#personal opinions. personal opinions. personal opinions

[teaboot]

I was taught how to communicate by my papa

His style of conversation, by the way very much followed the philosophy of "if an observation is stated, then we may compare plausible explanations for each other's consideration, and in doing so, we will come to a deeper understanding of how the other person thinks and feels about similar topics, and what process they use to form opinions on the world at large"

And while I very much enjoy learning about other people this way, there HAVE been some downsides

Primarily, the fact that about two months or so into meeting a cool and interesting new person with so many fascinating thoughs and opinions that I enjoy learning about, a solid 85% of them seem to suddenly snap out of nowhere and ask me to "stop always needing to be right about everything and argue all the time"

And it's like

Oh

My bad

[qualityrain]

give up on yourself, and you give up on the world

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Madri Lager: drunk words

Contents: cursing, just a little conversation between them to set the mood and provide a backdrop for the next fic, not proofread

No fucking way. 

There’s just no fucking way. 

“Why the hell are you here?” You hiss. 

Gojo fucking Satoru strolled into your lecture hall, smug grin on his fuck ugly face, arms folded behind his head and swinging his legs like a maniac. From the doors at the front, he immediately spotted you all the way at the back, sat by your lonesome and you could see his shit-eating grin widen. The whites of his teeth blind you almost as much as his impossibly white hair.

Then, the freak had the audacity to climb the stairs, ignoring the whispering and the pointing, and sat next to you. Well, a seat down because you refused to move your bag, even fought with him a little when he tried to lift it. 

He shrugs, slinging an arm around the back of the chair between you, fingertips way too close to your shoulder, and black sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge. “Was feeling bored so here I am.”

Counting to ten, you tried to put on a patient voice, like you’re berating a child, which you pretty much are, and you grit out, “Bored people take up hobbies. Bored people do things like puzzles and cooking and knitting. Bored people don’t crash lectures and bother other people.”

“I love when you lecture me on common knowledge, wifey. It really warms my heart.” To emphasise his stupid point, he presses a hand to his chest and fans his face with the other. “You’re just so smart.”

You slap his hand away when he tries to boop your nose. People are staring, turning their heads like owls as they strained to listen to your conversations. Some people are taking pictures, no doubt sending it to The Bulletin or whatever, because people have nothing better to do than gossip. You hate this attention; the pointing and whispering because of your appearance you’ve learnt to tolerate, but this? 

This is just irritating on a different level.

At least once a day, a cheerful stranger comes up to you and asks in bewilderment if you’re Gojo’s fiancee. In fact, they ask if you’re really, actually the future wife of Gojo Satoru like he’s some mythical being and you’re a frumpy little worm. Fuck them. And fuck him. 

“Go away, Gojo,” you roll your eyes, typing as much of the lecturer’s notes as you can, a little distracted by the peering eyes around you and the ones running over your clothes . 

He sighs and lifts the lace from your dress, rounding the neckline. You feel it tickle your neck, and you fight the urge to shudder. In disgust. With a forced melodramatic tone, he complains, “I’m bored. Entertain me.”

“Are you fucking twelve? Go watch a movie like a normal person.”

“Movies are boring,” he retorts as if it’s fact. 

You roll your eyes. “And what? I’m so much more interesting?” 

What a stupid question. You really shouldn’t have asked that because the serious expression on his face as he lifts one shoulder in a lazy shrug makes you blush. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

“Did you meet Suguru on the course or was he your piercer first?”

Still typing, you throw him a side glance, feeling suspicious of the sudden change in conversation. But it’s welcomed. “We met on the course. First year. We were in the same class. He’s a good guy.”

Gojo huffs as if he didn’t like your answer. 

The piercer’s actually a decent person; he was friendly, smart, and kind. He made long, boring classes feel shorter with his interesting insights and opinions, and he had such a great way of expressing them — he was the most eloquent male you’ve ever met. However, there was always something off about him, like an inner turmoil that neither you nor he could ever quite understand. 

It was when he absentmindedly said he was thinking of dropping out that you felt you knew him a little better. You both shared a long talk at the back of the Life Sciences building where your little stroll took you, him smoking and you listening to his mutterings. He spoke of this feeling of being out of place, which you understood better than anyone else, and how the traditional path didn’t suit him. He disappeared for a while, a couple months, and you thought your response might have spooked him. After all, no one ever really comes to you for advice. But when he reached out to offer you a free piercing as his first ever client at his newly opened studio, you realised maybe you are capable of dropping an odd pearl here and there. 

“Well, Suguru’s my bestie, so back off,” Gojo pouts.

From your peripheral, you see him eye the big lecture hall and you don’t really know what he’s thinking. It’s an odd realisation to think that Geto, the guy you’ve always kind of admired, is actually friends with this loser – the suggestion that there’s a redeeming quality to the frat guy is one that doesn’t suit you. 

Most times he’s easy to read; he wants fun and excitement and thrill. He does whatever’s convenient or interesting, a totally impulsive guy. But there are rare moments, emphasis on rare, where you think there might be something more going on in that huge head of his. Maybe there’s something deeper to him. A maturity and wisdom he’s yet to show. 

“Fuck, marry or kill,” he lifts three fingers, “Marx, Satre or Aristotle.”

Yeah, unlikely. 

“Gojo, seriously, go away,” you sigh, exasperated. Just five minutes with the guy and you’re already drained. And somehow, you’re expected to live a lifetime with the weirdo?

Satan strike you down. 

“Me personally, Satre’s cute but something about big, bushy beards really gets me going. So, it’ll have to be: kill Aristotle, no offence dude, fuck Satre, and marry Marx.”

Two girls in the row in front of you giggle. Your lips turn down in repulsion. 

“I’m not sure Marx would like either of us, Gojo,” you give him a pointed look. 

He laughs. It’s loud and sudden and he has to say sorry to the entire lecture when it echoes around the hall. Some people laugh at him, or with him, and the lecturer can only shake his head and carry on. This lecturer is strict and merciless when it comes to interruptions, but of course he doesn’t say a thing against the interloper. How could he when there’s a huge placard over the double doors of this building titled ‘From the Loving Hearts of The Gojo Charitable Foundation’?

A couple minutes pass in relative silence, just the tapping of fingers against keyboards and the droning of the professor filling the space, and you think maybe he’s fallen asleep or maybe he’s so bored that he’s actually thinking of leaving. 

Of course, neither of those things happen because the universe hates you. 

Gojo pokes your side with a pen. You writhe with a blush. 

“Oh, ticklish, are we? Very interesting.” He wiggles his brows like an idiot, and you fight the urge to land a punch there. “Our wedding night’s gonna be fun.”

“We’re not going to have one if you had it your way, remember?”

Leaning back in his seat, he taps the pen —where the hell did even get that? He wasn’t carrying a bag— against his chin, considering his words carefully. He shrugs again. “Well, seeing as everyone’s so set on it, I’ve decided to, you could say, open myself to the idea.”

You try to quell the spark of hope there, that maybe your family could be saved, that you’ll be saved. It’s not wise to let that spark fester into something more. 

Gojo’s impulsive. Fact. 

Gojo’s a thrill-seeker. Fact. 

Gojo is an unserious guy set in his bachelor ways. He cannot be relied upon. He cannot be trusted to keep his word.

All facts. 

It’s easy for him to be able to have the option to be ‘open’ to an idea, whereas it’s thrusted upon you without much say. He can wake up and make decisions solely based on his urges, but you have to be mindful of the family’s reputation, your father’s bad habits, your mother’s social conservative ways, and the fact that this is all your fault. 

“Gojo,” you turn, fixing him with a solemn expression, “don’t do that. Don’t lead me on. I may not want to marry you, but I do want to marry. I must. It’s important to me, so please don’t wave it around like it’s some pretty flag.”

There must be something in your eyes, a graveness or a sombre quality that makes his smile disappear. His brows furrow like he’s trying to understand, trying to piece things together but you’re turning away before he could see. 

Clearing his throat, he pokes you again. “Alright. How about this?”

You throw him a doubtful look, worried about what dumbassery is going to leave his mouth. 

“Go on a date with me.”

“No.”

“Hey! You said that way too quickly.”

Resuming your typing, you’re already trying to drown him out, focused on the history of pragmatic ethics instead of his humoured tone. He’s suggesting something ridiculous again. As if you’d go on a date with him. Him. The guy who’s been getting in the way, the one who’s been making your life difficult and family dinners awkward, and the one you certainly cannot trust to not set up some trap to humiliate you like in the movies. 

“I’m being serious. Let’s go on a date.” Seeing you open your mouth to argue back, he hurriedly adds, “This isn’t fair on me either, y’know? I’m supposed to marry a stranger, one who wears all black and looks like she’d haunt me — not a bad thing, I’m actually kinda into it, question mark? — but my point is, we don’t really know each other. So why don’t we go on a date? It’s a pretty brilliant idea, if I do say so myself.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you mull it over. Sure, it makes sense, it would be good to get to know the freak you’re marrying or supposed to marry. This is how it should have been in the first place. Plus, your mother would certainly approve; she’d think this is a golden opportunity to secure him, to make him fall for you or whatever Mrs. Bennet thing she’s thinking of. 

However, as good as that idea is, you can’t just eagerly agree; there’s no guarantee this isn’t a trap. 

“You’re thinking this is a trap, aren’t you?” Your eyes meet his. He’s grinning ear to ear like he’s proud he guessed correctly. “Why don’t you plan the date, then? Set the time and place, that way there’s no way I could have rigged the environment with explosives or something.”

“No pig blood?”

Gojo smiles even brighter, and you have to squint to prevent losing your vision permanently. 

“No pig blood.”

[itsoutrageouss]

pt.1 pt.2 (can be read as a stand-alone)

Third follow up on the dynamic between you and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley after he sees you cry for the first time. He’s getting so fucking obsessed with you and this next mission does absolutely nothing to help that:

It was a classic, but one you’d never experienced yourself before now; a mission where you had to gain intel from someone at a high class event. Meaning you had to get dolled up with your mission partner. Guess who?

It had been forever since you’d worn a dress; this way or work didn’t give much opportunity for it. It had been so long that you only had one in your closet- but it was everything to you- a tiny part of the persons you’d had to store away when becoming part of a military task force. Hidden away in a box on the top of your closet at your barracks.

You smoothed it out, admiring it on its own for a moment before slipping it over you, tying the back so it dipped at your waist, giving you a sense of security at the slight pressure. Your hands ran over the dark green fabric that matched the emeralds in your ears and down along your cleavage, looking like crystal droplets over the taught skin of your collarbones.

Your hair had been neatly curled- cheeks rosy, eyelids shimmering and lips a muted mauve. It was very different from the tactical gear most operations called for and it felt naked to only have the gun at your inner thigh and the smallest piece that was draped over by your hair.

Your heart pounded like a war drum as you stepped into the entrance of the base, at the double doors that led to the parking lot.

You knew it would draw attention- you’d never looked anything like this since you joined the task force and you felt so self conscious that your knees nearly buckled, feet unsteady in the heels that hugged them. But you knew you looked good- repeated it to yourself because half of this was confidence.

And so did he. Simon was adjusting the cuffs of his suit with a grunt, annoyed at the feel of the tight button up trapped under the black habit jacket that bulged over his muscles. But when he turned around his hand fell away from his cuffs mindlessly, going lax at his sides. He hadn’t known the way his heart stuttered before. He hadn’t known what to expect but you- you were a sight for sore eyes.

It didn’t help him at all with how he struggled to decipher his feelings for you. After seeing you so vulnerable and human, crying on that concrete floor he thought that was as far as he could ever go. Then you had bandaged his knuckles, and let him cuddle you in the irrevocable silence on that couch. But this was another stepping stone: you in that dress.

He could see a confidence in you that he’d either never noticed or that was brought forth by the way you looked tonight. Which would be very valid in his opinion because he’d been looking at you without saying anything for a solid minute now.

You frowned, fidgeting with the rings on your fingers because you couldn’t read his expression at all.

“You should wear a suit more often,” you said, roving shamelessly over his hunky figure, looking even taller with the dark suit on, his thick thighs coming to their right. You wanted to kiss his knuckles again.

Kiss a lot of him, actually.

“Fuckin’ annoying” he grumbled and rolled his shoulders in the suit, the jacket creaking with the motion. It was his way of accepting the compliment without, and you both knew it. He wanted to compliment you too, but there was so much he wanted to say that absolutely nothing came out. And when he saw the shameless hunger in your eyes as you trailed the movements of his hands, he definitely couldn’t speak. Had you always looked at him like that? Or did these past weeks open gates for you too?

You gulped down the disappointment when he didn’t say anything after a long beat of opportunity, masking your expression quickly as your spine straightened, hands smoothing down the fabric along your hips. “The car is waiting” you say, silence unbearable as your heels click on the linoleum, walking into the moonlight lid parking lot.

You both go over the mission details in the car, but his eyes kept finding their way to your silly curls bouncing around your face, the light in the car shining off of your lips. He gritted his teeth.

“Where’s your gun?” He asked because he would never forget that the mission was so much more dangerous like this- despite the rest of the task force being on standby, you could both get hurt way easier in this attire- especially you. He could wear a bulletproof vest under his button up. You could not- and ghost had yelled at you to find something else to wear but you refused. This was your lucky dress.

Then you unconsciously did the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life as you spread your thighs slightly in your seat, fingers grazing and pulling aside the satin material of the slit in your dress to reveal your bare thigh, gun strapped to the plush of your inner skin. He might’ve died, and you had no clue, simply pulling the dress back in place and looking over the blueprints one more time.

The air prickled at your skin and you tugged the shawl closer around your arms when his large hand slipped over the satin, landing on the bare skin on the small of your back. The contact was electric and you both stiffened, looking up at the adorned building ahead, checking your earpieces before walking up the shiny stairs.

Right before the staff opened the golden double doors for you, giving out your fake names, he leans down to the shell of your ear.

“You’re the most gorgeous fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen, love, I can’t focus.” He managed to grumble out just before nudging your lower back gently to start walking. His eyes immediately honed in on the people and the layout. But you felt frozen in place, eyes widening impossibly much at his singular, lethal sentence.

That he’d ever seen? Of everything in the entire world he’d ever seen? It rung around your skull, zapping all the way to your toes that curled inside the heels, a unusually giddy feeling wracking up and down your spine, making your hips sway a little more as you followed his guiding hand.

He could feel your warm skin under his palm, the way your muscles moved with every sway, and immense satisfaction coursed through him when he noticed the subtle change his compliment had caused.

Maybe tonight he would pretend- for the mission of course- that you really were his. Really give it his all- make up a story of how you met. Tell people he’s gonna propose. No no no what the fuck? He’s taking it way too far. The mission came first. The thrill of showing you off on his arm came second.

That’s what he said, until a woman commented on how lucky he was, both his and her eyes watching you as you stood next to one of your targets for intel, sipping a champagne glass and twirling your hair.

“I am. I really am.” He said, not noticing the woman had already left.

[luckthebard]

I just had a lightbulb moment where I realized that a huge part of what never ended up fully clicking for me about the story in C3 is it kept telling me things without effectively showing them.

[tubbytarchia]

Wild Life finale spoilers: It's seriously so tragic that the interesting themes and drama Wild Life was leading up to came to such a full-stop after struggling to get off the ground with all the hampering from the gimmicks

This isn't me being a girlie kicking my feet at yuri, I'm genuinely upset that Gem and Pearl didn't end up reaching any real conclusion or even any development, and based on what CC Pearl has been saying, I cant help but feel that things just didn't end up playing out the way she wanted. Remember when she said she had "plans" way back in episode 1? It feels like she's desperately trying to kickstart this at several points and especially in the last episode, only to come out of it calling herself and her finale pathetic. And that's just one example of a storybeat I wish were given the chance to go somewhere. I think what exemplifies this whole point well is Scar's rollercoaster, which didn't get a chance to be built till the finale, and even then it failed to kill anyone (aside from zombie Skizz) like he'd wanted since episode 2 before his own unceremonious death

This isn't the fault of any CCs but I do feel like the gimmicks being so intrusive can't be understated, there's nothing wrong with them in a vacuum but for anyone including the CCs seeking out a Life Series experience it's an obstacle. I'm happy for the player who won but I'm so sad that of all seasons they win the one with the least tension or meaningful viewer retention or investment in the characters. To call it underwhelming would be putting it kindly. In the end this has all just felt like bare explorations of interesting themes being presented and done, the series is over now. Nothing about Wild Life will keep me awake at night like the previous seasons aside from what COULD have been and that's really, really sad to me

[witchytakes]

my opinion is that by giving HRT as early as possible,some cis people would feel threatned that trans people wouldn't be as clocked as before, since they would just have a regular puberty like cis people

Honestly cis people get HRT easily, see the Gym bros, the femboys, butches on T, Gym sisters, some of them really took HRT to non healthy levels doing more harm than good and nobody gatekeeps them, meanwhile trans people who goes safely dosing them are being persecuted

I will never understand how cis people widely continue to see HRT as a huge decision that needs years of consideration and should only be used as a last resort for minors if they’re on the edge of suicide, and other things of this nature.

Like your body already has those hormones. It’s already doing that. It’s okay. They’re just hormones, you can play around and see what you like, what feels right. It’s literally fine. Changes to our bodies and voices and genitals and things are already an inherent part of being human.

It’s the weight that’s put on the decision to go on HRT that manufactures the major concerns of regret. If you decide it’s not for you and you’re upset because your body has been altered in a way that doesn’t feel good to you, that’s the same as getting a tattoo you don’t love, or breaking a bone, or being injured in some other way, or aging, or even getting a bad haircut. It is not automatically more horrific because it has to do with the perceived presentation of your gender. Hope this helps 👍🏼

[oidheadh-con-culainn]

i do think there is a degree to which certain kinds of Instagram activists have convinced themselves that traumatising themselves in solidarity is a useful form of activism. "I'm having nightmares and crying so much I want to be sick because of all these videos of dying children but I can't look away while people are getting hurt" I mean don't you think you'd be able to help more if you weren't having nightmares and crying all the time?? don't you think this is a one-way trip to burnout? don't you think maybe increasing the amount of trauma going around is counterproductive? I dunno bro there's something to be said for bearing witness but there comes a point where you gotta look hard at yourself and go "am I helping, or am I just making myself suffer so I don't feel guilty for not suffering while somebody else is experiencing bad shit"

[princesskuragina]

My last post was being snarky but here's my genuine pronoun etiquette opinion in case you actually want to know: it's pretty much never a good idea to directly ask someone their pronouns in front of a group of people, especially if you're in a position of authority, i.e. a teacher. The stakes of this question are very high for some people and you are putting them on the spot to decide what they want to share and what is safe to share. If you have decided you want to ask for pronouns at all, you can introduce yourself with your own to remind people that they can share theirs if they want to. And for the love of god whatever you do please do not just single out the most gender non-conforming or "trans looking" (to you) person and ask only them and no one else

[cup1d-ch4rm]

Five minutes before god games:

[obi-wansorrow]

Unsolicited opinion:

I prefer people's ocs to their aus or even variations on a known character.

The ocs are unknown to us. When we're presented with a story that we actually have to work to unravel, we don't come to the work with the entire background story, habits, characteristics, etc. of the characters in our minds already. We're meeting someone new and we need to carefully consume the work to not miss any hints that may be dropped about them so we CAN learn everything about them and get to know them.

Some of us need to incorporate original art and stories into our diet with the fanfiction.

can we assume you've abandoned ghostsoap in favour of your ocs?

people need to be more normal about the fact that artists can have multiple interests 🙄

[transexualpirate]

this might be slightly controversial but i really hate how bioessentialism has dug it's claws in trans spaces. we used to prioritize individual identity but now it's like afab and amab are the new mbti. yall put it in your fucking bios

[ddejavvu]

Just saw a TikTok complaining about ‘kitten’ as a pet name in fanfiction and while I do agree with/understand their discomfort on that one the comments were FULL of people mentioning all the other common pet names ?? Like honey babe baby sweetheart etc ?? Is your partner just supposed to call you by your name the whole time ????????

[mysticaltora8276]

I don’t get this mentality. There are plenty of people who have views that I do not agree with, but I don’t tell him to “stay out of politics.” They have a right to participate in politics, even if they do politics that I don’t agree with. It’s called their human beings and they have a right to an opinion even if I personally don’t agree with that opinion. It doesn’t make me think any lesser of them or their works. It just makes me roll my eyes at them if I come across someone who has a different opinion than me. Because I’m an adult and that’s part of being an adult, running into people that disagree with you.

lili reinhart they could never make me hate you or even slightly dislike you 🤍

[war-forged-storms]

I have to be honest, when people are objectively into plus sized bodies it turns me on, and I’m not sorry.

I don’t want to have sex where we tiptoe around the fact that I’m fat, I actually want my body to be touched on and groped and worshiped during sex and if someone gonna be weird about it, I’m not going to enjoy myself. I want someone to grab and kiss and mark on my belly the way they would any person no matter the size, as for the rest of me. I’m deserving of that type of sex, and to shame people who want to give me that type of sex just kinda feels weird and fatphobic.

The way that people treat any sort of attraction to fat bodies as fetishization and chasing just frustrates me to no end, sometimes people just are attracted to fat people and know how to love on us the way other people are loved up on.