his head around in sheer shock. "What the heck?"

“She’s a nice junior, kind, easy on the eyes,” Suguru shrugged, flashing him a dauntless smile. “Only a fool would let the chance pass up. Satoru, if you keep dawdling, one of these days, I just might—”

“Wha—hey!? That’s totally foul—!”

“Nah, they do say all is fair in love and war now, isn’t it?”

By a mind-boggling twist of events, apparently his best friend was also a guy after his dream girl. Satoru was irked, challenged, and he would never admit it, but a tiny part of him recoiled because Suguru clearly had an early start and a boost—you favored him first.

This was unexpected, and now he was conjuring up various scenarios of what he should do. He must act fast or else...

Little did he know that Suguru was thoroughly relishing his restlessness.

Everyone around you said that your relationship with Gojo Satoru... is intriguing to say the least. And especially ever since that one botched mission you two went, you also felt there was a shift in your dynamics.

And if by intriguing they mean him constantly blocking your way and invading your space, then yes, it definitely is.

"Okay, okay, but wait, just hear me out!"

You halted your steps and faced him with an annoyed frown. You really had no time for this. You were about to be sent on a mission. "Gojo, really, can't you just—"

"Okay, I know he's dashing, or whatever," he huffed, the last word he said with a hint of disdain. "But hear me out, and I'm sure you'll reconsider."

"Who are you talki—"

"Who else!? Suguru, of course!"

You couldn't possibly arch your eyebrow even higher, and before you could say anything, he somehow took it as his cue to keep going.

“First, he eats curses. Cursed spirits! He eats them like rice balls! Can you imagine just how foul the taste is?”

"Gojo, I don't have the time—"

"Then! Going from that, just imagine kissing him," he stressed, eyeing you intensely as your own eyes felt like popping out by the sheer suggestion. "What if you taste the cursed spirits rice ball?"

"You're unbeliev—"

"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"

"He's your best friend!" you finally interjected, obviously and utterly in shock by his unhinged rambling. "How could you say all of that?"

"No, you're getting me wrong." Satoru's clicked his tongue. "I'm just listing facts why it's better for you not to end up with him."

You barked a dry laugh. "And? Better with you, you mean? That's awfully biased."

"Why yes of course! Self-promo is never bad," he blatantly retorted. "Let me just tell you aallll you need to know about me!"

He audibly cracked his knuckles and puffed out his chest. "You know already, I'm strong. I can protect you well. My cursed technique doesn't involve eating curses, so you don't have to worry about tasting the said curses on my lips."

How could he blurt all of this with that perpetually playful expression? A chuckle escaped you unwittingly and that only spurred him to go on.

"And I'm handsome!" he boldly claimed, pointing at his face with pride. "And obviously I don't need to say this, but I'm filthy rich—"

At that, you burst into hearty laughter, unable to hold it in any longer.

Satoru's eyes sparkled, lit as if someone had just made his day. "All in all, you know what I mean. Everything with me, all of it is going to be fantastic!"

Even you couldn't deny that all of this exchange had been so amusing. Hilariously so. "You're down bad, huh?" you tried to taunt, although it seemed like a burst of snicker. Yet, you were caught off-guard when he said:

"For you?" his little smirk made your insides suddenly all jumbled up. "Yes."

Huh? What is this? Your bravado faltered a bit as your heart did a somersault inside.

It wasn't supposed to thump this hard. You weren't supposed to feel this overwhelming urge to squeal too. And your face wasn't supposed to grow this hot...

Seeing that, Satoru celebrated his little win, a wicked smile on his glistening lips—that somehow looked rather attractive to you now. "How? Thinking twice now, are we?"

But he couldn't believe that after all this, you would still cunningly retort with, "Ha! You wish, Gojo Satoru."

His stunned face was so comical that you chuckled once again. You wanted to rebuff him more, but before you could, Haibara's voice called you from a distance. "Heeey! Let's go! Or we're gonna be late!"

"I suppose that's my cue," you lightly shrugged, and before you left him in a dust, you could've sworn you saw a flicker of brewing tantrum behind those glasses, which brought a smirk on your face. "See ya, try harder, and I might look at your way."

Satoru was at his wit's end as he saw you sauntering away. What more that he could do so that you could be his? To keep your eyes on him and him only?

And yet, little did he know, in that beginning of summer in 2006, even before you realized it yourself, you had already did.

Epilogue

In another corner of the school, eagerly spying on you were...

"Wait! Can you even kiss him? What if his cursed spirits suddenly pop out of him? Are you willing to kiss his little friends—"

"Did he just..." Suguru gaped, utterly in disbelief at what his own best friend said of him. "Did he just say that?"

Shoko let out a satisfied guffaw. "Oh, he definitely did."

"I can't believe he's tarnishing my name over a girl."

"Well, you know very well he could do way worse than that just to get what he wants," she threw him a thin smile, while exhaling a puff of smoke. "And hey, you lose. You gotta pay me."

Suguru turned to her in surprise. "Huh? Oh—oh, darn it. Shoko, can't you be less stingy?"

"Well, whose bright idea was it to pull that stunt on him and bet on whether Gojo would approach her in less than a day?"

-> continue to extended cut !