#the vitriol people have for fat people really is something

[kommunisti]

has amberlynn reid actually done something shitty or do people just hate her to an insane level because she's fat

[divine-donna]

jealousy jealousy

a request: "hey! I wanted to make a request for a Tashi Duncan fanfic <3 a headcanon, about Tashi and reader being friends and playing tennis together, but reader is chubby and insecure a about her body, she feels a little jealous of Tashi and the other girls that play tennis and feels guilty about it. Tashi is secretly in love with her, at first reader can't really accept because she can't believe someone would be in love with her. Can you do female reader?"

this is going to be one of those rare occasions where i will be more specific about a reader's appearance and gender. something i also think is important is that i tend to imagine my reader as not white. so this does bleed into these head canons. if that's too serious for you, you're better off not following me.

pairing: tashi duncan x chubby! fem! reader

for vibes: "jealousy jealousy" by olivia rodrigo

context: stanford 2007

word count: 1.8k words

Love cannot exist without Envy.

When you love someone, to some extent you envy that person. There's something they have that you envy. That is what you grew up believing and that is the worldview of love that you were left with. On top of your mother telling you that girls like you do not receive the flowers, guitars, and romantic rescues that all the rom-com heroines you watched had.

Your favorite romantic comedies were My Big Fat Greek Wedding, 10 Things I Hate About You, and Love Actually–the third being more of a guilty pleasure. The only movie that came close to representing a girl like you, with your body type, was My Big Fat Greek Wedding. That was the right kind of rom-com, the one where the woman didn't need to change herself. She just developed confidence and scored the guy of her dreams.

Unfortunately, real life was not as kind as the movies.

"You can't quit tennis!"

"What makes you say that?" You play with your food, poking the fettuccine alfredo with chicken recipe you cooked up for the both of you. You were craving something creamy this time of night. And Tashi was too.

"You just can't. You're amazing. Why would you quit? With talent like yours, it seems like such a waste to just quit." Tashi had already finished her plate.

"It was fun while it lasted. But I don't see myself doing it."

"Bullshit (Y/N)." You could never look at her when you lied.

Tashi recalls the first time she saw you play. It was the day after her own match. And you were pure fire. Your strokes were quick, most of your serves unreturnable. She felt bad for your opponent because you never gave her a chance. Instead, you decimated her. In short, you were a phenomenon. Someone like herself.

You two played the next day. Tashi won, but she never felt such a thrill, such a surge of adrenaline. You were the only opponent she's played so far to have her respect and friendship. You were great. And she wished the world could see what she saw.

Your passion for tennis rivaled Tashi's. It was your purpose in life. It was the perfect sport for you to destress yourself to, hitting balls and rallying yourself against the walls in the public park. You wanted to achieve that envious Grand Slam career title. You wanted to continue in tennis. You didn't want to quit.

"Is it those assholes again?"

You look up at Tashi. You both dealt with your share of racism. But you had an extra pile of shit thrown on top of you. People say all the time that chubby people can't play tennis. And it didn't help that among the players of your generation, you were the only one with a body size bigger than a 14. Being both non-white and chubby only made the vitriol worse and the interpersonal competition harsher.

"Come on. You can't listen to them." Tashi sets down the pasta bowl. You painted it for her that one time you guys decided to try pottery painting. She takes a sip of water from the mug you gifted her. And the cherry on top was that she was wearing one of your shirts. You left it at her house when you slept over.

"That's easy for you to say." You set your plate down.

A frown forms on her face. You don't like it when Tashi frowns. "(Y/N)..."

"It's all they talk about." Your eyes rake over her figure. Thin arms. A limber, slender body. Athletic with the right muscle balance so she didn't seem like too much of an athlete. She was model material, Tashi Duncan. And that's why all the offers came rolling in for her. All the brand deals, all the money. And you were instead left with scraps, still wrapping duct tape around the handle of your dad's Wilson racket. Relying on the graciousness of Tashi Duncan when you were in a tough spot. She bought you new shoes in time for the U.S. Open this year because your old ones had holes and were worn down. You hated relying on her. You hated that she always insisted you didn't need to pay her back. Your company was enough.

Your love was enough.

"What's the point in playing tennis if no one is going to talk about me playing tennis!" You raise your voice out of frustration. You were so angry that you could throw the plate at the wall and break it. "All everyone wants to talk about is how fat I am and that fat girls don't belong in tennis! It's not going anywhere! No one but you sees my potential. And my family and I have been losing money! It's too costly. Stanford didn't even take me for tennis." You were accepted for your brains. Not for your true passion. It wasn't worth investing in tennis when you were getting nothing in return. Nothing but racist, fatphobic vitriol that continued to wear you down every day.

"And that's why you should continue to play. You need to prove them wrong!" Tashi keeps her voice steady. "You prove them wrong, then they can't say shit."

You wanted to believe her. But you knew the truth. You weren't Tashi Duncan. You could never be Tashi Duncan. Only girls like Tashi Duncan and Irina Petrovska got the brand deals, got the fame, got the money.

Only girls like them got to continue their passion and turn it into a career.

"Proving them wrong won't do them anything. At this point I'm just...a circus pig." Your voice drops, but Tashi can hear what you said.

"You're not a circus pig."

"That's easy for you to say! You're...You're fucking perfect! You're the face of tennis! You're who people think of when someone brings up the term tennis player. Not me! You. I'm not meant to be on the court."

"Don't say that. Don't. Say. That." Desperation bleeds into Tashi's voice as she looks at you. "Do you remember what we agreed on during that after party? After our match?"

Your lack of a response tells her that you do. "We're going up there. Together. Next year. Doubles. Me and you. We're going to take over the world." Her fingers tap against the table. "You can't quit! You promised you would play with me! You promised you would. And we always keep our promises."

"Well maybe I'm fed up. Maybe I'm just done with it all." You sip your water. "Proving them wrong only seems to enhance the insults I get! It only makes things worse for me! And it only hurts you!"

"Why would it hurt me?" Tashi is in disbelief.

"Because I'm someone you shouldn't associate with. I shouldn't be playing with you! I don't deserve to! I'm a terrible friend!" Your voice cracks. "I am so jealous of you Tashi. All the time. There's always this sick twisting in my stomach. And you deserve everything that you've gotten but I can't help but feel that some of it should go to me! But it doesn't because I'm the fat one! And no one wants to see a fat girl in an Adidas ad. And it's not fair to you because you didn't do anything! And I don't deserve to be friends with you or even play against your because I'm a terrible person!"

She doesn't respond. She's too busy looking at you, watching the way your face contorts with emotion, the way your tears fall from your eyes. It was like you were unloading everything.

Tashi hated seeing you cry.

"You can't quit tennis."

You look at her with shock. Is that all she could say after everything you dumped on her?

You expected her to fume, to lash out. Or maybe to tell you to go kill yourself. She's done her fair share of that to people. And yet, all she can tell you is that you can't quit tennis.

"You still somehow managed to make this about tennis."

Tashi leans forward, her hand taking yours. She enjoys the feeling of your soft skin. You always took great care of your skin, moisturizing constantly. If she needed some cream to moisturize her dried out hands, she could always ask you. You had so much in your purse. She could smell that lavender cream you used. Some said it was the scent only old people picked. But she found herself craving that lavender smell late at night in her bed.

"I understand...everything...you're saying. Remember that time we were talking? About how we both envy white girls and their opportunities and their easy life and their ability to get away with everything on the court." She remembers the thinly veiled racist remarks fired at the both of you when you were playing against white opponents. The rage she felt but couldn't exercise because letting her emotions run free would only make her the angry Black woman and they would instead penalize her.

"Tashi-"

"I don't hold it against you. That's...the way the game is right now." The both of you were playing a white man's sport. Unfortunately, this was the reality.

"It's...stupid. And ridiculous. You shouldn't even be friends with me!"

"(Y/N), I love you."

Your breath hitches in your throat. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Tashi Duncan...loves you? Even after everything you confessed? You wanted to say so many things, wanted to tell her that she was wrong to love you. She couldn't love you and shouldn't love you.

"Why?" is all you managed to muster out.

Her eyes soften. "I..." There were so many reasons why. Your laugh. Your determination. The way you ran your fingers through her hair when she laid her head on your lap. How soft you were. Your hugs. Your lips. Those unreturnable serves of yours. The way your skirts would hike up those thick thighs of yours. That serving tick of yours where you would tap the ball against the edge of your racket three times.

Her heart sinks when you pull your hand out of hers and stand up from your seat. You needed to take a walk. You needed to think for a minute.

"(Y/N)..." Tashi stands up to follow after you. She grabs your wrist and you turn around to look at her.

"Tashi...I don't...I don't deserve you-"

She leans forward, pressing her lips against yours harshly. You're shocked by the sudden feeling, taking a step backwards into the wall. Tashi cups your face with both of her hands, keeping you there. She pulls away, watching your face to see if you would react in any way. "(Y/N)..."

You close the gap between you two once more and place your hands on her waist, slowly guiding her to the bed as she gets lost in the smell of lavender.

[ghost-bxrd]

Correction. Jason fucking hates school.

Those fucking elitist assholes keep staring at Dick and him like they’re goddamn monkeys in a zoo. One had tried explaining the fucking concept of laptops to them earlier, like they’d been raised in the fuckin’ ass end of nowhere.

That guy had changed his tune real damn fast after Jason pointedly pulled out his own unreleased Wayne tech laptop and fired it up with a harsh glare.

Frankly, Jason wouldn’t be so ticked off if it was just him, but they keep. Targeting. Dick. After they realised that, wow, Jason isn’t the poor back alley rat with an IQ barely high enough to let him breathe correctly and take their shit lying down, they kept trying to crowd Dick.

After the third time some spoiled girl had tried touching the skittish talon in some guise of “Oh wow, your hair looks really soft!“ and Dick’s eyes had done the deer-in-headlights expression where he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to fucking say no Jason had snapped and nearly bit the offending hand off.

The surprised scream he got in retaliation was so fucking worth it, even if he’s pretty sure B will have choice words to say about it once they get back to the manor.

Sadly, Dick had also taken that reaction to mean that Jason felt threatened by the girl, which was… less optimal.

At least Jason had managed to keep him from literally tearing into her. If barely.

“I fuckin’ hate these snobs,“ Jason growls, opening their Alfred issued lunchbox with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

Dick coos inquisitively, back to his bird sounds in the relative privacy of the abandoned classroom they’ve been hiding out in since the fiasco during second period.

Jason hands him one of the sandwiches with peanut butter and jelly he loves so much and chooses one with with cheese and ham for himself, taking a vicious bite to vent his frustration in a way that won’t immediately get them expelled. “All these people thinking we’re some new and shiny toy. Wanna bet they think we don’t even know how to fuckin’ read?“

Dick eats at a more sedate pace from where he’s perched in a crouch on top of a desk, watching Jason rant with attentive eyes.

He doesn’t say anything, but that’s ok. Jason’s spitting enough vitriol for them both, and at least he knows that Dick is listening. Even if Jason were to suddenly switch topics and babble nonsense about the Teletubbies, Dick would still hang onto his every word. It used to be a bit creepy in the beginning, but now it’s… nice. Especially since he’d figured out how to interpret all the bird noises Dick makes.

“Really, if any of these privileged asswi-“

Dick’s head snaps up, body suddenly tense like a bowstring, and Jason whirls around so fast he almost gives himself whiplash, heart in his throat.

His eyes immediately lock onto the previously closed door where a wide eyed boy is standing, laptop under one arm, mouth agape, and looking more like a displaced toddler than a student with the pudgy baby fat clinging to his cheeks.

Dick makes a low tittering sound deep in his throat, wary but not yet hostile, and Jason takes one look at the tiny child that looks like he might start crying under the heavy stare of two older boys and exhales a groan.

“You need something, kid?“

The boy’s wide, blue eyes snap to him and Jason has to blink a bit at how similar they look to his own, if perhaps a few shades lighter.

He shuffles on his feet, clutching the laptop against his chest, “Uh, n-no. I was just- uh- homework.“

— Owl Song pt. iii Preview

[bwabys-scenarios]

Hey, I know you said you don't want me talking to you anymore but this is the last time I'll talk to you I promise. But I just need to do this before I go. I'm very sorry for sending you those awful asks I did, I'm taking full responsibility. I don't know what came over me to say and send such but I shouldn't and never should have done that, those words should not have been sent to you at all and I deserve what ever vitriol and hate I get. Though it's hard hard for you to, I just want you to please find it in your heart to forgive me for what I did. I was very cruel and stupid and you didn't deserve all those asks. If you don't forgive me that's fine but I just want to be able to rest easy knowing I've apologized. Once again I'm very sorry please forgive me.

I won't bother you again.

Girl you are not sorry, because I know you’re the same person that sent the ask below like an hour before this ask. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY NOT FORGIVEN.

And BY THE WAY you literally read my chubby reader inserts. You’re fat too, you have no reason to be coming to my page throwing insults when those insults apply to you too. At this point it’s really just pathetic. Idk if you just hate your own body that much, but that’s not my issue. I write positive content for chubby people, you literally know NOTHING about what I look like besides that I’m chubby. Like YOU GOT MAD I BLOCKED YOU!! YOU ENJOYED MY FANFICTION?? Like are you delusional, because everything you’re calling me applies to you. Jesus Christ.

I’m not replying to you again, leave me alone. Genuinely, idk wtf is wrong with you, get some help.

This is not normal fucking behavior, and I don’t know if you’re stupid or what, but you can’t just send a message like all the other awful messages you sent them pretend to apologize an HOUR later. Do you think I’m dumb? Jesus Christ, either get a therapist or an exorcist because there’s something going on and you need to seek help from therapy or god.

If you were actually sorry, you wouldn’t have sent that other message, and you would have left me alone LIKE I ASKED. LEAVE. ME. ALONE. After this I’ll be deleting any ask you send me, and blocking your accounts. You are a grown ass woman, please find something better to do with your time than harass authors over FANFICTION.

Being chronically online sure is something!

[fairycosmos]

You're all so real for this. I grew up as a fat little girl, into a fat adult and I tried so fucking hard to get rid of it, to lose it. But, it turns out it's not even my fault, I have PCOS lol! But for real the way people act when you're fat is ridiculous...girl let us live for once. We aren't harming anyone or doing anything. The way being ridiculed as a fat child makes you have so many issues in the long run? Literally I have no friends these days because I can't stand the thought of being judged for just being me

it's sooooooo so dehumanising and painful LMFAO i remember so much of being 10-18 just felt like me begging the world in my head to let me exist without patronisation or ridicule ......it really really does a number on you and thats putting it in a palatable way......i'm so sorry you had to go through smth similar like there is no good reason to treat someone the way fat women get treated......i think for a long time i was like there has to be something really wrong with me that gets people THIS hateful but all it takes is being overweight to bring out that vitriol in others......i really reallu hope you find good people throughout your life who make you forget about your fear of being judged once and for all. you do deserve that and you genuinely always have. hugs. x

[golbrocklovely]

Fans in general seem to love having something negative to say about Colby’s body , whenever he is not looking how they want him to look. Till this day I remember when Colby had cancer and was on Chem and due to that he gained some puffiness , people started to bash him for his looks and puffy face. Of course back then nobody knew about Colby’s condition, but it still disgusts me how fans feel like they have the right to write such disgusting things. Even if they prefer other Colby looks they can keep it to themselves.

SnC fans in general should have forbidden to open their mouth unless it’s a talk about their new videos or paranormal stuff, because the way those fuckers ( sorry) feel comfortable to talk shit online about absolutely fucking everything. They always hated on every single girl that dared to breath next to Colby ( i will never forget how Sam n Colby clowned them for this shit making Sam be a “new girl”) , hate on C gf ( even if you don’t like her, alright you are allowed to not like her, but shut up and keep it to yourself), hate on C looks everytime he is not fit and skinny enough for them and shaved . Like can this fandom just focus on ghosts and demons? It would be much nicer

oh i remember it vividly too. it upset me so much bc at the time, i thought it was most likely medicine he was taking for his acne, which was also what other ppl were commenting on.

but i remember getting asks saying he looks like he got work done, he's fat now, his face looks bad, the whole nine. and it was just so insulting to read. and then to find out what his body was really going thru… those ppl should be ashamed of themselves truly.

something i've thought about for years now is how snc are some of the nicest ppl around, but for some reason have the most hateful fanbase. it's very odd and i'm not sure why it happens this way.

and look, i'm not saying i'm perfect in any way, shape, or form. i'm sure there is shit i've said over the years that i wish i didn't. however, i haven't ever gone after someone's physical appearance. i've never torn snc or a girl colby was interested in down by making fun of what they look like. if you want to dislike someone, that's fine. but you don't have to be vitriolic with your words. there are ways to voice your opinion without being the rudest possible version of yourself. and i feel like there are a lot of fans that don't care that their words hurt, and that is the real issue at hand.

ppl want their words to hurt the other person, and that's upsetting to see, no matter who they're talking about. i genuinely wish everyone could just be nicer. this is supposed to be fun and for entertainment. there is no reason for things to get as bad as they have been. point blank period.

[thenarator]

Why exactly do you not like class 1-B? Sorry if that sounds rude, just curious.

(plus it's always fun to read you ranting about MHA)

so, it's not that i particularly hate class 1b or anything. i even like some of their designs and i think their quirks are neat (shemage in particular is fabulous in both design and execution). it's just that, because the story is from izuku's perspective, we get to see very little of their personalities. what we do see of them is filtered through their interactions with class 1a, which means we really only ever get to see them as rivals and antagonists, albeit lower-stakes antagonists than usual. i would probably like them a lot more if we got to see more of them just hanging out as a class, rather than competing with class 1a. however, the only real glimpses we have of how they interact as a class is . . . how they treat monoma.

rant under the cut.

look, i just don't think class 1b is a very good environment for monoma, ok? class 1a would just be much better for him. i think he'd fit way better into the class dynamic and he'd be a lot more popular and well-liked. class 1b don't appreciate him, even though he spends all day every day hyping them up. and for what? to get karate chopped in the neck whenever he gets too enthusiastic? take a seat, kendo.

we already know that monoma was bullied in school for not having a "heroic quirk." the same is true of izuku and shinsou, so honestly this is probably a pretty common problem in the bnha world. if you're a kid that's being bullied, to the degree that you have any friends at all, your friends are probably other kids who are also being bullied. so how do you make friends with that kind of kid? you defend them. that is INSTANT clout on an elementary school playground. if a kid is getting picked on and you step up and say something about it, you and that kid are immediately besties. foolproof strategy, always works.

that probably worked pretty well for monoma through elementary school and middle school. he got very good at it. his prime directive for making friends became "defend your ingroup, attack your outgroup." i mean, kids can get bullied for a variety of nerdy interests, but one thing they all like is talking shit about the people who are mean to them. you will find no greater vitriol for supermodels than among the kids who get bullied for being fat. monoma learned that in order to make friends he needed to be the first person to stand up for others and the loudest person calling out injustice. that's just how it was.

unfortunately, that strategy doesn't work so well in hero school.

there's not a whole lot of bullying going on in a class made of people who want to be heroes (unless you're, like, bakugou or something), so there's not a lot of "ingroup vs outgroup" dynamics. there are cliques, but there isn't an "us vs them" mentality. not to mention, most of these kids weren't ever bullied, because they're strong and have good quirks. many of them were popular and never needed anyone to defend them because they were never under attack.

monoma's strategy no longer works, because no one needs him to fight for them.

UNLESS YOU'RE CLASS 1A!

class 1a are CONSTANTLY under attack! all the fucking time! their first day of school they weren't even allowed to go to orientation, they were immediately set the ridiculous task of figuring out how to use their quirks in brand new ways in a matter of minutes, and then told that the person who was slowest at it would get EXPELLED. it wasn't like "all of you need to reach this benchmark or you won't be able to handle the curriculum" it was literally "ONE OF YOU IS GOING HOME AND THERE'S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO PREVENT IT, SO MAKE SURE IT ISN'T YOU!" and then, on their SECOND week of school, they get driven out to a remote facility and attacked by VILLAINS! they have to fight for their lives! they have to work together or get killed! SEVERAL OF THEM LITERALLY ALMOST DIE!

this is a class that needs monoma SO MUCH!!!

class 1a is constantly being torn down, by circumstances and by their own teacher, and they NEED a dedicated cheerleader! they need someone to hype them up! they need someone to say "i know this situation sucks but we're the best so we can do it!" they need someone to tell aizawa that he's being unreasonable, or failing that to tell the students that their teacher is wrong about them and they're not worthless or stupid or whatever else insulting things he calls them! they need someone to hype them up, to organize them against the enemy, to give an inspiring speech and get them all fired up! this isn't just artificial ingroup vs outgroup dynamic, this is a class that's constantly having to rally together to deal with clear and present danger! monoma would be GREAT at that!

and yet he gets stuck in class 1b, where all he gets for all his hype and enthusiasm is whacks to the neck and occasionally blows to the back of the head that DRAW FUCKING BLOOD.

anyway class 1b don't appreciate what they have and for that they deserve abject humiliation, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[autisticburnham]

What do you think about Mary Wiseman talking about Captain Killy (episode: “Terra Firma, Part 2”)?

“Killy is somebody who’s very important to a lot of fans, especially my curvy women out there who like to see another full-figured, fat, curvy, chunky woman get to feel powerful and use that size to command authority,” said Wiseman. “So I was also just very excited for the fans. First of all, because there’s more options for cosplay now, because she changed her hair. And second of all, just to dig into it, you don’t always get to see a woman like me in that sort of position. You know, like a psychotic murderer?

I noticed there’s definitely been an uptick in body-shaming towards me and Tilly this season, which was harrowing because I’m a person, I have a history and bullying is totally a part of that. So it has been hard, and it’s really hard to avoid, because it pops up on all the [social media] accounts, or people comment on my posts with cruel, unscientific comments.

I just want to say that all the people who step in, to back me up like that, your presence is like little angels, like blocking out these little trolls. It means something to me. I see those things and they hurt me because I’m a person. I’m a human being, you know? And to have somebody step in and defend you is really meaningful. I think people need that kind of thing to heal.

I’m proud to be here and I am proud to wear my skin-tight costume and proud of my body. And I belong.”

Well, I certainly don't love that use of "psychotic." But you're obviously asking because I said Tilly is disappointing as fat representation. I wanna be clear that I don't blame Mary Wiseman for that at all. She's not responsible for the culture we live in or Trek's specific history with fatphobia, and like I said and she's made clear here, she does experience fatphobia. While I certainly wouldn't call someone her size fat, I'd call them average, that doesn't change the fact that she's undoubtedly had to deal with vitriolic high scrutiny as a highly visible woman in a famously fatphobic field- I'm sure she's had to deal with absolutely horrendous shit. The fact that an average woman being allowed on tv is seen as huge step forward isn't her fault. It's just sad that it's true, it is a huge step forward.

[satanfemme]

Hii random long question but... I'm starting to write a short piece on how the world treats "ugly" people. Ugly as in not fitting society standards of beauty, wether that may be being ugly, fat, hairy, unkempt, etc... I wanted to ask: is there anything that from your experience is "missing" when talking about these topics? Or any piece of advice you'd give people dealing with the hate the world gives them so they can heal or not sabotage themselves?

(btw when you read that message... pls don't think i'm calling you ugly, someone else pointed it out to me that that's what it sounded like and it's sooooo far from the truth. i just think you are kind and am interested in your insights akdsjafhd)

I'm only a random person, and not any kind of scholar when it comes to the subject. I don't even have much personal experience with this really. but I've learned a lot about this subject second-hand, so I can offer a few personal opinions off the top of my head. just know I'm not the end-all source for this stuff

1.‎‏‏‎ ‎make it clear that "ugly" and "pretty" (and all similar descriptors) originate from eurocentric beauty standards, christian morality, ableism, lgbt-phobia, classism and etc. these are not innate facts about humanity, but learned and enforced biases. this is especially important within the context of people "reclaiming" ugliness, or making points that "it's ok to be ugly". on an individual level, I don't think this is necessarily harmful, but it's a very tight rope to walk because the moment you insinuate any one feature is inherently "ugly", you've already lost. there are no ugly features, only features which fail to live up to white/christian/ablebodied/cishet/upper class/ etc expectations. this subject, and the oppression of minorities, absolutely overlap, and it's dishonest to not include that at the center of this discussion.

2. in general, I think a lot of the body positivity movement is too sanitized in a lot of the ways, and doesn't really touch on the more stigmatized ways someone could be considered "ugly" by society. "diverse" underwear models are still models. they're still beautified by professional stylists and airbrushed in photoshop. it's better than nothing for sure, but they don't look like real people who ride the bus. what about people with facial differences? people who are unkempt/unwashed? people who are fat and gnc in casual clothes? or all of these traits at once? I don't see a lot of (mainstream) celebration of these traits, or of similarly marginalized experiences, but I see plenty of vitriol against them on the daily.

3. a lot of discussion about "ugliness" or about body positivity, talks about self love and self care. but self esteem issues are the symptom, not the disease. the truth is if you are deemed "ugly" by society, you face material discrimination. (again, note how this overlaps with racism, classism, ableism, etc). you can be denied anything from employment to simple kindness. the topic of "ugliness"/"prettiness" is not a superficial one, but very serious and often life defining.

as for "advice", I really can't think of anything meaningful other than find a community you feel safe in. something great about the internet is you have access to so many micro-movements and subcultures, and regardless of what you're dealing with there are going to be other people out there who are willing to love and accept you and who may even share the same struggles.

idk, I hope this is what you were looking for/that this helps in some way. but this is a complicated topic, and I'd def recommend finding some scholarly articles or books on it if you can too, for more sound sources

[tysonfurybattlepass]

12,22,39 for Kali, Cal, and Algernon? 💚

hoo boy, i havent done anything for Cal or Allie in a while! my fav evil boys<3

Kali first!

12. What’s an outfit they’d despise wearing vs. one they’d love wearing?

kali prefers not to wear clothes; they increase drag when swimming and her subcutaneous fat is all the insulation she could ever need. that being said, she does have a fur robe that she wears when not in the water (a common garment for her people) and it’s very fluffy :)

22. How do they view themself?

kali is pretty neutral in her self image, i guess? she doesn’t really have a strong sense of self, if that makes sense. she knows that she exists, and feels, but she can’t exactly define her personality as that sort of self image is usually based around interaction with others, which she gets very little of (by her own choice). if she had to describe herself she would probably say that she’s competent and reliable.

39. What’s their greatest secret?

probably the whole ecoterrorist killing spree and predation upon humans stint she did a while back. in her defense, you guys just hate to see a girlboss winning❤️

Ok now for Cal

12. What’s an outfit they’d despise wearing vs. one they’d love wearing?

cal might be a grown ass man, but he’s still an emo. he strongly dislikes bright colors and khaki and would rather die than be caught in a polo lol.

22. How do they view themself?

cal has incredibly conflicting opinions about himself depending on when you ask. his self image spikes and plummets very harshly without any kind of healthy middle ground. either he’s better than everyone else in every way and everyone needs to know it or he doesn’t even want to be perceived at all

39. What’s their greatest secret?

cal has a lot of secrets, but the one he’s so desperate to hide that even he doesn’t know it consciously is definitely that most of his harsh and borderline cruel judgements of people come from personal insecurities that he projects outward. chances are if he hates you and thinks you’re pathetic it’s because you remind him of himself. he has done a lot of harm to people who didn’t deserve it because of this tendency to project his self loathing. he’s a protagonist narratively speaking but cal is actually a really bad person and a big part of his story is coming to terms with the fact that just because he’s no longer the victim doesn’t mean he’s escaped the cycle. he’s just become the problem.

allie boy time

12. What’s an outfit they’d despise wearing vs. one they’d love wearing?

algernon hates formal wear to a vitriolic degree. it is a point of pride to him that he does not know how to tie a tie. he prefers very basic but practical clothing and refuses to get rid of jeans with tears on the knees even though his sister begs him to.

22. How do they view themself?

algernon has a pretty shaky understanding of himself as a person. it’s something he’s still trying to figure out. a lot of his formative years have been blocked off from his memory so he often feels like he doesn’t really know a whole lot about himself.

39. What’s their greatest secret?

he’s afraid of getting better.

[eenieshmeenie]

god i HATE mosquitoes!!!!!!!!

they can fuck right off. It was raining outside just now and the power went out. I spent some time at my desk in the dark, and felt bites on my ankles for about 15-20 mins. Mind you, I'm wearing sweatpants so my ankles are the only thing exposed to the elements. After a while of this torture, I go to scratch my foot and feel something pop and bleed underneath my fingertips. I take a look and there's a pool of deep red blooming on them. In the pool? the deflated carcass of a bitch mosquito that got too greedy for its own good.

I'm shaking with rage because this motherfucker was GORGING himself on my precious low-iron blood without paying a dime and then got so fat and bloated that he literally died from his own hubris. He deserves the hottest, spikiest most raid-filled corner of hell. I hope his mosquito family dies in a fire. I hate that bitch so much. Even now I can feel his phantom bites on my legs, though he's long gone.

What purpose does he truly serve? Does he really have an allegiance to the cyclical majesty of nature? Or does he exist solely to torture me at my lowest? Is this some kind of cosmic prank? How have we not figured out how to exterminate these fucks from the surface of the Earth? my words are so virulent and I am filled with such pure, unadulterated vitriol for this buzz-buzzing insect scum.

To me, it feels like mosquitoes encapsulate everything that is wrong with the world. Bloodsucking assholes that feed off innocents and won't even do them the courtesy of doing it inconspicuously. Mosquitoes WANT you to know that they got you- they WANT YOU TO KNOW that their bitch ass siphoned off your precious life source and that you're never getting it back.

I feel like if mosquitoes were real people, they'd be the fucking corporate degenerates on linkedin who exploit their young employees and make them work overtime and then turn around and preach to the void that 'nO oNe WAntS to wORk ThEsE DAys'. They're the fucking landlords behind skyrocketing rents and tenant's tears. They're the spineless assholes sitting in cushy parliament offices extracting millions and billions from the people while their people go without food and water.

Maybe this was about something else idk, but I couldn't stop myself from writing it. Anyways, FUCK MOSQUITOES THOSE BITCHES CAN GO SUCK OFF AN ELECTRIFIED FENCE.

[jocatsidy]

Just because one thinks critically and recognizes cesspools doesn't mean they will vanish - sure, HOWEVER, if criticism was more severe and done by more people, then there would be less cesspools to begin with. This careless "live and let live" attitude makes it so that criticism of degeneracy gets discouraged. The thing is though, if we actively call out what is unacceptable, then that certain something will diminish because more and more people will feel ashamed of it.

Your point about lack of understanding still stands, and fetishism is a matter of subjectivity to some extent, but I can declare with absolute objectivity that what you do isn't right. The way you speak of overweight people is objectifying and disrespectful, point blank. Your point about me learning from visiting your blog is valid as well, since I learned how to differenciate a body positivity enthusiast from a fetishist. Whereas a latex kink or a rope kink isn't harmful in theory since the object of desire doesn't feel, fat kinks are reductive since they pull real people into your mania. But hey, what do i know, after all aren't I ignorant?

Kinksters need to stop believing their fantasies make them misunderstood geniuses...

First, I earnestly want to commend you for your response. This was well written, whereas I was expecting typical internet shorthand, so I'm actually glad this is more of a conversation. I respect that. I will do my best to respond without vitriol like in previous asks. Now then, let's break this down: "HOWEVER, if criticism was more severe and done by more people, then there would be less cesspools to begin with. This careless "live and let live" attitude makes it so that criticism of degeneracy gets discouraged. The thing is though, if we actively call out what is unacceptable, then that certain something will diminish because more and more people will feel ashamed of it." This is an outdated way of thinking. Shaming people to be "better" or "in-line" is so not what works in the history of humankind. It leads to repression and secrecy. It is that kind of treatment that creates "cesspools" or moreso, communities of people who feel the same thing wanting to express themselves. Crticism is one thing, and it should be acknowledged to any problematic case... but try reasoning that to 4Chan and you are going to get crucified in an insane manner. And then, who is to judge what is "degenerate" or not? Trust me, there are internet things I don't agree with or understand, but it's not my place to go out of my way and police it. I do agree in the drive to call out injustices where they need to be, but... To believe that every situation can and will be changed by mob tactics, and making people feel like monsters is naive and yeah... ignorant. "... I can declare with absolute objectivity that what you do isn't right. The way you speak of overweight people is objectifying and disrespectful, point blank. Your point about me learning from visiting your blog is valid as well, since I learned how to differentiate a body positivity enthusiast from a fetishist. Whereas a latex kink or a rope kink isn't harmful in theory since the object of desire doesn't feel, fat kinks are reductive since they pull real people into your mania." Now, this is the part that really loses me. It appears that you see me as a certain way, and we're at a stand still because changing that belief is going to be nigh impossible; I can't control what you think I am (nor do I want that power). We're going to have to agree to disagree, because I have already left a trail of shame and guilt behind me for being what I am; a man attracted to fat men and men getting fatter, and there is no changing this. I'm disheartened that my reply wasn't believed in that, again, "I would never wish unto others what I draw in my work." and "I would never do something to someone without their consent." This kind of detachment from me as a person is a sign that there really is no point in going back and forth in this. You've made up your mind. There is no breaking the wall. You don't get it and don't want to. However... What I can do to persuade you is to show how many people who will see and possibly respond to this back-and-forth that they are proud gainers, encouragers, chasers, and chub4chubs that will see you as wrong. That these are the people who in full control and autonomy of themselves and with the consent of their partners, feel whole, fulfilled people with souls in being fat/getting fatter/helping someone else get fatter/etc. Hell, these are my clients who come to me for art to be able to express a desire that they feel they'll never even have! And I'm going to direct the rest of this message to them. What you have read here (despite how long it is, sorry guys!) is the problem we have faced and still face and will continue to face. But the strength we have is that we know what who we are and what we're about. And to those coming to us to figure out their attractions, lust, and coming out... We will help as best we can. Please show your support to this page and prove them wrong. We have our problems, and we will sort them out... We are not just "Kinksters" that, "need to stop believing their fantasies make them misunderstood geniuses..." We're just people

who love fat.

[hotporridgepot]

Been There

I didn't expect the first Ghosts fic I wrote to be from Julian's perspective, but this idea struck me and I can't stop thinking about it!

I've always imagined Julian to be the first one to properly talk to the Captain about his sexuality, and this is how I think that conversation would go.

It was one of Alison's "talks" that finally did it.

All it took was a sharp hairpin turn in the conversation, a misplaced comment from Kitty and bam, there it was. Button House's worst-kept secret was sent spinning across the circular space between their group therapy chairs. Julian's suddenly reminded, as the Captain evacuates the room in what looks like shock, of a news report he'd heard when he was a kid. It was of an unexploded bomb they dug up by a church. Everyone in the area had known it was there for a while, but to actually see it out in the open was something else.

Alison looks upset. Guilty, even. She keeps crossing and uncrossing her legs and pulling her cardigan over her hands.

"I thought he was okay," she mumbles, staring at the empty space on the wall Cap floated through. "He seemed to - last time we had a talk, he seemed like he wanted to -"

"Oh it's my fault, Alison," Kitty wails, thumping her hands down on her skirts as though she's smacking herself. "I was the one who asked about everyone's favourite beau. I shouldn't have fussed so much, I'm so sorry, it's just-"

"Kitty, it's fine!" Alison holds up her hands. "It's not your fault, it's just...complicated."

Julian watches as the conversation trickles down its many paths again. "My cousin's cousin was gay," Pat's saying to a bewildered Mary. Fanny's muttering about how she had no idea, Robin couldn't seem to care less, and Humphrey's still on the other side of the room asking for a rundown on what happened.

"Do you think he's alright?" Alison says.

Julian shrugs. "Damned if I know."

But the thing is, Julian does know. And the answer is most definitely no.

It might be a bit of an absurd conversation for the rest of the ghosts, but he's different. He comes from the time of - of gaydars, of Canal Street, of "metrosexual" plastered across the front of the Daily Mirror. Of Elton. Freddie. George. Coming out was a thing when he died. To pick up the vibe from someone simply wasn't done in Robin's time, nor Mary's. Nor even Pat's, really.

"I should probably go and see where he is," Julian says, feigning nonchalance.

No one responds. Alison's already on the other side of the room, complaining to Mike about "ghost stuff". Julian thumbs toward the back wall.

"Anyone wanna - no? Just me? Alright."

It doesn't take long to find the Captain. Whenever he's in any kind of sulk he always migrates to the window in the television room, staring at the gate outside like he's expecting someone to walk through it.

Now that he's here, Julian's not sure what to say. Best to try and get on Cap's level, really. Some more personal experience sharing. Alison would be proud.

"I've been there, you know," Julian says. It makes the Captain jump, a hand clutched to his chest before he turns back around and ignores Julian. "A couple of times, actually."

Cap sighs. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"New Year's Eve, 1971," Julian goes on, sauntering into the room. He's good at this, he decides. "That was the first time. We were absolutely spangled on a fat bottle of Haig, started playing strip poker and before you know it, my second moon landing was -"

"Blast it, Julian, this isn't about sex!"

The Cap's outburst stops Julian short. He backs up, wincing a bit as the Captain turns to face him. Julian's never seen any of them except for Kitty and Thomas cry, but he reckons that this is the stoic army equivalent. There's a deep, grey heaviness in the Captain's eyes, like something's been keeping him awake for a century.

It hits Julian, with a wave of shame and embarrassment he's very much not used to, how the older ghosts must see him. While he'd definitely be on the way to retirement were he still alive, he's a baby to the likes of Fanny and the Captain. A thoughtless, boisterous, fraternity-going thrillseeker. Shit-brained Bullingdon boy.

He isn't that, though. Not anymore. He's lived past that. He's died past that.

His own escapades might have been the wrong place to start. He realises now there are much more valuable things he could be saying; now, Julian suddenly remembers the other side of it all. Because he also comes from the time of Section 28. The AIDS crisis. Newspapers talking about a "gay gene". Newspapers spitting what Julian knew even then to be pure lie and vitriol.

He knows it's a big deal that the Captain just blurted it out in what looked like a fit of adrenaline that came and went against his will. To think of all those years, every second of Cap's life and afterlife built upon this cornerstone of a secret...it tugs at something in Julian's chest. It - well, it's a rotten thing.

Cautiously, Julian steps forward until he's sat opposite the Captain on the windowsill. He mumbles a "sorry" and clears his throat.

"Gets talked about these days, you know," Julian tries. "Like that wedding that came here, remember? It's a...thing."

A lame end to the sentence, but hey ho. It is a thing now.

Then the Captain clears his own throat. "I know it's a thing," he says pompously, "but it doesn't quite feel like my thing, if you catch my drift."

Julian frowns. "Wait, so you're not gay?"

"No, of course I - see, even that word! 'Gay'. It meant something completely different in my lifetime," the Captain says, fiddling with the buttons on his coat maniacally as though he wants them to fall off. "I feel so terribly out of touch for having kept it all inside for so long, that I can't possibly reduce it to the inconsequence people make of it today. I don't quite know how to navigate any of it. If it's even worth navigating, now that there's nothing I can do with the information."

Julian nods. It's making so much sense now. Poor sod.

"We all went in different directions after uni," Julian goes on. "Well, to some extent. One of the lads I romped about with is -"

The Captain pinches the bridge of his nose. "Julian, I said this wasn't about -"

"No, no, listen! I was going to say, one of the lads is married to a man now. Another one decided it wasn't for him and never did it again."

Cap's listening now. "...And as for you?"

Julian shrugs. "S'not something I thought about much when I wasn't up to the eyeballs in booze, but I suppose I'm - oh, I'd say 90 percent for women, 10 percent for men." Cautiously, he leans forward. "See? People still talk about that, too. Working out how you feel and all that malarkey. There's not really one way to about it, if I'm honest. There's never been one way about it."

The Captain's face softens, some of the heaviness in his eyes melting away.

"It doesn't matter who knows what, mate. Just give yourself some time."

"I've got plenty of that," Cap chuckles.

The sun's high in the sky now, beating feverishly hot through the window.

"You up for a bit of volley on the green? Humphrey's been begging us to play."

The Captain looks out the window at the grass, then back to the gate. "Not now, thank you. I'll watch from up here."

"Suit yourself." Julian gets up to go, something blooming in his chest he hasn't felt since he was alive. It's been a while since he truly helped someone, he thinks, and he's proud of it. Proud of them both.

"I'm all ears whenever you want to rant for a bit," he calls back as he leaves the room. "Remember, I've been there."

[commander-minkowski]

I spent some time on radfem blogs last night because I was feeling self hating, I guess, and I found a new flavor of radfem that I didn't really realize existed. the cartoonishly right-wing terf who's in bed with conservatives gets a lot of attention. and it boggled my mind because this other slice of radfem tumblr seemed so close in a lot of ways to being trans accepting. they were (on the face of it) explicitly anti-racist, anti-homophobic, supportive and loving of gnc cis people. they called themselves "gender abolitionists" and wrote these starry-eyed visions of the ideal radfem future where patriarchy and gender roles no longer exist. and there was one of these utopian posts in particular that was really telling for me. it started out talking about a future that would probably appeal to a broad swath of queer people -- nobody is judged or oppressed based on their sex at birth, anyone can dress however they like and have whatever job they like, and misogyny is completely over. and then there was a caveat that went something like "if a man committed a sex crime, regardless of his gender presentation, it would still be convicted as a male crime." so ... even in this utopian vision that seems so far removed from our present reality, that claims to abolish not only misogyny but gender altogether, there is such a meaningful category as "male crime." and this is a society that doesn't construct gender, so the category "male crime" has to imply that "males" (people w penises) are biologically predisposed to oppress "females" (people w vaginas). and this is the crux of what the post was really saying, when the utopian aspect was stripped away.

aaaaand then I scrolled down a bit further and saw a lot more of the usual terf vitriol (confidence that they could spot a trans woman based only on looks, talking about autogynephilia, caricaturing "trans rights activists" as fat gnc cis men with beards, painting all cis men as violent monsters and all trans men as lost sisters). but I have to say I am still fascinated by this slice of radfems that want so badly, seemingly genuinely, to actually be radical feminists, who aren't conservative shills and who genuinely have experienced misogyny and are hurting from it and want to stop hurting. and yet they still can't take that final step and embrace the radical idea that maybe, just maybe, trans women are also hurting, in ways that are far more similar than they are different.

[cerastes]

Something I’ve been thinking about lately.

Thing I cannot get used to when dealing with people in FFXIV that are outside of my usual circle is that a lot of these people are, like, regular ass people that in some cases don’t have a lot of internet or video game or arcade culture exposure, and thus behave and react in ways completely alien to my expectations in the context of a video game interaction, adjacent or otherwise.

As someone who grew up 1) on the internet, 2) in the arcades and 3) playing video games, and interacting with people that 1) frequented the internet, 2) frequented the arcades, and 3) played or were playing the same games, multiplayer or otherwise, that I was playing at the time, it sends me for loopholes when I participate or witness conversations, for example, in my FC.

And I’m not saying this is a bad thing and that normies reeeee stay out my lizard girl simulator, not a fat chance, I welcome this pot of diversity and celebrate it, what I mean is, sometimes I’ll see a sort of discussion between two parties over, say, “I think the class you play is lame, it’s too easy”. The shocking part comes where these people will actually converse or argue about this, because my response to something like that would be “die mad about it” and go back to my Zadnor train. I Wouldn’t Engage. Why would I? But these people do engage, and again, it’s not a bad thing, it’s just not at all what I’m used to because if someone in the arcade gave me shit for using King to space their Clark with Venom Shot and Double Shot, or gave me shit for using King to do chain submissions against their Kazuya instead of fighting them in their zone of comfort, saying I’m cheesy or whatever, first of all, die mad about it, second of all, put another quarter in or clear up for the next player. 

And it makes me realize just how important the context is, more so than the “kind of player” or “what game it is”. If you’re playing with others in the arcade, it’s extremely likely a competitive game in which one of you has to lose. If you’re playing with others in an MMO, unless it’s something like Dark Age of Camelot, it’s usually in either a cooperative or completely alienated context, where playing together means coordinating to tackle something, or simply existing in the same chatroom. The context here, thus, makes me feel it would be uncalled to tell someone to die mad about it and to cope, because one, we’re not competing, two, I didn’t beat them at anything, three, I could actually offend someone saying that, because unlike the other arcade-goer, who has a tacit understanding that smack talk is met with vitriol and is ready for it, the MMO player may have legitimately been just giving you an opinion, unsolicited as it may be, but an opinion nonetheless, that needn’t be met with vitriol they are not expecting or even aware are asking for.

And this is weird for me to internalize, entirely because of the context in which I grew up, sharing with other video game enthusiasts of a similar cloth: This may just be an otherwise adorable dad or a nice mom of three who just had an opinion on something and doesn’t really have the game or net savvy to know that those kind of comments are best kept behind pressed lips because you are likely going to get told to perhaps perish upset regarding the topic at hand.

On one hand, I think you could misconstrue this to be me saying “these people are much more civilized than my fellow barbarians”, no, not really, and I do believe in the virtue of ‘talking shop’ about games, I guess, but what I mean is that these discussions are, to me, meaningless without the skill or knowledge to back it up, and instead of trading all these words like spit, we could, actually, play the game. Let’s actually go into a duty and I can show you this about my class and you can show me that about that class, with actual actions, just like some Clark mains are fucking nutty enough to just dance through projectiles or how some Kazuya mains will put you into the 50/50 Hellblender for three straight rounds so you can’t get off a single poke or grab. I think there’s merit to both, I’m saying there’s merit to both approaches, but one is natural to me, and the other is completely alien and unthinkable.

And I think that’s just really damn interesting and dope because end of the day, video games are a horizon and all sorts of different people and cultures that enjoy them exist, even in the same umbrella. It’s fascinating.

[retrogalwrites]

Title: “Shigaraki and the perfect girl” / see on ao3

Pairing: Incel!Shigaraki x f!reader

Summary: Shigaraki has a crush on what seems to be the perfect girl who everyone loves, and becomes obsessed with the idea of corrupting her.

Warnings: attempted sexual assault, virginity fetishization, dub con, creepy behavior, stalking, manipulation and somnophilia with a twist

Contents: creampie, vaginal sex, breeding kink, scent kink (in a gross way), mating press, slight dumbification, corruption kink

Word: 4873

Shigaraki had been watching you from the very beginning, all through your high school years. It hadn't been much of his fault, he always told himself, when your existence alone did nothing but to stand out.

You had always been the center of attention, the most popular girl in the entire school, little Miss Perfect. With your good grades, unrivaled beauty, hordes of friends, admired by all students and professors alike. Being always so kind and innocent, with a friendly demeanor towards everyone, including an unwanted outcast like Shigaraki.

On his end, he had always been the creepy one, the strange one, the antisocial one that sneered at others and cursed them under his breath. Everyone avoided him like the plague, at least whenever they weren't too busy tormenting him, all too eager to remind him of how unwanted he was.

The complete opposite of you, Shigaraki was a social pariah.

On your third year, whenever other students would bully him publicly, give him looks and tell him how gross and disgusting he looked, you always had to come right to his rescue.

"Stop it, guys! That's no way to treat someone." You'd say softly, standing between him and his tormentors like some kind of protector. "Leave him alone, would you?"

And they couldn't say 'no' to you, no one could. Reluctantly they would give in to your heartfelt request and leave him be, those fools always dancing on the palm of your hand, but who could blame them? The hottest girl in class, lusted after by every boy in school, including Shigaraki himself, there was no way anyone could resist doing whatever you wanted them to. So pretty, so sweet, so perfect.

You had it all so easy, didn't you?

Shigaraki hated you for that, deeply and passionately loathed your very existence, a resentment that only grew stronger every time you would turn around, with that expression full of concern, to ask if he was okay.

Yes, he hated you for that. He also desired you for that, adored you in fact, wanted you as badly as any other buffoon in your class did. But not in the same way as them. No, when you looked at him with those sparkly eyes, pouting lips, leaning over his desk to give him an eyeful of your chest straining against the fabric of your school uniform, the feelings that stirred inside him were ugly and suffocating, something too depraved to be love.

When the other guys glared at him for having your attention even for a minute, it made his heart beat faster, it made his blood boil as his hands itched to grab you and destroy you, bend you over his desk and tainting every corner of your body right in front of them.

"You're lucky [name] takes pity on your sorry ass, Shigaraki." One of his bullies would scoff, once you were out of earshot.

"I didn't fucking ask her to. Maybe the bitch has crush on me, huh?" He'd spat back with vitriol, just to be met with a kick to the shin. As he hunched over in pain, he'd always hear those same words.

"Know your damn place, freak. A crush? Please, she's too perfect for you."

And they were right, so very right, but it only made Shigaraki want you more, more, more. His infatuation was warped with the thought of revenge, the desire of getting back at everyone by taking you away for himself, and to get back at you simply for daring to exist.

So Shigaraki would curse you in his mind, every single day, and then every night he'd spent it pleasuring himself to fantasies of you, sometimes holding the items he had stolen from you in the past (a gym shirt, your lip balm, the pencil you'd chew on during class). Creating scenarios where he'd get you alone to taint you, destroy you, turn you into dust and ashes with his own hands until he had dragged you down to his own level: a freak, a pariah, the lowest of the low.

If only he had the guts to do it, if only he could admit to himself that he wanted to do it at all, for real.

—————

After graduation, not seeing you for the following months pushed his mind deeper into that brewing obsession, drove him mad with it.

Shigaraki stalked your social media, watching his phone all day to make sure he didn't miss any of your publications and updates, downloading every selfie you uploaded to keep for himself and fap to later. His infatuation had been growing more and more out of control with each passing day, you invaded his thoughts every waking hour.

And yet Shigaraki told himself that it was really only a coincidence that he had ended up in the same college as you. Despite having read through a conversation on the comments from one of your posts on your Instagram a month or so before graduating, about your college prospects. Despite writing down those prospects to later tell his school advisor that he wanted to get into that same school. Despite having begged his father to send him there despite the inconvenient distance away from home in his daily commute, despite having chosen a major he didn't care about just to be in the same class as you.

His self-denial kept that obsession barely restrained, keeping it from pouring out into reality, and you also had to ruin that.

"Tomura!" You had approached him on the first day at campus, excitedly calling his name with such familiarity. The sound made his breath hitch and his cock twitch inside his pants, stomach fluttering.

"Oh, umm...hey." He chewed on his chapped lip, looking away as he lied through his teeth. "Didn't expect to see Miss Perfect here, of all people."

Despite of his dismissive tone being cold as ice, you kept smiling at him, only laughing as if he had been joking.

"It's so good to see a familiar face, you know? Come, sit next to me!!" You had grabbed his hand without a second thought, pulling him along with you into the classroom. People already whispering just from seeing you two walking together hand in hand: a breathtaking beauty like you and him, a disheveled mess, who had been wearing the same dirty hoodie for already a week.

Yet you didn't let go of his hand, even when he had already started to sweat and his palm got all clammy against yours, you didn't let go. The thought of rubbing off his filth onto your skin filled him with joy.

You really were a fucking idiot.

Holding hands with your stalker so casually, with the guy that wanted to ravish you in a dark corner, break you with his cock until you were screaming his name, and make you beg for your life like a pathetic bitch. Yes, that's what he wanted to do, more than anything in the world. He wanted to destroy you, to violate you, to break you, to make you his. Those weren't fantasies, it was reality.

Shigaraki used that same hand to jerk himself off that night in his dorm, imagining that it was you being forced to stroke his throbbing cock. He imagined that you would be so disgusted by his filthy self, your clear skin getting all of his dirt rubbed all over, fat tears streaming down your face as he forced you to open your mouth and take him in until you chocked on his cock.

Soon enough, he was thrusting into his fist, cumming all over himself until his cock softened, and his hands and abdomen were covered in his sticky semen.

What would you do if you found out that the guy you had been so kind to all these years wanted to hurt you so badly? Shigaraki imagined the despair on your face, and soon he was hard again.

—————

For most people, life after high school plays differently. Once you get to college, popularity contests become a thing of the past...but not for you, it seemed. During that first semester, Shigaraki had to watch how everyone around you was back to fawning all over you. Stumbling over themselves to ask you out to parties and dates (how many times did he overhear guys talking about what they wanted to with your tits and ass?), professors favoring you for your perfect grades, everyone adoring you as the perfect girl once again.

He was still an unwanted pariah, ignored by everyone, looked at with scorn by others.  Except whenever you gave him your attention, of course, only then did people want to get all buddy-buddy probably hoping to get to you with his help.

God. He fucking hated you. And he fucking wanted you.

One day, he finally snapped.

Shigaraki decided that he was going to have you before anyone else got the chance to put their hands on you, the perfect girl that everyone loved so much, would belong to the guy everyone hated.

He was going to tear you down once and for all, like you deserved, for living all these years with a silver spoon in your mouth having it all so damn easy. Wipe off that smile off your face, take it for himself, and make sure you were sullied, miserable, broken.

So, Shigaraki planned his next actions very carefully then. For a whole month, he tried to be more open towards you, more friendly, taking advantage of how kind you had always been towards him despite of the dismissive way he always had treated you with. Despite his awkwardness at it too, something that anyone else would've been turned off by already, but you took his attempts with endearment.

It pleased him, how you fell for it so easily, excited to see him reciprocate your attempts at friendship, the excitement on your face whenever you two were paired together for a project or study sessions.

You were so innocent, and so stupid. He truly loved you.

—————

Shigaraki couldn't believe his luck, the day after an assignment when he got you to come with him to his dorm to start working on how you were going to plan around the workload.

His dorm room was, admittedly, filthy. Unwashed clothes and trash scattered everywhere all over the floor, wraps of junk food and snacks hastily piled on an full trash bin in the corner. Anime figurines, video games, and posters decorated the shelves and the walls. The only spot that was kind of well kept was his gaming corner, with his pc and monitors all sparkly clean. He knew it was a shameful way to live, and he excitedly looked at your face hoping to see any semblance of disgust towards it. The lack of it, made Shigaraki frown.

"Err...sorry, I didn't know you were coming so I didn't clean up the place." He feigned concern, trying to edge a reaction out of you.

"That's ok, sorry for barging in." You gave an understanding smile.

Shigaraki's twisted resolve only became stronger. He was going to wipe that smile off your face, and that thought echoed in his mind on repeat for the following hour you two sat down to work.

Though, of course, his attention was not in the books in front if him. Shigaraki was too focused on the fact you were sitting on his bed, your bare things peaking underneath your skirt making direct contact with his dirty bedsheets.

Could you even begin to imagine that those bedsheets were stained with cum from his daily fapping? That he furiously had been jerking himself off to you for months in that same bed? His blood had begun to run towards his loins, and his cock was starting to strain against his jeans. Shigaraki had to cover himself with the textbook as to not to give himself away.

"Tomura, can we take a break? I'm getting tired." You yawned some time later, putting the book away and stretching your arms above your head. An action that gave Shigaraki a perfect view of your pretty curves, the way your tits heaved slightly as you pushed your chest forward, and a flash of midriff peaked from underneath your top.

"We still got a lot to do, dumbass." He curtly replied, pretending he wasn't leering.

You pouted, like a brat. He couldn't understand how you got such good grades when you could be this lazy sometimes. "Please, just fifteen minutes?"

He pretended to think about it, before shrugging at you begrudgingly. "Alright, just stop looking at me like that."

With a pleased, cheeky smile, you let your back fell on his mattress. Something that actually took him by surprise, Shigaraki watched in disbelief how you bounced on his bed, thighs and tits jiggling. You yawned again as you curled into a ball, he wondered if you even noticed how he ran his tongue over his dry lips. Were you really going to make it this easy for him? Were you that stupid?

"Wake me up in fifteen minutes." and you closed your eyes.

"Sure thing." He couldn't stop his lips from stretching into a huge, sinister smile.

—————

Shigaraki had never been a patient man, but he exercised all of the patience he had within him just to wait out the agonizingly slow seconds as you gradually fell asleep. He kept his eyes glued on your laying form through the first five minutes, casually but excitedly palming his erection through his jeans as he watched you fall asleep. He waited, and waited, silently observing your breathing until it fell into slow, regular rhythm. Soft snoring sounds purred from your throat, leaving your lips.

His cock was so fucking hard it hurt.

Hesitantly, Shigaraki called your name once in a hushed voice, then twice a little bit louder, and when he got no response from you, he knew that the time he had waited for all those years had finally come.

The time to break you.

The beating of his heart hammered loudly in his ears, as Shigaraki crawled over the bed towards you. His weight shifted the shape of the mattress, so he moved as slowly as his desperation allowed him to, as to not wake you up yet. Positioning himself above you, his legs straddled you underneath him as he unbuckled his pants and pulled out his throbbing erection, veiny shaft all with the head red and swollen, looking like he was about to burst. Then, supporting himself on his knees, he leaned back for a moment just to take in the wonderful sight you made.

Spread on his filthy bed, so comfortably on your back, breathing through lush parted lips. The girl chased after by everyone at school, they all would've killed to be in his place and to see you like this, to have you like this. Looking so small, so fragile, so defenseless, so fucking perfect.

Years of abstinence came down crashing all at once and Shigaraki's depravity took a hold of him completely, and it felt damn good.

His lips came down to cover yours with such pathetic urgency, Shigaraki crushed your soft body underneath his larger, even if skinny, frame. Dry and chapped lips devoured the softness of yours, and they tasted so sweet and creamy, exactly the same flavor of lip balm he had stolen from you back in high school. God, he could feel your heavy, round tits pressing against his chest, his erect cock rubbing needy against the snug gash of your clothed crotch, the engorged head poking at your entrance like he was in heat like a dog, shuddering violently at the stimulation. He moaned loudly against your mouth, forcing his tongue between your teeth and into your sweet mouth, as drool trailed down the corners of his mouth and smearing against your pristine skin. God, he forgot to brush his teeth after his morning coffee, his mouth was surely filthy...not like it even mattered to him anyway. Neither did it matter that he was going to wake you up like that, he indulged on tasting you completely. In fact, he anticipated to watch you wake up, and realize what a stupid bitch you had been.

Bringing his hands to your face, he forced your mouth to press harder against his as he kissed you so sloppily, his throbbing erection rutting against your core.

"(Name)...oh fuck, (Name)..." He whined against your lips. Just a virgin that he was, Shigaraki couldn't help that the mere stimulation of your clothed pussy-mound rubbing on his bare cock was really firing him up, pushing him so much that he was creaming his pants already. He shuddered, muscles tensing as the head of his cock spurted huge jets if his smelly, sticky cum all over the front of your skirt and your thighs.

He breathed heavily, looking at the mess he made.

Then he heard you call out to him, and the sound of your voice was anything but distressed, or even angry.

Instead, you sounded disappointed.

"Aww, you already came?" His eyes shot to your face. You were wide awake, face flushed as you stared at him through fluttering lashes and glossy eyes, the expression of someone who was throughly aroused. Shigaraki was the one struck by shock, and confusion.

"Tomura, I can't believe you are such a quick shot. I was looking forward to this, you know?" Your disappointment somehow puzzled him more than the sheer anger of being called out for his quick ejaculation, and that was impressive on itself. His expression made you giggle.

"What the fuck are you laughing for?!" He growled with bared teeth, his hands moving to your writs to restrain them above your head, crushing you with his body again. You whined, not in fear, but need.

He couldn't begin to understand what was happening. You weren't freaking out, you weren't crying, you weren't despairing.

"Do you understand what is happening here? I'm assaulting you, stupid bitch!" He lost his cool so quickly.

"Of course I know." Speaking in a whisper, your back arched, pressing yourself further against Shigaraki, raising your thighs to catch his cock between the soft flesh of your exposed, sticky thighs. He hissed through his teeth,  the touch easily making his cock spring back to life, harder than before.

"Tomura, you've always been a creep." For the first time, your voice sounded harsh, condescending.

And disgusted.

Finally, that disgusted look. Shigaraki stared at you with a burning gaze through red eyes, mouth agape at the sound of those words being uttered by you, that look on your face that he had wanted to see for the longest time. His cock twitched, a spurt of cum drooling down the tip and getting on your exposed panties. The feeling made you shudder, your things squeezing his cock between them again. His back arched, hands restraining you gripped your wrists tighter, he cursed at how fucking good it felt.

"But I always liked that about you, honestly! How gross you are, how dirty and smelly you are, you are always so mean to me too! I wanted you to take me like this by force one day."

"You...wanted this to happen?" Shigaraki was starting to understand, though none of it made sense. You snorted, giving him a suddenly smug grin that made his blood boil.

"I always hoped it would." A candid confession, your own breathing had become erratic, the euphoria of pouring out your deepest secrets. "It always made me feel so hot to imagine that you fucked me and made me all dirty and disgusting, that you turned me into a freak like you."

It sounded like pure bullshit, and yet the genuine honesty in your voice left no room to question it. The reality you presented him with had shattered his own. And it made him so damn angry and so fucking turned on. He felt all light-headed suddenly, like he was in a dream.

"So you've been fucking with me all this time?! Is that it, you damn bitch?!"

One of his hands roughly grabbed your throat, fingers circling the frail column of bone and squeezing hard, you gasped at the sudden pressure keeping you from breathing. You stared up at him. His gaze bore into yours, face inching closer to snarl with pure, scorching fury.

And yet you still looked so ecstatic, a lewd expression that couldn't be further from that angelic, innocent look everyone always said made you so perfect. You looked absolutely wicked in that moment.

"Yes...I have." You spoke through labored breaths, clawing and the hand around your throat. "You fucking...disgusting...creep."

Shigaraki realized then, that you hadn't ever been perfect, in fact, you had been the same as him from the beginning. A depraved fucking mess.

And he hated you for that, loved you for that.

Shigaraki then let go of both your wrist and neck, slipping his leaking cock away from your thighs as he leaned back on his knees. Gasping for oxygen, your head already felt light by the time you felt your clothes being violently ripped off from your body, blouse and skirt tearing away and being thrown behind Shigaraki's towering frame, leaving you in only your underwear.

The frilly, see-through thing that looked more like lingerie. God, you really were such a fucking freak, weren't you?

Shigaraki's hands went to unclip your bra that so luckily opened at the front. Throwing the item with the thorn pile of your other clothes. The sight of your bare tits bouncing in front if him was like out of his deepest fantasies, and Shigaraki didn't wait a second longer to roughly squeeze your breasts in his calloused hands, taking handfuls of the supple mounds of flesh he had always dreamed to grope. They felt full and heavy in his palms, fingers sinking into their softness, and seeing the way you mewled when his thumbs teased the hardening nubs of your nipples, making you softly moan his name, Shigaraki lost it.

His mouth attacked one of your nipples, mouth latching to the puffy areolae and teeth sinking into the flesh as he sucked hard and desperate. Your reaction was immediate, hands tangling into his messy white hair and fingers pulling at his scalp, mouth parted to mewl his name in pain and delight. He kept suckling at your breasts, hungry and rough like he was hoping to suck milk out of them, the other hand already playing with the other breast, mercilessly pulling and twisting your hard nipple, bruising the tender skin.

"Tomura wait — ooh!!" Your body trembled as you whined out his name, another wave of pleasurable pain hitting you when Shigaraki squeezed your breasts together and brought both nipples into his greedy mouth. Sucking at them and lapping at the pebbled skin with his tongue, until your were squirming underneath him like a needy little whore.

One of his hands delved down to your panties, the thin string that held them up all to easy to break with one powerful tug. You gasped, a sound that turned into a loud scream when you felt his fingers teasing the hot wetness of your pussy lips, before he buried one digit into your core, testing your insides.

"Oh fuck..." You breathed, biting your lip, feeling him experimentally finger your inner walls. Shigaraki was fascinated at how hot and slick you felt inside, your fleshy walls sucking around his fingers so tightly that he wanted to stuff his cock inside that hole now, now, now.

He let go of your nipples with a lewd pop, spit dribbling down the abused skin. "Who would've thought...that you had such a filthy mouth." He snickered. "You are so fucking wet already, you goddamn degenerate, you want my cock so bad, huh? I'll let you know I haven't showered in a few days." It was like he was testing you by basking in his own disgusting habits.

"Y-Yes, I do, I want your filthy cock!!" Another loud moan, uncaring that other people in the dorm were going to hear. "Please, Tomura, make me filthy!!" The expression on your face, mouth agape with your little tongue out so unabashedly desperate for someone like him made his heart flutter.

Shigaraki would've wanted to keep you begging for so much longer, but in reality, his own desperation had him pulling back his hand from your pussy, leaving you empty and sighing disappointed for a moment, but not for long. Firmly anchoring himself down with his knees on the mattress, he raised your hips with a bruising touch and with the clumsiness of an inexperienced man, plunged his cock into your pussy in one punishingly rough thrust. The sudden feeling of being full had you arching your back and curling your toes, nails clawing at his forearms as you writhed in pain from the sudden intrusion. Shigaraki buried his cock into you until his pubes brushed your outer lips, and he was balls depp inside.

"Fuck, fuck, ooh...holy shit you...are fucking tight." Tomura groaned with his mouth agape, eyes rolling to the back of his head. His breath hot against your skin as he leaned over for a moment, taking in the unbelievably hot sensation of you squeezing around him. "This fucking greedy pussy, hngg..." Your insides felt so good, better than he ever imagined, you were so tight sucking him in like you were trying to rip off his cock. Was this what pussy felt like, or was this just you? Seeing what a slut you were, he didn't think you were even a virgin. And yet your velvety walls wrapped around his shaft in a snug fit inside that scorching, pulsating heat, Shigaraki couldn't imagine anything else comparing to it.

He couldn't stop himself as he began thrusting his cock into your hole, pulling only slightly before sinking back, selfishly unwilling to let go of that delirious sensation around his length. The harder he snapped his hips, the better it felt, his balls throbbed as they slapped against your plump ass.

"Tomura, i-it hurts....mmm, oh!" Tears swelled in your eyes, and yet your hips were needly sinking on his cock like there was anything else of him to take. What a glutton for punishment you were, but soon that burning pain became something just as good, even better actually, delicious pain, and your were soon arching your back and bouncing on his cock with all your might.

"Guess neither of us are virgins anymore, huh?" You panted with a laugh. Shigaraki froze then for a second, his eyes stared at your face contorted by pain and pleasure with wide eyes, enraptured and burning with something a little hotter than desire. A virgin, so even after the truth of your character, you really were as untainted as he thought.

Shigaraki was scrapping your virgin insides with his cock, truly making you filthy in the most pure sense of the word. He was tainting you, breaking you, the perfect girl everyone adored.

That was it, Shigaraki cursed under his breath as he pulled out, earning a confused and disappointed sound of from your lips, that then became a little help when he grabbed the back of your legs and pushed them up, bending them against your chest. He positioned himself over you and stuffed his cock back inside, thrusting into you as hard as he could, taking up a new merciless pace. In that new position, both of you could feel him reaching even deeper inside you, the engorged head on his cock hitting the entrance of your cervix, that little orifice sucking at his tip like it was begging for his filthy, fertile seed. The thought made him fuck you even harder, the image of him pouring his cum inside you and impregnating your insides.

"Tomura, Tomura, Tomura!!"

His name was a chant on your lips, arms thrown around his shoulders to pull him closer. You could smell the sweat and grime on his hair, and the thought someone so gross like him was taking you made your insides flutter and twist with the build up of an orgasm. "Tomura, don't stop, fuck...don't stop!!"

He didn't and soon you were clamping on his cock, your orgasm making you so tight that Shigaraki was shooting his load too reaching an abrupt climax, pleasure hitting him as his cum flooded your insides with its warmth, painting your walls white and filling up your womb until it was overflowing out of you, steaming down your thighs and ass onto his bedsheets.

It was like a dream, the best dream he had ever had. And he would've thought that it was nothing but a dream, too. If not for the arms that were still clinging to him and refusing to let go, the pretty mouth breathing against his ear.

"Tomura, you...really are disgusting." A satisfied voice filled with disgust, and affection. His cock began hardening inside you and you barked a laugh.

He hated you for that, and he loved you for that. The perfect girl everyone wanted, that was just so perfect for him too.