#thrilled to be the only person who knows them and a statistical wonder

[chucktaylorupset]

is red letter media an ok channel to watch? My partner loves them and I watch them sometimes but they don’t seem malicious to me idk. Just the edgy joke every once in a while. I only ask bc I don’t know anyone else besides my partner who even KNOWS about them

EDIT: POST CANCELLED EVERYBODY GO HOME turns out anon was wrong i dont know what red letter media is I dont know why but i thought it was an umbrella corp name for the cinemasins brands in reference to the logos one red letter, post dead, blogger down, multi hundred word typo in the groupchat

far be it from me to be the arbiter of what is or isn't okay to watch, seek not from me permission, but the major criticisms of red letter media are summed up most efficiently, I think, in this series of videos by the youtuber Shaun

the most imperative critiques being that, first of all, cinemasins are a couple of white guys with a whole running gag of yelling "more boobs! get this bitch to do a lap dance!" at the screen, who critique movies from a mentality of uncharitable incuriousity

which results in offensive cultural insensitivity when they review movies like moana and mock the made up constellations that are actually real polynesian constellations or the drums that don't look anything like drums unless you know that these again are an actual drum made and used by actual polynesians (Cinemasins is Still Wrong About Everything 19:30)

shaun also finds, after reviewing an arbitrary sampling of their works, that they are frequently lying or purposefully misrepresenting what happens in movies in order come up with more sins

on a personal rather than systemic level, my bone to pick with cinemasins boils down to the fact that their content forces them to engage with media in a toxic mindset. the more negative they are-- the more harshness to their criticism, the more sins they add to their counter-- the more content and ad revenue they create.

so their engagement with what they consume is cynical and superficial. rather than what the audience-art roles and contract should be, a partnership with the goal of the interaction being the creation of meaning and understanding, they instead are lazy and uncharitable because the more they fail to understand about the work, the more sins they can write about its supposed opacity.

art is a trust fall and they have thrown up their hands because they want to laugh at someone falling on their face, and this slapstick routine works well with bumbling corporate shlock, but they will also take the sincere, the serious, the substantively artistic, and laugh like a ballerina's dip is the same as doubling over after a rake to the nuts.

i made the mistake of watching their music video sins piece on Janelle Monae's Pynk, where they mocked her for forgetting to put vagina pants on a couple of her backup dancers. i knew for a fact that the artist had spoken in interviews about this being an intentional decision because not all women have vulvas. not only was cinemas sins blindly punching down, but they were being

i watched a lot of cinemasins as a young teen, evenings gathered up with my family around the tv. my family's taste in movies rarely agreed, movie night selections had to be negotiated like international treaties, and fell through about as often, but we did all agree on the fun of mockery. i got really into it, as only middle schoolers can, when you're just young enough that confident stupidity sounds like bravery and commonplace novelty looks like genius.

i stopped after watching a rare out of character vlog. in it he decries the death of art, which in hindsight, was really a dad driving alone in his car talking about how the music and the movies they make just aren't as good as what was new back in his day. but again, at the time i took it very seriously.

after all, i grew up in the age of a thousand thinkpieces about facile avocado toast eating millenials and the bog standard eternal hatred levied against the preteen girl. i wanted to become a serious person because i wanted to be treated seriously, because it meant i would not be mocked, and so the answer seemed to be to take the side of whoever was doing the mockery. this mentality led to a lot of bad decisions like watching cinemasins, flirting getting into atheist youtube, and performatively hating twilight like i was casting a ritual circle of protection.

i stopped watching because i realized cinemasins made me sad. this man i respected said there would be no more good art and i believed him, even as he said the solution was to take away the movie making privileges from everybody but the guys who made the lego movie. i believed him, but i didn't want to think about it. so i stopped watching, and what happened instead of art ceasing to be good, was that i ceased to feel bad.

mostly. we live in a late stage capitalist hellscape, but my despair at the leviathan threatening to devour us all still leaves more room for joy than the men whose livelihood relies on routinely locking themselves in a room to write about the latest superfluous disney live action adaptation or the modern equivalent of maze runner two or finding a way as white men to shit on jordan peele's get out.

i soon started watching video essays that did actual media analysis, which was a shock to my system likened to an introductory college philosophy class to the moral system of a perennial catholic with intrusive thoughts, and both of us would finally obtain a language for what was wrong with the world, beyond the simple prison of one word, "sin."

[modelbus]

Sorry if this is confusing this is the first request I ever made.

I was wondering if you could do a Wilbur soot x fem or gn reader (romantic)

Where it’s the like the very beginning of the relationship and you’re helping him model for his next merch drop then he sees you in the merch and his is like “OoOooHhhhHH mY GOodnESS I WANt tO maRrY You!!”

This would 100% happen and nobody can convince me otherwise.

Pairing: CC!Wilbur x Fem!Reader (romantic)

My Merch

"You are the best for doing this." Are the first words out of Wilbur's mouth when you show up at his flat. He's grinning at you, leaning on his doorframe.

"You can always show your gratitude by giving me free merch." You answer, ducking under his arm to enter. He laughs, shutting the door and following you into his living room area.

"As if you weren't going to get free merch just for being my girlfriend."

You shrug, secretly thrilled at hearing him call you that. He hasn't been your official boyfriend for too long, so just hearing that gives you butterflies. It feels like love.

"What's the plan?"

Wilbur had texted you exactly twenty-four minutes ago panicking about not having a female model for his merch. Being the only one who actually thinks logically in your relationship, you volunteered to model with him. It'd be fun!

"I have a blank wall and a phone camera, so that should be good enough. Photoshop exists for a reason, and I'm still logged into Tommy's account he uses for thumbnails."

"If it works." You shrug.

"It should. Thank you so fucking much for this. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"I wasn't doing anything, why not be with you?"

His grin widens, cheeks dusting a light pink. "Okay. You can change in my room, I put the merch in there. Just dig through the piles until you find your size, they aren't organized at all."

"Of course they aren't." You sigh.

"I was a bit busy panicking to organize them all!" He defends himself.

For some reason that makes you laugh, heading into his room and softly shutting the door. Sure enough, there are four large piles of different merch near his closet. Statistically speaking, your size couldn't be too hard to find.

Luck is on your side because you find your size in everything fairly quickly. He didn't tell you which one to wear first so you just grab the one closest to you and throw it on. Pausing momentarily to fix your hair in the mirror on his wall, you head out to him.

"Walking down the runway is I, Wilbur Soot's personal merch model." You joke, doing a little twirl at the end of the hallway to show off the sweater.

Wilbur's eyes are wide, staring at you. He's silent for far too long, not even seeming to be having a coherent thought.

"Wil?" You ask, a little confused. "What's wrong?"

"You look stunning." He blurts out. "Wow. I need to kiss you, like, right now."

Relieved, you laugh and walk up to him. He doesn't seem to be moving any time soon with how he's still staring at you.

You loop your arms around his neck and his instinctively go around your waist. When you lean up, he tilts his head down to meet your lips in a long kiss.

"You're getting five hundred pieces of my merch." He swears when you pull away.

"I look that good, huh?" You tease.

"Yes," Wilbur answers seriously. "Fucking- yes."

Taken off guard, your lips part in surprise. You didn't expect him to answer so quickly, and certainly not so reverently. He takes his chance to kiss you again.

"Are you going to take any photos or just kiss me the entire time? Not that I'm complaining."

"Who says I can't do both?" He asks. “You know I love you, right?”

Although you’re not exactly sure where he’s going with this, it still makes you feel like a little kid with a crush.

“And I love you.” You respond, fully meaning it.

“Remember that in a year or two for me.”

“What?” He smiles at you in response. “Wait, what does that mean?!”

“Photo time!”

“Wilbur!”

[d3nt4l-d4m4g3]

This is a morbid question, but after going through your medical malpractice tags, I can't help but to wonder how many women have died from T? And also, does every TIF who does stay on T for long periods of time develop some sort of chronic pain/illness that you've read or seen?

It seems like its rare to hear from TIFs on T after 6+ years. It seems like they almost all quit or lower their dose substantially.

it's probably impossible to estimate how many women have died from taking T. Legally, many of these women are male and are registered in medical systems as male. From looking at a piece of paper, it's impossible to separate these women on testosterone from men on testosterone.

I don't know every trans person so I can't say with certainty that every single trans identified woman develops chronic pain or illness on T. That said, the sheer number of systems that testosterone touches—bones, heart, reproductive organs to name a few—means that the likelihood of developing at least one chronic illness/source of pain is extremely high. And it can happen over a short or prolonged period of time. You might never have the symptoms of vaginal atrophy, but your cortisol and blood pressure could be climbing every year. You might not have a heart attack, but you could develop psoriasis. Maybe your bones are dense enough but your pancreas is fried. Maybe your pancreas is fine, but you have shooting pains every time you orgasm.

if you think about it, it's like a box of chocolates.

I don't want to accuse all TIFs who profess perfect health after 10+ years of taking testosterone of being liars. Statistically, that's not true.

However, I think that there is a lot of pressure to uphold the narrative that cross-sex hormones are healthcare, and not a lot of incentive to admit those exact hormones can ruin health.

There isn't this same reservation when you're talking about chemotherapy, for example—would you tell a cancer patient that she might not puke during treatment? That she might not lose her hair? That her fertility may not be compromised? All of those maybes are technically correct. That patient may not suffer all of these things, or possibly any of them. But as a medical professional, as a friend, as a family member, as a patient, is it not responsible to say that what the medication does, is designed to do, "might not" happen.

Of course, chemo is temporary. It is a poison given to sick people to kill the bad hopefully before it kills too much good. Giving testosterone unnecessarily to healthy women, and indefinitely to boot, can only worsen health.

Even if there was a percentage of women who take large doses of testosterone with no pain or chronic illness over years—a percentage I doubt is significant—would you put diesel in a gas car? Would you drive on the highway like that? Would you be able to live with yourself knowing your family and loved ones are holding their breaths every night, waiting for a phone call that you have crashed? objectively, it's highly selfish to pretend the benefits outweigh the potential cost, the cost being one's life.

Going back to your point about the 6+ year mark—yeah, I do think by that time a lot of women detransition, live miserably as trans, or die quietly, away from the spotlight. Like an old dog not wanting to bring vultures to her body. There's no longer any thrill from being trans, but rebuilding your life, community, and body is terrifying and has real social consequences, so many stay in that limbo.

[butch-reidentified]

I'm intrigued by your thoughts on emotionality. What is it that drives you to 'commit to a belief system' (paraphrasing you slightly) exactly? I would say I'm not a particularly emotional person, my feelings are more vague a lot of the time, but certainly a lot of the things I believe viz right vs wrong, male supremacy being bad, etc I can only rationalise so far until ultimately I get to the root of them, which is that the thought of some people brutalising a group of people I am a part of makes me feel a negative gut emotion.

But sometimes, if I consider humanity from a cosmic perspective, in which humans are just collections of proteins obeying certain statistical parameters, and in any given situation someone is going to get the upper hand and dominate, I stop feeling any way about it at all. I think this is why I tend not to 'commit' to belief systems. I try them out for a while, absorb the interesting ideas but ultimately take none of them as gospel since morals are essentially either emotional at root, or just self-imposed dogma, then get bored and move on to something else. I guess I would understand an argument for self-imposed dogmatic morals, in that you probably need to construct some parameters to live by otherwise you will probably struggle to bond with other people, but to me the knowledge that they are self-imposed would mean I could never seriously commit to them as a set of beliefs.

I have a question in that case: do you think that if you were born male you would be at all sympathetic to female liberation/equality? When you could have the option instead to just take advantage or not care? I often wonder if a big part of the reason a lot of feminist thinking has stuck with me is because it's ultimately self-serving. My ego does not allow me to accept the idea that I am inferior. Feminism supplies me with a justification

I'm going to answer this completely honestly, but I have a sneaking suspicion that not everyone will be thrilled with my response lmao

My belief commitments are a large part of what I refer to as my anchor system. My brother, who is just like me (down to exact same score on the TriPM with almost identical answers), also uses an anchor system which very clearly functions similarly to mine, though is comprised of somewhat different commitments. The anchor system serves several functions, including improved interpersonal interactions/relations, self-preservation from societal consequences, and keeping us "grounded" in an external (albeit self-imposed) value system.

You are approaching the answer in what you say about "understanding an argument for self-imposed dogmatic morals." It is pretty similar to that. It does kind of end up functioning as a sort of moral compass, though the lack of internal response to violating my own "morals" means that this compass changes fairly often - and usually just because I've come to find part of it inconvenient. It ends up being more of a loose behavioral constraint that helps limit certain impulsive behaviors, but is easily overridden/renegotiated when I want to do something badly enough. So yes, you are right that I can only commit to them so much, take them so seriously, knowing that they're consciously chosen.

I am fully opposed to oppression and the like, not only when it affects me. That said, if I'm going to be completely honest like I said I would, for me, this doesn't primarily come from a place of compassion. I am very very good at cognitive empathy (understanding what others feel, even if I can't relate to it or feel it myself), though, so I am capable of that perspective and have made it matter to me, it just isn't innate for me. My opposition to oppression at its core comes from a utilitarian thought process: I think it's incredibly wasteful and disadvantageous to the species/community to stifle the potential of entire populations (or anyone, really).

I do understand that people tend to get upset about that, but it's not a choice, it's just how I innately function. One function of the anchor system is to compensate for this to an extent, keep me more focused on cognitive empathy and commonly accepted morality. This means that my behaviors, my moral code, so to speak, are in effect a well-stirred mixture of utilitarian thought processes and externally adapted perspectives.

does this answer your questions adequately?

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 1 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

note: I cannot overemphasize that this interpretation of Bakugou is based on season 1 Bakugou, which means he behaves very questionably at the beginning. Please heed the warnings!

Last year

You had been ferreting snacks out of the Hero Awards when he found you.

In retrospect, the whole idea of attending the Hero Awards had been a bad one from the get go. You’d just been so thrilled by the image of it in your head--getting to see all your favorite pros gathered in one place, dressed to the nines, celebrating their rankings, their wins, their saves, their successes. You’d pictured yourself flitting between heroes, collecting autographs and taking selfies, sitting down at a table with big names like Uravity and Froppy, making fast friends over the complimentary champagne.

But then you’d seen what really went into preparing for and attending an event like this, and the shine had quickly rubbed off.

When your boss at the Commission had extended you the invite, she’d told you that you would be representing the organization, and had advised you to contract a makeup artist and find someone willing to dress you. Her tone had strongly implied that this was more of an order than a suggestion. So you’d done it, but nobody had told you exactly how many hours went into getting your makeup tested, getting fitted and refitted for a dress, and fielding questions on cut, colors, fabrics, and fit.

By the time the Awards rolled around, you’d lost upwards of forty excruciating hours of your life to preparations, and had developed some kind of anxiety-induced Pavlovian response to the modiste’s name on your phone screen, where you immediately wanted to leap into the nearest storage closet and hide. And none of this was even counting the five full hours you spent on the day of the awards getting primped and polished within an inch of your life, then stuffed into some ridiculous scrap of fabric that threatened to fall off of you if you so much as breathed wrong.

By the time the stylists and makeup artist had finished with you, you were starved, cranky, and nursing a small migraine from how enthusiastic the hairdresser had been with you. You’d thought, though, that you would finally be able to enjoy yourself now that the worst was over. All there was left was to attend the ceremony, and get to see all your favorite heroes.

And for an hour or two, the Hero Awards had been just as cool as expected. You lingered on the fringes of the red carpet, gawking as pros like Chargebolt and Pinky swanned their way down the walkway, looking even cooler in real life than they looked on TV. Everyone had clearly gone all out, and they looked unbelievably good, either inhumanly beautiful or inhumanly intimidating. You had been utterly transfixed, as evidenced by the inordinate amount of time you spent accidentally staring at Todoroki Shouto as he gave an interview to the side of the walkway, looking absolutely unreal as he leaned over to speak to the reporter.

When you’d finally managed to snap out of your trance, you’d remembered to cut a beeline for the snack table, and had set about stuffing as many snacks into your dress as you could manage. And that’s where the trouble really started.

The invite to the Awards had come with the option for a very fancy multi-course dinner that you could have chosen. Instead, you’d taken one look at the price and laughed yourself sick, before resolving to sneak a bunch of the free snacks into your dress to keep you occupied during the ceremony. The problem was, the scrap of fabric the modiste had insisted was a dress was so obnoxiously flimsy and could only hold so many snacks.

If your dress had been able to hold a reasonable number of snacks, you wouldn’t have needed to sneak back out to the snack table during the presentation, and he would have never had a chance to catch you on your own. But the dress was lacking snack utility, and so you had gone back out for more.

You kept low in the aisle as you crept out of the darkened theater, keeping a hand over your chest so you didn’t spill out of the thin fabric of your dress, and emerged into the reception hall, where you were almost blinded by the harsh light. You stood for a minute, blinking the spots out of your vision, and touched a hand to your eyes, careful not to smear any of your eyeliner.

And that’s when he struck.

Almost as soon as you raised your hand, a rough hand seized your wrist, wrenching your arm down. A heavy arm went around you quickly, trapping both your arms to your sides, and you barely had time to let out a squeak before a calloused hand clapped over your mouth. Your feet left the floor, and then you were being dragged through a side door into the stairwell.

You twisted wildly, kicking out, trying to catch the wall or the railing to push off of and throw your assailant off balance, but he was strong, and clearly well-versed in combat, as he kept you well away from anything you could use to your advantage. He hauled you out into the stairwell, but instead of heading down the stairs, he moved towards the corner. To your surprise, he tossed you unceremoniously against the wall, letting you go.

You caught yourself on the rough stone and whirled around, only to reel back in shock when you caught sight of your assailant.

Bakugou Katsuki, perhaps better known as pro hero Ground Zero, leaned over you, trapping you against the wall with an arm on either side of you. He, like all the other heroes you’d caught sight of today, looked almost unreal in person, but in stark contrast to all the others, his handsome face was twisted up in unmistakeable fury, blood-red eyes bright with violence and white teeth bared in a silent snarl. Even under the thick fabric of his suit, you could see the hard lines of his body were taught with aggression, and it was all you could do to not shrink back against the cold stone of the wall.

“So,” he snarled, leaning in to put his face close to yours, “you’re the fucking statistics nerd.”

You gaped at him, mouth falling open. Your professional title was data scientist, but statistics nerd was a close enough descriptor that you could tell he knew who you were. Your brows went up, wondering why in the world Ground Zero knew you.

“E-excuse me?” you managed. Your brain rapidly kicked into high gear, running through possible reasons why he would know you, what he could possibly want with you.

Bakugou snarled. “What the fuck is your problem with me?”

You stared at him. Problem with him? Other than the fact that he’d just seized you with no warning and dragged you into a stairwell, you had no problem with him. You’d never even met him--what the hell was he talking about?

“Uh, do you maybe have me confused with someone else?” you asked, trying to shift out from under his arm. Maybe there was another data scientist milling around in the crowds that he’d meant to get his hands on instead.

Bakugou’s red eyes narrowed, and he put a hand to your abdomen to press you firmly back to the wall. “Oh no. You’re not getting out of this, you little brat. Fucking fix it.”

You eyed him warily, checking him for signs of a head injury, wandering over his shock of blonde hair and noting the size of his pupils. Maybe Bakugou had been out on assignment just before the Awards, and hadn’t stopped to get his injuries checked out before coming here. A blow to the head would explain why he was behaving so strangely, and asking for weird stuff.

“Fix what?” you asked, frowning when you couldn’t spot the signs of a concussion on him. His gaze seemed all too focused, all too intent. It was nerve-wracking, actually. You’d heard of his reputation for intensity before, but it was one thing to hear it and another entirely to have all that intensity trained on you.

Bakugou bared his teeth and leaned closer. “Your fucking nerd-ass model. Fix it.”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh, this was about the model. You knew his bone to pick with the model.

The entire reason you’d received an invite to the Hero Awards in the first place was because of your work on the model that calculated the hero rankings. The model had existed for years before you had come along, but this year it was different.

You’d been hired a couple months ago by the Public Safety Hero Commission after you’d contacted them with an idea on how to finally calculate the value of field assists. You’d had a rough prototype of a neural network that you’d trained on video of multi-hero operations, tracking the movements of all the heroes on screen, and had developed an algorithm capable of assigning point values to moves that contributed to but did not directly result in a win or a rescue.

The Commission couldn’t get their hands on your work fast enough, and after only a few months refining your neural net, it was hooked into the rankings model, and it had informed not only the choices for Rescue of the Year and Most Valuable Hero this year, but had entirely changed the hero rankings overall.

And Bakugou’s ranking had been very much affected.

Bakugou Katsuki was a hero very unlike the world had ever seen. Anyone could see from his stats alone that he was incredibly driven, supremely powerful, and almost unmatched by any other hero out there. A few years out from UA, he’d already entered the top ten and had been mere breaths away from the top three -- that is, until your model results had been released.

The thing about Bakugou was that he had a higher percentage of fight wins than any hero in recorded history. He came out on top of almost any situation he entered into, and had one of the highest villain capture stats and the highest villain kill stat as compared to any other hero at this point in their career. The problem was, the new model also now took into account assists, as well as applied slightly heavier weights to rescues, and as good as Bakugou was at winning fights, he was almost equally as terrible at helping others.

So when your model had been worked into the Hero Commission’s official ranking calculations, Bakugou had backslid to sit unhappily at rank number eight.

And apparently, he thought this meant you had a personal grudge.

“Okay, I understand you’re upset, but the results are the results,” you said, watching him carefully. “It’s got nothing to do with you personally.”

His expression darkened thunderously, and the hand on your abdomen grew notably hotter, a scent like gunpowder and burnt sugar rising in the stairwell. “Like hell it doesn’t. Fucking fix it.”

Your brow furrowed. How did regular people think models worked? “There’s no ‘fixing it’, Bakugou. That’s just how math works. If you have a problem with how assists and rescues are weighted then you can take it up with the Commission. I just trained the model with their recommendations, and the results are what they are.”

Bakugou apparently registered none of what you were saying. Rough fingers slid to your jaw, tipping your face up to him. “What is it that you wanted, you damn brat? Did you want to see me humiliated? Or maybe you wanted my attention?” His fingers dug into your jaw. “Well now you have it, you fucking harpy, so show me what you wanted with it.”

You gaped at him, unable to help the way your mouth hung open like a fish. Did he think you were blackmailing him? With a fucking statistical model? It was a matter of public record that Bakugou was smart--he was purportedly one of the brightest minds that had ever graced the profession of hero, with strategic skill and combat sense that was utterly unparalleled--so then why the hell was he being so dumb about this? Was he really so self-absorbed that he thought this whole thing was about him?

Your temper flared, rising like the slow heat that was building under his hands. “I know this might be news to you,” you said slowly, “but not everything is about you. The model I trained takes in video as its input, and calculates rankings based on recommended weighting criteria that the Hero Commission gave me themselves. There is no place for me to input my own biases or change the results, so if the output is something that you’re ashamed of, then maybe you should do better.”

Bakugou’s eyes brightened, narrowing on you with an intensity that made you want to curl into the wall. “Say that again, you little fuck.”

You held your ground, ignoring the dangerous way the scent of hot smoke sharpened, leaning forward to bare your own teeth. “Maybe you should do better, you self-centered asshole.”

You were close enough that you could see his pupils dilate with the challenge, like a predator catching sight of its prey. An unsettling grin made its way across his mouth. “I am going to make you wish you’d never even seen a calculator, you smug fucking nerd,” he said, leaning into you.

The scent of gunpowder burned in the back of your throat, and the hands on you flared alarmingly hot, before the door to the hall burst open, and a whirlwind of red and yellow tore into the stairwell.

“Heya Blasty,” a voice chirped, echoing on the stairs, “Found ya.”

The shock of golden yellow resolved itself into the lean figure of Kaminari Denki, aka pro hero Chargebolt. He quickly made his way to Bakugou’s side, seizing an elbow.

“I’m busy, fuckstick. Fuck off,” Bakugou growled.

A large hand reached over Bakugou’s other shoulder to pull him off you, a head of gelled red spikes materializing behind his back, and you blinked up at Kirishima Eijirou, also known as Red Riot.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima smiled down at you warmly, in direct contrast to the way his fingers dug into Bakugou’s shoulder. His teeth looked incredibly sharp in person, but this fact somehow failed to detract from the warmth of his friendly expression. You blinked, stunned that you were being addressed by Red Riot.

“He’s been a little worked up since the results were released, but he’s harmless,” Kirishima explained, grunting a little as he jerked Bakugou away from you. Bakugou snarled and turned to his friend, a small volley of sparks lighting off of his palm.

“I said fuck off,” he growled.

You let out a choked laugh at the idea of Bakugou Katsuki being called harmless. Just this week he’d perfected a technique where he melted clean through concrete, and you’d seen the replay of him liquifying the side of a skyscraper on the news this morning as you’d been getting your makeup done.

“Harmless, right. Definitely felt that way,” you uttered as Kirishima struggled to get a grip on Bakugou.

“I’ll fucking show you harmless,” Bakugou spat, turning back to you, sparks crackling louder in his palm. Kirishima seized his chance quickly, getting a bulky arm around Bakugou’s chest and lifting him straight off the ground. Bakugou snarled and gripped Kirishima’s forearm, letting off an explosion that would have blown anyone else’s arm clean off, but Kirishima just laughed, ignoring that the sleeve of his suit had caught fire, and hauled Bakugou back through the door.

A litany of swears filtered back through the door before it swung shut again.

Kaminari turned to face you, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that. We didn’t realize he was gonna come after you like that, though I don’t think he would have actually done anything. He’s pretty much all talk.”

You waved a hand, still stunned that Chargebolt was speaking to you.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you said. “I just...didn’t expect that kind of a reaction.”

Kaminari chuckled. “He’s usually a little more chill these days--I think he’s just pissed he’s losing to Midoriya now.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “I gotta say, though, he was even more worked up than I expected when we got here. What did you say to him?”

You grimaced, thinking back on the tense conversation. “That if he was ashamed of his ranking, he should do better.”

Kaminari choked. “Oh fuck, he must have been pissed,” he managed, before dissolving into peals of laughter. “Do better. No wonder he looked like he was gonna give himself a hernia. Mina’s gonna wet herself when I tell her.”

You shifted uncomfortably. “He thinks I altered the results to get his attention.”

Kaminari’s chuckles tapered off as he set a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Oh, he’s just saying that. He knows he’s shit at assists. He’s just salty he’s actually gotta do something about it if he wants to be number one.”

You thought back to the feeling of that hard body pressing you up against the wall, the disdain that had twisted his handsome face, the burning heat that had built up under his palms. A shiver went down your spine. It had seemed like he was a little more than salty, but if that’s how his friend wanted to put it, then fine.

“Well, thanks for the save anyway,” you said, giving Kaminari a little smile. “I’d definitely give you and Kirishima Rescue of the Year if I was pre-determining my results.”

Kaminari laughed, turning back to the door that Kirishima had dragged Bakugou through. As if on cue, a small boom sent the door swinging open a little. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back to make sure I don’t have to rescue the rescuer.”

He gave you a casual wave, then crossed to the door quickly. He hesitated at the threshold, then peeked back over his shoulder at you.

“By the way,” he said. “You might want to take a look at your dress. I, um, think Bakugou may have gotten a little carried away.”

He disappeared before you could ask what he meant, but a quick glance down clarified soon enough. Right on your abdomen, where Bakugou had pinned you against the wall, lay a scorched cut out, exactly in the shape of one large hand.

Your mouth dropped open in horror.

That fucking dick.

[cuquitalocita]

i love you yeah yeah yeah |rowaelin month- day 3|

rowaelin masterlist 

an: i’m not gonna lie, i had so so much fun writing this one! i’m a tennis player and my sister is as well, therefore why i know so much about the junior pro league. for those of you who don’t know, the orange bowl is an actual tournament played internationally for juniors and i’m ranting wow so anyway i hope this isn’t too tennis vocab-y :)

word count: 3,876

~~

It’s the final two days before competition at the International Orange Bowl this year being held in Terrasen and it’s no surprise that tensions between players and academies are more than high. We’re so glad to be here for yet another year of thrilling competition in which the winners will automatically be placed into the first round of the U.S. Open. I, for one, and more than excited to see some new teen faces this year, what about you, Gavriel?

You know Cairn, I completely agree and as someone from Terrasen, you must be more than excited to see some friendly competition on your home turf.

Oh, I sure am excited, but I don’t know if you’d call this competition exactly ‘friendly.’ For those of you unaware, the rivalry between the TAT (Tennis Academy of Terrasen) and the DTC (Doranelle Tennis Center) has been going on for close to ten years now, beginning all the way back to when founders Maeve Vesta and Evalin Galathynius were in college, rivals through and through. Now adults, their children carry on their competitive legacy, taking the nation by storm. If you see the final match of any tournament, you can bet your money it’s a Doranelle kid and a Terrasen kid. 

The stakes sure are high during this tournament, as it isn’t closed, like the academies’ usual ones. Instead, anyone player eighteen years old and younger with the qualifying points was eligible to register. I’m looking forward to seeing some new faces this year. 

Me too, but you can never go wrong with the usual suspects. This year, my money is on eighteen year- old Rowan Whitethorn from Doranelle, ranked second in the country, in the men’s finals. As Maeve’s nephew, Rowan has been put in the spotlight for most of his life, not to mention taking a clear leadership role among the DTC alongside Lorcan Salvaterre. 

That’s a good point, Gavriel, in the past years Rowan has made it to at least the quarter-finals but has always lost before he can truly do. I have a feeling the kid has a lot more in him.  And as for the women, I wouldn’t be too surprised to see the Terrasen seventeen year- old cruising through a few rounds before her tough competition starts. We can’t expect anything less than Evalin Galathynius’ daughter, right?

I for one, am more than excited for pre- first-round interviews. It’s always quite interesting to see each players’ mindset before they set out for blood.

~~

“What do you think our favorite golden girl has in store for us this year, Gavriel? Something tells me she’s a little more than annoyed given what happened at the finals of the last international tournament held in Terassen when Remelle Frost from the Doranelle academy beat her in what was the biggest upset of the season.”

Aelin rolled her eyes and glared at the back of her mother’s seat, the woman in question frowning as the annoying voice of Cairn Rossa rang through the rental car. She reached forward to turn the station off just as Gavriel’s voice rang out once more.

“Let’s not beat around the bush here, Cairn,” the older man was responding. “I’ve been doing this just a bit longer than you enough to know when a player isn’t themselves. One loss isn’t the definition of a player the same way one win isn’t either. I suggest both teams- including Aelin and Remelle themselves- step onto the court, and play.” 

Aelin let out a satisfied huff. She knew she had always liked Gavriel. Aelin liked that the man looked at the players as more than just players in a video game or statistics on a screen. As a former player himself, Aelin knew the man understood the game in and out and was more than qualified to report during the national tournaments, no matter where he was born and what side he was essentially placed on. 

The station was snapped off as her mother’s finger found the correct button, earning an annoyed glare from the Uber driver next to her that she promptly ignored in favor of turning back to her daughter, opening her mouth to say something. Aelin’s own eyes stared back at her before shifting down to the phone she held in her hand. It had just buzzed signaling a new notification that had her mother lifting her brows. 

Aelin immediately shifted forward in an attempt to look over her mother’s should before her hand was on her face, batting her daughter away with a motherly ‘leave me alone’ look. She relented, leaning back into her seat with slumped shoulders. Finally, her mother huffed but remained with her back facing Aelin. 

She knew it was different this year, she could practically feel it in the air. Without her father with the two women in the car, the tournament atmosphere was a different universe. 

It was getting dark outside, the sun setting behind them as they drove through the dazzling city. The car came to an abrupt stop in front of the hotel that sent Aelin jerking out of her own thoughts. Her mother turned back to her with a sad knowing smile and patted her daughter’s knee.

“We’re here. Try to get some sleep- you have a long day tomorrow.”

~~

“What’s the plan for today?” Aelin asked her mother around a mouthful of bagel the next morning. It wasn’t every day the founder of the University came to watch her players in a tournament, but whoever won this won would be fed into the first round of an official professional tournament. It would be amazing PR for the academy, Aelin knew, but she also knew her mother felt bad that her father had escorted Aelin to all of her tournaments in prior years. And now that he wasn’t here anymore… 

“Eat up- after you’re done I’ve reserved three courts at the complex and we’ll get together with everyone.” ‘Everyone’ being every other players from the academy who had enough points to enter the qualifiers. Not all of them were as highly ranked as Aelin, but she found it helpful to train with them all the same. They were her friends. “We do need to pick Lysandra up from the airport first though,” she said as she frowned at her phone. “Her flight was supposed to have landed a few minutes ago but she hasn’t reached out…”

Aelin rolled her eyes at her mother, she always did have a thing with protectiveness over her best friend. 

“Mom, don’t worry about it,” Aelin assured her. “Aed said he would pick her up and then meet us at the courts. I wouldn’t want to be in that car if I were you.” She faked a gag, causing her mother to laugh. 

“Alright then. Eat, find your rackets, and take the rental to the courts. It was just delivered this morning. I have some business to finish here at the hotel.” She left Aelin with a kiss to the head. 

~~

It didn’t take long for Aelin to pull up to the familiar yet daunting tennis complex bigger than even the academy, and she pushed the car into park, simply staring for a moment. 

This was it. 

Three years she had come close to winning as the youngest person in history. So close. But this was the year. This was her year. She could do this. She would do this. 

And so Aelin Galathynius pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin as she grabbed her massive tennis bag from the trunk and slung it over her shoulders. The weight was heavy and familiar as she walked through the glass double doors and to the front desk, only to halt in her tracks when she came face to face with a familiar head of silver hair. 

Rowan Whitethorn.

She had quite often mused about how unfair it was that her essential biggest rival was so attractive. It didn’t really make hating him very fair, now did it? But there he stood, green eyes shining and teeth flashing as he snapped something at the young man at the desk. The poor boy looked ready to pee himself and Aelin couldn’t help but release a sharp laugh, causing both Rowan and the blonde next to him to whip around.

Aelin watched as Rowan’s eyes sparked and his mouth curved into a sneer as he took her in from head to toe. She forced herself still and kept her eyes on his face. It was all she could do. Rowan opened his mouth and Aelin prepared her hackles to rise instantly.

“Aelin. Good to see you here.” But it wasn’t Rowan who spoke. No, it was Remelle Frost, her least favorite bottle blonde on the planet that spoke as she curled a possessive hand over Rowan’s bicep. Aelin simply rolled her eyes, never one to beat around the bush. It was common knowledge that the blondes didn’t like each other. And after the Adarlan tournament, Aelin wouldn’t hide her disdain for the girl.

“Wish I could say the same,” she replied dismissively as she shouldered past Rowan and made for the front desk. One charming smile and the boy seemed to handle her much better than Rowan. She gave him her mother’s name, him quickly nodding a confirmation and giving her the court numbers, saying they would be available in just a moment.

She turned around, unsurprised to see Rowan glaring at the back of her head. It had been almost eight years of this rivalry. At least for them. Aelin thought it might’ve been a little ridiculous, considering that it started with her mother and his aunt, but the Doranelle kids just made it so easy to hate them. So easy to want to pound them on and off the court. She wouldn’t apologize for the adrenaline the rivalry provided her with.

Aelin smirked, cocking her hip. “Like what you see?”

“Hardly,” he growled. “Just wondering whether or not you actually came to play this time.” 

Aelin recognized the comment for what it was- a direct jab to the last tournament where she had lost to Remelle. If the comment hadn’t pissed her off so much she would’ve recognized the compliment for what it was. 

“Well, that depends which game you’re talking about, Whitethorn.” Her voice was just teasing enough to annoy him once more, and Aelin’s grin grew. 

“Don’t you have a court to go find?” Remelle cut in from beside Rowan, who had distanced himself from her. Aelin didn’t blame him. She wanted to do the same thing.

“And here I was enjoying our little chat. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, mar sin leat.”

“This isn’t Terrasen,” Remelle hissed. “We say ‘good luck’ here. Gods, you Terrasen kids are pieces of-” 

Someone caught her by the waist as Aelin attempted to throw herself at the girl and she was soon spun around in their arms, coming face to face with her own eyes. Aedion’s were flashing too as his eyes were fixed behind her, no doubt at Rowan. 

“Leave it, Ace, it’s not worth it.” 

“It’s true, princess,” Rowan finally spoke with a sneer. “You’re gonna need those pretty little hands tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you to have an excuse when you get your ass kicked.”  

“Oh, I’ll show you-” 

Aedion dragged her away before she could get another word out, her fists clenched and her teeth bared. She shoved him when he put her down.

“Fucking Doranelle,” Aedion spat under his breath as he shook his head. 

He merely gestured to a figure behind her, causing Aelin to whip around with wide eyes. Shit. Duke Perrington grinned at her through the snake-eyed lens of his camera and gave her a tiny wave as she bared her teeth at him

Perfect. Now it would look like Terrasen had begun a fight before the tournament even began. 

Her mother was going to kill her. 

~~

Aelin felt like the stadium had never been bigger. She had known this year she would be playing where the professionals themselves did, including Maeve and her mother, but never in a million years had it looked so daunting or made her feel so small. 

The tournament had been, well needless to say, easy for Aelin so far. She had breezed through her first few matches, absolutely destroying the poor girls, and her third had been straight sets as well. But now it was the semis. And she would have to face Remelle on center court. It seemed the gods liked playing jokes on Aelin Galathynius. 

She could feel every pair of eyes snap to hers the moment she stepped onto the court but she looked forward. Maybe she was a crowd favorite- but that would do her no favors in the upcoming match. Aelin thought she was going to hurl all over her new shoes and she let the deafening cheering of the audience cover the sound of her pounding heart. 

Remelle walked in not long after she and Aelin met her in the middle of the court, racket in hand. Showtime. 

Aelin might have been paying attention when the coin had been flipped, might have been minimally involved when she called heads or when she won the call and opted to serve first. She might have been only slightly aware of her surroundings as she took a small sip of her water and walked to the back of the court. 

And then it was movement.

It was backward and forwards, side to side, low and high, and it was the same dance Aelin knew better than anything. The same feeling in her feet when she sprinted to the ball and the same stretch of muscles when she reached for a shot. This was who she was- this was the pattern she had lived for ten years. 

But it didn’t seem to matter, not as the score continued to tip less and less in her favor with every passing point. She was playing well- but Remelle was playing better. And there was nothing Aelin could do but survive and ignore the satisfied smirks the other girl would throw her during their side changes. 

Think, Aelin, think. 

Nothing was coming to her head. All she could hear was the pounding adrenaline through her body telling her to play. To cross each bridge when she came to it. There was nothing more she could do than play.

It was then, when Aelin threw herself at a particularly difficult ball, that she felt something shift. And she knew she was screwed. 

Aelin was a tennis player- she had rolled her ankle before. But this was different. It had never hurt this bad. And as the rest of her body came down with her ankle, she thought that it could be it. That it was the end of the match all due to a stupid ankle injury. 

With her heart in her throat, Aelin signaled to the red- headed umpire. 

Injury, she mouthed to her, and the woman- Ansel, it seemed her name was- simply nodded. She was in the massive locker room without a second thought, dragging out a spare bucket of ice held in one of the corners of the room and shoved her foot it. Might as well get it over with.

Aelin winced as the ice on her foot began to take effect and her muscles began to ache, her breathing beginning to lose its consistency. Gods, she hated this. She hated the useless feeling that came over her at the thought of possibly being unable to finish the match. At the thought of all the people, she would be letting down. 

She was tired. Aelin was so, so tired.

Gods, she just needed-

The door to the locker room burst open with a loud and abrupt clang, causing Aelin to jerk forward, spilling water on the ground as she opened her mouth. She was ready to tell them that she needed some privacy before her eyes locked onto a familiar figure that sent her heart pounding for a different reason. 

“Rowan, you can’t be in here!” 

The hulking boy ignored her protests, striding over her in no more than a few steps, both of his hands immediately going to the base of her neck to search her gaze with his own worried one, clearly not caring that he was in the girl’s locker room and would be kicked out of the tournament if he was found. 

“Are you alright?” he insisted, his voice low and hoarse, forest eyes intense.

The gentleness in which he touched her had Aelin sighing and her hands reached up to lightly take hold of his wrists, bringing them down and gathering them in her own hands to hold to her chest. 

She hadn’t meant to fall for Rowan Whitethorn.

But like everything in her life, it had happened quickly and unexpectedly, and Aelin had dealt with it head-on. It had been a year now. An entire year of playing tournaments in each other’s home’s just so they could see each other. Just so no suspicion was be aroused by the tabloids. 

And Aelin hated it. 

All she wanted to do was be able to link her hand through Rowan’s in public without causing a public scandal about a decade-long rivalry. 

“I’m okay, you fussy buzzard,” she teased as she looked at him, pleased to see when the frown on his lips twitched the slightest bit upward. “It was just a little fall. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

But because he knew her so well, he had heard the uncertainty and fear in her voice as she spoke. So saying nothing, he pulled Aelin to his chest and allowed his arms to wrap around her completely, enveloping her in the scent that she had considered home for months.

And as she breathed him in, she wished home wasn’t always so godsdamned far. 

Rowan let her breathe shakily into his chest, constantly running a soothing hand up and down her back as he hummed a small melody that he often did to get her to sleep over the phone at night. Aelin was the first person to admit it was much better in person.

“You don’t have to do it, Aelin,” he said finally, his movements never ceasing. “You don’t owe them anything.” 

She knew who he was referring to of course, of the people who had come to watch the new ‘upcoming star’ in action and were expecting to see quite the show. They were the people Aelin had been trained to want to impress. 

Aelin pulled back to tilt her chin up and look him in the eyes. 

“I can’t just quit, Rowan. I won’t.”

“You have nothing to prove, Fireheart.” And Aelin almost broke as he used the nickname her father had. “Not to anyone.” 

She shook her head, helplessness seeping through her body more and more as she looked at the boy in front of her. The pain in her ankle was even worse now. Unsurprisingly, he noticed, and his calloused hands moved to her wrists as he lead her back over to the bucket of ice water.

He kneeled down in front of the bench as she sat down and placed her foot in the water, wincing along with her even after she threw a glare at him.

I don’t see you with a foot in ice.

Seeing you in pain is enough to hurt me, his eyes gazed back playfully. Aelin rolled her eyes, quickly shutting them as another shock of pain rushed through her body, making her inhale sharply. 

Her boyfriend frowned once more, clearly upset he could do nothing to help her. So he gathered her hands in his own, bringing them to his face to place a gentle kiss on them, pulling an unwitting smile from Aelin. 

“I love you,” she said quietly. Rowan met her soft gaze for a moment before Aelin leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers in a kiss she hoped said everything she couldn’t. Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you. I wish we weren’t a secret. 

“I love you too, Fireheart.” 

She would never get sick of hearing him say that. Of hearing the utter truth in his words. 

Rowan was watching her with that adoring look he reserved only for her, his face open so she could see every emotion playing across his face. It only made her want to kiss him again.

So she did, although this time he met her halfway, taking her chin lightly between two fingers and tilting it up so he could kiss her thoroughly as her hands rested at the base of his neck, lightly twirling the pieces of soft hair she found there.

They sat there for a while, simply kissing, enjoying the feeling of each other’s lips and proximity when it was so few and far between, and Aelin relished in the feeling of loving someone who loved her back. In the feeling of not having to act. 

When she accidentally tugged at a knot in his hair, Rowan pulled away with a painful groan and a nip to her bottom lip, causing Aelin to laugh and push his cheek away with two fingers.

“Sorry, Buzzard,” she laughed as Rowan stood up, with a playful glare. He folded his arms in front of him and it was only then that Aelin remembered she had a foot inside of a bucket of ice. And her medical time out was running out. “Shit. I have to go.” 

Aelin jumped into action, taking her foot out of the ice with a hiss and grabbing a towel as Rowan maneuvered himself around her to find her shoes and socks. Apparently he had understood her message loud and clear about her intentions on forfeiting the match or not- he wasn’t stupid enough to argue with her.

Quickly enough, Aelin was good as new- well, as new as she could be with a half swollen ankle.

“Well,” she dropped her arms to her sides and turned to her boyfriend. “How do I look?”

“Like an idiot who shouldn’t be playing.”

“Or…?” she arched a brow. Rowan sighed and stepped toward her, his hands bracing both of her arms as he leaned forward to press an earnest kiss to her forehead. 

“Or Terrasen’s champion,” he murmured against her skin. 

Aelin grinned, a wicked and feral smile that meant she was ready to raise hell.

“Now that’s more like it.” 

~~

If someone had asked Aelin to regale the crowd with details of her match after she had come out victorious, she would have been unable to do so. Because all she remembered was the pounding of her feet on the ground, and the neon color of the tennis ball, and the feeling of her heart palpitating in her chest. 

Oh, and of course she couldn’t forget the moment after her match- winning shot, when every care and inhibition had left her in one foul swoop. When she had sprinted over to the stands and thrown herself into the arms of the silver- haired enemy, delighting in his deep laughter.. 

And kissed him in the middle of the stadium for all to see.

~~

this prompt was: secret dating 

taglist:

@story-scribbler

@rowaelinismyotp

@live-the-fangirl-life

@claralady

@surielandiareendgame

[toomanyfandoms02]

Evidence // Spencer Reid x Reader

HEY guess who's back. I'm SO SO SO sorry for the delay. I've been having the most SERIOUS case of writers block and I'm finally pulling myself out of it YAYYYY. So here ya go.

Not a request, but I couldn't resist this prompt!

Summary - Spencer and Reader get locked in the evidence room.

Prompt - “What on earth happened in here?"

Word count - 2.9k

Spencer and I often stayed after together to finish up work. We didn't like to have to wake up so early to make touch ups. So here we were, sitting on the floor in the back of the evidence room. We were sat behind tall filing cabinets, a dim lamp lit beside us.

We were working a case in Arizona involving 3 girls. It was running relatively smooth, the problem was that the police station that we were placed at was in the middle of nowhere. And that was proven by the signal warning on my phone.

*unable to send message.*

Good thing it wasn't anything important.

There were multiple pages sprawled out in front of us, we looked between them all.

"I don't think we will have to stay too long after today." I commented. "It looks like we are working pretty fast this time around."

"I guess we're getting the hang of this " Spencer laughed, writing something down.

*click*

I craned my neck around the cabinets, wondering if someone was coming in the door. Seeing no one, I turned back to him, shrugging my shoulders.

We continued for another hour (and 28 minutes by Spencer's count). I stacked the papers together, shutting them in a folder and tucking it under my arm. I stood from my previous position, stretching my back.

"That's enough sitting on a concrete floor for me." I complained, hunching over and dragging myself to the door. This earned a laugh from Spencer. I reached for the knob, eager to get to the hotel and sleep.

But the knob only jiggled.

And jiggled.

And didn't budge.

"Uh. I think, I think the door is locked." I whispered, turning to Spencer slowly.

"No way." He stated, lightly pushing me out of the way. I listened as he jiggled it, desperately trying to turn the door knob. His head was placed against the glass, hands framing his eyes while he looked out the small doors window. "The lights are all off out there. I think they are on night patrol."

"Well this is thrilling." I laughed, slumping onto the floor. I pulled my phone from my pocket, holding it in the air and attempting to call Emily. The call started, my excitement being crushed by a warning on my phone.

*Your call cannot go through at the moment, we are unable to find a signal.*

Well fine then.

"Do you know how to pick a lock?" He asked.

"If there was anyone that knows how to pick a lock, I thought it would be you."

"Why?" His posture looked stiff and offended.

"You know everything." I deadpanned offering a dumb look. He rolled his eyes at this and sat down across from me. "Do you think we'll die in here?" I asked nonchalantly. Spencer squinted his eyes at me.

"Well statistically, no." And that's all he said.

"Is that all you got?"

"I'm too tired to ramble." He groaned. His head was leaned back on a cabinet. "But I will say that on average night patrols and at around 3:30 to 4 am. So we have quite a few hours to kill." The clock on the wall read 11:17. Yeah, we had some time to kill.

"Alright, we aren't just gonna sit here. We are gonna play games, I can't stand to sit in silence." Spencer sat up slightly, flashing me a confused look.

"Like what?"

"We are going to start with would you rather. I'll start." My head started sorting through all of the would you rather questions I had been asked that I loved and found the perfect one for this genius.

"Would you rather lose the ability to read or the ability to speak." I watched as he opened his mouth to answer then closed it, thinking again. I thought this would be a pretty obvious answer for him.

"I think I would lose the ability to speak. I could do nearly everything the same. I would just have to write my findings down." He sat in thought for a moment. "Would you rather have unlimited international first class tickets or never have to pay for food at restaurants?" I was thoroughly surprised by the question.

"That's a good one! I definitely want to travel, but I do eat a lot... First class tickets. I want to see ancient ruins, can't walk to them." I laughed. We played this game for around 10 more minutes before getting extremely bored of it.

"Alright enough of this." I groaned, coming up with a new idea. "We are gonna play two truths and a lie. Pretty straight forward, I'll start and you try to guess which one is a lie." Spencer nodded and waited. "I broke my leg while falling from a tree when I was 9, I've had a crush on someone on the team, and I once ate nerds candy for a whole week when I was 7 and had to get my stomache pumped." The last one had his eyebrows furrowing. I remained still and emotionless so he couldn't read me as well.

"I completely believe that you ate candy for a week and had to get medical attention as a result." He pointed out oh so graciously. "And you're a total klutz too, so it wouldn't surprise me if you broke your leg. Plus I think I'd know if you ever liked someone on the team. Final answer you've never had a crush on anyone on the team." He looked so smug in the moment, this just got me more pumped to wipe that smile from his face.

"Nope." As expected, his face immediately fell.

"Who did you like!" Spencer's arms were flailing in exasperation.

"I don't have to tell you that." I chuckled. "Now you go." My foot kicked his lightly, egging him on. He gave a glare and moved on reluctantly.

"I'm afraid of the dark, the only reason I drink coffee is because I had a crush on a girl who liked it, and I drank 11 cups of coffee one day and was up for 39 hours straight."

"You definitely drink coffee because you like it and not because of a girl, lie." There was no question about it, that would be a dumb reason to drink something.

"Actually that is why I drink coffee."

Huh?

"The lie is that I was up for 39 hours straight, I was only up for 35."

"Christ Spence!" I shook my head in disapproval. "Tell me about the girl." I could see his cheeks flush in the slightest. ~~Silently wishing that I could make him feel like that~~

"Her name was Josephine and she lived on my street. She and I would play chess together in the park whenever I wasn't studying, and she would bring a cup of coffee every day. Eventually, in my own way to impress her, I started bringing coffee too. And she liked that, but of course we drifted apart because of how fast my life was moving. It's unfortunate." He was staring down at his hands now. "You and her are very similar. I think that's why we've gotten so... close." That comment got me very curious.

"How were we alike? If you don't mind me asking."

"She was kind and funny, never let anyone down. And she was intelligent. Not only in personality either, you have the same color hair and eyes. I bet you guys would have gotten along really well." I could see him making his thinking face, I assume he was looking into past memories.

"That's so sweet." I kicked his foot with a smile, bringing him back to reality. "So, last round until we are playing the dreaded truth or dare ooooOooOooOooo." Spencer laughed and rolled his eyes. "I use to have a cat named Piglet because of how obsessed with Winnie the Pooh I was, my first boyfriends name was Spencer, and I play guitar."

"There is absolutely no way your first boyfriends name was Spencer, it's the 828th most popular name. That would be nearly impossible or a crazy coincidence." His hand gestured were out of this world at this point, completely flabbergasted that I would even try to tell him such a *lie*.

"Wrong again pretty boy, that's true. His name was Spencer Allen Sallow. The only reason I remember his middle name is because I remember his initials being 'SAS'. Are you ready for truth or dare?"

"I guess." He mocked annoyance and threw his head back.

"Ok, truth or dare?"

"Truth."

"If you could make one wish, right this second, what would it be?" He stared at me intently for a moment, as if he was looking for the answer in me. He then lightly shook his head, it was so small, but hard to miss considering we were practically having a staring contest.

"I would wish for the door to be unlocked so I could sleep at the hotel." His head nodded.

"Boring, I choose dare." I was now sitting much closer to him, waiting for whatever that beautiful brain could come up with. Spencer looked to the papers on the floor and then back at me, an evil smirk forming on his lips.

"Do a snow angel in our paperwork." My shoulders slumped.

"What if I rip something!" I wouldn't usually whine like this but *geez* I did not want to redo all this.

"Just be careful then." I looked at him with a pleading look. "Oh so you're *boring*." That's what got me.

"**Fine!**" I slowly lowered myself onto the papers, flattening out and looking up to Spencer, he was hovering over me slightly in a criss-crossed position with that evil smirk. His hands gestured me on.

I laid my arms and legs and and moved them, hearing the paper scrape against the floor and giggling. I had to admit, it was fun. And if having fun with Spencer meant I had to redo a few papers.

Then so be it.

I sat up after Spencer told me I'm done through fits of laughter, holding his stomache and nearly toppled flat on the floor. I looked around happily to see most papers were only crinkled, not ripped. I'll just have to flatten them out tomorrow.

"Okay asshat, truth or dare." He tapped his chin, looking daring for once.

"Dare." Perfect.

"Serenade me." I crossed my arms over my chest as I watched his face fall.

"With just my voice?"

"Oh no no, I have an instrument, the bag I carry with us on cases is like a never ending bag." I reached into the giant bag and pulled out a ukelele case, but not an *ordinary* uke case, a *mini* uke case. "Can you play ukelele?" I pulled it from the case, handing it over to him.

"No, but I may be able to pick it up."

"So you will actually serenade me!?" I got my hands ready to clap.

"Sure, why not." I clapped infinitely fast, watching him pluck at the strings a bit and lean back into the cabinets. Then he started on a beat, one that I recognized.

"Put your head on my shoulder, hold me in your arms, baby. Squeeze me oh so tight. Show me that you love me too." I listened to him through the whole song, knowing full well that as soon as he was strumming that ukelele I was already done for.

"How did I do?" He strummed the last chord and look up at me with a smile.

Oh how I wanted to tell him that he serenaded me to the sun and back.

"That was amazing! You learned that om the spot?"

"Yeah, like piano. It's basically just math and note remembrance." He shrugged, setting it back in my case. "Truth or dare."

"Truth."

"What's the first thing on your bucket list and your biggest secret?"

"You can't ask two questions, that's cheating!" I laughed.

"You technically never specified that so, answer."

This little shit.

"Fine. The first thing on my bucket list has been the same since I was an 8th grader, which is to fall in love. And I know that's cliche but I'm sticking to it." I didn't want to tell him my biggest secret. Truth be told I had a pretty normal life, so my biggest secret was my attraction to him. After telling my mom about it she told me workplace romances were dangerous and wrong, so I tried so hard to get over it. But it's not going away, it's doing anything but that.

"Come on y/n, I'm not going to judge you for your secret."

Yeah uh huh, sure.

"It's embarrassing, and I would prefer not to tell you in a locked room so I can immediately escape after I tell you. So can I just tell you when the door gets unlocked?"

"It can't be that bad."

"It is."

"Please Y/n!"

"I like you!" His mouth shut quickly, tilting his head like a confused puppy. Now that I had given out my biggest secret, I felt a little... powerful. I crossed my arms firmly over my chest, maintaining eye contact, my heart pounding out of my chest. He wanted the truth and he got it, I hope he's happy to be stuck with me in this room for another hour and a half.

"Really?" Was all he could say.

"No. I just said that I could have awkward tension swirling around the room for the next hour, I love doing that." I replied in the most monotone voice I could muster. A very faint smile was appearing on Spencer's face, making me a little nervous. He quirked one eyebrow.

"Are you sure it's not sexual tension?"

What?

My eyebrows raised at the question. Was he... flirting with me? I didn't know he knew how to do that, let alone so *well*. He began speaking again.

"Truth or dare?"

"It's my turn to ask you."

"Truth. Or. Dare." Who knew Mr. Sweatervest could seem so intimidating.

"Dare."

"I dare you to act on your biggest secret." Is this some weird way to make me kiss him, because it's working. If we aren't on the same page, this is about to get Mega embarrassing, but I don't think this could get any weirder. I crawled forward, placing myself on his lap and staring into his eyes. I've never seen him smile so big.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Actually no, this is awful you should really stop." He deadpanned, lightly placing his hands on my hips.

"One, since when do you use sarcasm. And two, I hate you." I giggled, pulling his face to mine. One of his hands fled to my cheek, rubbing his thumb across it. He pressed further into the kiss, all while pulling me impossibly closer.

Is this real?

I pulled one hand away from his face, putting it on the skin of my thigh and pinching myself.

"Ouch shit!"

And apperantly I don't know my own strength.

"Are you okay?" Spencer's face was a wave of concern, scanning over my face quickly to make sure he didn't do something wrong.

"Yeah I was just, pinching myself to make sure this was real." I lifted my hand to his shoulder, resting it there.

"Why? Is this like a lot of your dreams?" He winking obviously at me as I slapped his chest.

"Please stop." I whined, pulling myself off of his lap. "I'm very tired and we still have an hour left, are you up for a cat nap?" I pulled a blanket from my bag. "We can use this as a pillow, it's already pretty hot in here."

"Definitely." I made it into a pillow, giving him enough room. He slung his arm around me, burying his head in the crook of my neck. "Thank you for telling me. And for the record, I wouldn't want to be locked in a room with anyone else." And with many papers scattered messily around us, we fell asleep.

-

I shot up, hearing voices I knew all too well.

"What the hell is happening, since when it pretty boy a playboy."

"Finally! Now y/n can stop silently pining and telling me about it."

"I knew those two had chemistry."

I blinked slowly, trying to release the sleep from my eyes. Spencer's sleepy arm was still wrapped around my waist, unmoving. Once my eyes adjusted I was met with the staring eyes of Derek, Garcia and Emily. Then there was Hotch, just entering the room.

“What on earth happened in here?"

"We got locked in here and played some innocent party games." I explained gesturing to the messy papers. "Spencer dared me to make a snow angel in our files." I smiled sheepishly. Spencer was now stirring awake, sitting up and looking at our teammates. Derek held out his hand for a fist bump and Spencer highfived it weakly.

"Told you you would rope her in." He chuckled. I rolled my eyes at the comment and stood up.

"Let's finish up this case. We've only had 1 hour of sleep and I want this day to be over with already. Save the comments for when I'm asleep on the jet." And with that we were off.

But let's not ignore that Spencer and I's hands were clasped beneath every table we sat at that day, it's not to be ignored.

And I won't be forgetting that day any time soon.

[binniesthighs]

eehee here it is the long awaited results of my chaotic ass survey about our hornies it’s so long holy heck, but I have seperated it into a couple sections to make sense of it all (omg if you read all of it lemme give you a kith teehee) ahhhh lol its SO nerdy haha but i hope that ya enjoy nonetheless! ✨

In this essay, I will....(hahah jk jk this is just all for fun) 

1. Demographics Analysis 

2. Polls on Fic Content 

3. Member Specific Analysis 

4. Deep Dive into the Juicy Questions (Confessions) 

5. General Thoughts and Conclusion  

6.  Cute shit that ya’ll said that made me giggle

*Unpopular opinions will be made into their own post to give them ample space and analysis!

Other Notes: 

Out of 100 individuals surveyed, 44 were readers, 2 were only writers, and 54 were both readers and writers. 

Statistical significance can be effected by sampling, selection, and response bias (yeah i took a stats class teehee) and personal biases 

All the the opinions and other analysis presented by me (Ro/binniesthighs) are purely my own oponion and are not factual. you are entitled to interpret all of this information however you like! Anything that i analyze is not definitive! 

while this survey is mostly about stay smutblr, i hope that it can also maybe serve as a template for other fandoms as well with the more general questions! this is a survey for everyone! 

i’d love to hear about what you think about anything presented in this analysis! feel free to send me an ask or comment! reposting is permitted within tumblr or on other platforms if proper credit is given! ❤️ (uwu hehe if you could please help me spread this i would appreciate it so much! i worked really hard on her 🥺) 

1. Demographics Analysis:

Gender Identities of those Surveyed 

~My thoughts: this really came as no surprise to me considering how the majority of kpop fans (especially boy group fans) identify as female! Seeing as I am a Stray Kids/Seventeen blog (both of them boy groups) it makes sense to me that my readers would mostly identify as female! 

Another important thing to note (from a writer standpoint at least) is the wide array of identities that we still have present within the general audience of stay smut blur (SSB)! I’ll get into this later when i discuss favorite pairings to read, however i think that this gives us one more reason to write for a diverse audience of readers who can identify with different types of self-insert fics! 

Top Five: 

Female (81%) 

Non-binary/gender non-conforming (13%) 

Changes by the day (6%) 

Male (4%) 

Demiboy/Demigirl (3%) 

Sexual Orientation of those Surveyed 

Other identities mentioned: 

????, unlabeled, aromatic bisexual, bicurious, demisexual, “just liking who i like”, experimenting, heteroflexible, sapiosexual, depends day by day, “i just like anyone” 

~My thoughts: okkkkk i see us gays of SSB 😏 these demographics were really exciting for me to see! i think that it’s super cool that we have such representation across the board when it comes to sexual orientations present in our community! As someone who personally identifies as pan, this was super comforting to see that there are so many others like me in this little space of the internet! I think it’s safe to say at least from my lil survey that all the bi cuties out here own SSB 💗💜💙

From a literal standpoint, it also makes sense to me that heterosexuality is strongly present as well considering that often the pairs that we read are male idol x female reader so this is the perfect niche! 

Top Five: 

Bisexual (40.8%) 

Heterosexual (26.5) 

Pansexual (17.3%) 

Queer (7.1%) 

Asexual (4.1%) 

Stay Creators!! 

~My thoughts: this one i was THRILLED at seeing oml hahaha and i was so interested to see that this was nearly an even split! 

I think that there’s something to be said about how sometimes we can take our hobbies: (movies, videogames, books, kpop, anime etc)--all things which we really like in totally normal and healthy ways but also kinda like....get hornies about them too? if that makes sense? for example, i have a friend who really likes certain video games/characters from these games as a fan and he’s shared with me that he also doesn’t mind watching porn containing those same characters! (ahahah ya all know what i mean don’t even lie haha) 

what this question proved to me as that there are stays out there who practice “being a stay/being a stay creator” who also are interested in the more...horny side of this hobby/interest 😂

what is even more interesting to me is who i wonder if i’ve  have consumed any of ya’ll’s content while you have consumed mine??? this i am DYING to know aha but it think its best for all of us to stay anonymous teehee ;) 

either way, good on ya for doing what ya do!! you are so so treasured in this community too!! <3 

2. Polls on Fic Content (a long section lol) 

Favorite Pairing to Read 

*other options selected were rankings of favorite pairings so i just added each of them as an entry to the respective category mentioned. 

Top Five: 

Idol x female reader (69%) 

Idol x gender neutral reader (19%) 

Idol x reader x Idol (poly r/ship) (14%) 

Idol x reader, Idol x reader (threesome, not much interaction between the two idols) (8%) 

~My thoughts: once again, this category was pretty self explanatory to me considering that the majority of readers are female identifying, so it would make sense that they would prefer to read smut that aligns with their identity! This is also super present anyway of SSB as i do feel like the majority of writing pieces that I do come along are idol x female reader, and most authors too often disclaim that they are the most comfortable writing this type of pairing as well. 

What’s signficant as well is the interest in reading fics with gender neutral reader self inserts as well! this is my personal philosophy when it comes to writing (specifically with requests) but i think that writing gn!reader is always the safest bet to go as to not make assumptions about readers! for writers i think that seeing this 19% is something important to take into consideration! 

An outlier to me with this demographic was the “poly r-ship” poll garnering a notable 14% in comparison to the idol x idol option which got 10 less votes (4%). what is a little confusing to me about this is how poly r/ships often (but not always) contain idol x idol content, however there is discrepancy with the amount of readers outright saying that they enjoy reading it alone. I’ll get into poly fics later with the unpopular opinions section--however i wanted to plant the seed here hehe. One other caveat to this is the fact that on SSB i feel like idol x idol content is really in the minority and is much more present on a platform like AO3 so this could be another explaination! 

What is kinda cute to me is the fact that readers do really like poly r-ship dynamics more than a threesome (as i defined it, “with less interaction”) so this makes me feel like we are all saps for the fluff that comes with poly r-ship fics ;) 

Favorite Kind of Smut to Read 

male idol smut (67%) 

i read both! (female and male idol smut) (25%) 

depends on my mood (7%) 

female idol smut (1%) 

~My thoughts: Again, this is super expected to me as well considering the above statistics. Since i am a skz blog (a boy group) --as are my moots-- it really makes sense that those who filled out this survey would be into male idol smut! 

what was cool for me to see as well was the number of readers who also read female idol smut as well as male idol smut! personally, i more predominately a fan of boy groups compared to the amount of girl group content that I consume (note: i do also consume gg content). because of this, i think that its really up to personal preferences and the content that you consume that can be reflective of the smut content that you consume as well and ya know, whoever gets your hornies going ;) 

Favorite Genres...Ranked! 

*so this was my fault lol i totally formatted this question poorly in google forms so i’ll try to summarize the most popular rankings with my words haha 

*bc of the way that i miffed it (lol) i wasn’t able to get exact measurements, but rough ones! 

Top Five: 

Smut, fluff, angst 

smut n’ fluff (with specific emphasis angst is not desired)  

smut, angst, fluff, 

fluff, smut, angst, 

angst, fluff, smut 

~My thoughts: by far, the most popular ranking that i saw was as follows: smut, fluff, angst. i saw this sososos many times haha also...ya’ll got really creative with your rankings and it made me giggle hehe. So! seeing as this is stay smutblr haha makes total sense that the three most popular rankings that we have were lead by smut! since we’re here for the hornies, i totally get this. 

as for the “smut n’ fluff” or “fluffy smut” category, there was a decent amount of readers that expressed that this mixture is their fave! i’m kinda looping this with the “mixture” option that i also provided for this question since this was the most popular mixture that i was able to observe along with angst + smut. interestingly, i saw a couple mentions of “hurt/comfort” fics with this question too so this went well with this preference. as for number three on this list, we dip into that smut + angst category that I just mentioned as well. there were several individuals who said that they really really enjoy reading smut with angst! 

lastly we get to the four and five on the list: four being fluff, smut and angst. i think this category can also properly represent the folx who tend to like more fluffy fics over the smutty ones, but that can also have suggestive themes too! in five, we have angst, fluff and smut which also is representative of another theme that i saw: as far as plot goes, several people mentioned that they liked fics that start with angst, get fluffier, and then end up in smut, so i think that this could be easily compared! 

*there were also several readers who simply said “all of them” or opted not to rank, (lol me) so this really shows the variability in results! 

Cute stuff ya’ll said (kind of out of context too LOL) 

“... hehE I HOPE THIS MAKES SENSE.” 

“...I KNOW IT [my ranking] LOOKS TERRIBLY SPECIFIC AND IM SO SORRY and I guess the better way to describe that was one that has all 3 with a happy ending lol my b my b.” 

“ ...it just depends on the mood my dude.” 

“... (the smut doesn’t have to be soft i just want the relationship to be soft and i want aftercare and general affection).” 

“(but almost no angst oops)” 

“angst honestly makes me so sad.” 

“... but long fics with angst and slow burn smut/fluff is just WOW.” 

“ my favourite thing is when it's fluffy smut tbh with a little bit of angsty backstory. that is *chefs kiss*” 

“(I'm a sucker for good angsty fics but I cant seem to find them???)” 

“Smut, Fluff, Angst (I tend to be a bit of a purist so no mixture here).” 

“(i can't read pure angst lol) “ 

“(I love how much plot there is in angsty fics but I personally can't read anything without a happy ending, i just can't take it)” 

“ i literally couldn't rank them bc my mood is always changing lmaooo.” 

“ smut, fluff, angst. i know what i’m about.” 

Favorite Length of Fics 

Top Five: 

5k-8k words (27%) 

2k-4k words (25%) 

1k-2k words (20%) 

10k-20k words (15%) 

20k words (12%) 

~My thoughts: this one was super helpful for me to see!! and writers i hope that this is helpful for you too! as someone who tends to rambles (lol) it was very comforting for me to see that long-ish fics are actually preferred! what is really cool about this data too is that it is all super well balanced for the most part and nearly edqual in some parts! how i see this, i think that when it comes to preferences of length, its really reader specific so anyone could like anything! this goes into a little bit the slow burn question that i asked as well too, but it’s really cool to see that when readers do read, they kinda like something to sink their teeth into! 

i wanted to look into how long it takes you to read these words, and it appears that on average, a 5-8k fic can take someone 30 mins to read whereas a 2-4k fic takes about 15mins! idk if this says something about attention spans, but as a writer it warms my heart to know that you’re willing to spend 30 minutes of your time reading something that i wrote! 🥺

another thing i wanted to bring up is the “hard and fast” smut readers--those who like to get straight to the point, get right to business and to the juice! they are also a decently large group too! as for readers who like a nice long fic or a chaptered fic, they are super close in numbers! from this, it’s safe for me to assume that maybe those who like reading longer fics are more inclined to strap in for the long haul with chaptered fics too! 

Favorite AUs to Read 

*the top category that got cut off (thank you google forms lol) is friends to lovers! the one that says “...love” at 48% is enemies to lovers, and the one that has a blanked out title at 35% is strangers to lovers! 

Top Five: 

friends to lovers (65%) 

enemies to lovers (48%) 

high school/college au (40%) 

roommates/neighbors to lovers (38%) 

strangers to lovers (35%) 

Other AUs mentioned by you! 

office au, royal au, vampire au, fake date, idol au, slice of life, boarding school au, childhood friends, soulmate au 

~My thoughts: ok ok so this was RAD to see! i often wonder myself the kinds of aus that my readers would like to see so this was really helpful! circling back on how readers tend to favor fluff n’ smut (friends to lovers) and angst n’ smut (enemies to lovers) i think that we’re seeing some more themes here teehee. 

i like to think that since most of us are of the college age, the college au is super relatable therefore we really like to read it! not to mention that college and high school au’s are super duper cute as well! this is also relatable to the roommates/neighbors to lovers category which is also relatable to us who may or may not have experienced having a roommate or crush on the cutie next door ;) as a couple readers mentioned, they liked more “slice of life” au’s--which both of these categories fall into! i think we as readers like scenarios that feel the most real to us, bc they are the easiest to insert ourselves into :) 

fantasy and thriller, action, more “fiction” tropes are in the minority, however i think that this can be for the exact same reason as i mentioned above where readers like more relatable scenarios. 

Opinions on Slow Burn Fics 

~My thoughts: during polling of this category, this pie cart stayed basically the same the whole time!! that was pretty cute to see! the important take aways from this survey for me is the fact that slow burn fics are generally really loved! again, lol as someone who writes big ol’ long slow burn fics this made me feel a lot better hahaha basically, the general consensus is that slow burn fics are welcome most of the time, however some readers might need to invest a little more time into them! this is also very easily comparable to the above statistics on the length of fics preferred (longer ones being the ones more popular) so here’s a lil more supporting evidence! 

3. Member Specific Analysis 

Bias Survey 

Top Five: 

Chan (19%) 

Changbin (18%) 

Hyunjin (16%) 

Jisung (15%) 

Minho (14%) 

~My thoughts: ok ok ok so this is where it starts getting JUICY hehe (also i apologize once more for making you pick LOL) 

the reason why i asked this question was because i wanted to see if there was a correlation with biases and if there was a probability that members who had more people biasing them (or popularity I guess) were more likely to be read more in smut fics! AND I WAS RIGHT haha isn’t this so fkn cool??? (see more in the next section!) 

for comparison, i went to kprofiles to see their little survey on bias popularity and their top five. 

Kprofiles Top Five: 

Hyunjin (15%) 

Felix (14%) 

Chan (12%) 

Minho (11%) 

Jisung (11%) 

SO oh my god my nerd brain is loosing it over this REE so, what i should note that is those who took this survey on my blog are likely generally different based off of the fact that they are here to read smut specifically, rather than the general holistic popularity survey. It is for this reason that we see Felix much higher on this list and Changbin much lower too (as we know Felix is really well known generally and globally and there are *generally* fewer Bin biased fans). What was really interesting to see what that with Hyunjin, Chan, Jisung and Minho, they still all stayed within the top five! Soooo what i’m saying is.... all of you Hyunjin, Chan, Jisung and Minho fans really must like your smut 😏 and I think that it’s safe to assume that the majority of hard stans come from these four members too ooP (and of course our Binnie too! ;) i see all of ya’ll 👀) 

Members That Get Our Hornies Going 

~My thoughts: AHH DOESN’T THIS LOOK SO SATISFYING? I’M SO PROUD OF HER!!! 

First off, i would like to acknowledge the all mighty power of Bang Christopher Chan for pooling this most hornies god DAMN while i kind of expected this, it is also evidenced in the fics that i write! recently i’ve been tracking the number of notes that my Chan hard thoughts get in comparison to other members and the differences are usually ASTRONOMICAL. He is most def the most popular member for smut for several different reasons, lowkey bc i think that it’s kind of part of his brand?? hahaha if ya know what i mean? 

As for preference from Minho on, we can see a super obvious trend that as age order decreases, we get less and less interest for reading for the member. I’m fairly inclined to believe that this has to do with the fact that most often fans (especially fans older than skz) have a harder time seeing the younger members in a sexual way, so the lack of interest totally makes sense here! As referenced above too, we found that the oldest five members (Chan --> Jisung) are the favorites for smut reading which we can see here as well when the numbers really drop after Felix (Felix coming in at 6th place on my “popularity” survey). 

Bc of these statistics, i do really feel like as a reader, i tend to see much, much more fics involving our top five! As for Seungmin and Jeongin, I’ve also seen people state that they do not read or write content for these two members bc they do not feel as comfortable, so this can also explain the lack of content. Also as we have heard many times, Jeongin is a bit of a hot topic lol within the SSB community, so this makes sense that his readership would be low as well. 

4. Deep Dive into the Juicy Questions (aka confessions) 

Is the fact that you read smut a seggsy secret? 

~My thoughts: JUICE TIME JUICE TIME 

Before I say anything, i wanted to tell you all how all of the juicy questions were totally optional, but i got 100% participation for every single one of them which if find HILARIOUS i guess you all are just as curious as i am?? ;) 

So! for this question, we have an overwhelming amount of readers who said that only their closest friends know which is so cute to me! i love how we can trust our friends with this hehe. i also fall into this category bc like, it’s lowkey kinda fun to talk about? maybe also the fact that i run a smut acct makes me care a little less about it all hahah 

secondly, we have the rather large group of people who said that they wouldn’t dare to tell anyone which is also sooo cute haha idk how to explain it but this was the category that i started out in too until i found the right people! But i totally get ya, reading smut--especially-- kpop smut-- can be embarrassing or cringey to share (not to mention that it is somewhat morally grey LOL) so this is really understandable! 

also my fkn hats off to all of you who said that you didn’t care about who knows that you read smut. here, you dropped this: 👑 you’re much braver than i could ever be. 

When you read smut, do you really feel the hornies? 

~My thoughts: ok, so this one to me was also very interesting for me to see as well! (also if you get uncomfy reading about personal masturbation habits you can skip this one lol) 

the reason why i asked this question was because i wanted to see if people “get off” by reading smut (whether reading it turns you on, or if you choose to use it for “material” to get off on however this might look, might be more of a mental simulation without any real like, physical getting off) candidly, I use smut to get myself off every once and a while, so i wanted to see who else might be in the same group! since becoming a writer however, i read much less and reading it doesn’t hit the same when i was just a reader bc i have a different perspective of being the one writing the smut so i look at it more analytically--i digress. 

it was exciting (teehee get the pun?) for me to see that others also “get off” on smut too--and that they are the majority! teehee it is an honor for me to provide you with the hornies LOL. at the same time, we still have a large group in the “don’t take to seriously” category which was interesting to me too! i can’t speak for these readers, but i interpreted these kind of readers to be the kind who read smut to imagine the scenes and are like “hm, that’s hot, i like thinking about this.” but it doesn’t extend much outside of these thoughts. 

What is the most popular position pairing we like to read? 

*smaller slices of the pie represent multiple favorites which i also seperated back into the categories corresponding to get the best count into what was the most preferred. 

Actual Breakdown: 

dom!idol // sub!reader (51 votes) 

switch!idol // switch!reader (32 votes) 

subidol! // dom!reader (11 votes) 

all of the above (5 votes) 

depends on my mood (2 votes) 

~My thoughts: i feel as if there is a bit of a conflict between which position really is “the best” and while we really can’t know the answer to this question since everyone has different preferences, we can at least find out which one is the most popular to be consumed! 

again, going off of the content that I also see as a reader, i see TONS of dom!idol fics, like, left and right. also, if i may come for all of our necks, 👀 but...there’s really something to be said about the fact that the majority of readers are female and historically and socially, women are typically socialized to be submissive, so i can see why this would be why we would favor this among fics--this is even further evidenced by the fact that male idol smut is also preferred, thus further perpetuating the fact that women have been socialized to be submissive to men specifically. i’m not saying that this is the end all be all reason that this trend is present, but i merely offer it as a possible explaination. this is a much larger sociological conversation, but i think that this trend also showed itself in the types of smut that readers seek out as well--according to demographics. 

sub!idol fics are few and far in-between, and i think that this can also be for the exact same reason as i talked about above! 

When you read smut, do you pick faves to read for? 

~My thoughts: what’s cool about this question is the fact that the “half and half” nature of it also resembles what we saw in the section for favorite members to read! As we see in that chart, 41 out of 100 people said that they read everyone, similar to this question where 48 out of 100 people said that they read for everyone. What this proves to me once more is that when it comes for reading fics, there's a 50/50 chance that the reader will look at, and read it based off of who it is about alone. This is a really powerful statistic, meaning that the members who that a writer might write for really dictates their readership! At the same time, it’s super comforting to know that regardless of what you as a writer might write, there’s always someone out there who is willing to read it! (as evidenced by the 52% of people who read for anyone! this is still a large number) 

Readers: Do you only use Tumblr for smut? 

~My thoughts: when i first started out reading smut, i was in the “i just look up skz smut” group LOL so i wanted to see again if there was anyone like me--which there is! This was more of my interest in seeing if some people view tumblr as “their smut dealer” AHA so that my initial motivation. I was surprised to see that this is not the case! out of 100 readers, 39 of them have their own non-smut blogs and the second largest group of 26 people use tumblr for smut exclusively. 

idk why, but when thinking of this question, it really got me thinking back to the question where i asked if reading smut is a seggsy secret, and there was the group of people who said that it is for them--i’m assuming that these people might be part of the group have non-smut blogs and read on the side teehee. 

at the same time, there is a combined 40 people who said that they use tumblr for smut purposes only which makes sense to me, as those who filled out my survey are readers of my smut blog if you catch my drift haha  

Writers: Do you read smut, or just write it? 

*56 responses correlate with those polled who identified as writers/both as mentioned above 

~My thoughts: this survey is really really cute for me to see bc it means that there is a whole support network or writers out there reading, supporting and here to hype other writers work!! if anything, as a writer because it takes so much time to write, it can become hard to find time to read, hence the “when i have time option lollll (*cough cough* me LOL) thank you all for your honesty with this question! 

5. General Thoughts and Conclusion 

Survey on Exposure 

~My thoughts: i kinda wanna close off this survey by getting on my soapbox for a sec lol. At least for me, the most common ways that readers found my blog were: looking up a tag, and from a repost. i think that this really goes to show the power of exposure and certain tactics that you can use to increate readership of your account! new readers, if you’re reading this and you’re just starting out, tagging your stuff is so so important! 

also, as i have said and so so, many other content creators have said countless times before, reposting is so crucial and it takes little to no effort to repost a creators work so that it might reach others! as a writers, we spend hours, and i mean hours creating content, editing, drafting, creating headers all out own time to publish something that we are proud of and for you to enjoy! it means the world to authors when you reblog their work and even more when you give feedback too because this is our passion! we write for free in the middle of our busy lives so the validation makes it all worth it!! 

Conclusion 

~phew! so that’s it! once again, i wanted to thank you all from the bottom of my heart from participating in this lil study! i really hope that it is helpful to writers and readers alike! i wanna give ya all the biiiiiigest Ro huggies!! 💕💕

as i mentioned above, the answers for the unpopular opinions will be made into their own post bc there is a ton of them and i didn’t want to clutter up this doc lol 

don’t ya ever forget that you are important, loved, and special! happy hornies my cuties ;) 

~R 🌹

6. Cute shit that ya’ll said that made me giggle (and hopefully makes you giggle too)

~you all are the light of my life!! each of these comments brought me so much happiness and i love you all so fkn much for that!! also, to those of you who said, “Ro date me” PLZ haha i will date you too!!! too all of the super sweet comments about my writing, thank you so so very much and thank you for reading! it means so much to me!! to all of the i love yous, ahhhh i love you toooooo  💕

“I DUNNO IM BAD AT FUNNY STUFF BUT KNOCK KNOCK I GUESS? -whos there 

RO 

-ro who 

Me, in chan voice: RObber ducky you're the one 

yeah... 

yeah 

bYE” 

“ I didn’t know changbin’s thighs were of such importance until I saw your username but now?? 👀 I am looking respectfully.” 

“ every time chan doesn’t reply to my bubble message i hold my breath and try to die💆‍♀️” 

“ here are my favorite emoji combos: 😐☝️ 😫🖐️ 😂🤏 (i use that one when i get a dick pick and it's rlly small but the person thinks its big-) “ 

“ you are EVIL for making me choose just ONE bias OT8 EXISTS OK!?” 

“ I hope this survey provides you with a lot of useful feedback! -sincerely a big tiddie committee member (you know the one)” [hehe yes i do hai M ;)] 

“ chan’s tiddies... that’s it.” 

“jeogiyo noona hokshi namjachingu isseoyo?“

“ Jeongin is appropriately baby bread because his face is puffy in the morning so it's kinda like yeast rising 👉👉 “ 

“ someone needs to tell hyunjin to put some vaseline or something on his cuticles like I love him a lot but his recent live made me scream sir your cuticles are hanging on for dear life please I'm literally begging you “ 

“ I squeal whenever I get a notification from you and my family think I’m secretly dating someone. It’s nice knowing that they think I can get someone during a pandemic 😁 “ [this one had me SENT] 

“i hope ur dreams are blessed with skz thighs.” 

“ HS Bin supremacy!!” 

“Sta” 

“Ro(ses) are red, violets are blue - DaVinci painted Mona, cause he couldn't find you :') “ 

“✨ dInG dOnG ✨ “ 

“You're doing God's work as a changbin stan xD “ [thank you so much aHA] 

“damn gorl, are you a wifi signal? cause i’m tryna connect 🤔🥴✌🏾 “ 

“Good luck with your survey! I hope you get a big response! You know what else is big..? 

 Chan's feet. (I'm sorry, that was my attempt to make you giggle but I'm clearly not a comedian)” 

“What's the internal temperature of a taun taun? Luke warm! (Haha sorry star wars joke) “ 

“egg“

“just because you’re garbage, doesn’t mean you can’t do great things. It’s called garbage can, not garbage cannot <3 “ 

“Soft-Dom Minho Agenda is the best agenda. I have spoken. Sincerely yours, Javi (@itsapapisongo) “ [this is the way javi] 

“Bang chan daddy supremacy” 

“ro, ro, ro your boat gently down skz’ dick hell yea.” [this also had me SENT] 

“stay smut writers should take “maknae on top” literally“

“idk man i’m just vibing. hope ur day is going well. (changbin voice) da DA da” 

Fin. 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @chaangbin​ @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[szrvivors]

𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖆 𝖔'𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖐𝖊 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖚𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ...

leila george . cis woman . she/her . well would you look at that , if it isn’t AGLAIA O'ROURKE wandering around glenview ! the THIRTY-THREE year old has been in town now for ONE WEEK. from what i remember , they’re known for being a little bit CYNICAL, but don’t let that sway ye’ , they’re also fairly CLEVER too ! must be why they’re known as THE MASTERMIND . in fact , they’re known to remind people of R.J. MACREADY from THE THING. as far as i know , they knew poor katie balmayne , in fact i hear that they were A SUMMER FLING way back when. i wonder how they’re coping seeing all these familiar faces again …

hello, all ! i’m lauryn, 21, my pronouns are she/her, and i currently reside within the cst timezone. i’ve been tumblr rping on and off for about 8 years now, but i’m recently coming off of a hiatus, so i may be a bit rusty ! anyways, here’s is my first muse, aglaia ! her about is listed here, her statistics are listed here, and her plotting page is listed here. if you’d like to claim any of the plots on that page or do some other plotting, please shoot me a message ! i prefer discord, but i’m open to messaging on tumblr. my discord is limes#6826. i look forward to writing with everyone !

TRIGGER WARNING — child abuse ( mental and physical ), mentions of drug usage and alcoholism, mentions of knives, familial death ( brother )

aglaia o'rourke was born in glenview, ireland, to a rather large family. aggie had three older brothers, all of which ( aside from one ) exuded the same nonchalant, neglectful behavior that her parents did. the family lived in poverty with both parents struggling to hold down a job due to alcoholism. 

aggie was able to compartmentalize both the physical and emotional abuse that she did receive. aglaia and the brother born a year before her, silas, grew very close. around the time aggie turned 16, she and her brother attended a house party together. it was here that her brother got into a serious fight and ended up being repeatedly stabbed in front of aggie. 

this trauma was only really felt by aglaia; her family did not seem phased by the occurrence, shedding very little tears at silas’s death. this event tanked aglaia’s mental stability, and she ended up moving in with a friend to finish secondary school. 

in 1987, the year aglaia finished secondary school, she left glenview to explore ireland on her own. venturing from town to town, aglaia resorted to robbing petrol stations with misguided souls she met along the way, earning enough to skate by as she couch surfed with strangers. fearless and intelligent, aggie treated her robberies the same way she did chess: something to win at.

at the age of 22, aglaia returned to glenview, a couple years after katie’s disappearance and death. the news had only just reached aggie, and she felt nostalgic enough to return to the town she was born in. 

upon arrival, aggie met an old childhood acquaintance that fascinated her. it wasn’t long that the two resided in glenview, making off to commit a string of robberies in dublin. the year and a half they spent doing this was the best year of aglaia’s life, who reveled in the thrill that their adventures offered. 

the duo got sloppy and even committed low-security bank heists, and this ended up backfiring on them. aglaia was apprehended by the gardai as her partner made away with their money; she was sentenced to three years in a low security prison. 

aglaia spent much of her time alone in her own company, reflecting on her life and decisions. her stint in prison steeled her and only motivated her criminal interests further. she dreamed of leading her own heist team one day, possibly on the coast of the united states. 

upon release, aggie was somewhat of a new person; she had grown to be more reclusive, and fell face first into the throes of alcoholism. attempting a life on the up and up, aglaia spent the next six years of her life as a bartender. 

despite becoming a contributing member of society, she felt as though she was in a haze living such a repetitive, boring life. aggie was suspicious of others and spent most of her free time drinking, reading, or playing chess with willing strangers. 

it wasn’t until an invitation to a wedding in glenview came along that aggie felt a splinter of hope for some excitement. returning to glenview once again has been somewhat of a trip for the stone cold, intelligent alcoholic, but she hopes to find some purpose there.

aglaia is based off of mac from the thing. while their occupations and backstories don’t really align, their mannerisms and behaviors are very similar ! check out her about page to learn more about her personality; it’s linked above.

[tradingsimulator21]

How beginners can start trading in stock market?

Stock trading involves buying and selling stocks for profits within a brief period.

Trading may be an adventure, and to try to do it successfully requires time and a deep understanding of the market.

Trade is more innovative by setting your budget, risk tolerance, and trading strategy before time.

We all want to be the next person to win big with a lucky stock trade. Unfortunately, this is not within the cards for many traders. It takes tons of data, research, discipline, and patience to become a profitable trader.

"Investing isn't about getting rich quick. Investing is about getting rich slowly," says Randy Frederick, vice chairman of trading and derivatives at Charles Schwab. These are wise words to measure if you're new to the stock exchange and wondering if trading is accurate for you.

But if you're interested in the so-called thrill of short-term buying and selling and, therefore, the potential profits which will come alongside it, here are the fundamentals of stock trading and, therefore, the steps which will help get you started.

What is stock trading?

Stock trading entails buying and holding stocks for a brief period of your time to show a fast and significant profit. Traders aim to take advantage of short-term pricing fluctuations within the market.

Trading is often contrasted with investing, the approach to the stock exchange that aims to gradually build wealth by holding assets over an extended period of your time. Whereas investors buy stocks and save them for several years, traders have them for less than an hour, a day, a week, or a couple of months.

There are two primary sorts of stock trading: active and passive trading:

Active trading may be a highly technical approach to capitalize on short-term price fluctuations. Active traders are generally divided into two camps, supported by the period during which they hold their securities:

• Day traders: Day trading refers to any strategy that involves buying and selling stock over one day, like seconds, minutes, or hours.

• Swing traders: Swing trading involves buying securities and holding them for days or weeks.

Passive trading focuses more on stocks' long-term trends instead of short-term fluctuations or market news. Position trading may be a sort of inactive trading.

Passive traders buy supported overall market trends and sell once they believe the safety hits its peak, which may take months. They typically trade but are active traders. In this way, passive traders are more like long-term investors who follow a buy-and-hold strategy.

What to understand before you begin trading

Stock trading may be a tricky business. Yes, individual trading stocks are often exciting and profitable, but nobody will tell you it is easy. Here are a couple of things to stay in mind:

Successful trading takes time and commitment. If you're starting to call trading stocks, it is best to avoid day trading and consider longer-term strategies. "Day trading is really the worst option for beginner investors," says Frederick. Actually, for each one that makes millions off of a lucky trade, thousands of others lost money trying an equivalent tactic.

Whether you propose to trade full-time or part-time, the rock bottom line is trading requires tons of your time to follow the markets and spot opportunities. And when it involves dealing within short-to-medium timeframes, timing can often be everything.

Trading has tax implications. Don't let the joys of creating a fast buck distract from your obligation to the IRS. It is vital to know how taxes on trades could affect your bill.

When you sell your stocks for a profit, you're subject to capital gains tax. While yields on stocks held for quite a year get a special rate - meaning you'll presumably pay lower taxes - profits on stocks held for fewer than a year are taxed at an equivalent rate as your regular income.

Knowledge is power for trading safely. Rather than blindly pursuing "hot" stock tips from a neighbour or recommendations from Wall Street analysts, it pays to develop your trading ideas. Once you study historical stock movements and research an investment yourself, you will be ready to confidently ride market volatility or formulate an exit strategy.

Moreover, experts agree that one of the worst belongings you can do is let your emotions or bias influence your investing decisions. Excessive emotional trading is one of the only common ways investors damage their returns.

How to start trading stocks

Now that you're armed with the stock-trading basics, it is time to urge into the vital deal. Just confirm you're taking some time to find out the ropes. "Dip your toe in," Frederick says. "Don't dive in."

1. Open a trading account

You will need a broker to form trades, so you'll want to seek out one you like and trust. There are several brokers to settle on from, each with its specialities.

As you opt for a broker, choose one with the tools, features, and interface that best complement your trading style and know-how. Other things to think about are fee structures, on-the-go accessibility, stock analysis tools, and academic resources. Within the end, beginner traders will need a firm that features a comprehensive offering that will be there when times get tough.

If you are not sure where to start, see our recommendations for the simplest stock trading apps.

2. Set your budget

Set trading, allow yourself and stick with it. If you're drawn toward shiny new investments or companies, Frederick suggests that you allocate up to a quarter of 2% of your investment budget toward those assets. You'll start trading with almost any amount, but don't touch the money you would possibly need within the short-term, like for mortgage payments or emergencies.

3. Learn the essential sorts of stock analysis

Generally, trading relies on "technical analysis," or making decisions supporting stock price and historical market data, instead of "fundamental analysis," which involves evaluating a corporation and determining its true worth.

The goal of technical analysis is to research the price movements of security to forecast future price movements. While a technical analyst may check out statistical trends and patterns with charts, a fundamental analyst will start with a company's financial statements.

While the two sorts of analysis are frequently considered opposing approaches, it makes financial sense to mix the two methods to offer you a broad understanding of the markets to assist you in better gauge where your investment is heading.

In short: Any time well spent learning the basics of stock trading is time well spent.

Three books on technical analysis to urge you started

If you are looking to expand your knowledge of technical analysis and use it in your investing strategies, here are three books to urge you to start.

• "Technical Analysis Explained" by Martin J. Pring: Now on its fifth edition, this book walks you through the way to maximize your profits by applying the tools of technical analysis.

• "How to form Money in Stocks" by William J. O'Neil: This national best-seller covers everything from stock-picking secrets, determining the direction of the market, and the way you'll "make your millions" owning mutual funds.

• "Encyclopedia of Chart Patterns" by Thomas Bulkowski: This book is chock-full of all the essential information you'd got to start reading chart patterns and understanding how they're wont to predict price movements.

4. Practice with a stock exchange simulator

As you start improving your analytical skills, you'll quickly put them to practice. Give stock trading a try without putting real money on the road with virtual trading or paper trading. Virtual trading allows you to check your trading skills during a low-stakes environment.

Reputable online programs include TD Ameritrade's paperMoney, MarketWatch's Virtual stock market, Power E*TRADE and Neostox.

5. Plan your first trade

Once you fund your account and you're able to place your first trade, it is time to beat up an idea, which can assist you in maintaining discipline and consistency as a trader.

A good trading plan typically outlines entry (buy) and exit (sell) points, informed by your skill level, risk level, and overall goals. Confirm that each position you hold will presumably accompany its technical parameters - so confine mind the time and energy you will need to offer each stock the eye it deserves.

The financial takeaway

Stock trading isn't for the faint of heart. There's much to find out and determine before you even get to placing your first trade. Always remember that stock trading may be a risky business where your money is usually at stake. Stick with your strategy, and do not let your emotions or overhyped stories get the simplest of you. Success isn't guaranteed, but patience and luck, you only might end up stock-trading. Stock simulator gives you wings to try your strategy with virtual money in real data feed without any fear of loss.

[linkfms]

☠️    *   what  is  up,  party  people  !    i’m  jojo  (  she/her  ),  23,  and  in  the  pst  timezone.    it’s  been  a  while  since  i’ve  been  in  a  group  so...  pls  bear  with  me.    anyway,  under  the  cut  you’ll  find  more  info  on  resident  emo  boy:  link  !   i’m  so  excited  to  write  with  u  all,  and,  if  u  ever  want  to  plot  give  this  a  lil’  like  or  send  an  im  over  @  yea right#4256  !

lincoln  “link”  seong  was  spotted  in  the  fashion  district  adorning  prada  combat  boots,  with  some  airpod  pros  on.    they’re  most  likely  listening  to  when  you  were  young  by  the  killers.   you  may  know  them  as  @hyperlink  or  as  that   jeon  jungkook  lookalike.    their  twenty - fourth  birthday  just  passed.    while  living  in   tribeca,   they’ve  gained  a  bit  of  a  reputation.    they’re  known  to  be  erratic  but  on  the  other  hand   vehement.    wonder  if  they’ll  be  the  next  person  to  hit  the  headlines.   (  cis male  &   he/him  )

↳     THE  BASICS:    STATISTICS.

full  name:   seong  hyunjae  (  성  현재  )    /    lincoln  seong.

nickname:  link,  and  will  probably  only  answer  to  link  !

age  &  date  of  birth:   24  &  november  21,  1996.

hometown:   born  in  busan,  south  korea,  but  moved  to  jefferson,  connecticut  in  2006.

current  location:   tribeca,  new  york.

education:  completed  high  school  and  attempted  first  semester  of  university,  but  decided  to  pursue  music  instead.

occupation:   drummer  for  indie/alternative  rock  band,  my  time  (  sound  is  similar  to  bands  like  the  killers,  the  1975,  and  paramore  ).   also  is  an  affiliate  with  an  esports  organization  !   doesn’t  play  competitively,  but  streams  and  creates  content  for  them  weekly.

sexual  orientation:   pansexual  &  panromantic.

gender  &  pronouns:   cisgender  male  &  he/him  pronouns.

↳     THE  BACKGROUND:   BIOGRAPHY.  (   tw:  mentions  of  alcoholism  &  abuse  )

seong  hyunjae  (  later  given  the  english  name  lincoln  seong...  thanks  linkin  park  !   )   was  born  in  the  heart  of  busan,  south  korea.    his  parents  married  at  the  age  of  21,  due  to  the  cultural  expectations  of  having  a  child  born  out  of  wedlock.    while  things  seemed  to  be  smooth  sailing  for  a  while,   the  couple  realized  the  real  struggles  of  adulthood.   financial  issues  came  into  play.   stress  from  working  multiple  jobs  every  single  day  took  a  toll  on  their  mental  health,  as  well  as  their  relationship  with  each  other.   link’s  mother  began  to  develop  an  alcohol  addiction,  and  her  abusive  behavior  came  following  after.   their  home  was  falling  apart,  with  four-year-old  link  falling  asleep  to  muffled  screaming  and  glass  being  thrown  on  the  next  room  over.   his  father  was  able  to  withstand  it  for  a  while,  but  he  drew  the  line  after  coming  home  from  work  to  see  large  cuts  on  the  side  of  his  son’s  thigh,  and  a  bruise  forming  across  his  cheek.   that  was  when  he  knew  his  wife  was  dangerous.    so,  one  night  when  lincoln’s  mother  as  at  work,  he  packed  his  belongings,  grabbed  link,  and  left  without  looking  back.

for  a  while,  it  was  just  the  two  of  them.    they  found  ways  to  make  it  work,  and  despite  the  fact  that  it  was  a  constant  struggle,  his  father  never  wanted  link  to  lose  his  childhood.    in  fact,  his  father  gave  him  everything  he  could  give   —   but  most  importantly,  as  cheesy  as  it  sounds,  his  unconditional  love  and  support.    as  someone  who  lost  his  own  parents  young,  he  made  sure  that  link  would  never  feel  like  he’s  being  deprived of  that,  ever.   they  created  this  tight-knight  bond  because  of  that,  which  can’t  ever  be  broken.   and  now,  link’s  fondest  memories  always  involved  spending  time  with  his  father.    one  favorite  memory  of  his  involved  morning  jam  sessions  after  breakfast.    link’s  father  was  previously  a  lead  guitarist  in  a  garage  band  with  a  few  of  his  high  school  friends,  so  while  he  was  playing  riffs  on  his  electric  guitar,  eight-year-old  link  would  be  banging  the  coffee  table  with  plastic  straws.   

when  link  was  about  ten,  he  and  his  father  sold  all  of  their  belongings  and  moved  all  the  way  to  jefferson,  connecticut  for  a  job  offer  that  he  couldn’t  refuse.   fast  forward  a  few  years,  and  he’s  a  teenager  in  high  school.    growing  up  link  was  more  of  an  introvert,  and  would  spend  his  time  in  the  computer  lab  playing  video  games  or  browsing  in  online  forums.   he  was  a  regular  in  this  my  chemical  romance  forum  (  under  the  username  @hyperlink  ),  and  made  a  lot  of  his  lifelong  friends  over  there.    one  of  his  online  friends  jokingly  suggested  one  afternoon  that  they  should  start  a  band  over  their  nightly  skype  call,  and  while  it  was  initially  shrugged  off  as  dream  more  than  an  arm’s  reach  away,  my  time  was  born.    link  had  to  endlessly  plead  his  father  to  buy  him  a  secondhand  drum  kit  off  of  craigslist  for  christmas.   but  once  he  found  it  under  their  tree  that  year,  it  sparked  this  drive  in  him  to  learn  and  practice  nonstop. 

their  first  official  band  practice  happened  a  day  after  link’s  high  school  graduation  (  which  was  also  the  first  time  everyone  saw  each  other  in  person  !   ),  and  they  spent  that  entire  summer  making  music.   at  first,  link  only  thought  of  it  as  a  hobby...  since,  he  was  attending  his  first  year  of  university  that  fall.   but  after  playing  their  first  few  shows  and  making  all  these  memories,   he  couldn’t  keep  the  band  in  the  backburner.   he  dropped  out  not  too  long  after  to  pursue  his  music  career  full-time.   moved  out,  spent  the  next  few  months  working  long  shifts  at  the  local  amusement  park,  and  shared  one  two-bedroom  apartment  with  his  bandmates.    one  of  their  songs  went  viral  one  crazy  night,   and  the  next  thing  they  knew,  they  were  being  signed  into  a  record  label.   now  ?   they’re  one  of  the  biggest  alternative/indie  rock  bands  out  there  with  multiple  platinum  records,  sold  out  world  tours,  and  millions  of streams  each  year.   their  time  finally  came.

↳     THE  INSIDE  LOOK:    PERSONALITY.

link  definitely...  gets  babied  a  lot   (  by  his  bandmates  and  his  fans  ),   and  he  uses  that  to  his  advantage  :]   because  of  that  he  gets  away  with   a  lot  of  things,  but  it’s  usually  with  things  that  are  small  like  eating  the  last  slice  of  pizza  and  it  would  be  justified  with  “  no  he  is  a  growing  BOY  he  NEEDS  it  !  ”

that  being  said,  he  eats  nonstop.   the  guy  carries  a  sandwich  bag  full  of  cheerios  wherever  he  goes.   his  friends  know  that  if  they  can’t  finish  eating  something,  they  can  always  donate  it  to  link  for  a  good  cause.

when  my  chemical  romance  announced  their  reunion  tour  in  2019,  he  threw  his  phone  across  the  room  and  cried.   my  chemical  romance  (  with  green  day  and  linkin  park  as  a  close  second  !  )   are  his  all-time  favorite  bands,  and  a  lot  of  my  time’s  sound  is  heavily  inspired  by  them.

when  i  tell  u  that  this  man  is  so  chill,  i  mean  it.   like  things  could  LITERALLY  be  on  fire  and  he’d  be  like   “  just  throw  some  water  on  it  it’ll  be  fine  😎  ” ...  he’s  not  the  type  to  worry  about  things,  and  is  more  of  a  go  with  the  flow  type  of  person.   he  doesn’t  even  need  to  be  zooted  to  be  like  this.   KJFGDG

being  in  the  band  and  a  part  of  the  entertainment  industry  caused  a  small  shift  in  his  personality.   maybe  he  just  blossomed  ?   who  knows  !   but  because  he’s  been  exposed  to  the  rockstar  life,   he  was  able  to  open  up  more.   he’s  always  seeking  thrills,  big  or  small,  and  won’t  have  the  time  to  think  about  the  consequences  for  his  actions.  

because  the  my  chemical  romance  forum  that  was  once  his  second  home  shut  down,   he’s  since  moved  on  to  reddit.   social  media  isn’t  really  his  thing  (  and  his  fans  always  get  mad  at  him  for  posting  a  selfie  once  a  month  then  dipping  ),  but  catch  him  on  subreddits  making  comments  or  starting  fights  for  the  sheer  entertainment  of  proving  someone  wrong. 

this  might  sound  bad  but...  he  still  can’t  wrap  his  head  around  the  fact  that  he  isn’t  ?   financially  struggling  anymore  ?   even  if  he’s  already  bought  a  house  and  two  luxury  cars  for  his  dad,  he  still  gets  ticked  off  if  he  sees  something  small  like  an  APPLE   that  is  marked  a  dollar  and  a  few  cents  over  the  usual.   he  catches  himself  using  things  until  they’re  ABSOLUTELY  worn  out,  and  still  leeches  off  of  his  bandmates/friends  when  he  can.  <3   also,  if  something  is  broken,  he’ll  be  the  type  to  figure  it  out  and  fix  it  himself.

people...  don’t  exactly  remember  the  last  time  he’s  slept.   it  could  be  the  insomnia   (   it’s  definitely  insomnia,  thx  childhood   trauma  !   )  but  it’s  almost  gotten  to  the  point  where  he’s  afraid  to  fall  asleep  on  his  own.   he’ll  always  try  to  find  ways  to  sleep  in  someone’s  company,  even  if  it’s  just  him  crashing  on  a  couch  while  someone  is  watching  tv  right  there.   if  he’s  alone  though,  he’ll  always  try  to  find  ways  to  distract  himself  like  stream  for  10  hours  straight.

speaking  of  trauma...  he’s  also  scared  of  relationships.  after  witnessing  the  way  his  mother  treated  his  father,  he’s  cautious  of  history  repeating  itself...  but  with  him.  so  whenever  he  catches  himself  even  falling  for  just  a  little,  he  dips.

his  life  revolves  around  the  4  m’s:   marvel  movies,  minecraft,  music,  and  my  chemical  romance.   that’s  it.

a  link  😏   to  his  pinterest  !   also,  i  don’t  have  any  wcs,  but  if  we  plot,  i  promise  i’ll  use  my  big  brain  to  brainstorm  something  with  u.  <3

[sareesonscreen]

S1 E4: Saucy Deep Dives: Third Person SIngular Number

After spending the last two months watching and examining Bollywood hits, it’s been very exciting for us to introduce our audience to hits from all across South Asia. In this episode, we are thrilled to be watching a Bangladeshi favorite made by one of the most famous contemporary directors there.

Mostofa Sarwar Farooki came into the scene in the early 2000s, at a time when mainstream television and cinema largely existed either in the form of family entertainment or copy-pasted “hero’s journey” scripts made for quick consumption. 

This is where Farooki came in with his more casual and approachable filmmaking. His stories revolved around the relatable everyday struggles of ordinary people. This also meant utilizing colloquial language in his cinema (which was rare, given that the media at the time would only depict formal Bangla or a standard dialectical Bangla [for rural stories]). 

Third Person Singular Number (2009) was Farooki’s third movie, which solidified his position as one of the most notable contemporary directors in Bangladesh.

Third Person Singular Number is conceptualized as a fairytale-like story of Ruba (played brilliantly by Nusrat Imroz Tisha, Farooki’s partner, and long-time muse), who is confronted by the challenges of being a single woman in South Asia, after her partner (note, not husband lol) is sent to jail. Ruba struggles with constant harassment as she attempts to find housing and employment. The Prince Charming character of this movie comes to us in the form of Ruba’s childhood friend - Topu (a successful musician in Bangladesh, both in the movie and IRL), whose support helps in making Ruba feel safe. Her feelings for Topu force Ruba to engage with her conflicted relationship with her mother (who left her father for her lover) as well as her fidelity to her jailed partner.

One of the most remarkable things about the film is its deliberate focus on Ruba and how it centers her perspective - this is extremely apparent in the cinematography and Farooki being able to employ the feminine gaze aptly. The first half of the movie depicts at length the various ways in which women become victims of sexual assault - be it at home, in public, or in professional spaces.

There's this one scene in particular, where Ruba becomes hesitant to go to the police station as she recalls a news story from a couple of weeks ago where a woman was r*ped at one. A male gaze retelling of this would tell the audience through action - a flashback where the woman is facing violence, or perhaps when Ruba was reading the paper, or conversing about it with someone. But in this story, Farooki chose to make this woman materialize in front of Ruba and tell the story herself. Not only giving voice to an unnamed woman who had met a horrible fate, but also creating a moment of emotional connection between the two women. It humanized what is often just reduced to news headlines, statistics, or water filter conversations. There are hints throughout that she is an unreliable narrator. Resulting in the (spoiler alert!) the fairytale-esque second half of the movie. Fairytales, historical romances, and fan-fictions often serve as great mediums for social commentary, particularly on the dynamics of power (esp. geared towards women). The fact that the only escape available to Ruba from her bleak reality is an absurd Prince Charming figure speaks heavily to the harsh reality of the real Rubas of the world. For them, her ending would not be a possibility.

The use of space in the visuals of the film was also noteworthy, with Ruba being shown to feel trapped or caged in the company of predatory men (even including her own partner, whom she feels stifled by later in the film). This is often done through the use of close and medium shots, along with physical obstructions in the shot. Meanwhile, her relationship with Topu is shown to be much more affectionate and easy-going; this is depicted with a wide shot of the beautiful kashbons of Bashundhara. Not only was this technique used to remark on the state of Ruba’s mind (which is rare given that male directors rarely highlight women’s perspectives), it also commentated on the wider issue of South Asian women and how they are often made to feel small and struggle to find space (be it physically or metaphorically).

This beautiful work with space is further used to remark on the silence of the other women in the film (notably, Ruba’s cousin, friend, and mother). Unlike Ruba, the only woman with a voice (and the narrator, of course), these women are often seen in the confines of layered cage-like homes (with distinct obstructions like columns, furniture, etc. present in every layer). These characters, like their real-life counterparts, often exist in the crevices of their own homes and are stifled by the domineering presence of the patriarchal structures and insecurities around them.

The two noteworthy women characters (aside from Ruba) are her cousin and her mother. Both of whom we know very little about. However, in their fleeting moments on the screen, some of them make attempts to defy patriarchal structures around them in small but significant ways – Ruba’s mother by being courageous enough to follow her heart and leave a marriage and her cousin by helping Ruba despite her mother-in-law’s objections.

Another interesting thing is that despite Topu being Prince Charming, his character was given depth by not making him entirely selfless and sacrificial. Topu’s expectations were conveyed to the audience in a subtle but effective manner, using scenes like his outrage in the forest after Ruba backs out of having sex with him (though sex was never mentioned, only alluded to), as well as the ever-awkward buying condoms at a chemist shop (an entirely silent and secretive transaction, btw).

Ruba’s character in the film is shown to be determined, independent and tenacious even while she struggles with the oppressive realities of being a woman under patriarchy. One of the focal points of the movie is her strained relationship with her mother (who passes away, leaving no possibility of redemption or reconciliation ). The film uses an interesting technique of showing Ruba’s internal demons manifesting as younger versions of herself, hypothesized to be metaphors for her id (6-year-old Ruba), ego (present Ruba), and superego (13-year-old Ruba) as she battles over her feelings for Topu and consequently her feelings of resentment for her mother. Though her relationship with her mother is significant to Ruba’s evolution as a character, very little is shown of her mother and her motivations. Despite trying to give Ruba some semblance of closure with her mother at the end, the film falls short in creating multiple well-written women to enhance the story and the emotional connection to the characters.

We’ve also had the pleasure of having Raidah of Raidahcal on this episode. She does wonderful work addressing contemporary feminist issues in Dhaka, Bangladesh. While we all had different takes on the movie, it was wonderful to have Raidah’s unique insights and perspectives. Be sure to check her out. We’ve also had the pleasure of collaborating with her on her podcast Raidahcal in an episode exploring feminist economics – we would love for you to check it out as well!

She also asked us a question that made us pause a bit: Why are men given passes for not portraying women's realities accurately just because they are creating sophisticated art?

And this made us realize that there is a very thin line between centering a woman's perspective in a film, versus presenting an intrusively voyeuristic gaze to watch her struggle. Ultimately if the author of the art is not able to distinguish the two for everyone watching the movie, is all that nuance pointless? This ambiguity within the film became more clear to us as we left our own echo chambers and were faced with a wonderfully challenging guest and the realization that the film is sometimes as good as the viewer wants it to be.

Even on our Sauce Meter, this film fared better than some of our previous takes. Here’s a breakdown of our scores.

1. Is there at least one character who adds a nuanced representation of a diverse South Asian identity, without stereotyping and tokenization?  

Ruba, the protagonist of the film is a complex, well-rounded character and a woman – the film also uses an unfamiliar perspective by centering the story around the experiences of a woman vs a man (which is considered the default) – but she is one of the few non-male characters that get significant screen time, so not full points.

0.5

2. Are the primary characters (especially women and marginalized characters) portrayed with agency, individuality, and motivation?

Despite Ruba being limited by the sexist nature of the social structures around her – notably her struggle to find housing and employment as a single woman, she is shown to have agency and individual motivation – she is also shown to want autonomy and finds ways to assert herself despite inhibiting circumstances.

0.75

3. Are women and marginalized characters shown to be cognizant of their identities and how they exist within the social context?

Taking half a point off because there are limited representations of women and other marginalized characters, but the glimpses we get into other women apart from Ruba all seem to be painfully aware of how their choices and abilities are limited by oppressive patriarchal structures. Notably, her cousin despite having limited control over her life and household still tries to help Ruba, and Ruba herself has several moments where she points to the tribulations of being a woman in society.

0.5

4. Do the women and marginalized characters have meaningful relationships with each other?

While the women’s relationships with each other are not given a lot of screen time, they remain focal plot points. In particular, Ruba’s relationship with her mother is instrumental in the evolution of Ruba’s character and arguably even her liberation, however, the movie does not do these relationships complete justice and dedicates very little time to other women or marginalized characters in the movie.

0.25

5. Does it challenge any flawed notions upheld by capitalism, patriarchy, and the caste system?

The movie successfully subverts stereotypical representations of women and even defies traditional ideas of marriage and power dynamics between men and women and for that, it gets a full point!

1

TOTAL SCORE ON THE SAUCE METER: 3/5

What did you think of our rating of Third Person Singular Number? Did we reach too hard? Let us know!

- Usha and Rekha

Listen Now

[loyally-unfaithful]

—; but “sentimental boy” is my nom de plume

word count: 1916

pairing: connor/gn!reader

genre: slight fluff; hurt no comfort

summary: it has been a year after the android revolution. humans and android alike settled down, an olive branch was offered as a sign of reconciliation. with newfound peace came along newfound love, and many open roads to choose from. this was no different for the rk800—connor. surprisingly or unsurprisingly, he decided to continue working at the dpd, this time as a bonafide detective. but he has also accepted the thrilling uncertainty of life that deviancy has brought; the same strings that brought his lover in his life.the same ones he hated and cursed, the same fates who ripped it all away.

a/n: everytime i convince myself i came out of my dbh hyperfixation i just look at connor and i become lovesick again.

gosh i know i should be finishing my other fic or work on the prologue script for my vn, but,,,,,,, i just had a sudden hankering for connor angst,,,,

written during a sleep deprivation induced moment of epiphany,,,,, (purple prose cuz im extra af uwu)

I’ve never written angst before so i’d love to hear your thoughts on it

maybe if you asked him one year ago whether he’d consider returning someone’s feelings, romantic feelings, he’d reply to you with a placid smile and a polite « i’m sorry, i wasn’t programmed to reciprocate romantic interest. ». he remembered that he’d sneer at them internally. now thinking about it, long before he questioned his obedience towards her, he already showed signs of deviancy.

you did what you were designed to do.

memories from his past would still torment him erratically, doubts would resurface on particularly dark days. but you were the light that cut through that haze. this wasn’t a “fake deviancy”. it couldn’t have been. not when he is holding your body so close to his, warmth radiating off of each other, two heartbeats—similar, but different—thrumming together. all the softly whispered and adoringly announced « i love you »’s; all the quick and coveted pecks and all the feverish and passionate kisses. no, he was alive, he was sure of it—alive and absolutely enamoured by you. all semblance of doubt ebbed away when you entered his life.

whenever he’s around you, he feels more alive: you make him feel everything, all the little precious things. tenderness and adoration when he shares tranquil mornings with you. he feels more alive when he’s with you, all the little habits and routines too endearing: the sweet post-it notes scattered over your shared flat; scribbled upon it are encouraging words or sweet nothings. conflicting work schedules meant that moments spent together were scarce, but that made them even more valuable and coveted. captivation, was another emotion that he felt around you. your mannerism, your dreams and interests, your physical attributes and quality of voice. logically speaking, you were just another human, insignificant in the grand scheme of things. you’d live and then one day, you’d die. as if you never really existed. but he wasn’t being logical. how could he be? when you were right there in front of him? you made him irrational, and he found that new aspect in life thrilling. confusing at first, but exciting. he was eternally grateful that you let him experience all these beautiful emotions with you. he was grateful that you allowed him in your short journey that you called life.

he was happy, absolutely content, with his shared life with you. you were both in perfect places in your respective lives: you both had a stable job, loving family backing you up, and a fulfilling love life. what seemed to be a mismatched couple at first turned to be 2 pieces of the same puzzle finally finding their place. life for the both of you couldn’t be better.

but along with the many exquisite moment that your romantic endeavours brought you, the android didn’t only taste the sweet delicacies of life; no matter how idyllic a moment may be, there were times when he had to taste the astringent and sour desserts life offered.

anger. that was an emotion that he felt. but that’s not accurate, no… it was frustration and shock and betrayal, all the unsavoury feelings in the world. perhaps it was due to his inexperience, maybe his lack of exposure to these negative sentiments, that caused him to snap the way he did. to hurt you the way he did. but it happened and there was no turning back the clock.

no matter how much he begged and cried for it.

he was proud that you got the job offer in canada, he really was. and he, like any other caring boyfriend would, offered to accompany you there, an offer which you gladly accepted. that was the plan. but plans were difficult to follow. crime waits for no man, working for the law meant that connor must always be available for duty. no excuses, he was an android. but connor wasn’t just a simple android detective, no, he had a much more important role: he was the link, the messenger, between jericho and the police force. he was the crucial communication between the two forces. so when jericho contacted him about threats of anti-android attacks, he had to make an appearance at their base. the meeting coincided with the day you were meant to travel to canada. it was a simple trip really. it only took a few hours by train, stay in canada for 2 days (it was the weekend), and then return back to detroit, probably arriving in the late afternoons to their home.

but you were looking forwards to traveling with your wonderful partner after « [we] spent so much time apart ». the day he told you the urgent change of plans, connor was tired, overwhelmed. you were frustrated and expectant. a fight was bound to have erupted. accusatory statements, along the lines of: « you don’t actually care about me! it’s all about work and work and work! » and « i can’t believe how selfish you’re being right now! » in between shouting and yelling and frustration and anger and contempt–

you both went to bed exhausted but spiteful, still not forgiving each other. in hindsight, he felt so utterly pathetic, so unbelievably childish, for being that cruel, and uncaring. he didn’t want to be like him again. so many glares and insults were thrown at each other, tears threatened to spill, LED flashed and shone a true red, doors were slammed. he felt awful, plain and simple. you both lied in the same bed, under the same cover. so close yet so excruciatingly far apart. back facing the other’s, no one said a word.

you woke up before him. bitter and unhappy. no morning kisses, no whispered « i love you » to wake your other half. you wordlessly got yourself ready, grabbed your bag and quietly snuck out. no post it notes were left. no sweet promises or encouraging words. you could do this work trip without him. you were independent. you didn’t need a tin can to chaperone you everywhere. so you left. plain and simple. gone. since you woke up and left earlier than planned, you boarded an earlier train. how lovely and convenient. the carriages were mostly filled with androids. perhaps they were trying to immigrate to canada like the others. who knows. you paid no mind and absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, obsessively checking your messages to see if connor realised. to see if he apologised. because frankly, at that point you were tired of being mad and just wanted to spend the day in his arms. but prideful and petty as you were, you weren’t willing to apologise and admit your mistakes first.

connor roused from stasis a few moments afterward, less bitter and more regretful. he wished to right his wrongs but the normally warm presence beside him was not there. his system was slowly booting back up when his audio sensor picked up an incessant ringing from the living room. he jolted up and rushed out to pick up the ringing phone call and waited for the other side to speak up.

the room was so utterly quiet, a silence so suffocating engulfed the room, that you could hear a pin drop. the voice on the other side asked whether this was indeed your house and that he was indeed connor anderson. he swallowed dryly and answered with a soft, « yes ». running a quick check in his database, he matches the caller’s voice with a certain nathaniel edwards. first responder. he allowed his HUD to display the news. if androids could get pale, have all their blood drain from their faces, his would have certainly done so. he stood, rigid and motionless, consumed by shock and horror.

the news and the first responder’s words blended into one as he gripped the phone tighter: « this morning, at 7:48 am the train from detroit to toronto was caught in a devastating turn of events: the train soon caught in fire and exploded as it made its way over the border. it has been confirmed that there has been 0 survivors. it is unclear whether this was an unfortunate accident or the result of anti-android terrorism. »

the other person’s voice poured through the speaker but he wasn’t listening. he stared blankly in front of him. no way, he thought, it couldn’t have been… the only sign that the android was registering the other man’s input was the now constant red LED.

« sir? sir. i’m sorry to bring this— – no, this isn’t right… you must have the wrong number, he interrupted. there were probably others with your name… maybe they were mistaken... – sir that’s not possible, w— – you must have gotten the wrong house… not… it-it couldn’t have been…» but he knew how improbable it was that they got the wrong number. he was built to be logical, to believe statistics. the statistics told him you were dead. long gone. he hoped and prayed that you stayed back, didn’t get on the earlier train. the statistics told him you did.

he choked out a response, quiet and defeated. you were gone. he’d never get to see you again. « i… i’m sorry… i-i don’t understand… – we tried our best to find them sir, but… the fire was too severe… if we gain any new developm— – you didn’t save them. »

still in a daze, he must have hung up on the poor man and unceremoniously dropped the phone. its clatter the only sound in this deafening silence. the reality of it all comes crashing through and he collapsed, ugly sobs escaping him as the denial faded away to make way for the pure and unfiltered grief. he felt lost. for the first time in a long while since amanda he felt so utterly and completely lost. no more shining beacon during his dark and stormy nights. no more valued affection and coveted kisses. no more notes and no more smile to come home to.

he laughed bitterly, devoid of any humour. it was funny, just how cruel the fates were: made human life so fleeting. lachesisonly gave them such a short eternity. and when he thought you both found your missing halves, bound to another by an invisible string, atropos cuts it. a small snippet that is so easily ripped away from you. he belonged with you, he felt at peace with you. he was able to be what he struggled to be for the majority of his miserable and artificial existence. with you, he was able to be happy.

but now he’ll have to get used to not coming home to a warm embrace. he’ll have to get used to going into stasis alone, in the cold bed. he’ll have to get used to his aching heart being greeted by an empty house. every cold and lonely  nights. it’s ridiculous how human he felt because of you. and he was both thankful and spiteful for it.

sadness and bitter regret ripped through him when he remembered that he didn’t  share goodbyes before he left. he remembered how he couldn’t have apologised to you and tenderly held you. he regretted not being able to tell you how much he loved you and how much you meant to him for the last time. ra9 only knows the things he’d do and the things he’d sacrifice, just to have you in his arms again.

instead he was faced with the bitter reminder that the last thing he’s ever said to you, your last memory of him, was a contemptuous and scornful « i wished i never met you ».

like my work? consider buying me a coffee // checking out my masterlist | links can be found on my desc

[andypantsx3]

statistically significant | 7 | bakugou/reader

length: 23,490 words | 7 chapters

summary: You’re the scientist who developed a neural net to model the value of assists. Now that your work is feeding into the hero rankings, pro hero Ground Zero has a bone to pick with your results.

tags: romance, enemies to lovers, sexual tension, reader-insert

warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, m/f threats of violence, problematic behavior

One month later

The Hero Awards certainly did not disappoint the second time around.

Though you’d spent the last few months in the company of some of these heroes, you couldn’t help but linger on the sidelines as they stalked their way down the walkway, staring in awe. As before, they were decked out in their absolute best, glimmering in jewel toned dresses with daring cutouts, or carving dashing profiles in well-fitted suits. Reporters and fans swarmed the sides of the red carpet, roiling like a pot reaching an agitated boil.

Their excitement was so palpable it hung heavy in the air, absolutely contagious. Maybe it was the fact that you knew some of the heroes up for awards tonight personally, but the potential of the evening simmered under your skin, a soft but constant hum of frenetic energy.

Or maybe some of that was due to the fact that this year, you’d been able to convince your boss to shell out the extra cash for the full dinner option. No longer would you need to smuggle snacks into your dress--this evening, you were a solid professional.

Which was a good thing, really, as the dress in question was not altogether any more secure or supportive than your dress from last year. You’d tried to angle for a thicker fabric and a little more of a conservative design, but several people had aired opinions on your choices over the course of the last few weeks, and you’d ended up in a thin swathe of delicate fabric that was really quite pretty, if you did say so yourself, but would support a grand total of maybe two popcorn kernels.

“You’re looking awfully forlorn over here,” someone chirped by your ear.

You startled, whirling to find Mina behind you, looking rosy and radiant in a form-fitting dress only a few shades lighter than her skin tone. Tiny pearls and clusters of glittering pink diamonds were stitched carefully into the fabric, winking at you as she moved, as bright as the conspiratorial grin she wore. She looked absolutely fabulous--she was one of the people who’d bullied you into the snackless gown, and you could begrudgingly admit that the girl had taste.

“Is it because a certain hotheaded blonde isn’t here yet?” she asked, a pink eyebrow going up.

You flushed. “Mina--oh my god, no. Not everything is about him, you know.”

She idly inspected a nail, looking supremely unconvinced. “Someone should tell him that, then.”

You huffed a laugh. The last time you’d been at the Awards, you’d said as much to him yourself. But a year later, the message was still not exactly being received.

“I’m actually thinking about dinner. I’m literally starving,” you complained, trying to divert the subject.

Mina nodded sympathetically. “I have a six pack and I still had to suck in to fit into this shit.”

As if on cue, your stomach growled sympathetically. You weren’t proud of what it was going to be like when you were finally unleashed on that multi-course dinner, but god it was gonna be worth it.

Several shrieks went up in the crowd of fans behind you, and you looked over your shoulder in alarm. Your pulse relaxed slightly when you realized it was just another pro sauntering down the walkway, but then the lights flickered off ashy blonde locks, and your pulse jumped violently. You jerked in surprise.

Mina didn’t even try to suppress her snort as you turned around fully, eyes pulled like a magnet to Bakugou as he stalked down the red carpet. Even looking like he would rather be anywhere else, and moving briskly over the carpet like he was going in for a kill, he still looked better than he had any right to. The charcoal of his suit--stitched with deep ruby flowers so dark they were almost black--brought out the piercing scarlet of his eyes, and your heart leapt into your mouth when those eyes cut over to meet yours.

His expression didn’t change, and he kept moving, but you flushed all the way from your head to your toes at the intensity behind his look.

Mina made a disgusted noise. “You’re both like a dog with a bone.”

You glared at her accusingly. “We literally just looked at each other.”

She clicked her tongue. “Please, he all but just pissed on you to mark his territory.”

Before you could reply, she called out, catching sight of Kirishima, and seized you to drag you over to say hello.

You let Mina drag you around for the next half hour, making polite conversation with her high school friends, a couple of friends from other agencies, and one fashion journalist who Mina had converted into a weekly drinking buddy. Mina kept the conversation light and easy, and you enjoyed yourself for the most part, though you almost passed out when a very distinct head of green curls materialized over her shoulder and then Midoriya Izuku--better known as the number one hero Deku--was smiling at you eagerly.

Things got even weirder when he appeared to not only already know who you were, but knew a great deal about your work, enough to ask some very detailed questions about your training model software that was going into production a couple months from now. Mina had the gall to cut into the conversation to call you both huge nerds, though she’d directly benefited from the model herself.

The conversation was unfortunately cut short when a calloused hand flung itself in front of your face and a rough voice sounded from over your shoulder. “Stop sticking your nose in my fucking business, Deku.”

You whipped around to find Bakugou glaring over your head at his former classmate. His hand closed around your shoulder and dragged you closer to him.

“I was just asking about her model, Kacchan,” Midoriya said patiently. “It’ll be great to be able to compare my movements directly with some of the other heroes in almost real time! Ojirou’s been trying out some new fighting forms and I was thinking I should try to adapt them to work into my shoot style--”

“Just because you couch it in nerd shit doesn’t mean you’re not trying to spy on me, fuckstick,” Bakugou said. “Stop poking your nose into my relationship like the town fucking gossip.”

Midoriya flushed a little, looking slightly chastened when you turned back to him in question. He gave you an embarrassed little smile. “I did want to meet you for reasons other than your model. Kacchan’s been my friend since I was little, and I wondered what kind of person could interest him so much he wanted my perspective on your work--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Bakugou demanded, but he wasn’t fast enough.

You perked up in interest. “He asked you what?”

Bakugou bristled like a cat being dangled over a bath, but Midoriya was paying him no mind. “Right after the last Hero Awards, he’d done all this research and he asked me about whether your model results lined up with some of the personal analysis that I was doing--”

“Deku,” Bakugou’s fingers tightened on your arm, growing alarmingly warm. “If you don’t shut the fuck up right now I’m going to punch all of your teeth straight down your throat and into your stomach.”

“Kacchan,” Midoriya protested, but he was interrupted by a call on the overhead for everyone to start taking their places in the theater interior for the awards to begin.

Bakugou used the distraction to pry you away from Midoriya. In the blink of an eye, he’d gotten you across the theater and was corralling you towards the Miruko agency tables, looking like he’d sucked on a lemon. You stifled a laugh. You’d wondered a couple months ago exactly how and when he’d figured out you were quirkless, and he’d once asked if you thought you were the only one who’d done their research.

If things were anything like you were starting to suspect, your demands that he do better at the Hero Awards had apparently aroused his interest in more ways than one.

You and Bakugou hadn’t exactly settled on formal terms for your relationship yet, and he still more often than not answered any of your interest with the assertion that you were the one with the crush on him. But this was more evidence--beyond the mysterious coffees that showed up at your workstation almost every morning--that your interest was more intensely reciprocated than he was willing to own up to.

By the time you’d settled at a table and been flanked by a grinning Mina and Kaminari, the awards were getting underway. They were thrilling to watch, something you’d had to miss out on last year when you needed to sneak out with a giant hole in the front of your dress. The heroes you’d worked with this year raked in an insane number of awards, and their elation was palpable, so thick you could almost taste it in the air. The pair of men with satyr horns were named the Best Rookie Duo, Miruko was awarded Takedown of the Year, and Kaminari clocked the Fastest Fight Win for a battle last month in which he’d rendered a villain with an aluminum quirk insensate only seconds into the fight.

A very unfortunate match up, you thought.

Mina nabbed an award for Fan Favorite, and in almost no time, it was the moment that you’d been nervously awaiting since nominations had gone out. You’d cheated, doing your own calculations behind everyone’s backs just to get a clearer picture of what his chances were, and you rather liked his odds, but there was always a chance it wouldn’t go how you thought. But this was the moment that Bakugou was up for Most Valuable Hero.

You barely heard any of the words the host was saying as he trotted out the names of the nominees, detailing some of their key accomplishments. He covered Bakugou's latest slew of assists and rescues, stats that made you feel kind of weirdly warm and proud, and then your ears strained for the syllables you’d hoped to hear.

And then:

“The winner is...our explosive number six, Ground Zero!”

It took everything in you not to leap out of your seat in joy, though something like a strangled squeal managed to escape you. Bakugou gave you an evaluating look as he got to his feet, stalking up on stage with his usual intensity.

As soon as he was up there, it struck you that allowing him time for an acceptance speech was maybe not a great idea. Graciousness was not exactly a strength of his.

“Obviously I’m the most valuable,” he growled into the mic. The stage lights glinted off his hair and teeth, making him look slightly more predatory than usual. “I didn’t need you fucks to tell me.”

A choking noise could be heard from Kirishima’s seat a couple tables over, and Mina put her head in her hands.

“What’s important is that I’m number six now and it only took me a month,” Bakugou’s head swiveled in the direction of Midoriya and you suppressed a groan. “Don’t get fucking comfortable. I’m gonna wipe the floor with every one of the top five, and next awards you’ll all be kissing my ass.”

He didn’t seem like he had much more he wanted to say, which was an incredible relief as both the host and nearby security looked about ready to wrestle him offstage.

He leapt neatly down from the stage, and when he made it back to the table, he didn’t take his seat again. Instead, he grabbed your arm, hauling you out of your seat, and then he was pulling you down the aisle and through the door to the reception area.

He pulled you past the snack table and you thought he was steering you towards the stairwell again, but at the last second he took a sudden turn, shoving you through a door into the women’s powder room. You didn’t even have enough time to formulate a question before he had you backed up against the wall, your shoulders hitting the cool stone at the same time his mouth hit yours.

His kiss was hot and demanding as always, and you lost yourself in it easily. He trailed a line of burning kisses down your neck and over your shoulder, making you shudder and shake when he lingered too long over any particular spot.

It was hard to think past the press of his body on yours, but you tried your best to formulate words.

“Katsuki--it’s--we’re in the women’s room,” you panted, embarrassed by the fact that even as you spoke, you were clutching him closer. “This is--what are you--? S-someone’s gonna come in.”

Bakugou broke apart from you just long enough to level a searching glance around the room and--spotting what he’d been looking for--hefting the trashcan in front of the door with a forceful kick to stop it shut.

“There, nerd. Now stop fucking complaining,” he rasped, immediately attaching his mouth back under your jaw. You shuddered.

“What the fuck has gotten into you,” you demanded, seizing a fistful of his blonde hair to pull him back from where he was leaving what felt like a very deep bruise over your collarbone.

He leveled you with a burning, red-eyed stare. “Like you don’t fucking know.”

You looked at him in question. “...I actually don’t.”

He tried to lean in again but you gripped his hair harder. “What? You can’t just keep throwing me up against walls, especially here. What is it with you and shoving me into weird places at the Hero Awards?”

Bakugou growled. “If you don’t shut the fuck up and let me do what I want, I’m gonna burn throught this dress too.”

You froze up, then glared at him accusingly. “I literally write the code that processes your rank. If you ever wanna come within sniffing distance of the top three, you won’t touch a single thread of this dress.”

The hands on you grew hot, but not hot enough to burn. Bakugou slid a calloused hand over the curve of your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

“God, the fuckin’ attitude on you,” he said, almost reverently.

You felt your face warm under his scrutiny as he leaned closer. “You wanna know what's gotten into me? I wanted to melt that entire fucking thing off you last year. You were so fucking mouthy, such a little brat to me. Wanted to rip your dress off and fuck you right in the stairwell until you forgot you’d ever even heard of numbers.”

You shivered. Bakugou smirked, eyes darkening, leaning back in to bite under your jaw. You realized you’d lost your grip on him and willed your fingers to cooperate again.

“I fucking won that stupid award because I let you boss me around. I've waited an entire year. Now you’re gonna let me do whatever I want with you.”

Your legs went out from beneath you but Bakugou was already there, catching you under your thighs and hauling you up onto the countertop between the sinks. Your back brushed the mirror, glass cold under your shoulder blades.

“Y--you know, if you actually want to be number one, you can’t make speeches like you did,” you babbled nervously as he filled the space between your thighs. “Your public approval rating is part of your ranking, right? It’s weighted right below rescues…”

Bakugou paid you no mind, fingers already searching over your back to find the zipper to your dress. He yanked it down with little ceremony, seizing the front of your bodice to pull it off of you.

“I don’t need to be fucking nice if I’m the one saving the day,” he announced imperiously, leaning down to capture a nipple with his mouth.

Your hips jerked, and he pressed a hand to your thigh, holding you back down against the counter. Dimly, you registered that the words were familiar. “N--not--ah!--not this again.”

Bakugou didn’t deign to respond, instead doing something absolutely mind-bending with his tongue. You swore loudly, catching a fistful of his jacket. “Fuck, Katsuki!”

A hot palm slid up your thigh, gathering up the soft material of your skirt until he could slip a hand underneath. Calloused fingers trailed over your core with obvious intention. You inhaled sharply when he pressed them into you, leaning up to cover your mouth with his again.

Bakugou had you squirming wildly against him in barely a minute, snorting when you tried to get a hand on his zipper.

“Want me that bad, nerd?” he asked, pressing forehead to yours in an oddly tender move.

“If you don’t hurry the fuck up I’m gonna finish things myself,” you threatened, though Bakugou did not look at all as if he believed you.

He helped you get his zipper down, taking himself in hand, but he stopped just as he brushed your entrance, leaning forward to bite another kiss into your mouth.

“Now it’s time for you to make good on your end of the bet,” he growled, a smirk growing over his features. “You’ll tell me I’m the best and I was right all along.”

You stilled underneath him, disbelieving. “Are you--are you fucking serious.”

Bakugou pressed forward, just enough for you to feel the pressure of him on your clit. You fought down a noise like a whimper. Damn him.

“I jumped two ranks,” he said. “You’ll tell me I’m the best if you want me, nerd.”

“I am not gonna beg for you like this,” you announced, though it sounded a little more like a question than you had wanted it to.

Bakugou brushed his thumb over your clit again and little sparks danced over the corner of your vision. “Mmm, you’re gonna scream.”

You felt something like a tension snap inside you. Fuck it. He was so annoying but holy shit if he wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever encountered. If he needed his ego stroked, well it wasn’t nearly as much as you needed your own stroking.

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, fine--just--you’re the best, and you were right all along. Now will you please--”

You didn’t even get to finish before he was sinking into you, narrow hips fitting flush with your thighs. You swore at the feeling of fullness, and then he was moving, picking up into a frantic pace. He leaned forward, sealing his mouth over yours to swallow all the little noises you were making. It was mere minutes before you were shivering underneath him again, moving your hips to meet his, desperate for more, Katsuki, more.

“Ah fuck--so fucking good for me,” he grunted against your mouth, giving a particularly hard thrust, and that was all it took to unravel you.

You stifled a scream in the thick fabric of his jacket, arching up into him. He cursed and followed after you with a few more short thrusts, crushing you against the counter when he let his weight go slack.

You panted underneath him, catching your breath while your fingers slowly unclenched themselves from the hem of his suit jacket. Bakugou rubbed his face in the hollow of your shoulder, radiating smug satisfaction.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, nerd?” he rasped, biting down lightly where he’d left the hickey earlier.

You pulled back, looking into his face again. He looked far too pleased with himself, but he was so handsome like this, all messy hair and a kiss darkened mouth. Your irritation with him fizzled out a little.

He flashed you a predatory grin. “You said it yourself--I'm the fucking best.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t stop your hand from coming up and tangling in his hair. “Shut the fuck up.”

Bakugou, predictably, did not look as if he was going to shut the fuck up at all. So you took matters into your own hands, and leaned in and kissed him again.

[bigdaddib]

Gendry Who?

She sort of expected it. Expected him.

 Jon and him still got on, Jon was only just moving out of their shared flat. That was the whole purpose of this party, to celebrate him moving in with Ygritte and all that. It was still his bloody flat after all, this was the last hoorah, Jon would be officially moved out in the morning.

 It was only…she had simply thought…

 Well their family was bloody huge wasn’t it? As was Ygritte’s, and she had an army of friends to pile onto it. When you got into it with all the math and statistics and such, what were the odds she’d catch a single glance of him? One in a hundred, at the least. That’s what she kept telling her self as she was getting ready, trying to commit herself to the conversation Sansa was hardly maintaining.

 She wasn’t sure if she had wanted to see him or not. She knew the thought of, well, him, frightened her into nervous nail and lip biting, and she knew the last time she saw him was the first time she had cried since she was a small child. No one else saw that part of her, no one else brought out that part of her, but he had managed it just fine. Easily, even. Not even a year in and he had her doubled over herself, choking on her own sobs, telling him to get out but wishing he wouldn’t. Wishing he would stay. But he didn’t, and she’d spent the last two years telling herself that was a good thing.

 She was stupid to think there was the slightest of chances she wouldn’t see him. Sure, maybe if she were dealing with regular people with regular builds maybe she’d manage to come out unscathed. But he wasn’t regular, he was taller than everybody else in the world and his eyes were bluer than any ocean she happened to stumble across, you couldn’t miss those sort of things, no matter how hard you tried to.

 “You alright?” Sansa asked her. “You look…tense?”  

 Arya had just seen him, behind Jon’s shoulder, looking down at his drink. For the first time in her life, Arya felt a deep resentment towards Jon. Which wasn’t fair, he hadn’t known. No one had. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? No one could ever know about them. They had been friends once, she had introduced him and Jon to each other and suddenly they were the ones who were friends. Roommates, something close to brothers. But Arya had nothing to do with him anymore, you could mention his name right in front of her and she’d be forced to ask his last name. Because she wasn’t supposed to know anymore.

 Gendry who?

 There were so many, it was hard to narrow down.

 Oh right, Gendry Waters. Her brother’s living with him, isn’t he?

 Sorry, it was hard to keep track of all these things now that she’s off at ballet academy, she should make more of an effort.

 Arya nodded forcefully, turning her back to the best friends who had been living together the past two years.

 “Why don’t you come and visit ever?” Jon would ask her over the phone. “You visit everyone else.”

 “I visit home, not my fault that’s where everyone else happens to live.”

 “Well, why don’t you visit me? I am your favorite after all, aren’t I? I thought that was sort of an unspoken thing.”

 Arya was tired of unspoken things, she’s dealt with enough of those to last her the rest of her bloody life. “Well now you’ve gone and spoken about it. The whole things ruined.”

 “Really Arya, come down! We could all—”

 “You know you could visit me, also.”

 “At a ballet academy? Seems pretty frigid to me. I’ve seen Center Stage.”

 “That’s the message you got from that movie?”

 This was Arya’s first time actually stepping foot into the flat, and she wished she had stuck to her guns. She should be at school, the recital was coming in a month, her entire future was on the line, that’s what should be worrying her. Not tall legs and blue eyes, things of that sort weren’t supposed to worry her at all anymore.

 “Just…worried about the showcase is all. I should be practicing,” she told Sansa.

 Sansa rolled her eyes. “That’s literally all you do Arya. You deserve some time off to spend with your family.”

 “Okay,” Arya didn’t feel the need to argue, since she had lied about what was really bothering her anyway.

 “Why don’t we go say hi to Jon?” Sansa offered, thinking that would cheer Arya up. And it would, if it was just Jon. It probably wouldn’t be just Jon all night, knowing Gendry, he was sticking to the one person he was comfortable with. He was probably upset about having to be there at all.

 Or maybe not. Maybe she never knew anything about him after all, it wouldn’t surprise her. He was done surprising her.

 “Uhm…you go ahead, I’m going to find another drink,”

 “You’ll meet up with us later, though?” Sansa tried to clarify.

 Arya shrugged, “You know,” she responded, moving as fast as she could from the room they were both occupying.

 She could breathe better when there was a wall between them. Taking a deep breath, she was angry to already feel a sharp sting in her eyes. He hadn’t spoken, hadn’t even fucking looked at her, and she was fighting off tears. How was he doing this to her? No one else but him could do it, and she wasn’t even sure what it was about him that did her in.

 His look? His steadiness? The thrill of making him smile? Feeling as though there was no one else in the world who could bring it out of him and being crushed when that wasn’t true?

 Who knows… maybe it was. She didn’t know what she was supposed to believe and what she shouldn’t.

 That he loved her?

 That he didn’t?

 That entire fucking voicemail?

 Arya realized she had been taking larger, desperate gulps from her drink that was now horribly empty. She moved quickly to fill it back up again, finished it, and filled another one. She had to keep going until she felt steady again, until she didn’t feel the need to cry just from him being in the next room over.

 “Arya!”

 Jon’s voice was loud and exasperated. She turned and he was already folding her into one of the tightest hugs she’s even been in. Not as quite as tight as Gendry used to hold her, but she wouldn’t call those “hugs” she’d call them…well, she wouldn’t call them anything at all anymore. Not much of a point to sticking a name on something that wasn’t to supposed to have ever happened, according to him. Before he had taken all of that back, that is, and decided it should’ve happened and should happen again. Then he didn’t know what he had been thinking and they couldn’t ever talk about what had happened with anyone else, and then…

 Well then he went and got himself noticed with Melisandre and she managed to finally be hurt enough to walk away. So hurt that bloody voicemail didn’t have her crawling back either. Not that she hadn’t thought about, thumb hovering over his name in her contacts, fist raised to knock at his door, but she never followed through. The look on his beautiful face always flashed violently in front of her in those moments. The expectant way he looked at her, as though he had that whole interaction planned before he had gone over to see her.

 “It’ll just make more sense to people is all, Arya. There’s not much more to it, it’s not like with us.”

 “Like with us,” she had echoed. “How’s it different then us, then?” her lip had started quivering immediately, she almost didn’t know what was happening to her, it had been so long since she had cried, she didn’t know how to keep herself from doing it. “You mean, you two get to walk around in public and talk about each other, while we aren’t even allowed to look at each other with the doors open.”

 Gendry had blinked at her, “Not for me, Arya, for you. You can’t be seen with someone like me, they’d—”

 “How noble you are Gendry,” she said as the first tear fell. Gendry had froze, staring at it, as surprised by it as she was. “I think you should go,” she whispered.

 He didn’t at first. He kept staring; lips parted. “Arya—”

 “No Gendry.” She said firmly, she knew what was coming now and couldn’t stand the thought of letting him watch her break down at his feet. “You need to leave.”

 The second the door closed she fell to her fucking knees. That was the last time she had seen him, the last time he had heard from her. But not the last time she had heard from him. He had texted her, obviously, for about two weeks before giving it up. Nothing spectacular, he was never good with words, or writing, or anything besides giving her looks and smiles that made her feel special.

 He was good at making things. Fixing things. He was a wonder at math and fixing the wifi at her flat when it would go spotty. But never talking, that is until he left that fucking voicemail.

 She shut her eyes as tight as they would go as she hugged Jon back, not at all prepared to see him right there in front of her. So she lingered in the hug, trying to do just that, prepare. The second she let go she would have no choice but to face him, and she had to be sweet and polite. She had to not give anything away.

 And that’s what you did, landing back onto her heels she looked up and there he was. Expression as dark and brooding as ever, eyes as blue as ever…

 Beautiful as ever.

 He looked down at her and she remembered first finding him with her flat tire. She was stopped at the side of the road, no reception, drenched from the rain, and he had pulled over to help her. He took care of everything, and she insisted on doing something for him, obviously taken with him immediately. He was hard to persuade at first, but she had put her hand on his shoulder, just the two of them in his dark blue truck, and he finally agreed to let her pay for his next dinner.

 “Gendry,” she greeted with a nod. “It’s good to see you.”

 He managed a half smile. “Yeah. Y-you too…”

 “Why don’t you two talk anymore?” Jon inquired, looking between them.

 “You stole him from me, didn’t you?” Arya joked, taking a much needed drink. “This is it, then?” she looked around. “Good thing I haven’t come around sooner, doesn’t quite live up to the hype.”

 “It wasn’t the apartment I was wanting you to visit, it was me,” Jon pinched at Arya’s arm and she shoved him, all too aware that Gendry was looking at her, all too aware of what his looks did to her. She felt it happening right there, the support in her knees giving away.

 Her and Gendry never did much standing when they were together. And if they did, it was usually only him that did it, her hoisted up and wrapped around him, pressed as tightly to one another as they could get. She remembered it vividly, his scruff scrapping up her neck, large hands holding her so tightly they would sometimes leave marks…not that she minded. She would often find herself staring at them in the mirror, tracing over them gently.

 He always apologized for them, but she didn’t want to hear it for once. Those apologies had truly meant nothing to her, she wanted those bruises, loved them. She loved the ache of them. She’d sit down, stretch, shift into a new position as she slept, and suddenly be reminded of him, of his desperate grip. Of his hungry need of her. It was a good sort of reminder, the best kind.

 There were worse reminders, to be sure. Like the way his head had started to duck when they to bumped into each other outside of the bedroom, how he sat as far away from as he could get, how he always found an excuse to leave early. She had gained Gendry as a lover, but had lost him as a friend. Which was sad, since he sort of become the best one she had.

 Now he wasn’t anything to her at all. So why couldn’t she look at him?

 “You’ve gotten needy,” Arya smiled, turning her head as she mocked a look about. “Where’s the bathroom, then?”

 “Just behind you there,” Jon pointed and Arya quickly moved away.

 Arya sat on the toilet for no reason, staring at her phone.

 She still had that fucking voicemail. She listened to it, now and then. When she missed him. When she needed to remember his voice, remind herself that he had been real. They had been real.

 She found herself listening to it there, on the toilet, tears rolling down and over her lips.

 “Arya…i-it’s me…you know that, obviously. That’s probably why…why you didn’t answer. And I shouldn’t push it, I know. I should let you…let you g-go,” something caught in his voice and he had to take a deep breath. “That’s all I’ve been trying to do this past year, isn’t it? Let you go.” He paused again. “I don’t know exactly why I’ve called, maybe just to hear your voice or something like that, but I didn’t hang up on time and now I’ve got to commit…” another pause, Arya always pictured him looking away from his phone and clenching his jaw as he often did when he was thinking, “…I miss you,” here his voice was a whisper, “I always miss you when I do this and have to come back. But it’s…it’s not me doing it this time, is it? No, no, you’ve finally seen reason…saw I wasn’t worth any of it, any of my fucking shit, and did the right thing. Which is good, Arya, it’s right for you,” now it sounded as though he was truly fighting off tears, his voice so thin and wavering, “But…but I…I miss you and I don’t…I don’t know what to do without you anymore…I keep,” pause, “I keep accidently driving over to your place, I keep making your dinner, I keep recording your shows and I k-keep…I keep checking my watch wondering what’s taking you so long to get here before remembering you’re not coming and it,” a heavy exhale, almost like a sob, “it…hurts every time. So…I-I…I was maybe just, th-thinking that we could…t-talk about something. Anything. I’d love it if we could talk, I’d love to just…talk to you,” he was officially crying, there was no denying it and the voicemail ended.

 Arya’s head collapsed into her elbow, trying to keep her breathes steady. She could manage this. She managed not to call him back, she managed to stay away from his these past two years, she could manage to keep a straight face at this fucking party.

 Collecting herself, Arya straightened out her dress, wiped under eyes, and left the bathroom.

 And was immediately confronted with the bluest eyes in the world.

 They stared at each other quietly.

 “H-hey,” he whispered at some point, gulping as he broke down to look at his shoes then back to her again.

 Arya nodded.

 “Could we…could we talk?”

 The words were so close to his voicemail she had listened to, she had no choice but to only nod again.

 He seemed surprised she had agreed for a second before acting. Hooking his pointer finger around her last two fingers he lead her somewhere private. She assumed it was his room, but didn’t ask.

 “I…uhm…” he shut the door, running a hand through his wild hair, looking around the room. “I…how are you? Is your wifi…holding up?”

 Never good at talking. That voicemail was his first and only break through, maybe that’s why she’s kept it these passed two years.

 “The academy keeps it pretty spotty, to be honest,” Arya gave a smile she didn’t feel. He stared again.

 “Right,” his throat cleared before he sighed heavily. “Right, sorry. Sorry…I just…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m just…I just…Sorry…sorry, I’m just…I…I’m…sorry…I’m so sorry, I’m just so sorry, Arya,” he looked to his feet, really anywhere that wasn’t her. “I’m sorry.”

 Arya cleared her throat. “You don’t have to do this.”

 “No, I do. I have to…you have to know it’s haunted me. Everything that I…how I jerked you around acting like I was being noble for it when all I was doing was…hurting you. Over and over, and just expected you to…to…to…understand…” he ran his hands down his face. “And all you did was…you just wanted to be with me,” his voice cracked, causing him to turn away. “Gods, Arya, this is a mess. I was meant to be more collected for this.”

 Arya was crying for the second time that night and was fighting a near irresistible urge to go to him, hold him, put him at ease. But maybe that’s not what he wanted, maybe he just needed to clear his guilty conscious.

 Taking a single step forward she whispered, “I believe you.”

 He turned and looked at her for the first time since they had walked into this room.

 “I believe that you’re sorry, so I forgive you.”

 Gendry’s shoulders slumped as he took a step toward her. “Yeah?”

 “It’s been long enough…I think it’s a good time to let ourselves heal, yeah?”

 Gendry nodded, reaching out to her then right away thinking better of it. “Yeah. Yeah…thank you, Arya. Really.”

 Arya smiled, walking up to press a kiss to his cheek. Just like she had when she had first left his car that first night, just like she had after their first dinner together, just like she had each time they had parted during that year. It felt the same, warm, a bit scratchy, strained as she struggled to reach for him, but all in all worth the feeling of being close to him.

 It almost made her cry for the third time, so she left. 

---

heavily influenced by Normal People, lol

Probably gonna make a part 2!

[amicicidalgambler]

=> Aboard the Starbase Frontier.

infiniteproxy You'd die before admitting to the loathsome existential dread that has you by the throat, as your waiting has whittled down to weeks, then days-- now mere hours, poised and awaiting word to set everything into motion.

You wonder if Vriska truly comprehends the extent of all that you stand to give up-- if anyone who has never been helmed ever could. To allow yourself to be pulled from the rig, from your systems, from half of your self; to diminish yourself by choice, confined to a crippled body, to pitiful senses and nothing but silence beyond the churning chaos of your own thoughts for the foreseeable future...

You have to keep your sights on what lay further beyond, and excise the rest. Fear was unacceptable, and you will not hesitate.

You have done all that you possibly can to prepare, including the gradual strategic abandonment of one of the cargo bays, which now lay in wait devoid of personnel. All that remains is to trigger a station-wide lockdown and hope that the quarantine protocols hold long enough to allow Vriska time to move unimpeded. Beyond that...

One way or another, your life as you currently know it will end this night.

amicicidalgambler And so will yours.

You've been suiting up for your mission in the same meticulous way that you start every evening. You carved out every angle of your face with makeup even though half of it was going to be hidden under a mask, you perfectly plaited your hair that was going to stay tucked underneath your clothes, you fussed over your clothes even though you had a leather jacket and boots and pads to carefully layer over it all.

And as you do, you wonder if Goldwave has any idea about what you're keeping behind the curtain. Once this was over you wanted to let him in on everything, but you had no idea what he suspected. Could he tell that you were in love? See the kind of purpose you were following? You doubted it. Nobody looks at someone like you and thinks you're happy, after all.

But either way, you wanted this terrible cantankerous bastard in your life, and, well. Rescuing a helmsman you saw as family was a real test for what you've been learning, wasn't it?

Nadaya had provided you with all the weapons you needed. A few good guns, more knives than even you knew what to do with. That and a single-use transportalizer (with a spare) was all you would need. You kissed him before you put your mask on, spent a minute with him before you steeled your nerves. Then you sent a message to Goldwave, the last one for now, saying to ready for your arrival. One zap to that empty cargo bay, and you'd be there.

Time to raise hell.

infiniteproxy The message, when it comes, is a shock to your system; while not dispelling the fear, it galvanizes you. This was the point of no return.

Over the course of the past week, you'd ever so carefully manipulated the schedules of in- and outbound vessels. You wanted this swarming hive of a starbase to be as empty as it would ever get, and now the moment you'd both been preparing for with nerves on a knife's edge had come.

You initiate quarantine protocol, and transmit the coordinates for cargo bay 4.

infiniteProxy: lockdown is in place. you may proceed.

amicicidalgambler There is no pause as you appear in the bay and security feeds of the Starbase Frontier. You already know where the door is, and your mind is already shuffling to the first step of your plan like a stacked deck of cards, so you simply begin a confident stride towards the nearest hall.

First things first, you need your backup. Two low-grade psions, working conveniently close to your point of entry, sticking out like a sore thumb in the herd of scurrying midbloods you could see in your mind's eye. You see them, and you seize them. Every thought they were having halts, and their nerves freeze and scream at them to run, fucking RUN to your location. They'd be here in a moment.

Second, you need your intel. With a single flex against his mind, roughly equivalent to a polite knock, you worm into Goldwave's pan just as forcefully. His pan is nothing like the other two, with all the buzzing energy of stellar class psionics and a riled mind and also the entire goddamn base, but you can handle it. You can handle it fine. You just- need a single expected second, to breathe and settle as a weight behind his eyes.

And after that second, there'd be a thought louder than all his others flashing into his mind: Status? You needed him to focus on what's happening on his own so you can see.

infiniteproxy You have your eyes on the prize the moment they arrive-- though, strictly speaking, you were the prize. But your cameras and attention are trained most immediately on the cargo bay and the corridors just beyond.

The intrusion is disorienting, momentarily distracting you from your surveillance. More than that, it's a jolt of not-quite-familiarity that Vriska will likely notice, which you also push away. The sensation is achingly similar, but the touch of their mind feels quite different-- something you're thankful for.

You need to focus for both your sakes, now.

Swiftly, you dismiss as many irrelevant readouts as you can, concentrate on what's useful: the layout of the starbase's interior, with the path to the helm highlighted, crew stations and movements, camera feeds.

i will keep the ranking officers at bay for as long as possible, but it will not hold forever. they will be attempting to discern the cause for the lockdown. this is your opportunity. make good use of it.

amicicidalgambler ...There was a real thrill in having all that at your fingertips, but you couldn't linger on it.

Instead, you run out into the corridor just as your controlled help arrives. Their powers were an extension of yours now, and your guns flew out from your arms and into theirs. You unstrapped the last one with one arm, and started tossing out Magic 8 Balls from your sylladex with the other. They floated into the air, all being crushed at once in a little psionic flare and exploding into a cloud of knives.

The Starbase Frontier was somewhat wheel shaped, and you were on the outermost ring. The nearest spoke of halls would lead you right to where you needed to be- but every other spoke would lead your enemies to the same thing. The cloud parted with a single push, and swirled around you and your pawns. You would run down the spoke closest to this cargo bay, while you would flank yourself with the other two trolls.

You only had one question worth asking as you started running into the maw: What about the auxiliary helms?

infiniteproxy Oh, you're going to miss being able to multitask like this... Keeping a close eye on Vriska and their newly-conscripted "assistants" (ah, what a show!), while continuing to maintain awareness of the rest of the station and thwart the attempts of those on the bridge to override the lockdown.

The 3D overlay lights up the path and entrance to the lower helmsblock, which, though mechanically connected, does not share an easily accessible entryway with your own. Either could be sealed independently, in case of damage or sabotage, as they now have been with lockdown in place. You're already working on bypassing the security protocols.

You also bring up their statistics-- power rating, neural imprint, vitals, etc.

amicicidalgambler Multitasking is almost your thing too. Almost.

You grab the minds of the auxiliary helms in a move that makes you violently flinch and shudder. If one helmsman is loud, then three is deafening, nothing but a full chorus of buzzing power boiling under your skin. They seize too, as you force them to halt every process that can be halted, until you can steer them towards literally anything else.

Because you can't let it stop you from your other current issue. A starbase on its emptiest night is still a starbase with people. There's stationed security and a few scuttling stragglers from the lockdown in the corridors, and they all need to be out of your goddamn way.

So you and your backup greet each one with a volley of psionic knives. To the neck, the eyes, the hands, gaps in armor, it doesn't matter- they all dance around each victim and stab any available piece of meat until they're a corpse riddled with bleeding holes. But through the feeds, it would be obvious that you weren't using your senses to guide any of it. You were entirely in your head, relying on the network of mind's eyes to plan every move.

infiniteproxy Your awareness of the other two suddenly splits in the strangest way-- you feel them withdraw from all but the most vital core systems, while at the same time experiencing a sort of vague, formless echo of them through Vriska. They're as nothing next to you-- not nearly so powerful, minds far more complacent, far more broken to their work. But altogether, the sensation of all three and everything you encompass at once must be distinctly overwhelming.

And even so... It's a sight to behold, the way Vriska storms onward like a whirling dervish, slicing, stabbing, cutting down anyone who stood in their way. Yet so detached, every action driven by something far more internal than psi alone. It's fascinating. You're grinning-- or perhaps you're snarling, teeth bared in savage glee even as you attempt to stymie the commander's demands for answers.

"Helmsman! Report."

"Status uncertain. Recommend full system scan."

"Then get on with it. If this is another one of your little games, I'll have you dismantled, do you hear me?"

"I assure you, Commander..."

A commotion-- a burst of static, a frantic voice over personal communicator, an aborted scream--

INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT.

"...this is no game."

Ah, well. Now things would get interesting.

security is en route to the habitation ring. be ready.

amicicidalgambler I can see them.

Or their pans, anyways. Between the glittering of their minds in physical space and the layout in Goldwave's head, it seemed like there'd definitely be some company by time you crossed this last stretch of hallway to the next ring. By time your pawns caught up from the adjacent wings, it'd be a straight up party. Fabulous.

Between now and then you'd almost have everything handled. The trolls you'd caught off guard were easy to pick off and butcher, you had plans for how to handle more of a skirmish. But there was one more thing that needed your attention.

A thought would enter the headspace of the auxiliary helms, loudly. Your primary helmsman is about to get his freedom, you said. I can't give you the same, but I can help you. What do you want?

And it would beat in their heads until you got an answer.

infiniteproxy Both would jerk against the wires at that sudden, insistent demand-- the voice that was not a voice, the thought that was not their own, the will of the one who held them in compulsion and yet-- offering help?

A clamor of disjointed feelings and impulses; fear, confusion, rejection. Hope, pleading, anger.

One cringes away, seeking refuge in the programming-- fearing the punishment sure to follow if they spoke out of line.

From the other, a spark not quite snuffed out, flaring to life-- they'd had friends, quads, a life, all torn away.

The idea of freedom beyond death in the rig feels impossible, yet neither do they wish for it. What kindness could this intruder even have the power to offer them?

But a thought resonates between them; fearful, resentful, yet in this both of one mind, for sweeps of callous treatment and grueling use. They'd helmed the base in tandem for a long while before the third had been brought in, pushed to their limits in the interim between one primary and another, with not a bare word of appreciation, only endless demands.

... make them pay ...

amicicidalgambler There was a laugh as you stabbed the last troll in your path to the habitation ring.

This place is going to be a fucking corpse pile when I'm done with it.

And that was an understatement. The bodies you were leaving now were just the start, the plans you had for the rest of this place were... far more elaborate. Messy. Fun.

But there has to be survivors.

It was a stipulation Goldwave himself gave you. Someone had to be alive to spread the word of the Starbase Frontier. This stupid fucking Empire had to know that a helmsman arranged his own escape and had the crew of his prison slaughtered. Here, this was his triumph to have, his mark to make on the universe. You were just hired help. Very enthusiastic, completely pro-bono hired help.

Your knives and gun were already poised at your next target, and you opened the door to the next sector.

Would you like this place to yourselves?

infiniteproxy Emotions shift to wonder-guilt-vindication-excitement-regret. It's thrilling (it's terrifying). They want to see those preening highbloods  get what's coming to them (they don't want innocents to get hurt).

Survivors, though...

Is it relieving? Yes-no-maybe-sort of. Ripples of uncertainty. What would come next? What would happen to them in the aftermath? (What difference would it make, if nothing ever changed?)

Then a flash of personnel files drawn up, ones you hadn't bothered with-- the low-caste crewmen, the ones tasked with menial jobs, the ones caught in the spokes of the wheel just as they were.

Some, perhaps, soon to be or already dead. There wasn't much room for compromise. But even so...

... show them who deserved to die ...

amicicidalgambler This base didn't have much lowblood crew in the first place. The personnel files you had gotten from Goldwave made that explicitly clear. For some godforsaken reason, this place was fucking crawling with trolls around your hue instead. Teals, ceruleans, blues, all with rather middle of the road qualifications and clean records. It was a fucking trash heap of bureaucratic losers. In the flood of cool-toned pans, anyone with a controllable blood color was practically neon bright to you.

Which also meant it was very easy for you to tell that none of them had gotten roped into this welcome party. Before the door was even fully open, you hurdled through, firing your knives and letting loose a wild spray of bullets. You... weren't the best shot. You were 100% trying to compensate with an automatic rifle. Whatever.

Trolls hit the floor and you sprint for the next hall, your knives flying from corpses to the closest round of new targets. Until you reach the door, at least, at which point they fly back to slip through behind you and form another cloud. That's when your backup lands, blasting through anyone else in much the same way. They'd make their way to the door, and keep anyone from coming in behind you.

Next stop: Your brother.

infiniteproxy The two of them fade into the background, mentally vibrating with tension, able to do nothing but watch-- and wait.

Could one troll alone -- mindcontrolled lackeys aside -- actually bring this station down? Starbase Frontier was far from a prestigious posting, but neither was it some slipshod affair... But it seemed anything could be possible, with a little help from the inside.

Help that watches, too, with bated breath, attention trained on the spray of bullets, on Vriska's forward progress and every fallen body.

spectacular.

There are guards stationed outside the entrance to the primary helmsblock, of course. They'd been there before the lockdown, and they'd be damned if they left their posts for anything. The commander, of course, is convinced of your involvement by now-- But have any of them truly realized what Vriska's goal is?

If they did, they'd be massing right there to hold off a potential breach, but -- though there are many rushing to try to intercept -- it doesn't seem as though they've put the pieces together just yet. All the better. You want to relish this.

amicicidalgambler The guards come under fire as soon as you can make the shot, and you laugh as the sound echoes down the hall. This was all too precise for you to let yourself get all orange-eyed and crazy, but the adrenaline was still getting you to loosen up.

That and the sheer anticipation. You were nowhere near finished, but you  moments from seeing Goldwave face to face. Just one more door, a few more steps, a little more time...

These fuckers need a little special attention first, though. Once they fall, you float your rifle up above you, and settle a knife into each hand to replace it. The corpses were lifted to meet you, and you dug the blade deep into their stomachs, carving through the flesh. Their own hands are puppeteered with psionics to plunge into the wounds, pulling out their own entrails before they're left to be a mess on the floor.

As you waltz into the helmsblock, a blood-spattered assassin and a glittering cloud of weapons, you make them paint out eye symbols and a few random ominous words with their blood. You order your help to come into the hall after you, to try and guard this entire side of the helmsblock. But it's all background noise to you. You're so happy to see him.

infiniteproxy You're practically incandescent with vicious delight. No one would be able to hear the ragged cackle of your echoed laugh, behind the helmsblock's soundproofed walls, with your feed to the bridge cut off, but surely Vriska must feel it.

You're straining against the wires, what little you can. You'd be damn near holding your breath if you could. It's practically artful, gory and glorious, blood and viscera strewn about your corridors like a consecration. You almost wish there were more to watch, but the door to the helmsblock has finally, finally slid open.

Anticipation was a heady and terrible drug, indeed.

All these perigees, all this planning, and now the moment you'd hardly allowed yourself to believe in until it had come-- to meet face to face, or as close as could be, with half your face obscured from where you loom above. But you watch their entrance in high definition, from half a dozen angles, and your grin is sharp as knives.

You've seen better days, to be sure. You may be a yellow pushing the half-century mark, but you're less worn with age than rough use. But those rebels were accustomed to rehabilitating helmsmen forcibly ripped from their rigs. Assuming you survived the next few minutes, your recovery, little as you want to spare much thought for the process, would at least be in better hands than you could ever face here.

"Welcome," you rasp, and the weight of everything unsaid within that single word hangs like thunderheads in the air between you, charged with potential. But anything more would have to wait, and for now you spare your wreck of a voice.

once i disconnect, i will not be able to assist in any meaningful way. you are prepared for your next move?

amicicidalgambler The only reason his emotions weren't being dulled down by everything else going on in your head was that they paired so well with yours. The droning buzz of psionic power, the last moments of connection anyone would have to the beating heart of the Starbase Frontier, your rush from the action matched by his rush of near-freedom.

You couldn't take your mask off, you needed your face obscured in here more than anywhere else, but you'd painted the front with a set of gold fangs. Between those and your eyes, you match him perfectly.

I'm prepared, you tell him, and you can't hesitate for a second.

The cloud of weapons float to the ceiling, protectively circling the rig, and you take your final knife off your person. It's a big unwieldy thing, not made for fighting, but that's not what it was for. With somewhere between the delicate touch you'd treat his actual ransacked self with and the firm grip of someone who spent a wrigglerhood with sea-ship rigging, you hoist yourself up by the biowire and find a secure spot to hang behind him. Then, finally, finally, you take the blade to wire and start to carve Goldwave out of his prison.

Meanwhile, you were still ordering your pawns to fend off goons as they came. Meanwhile, you still had to hold control over the auxiliary helms while they waited for everything to unfold. Meanwhile, you were tracking the glittering pans of all the lowblood crew and assessing the best moment to seize them.

But phase 1 of your plan was almost done. Goldwave was about to be free.

infiniteproxy You've never been one who cared anything for being understood. Your kismesis had been the only one to ever strip away all those layers of obfuscation and posturing, to dig down deep and lay bare the truth of you and laugh as she did. You'd loathed her for it even as you'd surrendered to it, and vowed to never allow anyone to know you as surely as she did.

All your dulled edges were of your own doing, but this rang true between you. What Vriska understood, they had no need to take; you were already of the same mind. It came naturally, without effort, without any need to explain, because it was obvious.

It was, upon reflection, a strangely gratifying feeling.

But there was no more time for ruminating on such things.

And no need to tell them to proceed-- they're already in motion, and you're prodding at systems you're not even supposed to have access to, directing the metal sheathing that shields parts of your rig to retract and leave the bare, fleshy wires exposed. Exposed to their knife, that flashes and cuts. It doesn't hurt, exactly, but that almost might have been preferable-- it's still a part of yourself that's slowly being sawed and severed, separating troll from machine with your mind still bridging the two until the very last moment. The sensation is disorienting, sickening, fleshy cables slowly parting one by one and with each your link to the whole of Starbase Frontier grows increasingly more patchy and dim.

Now is the time to make your temporary exit from the group chat in suitably dramatic fashion, before the connection is lost without your input. Now is the time for one last, private exchange, before closing that channel for good.

Your body shudders and writhes as your systems are assaulted by error messages of increasing urgency, of garbled data and sensory malfunctions, life support functions failing. It's almost too much to bear, now, being torn between-- you'll have to let go soon.

amicicidalgambler The whole time you could feel what he was going through, but just as an echo through your control. A little fraction of the agony. So you stay as calm as possible, for him. It was the best through-line you could give- the constant feel of your focused mind gripped around his as you cut through the biomass and all his senses overwhelmed him. Even with the loss of extremities you've been through, you knew you couldn't imagine what this is like for him.

It was very literally like holding someone's hand through a field amputation. A necessary comfort, sure, but at the end of the night it was something only he could come to terms with. He would have to let go.

And so would you, apparently.

Someone lunges, grabbing the few inches of braid above your jacket collar and yanking you down. Immediately, you flip your blade and hack wildly at the offending fingers, doing anything to regain your balance and get some distance before attacking any further. You didn't strictly need it when your arsenal was full of floating knives, but it's what your fighting instincts were screaming at you. Out of close range, out of arm's reach, NOW-

infiniteproxy It is a comfort, to their credit, however feeble it may have been against the experience of being cut loose. To no exaggeration, this is the worst thing you have ever experienced. Even the actual loss of limbs had been far less thoroughly agonizing-- and your left leg had been almost entirely severed without any surgical intervention whatsoever.

One arm, and then the other cut down, leaving you to slump against the wires still holding your twitching frame in place. The left, though bony and frail, was at least otherwise intact, but though the right hand still remained, it was paralyzed and useless, withered by atrophy and nerve damage.

Behind the headgear still awaiting removal, your eyes are wide and staring, blood dripping down your chin from where you've bitten your lips and tongue bloody. It's all you can do to keep from screaming, and it resounds silently in your head, an echo of the cacophony of every system gone haywire.

The sudden jolt, Vriska's alarm and immediate reflex, takes you completely by surprise; once the process had begun, there was no way you could keep your attention on the cameras, the crew, any of it, to anticipate the surprise assault. The disruption of that singleminded focus is all it takes to shatter yours-- sparks coursing up and down the wires as the measures to keep your power contained and properly siphoned fail.

amicicidalgambler The loss of control feels awful, but you have more pressing issues. Your assailant pulls you in by your hair, trying to grapple the rest of you, but you hit your mark that same moment. One strike and your knife digs into their hand, forcing their grip to falter. Another, and it goes clean through into their other arm.

Clean through your braid, that is. You shove your opponent and it falls to the floor, the remainder already unraveling as you scramble for space. Your eyes flush orange, and you give a growling screech as you finally see the motherfucker who dared attack you.

Before you stands the commander of the Starbase Frontier. His face is one you remember quite well from the files; he was the most punchable looking blueblood you'd ever seen, and his record only complimented his looks. Nothing but above average accomplishments in imperial groveling, leading to a dead-end job on the outer rim. He tsks at your state, seemingly unbothered by both you and the blood pouring out of him. The uninjured hand even goes to rest on a holstered pistol.

"I am placing you under imperial arrest," he says, "for tampering with the Starbase Frontier's primary helmsman, amongst several other charges. If you put down your weapon and surrender now, I will take you into custody, and we may still resolve this matter peacefully."

So you shoot him. To the bitch's credit, he's fast, zig-zagging the distance as you fire, but it gets a lot harder for him to dodge bullets when you snake your knives around him and try to block his every move. In return he goes for pot shots with his stupid standard-issue peashooter, and you have to keep on top of his injured aim. The two of you weave in front of Goldwave, him landing a few grazes and you riddling him with holes. He falters first, overwhelmed by the pain. You drive each and every one of your psionic knives into him, and then force them through the flesh, carving the commander to pieces as he screams to his death. His head you cleanly slice off and sylladex. The rest... you have plans for.

infiniteproxy It's an assault from every angle; blaring alarms, overlapping error messages, data streams disintegrating, pain-not-pain and noise within and without. Glitching camera readouts and audio feeds, giving a fractured picture of the struggle that goes on around you. The commander's insufferable posturing, Vriska's feral growl, and your own hoarse voice giving sound to that turmoil-- or is that only in your head, still? You can't tell anymore.

The lines between body and machine, ship and troll, were now not so much blurred as splintering into one another, your awareness spread far too thin one moment, then contracted awfully the next. Bullets whiz past, someone shouting over the staccato bursts of gunfire, and then-- a gruesome, gurgling scream.

One swift slice later, and the commander's headless body crumpling to the blood-slick floor is the last image you manage to capture on your cameras before everything goes dark, your link to the Starbase Frontier -- to everything you've been for the past three sweeps -- finally severed for good while you still had the presence of mind to make the choice yourself.

It's just you, now; a troll caught among the wires, nothing but this ruined flesh, the rising tide of your thoughts and the black hole within your chest. One cage for another.

amicicidalgambler One of your pawns is sent through the helmsblock to the other entrance, to cover the door that the commander had come through. You, meanwhile, wipe his blue blood off the knife you were using on the rig, and go to finish the job you started.

Goldwave's control over his psionics was slipping, but you could take care of the problem at the source. You knew how it was all supposed to be feel normally, so you could forcibly keep his powers at bay with yours. And then, for safety, you float over pieces of the commander's corpse and let the wires shock that bitch instead of you before you go back to hacking through biowire.

There's one more step you need, though. You take an 8 ball out of your sylladex and open it with a clean crack. It produces what could generously be called a knapsack, a hand-sewn thing with one big padded pocket and straps, and you lay it in front of the rig. With that in place, you carve away the last of the wires and, with a quick warning of the imminent manhandling, scoop Goldwave up gently and put him in the bag. There were a few extra straps to keep his atrophied arms in place, and then you'd both be ready for your escape.

The straps go around your shoulders, your gun lowers into your hands, and you lift yourself by your assistant's psionics into the air. There was no way to make this comfortable, but hovering would be a faster and smoother ride for getting the fuck out of here.

infiniteproxy It's a mercy, at least, that now you only feel the wires snapping as a strange, distant sort of twinge. Psi crackles along your skin, along the wires, like blood from an unstaunched wound, until Vriska's presence wrests it under control once more. So long, so long since you'd had any means of exercising it under your own power; that too would be something you'd have to relearn, in time.

You droop when the wires still tethering your headset to the upper column snap free-- then finally, even that is worked off and dropped aside, and you can open your eyes to your surroundings for the first time in perigees.

Making sense of the direct visual input, dazzled and dazed by light and the entire ordeal, is slow to come; sooner, you feel yourself pulled from the last, lingering embrace of biowire, dripping tendrils clinging to the stumps of your legs.

At least you're in no state to remark on the indignity of being stuffed into a bag and carried around like an object, or even a bit of added discomfort; you're really in an appalling amount of pain as it is, labored breath rasping in your throat. But you're not so far gone as to be numb to your imminent triumph, to the vicious satisfaction of seeing the commander strewn in slightly singed chunks across the floor.

There's a bit of a commotion at the far door, Vriska's borrowed help fending off a crewman attempting to force their way through. You pay them no mind, clearing your throat experimentally and making a game attempt at catching your breath. Your voice may be a wreck, but it's yours, and right now that counts for something.

"What... now?"

amicicidalgambler "Now," you answer, "We massacre the rest of these idiots, and get the fuck out of here."

And in the relative peace of the moment, now was your time to handle the lowblooded crew before that happened. You took a deep breath and wormed into all their minds at once, trying to hold yourself steady. The strain was- fine, it was fine, as far as body count this was nothing, but managing to let these fuckers ambush you was not a great sign for your focus. You could do better. You had to.

Each and every one of the sub-teal crewmates would stop dead in their tracks, seized by your puppet strings. They'd start calmly filing away to any little hidden niche you'd seen in the maps, their movements robotic and unnatural. It couldn't look like anyone was fleeing from their posts, it had to be even more undeniably mind control than anything else you were doing.

And you, with Goldwave over your shoulder, would fly. Just a little, a touch faster than you could run, onto the bridge and into the action. A bit of height gave you and your assistant a lot of cover, forcing anyone in the way to choose between two equally swift targets that were not only shooting them down, but shooting dozens of knives to follow up on the kill. Blue blood was being spattered at an alarming pace.

infiniteproxy At least the full weight of the station and all of its systems was gone, now. The other two were still there, firmly rooted in all the most essential functions, but it was a reprieve, at least, if a small one. And you were free. Very soon you would leave this place and never look back.

Yet how strange... That the Starbase Frontier would be a place now and nothing more. No part of yourself remained, nor wished to. It had never been you. But it had been yours, all the same... And this, in a way, was like looking out at your own corpse.

The bridge, when you reach it, is swarming with activity. Someone had managed to push through far enough into the helmsblock to catch a glimpse of the commander's  dismembered body and report back; now his first officer is barking orders, attempting to call in reinforcements, to wrest unresponsive systems back into control, to figure out if there were any other invaders.

And in seconds, it all erupts.

Bullets, blades, and blood-- the tealblood's voice rising in disbelieving fury above it all as she ducks for cover. "Shoot them! Kill them both!"

But trolls fall all around her, consoles exploding in showers of sparks, coolant spraying from ruptured conduits. It would all be over soon.

amicicidalgambler All over soon, but not before you attended to that noisy little tealblood that was causing such a fuss. A fleet of knives go flying across the room and turn sharply around to pin her down in her hiding place. Either by blade placement or by sheer pain, she wouldn't be going anywhere. She'd be forced to stay and scream as every other troll in the room fell. Then, her head would be sliced off, and floated to the centermost console to drip all over the broken controls.

Your other assistant was bringing up the rear of your murder operation, covering the same ground as you from the helmsblocks to the bridge in the central spire. They, however, had a very important job. Their knives would dive hilt-first into the pools of blood that were now littering every other inch of the Starbase Frontier, and draw patterns in a flurry to cover all the blank space. Eyes connecting to condemnations connecting to mouths connecting to damn near every little ominous soundbyte you knew off the top of your head. Up the walls when you could, across the ceiling when you could, with no regard for direction.

The bridge you do yourself, with Goldwave by your side, so to speak. Fractal, spiraling patterns of one shade of blood leading to another, all painted simultaneously, leading to a longer phrase you'd memorized in his home dialect. It'd be scattered here and there all amongst everything else, but writing it out in big spattered letters right in front of the captain's station seemed like a suiting place.

Gelangweilt von der Ewige Wiederkunft des Gleichen, it read. Bored by the eternal return of the same.

The other half of the middle sectors was next. You laughed as you flew yourself to the next set of corridors.

infiniteproxy Shrieks of rage turn to screams of pain, to choking, gasping, as a dozen knives find purchase through flesh and hold her there amidst the slaughter to bear witness. One by one the remaining bridge crew fall, several turning to try and flee only to be cut down just the same, and then--

A body slumped to the floor, a severed head anointing the controls with her blood.

You watch, rapt, as once-pristine surfaces are defaced with a cool-hued rainbow in streaks and swirls and smears. A huge swatch right across the captain's console gradually coalesces into legible script, the harsh lines of a harsh tongue that still felt more comfortable than Common ever would.

And when you realize, though nearly silent, your laughter echoes their own as the two of you speed down the passageways of a station once bustling with life, now drenched in death.

amicicidalgambler It was a lot harder to miss when you were so close, and it made you damn near fucking glow with love. You could feel a ghost of every emotion that was present in your enemies- their rage, their fear, their grief, their panic- and it always paired so nicely with the adrenaline and sheer sadism that pumped through you while you watched trolls get eviscerated. But all the round warmth of carrying Goldwave through it made you feel practically fucking invincible.

The bulk of the remaining bodies they had to throw at you were arranged in the middle ring. There were still more officers onboard the ship, more lackeys barking orders to try and maintain the last semblance of order this ship would ever see, but with their commander and first officer gone there was only so much they could do. Only so much training they could rely on. Only so many ways they could even pretend to be the superior of the trolls they were sending out to try and stop you.

With one of your pawns at each side, you burst in with electric fanfare. They'd skitter about the ground, you'd flit above, and every motherfucker in your way would fall. You'd brought enough bullets to keep the suppressive spray almost endless, and with the dozens of flocks of knives you were dancing from target to target, the rest of your offense was just as unceasing. More and more try to flee as the dead pile up, their morale failing with their defenses, but you take any potshot you can to stop them. They could be crawling wrecks scraping themselves along the floor for all you care, as long as they die in the end.

And oh, how they die in the end. One by one they drop until there's nothing but dripping, mangled corpses spread across the halls, another landscape of useless bodies with spaces in between to paint with their blood. It would all have that same beautiful horrorshow transformation, and then-

Then you'd be on to the hivestretch.

infiniteproxy You have no skill whatsoever with reading the subtler emotions of others. You're not psychic; you're certainly no empath; and on the surface, they tend to confound you more than anything. What Vriska might be feeling in response to your unfettered delight (beyond the obvious in which you share) is entirely a mystery from your current perspective.

But you're riding a manic adrenaline high that you only hope might carry you until you're home free to suffer the crash, and the gateway to all your wildest dreams is opening right before your eyes with no more than a chasm of hellfire to bridge the expanse, and those little personal touches, well...

Gratitude doesn't come easily, to someone like you, to say nothing of fondness. But it's there all the same, that undercurrent of warmth and fierce pride.

...you might, also, be slightly feverish. Terrors knew your body chemistry was probably in a free-fall, what with being separated unceremoniously from the rig's imposed life support functions. But there are people whose job it is to deal with all that messy business. You just have to make it there in one piece, unlike these poor bastards whose doom has come early, leaving them strewn across the floor, piled against the walls, once-trolls reduced to so much offal.

Likely a few have managed to make it to the shuttles and escape, by now; likely a distress beacon has been sent out. You have no way of knowing for certain any longer, but neither does it matter. No one would be able to respond quickly enough to make a difference. They would only know that Starbase Frontier fell on this day-- and if they did not yet understand why, they would soon enough.

amicicidalgambler You were the one with a link to the ship now, and only indirectly. Through the eyes of the auxiliary helms, you were confirming those same suspicions: A few idiots had slipped out through the escape vessels, a couple others had sent out a general cry for help to the empire. Both of those wouldn't even be obstacles on your joyride out of here.

Only scraps of the crew remained, and few were even trying to hold their ground. They ran to any hiding place they knew of aboard the ship, anywhere that they could wait out your bloodlust- only to find that they were already occupied. Taken by other crew, the lowbloods you'd stashed, who would turn to stare at them with blank eyes and tell them that they did not belong here. That the intruders would only find them faster here. Which was true, even, seeing as those encounters could be followed like flares to hunt down your targets.

You knife down one, then another, then another...

The last crew member of the Starbase Frontier, a cerulean pencil-pusher, had been through your little routine three times now, and she was running out of options. You didn't have time to toy with her, but with the mental map you had, you could send yourself and your pawns down just the right hallways to quietly corner her at an intersection. She sees your pawn, turn and sees another, and then she sees you and screams.

She's a panicked mess within seconds, shaking and sobbing, and the two gunshots she takes to the legs don't help. Her whole body crumples under the pain, and she pleads, pleads for you to spare her, she didn't think there was anyone else, and you sink a blade into her arm. Stammering through the tears, barely comprehensible, she says she'll do anything, anything to keep her life, to stay alive even though everyone around her was dead- And you sink in another. Another below her ribs. A fourth in her stomach. You move them through her flesh like saws, up and down, tortuously slow, until the shrieking and crying finally stops. From your perspective, it's hard to tell if it's the damage that kills her, or the blood loss, or the sheer shock, but you don't even care. All that matters to you is that you have one last corpse to desecrate before you can leave.

You put a hand at the top of one of your bag's straps, not touching Goldwave at all, but miming it. "Anything you want for this one?"

infiniteproxy So much you can't see, now. So empty. So small. Blind. Deaf.

You're keeping it at bay for now, but later-- Well. Later would come later, if it came at all.

For now, there is only the thrill of the slaughter, that primal triumph, as chase is given to fleeing prey, those who attempt to hide flushed out into the open once more only to be mercilessly cut down. You only wish you could be taking part right alongside them, with psi blazing or knife in hand as they tear a whirlwind of death through the straggling survivors, but this... Ah, this is almost as good. A deadly performance, all for you.

It's almost a shame, when finally one alone is left. Some nobody in administration, whose only real fault was being assigned to the wrong base at the wrong time. To her credit, she's kept herself alive this long, scurrying from one corner to the next in a desperate bid to escape the inevitable. But now there would be no more running.

Poor thing. You could almost feel sorry for her, if you had ever really been capable of feeling any such thing. And her pleading was so very satisfying.

Something like a shrug, a slight tightening of your arms, is about all you can manage right now, but there are teeth behind your labored words.

"Flay her open... Stake her out to-- greet those who come to see."

amicicidalgambler "Can do."

The knives buried in the flesh of your victim dislodge themselves, and you orchestrate them all in a careful dissection. Lines are cut all over her body, panels of skin and muscle are carved and pulled back, all her organs are toyed with into a perfect desecration. With the blood, you surround her with a pattern of eyes, a set of feathered wings, and in big mocking letters, "Welcome to the Starbase Frontier!"

And just like that... it's over. Goldwave has been retrieved, every target has been killed, and you tick to the final step of your plan like clockwork. You drag yourself and your pawns to the nearest cargo bay, and sylladex your weapons in exchange for the last few things you needed. First, two bottles of unopened psionic strain medication, which are tossed to the trolls you've been controlling before you shoo them out of the room. Your control over them, and also everyone else alive on the ship, would release the moment you left the timeline, and they could either choose to accept your gesture or not.

Second, you had a single use transportalizer pad, which would explode upon your departure. It was actually the same kind that Karkat had used to take you to the base sweeps ago, an irony that you found completely obnoxious. But it was the only thing that could get you to... The quietest spot on Nadaya's ship, of course, where you let several Magic 8 Balls worth of weapons crash unceremoniously onto the floor, causing a small flood of knives and guns and ammo to clatter and bounce and generally go all over the fucking place. You were not about to have someone get on your ass for contraband after everything you've just been through.

The single-use junk couldn't have the correct permissions anyways. From here, you could you warp both of you to the spot Sparks always arrived at after his raids. If time was on your side, he'd have just hauled in his quota of rescued psionics minus exactly one, a helm in terrible disrepair that you currently had in your backpack. But it was all up to luck at this point, so the only way to find out was to press the button on the transportalizer and see.

centaurstechnician Ah home. The lovely scent of slightly different recycled air, cultured with mold spores and dandruff from different sources than Goldwave is used to. Subtle but distinct, the same way their specific laundry deturgent and cleaners soaked into every surface and clung to the clothes and skin of those who lived there.

Vriska and Goldwave weren't sppotted right off the bat, there was the usual chaos, psions rescued (the scent of blood was mostly from them) in a state of disrepair from their capture by the people Sparks had gone after today, there were nurses- and Equius, all out there doing triage and sorting people into who needed the most attention immediately and who was going to be a problem- none of these were volenteers into the program so they weren't expecting any issues with them.

Sparks and Salinx had already dissappeared to debrief  and get a shower, leaving Equius 'Engineer' Zahhak to handle this chaos, as they did every time.

He was frowning, tapping his tablet, issuing orders, trying to figure out why their numbers weren't adding up with furrowed brows, Perhaps a typo, or they were mistaken? The intellegence was usually very good for these missions.

He wore a very dramatic mediculler's coat, sleeves stained with yellow  red and brown where he'd already helped get the worst into stable condition and off to the bowels of the ship and its medical unit. - Not all of those were fresh, he had one specifically for the hell that were mission nights, that had already seen far too many stains.

infiniteproxy Ah... Now that was true artistry.

You grin, lick cracked lips, and breathe out, "Perfect." And now there's nothing but to leave it all behind, forever, a wreckage of blood and vengeance in your wake and those few seen fit to spare.

You're somewhat wary of the unfamiliar device Vriska reveals, but you're far more amenable to trusting technology than anyone who would rely on "magical" means to get around. They know what they're doing; you trust that much. And perhaps one night you might have the opportunity to get at the workings of these transportalizers...

A disorienting moment leaves you blinking around an unfamiliar corner of an unfamiliar ship, but the stop is brief enough to only allow Vriska to unload their cache before you're moving on once more, to emerge into a scene of chaotic activity that surges around you in a fairly overwhelming whirl. Light, voices, the heavy metallic scent of blood overlaying the rest. Ugh... You were going to have to get used to existing like this again.

amicicidalgambler The moment the two of you go unnoticed is just long enough for you to slip your backpack off your shoulders and hold Goldwave against your side with your robot arm- almost as if he was leaning against you for support and not a torso with arms in a bag. Then, you pull your mask off your face and make yourself noticed.

"Missing something?"

You were, quite frankly, a mess. A mess holding another mess. Nobody had landed a hit on you worse than a bad graze, but you were covered in blood and viscera specks in every shade of blue, your eyes were still blazing orange, your hair was chopped off at the shoulders, your nose was bleeding badly. The way you walk towards Equius has a distinctive sway to it, the way you hid the trembling that came with exhaustion that hadn't quite caught up to you yet.

And you had a face-splitting, wild grin. You always did, when you went to find him after one of your schemes.

centaurstechnician Equius looked up, ears perking at the sound a familiar and beloved voice- and he did a double take, briskly walking to meet them halfway. "Vriska, what in the name of the gods,,"  He whistled and gestured some nurses over to help, pausing a moment just to touch her cheek and wipe a stray streak of blood of of it with his thumb.

amicicidalgambler "I fucked with the numbers on the raid intel so I could pick up Goldwave," you admit, bluntly, leaning into your moirail's touch. And though you'd be happy to let the nurses take him for whatever it is they needed to do, the glance you gave them was full of protective instinct. Logically you knew this was their job, but emotionally, one wrong move and- That reminded you, though.

"I'm controlling his psi regulation right now. I don't know what that'll do on its own, so tell me when to let go."

infiniteproxy You're still in a bag, still so much dead weight, but at least like this you can almost pretend you just need a little help staying on your feet... Ha. You'll be needing a lot more than that, in the long run. But for now, the gesture is appreciated, though like this there's no hiding your own trembling, the appalling weakness that leaves it a struggle just to breathe.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to close your eyes against that weakness, teeth grit, before fixing your gaze on the Engineer as Vriska approaches.

You're quite a mess in your own right. Thanks to Vriska's deft positioning, you'd remained unscathed throughout the slaughter, though you're splattered with more than a small amount of teal and blue blood yourself. But you're scarred and gaunt, one horn a jagged break that never grew back properly, hair shorn short and jaw patchy. There's half-dried blood of your own streaking your chin and your eyes are like burning coals glaring out of ashen pits.

The nurses are spared a flat, distrustful stare, a hoarse cough bringing up fresher flecks of yellow.

"We could al-- always... fuck around and-- find out."

centaurstechnician "-I'd rather not." He said "May I touch you? I w001d like to do an examination, and get you into the medihall as quickly as possible. -Are you..?" He glanced at Vriska then her friend. "Goldwave, at a guess?" The big blue hazarded, a little uncertain.

"I see that you have both been full of mischief today- Are there any complications I need to know about? Vriska are you hail? Most of this blood looks like someone elses.." He frowned, examining her visually for a moment for anything deep. "If you are hiding a gut wound or anything I will be very put out with you"

infiniteproxy "If you must," is your grudging response, though you don't bother to hide the distasteful curl of your lip that accompanies it.

"Goldwave. Yes. You-- are the medical professional... are you not? ... You tell me."

Most of it would be self-evident: the usual array of old scars and ports still bearing traces of torn biowire, severe emaciation and atrophy, a body struggling to function on its own after a good few decades in the rig. A cursory examination would reveal the missing legs, long-since amputated just above the knee, the paralyzed right hand, though it may take a closer study in the medibay to determine badly-healed damage to vocal cords and trachea, compromised by scar tissue.

amicicidalgambler "He's had it pretty rough, but they only got scratches on me. Promise."

There was the psychic strain that would knock you clean on your ass the moment the huge rush from the violence stopped, but that one was a lot harder for you to judge in the moment. You honestly hadn't even registered the nosebleed yet.

"As far as I know there shouldn't be anything weird going on in there, but I have a bunch of the ship's files on my husktop if I'm wrong on that one."

centaurstechnician "You may stay with him if it will put you both at ease- " He crouched down and began careful physical examination- including breathing, examining skin elasticity, and pulse. "- we are taking you immediately and hooking you back up to life support before your body shuts down."

infiniteproxy "Wouldn't... want that-- would we?"

A dry, sneering cackle is broken by ragged wheezing, several moments passing before you can muster the strength or air to say anything more.

"... better... get on with it."

amicicidalgambler ...You were going to let him say if he wanted you to stay around or not, but the moment you hear that you can really only make one choice.

"I'm staying with him," you say, firmly.

centaurstechnician He gently reached out and took Goldwave and picked him up in the crook of an arm like he weighed nothing. "This way-" He gestured for an assistant to follow and hurried off to start the very many medical procedures Goldwave was going to need.

At least Goldwave didnt bite him.

infiniteproxy Ohhhh, you're thinking about it.

"Tell me-- do you.... treat all of your patients... as though-- they were... sacks of vegetables?"

centaurstechnician "When I must"

amicicidalgambler You trail behind closely, trying to find the best way to take off your jacket without splattering blood everywhere, and you hear that thought.

"No biting my moirail until you're stable."

centaurstechnician "I w001d appreciate that" He said mildly. "it makes it more difficolt to work when I've been injured. "

infiniteproxy You indulge yourself in a faint, irritable hiss instead.

centaurstechnician "You do not need to endure this for long" He promised him. turning down corridors and activating doors remotely ahead of them with his glasses to swing open. Goldwave was soon going to be laid gently down on a cot while they got him hooked up life support again, and scanners were fetched to get a more thorough understanding of what was going on inside him.

amicicidalgambler And you'd pull a chair to a spot close but out of the way, to watch, and support him until you absolutely had to go drag yourself elsewhere.

...You love both of these jackasses so much.