#which is an effect i could really use right about now

[welshrarebit]

Just as an additional context to his nonsense:

I'm assuming this is about the birth rate in the US around 1850, right? In addition to the fact that women were prevented from accessing the human rights the incumbent regime is attempting to strip from them, there's a host of other reasons for the birth rate being so high.

lack of functional contraception (first hormonal contraceptive wasn't invented until 1960, and extant barrier methods were significantly less effective, accessible or safe compared with modern counterparts)

The death rate for children under 5 in 1850 in the US was approximately 399.72 per 1000, with estimates that 60-110 of those were specifically infant deaths. The mortality rate in the US now for children under 5 is about 7 in every 1000. According to the Bureau of Labour Statistics, children on average started working at age 10, with some being employed as young as 3-4 years old.

I also want to know where he got the 300 births per 1000 women statistic from (aside from his own ass I mean) because the only statistics I was able to find specifically detailing the US birth rate from 1800-2020 listed it as 48.8 births per thousand people, meaning an average of around 5-6 births per woman. as of 2020 the birth rate was about 12 per every thousand people.

It's also worth noting that the maternal death rate in 1850 in the US was estimated to be about 50 per 10,000 births based on records, but could have been much higher as women from poorer socioeconomic backgrounds would have had significantly poorer access to adequate care. The maternal mortality rate for the US as of Jan 2024, according to the CDC, is around 18.7 for every 100,000.

Other issues of note - despite poor working conditions, lack of worker's protections and everything else:

$1 in 1850 was the equivalent of $41 dollars of modern currency. A family of 5 in 1850 was estimated to spend about $20.15 per week on food and fuel - about $826.15 in modern currency. An adult labourer at that time would've been earning about $25 a month on average (based on $300 year average income) or about $820 in 2025.

The average spending of a family of 4 in the US now is about $7101 per month (though this will vary state-by-state) with a median income of $4935. To put that into perspective, $7101 in 2025 has the same purchasing power as $173.20 did in 1850, and $4935 has the same purchasing power as $120.37.

$20.15x4.325 (avg weeks in a month) = £87.15, which is worth about $3573.14 in 2025, which is only 50.32% of current living costs.

$300 in 1850 - the estimated average yearly income for a labourer - is worth about $12,299.96 now. Split that by 12 for an estimated monthly income and you get $1019.16 (and a lot of recurring 3s) which is 20.65% of current wages.

In addition to the thing listed above by alarajrogers to improve the birth rate, if that's really what Matt Walsh is worried about (doubt), there needs to be a significant overhaul in wages vs cost of living. My personal recommendation would be Universal Basic Income (UBI) since multiple studies (California, Finland and Kenya being the largest examples) have shown it improves not only health and wellbeing but also improves productivity cause *gasp!* people who aren't spending their entire time worrying about how they're going to pay their rent this month are less stressed and can focus more!

Also people whose basic needs are met(food, water, shelter, affordable access to healthcare etc.) are generally happier, and having disposable income means *even bigger gasp!* that there is more money circulating in the economy.

But apparently nobody can do that because the rich don't want to pay their taxes and apparently seem to have forgotten what happened to the French aristocracy when the peasantry could no longer afford their basic necessities.

Also Idk about you guys in the US but in the UK we were told "the earth is overpopulated and we could soon run out of everything if everyone keeps having kids so have fewer kids" and "Don't have kids at all unless/until you can afford to look after them" to an almost absurd degree when I was a kid and looking at the way things have gone globally just in the last couple of years? They brought this on themselves - you can't tell people "the government doesn't owe you anything don't have kids you can't afford" and then complain when they take your advice.

Republican policies and misogynistic rhetoric are killing the white birth rate.

White conservative single men are broken.

White conservative single women can't find a decent partner.

Republican lonerism is coming home to roost.

[communistdragon]

As much as I love Kate Stewart, I really don't like the focus on UNIT as a good miliary power in the current era of Doctor Who.

I love the Jon Pertwee era of the show, and I don't object to UNIT as a concept, but I do object to the way they're currently being used. They can be used to great effect, especially when they're pretty explicitly in the wrong and in conflict with the Doctor (Doctor Who and the Silurians, for instance). They're also often ineffectual ("just once, I'd like to meet an alien menace that wasn't immune to bullets"), which is good. Doctor Who should not be a series where all the alien threats can be solved with a gun.

"The military is bad unless it's our own home-grown secretive armed forces" is a message that leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth. As much as this era is trying to be anti-fascist, any attempts to do so are undermined by the giant tower full of soldiers in London. We don't need any "militarisation is good, actually" messages in the show, especially right now.

The imprisoned aliens, concerningly labelled "assets" in the new episode, rub me the wrong way as well. Does the Doctor know about everything they have going on in that tower? They could easily and without consequence imprison an alien that's just some guy, and even the proper threats don't deserve a tiny cell like that. Send the Shreek home.

UNIT is a lot more interesting when they're more explicitly international - they are the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, after all. They ended up embroiled in international politics in the Jon Pertwee era - why are they so UK-centric now?

UNIT is also more interesting when they're not as ridiculously powerful and well-funded as they currently are. A limitation on their power and funding makes for better story writing.

What I'd like to see is UNIT get defunded, or at the very least to see a problem that UNIT handles in a terrible way that is not either justified by the narrative or the work of a rogue agent.

[z0mb0ysworld]

hello malewife.. um can you please write a Jackie taylor x reader fic where you get injured and she panics and takes care of you?

My Poor Baby

Jackie Taylor x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood

Zombie's Brains: Hello! So this kinda sucked because I am sick right now, but enjoy nonetheless! Also if you see any spelling mistakes, no you didnt.

If somebody asked you how you felt about Van before the crash, you would have said they are your best friend. In the wilderness however? You’d still do the same thing but there would be hesitation. It started yesterday when there had been rain and Mari woke up to water dripping on her forehead. Of course she complained that the cabin had a leak. 

“Y/N could probably fix it.. Their dad is a roofer.” Van shrugged as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I mean I do know how to fix it but isn’t it kinda dangerous? Plus, Jackie would stop me before I even got on the roof!” You threw your hands up in dramatic effect before placing them back at your sides when you noticed Mari thinking.

She smirked and you knew it was over, “I’ll lead away your missus and Van will boost you on top of the roof!”

Fuck. Since there was no way to really say no without sounding like a dickhead, you agreed. Now here you were on Van’s shoulders as they lifted you on top. You scrambled up and already had a bad feeling about it. The roof was still slippery from the rain but you were already here. Van tossed the wood up that you would use to repair the damn thing. They also threw up the hammer and nails that you found somewhere in the cabin. You moved to where you could see the hole with Van watching. “Dude, be careful please! Your girlfriend will kill me if you fall,” Van called from the ground. You rolled your eyes, “Thanks for the encouragement, buddy.” You could hear Van chuckle with an ‘I love you’ mixed somewhere in there. You place the wood over the hole and started hammering the nails into it to keep it in place. It was going smoothly until the last nail where you smacked your hand with the hammer. Hard. You reeled back and slipped off the roof. Luckily or unluckily, you smacked into the tree behind you which slowed down your descent, but also scratched your back up. You hit the ground on your shoulder when you went to move away from the tree. 

You heard a gasp and loud yell, “Baby!” and sounds of footsteps running towards you before soft hands pulled you into an even softer lap. Did you die? You looked up and saw your girlfriend. I mean if you did die and Jackie was your angel, you wouldn’t complain. Nevermind, there’s Mari. This would not be heaven. Jackie rubbed her hands over your cheeks, “Why were you on the roof!? You could have hit your head! My poor baby..” You felt a blush spread across your cheeks and you heard Mari snicker. Van had already run and gotten Misty when you fell off the roof. They both now rush to your side also. Misty pushed up her glasses, “Let’s get her inside. Van, can you get us a bucket of water?” Jackie who you assumed was riding on pure adrenaline picked you up in a bridal carry. You two probably looked funny from the outside since you were a bit taller than her. Jackie carried you inside and laid you on your back. You let out a wince, “Fuck! My back hurts so much!” Jackie kissed your forehead before rolling you onto your stomach. Misty pulled up your bloody shirt to reveal your scratched up back. Van walked in with the bucket of water. Misty went to get an old t-shirt but Jackie took it, “Let me do it..” Misty knew it was gonna be a losing argument so she handed the t-shirt over, “Can you guys leave me alone with them? I need to talk to them.” Oh fuck. She was mad.

When the others left, you smiled innocently, “Hey baby…” She glared at you before rubbing her hands over your hair.

“You’re such an idiot.. On the way in Mari told me that you were trying to fix the roof? Baby, I love you but I will kill you next time you do that.” She said with that tone that made you feel like you just curl up and die.

You nodded slowly and grimaced as the water touched your back, “I know.. But I fixed it!” She rolled her eyes and smiled as she gently cleaned off your back.

“Oh, my love, what am I gonna do with you?” She dunked the tshirt into the bucket, grimacing slightly at all the blood.

“Love me and kiss me?” She let out a giggle and nodded. She cleaned up the rest of the blood before moving your head onto her lap. She ran her fingers gently through your hair and rubbed her thumb across your cheeks. She sighed, “I love you so much, idiot. Please don’t climb onto the roof again?” You nodded as you buried your face into her thigh. You felt her warm lips press against your cheek, temple, and anywhere else she could reach. You mumbled into her thigh, “Mari made me do it anyways.. Yell at her.” She let out another giggle, “Oh trust me. She’s gonna get it for putting my baby in danger, but right now let me be your nurse.” You nodded and blushed as she babied you. When the others came in, they chose not to question why you were on Jackie’s lap in fear of the captain’s wraith. When they finally fixed dinner, Jackie shook you awake and kissed you on the temple. She had two bowls in her hands. You sat up with a quiet groan before reaching for your’s. She slapped your hand away as she put her bowl down. She got the spoon out of the bowl and scooped up some of the stew. You pouted, “I can feed myself.”

“Mm. Nah. Nurse’s orders. I gotta feed you, baby.” You could hear some of the other girls chuckle as you reluctantly opened your mouth so Jackie could spoon feed you.

When yours and her bowl were both finished. You laid down on your spot. She gently turned you around so you could cuddle into her chest as she gently rubbed your back. You sighed happily. If she was your nurse, you would happily get hurt again.

[luckyshouse]

thank you so so so so much for making that post abt the scary acceptance of pedophilia and incest as kinks/fetishes/whatever, I've been feeling crazy for thinking this is all so messed up and backwards (and everyone yelling how "it's just fiction so it doesn't matter!" as if propaganda isn't a thing lmao), I'm genuinely experiencing such a huge feeling of relief to see an artist i really enjoy the work of speak about this 🫶 (also thank you for sharing your art here, I'm really glad to have found your art a few months ago during a tag scroll)

i am so very glad that you feeel a lot of relief with me saying that. there needs to be more people saying it because it is creating a space and a dichotomy on this website where you either get to be a catholic antisex puritan or super proparaphilia to the point that you never criticize it. its kept me from exploring my own sexuality so much as a "weird furry" because truthfully i am into a lot of weird stuff that IS taboo but the idea is if you are into that shit, you ALSO have to be ok with proud paraphilias in your community. and this mindset also KEEPS people stuff in their paraphilias. this is why i bring up that pedophilia and incest isn't a taboo kink, because no, it isn't taboo. you go on pornhub and can find teen and family and rape shit literally everywhere. but you know what you cant find on pornhub? hypno. you're not allowed to look that up. not to make this about homestuck but did you know they deleted and scrapped the beekeeper trolls old design and stuff because they were outed for drawing giantess fetish stuff, but then also included a character thats canonically proshipping, made by a proshipper, whos actively into incest on their blog right now? this is exactly what i fucking mean. the whole "incest/pedophilia is taboo" idea only works in the same way that a comedian saying theyve been "silenced/canceled" works. like boy, i sure do hear a lot of you all the fucking time constantly on every website for something thats supposed to be "Silenced" i wonder why! i wonder what those two things have in common? could it perhaps be that its a fascist tool to silence people who push back against their beliefs? hmmmmmm.

it makes me very angry, and very sick. and i hope that more people are willing to speak up about it because i feel like this mindset also purposefully keeps survivors stuck in traumatized states so that there can continue to be the idea of a biological predator because people LOVE to make categories of people they can kill and torture without guilt. the idea that pedophilia starts nowhere and is just some weird misfiring of the brain implies that anything we do or any kink we have is completely independent of the society we live in, which is literally just not reality at all. like you said, somehow they can keep saying that fiction doesn't effect reality, even though propaganda is real and literally works, advertising is real and literally works, misconceptions are caused by fiction to the point they change reality, and then they also can't seem to figure out that OTHER PEOPLE could be using their art to groom literal actual children. its just so irresponsible, selfish and childish in my opinion. and then you could make the arguement that yeah of course its childish theyre so traumatized that they don't have the emotional capacity to understand the reach theyre causing and im like okay. this is the same logic we apply to autistic men sexually assaulting women. "ohh theyre too unwell and have the mind of a child" ok well get their ass in therapy if they're that incapable as an adult and seriously talk to them and tell them the truth. this is WHY its such a common thing for autistic men to become sexual abusers in the first place because everyone and their fucking mother goes "well he has the mind of a baby so he cant control himself" do fucking something about it then.

im rambling about something thats not even really connected, sorry. i just have a lot of very strong opinions of this that i think need to be said.

[writeforfandoms]

Mirror Mirror 10

Find the series masterlist

You finally get some answers. Everything is not magically okay, but it could be worse.

Warnings: Swearing, some explanations, some things are still a mystery, slight suicidal thoughts, emotional turmoil, this one's a bit of a rollercoaster.

Word count: 2.2k

“This was partially my idea,” Cortana said after the silence had stretched long enough to become uncomfortable and send your nerves jangling. 

“Okay,” you said slowly, gaze darting from her to John. 

“He didn't tell you anything, did he?” She sounded amused now, shooting a fond glance at John. “Just like you to rely on me to do the heavy lifting.” 

John huffed softly but didn't actually refute her words. 

“No, he didn't, and I would really like an explanation.” You leaned back in your seat, putting physical and emotional distance between you and them. 

“You were right,” Cortana admitted softly, looking at you and away. “About a lot of things. Warden was manipulating me. And… touching the Domain… it changed something in me. In my programming.” 

“Like a virus,” you offered when her words petered out, her gaze far away. 

“You could say that,” she agreed. “Like a virus. I didn't notice it, didn't even think it was possible. But once I got away from there and looked… well.” She waved one hand expansively. “I was able to do a lot of things.”

“Like get rid of the virus,” you guessed, though it was a safe guess. John wouldn't be sitting so calmly with her if she was still homicidal. 

“Right, but more than that. I found out where you came from, too.”

That had you leaning forward, arms dropping back to your sides. “What did you find out?” 

“The Forerunners never intended for AIs to use the Domain,” Cortana started, choosing her words with care. “It took me a while to figure out what I was doing and how to… control it. Sort of. I thought I was controlling it, but…” 

“You stopped it,” John said softly, reassuring. Or as reassuring as he seemed to get.

“Right.” Cortana paused and then nodded. “Well, somehow, I pulled you here. I still don't know exactly how I did it - it doesn't make any sense. The Forerunners didn't have time travel technology, and yet you're here, from over 500 years in the past. I still don't fully understand it.”

“Oh.” An accident. Well, of course it was an accident. No sane person would want you from the past - there were much better people than you, if they wanted someone from your time. You had just been the idiot who ignored all her training from horror movies and investigated something. 

You truly were an idiot out of time. 

“But that's not all,” Cortana continued, and your heart sank. More? “As far as I can tell, when I accidentally pulled you though, I created a sort of… link between us.”

“A link.” But you knew exactly what she meant. You had felt it. The blue light in your vision, the pain, all of it. 

“Must have been a side effect of pulling you through time. It didn't just effect us, though. It effected John.” 

You lifted your gaze, horrified, to John's helmet. “What?” You whispered. 

“I've spent so much time in his neural interface that the link formed between you and him, too. Which helped, I'm sure. Not that he would have abandoned you, but he never would have brought you to me otherwise.” 

“That's enough,” John said, soft but firm, though his helmet was fixed on you. 

You barely noticed. A mental link, between the three of you. You had been… what, manipulating John? This whole time? Your very presence had influenced his choices, made him do things he wouldn't normally do. 

He probably didn't even actually like you. Just the bits of Cortana you were attached to. 

“Get rid of it.” You almost didn't recognize your own voice, hoarse and pained. You could barely even feel your lips moving past the weight of shock and hurt. 

“I already did.” Cortana popped one hip, though she couldn't look right at you. “Before I brought you to John. I think breaking that connection sent you into shock. You'd been unconscious for a while.” She looked down, shoulders curving. “It nearly killed you. I nearly killed you.”

You swallowed back your immediate reaction, which, right now, was to demand she do a better job next time and just kill you outright. You breathed in. “You didn't know,” you said tonelessly. “None of us knew. Excuse me.” You stood and went around the holo table, not getting close enough to touch John despite the fact that you desperately wanted to.

Maybe especially because you desperately wanted to. 

The first door you chose led into the cockpit. You debated leaving, but Fred had already turned his head to check. He looked at you for a moment and then wordlessly pointed to the chair next to him. 

You dropped into the chair gracelessly, leaning back in the chair and staring straight out ahead. 

You hated the silence but you couldn't sit in the other room right now. Not after learning you'd been influencing John. And possibly Cortana too, although you felt almost no guilt about that, since you'd prevented her from mass destruction. 

“Chief doesn't make friends easily,” Fred said out of nowhere, startling you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to look at him, but he was looking straight ahead. “None of us do. For a long time, all we had was each other.” 

You shook your head slowly, the desire to hug them all returning. “You all survived so much,” you murmured. 

“I've never seen him take to someone so fast.” Fred finally did look at you, and probably saw your flinch. That had definitely struck a still very raw nerve. “And I'm glad he did, no matter the reason. You're good for him. For us.”

“How?” You asked, slumped hopelessly in your seat, head turned towards him. “I was… messing with his head.” You lifted one hand to twiddle your fingers at your own head. 

Fred shrugged. “Cortana explained that,” he said. “Didn't seem to me like you did much besides be in the wrong place at the right time.” He paused, and there was a clear smirk in his voice when he spoke again. “Making big eyes at Chief probably helped.” 

You snorted. You couldn't help it. “Big eyes?” 

“Oh, yeah. Big, trusting eyes. Terrified, but trusting. Easy to see you were hurt and scared, but you still trusted him.” Fred shrugged again. “At the time, I figured you just knew our reputation.” 

“I didn't. I honestly don't know if that would have made a difference anyway.” You turned your head front again, brow furrowing as you tried to find the words. “I just… I saw John, and I trusted him. Knew he wasn't going to hurt me. It still only sort of makes sense, but…” You trailed off and shrugged. 

“Do you still trust him?” 

“Yes.” You didn't even think, the answer ingrained in you already.

Fred nodded and looked at you, lifting his hand up to his helmet. His first two fingers made a quick swipe over the helmet where his mouth would be. 

You smiled, the gesture unfamiliar to you, but somehow you knew it was meant to be a smile. To be something good. “Thank you, Fred,” you whispered. 

He nodded, those same two fingers reaching across the open space to touch your forehead. “Shortstack.”

You laughed, tension spilling out of you as you swatted harmlessly at his hand. “And you ruined the mood. Here I was, all set to hug you despite that armor, and then you ruined it.”

“Aw,” he deadpanned, absolutely unimpressed. 

“No, no, mood's gone, no hugs for you.” You grinned at him, still fighting down the last of the giggles. You resettled yourself in your seat, breathing out slowly, looking outside. “Where are we?” 

“Heading towards a colony planet,” Fred answered after a moment. “It's the closest Guardian.” 

You nodded, eyes a little unfocused since the view outside didn't much change. “How long until we get there?” 

“Another few hours.” Fred glanced over at you. “If you want to take a nap.”

You breathed in deep, holding it long enough to feel the ache, before you let it all out in a whoosh. “I don't think so,” you murmured. “Can I just stay in here?” 

“Of course.” Fred settled a little more in his seat, glancing at you before focusing on flying again. 

You didn't mind this so much. You could just hear him breathing, the steady whir of the ship's engines different enough from the Guardian that you didn't feel so alone. 

After a little while, Kelly came in, dropping a bottle of water and a protein bar on your lap. “We've got an hour left,” she said, standing slightly behind you with her arm across Fred's chair. 

“Not bad.” You cracked open the water, sipping from it. Now that you thought about it, you were a little hungry. But the signals seemed a little… muted. Delayed. 

Weird. You'd think about that later. 

“Let me guess. You all go blow stuff up, I stay on the ship.” You didn't mind that plan, actually. Not being in mortal peril for a while sounded good. 

“Sounds right.” Kelly tipped her head at you. “Why? Hoping to do more sight seeing?”

“No thank you. I like not getting shot at.” You grinned at her. “But if you all wanted to make a pit stop on a new planet…” 

Kelly snorted. “We'll see,” was all she said, turning away. “Eat up.” The door slid shut near-silently behind her. 

You tore open the protein bar, chewing it slowly. “Why did you bring me along?” You asked suddenly, frowning. “I mean, I can't help with this stuff.” You waved a vague hand at the ship, meaning to encompass everything. 

Fred was quiet, glancing at you, but he didn't answer. You had just frowned at him, starting to get annoyed, when the door opened. 

“Do you want the easy answer or the hard one?” Cortana asked. 

You shot Fred a betrayed look before you turned to look. John stood in the open doorway, Cortana standing in the palm of his outstretched hand. 

“Both.” You refused to look away this time, feeling steadier already. 

“You were right to be wary of that doctor. He's ONI. They suspect you're not who Chief said you are.” Cortana spoke matter-of-factly. 

You nodded. You'd seen enough of ONI in the files to know that their suspicion was bad. “Definitely a good idea to get away from them,” you agreed. “And the other reason?” 

“We wanted you to come.” John spoke this time, steady as ever. “I wanted you to come.” 

You squashed down the warmth and happiness that simple sentence had inspired. “Are you sure?” You pressed, fingers twining around each other. “With, y'know, the link and all.” You half-shrugged, half-jerked your head, unsure how else to communicate. 

“I'm sure.” John stepped closer, and Fred stood, managing to slip past John and out. The door shut behind him, leaving you with John and Cortana again. 

“How can you be sure?” You pressed, sitting up and watching as he sat in the pilot's seat. 

“I thought about it. The entire time you were unconscious.” 

You went very still at that, staring at him with wide eyes. “You… did?” Even to your own ears, you sounded faint. 

John nodded, sitting up perfectly straight, helmet aimed straight at you. 

“Oh.” You smiled slowly, warmth finally flushing through you. “Well. I mean. In that case. I guess you mean it.” 

“I do.” 

You breathed out slowly, watching him. “Okay. So I'm along for the ride, not going anywhere. I also can't be of much help with the Guardians.” 

“Trust me, these guys have got that down fine,” Cortana piped up. “Besides, I think you could help me.”

“With what?” You didn't even try to keep the confusion out of your voice.

“The lifespan of the AIs.”

“Ah.” You sat back a little, surprised. “You realize I know nothing about that, right?” 

“That might be useful,” Cortana said. “You don't know how things are supposed to work, so your ideas might be more helpful.”

“Whatever you say,” you said, shaking your head. You didn't get it, but you didn't have to. “I can help with that, sure.” 

“Chief has something for you. I made it while we were on the Infinity. Just a little something to help.” Cortana looked expectantly up at John. 

John held out something small in his other hand. You took it, picking it up and turning it over. Actually, it reminded you of an earbud, similar in style and, you'd guess, in function. 

“That's connected to comms,” Cortana told you. “You'll be able to keep track of us. There are two buttons on the side - one is to mute your end, and the other is to switch uses. If, for example, you wanted to connect it to your data pad, you can do that.” 

“Cool. Thanks.” You popped it in, adjusting it until it sat right. Once it was in, you could hardly feel it. “Do I have to turn it on?” 

“No,” Kelly answered, sounding amused. “You're patched in.” 

“Very cool.” You smiled and felt for the two buttons. 

“Top mutes your end,” Cortana told you, watching you until you muted your end. 

“That should be helpful,” you muttered. “So I assume you all are going to go blow up the Guardian as soon as we get there.”

“Affirmative.” John nodded, still watching you. 

“Well.” You managed a little smile. “I'll be here for the fireworks.”

[sideblog-usernametaken]

What we know for sure about Trust Values so far:

The more trust you have the stronger you and your powers are (If you have any)

If enough people believe you can do something, then you can

If enough people believe you can't do something, or simply that you shouldn't do something, then you can't do it

I think the key factor in the case from episode 5 is that his Trust Value is exactly 1.

Every other person we've seen being effected by the Trust System has a massive Trust Value. But it's kind of rare to have a massive group of people have the exact same opinion or belief about someone or their actions. This is probably why superheros can even have any independent thoughts or actions at all, the only thing their fans can fully be in agreement on is their power set or very specific ideas about them (i.e. "Firm Man always stands tall" or "Nice is perfect at everything" type stuff). Otherwise Moon wouldn't have been able to plot to fake her death to get out of marrying Nice, and Nice wouldn't have been able to go through with an actual suicide.

So what happens when there's exactly one viewpoint that can influence someone? It's the only thing that can happen.

Yang Cheng basically installed tazers in his gloves and used them right before he gained that one point of Trust Value. The thought process could have been as simple as "I believe/want him to taze them again!" and since the gloves were broken, that translated to electric powers. Rewatching it, after he gets electric powers he can only use it at close range like how the gloves work. The only other abilities he really gets it a bit of a strength and resilience boost, which could come from a "He can totally win this fight!" kind of belief (Which snowballs as the kid believes that he can be a bit better than his current "performance" [Which has been their entire back and forth so far] and performance gets better). He was definitely stronger than those two guys, but he also wasn't nearly as strong as other heros we've seen.

I think his Trust Value being so low is what probably saved him here. Otherwise the belief that he's an actor or an otherwise normal guy probably would've overridden the "you can do it belief".

The question now is does he keep those electricity powers or not.

Wait wait hold on a minute though. So Yang Cheng having 0 trust value was weird, implying that most ordinary people have nonzero trust value. But most people aren't running around shooting electricity out of their fingers. So what is the truth?? Is it just that it's rare to get someone who believes you have superpowers? Actually I don't care and I don't expect coherent watertight worldbuilding because trust value is a metaphor

[deus-ex-mona]

i miss her…

[bumblingbabooshka]

Janeway in 'Nothing Human' vs Tuvok in 'Resolutions' There's something here I know there is I can almost wrap my teeth around it.

[keeps-ache]

the urge to talk my head off vs. the calm of quiet vs. the Thoughts

[todayisafridaynight]

i'll probably be skipping stream today & tomorrow on account of my personal challenge to finish JE before you (<- absolutely not going to happen)

but while i'm here SHUT UP your headcanon is not icky :) though i can't really talk since i don't bring my own up very often either, and i honestly haven't even put that much thought into the logistics around it. anyway trans masato 🤝 trans wagi as personal coping mechanisms

DAWG you gotta finish it... idk how long youve had it but prob longer than me cmon now gamer i know you can do it ✊

trans masato is just funny because Like Everything I Do it just started as me joking about scenes from the game and then the ending happened and i was like Oh Lol It's Not A Joke Anymore I Think

I DONT USUALLY SUBSCRIBE TO TRANS HCS EITHER THAT WHY IT ICKY TO MEAJLWKJL but thank you. i promise to only mention it once every five months

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the caf�� table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[camellia-thea]

hmm.

[catboybiologist]

Today I just found out that the woman who's been the most supportive of me in my transition believes that trans women shouldn't be able to compete against cis women in sports. Do you happen to have any good peer reviewed resources on the effects of estrogenizing HRT on someone's athletic abilities. Said woman in question doesn't seem to believe there's been any research done, which I deeply doubt. Thank you so much for your continued advocacy for us transfems.

I know you're turning to me for scientific guidance, but I'm just so fucking done with this issue overall. To quote contrapoints: I have nothing left but rage.

I've been on this road before. I could give you some. In most ways, trans women match cis women of their height and weight. But there aren't a lot. Yeah, its a problem. But fucking NOBODY will even study it because of how hot this issue is right now.

But more importantly: There will never, EVER be a study that meets their standards. There's always SOME physical metric that has differences between trans women and cis women. It's become essentially an iteration of the multiple testing problem- if you keep on doing statistical tests, eventually something is going to land.

I don't fucking want to provide studies. I don't want to cut myself down. I don't want my defense of myself to be "oohhh look at me I'm just as weak and pathetic and infantile as cis women"

Is this fucking feminism? Really?

I'm fucking done. Call me the evil hysterical woman, but this entire conversation reeks of misogyny to its fucking core. Organized sports as we know them are made by men, for men, to celebrate male accomplishments and excellence. Cis women can and do equal or excel men in many, MANY physical metrics. But the arbitrary set of rules, the arbitrary set of bouncing balls and scoring systems, are all made to reward the physical abilities of men. We create spin offs and systems of score tracking and variations of the same things over, and over, and over again, to give the fragile little male ego more and more reasons to stroke itself.

Let's take a look at some whiny as piss men not being able to handle the thought that women could EVER be physically notable.

Olympic target shooting used to be mixed gender. A woman won one year. The next year, it was segregated. Not only was it segregated, but the scoring system changed so that the scores of men and women could never be directly compared again.

Last year, Donald Trump sat on stage with Riley Gaines, the transphobic swimmer who whipped up the vitriol about Lia Thomas, and bragged about how it wasn't fair she lost her competition because he, Donald Trump, a 78 year old out of shape wax sculpture of a man, was male. And that he could beat Riley. A trained D1 swimmer. And Riley took it, because it advanced her grift.

There's a now infamous poll that 1 in 8 men think they could beat Serena Williams in a tennis match. Its pretty old at this point, but I'm guessing that number is even higher now.

This entire conversation centers around "trans people crushing the dreams of female athletes" but oh my fucking god, are we not doing that as a society already? This entire fucking "debate" is just an excuse for more and more cis men to sit their, stroking their fucking egos on live television about how big and strong and powerful and fucking WHATEVER men are, and even the trace of maleness in trans women is enough to permanently make them some kind of ubermensch that destroys cis women by every metric imagineable.

I don't give two shits about saving sports, one way or another. I detested organized sports long before I transitioned. Ya wanna talk natural advantage, and how sports rewards exactly the kind of physical ability that a certain brand of cis man pushes themselves to? I have a very mild ankle deformity that means jogging for long periods of time is painful. My best mile time is over 11 minutes. And yet I don't see any of the fuckers that are "better" than me out there in the ocean, clinging to the bottom on a single breath for minutes, or up there with me on top of Whitney. Only one of those skills is celebrated.

Fuck me that was a tangent. My point is, I've long since realized that sports are a self propagating system for the egos of people with a very particular kind of physical prowess. The only exception to this is when its exploitative of people with that kind of extremely specific physical prowess, and leaves those it exploits in the fucking gutter. I don't need to start bringing up CTE, I know y'all know exactly what my take would be on that.

but what is sending me over the fucking edge is how I'm supposed to be the crazy one. I'm the delusional tranny for pointing out that we have lost the fucking plot entirely. This is recreation. Its entertainment. And we are using it to punish people. Fuck this.

I'm so sorry OP, but just don't engage in that game. If you need a calm, measured argument, try attacking the misogyny of it all. The only way to "fix" sports is to create more events that reward and celebrate the physical abilities of cis women: flexibility, extreme long term endurance, and fuck I'm not a sports person nor do I want to waste brainspace on more than that. We need a system for cis women, one that doesn't tell them "here, have this shittier, less viewed, less supported, less encouraged, less celebrated version of something a man is good at". Trans people would find some place in that and in theory, there would be nothing to complain about.

Jesus fucking christ, if I see one more male news pundit start talking about trans women in sports I'm going to straight up devolve into a misandrist.

[kianamaiart]

🌟KIANAMAIART FAQ🌟

FAQ wahoooo!!

GENERAL QUESTIONS

Who are you?

I'm Kiana, I'm a queer, Japanese Jamaican woman, and a Director/Storyboard artist who works in animation. I'm currently at Disney Television Animation.

What are your pronouns?

I usually go by she/her but I don't really mind any pronouns~

Where did you go to school?

California College of the Arts (but I dropped out when I was hired at Disney)

How did you get hired at Disney?

My bosses found me on twitter. They liked my drawing style and asked if I wanted to take a storyboard test. I did, I passed, I got interviewed and moved to LA two weeks later to start storyboarding.

Your work seems familiar. What do I know you from?

I've been on the internet for a long time! It could be a number of things. As maimai97 on dA I had a comic about next gen Pokemon characters called Pokemon 25 Years Later. As kilala97 I had some popular next gen ponies and also had a Steven Universe gemsona named Larimar. I'm also @yamujiburo, known most for drawing Jessie x Delia (hanamusa) a lot. I also work professionally! I've worked as a storyboard artist and director on Disney Channel's Big City Greens, I was a storyboard artist on one of the Steven Universe anti-racism shorts and I was a storyboard artist on Pokemon: Path to the Peak. Most recently I've been on season 6 of Dropout's Game Changer!

What program and brush do you use to draw?

Default brush in Storyboard pro. Photoshop sometimes just for compositing or specific effects.

PPPIDWTBAMG QUESTIONS

What is this project?

This is a project that started off as a silly idea that has since grown into me creating a 10 minute pilot animatic.

What does "pilot animatic" entail?

It means that it's effectively a pilot/episode 1 of a (potential) larger series. It's fully voice acted but is not fully animated. It's an animatic, meaning it will be comprised of storyboards in video form.

When and where can I watch the pilot!?

Now and right here!

What would this series be rated?

Ideally like PG13/TV14! Or whatever they call it. Definitely more geared to a YA audience. Not completely kiddy but also not what most people would consider adult animation to be

What are you planning to do with the project now that the pilot has released?

Don't know yet! There has been a lot of studio interest and even offers, so I'm in the process of talking with them and seeing if I can find this show a home or if I want to try doing it on my own or if I want to even continue with it at all. I know you guys are curious, but even if I wanted to tell you I couldn't. Just trust that I will make announcements as they come~

You said Aika had teammates, will we see them?

Because of the studio interest and potential for more of this show, there's some stuff I'm still holding close to my chest. This is one of them.

Do the characters have parents??

Zira does! As for Aika and Eclipse, this is something I'm still developing and don't really know myself haha

What are the characters' sexualities?

Don't know right now. Headcanon away!

Is "Star Guardian: Guardian of the Stars" a reference to that vine?

Nope! It's more so a parody for just really long and redundant titles which I love. Similar to the title of this project, which is called "Pretty Pretty Please I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl"

[seumyo]

imagine how heavy bakugou’s gauntlets are to you.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had done to deserve this.

Maybe you had done something awful in your past life, and it’s finally come to bite you back in the ass.

Sure, you were a UA student. Sure, you had signed up for the hero course, fully aware that it would involve combat training. But this? Holding onto one of Bakugou’s gauntlets—the same gauntlets that had nearly blown Midoriya through a building during the first battle exercise?

You could already see your funeral.

Your relatives all coming together under one roof to mourn you.

Your fingers curled stiffly around the massive piece of equipment, your right arm straining slightly under its sheer weight. You had always known they were heavy—Bakugou’s combat style revolved around explosive power, and he wasn’t the type to wield anything flimsy—but this?

This felt like holding a compact boulder.

A boulder filled with nitroglycerin-laced sweat.

That part was arguably worse.

It’s like lifting a weight that never really lightens over time.

Your mind raced with the implications.

His gauntlets stored his sweat to maximize explosive output. Which meant the one you were holding was loaded. Which meant if you even thought about holding it wrong, you’d be gone. Reduced to nothing but a crisp outline on the ground.

Holding an explosive hazard had never been part of your bucket list.

You could not channel your inner Meredith Grey and take one for the team to hold a bomb.

“I—” you started, your voice thin and weak. “I don’t think I should be holding this.”

Bakugou, standing in front of you with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. “And why the hell not?”

Because it was a bomb, for starters.

Because it was his bomb, specifically made for him, and you had just been handed it like it was some casual training exercise and not a potential death sentence.

Instead of voicing any of this, you swallowed hard and said, “I—I just don’t think I’m qualified? Don’t I need to have a seminar for this? Maybe a safety waiver?”

Bakugou scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”

Your grip tightened reflexively.

Oh god, was that too tight?

Was it going to go off?

Bakugou’s eyes flicked down to your hands, then back to your face. “Your Quirk makes shit weightless and indestructible, right?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“Then you’re the best person to hold it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted. “You wanna play defense all the time? Fine. But in the real world, you need to learn how to hit back. Can’t stand your damsel-in-distress act every situation, shithead.”

You bit your lip.

He wasn’t wrong, but… you had seen firsthand how much destruction his Quirk could cause. He had gone all out against Midoriya back then, using these very same gauntlets to unleash a massive blast that almost ruptured an entire building. You hadn’t even been in the fight, but you had felt the heat from a distance and had heard the deafening roar of the explosions echoing across the control room.

And now you were the one holding it.

“…It’s not gonna explode on me, right?” you asked.

Bakugou rolled his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t get stuck.

“Not unless you’re stupid.”

That wasn’t reassuring.

Not at all.

You swallowed again, forcing yourself to focus. You weren’t completely helpless. Your Quirk made whatever you held weightless and invincible. If you activated it now, you wouldn’t have to worry about the gauntlet’s weight—or about dropping it by accident and, in turn, detonating it.

Taking a deep breath, you firmly held the gauntlet with both hands.

The effect was immediate.

The heaviness vanished entirely, replaced by a strange, almost floating sensation. Your fingers adjusted around the gauntlet’s surface with ease, no longer struggling against its weight. A faint, translucent glow coated the edges, a telltale sign that your Quirk had fully activated.

You exhaled, relieved.

“Okay. I think I got it.”

Bakugou smirked. “Took you long enough.” He stepped in close without warning, his hands reaching for your wrists.

You barely had time to react before his grip closed around them, adjusting your stance.

Your brain blanked.

Bakugou was close. Too close.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, his fingers strong and sure as they repositioned your hold. He smelled like sweat and burnt caramel—like fire and something sharper underneath, something distinctly him.

(You tried not to think about it too much.)

If you hadn’t already been panicking about the gauntlet, you definitely were now.

(You were falling—ahem, failing at not thinking too much about it.)

“Loosen up,” he said, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You’re gripping it like it’s a fucking live grenade.”

“Isn’t it, though?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

He grinned.

Oh no.

That was a bad sign.

“Not yet,” he said, sounding far too entertained. “But it will be.”

You let out a strangled noise.

Bakugou ignored it, stepping behind you so that you were completely boxed in by his presence. His hands remained firm on yours, his chest nearly pressing against your back as he guided your aim.

Your brain was screaming.

It wasn’t like you were new to close contact—UA training often involved being thrown around by classmates—but this was different. This was Bakugou Katsuki, infamous for his temper and even more explosive Quirk, pressed up against you like it was nothing. Like you weren’t about to spontaneously combust just from the sheer proximity.

Maybe you were thinking too much into it.

“Alright,” he murmured, tilting your wrists slightly. “On my mark, let go.”

You nodded weakly, hoping he couldn’t feel how fast your pulse was racing.

“Three…”

You swallowed.

“Two…”

Oh god.

“One.”

You released, letting your left hand fall, Quirk disabling instantly as the barrier lightened.

The explosion erupted in an instant, the force slamming through the air like a shockwave. The ground trembled beneath them, a scorching heatwave blasting outward as the impact roared across the training field.

You barely had time to process any of it before you felt yourself lurching backward, the recoil throwing you off balance—

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, anchoring you firmly in place.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Bakugou had caught you.

His grip was solid, his chest firm against your back, keeping you steady against the sheer force of the explosion. His hand pressed against your stomach, holding you still as the last remnants of the blast dissipated into the air.

For a second, neither of you moved.

...

It was bad enough that you had just fired one of his gauntlets, but now you were in his arms? With his hand on your waist?

Man, maybe you should’ve been the gauntlet’s target instead.

Bakugou didn’t say anything at first, just exhaled through his nose before slowly releasing you, letting you find your footing again.

You stumbled slightly.

He steadied you with a single hand on your shoulder. “You good?”

You turned to look at him, still in too much shock to form a proper response. “Y—eah?” you replied after a moment.

Bakugou raised a brow. Then, to your absolute horror, his lips curled into an infuriating smirk. “Tch. Dumbass,” he says. “Not too bad, eh?”

“I could’ve died.”

“Nah.”

“I’m scared that you’re carrying heavy weight—bombs around like it doesn’t weigh a ton.”

A shrug. “Training.”

Your hands were still clammy.

Probably not from fear anymore.

“You wanna try using the other one?” he offered, surprising you and himself, really.

...

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[reidrum]

doctor, doctor

A/N: the things i have planned for them.............

summary: in which the doctor meets the doctor, a doctor meetcute if you will

cw: doctor!reader, fluff, flirting, hospital mentions, set during season 5x01 (spoilers ig)

wc: 1.07k

Spencer hates hospitals.

He’s not really sure who could like being in one of them, but it’s definitely not him. The hospital brings bad memories, near death experiences, a reminder of his impending mortality—things he already has enough of at work.

Yet work is mainly the reason he finds himself laid out on a hospital bed from time to time, waiting to find out how much of the unsub’s agenda is about to be scarred on his body forever. It’s how he finds himself right now, twiddling his thumbs as he waits for the doctor to come give him an update. Today’s incident, ironically, was him getting caught in the crossfire of a vengeful father out to kill the surgeon who couldn’t operate on his son. It was only his leg that suffered, but he knows the recovery for it is about to be a long and boring journey.

Spencer’s ears perk up at a group of voices most likely a few doors down, outwardly sighing knowing the doctor and their team are about to round on his case next. He just wants to go home. Emily had been texting him updates about Hotch who hadn’t shown up for the case earlier that day, and it only spiraled further when Penelope found out he had been dropped off at the ER on the other side of town with Derek’s stolen credentials. No one’s been able to give him an update since and all he can do is sit in this stupid bed while he suffers in agony.

A knock pulls him out of his head, “Good morning Mr. Reid, mind if I come in?”

He nods aimlessly without looking up just yet, adjusting his body on the bed so he can at least look respectful while sitting up to talk to the doctor.

“How are you feeling today?” you say as you click through his chart on the monitor next to him.

Spencer sighs, “I’ve been better. Oh, I’ve been having these chest pains and I was thinking it’s probably a side effect of the Dilitiazem. Maybe it might be better to switch to—“

The rest of the sentence falls flat on his tongue, because that’s when he finally gets a look at his doctor.

You’re not what he’s expecting out of a doctor, and he swears he means it in the least misogynistic way he can think of. Quite the opposite really, as he thinks he’s definitely discovered the living definition of brains and beauty. You’ve been in the room for all of two minutes, all you’re wearing is scrubs, and yet he’s enticed by every inch of you—by the way your fingers type quickly on the keyboard, your brows furrowed whilst deep in thought, how your lips move when you talk.

Wait, your lips are moving.

“Mr. Reid? Everything okay?” you wave a hand in front of his face, “Your chart didn’t say anything about a head injury, are you feeling dizzy?”

“Uh—Um, d–doctor.” he stutters.

You tilt your head in adorable confusion, his heart squeezes in love at first sight, “Yes, I’m the doctor…are you sure you’re okay?

Smooth, Reid.

“N—No, I um, I’m a doctor too.” he winces out.

“I see, good to know,” you smile, “what kind of doctor are you?”

“Oh, I’m not that kind of doctor,” He should have never learned how to speak. “I have three PhDs.”

“Three? Holy shit, that’s impressive.”

He blushes profusely, thankful the heart rate monitor hasn’t picked up his tell.

“What are they in?” you ask with a genuine interest sparkling in your eyes.

Spencer goes bashful, “I have PhDs in math, engineering, and chemistry. Also two bachelors in sociology and psychology…and I’m working on my philosophy degree right now.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, “Are you like a genius or something?”

“Or something. I have an eidetic memory.” he smiles sheepishly.

“Now that would be useful in medical school, surprised that’s not something you picked up while shopping around for those degrees.”

His face reddens deeper. You’re making jokes, and he’s thinking chapel versus courthouse.

“Just wasn’t interested in it, plus I’m sure the medical world is better off with people like you.”

You grin slowly, “Like me? You just met me.”

“I’m a profiler for the FBI, the behavioral analysis unit?” he says it like a question.

“Oh, I’ve heard of you guys! We see you on the news all the time.” you say excitedly, “What’s your verdict on me then?”

He takes a breath, “I think…you’re very good at what you do. The time it took you to get from the previous patient to my room was longer than average which tells me you’re well liked and respected. And I think I’d be more inclined to lie in a hospital bed if I knew you’d be my doctor.”

“Dr. Reid, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you might be flirting with me.” you say cheekily.

“Is it working?”

“Verdict’s still out.” You wink at him, he nearly flatlines, “So, you think the Dilitiazem isn’t working? What do you think we should switch to?”

“Um…Amlodipine?”

You grin, softly chuckling, “Good call, doctor.” You turn back to the monitor to put the prescription in and close out the chart. “Can I just check your lungs really quick?”

He nods and instantly regrets it when you step closer, the waft of gourmand overwhelming his senses. You unravel your stethoscope and lean down to press the face to his chest, “Deep breath.”

Spencer inhales as best he cans but he knows he’s about to be outed the longer you stand so close to him like this.

“Your lungs sound fine, but your heart's beating really fast.” you giggle as you stand up straight again.

“It does that.” Around really, really, pretty girls.

“Not sure if the Amlodipine alone will help that.”

“No I don’t think so either,” he shuffles awkwardly on the bed, “but…your number might?”

“My number? That’s awfully forward, Dr. Reid,” you beam, “but, if in your educated opinion you find it vital to your recovery and well being…” You scribble your name and number on a post it note, sticking it to the flower vase on the side of his bed. Clicking your pen and sliding it back into your pocket, you head towards the door.

“It was very nice to meet you, doctor.” you turn to him, “See you soon?”

He couldn’t hide his grin if he tried. “See you soon, doctor.”