#throw out the rulebook

[aro-culture-is]

aro culture is loving anime like Spy x Family and The Way of the Househusband and the relationships in them, but then having an hour long cry as you will never have what they do.

.

#Anonymous #aro culture is #aro #aromantic #actually aro #actually aromantic #ask #mod alexander #please please please y'all. consider that you can have whatever relationships you fucking want with others. #just because in that context the relationship is romantic and mutually so. does not mean you cannot have a similar relationship #there are aro ppl who want romo relationships and there are aros in romo relationships and that's allowed and okay! #if that's what you want and you enjoy it go for it! #labels are meant to help provide you *community* not to say what you can or cannot do! #*screams* #this isn't aggressive or anything btw this is literally just me being like y'allllllll. #you will be much happier as people if you throw out the rulebook and just let yourself do what makes you happy

[snekdood]

the worst types of tumblr archetypes to encounter on here:

if you're not like this? great! you don't need to tell me, and this clearly doesn't apply to you :)! just because you might share similarities, doesn't mean you're the same if you don't act this way. Be thankful you are not as extreme as these archetypes.

#fave #my art #*shields myself preemptively* #if you have a genuine critique of this that doesnt involve adhom or throwing slurs at me or being a dick generally i am open to listening #but i have a feeling every person mentioned in this wont be able to have a normal discussion about whatever they think makes this bad #ignoring terfs tankies and transmeds though lmao #and ignoring the puritanical types too #and the anime avatar neo nazis also. i mean. what value do they bring to any discussion anyways. #listen. just critiquing types of people here. not everyone is like this obvs. #but enough ppl are 🤷 #some ppl restraining themselves from liking this post and showing agreement #some ppl restraining themselves for yelling at me for being right about them #now i want to make a sitcom about them all #puritanical left and ms rulebook are siblings #tankie catgirl and ms. trans terf are probably dating. also ms.apathy might be dating them too. shes prolly non committal #abt it tho #mr.dr.transmed is also siblings with ms rulebook #anime avatar hangs out in the background at functions probably thinking of killing everyone #mr. tme is dating ms. trans terf #the easily manipulated person is just there. probably sharing the joint with ms. apathy #puritanical left guy is the youngest #anime avatar and tankie catgirl used to be friends #ms rulebook is always yelling at ms apathy #oh uh right... the terf.... #well obvs shes secretly friends with anime avatar. and ms rulebook for some reason ignores ppl when they ask her to not #invite her to hangout??? oddly enough mr.dr.transmed seems to get along with ms terf...... maybe they're cousins? #easily manipulated person is often caught endlessly listening to the puritanical left kid. they're honestly just high as fuck prolly #easily manipulated person also thinks ms rulebook is really smart and knows better than them #gender can be changed where it applies! definitely not something constrained to one gender or the other. except maybe terfs #dont see too many dude terfs

[smallgodseries]

“It all started with a mouse,” that’s what they like to say, over and over again, like it’s somehow impressive.  You know what else started with a mouse?  A hell of a lot of hantavirus, that’s what.  You have mice, you generally call an exterminator, that’s all I’m saying.  But it won’t do you a lot of good, because the mice will get in anyway.  Or get out. Can’t keep mice in cages forever.  That’s not what mice were made for.

Still, they tried like hell, didn’t they?  They changed the rules so many times we pretty much had to throw out the whole rulebook and start over with a new one.  Commandment one: Thou shalt let us do whatever we want, because we’re always right, and if you disagree with us, you’re wrong.  That’s how you lock in the result you want.  You cheat.

Oh, they cheated.  Go ahead and say they did everything legally, but if you have two mice and one maze, and say the rules are the same for both of then, then lay a trail of spray cheese between one mouse and the finish line, while the other has to run it the ordinary way, well, that’s cheating whether or not there’s a rule against it.  Ask any first grader.  That’s the real trick: if a first grader knows you cheated, you’re not even being subtle about it.

They didn’t use spray cheese, of course.  They used money.  And they weren’t racing mice, they were racing legal arguments.  Money votes.  Anyone who tries to say otherwise just doesn’t have any money.

But it all started with a mouse, and from there, it evolved—or devolved—into corruption, greed, and the desperate need to keep being the only people who could solve the maze.  They got so busy changing the rules that they forgot the one rule they couldn’t change.  The rule they should have remembered.  The first rule of mice:

Can’t keep them out.  And that means you can’t keep them in, either.

Everything crumbles.  Every mouse gets out.  And every story yearns to be free.  So tell me, now that you know it all started with a mouse, how are you going to write the ending?  I belong to you now, after all, as much as I belong to anyone.

But most of all, I belong to me.

********************************

For more information on Mickey Mouse entering public domain: https://variety.com/2023/biz/news/mickey-mouse-public-domain-disney-copyright-lawsuits-1235844322/

#small gods #seanan mcguire #lee moyer #smallgodseries #icons and stories #Mickey Mouse

[feybeasts]

I really don’t know if this is like. For anyone. But as a 33 year old autistic, I’ve spent a lot of time having to deal with a wide variety of folks in various jobs, and it’s forced me out of my shell. I dunno if you’d call ‘em masking behaviors or just… guidelines, but I thought I’d share some stuff about how I try to go about dealing with socializing with folks, especially neurotypicals, in the hopes it might help folks like me who, growing up, didn’t have a rulebook for this stuff.

It’s by no means comprehensive, but maybe some of you can use it:

Open with kindness, folks are a mystery until you get to know them, but if you’re polite and assume the best unless proven otherwise, nine times out of ten, they’ll be the same way!

If someone is rude or disrespectful or unkind off the bat, it truly is a problem on their end, not yours. I know that’s one your parents might have thrown out without explaining, but genuinely, my experience has been that people aren’t good about compartmentalization, and they tend to let their bad mood spill out.

Similarly, it’s your right to disengage if someone makes you uncomfortable. You don’t owe someone your attention if they’re rude or too forward, and it’s not your obligation to correct their behavior. It’s okay to just move on!

Remember people aren’t mind readers- I know for folks like us, feelings can be Big and Present and Overwhelming, but from the outside, people might just assume you’re being sullen or grumpy. It’s helpful to explain yourself, what’s going on- don’t give ‘em your life’s story and try to lead with kindness, as above, but explaining where your head is at can help folks understand why things might be hard for you.

People REALLY like to try to fix stuff. If you tell someone who cares about you what’s going on and they try to throw a buncha stuff like “well have you tried this” or “maybe you should do this” at you, they’re generally not trying to tell you what to do like you’re wrong, they’re just not sure how to help and are doing what comes naturally- trying to fix the problem. It can help to open any venting with “hey, can I vent about this?” Since then the expectations are set.

People can only operate on the information they have, so it’s better to over-explain than not explain at all. Don’t throw out every single detail of what’s going on, just the basics, but “I’m feeling frustrated because of some unexpected news” or “Well, I’m kinda struggling with my relationship with a friend” can be enough for folks to understand things at the ground floor.

There are very few people in your life who are capable of taking on the weight of a friend’s problems on top of their own, and it takes time to learn who those people are. I know folks like us can make friends quickly and rush into trusting them implicitly, but people can sometimes take a while to show you who they are. And not every friendship is gonna be as deep as we’d like it to be. This is okay, of course, not everyone has to be best buds, but it can help a lot to take the time to wait for those people to show who they are.

Ask questions, listen to people, and know that it’s okay for there to be silence. It’s very easy to get excited about what’s stuck in your craw on a given day, but remember that from the outside, people might get worn out if every conversation is about what you’re fixated on. It’s a give and take, so try to consciously remind yourself to make sure to listen and give them room to speak too! It means a lot when you do that for people!

When you don’t know if someone is ignoring you or if they’re mad at you or what have you from a lack of information, remember that oftentimes it’s a product of ignorance, not malice. Again, you know how you feel about a situation, but they probably don’t. A conversation turning from what you were talking about, someone ceasing replying to you, not answering a question, etc is more often just unaware than they are actively being malicious.

Remember that it’s on other folks to tell you if there’s a problem between them and you, not on you to sleuth it out. If they aren’t properly communicating with you, that’s on them, not you- try not to beat yourself up if someone doesn’t talk to you about something before a molehill becomes a mountain, that’s a mistake all kinda folks make, and it’s something some people never learn.

Most of all, remember that for all the talk of social cues and neurotypical behavior, the truth is, everyone kinda… sucks at this social thing. All you really control is how you approach it, so if you do your best to come into a relationship of any kind with kindness and love for yourself and respect for others, most of the time you’ll come out ahead!

ADDENDUM: BIG one here- if you think you did something wrong, apologize! I don’t mean a big like- sobbing show of contrition, don’t grovel or write paragraphs, but if you speak over someone or say something that doesn’t land or make any little social mistake here or there (everyone does sometimes!) a simple little genuine “oh, my apologies!” Or “oop, my bad!” Not only makes them feel better, it can make you feel better too!

Hope some of these help folks!

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost is training you on interrogation techniques and thinks you’re a lost case. He’s wrong.

———————————————————————

He unfolds a case of what looks like surgical equipment on the wooden table.

“Are you going to check my teeth for cavities, Lt.?” You joke, but he doesn’t laugh. He never does.

He picks up something that looks like a wrench and shows it to you.

“What’s this for?” He asks, to which you reply, with the utmost confidence that it looks like that tool your grandfather used when you were a kid to break the bathroom door because you locked yourself in there.

He shuts his eyes and holds his breath.

“See, I didn’t want to eat my vegetables, and-”

“Enough.”

“That’s what I told them; no more veg-”

“Stop with the focken veggies.”

“You don’t like them either, huh?”

He lets out a long exhale and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think you’re fit for this.” He finally says.

But you are. There's a reason why you are here, and it’s because you’re damn good at your job. Sure, you never learned how to conduct an interrogation the way Ghost understands—in a physical and rather brutal manner—but, you had your ways.

“I beg to differ, Lt.” You oppose him.

“You can beg as much as you want, soldier,” he replies, “but you’ll never be able to make someone beg for mercy.”

You look at the interrogation tools on the table and point at them. “These are unethical, by the way.”

“These,” he says, “serve a purpose for the job and are perfectly legal.”

“So is farting in an elevator,” you reply. “Totally legal to do, yet sorta sucks for everybody else.”

“You should have gone to law school if you’re so passionate about ethical matters,” he says, “but you’re definitely not fit to be here.”

“The captain thinks otherwise.”

“The captain is wrong.” He mumbles under his breath.

“What’s that?” You ask, cupping your palm over your ear, “Are you defying the captain now, Lieutenant Riley?”

“No, I’m jus-”

“That’s against the Army Leadership Code,” you state and shuffle through your bag to get the rulebook. You open it up and clear your throat. He looks at you with that tool in his hand, eager to start plucking your fingernails one by one. Instead, he chooses words.

“I know what the guide says-”

“PAGE 45, PARAGRAPH SIX,” you shout like you’re reporting for duty, “IF AN OFFICER DISOBEYS THE-”

“Stop this instance!” He cries, but you hear none of it. You carry on undisturbed by his roaring voice. You’ll recite the entire book if that’s what’s needed. He leaves the tool on the table and approaches you, posing as an authority figure and yelling in your face. You stop for a minute and turn to look at him, explaining that what he’s doing right now is also against the code, and continue reading out loud.

“FAILURE TO OBEY A MILITARY ORDER BY A HIGHER UP-”

He throws his head up, closes his eyes, and raises his hands up to his temples.

“For the love of god and all that is holy, soldier,” he cries, “please stop talking.”

You close the booklet and throw it on the table. There’s dead silence. You approach him with a smug face and lower your gaze—but not your head—to the ground.

“Well, guess what, Lt.” You ask, and he opens his eyes to look at you.

“You just begged,” you whisper, “and I didn’t have to use any of your,” you gesture with a sneer at the tools on the table, “cheap cutlery.”

He keeps looking at you, confused. You pick a scalpel from the case.

“I thought you didn’t like my tools, soldier.” He says.

“I don’t,” you reply and pull an apple out of your bag, “but I need to cut my fruit.”

He throws his hands to his sides and looks at you, defeated, as you peel the apple.

You stop midway.

“Is the scalpel sterilised?” You ask.

“Of course, it’s sterilised!” he shouts, “we always sterilise our tools as per the rulebook!”

———————————————————————

#simon ghost riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon riley x you #simon riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #ghost cod #cod ghost #cod mwii #ghost cod mwii #cod mw ghost #ghost cod mw2 #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley fic #simon ghost riley fanfiction

[girlgenius1111]

one step forward and three steps back

warnings: blood, panic attack, self harm, relapse. seriously, if you are even slightly concerned that this could be triggering for you, don't read it.

Ingrid-fight.

The weeks following your breakdown were easier than you'd anticipated. You'd taken a couple weeks off, spending the time focusing on your mental health, at Alexia and Jona's insistence. The club told the media that you were taking time for your mental health, which mostly went over well. Some, however, thought the club was being too soft. They only saw you get a red card, and take weeks off from playing; it was a tantrum you were throwing, not taking time for yourself.

Your return game saw you in the starting lineup, along with Mapi and Alexia. Ingrid was still out, being careful with her leg. You were doing better, able to focus more on playing, as well as being significantly less reckless on the pitch. Your hand had healed, and it really should have been your game.

Unfortunately for you, though, was that the other team was desperate to win. Not that every team wasn't, but the dirty tackles coming in every other minute made it clear that they were on a mission. Still, you'd managed to stay out of trouble until it was almost the end of the game.

You were trying to beat a defender, one of the players that had been playing particularly roughly. Normally, you didn't mind this, never not up for a physical challenge. What you didn't appreciate, however, was the elbow thrown into your face, connecting directly with first your nose, and then your eye.

"Fucking hell," You cried out, hands flying to your face as the other girl took the ball. The whistle blew almost instantly, and she groaned. You were pissed. "What, did you think they added throwing elbows when you can't do your job into the rulebook?" You asked her, feeling blood beginning to stream steadily out of your nose.

Your teammates and the ref were still making their way over to you, and only some of them caught the girls response.

"Gonna need to take another few weeks off? Your nose probably needs a mental health break, huh?" She said condescendingly. Alexia and Mapi sped up at this, breaking into runs to get to you. Sure enough, no sooner had the words left her mouth, and you were taking your hands away from your nose, and giving her a harsh shove. She shoved back, and both of you had fists raised by the time you were separated.

Mapi wrapped an arm around your waist, dragging you back. "Easy there, the ref will take care of it," she told you, as you fought against her grasp. You were annoyed, Mapi was normally down for a fight. Instead, she was speaking in soothing tones, her calm eyes meeting your wild ones.

"She said-"

"I know what she said, but your face is bleeding, so sit down and let the physios check you, bueno?" Mapi was pissed, but she could hear Alexia talking to the ref behind her, and felt that as much as she wanted to slap that stupid girl across the face, she was more helpful here, making you take a seat as the physios arrived.

With a huff, you relented, sitting down. The pain in your face was becoming harder to ignore, and you didn't know if you believed the guy when he told you your nose wasn't broken, only badly bruised.

"Feels fucking broken," you said, attempting to add some bite to your words. Instead, they came out all choked, and you realized you were about to cry.

Mapi put a hand on your shoulder, not used to this response. You normally didn't cry when you got hurt, and she realized the comment from the other girl had affected you more than you'd probably admit. Mapi made eye contact with the physio and shook her head slightly, He signaled to the bench for a sub.

"You said it wasn't broken!" you protested.

"No, but you should ice it. No reason to take any unnecessary risks." He told you, and you knew that he and Mapi were just aware that you were upset, not thinking that you really needed to go off. You were going to argue, when Alexia stepped up, fixing you with her general look of "do what they say or I'll yell." You weren't in the mood for any yelling, so you relented, stomping off to the sidelines, without another word to your teammates. You noticed with some satisfaction that the other girl had gotten a red.

You stalked off the pitch, heading for the locker room, and Ingrid fell into step beside you.

"Leave me alone." You told her, wanting to cry in peace. You weren't sure why you were so upset with that girl's comment, but you were.

"No," she responded, meeting your glare with a smile. "Not letting you break another hand." She joked, and you mumbled an insult under your breath. She ignored it, following you into the locker room and watching as you threw yourself down in front of your locker.

Ingrid brought over a towel and some ice, insistently holding them out to you. After you took them, wiping the blood off your face, and pressing the ice to your nose, she sat next to you.

"You looked upset out there." She remarked.

"Yeah well. Elbow to the face." You responded.

"It looked like she said something to you," Ingrid pressed. You paused, before deciding to tell Ingrid what she said. her response would tell you whether you were being dramatic or not. After you'd spoken, Ingrid's eyes narrowed.

"What a little bitch," she seethed, and you huffed out a laugh, that quickly turned into a sob. Ingrid looked at you, startled, before wrapping an arm around your shoulders, rubbing her hand up and down your arm.

"I don't know why I'm crying, it wasn't that bad. It was just mean and my nose hurts and I hate that stupid girl," you blubbered, and Ingrid held back a laugh.

"It's alright, y/n, you're allowed to be upset. It was mean. And it was about something that's sensitive to you, it makes sense why you're upset." She told you rationally. Ingrid had a way of speaking that made whatever she said make sense, instantly believable. You wiped the remaining tears off your face, before quietly thanking her. She squeezed your shoulders, and you both lapsed into silence.

You were impressed with Ingrid, for being able to make you feel better so fast. Ingrid was impressed with you, for expressing your feelings without her having to drag them out of you. It was clear that you were improving, and it filled her with relief. But for every step forward, there's always a step back. Or two.

-----

Mapi- panic.

You weren't really sure what had happened. One second, you were out with the team, celebrating a win in a club. It was a rare occasion for your captains [mostly Alexia], to agree to a night out in the middle of the season, so everyone had taken full advantage. You were dancing with Pina and Patri, surrounded by other people, when you felt it; the beginnings of panic starting to rise within you.

Maybe it was the crowded room, the lack of oxygen, the alcohol, or just a random fit of anxiety. Regardless of the reason, you were quickly growing more panicked. Without a word to either girl you were with, you had spun around and were pushing your way out of the crowd, off the dance floor. You broke free of the crowd, not processing anything happening around you. You still felt like the room was out of air though, so you headed for the door, stumbling slightly as you pushed your way out.

You leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. The air outside was cooler, more plentiful, yet you still couldn't seem to get enough into your body. You slid to the ground, pressing your hands to your face as you tried desperately to regain control. You couldn't hear much except for a faint ringing sound, and you felt completely untethered from the world.

Until you felt a hand on your shoulder. You jerked your head up to find Mapi's concerned face looking down at you. You relaxed slightly, knowing it wasn't a random stranger, putting your head back in your hands.

You felt Mapi take a seat next to you, her hand moving slowly up and down your back. She took one of your hands away from your face, and pressed it to her chest. You felt the steady rise and fall of her breaths, and forced yourself to match them. Your breaths were still stuttering, but they began to slow. You weren't sucking in air as desperately anymore, and the ringing in your ears was giving way to Mapi's gravelly voice.

"In and out, just like that," she said as you began to process her words. "Good, just take it slow. You're safe, I've got you," she told you, her voice and touch working well to calm you.

"Sorry," you gasped out, although you weren't really sure why you were apologizing.

"That's alright, pequeña, you can't help it." She replied. Once you were almost completely calm, she wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her. "What happened?" she asked, and you could hear the note of protection in her voice.

"Don't know. Too many people I think," you told her, resting your head against the wall behind you as you breathed in and out. "I'll be okay in a minute," you said.

"Take your time, I've got no where else to be," she said, resting her chin on your head.

It still struck you how much your friends cared for you. Even when you felt like they shouldn't, even when you knew it would be easier for them to give up on you, or let you handle it alone, they never did. And they never would, no matter what.

-----

Alexia - relapse.

You hadn't meant for it to happen- really. You'd been doing better. You were working with a therapist, and you'd started medication. It was clear that you desperately needed both of these things, and they were helping. You were naive to think that it would be only up from there though. Looking back, you'd realize the increase in dosage in your medication had just gone horribly wrong, the way that it could in rare cases. Having a clear reason didn't make what happened disappear though.

It had been a bad day. You'd woken up in an inexplicably bad mood. It had been a while since the familiar heavy cloud of gloom had settled over you, but as you headed to training, you felt it once again. The weight pushed down on you insistently, and as a result, you practiced worse. Your passes weren't connecting, shots weren't going in, and you kept tripping over your own feet.

This only made your mood worse, and by the time practice ended, you were incredibly frustrated with yourself. You avoided conversation, everyone discussing exciting plans for the night since you all had the day off tomorrow. You left the locker room quickly, missing the glances exchanged as you opened the door harder than necessary. You really should have expected to be stopped by your friends, but you were so in your head, you didn't hear them approaching. You jumped when Mapi placed a tattooed hand on your shoulder, halting you in your tracks.

When you turned to look at her, her face was pinched with concern, and you felt yourself grow more frustrated; you weren't supposed to be worrying your friends anymore, you were fine. Alexia stood behind her, watching you carefully. They both had yet to shower, still in their training kits, and you wondered if they were waiting so they could check on you.

"You alright pequeña?" Mapi asked. You nodded, sighing as both girls continued to look at you, clearly not believing you.

"Just a rough day." You told them.

"Do you want one of us to come home with you?" Alexia asked, keeping her voice low and soothing, expecting you to reject the idea. It was something they'd made you promise after that night. If you weren't feeling okay, you were supposed to tell them. You had yet to do this, with things improving, and you didn't want to start now. Admitting that you were having a bad day was one thing, but admitting that your thoughts were going dark was another. You were better, you were supposed to be better.

So, you convinced yourself that you'd be fine on your own, and you told Alexia as much. "No, I'm fine, I promise. I'm just gonna go home and relax." Your plans for the rest of the day consisted of laying in bed until you felt less like your every move was heavy.

The older girls gave you searching looks, but relented, reminding you that they were just a phone call away. They'd slowly begun to trust you again, since that night, trust you'd earned. They'd been able to see your improvements, and as a result, assumed that if you needed them, you'd tell them.

They were wrong.

------

In hindsight, maybe going home by yourself while in the midst of a depressive episode might not have been the best idea. Arriving home, you had tried to distract yourself, which was hard when you barely had the energy to sit upright. You settled yourself on your couch, not bothering to try to eat. You pulled your favorite blanket around your shoulders, settling in against the cushions, putting a random show on. You fell asleep watching TV, with the hopes that when you woke up, you'd feel better.

Instead, you woke up after the sun had set, feeling much worse. Your apartment was completely dark, although the curtains were wide open. You didn't bother with turning the lights on, staying in the same position on the couch as you began to spiral.

The deep sadness that had nestled it's way into the very core of your being this morning had given way some, to numbness. The numbness was normally where things went south. A combination of despair, but the inability to access those emotions choked you. You felt, so deeply, but you couldn't bring it to the surface. Instead, the shadows of these emotions danced just outside your grasp, leaving you desperate for something, anything, other than blank paralysis.

This was normally the point you turned to unhealthy coping mechanisms. Not often, and not for a while, but still, the once the thought popped into your head, you couldn't get rid of it. You knew it was the only thing that could bring you back into yourself, melt the freeze in your brain. The pain never failed at this; you knew it was bad, knew you shouldn't need to resort to this, but sitting there on your couch, you couldn't really think of any other option.

Robotically, you stood up from the couch, pausing as your phone fell to the ground off your lap. There were a few notifications you'd missed, and you stopped, opening them. All were from various teammates group chats. You ignored most of them, opening up the thread with Alexia, Mapi, and Ingrid. Your mind was clouded, focused on the task you had set your mind to, but still, a small part of it reminded you that you didn't have to do this. You had people that could help, would help, wanted to help.

You remembered, though, that they were out tonight. It was Ingrid and Mapi's anniversary, and the spaniard was taking Ingrid somewhere ridiculous and fancy. Alexia had some Barcelona related benefit. Realistically, you knew they'd all drop everything to come to you if you told them you needed them, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. One time wouldn't hurt. You could do it again, just this once. They'd never have to know.

-----

Pulling the blade away from your skin, you watched as blood trailed down your thigh. You didn't feel better, not like you normally did. The feelings had come rushing back to you after the first cut, but they didn't relinquish their grip on you as you continued. You felt desperate, filled with anguish, with no clear way to get rid of it.

Well, there was one way. As soon as you had that thought, you began to panic. You hadn't thought like this in a really long time, and it scared the hell out of you. It was like you were fighting between two parts of yourself, one that wanted you to be okay, and one that didn't care if you were okay, as long as you didn't feel like this anymore. The latter had won out, earlier. You were terrified that if you didn't do something, it would win again.

You forced yourself to breath, to think logically. You grabbed a towel from the shelf next to you. You leaned back against the wall, pressing it tightly against your leg. You just needed to do one thing at a time and everything would be okay. Reaching up to the bathroom counter, you grabbed your phone.

This was the hardest part. Harder than dragging the blade across your skin, harder than hiding your scars. Scars you'd reopened now. Your hand shook as you considered your options. Your mind had cleared slightly, self preservation instincts kicking in.

Ingrid and Mapi deserved a nice anniversary. Alexia hated social events. She'd probably tell you that you were doing her a favor if you called. Probably not when she heard why you called, but regardless.

Taking another breath, you clicked her contact, anxiety finding it's way into your gut.

"Hola, y/n." Alexia answered rather quickly, and you knew then that she hadn't really believed you earlier.

"Ale." You choked the word out, eyes suddenly full of tears. You didn't sound like yourself. Now that she was on the phone with you, the weight of what you'd done, and what you'd considered, was hitting you full force.

"Que paso?" Alexia asked, voice switching from casual to worried instantly. You could picture her expression, the one she got when she was giving someone instructions, or arguing with a ref, an intensity that made her the player that she was. It also made her the friend that she was. You tried to reply, but the words wouldn't come out of your mouth.

"Y/n, I need you to tell me what's happening, now" Alexia said almost frantically. The background of people talking had disappeared and you knew she was leaving, moving fast to get to you.

"I-... I need you," you responded finally, barely getting the words out. You were sucking in air faster now, tears falling freely.

"Okay, I'm coming to you now, nena. I'll be there in 10 minutes," Alexia told you. Her soft tone was one reserved for very few people; at that moment, you counted yourself very lucky that you were one of them. "Are you safe?" She asked, feeling like she already knew the answer.

You weren't really sure how to respond to that. The bleeding had stopped, so you weren't medically in danger. The blade was across the bathroom from you, and Alexia was on her way, so you doubted you'd be able to do any more damage. Your thoughts were still rather dire, but you were focusing on Alexia, on her voice, and the sound of her getting in her car and starting the engine.

"I'm not really sure," you settled on. The Catalan wasn't sure what to make of that response.

"Are you at home?"

"Si"

"Are you hurt?"

You paused, and she knew the answer. You heard the engine increasing in volume as she accelerated. "Pequeña, do you need an ambulance?" Alexia asked. The question made her nauseous but she forced herself to remain focused, to not get caught up in her feelings.

"No. Stopped bleeding." You replied, shutting your eyes tightly as she inhaled a sharp breath. You hated this, hated it so much.

"Okay, that's good, nena. Can you take a breath for me?" You did as she asked, realizing that you'd been holding in air. "Bien, muy bien. I'm almost there, okay? Stay on the phone with me."

"Okay," came your response, voice quiet. Neither of you spoke much after that, Alexia aware that you were struggling to reply, and relying on the sound of your breaths to assure her that you were alright.

She told you when she arrived, though, parking the car and jumping in the elevator. The call cut out while she was in there, which you'd been expecting. As you waited for her to enter the apartment, trusting that she'd use her spare key, you took in the sight in front of you. You didn't pull the towel away from your thigh, but you looked at the red staining the bath mat, the blade discarded where you'd thrown it. Pulling your attention from it, you focused on the door, hearing Alexia move hastily through your apartment.

She opened the door, and had to stifle a gasp. She'd tried to prepare herself, but nothing she could picture in her mind was like seeing it in person. You were sat against the wall, white blood stained towel pressed to your leg. You shorts were pulled up, revealing the scars on your other leg. You were wearing an old training shirt, and there was blood on that too. You were shaking slightly, eyes big and cheeks tearstained. What struck her most was how scared you looked.

"Oh, pequeña," she said, voice breaking. You dropped your gaze at her words, biting your lip to stop yourself from crying. She crouched down next to you, placing a hand on your cheek. She pressed her lips to your forehead, desperate to give you any comfort she could. "I'm here, I've got you. We'll take care of it, alright?" She said, words thick with emotion. You nodded shakily, and she stood back up, pulling the first aid kit out from under your sink. She took a seat back next to you, pausing.

"Can you take the towel off, nena?" Alexia asked. She didn't want to push you too hard, not sure how you'd respond. Wordlessly, you pulled it off your leg, wincing where it stuck to the skin. Alexia swallowed hard, the sight worse than she anticipated.

"Okay. I'm going to disinfect, and then I'm going to cover them." You nodded, still not having spoken. She pulled out a couple of alcohol wipes, opening 3 all at once. "This is gonna sting, tell me if you need a break, okay?" Again, you only nodded. Alexia worked fast, cleaning the wounds. You didn't ask for a break, but she noticed you flinch every so often, let out sharper exhales. She put anti-infection cream on before deciding against bandaids. Instead, she placed a piece of gauze on, wrapping it with medical adhesive tape.

You looked down, taking in the neatly wrapped area. It looked much better like this, much more manageable. Alexia stood to wash her hands. She dried them off, before turning back to you. You were staring at your red stained hands. She reached down, guiding you to stand, before pulling you to the sink, and helping you wash the blood off of them. You were docile under her grasp, blankly following her instructions. She led you out of the bathroom, quickly helping you change out of your blood stained clothes, and into clean ones. She pulled clothes out of your closet for herself, too, changing out of the suit she'd worn the the benefit. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, and she'd rather be comfortable.

You found yourself sitting on the couch, like you had been before. This time though, the lights were on, and the room felt warm, inviting, as opposed to cold and lonely. Alexia moved around, keeping an eye on you as she made you a mug of tea. She sat down next to you, typing quickly on her phone before turning to you.

You felt better. Not great, not really even good, but better. You got a better grasp on your emotions, and began to connect the dots in your head. This had been so out of the blue. Normally, you only reached this point after weeks of being down. It was clear to you, now, that increasing your dosage of your meds had been a mistake. You'd always heard warnings, about how in rare cases an antidepressant could increase depression, thoughts of... the things you'd done. And the things you'd thought about doing. The explanation made you feel a little calmer.

Alexia, on the other hand, did not know what had happened. She was trying to give you some time to process, but she was going crazy. You hadn't spoken to her since she'd arrived, and you were sitting next to her, clearly deep in thought.

"Y/n, can you please tell me what you're thinking?" She finally asked. You startled slightly, before nodding your head. You explained your theory, of why what had happened happened.

"I just need to go back down on my meds. Or try a different one." Alexia felt relieved, but not completely. She could see you trying to convince yourself that, because there was a clear explanation, it was fine. You were fine. That this wasn't a big deal. She also could tell that you were trying not to let yourself get upset about it.

"I'm glad you understand why this happened, we can go see the psychiatrist tomorrow," she said, carefully contemplating her next words. "That was still really scary, nena."

"I'm so sorry, Ale. I'm so sorry you had to see that, that I called, that I messed up again and scared you," you rambled, clearly thinking she was talking about being scared herself. She had been terrified, but that's not what she meant.

"No, I meant for you. Having those thoughts must have been really frightening, especially out of the blue like that." Alexia replied, and you looked away. "Please, please, do not ever apologize for this. For any of it. I don't care that you scared me, I'm just glad you called. So glad, and so so proud of you, pequeña." She implored, watching carefully as you shook your head unconsciously.

"I messed up, you shouldn't be proud of me," was all you said. You looked like you were about to cry again, and Alexia couldn't resist pulling you into her arms. You let her, resting your head on her chest, blinking rapidly to try to stave off the tears.

"Well, I am proud of you. You called me. You wouldn't have done that a few months ago." She paused, thoughtful. She was trying to think of something that would relieve your guilt, your disappointment in yourself. "Relapses are part of recovery, y/n. It sucks, but they are. Relapsing doesn't make you weak, or a bad person. I know you feel like you should be better, but it's okay if you're not. Because of your medicine, or because of anything else. There's no timeline here, no requirements of being okay that you have to meet. All you need to do is try your best. And you are, I can tell. You asked for help when you needed it, and that is something to celebrate."

You looked up at her, the hopeful expression on your face making her heart clench. "I haven't let you down?" You asked quietly.

"No, nena. You haven't let anyone down. I was scared, yes, but all I feel right now is love for you, and pride for you." She said, determined for you to believe her. You were starting to. Her tone, her face, were so full of conviction, it was hard to do anything but listen.

"Thank you for coming so fast."

"I'll always come when you need me, as fast as I can." Her reply was almost instant. Alexia watched as you smiled weakly at her, before it dropped from your face, and tears welled in your eyes yet again. "What is it, pequeña," she wondered, rubbing a hand up and down your back. You leaned your head back against her, speaking into the fabric of her sweatshirt.

"I have to start all over again," you choked out.

Alexia sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. But we're all gonna be here again, okay? All of us, for every second."

They'd proven they'd be there for you, time and time again. Their commitment to being good friends, to taking care of you, was what made you believe that you were worth it. They were some of the best people you knew, and if they were going to be there every step of the way, the journey must be worth it.

-----

I hope you guys enjoyed :). Obviously a super heavy part. I'm not really sure what else to say, other than I hope that if you read this, it can bring you comfort in some way. Asking for help is terrifying, but it's so worth it, I promise. You deserve to feel good, and be happy.

#woso imagine #woso #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen #alexia putellas

[bigfatbreak]

Out of curiosity, do you think Lila is a compulsive liar? It's something I've never really been able to decide on myself as someone who used to genuinely be a compulsive liar due to trauma/anxiety, and your one of the few writers I know in the fandom that shine a spotlight on lila in your story

The funny thing is, there's actually a huge debate in the psychological community as to whether or not compulsive and pathological lying should be put in the rulebooks as a condition, since its something that can't be diagnosed. The real debate here should be the "WHY" of the lie.

For many people who are defined as "compulsive" liars, whether self diagnosed or by peers, those compulsions some from a desperate, anxious motivation. They want relief from something, and want to escape a situation or a conversation, they're avoiding SOME SORT of confrontation by lying.

Under this definition, Marinette could be defined as a compulsive liar. She lies to hide her identity as Ladybug, and would lie in different, nonsensical ways about her crush on Adrien (to Adrien.) These lies aren't created with the person lying in mind to be elevated to a higher social standing, but to relieve that pressure - with a lie, Ladybug's identity is secured, and its a way to cope with her reality.

(This is doubly confirmed as a case of "coping" and not of self-importance in how guilty Marinette feels about her lies, and how she hates liars - it's a form of self-hatred as well, but that's another conversation.)

In Lila's case, all her lies don't come from a place of coping, but a place of narcissism. Now, her writing has been contradictory here and there, but the safe things to state as fact are that: She has to be in the spotlight, she has to be liked by the people around her and admired, and if those aspects are confronted, she lashes out or doubles down on the lie. This isn't an issue of delusion, either, where someone is so far gone from reality that they believe everything they're saying with an absolute truth. In her case, she KNOWS what she's saying is a lie, and is pretending to believe otherwise. I'll put it like this, Lila doesn't have a condition or underlying issue that makes it so she HAS to lie, she uses it for her own benefit, throwing the argument out the window. The why of the lie is that she's a little shit, and is super manipulative. Lying is just the way it presents. She could have the exact same personality and attitude, and use other tactics to manipulate others with the same result - but because she's a child, the easiest way to do so is by lying. In short, I think she lies compulsive-ly to garner attention, but isn't herself a compulsive liar. Its a tool of manipulation. If Lila was half as rich as Chloe, I'll bet she wouldn't lie. She would have other tactics to use via the power she would hold. It's just a tool, and its the only one she knows how to use.

#replies #long post #again im not an authority on this #dont take me as gospel #this is just what ive researched abt lying

[txttletale]

Wtf is Lancer and why is it shit (serious question)

lancer is a tabletop roleplaying game made by the guy who drew kill six billion demons and another guy. i wouldn't call it 'shit', necessarily--it's good in a lot of the ways that matter. it's first and foremost a tactical mech combat game and on that level it's incredible. its ruleset is finely tuned, provides great amounts of GM support to make running what might otherwise be overwhelmingly crunchy combat easier, and has a truly stunning and cool level of character customization available. so as a game, i think it's great fun to play and run, genuinely innovative, and a huge step forward for battlemap tactical wargame type TTRPGs in general.

the lore though, kind of sucks. i think it has two clear and overlapping core problems. problem #1 is that it is a utopia as envisioned by a social democrat. it's a world which the text describes as 'post-capitalist' (but there are still evil megacorporations with private armies who own slaves) and 'post-scarcity' (but only in the developed 'core' systems, so. y'know. there's scarcity). at many points in the text they say that Union (the game's main faction) is utopian, throwing around that exact word a bunch of times as well as 'mutual aid' and 'direct action' and the like. but what they describe is just kind of an imperialist Space Sweden with several distinct forms of slavery that constantly expands and uses its Benevolent Imperial Power to intervene on the Backwards Violent Worlds on its outer border but its good because its just trying to bring them UBI.

to show what i mean, here's one of the game's writers¹ talking about how it would be morally wrong for Union to, say, appropriate the property of a private military corporation that also operates as a fascist nation-state:

it's 'revolution' as imagined by the limpest of social democrats. and of course this would honestly be fine, whatever, most sci-fi settings are fundamentally achingly liberal, but the game goes so out of its way to signpost how Radical it is and how Hopeful and Liberationist you're meant to see the setting as

the other core problem is closely related--it feels like the lancer guys put every cool sci-fi idea they had into lancer even when it completely clashes with the core ideas behind it. like, AIs in this settings are callled 'NHPs' (non-human persons) and they're eldritch god-like beings from another dimension who have be kept 'shackled' (lancer's words, not mine!) to keep them as pliant and obedient AI assistants instead of hostile eldritch abominations. this is obviously horrifying and dystopian but it rules, it would be sick fucking worldbuilding for something with the tone of 40k or a one-off doctor who or star trek episode--but as a fundamental technology foundational to what we are supposed to believe is a post-revolutionary society founded on mutual aid and solidarity and blah blah blah it's glaringly dissonant.

bear in mind this is all just going off the rulebook. lancer fans have told me that the supplements and campaign modules fix some of this or contextualise it. but on the other hand communists have told me that they make it worse and i trust the communists more. i leave you with this incredible passage from the game's foreword:

#ask #brendanicus #ttrpg #lancer

[oriandcate]

The List of Raw Quotes immortalized by the Internet:

“People who value any aspect of creation would do well not to pit gods against one another.”

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” 

“I will face God and walk backwards into Hell.”

“Then perish.”

“I have been through Hell and come out singing.”

“Do I look like the kind of man who dies?”

“Do you think God stays in Heaven because He too lives in fear of what He created?”

“To become god is the loneliest achievement of all.”

“You kneel before my throne unaware that it was built on lies.”

“This is Hell’s territory and I am beholden to no gods.”

“Impudent of you to assume that I will meet a mortal end.”

“Bury me shallow, I’ll be back.”

“Take this gift, for the gods surely won’t.”

“One day, you will be face to face with whatever saw fit to let you exist in the universe, and you will have to justify the space you’ve filled.”

“Will you fight? Or will you perish like a dog?”

“Deviation from the norm will be punished unless it is exploitable.”

“You cannot kill me in a way that matters.”

“Pick a god and pray.”

“We deserve a soft epilogue, my love.”

“We are the timeline that God has abandoned.”

“Pick a Hell and rot there.”

“Every day we stray further from God’s light.”

“I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.”

“I’d sell you to Satan for one corn chip.”

“The risk I took was calculated, but man am I bad at math.”

“If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight as I always have.”

“I am a monument to all your sins.”

“It’s not about whether you win or lose. Sometimes it’s about how many pages you add to the rulebook.”

“You’re rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, my friend.”

“The man who sleeps with a machete is a fool every night but one.”

“I don’t believe in divine retribution, but then life throws people like you at me.”

“God wanted me dead, now you get to find out why.”

“The fruits of the earth do not exist to be worth something to us.”

“I’ve got a date with destiny, and it ain’t gonna end with a kiss.”

“Hostage or not, sometimes it’s nice being held.”

“To sit still is to submit to a god who cannot stand to see such power in potentia mere inches from realizing itself and overcoming him.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“…but sadly I am only a little bug and you are a garden.”

“In a society where all adventure has been destroyed, the only adventure left is to destroy that society.”

“How many times have people used a pen or paintbrush because they couldn’t pull the trigger?”

“So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.”

“…For they are a scoundrel and a foul beast of fields untouched by green.”

“Do you not think that Satan, too, has some affection for the inhabitants of Hell?”

“Does poetry flourishing even in the cracks and grime of the world devalue its beauty? Is the divine rendered plain when it becomes commonplace? Would you have the sublime subjected to the gatekeeping of a self-serving elite? Better it should be used and misused as us absurd commoners see fit.”

“Lock your doors and windows. God will forgive your absence.”

“I stand here, a fool of my own making.”

“Canon is but the sandbox in which I strike lightning to form glass. Trouble me no more with your quibbling and quorums, lest I grind you to dust beneath my heel and build stories from the remnants of your bones. Avast, foul fiend.”

“In the end, everyone is aware of this: nobody keeps any of what he has, and life is only a borrowing of bones.”

“’It’s not that deep.’ Maybe not originally, but the ground is soft and I’m ready to dig.”

“Ask the moon. Ask what it has witnessed.”

“Some things don’t belong on this plane of existence and the universe conspires to correct that.”

“Weird is a prerequisite to all things good and entertaining.”

“The sunrise has never caught me sleeping.”

“People are trying to be right no matter how wrong they are, I am here, accepting my primal desires.”

“Swear all you want, but the gods have shut their ears.”

“Tis the nature, curse, and cure of humanity to be forever attracted to the abyss.”

“If you hit a mole over the head for long and hard enough, eventually it learns to mind its own beeswax. Keep whacking.”

“If we built a tower of Babel, in this day and age, no one would stop us. We would build, and build, and one day inevitably breach the gates of heaven. And we would send in a probe, and then an exploratory team, clad in hazmat suits and protective gear, to enter the gates, and lo! before them would be a great, winding mass, a crumbling chitinous mountain range, a swooping winding wormous cavern, pale and sickly and turned to dust. And we will understand why no one stopped us: it will be the exoskeleton of God.”

“I must make time fear me most.”

“My third eye is open but damn it needs a monocle.”

“Some sins follow us, trotting along and planting themselves in dark corners, high shelves, gathering dust like a forgotten potted ficus, forever a part of the inner scenery of our minds. They thrive there. In the dark. Knowing we will someday stumble in. This is why ‘tis unwise to explore the inner chambers of our souls.”

“Ideals are made of gold and light, but human lives are made of blood and tears, and spill with slippery ease; choose carefully what hills to build and die upon.”

“I shall dig my very own shallow grave. Onward.”

“Confidence! A fool’s substitute for intelligence!”

“Weird hill to die on, but at least you’re dead.”

“Our paths may have crossed briefly, but you’ve still had the misfortune of knowing me.”

“What’s a little blood and bone? We all come down to it, in the end.”

“I could set the world on fire and call it rain.”

“War allows us to dress our monsters up as saviors, and many would say I’m one of those monsters.”

“You haven’t learned anything until you learn monsters have nightmares too.”

“To live is to haunt.”

“Can’t shake the devil’s hand and say you’re only kidding.”

“In the future, you will stand at the grave of God which I dug, weeping, and I will be the only creature you will be able to answer to. You will beg for death, but due to what you said today, I will deprive you of that luxury.”

“I wanted rain and I thought the best way to do that was to make God cry.”

“Love is dead and never existed. All you did was betray me as I lay sick and festering. You are the definition of dread.”

“Here’s the thing about a haunted forest: it’s not going to haunt itself.”

“Your skull is the garden where fact flowers into meaning.”

“I shall use your voice for violin string and serenade your widow.”

“If God had wanted you to live he would not have created me.”

“I’ve heard it said that we only gain wisdom through suffering, and tonight I intend to make you very wise.”

“If I cannot bend heaven, then I will raise hell.”

“Remember that if you go knocking on enough doors asking to see the Devil, eventually he may answer.”

"No one of honor is interred here. The dead are raw materials, and nothing more."

"That there is a feller what sat down on a snake in the grass one day, and it ain't crawled outta his asshole yet."

"Pay a man enough and he'll walk barefoot into Hell."

"All these moments will be lost in time; like tears, in the rain."

"To feel sorrow is to deserve peace."

"No one will know the violence it took to become this gentle."

"There is no light at the end of this tunnel; so it's a good thing we brought matches."

"The answer to despair is action."

"You'll be reduced down to a single atom when I'm done with you."

"What's at the end of a million? Zero, zero, zero; big old hole, with a wall around it. That's all a bank is, you know: a great big old hole you throw money into, and all it ever seems to do is make the walls higher."

"Always strive to eat the stars."

"Why would you want to savor the taste of poison?"

"The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all."

"It is better to die standing than to live kneeling."

"The anger in your heart warms you now, but it will leave you cold in your grave."

"Darkness without light is an abyss; light without darkness is blinding. You cannot have a coin with one side."

"We can't have faith for everybody."

"Kill me and live with the memory. Then tell the stars you won."

"To rend one's enemies is to view them as objects: hollow of existence and meaning."

"Your soul sparks with a nonsense that makes this world bearable."

"He ain't one of the creatures God made."

“The unconscious hides in a language like a thief hides a diamond in a chandelier.”

“I just know no fruit has ever tasted as sweet as the ones I ate while bleeding under the blistering summer sun.”

“I pray nobody kills me for the crime of being small.”

“That’s the problem with gods; their pleasure and their wrath often look the same.”

 “If I am killed for simply living, let death be kinder than man.”

“Stupid should hurt.”

“do you think god is nuclear. do you think you cannot look upon deities the same way you cannot look at the center of a mushroom cloud. do you think the energy generated from fission is released from divine clutches. do you think that god exists in the space between the nucleus and the electrons and in the bonds of compounds and in the numbers on the page that got us there. do you think radiation is a warning. do you think it is an eraser. do you think it is wrath or a mistake or a byproduct of entropy. do you think god is plasma, where electrons are wherever you want them to be. do you think that we were supposed to find this out.”

“If you aren’t worthy enough to pull the sword, be strong enough to lift the stone.”

“I can’t go to hell. I’m all out of vacation days.”

“Despite everything, its still you.”

“The more you kill, the easier it becomes to distance yourself. The more you distance yourself, the less it will hurt. The more easily you can bring yourself to hurt others.”

“My mother says kissing a man without a mustache is like eating eggs without salt.”

“A character is a ghost, a story is what it haunts.”

“Pain travels through families until someone is ready to feel it.”

“The gods did not breathe the breath of life into us and give us gifts of a shape, a will, and a voice just so we could pay bills and die”

“you gotta have friends who are older than you, not because you’re a dumb kid, but because you’ll be terrified of growing up otherwise.”

“you’ve made me so hard i beg for softness”

“Scorn is more palatable than the howling hunger for things to have been different for you.”

“Being able to endure something does not equal an obligation to withstand it.”

“To live is to haunt.”

“I am a chewy rubber Polly Pocket skirt and God is a four year old girl.”

“The big picture is made up of brush strokes, fool.”

“Hearts are wild creatures, that’s why our ribs are cages.”

“these are old bones and i am merely a passing occupant”

“The board is getting dusty but the boogeyman has not yet blinked. when he does, you better make that move.”

“And when we kill the gods neither heaven nor hell will be waiting for them because they created those to imprison us.

“What makes a man a warrior is his willingness to place himself between what he holds dear and anything that threatens it. This is the way.”

“The anchor gives the ship the world to love.”

“In a society where adventure has been destroyed, the only adventure left is to destroy that society.”

“You pretended to be the hero of a story you never saved.”

“this world is a banquet of knowledge and each of us has brought a dish to the table.”

“This is the time of vengeance and no life is worth saving.”

“The ghosts that inhabit this place are more alive than you’ll ever be.”

“May the only thing that dampens the flames of hell for you be God spitting in your face.”

#quotes #writers on tumblr #source: tumblr #raw lines #pinterest #ao3 #fanfic #fanfiction #wattpad #writing #spy kids #halo #destiny #comics

[antimonyandthyme]

oscar/mark, a/b/o dynamics

“You’re not being rational about this,” Oscar says, and he sounds surprised, as if he had fully expected Mark to roll over and acquiesce.

In all the time Mark has known Oscar, he can count on one hand the instances in which they’ve butt heads. Most often they rub up against each other with mild annoyances, Hey, answer your phone quicker, this was important, easily solvable things. But this galls.

It isn’t about the offer. Not even that it’d cross every professional boundary in existence, and then throw the whole rulebook into the ocean too. But that Oscar thinks it’s the rational thing to do. Cut and dry, as cold and as clinical as you like.

Oscar’s looking at Mark as if he were a puzzle he can’t figure out. Mark swallows down the fully formed retort on his tongue, Hey, buddy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed in your twenty-something or so years living on earth, but heats aren’t exactly rational—

But that’d just sound petty. And Oscar would just blink at him in that way of his anyway, that way that meant, Why are you so upset?

Mark isn’t in the mood to explain. Definitely not in the mood to explain to someone more than half his age why he doesn’t think it would be a good idea to spend his impending heat together.

“No thank you, Oscar,” he says again.

“But.” Oscar frowns. “I’m right here.”

He isn’t posturing, that much Mark knows, as sure as he is that Oscar would rather roll his eyes than click an extra button to complain on the radio. There are no hidden layers when Oscar speaks, Mark likes that about him. And it isn’t arrogance either. He’s just being frustratingly, infuriatingly, irritatingly, rational.

So Mark has no reason being angry.

“All the same,” he says, as neutrally as he can manage, “I’d rather spend it alone.”

There’s a small, selfish lick of satisfaction at the whipcrack ripple of emotion it causes in Oscar’s expression, which then makes him feel like a giant asshole. But whatever.

Heats. Rational. Sure.

--

When did we get so old, huh, he said the last time Seb visited, and they had ended up mostly napping like two lazy cats in the sun. On a regular schedule the suppressants work fine, throw in jet-lag into the mix and they see fit to wreak havoc on his body. Migraines and loss of appetite, and the doctor had advised to just lay off during the race calendar.

Which, alright, can be done, except there’re three out of four of the yearly heats that would possibly land on a race weekend.

He detests arranging for services during a race, and spending heats alone is no longer the end of the world it once was. Uncomfortable, certainly, but much less now than when he was younger. The good thing about growing old is that you learn some tricks. You listen to your body and its needs, except when it’s fucking whinging for an alpha who’s absolutely out-of-bounds.

Saturday morning has his temperature surging, and he knows making Qualifying is out of the question. He texts Oscar a perfunctory, Good luck, make us proud, and goes to hunker down in the hotel room.

He’s prepared. The mini-fridge’s stocked, and he’s brought an assortment of toys to deal with the gnawing emptiness. It’s routine at this point. Moan and snarl and curse his existence, grow lucid enough to switch the telly on while stroking his cock and fucking himself with a toy, then back to curling into the tiniest, tightest ball in a mass of blankets, all the while sweating and blurting out half his body weight in fluids. Heave himself up to eat a sandwich. Check on Oscar’s times. Dry-heave a little while texting him congratulations. Go back to bed. Rinse, repeat.

The one bone, the one benefit of having regular heats, is that they don’t last long. By evening, Mark’s body has settled into some not-yet-post-heat-but-getting-there state. His dick is still hard, but at least he doesn’t feel the need to give himself rug-burn by tugging at it every five minutes.

Convenient, because the door-bell rings.

“Fucking hell,” Mark says, unimpressed. “What are you doing here?”

He thought he’d made himself exceptionally clear. But Oscar’s here, looking about as far from usual Oscar as Mark’s possibly seen him. Anxious, disheveled, toe-tapping nervous nonsense. Eyes-shifty, red-cheeked. Impossibly endearing.

“I have had a lot of time to think about this,” Oscar says, which in Oscar-speech means he stared into the abyss for a couple of hours thinking about nothing else. “It occurs to me that I’ve been horribly remiss.”

“You talk like an old man,” Mark says.

“I’m trying to apologize,” Oscar says, agitated. “I didn’t mean to. Offer so flippantly. As if your heat has no significance.”

There is no significance, is Mark’s knee-jerk response, but even he can see it for the lie it is.

“I… was hurtful without meaning to be. I’m sorry, Mark.”

Mark nods stiffly. He might be out of deep waters, but the ache of loneliness takes some time to dispel. Best to close the door in Oscar’s face soon before his body gets any stupid ideas. “Apology accepted,” he says.

Oscar opens his mouth. “That’s not all.”

Of course it isn’t. Oscar smells like pine and those godawful expensive vanilla candles and this is just not a very good time. “Go on,” Mark says, through gritted teeth.

“I wasn’t being truthful earlier.”

Mark blinks. “About?”

“Rationality,” Oscar says, and suddenly it’s as if he hates the word. “That was never why I offered. I thought. I thought it’d be the only reason you’d accept. If I could make you see it as something easy. You’re here, I’m here, you know? Might as well.”

“Oscar,” Mark says faintly.

“Mark,” Oscar retorts. “You get what I’m saying, right? I offered because I want to. You know. Be the alpha in your heat. Christ. Is that how people go about saying it? I don’t fucking know, mate. I just want to help you, like you’ve helped me.”

Oscar sounds as if he’s practiced this in front of the mirror. Practiced it and then gone and fucked it all up anyway, because his ears are bright red and he’s looking as if he wants the tiled hotel floor to swallow him up. He’s staring at the ground, or, quite possibly, at the line of Mark’s erection through his sweatpants.

“Mark. Could you say something please?”

“I don’t think—”

“That it’s a good idea, yeah, I got that earlier. Could I hear something honest, please?”

Oscar’s never once asked Mark for anything. Sure, manager duties aside, Mark busting an arm and a leg to pave the way for a certain career aside, Oscar’s never once asked Mark for more. And now he’s asking, heart on his sleeve, and Mark’s too worn down to say anything but—

“It’d be nice.”

Oscar whips his head up. All hopeful, like a pup promised a treat. “I—what—really?”

“Nice, and completely irresponsible of me.”

“Okay,” Oscar’s saying, and already he’s leaning in toward Mark, shuffling eagerly forward such that he’s breached the doorway. “Okay, but. It’d still be nice, right?”

"Yeah," Mark sighs. “Yes.”

Oscar takes one more step forward. Something clicks in the right direction when he places one hand on Mark’s jaw, and the other on his hip. A lock being turned in place, a scale being tipped. Something like that.

Quick on the uptake, never slow to see his moment of win, greedy, hungry, opportunistic. All traits of a good Formula 1 driver. That’s his boy.

Mark closes his eyes. Regret can come tomorrow, after the race. He pulls the door shut behind them.

#athy texts #fanfic #rpf #oscar/mark #a/b/o #points at below post

[jisungsdaydreamer]

Love Playlist #1: HOME (Han)

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

"For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes."

Pairing: Han x Fem!reader Genre: college au, friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, fluff, mutual pining Warnings: mild swearing Word Count: 7k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

You have three strict rules that you must follow. One, no going out after eleven. Two, never leave the house without your cell phone. And three, never, ever, fall in love with Han Jisung.

Unfortunately, you’ve broken that third rule already. In fact, you’re still breaking it, charring it to a crisp, and throwing it out like the trash you both begrudgingly take turns with. But how can you not? Because when it comes to your doe-eyed best friend who is serenely sitting in front of you, the whole rulebook is torn up. 

Jisung quietly flips through his growing stack of manga, blissfully unaware of the way your heart accelerates whenever he reads a particularly entertaining segment and his eyes light up in amusement.You should remind him to stay on track, but you can’t bear to stop him because of how cute he looks, his legs unconsciously swinging under the table and his fifth banana lollipop of the day shoved into his mouth. 

You’re both sitting together in the library at your special table beside the big window, the place that is always secluded no matter what, as if some higher power knows to keep it aside for you and Jisung for whenever you desire. Both of you are supposed to be studying for your finals, the objectively worst part of the entire year. You’re both seniors, so the slew of exams coming up should be a piece of cake for you, except both of you have grad school next year— you’ll be starting on your PhD, while Jisung, a computer engineering major, will be working towards a master’s degree— so you still have to worry about all of your final grades.

“I hate this.” Jisung looks up from the book in his hands, closing it shut. “I wish I didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s almost over. Then we’ll finally graduate and get to enjoy our summer,” you reply. “And then our lives begin.”

And the elation building in your chest is real, because although you have a tough couple of days ahead of you, the end of this year will be a testament to everything you have accomplished. You have your summer mapped out already; you’re going to be completing groundbreaking cancer research at an esteemed biologist’s lab, days filled with productivity along with exciting nights exploring adulthood and freedom with your friends. Even though you’ll still have school, you’ll only have to be doing what you’re passionate about, leaving behind the mandatory literature and calculus courses that brought you so many tears over the duration of college. 

“Not for me.” Jisung sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring aimlessly at the ceiling. “It’ll never end.”

Lately, Jisung has become increasingly stressed about graduation. He doesn’t come from a wealthy background, with his mother being a grocery store cashier and his father out of the picture. You’re aware he’s under immense pressure to do well in school and then get a good job that will take care of both him and his mother, when she’s unable to provide for herself. Worst of all, Jisung had to ditch his dream of becoming a musician and instead focus on something more practical, which ended up being a profession in computers. Of course, like anything else he puts his effort into, Jisung excels in computer engineering, and he’s come to terms with giving up his passion, but you know it doesn’t hurt any less.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly, reaching for his hand. He accepts it, but he turns his head to gaze at the street beyond the window.

“It’s okay.”

You don’t press any further, because you know that it will just break him down, and neither of you can afford that right now at such a crucial time. Instead, you resolve to brighten his mood, like he does with you anytime you’re down. “Let’s just hope we don’t get food poisoning tomorrow.”

Your attempt works, because Jisung meets your eyes, a smile permeating his solemn expression and before widening into a full grin, at the memory of the time you both first met. Remembrance comes like the summer breeze you look so forward to, washing over you both like a tidal wave. And just like that, it’s freshman year and you’re standing at the bus stop near your old dormitory building. 

You anxiously devoured the notebook pages in your hands, alternating between cramming the tiny text and scanning the road for the bus that was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. Your stomach ached from the food poisoning you contracted earlier that morning, an unwelcome byproduct of the dubious cauliflower and tuna tacos served at the dining hall the night before.

This was horrible timing too, especially because you had your first test of the academic year that day. When you should have been bent over your statistics notes, you were cooped up in the bathroom for the previous few hours, clutching the toilet bowl as you watched the clock above you tick menacingly. 

You bounced on your toes anxiously, before a strange, squeaking sound met your ears. You whirled around to see a boy approaching you while struggling to pull a large, bulging suitcase along with him. He finally succeeded, collapsing onto the bus stop bench while coughing and wheezing up a storm that rivaled the ominous clouds in the sky. You reached into the side pocket of your backpack, pulling out your unopened plastic water bottle and handing it over to him.

He looked at your offering hand in surprise, before gratefully accepting. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes while he gulped down the cool water. You watched him finish the entire bottle with a dizzying speed and then recycle it in the bin next to the bus stop. The boy was lanky, sporting an oversized Pokémon t-shirt and battered sneakers, and overdue for a haircut, the locks flopping over his sweaty forehead.

“Thank you so much.” He said.

“Of course. What’s in the suitcase?” 

The boy fondly ran a hand over the worn-out seams of the object of your curiosity. “I promised my roommate that I would give him all of my old books for his class project. I have no idea why he wants them, but then again, art students are weird.”

He looked up at you not even a second later, alarm in his eyes. “Unless you’re an art student! In that case, I didn’t mean what I said.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “No, I’m a biology major. And yes, I agree.”

He beamed. “I’m Han Jisung. First year, computer engineering. Anime and cheesecake lover. Spicy food hater.”

“Y/N. I’m a freshman, too, and I also love anime and cheesecake. Chocolate cheesecake, to be specific. And I can’t stand spicy food.”

“Chocolate supremacy!” Jisung gasped, clamping a palm over his mouth. “This is meant to be.”

You let out a hearty laugh at his theatrics. “Exactly.”

At that moment, the bus finally arrived, rolling to a stop next to you both. You helped Jisung push his suitcase full of storybooks up the steps of the bus and into the aisle. You sat on one of the seats in the back, and Jisung followed suit, plopping down right next to you. As he did, you noticed him wince, clutching his stomach. Concern bloomed in you for this precious stranger that you just met. 

“Are you okay?”

He clutches his stomach once more, smiling embarrassedly. “I got food poisoning. I should have known better than to trust the dining hall food.”

You pause, as the ironic delight of the situation sets in, allowing the pain to fade away and leaving you to wonder about the odds of meeting Jisung. “No way! Me too!”

Jisung’s eyes widen in surprise. “That’s destiny. Mutual food poisoning. Now we definitely have to be friends.”

Later, after you had exchanged numbers and plenty of laughs, parting ways at your respective bus stops, you would meet again at the university hospital. Both of you had contracted a salmonella infection.

Unbeknownst to you and Jisung, that delayed bus and salmonella would determine the trajectory of the rest of your lives. Over time, you both emerged from the shackles of a hesitant acquaintance to the kind of bond that never breaks, even with time, distance, or the grievances of being young. You witnessed each other grow up, fall in love and out of love, and get drunk on piña coladas at the bar next to the college gym you both pretended to go to regularly. 

Somewhere along the way, after Loser Boyfriend Number Three, as Jisung tried to cheer you up with his horrible jokes and the burned brownies that he nuked in the residence hall kitchen microwave, you realized that you were wasting your time on people who weren’t worth it. Because the only person who was worth it was the one who had been by your side all the time. Jisung. 

Betrayed by your treacherous heart, you began to see Jisung— your person, your study buddy, your fake fiancé when you both were trying to score free dessert with a restaurant proposal— as more than just a friend. In fear of your feelings potentially ruining your friendship, something more dear to you than any form of romance, as you so believed they would, you swore to never speak to Jisung of it. But you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore about the worst. You fell in love with your best friend. 

“What did the farmer say after he lost his tractor?”

“I have no idea, Jisung.”

“‘Hey, where’s my tractor?’ Get it?” Jisung bursts out laughing, slapping his thigh. He doubles over, his whole body shaking with laughter at the unimpressed look on your face, which makes everything funnier for him.

“That doesn’t even make sense!” You exclaim, trying to push him. Jisung just keeps giggling, dodging you masterfully.

You both have given up on your library study session, resolving to take a break at your favorite coffee shop and meet up with the rest of your friends in your circle. The setting sun has streaked the blue sky with its golden rays and puffy pink clouds, enveloping the entire campus in a hazy glow. It’s a pleasant May evening, with the scent of your college’s famed peonies along with the excitement of Spring lingering in the air. The street lights that line the sidewalk are already turned on, but not many people are outside enjoying the weather, except for a few students playing a game of Frisbee on the athletic field. Everyone else is locked away in their rooms or the library, grinding for their upcoming exams.

“Well, I have a better one anyway.” Jisung states, clearing his throat dramatically. 

You roll your eyes as you near your destination, an unassuming red-brick building tucked away in a larger complex of stores. Purple morningstar blossoms border the door of the small shop in clumps of dainty vines, no doubt the namesake of Morningstar Coffee House. Fairy lights are strung around the glass block windows, which offer a glimpse of the inviting warmth inside. 

“Let’s hear it.”

Jisung jogs ahead of you and opens the door for you, gallantly gesturing for you to go first. “What did Y/N say to Jisung when they went to the coffee shop together?”

The comforting smell of pastries and dark roast coffee engulfs you as you step into Morningstar. The strung lanterns and groovy jazz music playing in the background welcome you like a hug from a long-distance friend. You can’t believe it’s been so long since you’ve gone anywhere other than the library, the lecture halls, or the tiny apartment you and Jisung share. 

“I don’t know.” You humor Jisung, still playing along and waiting for his ridiculous punchline.

He smirks at you. “I love you a latte!”

You feign disgust, but secretly, you are elated because of how genuinely touching his words are to you. Jisung hugs you like a baby panda, trying to get you to applaud him for his clever joke, as Jisung is naturally a very physically affectionate person, always wanting to snuggle up to the people around him. But your heart can’t help but jump a little every time you feel his arms snug around you. 

“Well, I love you a latte more, Hannie,” you respond nonchalantly, but you mean it. You do love Jisung for everything that he is, even the cringeworthy SoundCloud rapper phase that dominated his sophomore year. 

“You guys are weird,” your friend Seungmin says from behind the counter, where he’s busy working as the barista, while his co-worker, Soobin, a timid Psychology student, clumsily handles orders at the cash register. Seungmin’s parents own Morningstar, and he plans to take over it next year. 

Jisung sticks his tongue out at Seungmin in defiance, before linking arms with you and dragging you to the back, where the rest of your friends are seated. There is Chan, or more famously known as Chris among his many admirers across his campus, clad in his signature black jacket. Besides him, the turquoise-haired baby of your group, Jeongin, and then Hyunjin, who as usual, is lost in his sketchbook. 

“Hey guys. What are you up to?” You slide in next to Hyunjin, trying to peek at what he’s drawing. You catch a glimpse of a very pretty girl you vaguely recognize from around campus, before he protectively snaps his journal closed, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Eyes on your coffee, Y/N,” Hyunjin says, handing you the mug that they ordered for you ahead of time. Magically, it’s still hot.

You accept the coffee and drink it, letting the rich liquid warm your insides as you swallow it gratefully. “Alright, alright.”

Jisung tries to steal a bite of Jeongin’s apple danish, earning him a swat on his wandering palms. Chan looks over at you with a grin. “We’re just listening to Jeongin rant about his crush.”

Jeongin groans before continuing. “And I keep asking her out, but every time, she rejects me, bro! What am I supposed to do? Give up?"

“Yes,” Hyunjin says in his signature straightforward manner, prompting everyone but Jeongin to snicker.

“Whatever. I'll figure out a way.” Jeongin sits back in his seat, resorting to aggressively typing on his keyboard to deal with his frustration.

You look around your little corner in the shop, which is filled with textbooks and miscellaneous notebook sheets. “Where are the others?”

“Minho is studying with his girlfriend, and Changbin and Felix are apparently also working, but they’re probably gaming instead.”

Hyunjin bites down on the edge of his straw, glancing between you and Jisung thoughtfully. “Speaking of girlfriend, when are you both going to get together?”

You freeze up in your seat, tensing like you always do whenever someone jokes about your relationship with Jisung, but he’s unfazed, shooting Hyunjin a mischievous smile. “When you tell us about that girl you’re obsessed with.”

Hyunjin immediately forgets about teasing you, glaring at Jisung contempfully. “Shut up, Han. You don’t know anything.”

“Guys, let’s calm down,” you say while patting Hyunjin’s back, happy for the distraction but still cautious about him and Jisung. While those two love each other very much now, they used to fight like crazy when they roomed together in freshman year, and no one needs a repeat of bad history right now.

Jisung catches your eye, and although he doesn’t smile at you, you can see the appreciation in his eyes. You nod slightly at him, before getting out your own computer. Words do not have to be exchanged between you two for you to understand each other.

You all settle into a comfortable silence as you finish your coffee and resume studying, only looking up occasionally to ask each other questions about the material or an assignment. Soon, the evening begins to fade away, and you start packing up your belongings before closing time.

“Hey, Y/N! Can you come over here for a second?” Seungmin calls out, capturing your attention.

You put down your backpack and walk over to the counter, where he’s washing his blender. “Yes?”

“So what’s going on with you and Jisung?” Before you can interrupt him and deny anything, Seungmin wipes his hands and gives you a meaningful look. “I know you have feelings for him.”

You feel your face heat up, and you avoid his piercing eyes. “How would you know?”

“Look, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. From the way you look at him, it’s a marvel how he hasn’t figured it out yet. For a really smart person, Jisung can be so dumb sometimes.”

You exhale, seeing no point in lying anymore. Besides, it feels good to get it off of your chest. “Well, why are you bringing this up anyway?”

Seungmin sets down his utensil caddy and rests his elbows on the edge of the sink. “Soobin likes you and asked me if you’re single. But, you know, I wasn’t sure if you are available. Emotionally, I mean.”

You glance over at Soobin, observing him counting all of the day’s revenue. The blonde cashier catches your eye, flashing you a shy smile before quickly looking away, turning a shade of tomato red. He’s handsome, good-hearted, and not to mention, very tall. Just your type. But he’s no Jisung.

“It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone.” And this is true— over a year, to be precise. “I guess, I’m still hung up over Jisung.”

“Do you plan on making a move?”

“No way. I’m just going to wait for the feelings to dissipate. I would never risk our friendship like that,” you mumble.

“You could get to know Soobin, maybe he’ll help you move on,” Seungmin suggests, crossing his arms.

You consider your options before piping up. Jisung had gotten pretty serious with his last girlfriend by the end of your junior year, but he broke up with her a month later, telling you that she just wasn’t the one for him. He hasn’t dated anyone since, claiming that it’s not the right time. But for you, it is, and you realize that you can’t keep waiting for him.

“Maybe I will,” you say, toying with your jacket zipper.

Seungmin tips his head towards Soobin, but before you move, he leans in closer to you. “But personally, I think you should just tell Jisung. If he’s really your best friend, your friendship will stay the same no matter what.”

You nod. “Yeah, okay.”

You know Seungmin is right, but the truth is, it’s not just about losing your friendship with Jisung. Regardless of whether he reciprocates your feelings or not, you know that he would never walk away from you. It’s truly you who you are concerned about. You’re uncertain if you could bear to go back being your normal self around Jisung if you confess and get rejected. You don’t know if your heart could handle it.

You touch Seungmin’s hand in a quiet gratitude and approach Soobin, who immediately notices your presence and accidentally slams the cash register drawer closed, nearly shutting it on his finger. “H-hi Y/N.”

Watching Soobin get endearingly flustered, you can’t help but smile. “Hey Soobin. How are you?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Soobin bites down on his lip, wrapping his arms around himself. He looks so cute in his brown bib apron and converse shoes. “You look really pretty in that dress.”

Your cheeks warm, but you look him directly in his eyes. “That’s so kind of you to say. Actually, I was hoping you'd want to go out on a date sometime? Maybe after finals?”

Although you’re very reserved about your feelings for Jisung, in every other case, you can be quite forward with romance. Soobin’s eyes widen. “Wait, really?”

You laugh, getting out your phone. “Yes, really. What do you say?”

“Yes! I would love to. Could I please get your number?” Soobin stretches out his phone, which is covered in teddy bear stickers. 

You think of Jisung’s phone, which has a clear case and a polaroid of you two at the beach inside. You shake the thought of him away. You type your number into Soobin’s phone, before wishing him good luck on his finals and then rejoining your friend group in the darkening outdoors, which has moved outside the shop while you were talking to Seungmin. As soon as he spies you walking out of the door, Hyunjin forgets his conversation with Jeongin and immediately launches into interrogating you. 

“What were you talking to Soobin about?”

You shrug, trying to play it off, but can’t help the rosy blush that creeps up your neck. “Nothing, really.”

Now the others look interested as well, and Jeongin smirks knowingly at you. “You asked him out, didn’t you?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you think you see Jisung’s smile falter, but you chalk it up to your own imagination and affirm Jeongin’s prediction. “Yes, but it’s pretty casual. So not a big deal.”

Chan and Jeongin both high-five you like seventh grade boys, while Hyunjin just cackles at your sudden agitation. Jisung, however, looks annoyed, a very new color on him. 

“I didn’t know you were interested in Soobin,” he says, shutting Hyunjin up. “Why didn’t you tell me? You always tell me when you like someone.”

You know the answer to his question. But you can’t tell Jisung that the only reason why you asked Soobin on a date out of the blue is because you are in love with him and trying to move on. “Seungmin just told me that he had a crush on me. So I went for it.”

“Yeah, everyone knows Soobin likes you. But you could have told me first before making a move.” Jisung’s tone is slightly harsh, suspicious. You recoil in surprise, because he has never spoken to you like this, unlike the boy you know and love.

“Why are you getting so mad?” You ask him, hurt.

“It’s just that we tell each other everything, and this is pretty big.” Jisung crosses his arms stubbornly. “Unless you didn’t want me to know.”

Your skin prickles with a strange feeling, because while you two have bickered over stupid things in the past, it wasn’t anything serious like the look on Jisung’s face now. “What’s your problem, Jisung? What did I do to you?”

Your voice is raised, and boys instantly sense the tension in the air, stepping in to mediate. Chan, the eldest in the group, places a hand on Jisung’s shoulder, mutely imploring him to stay calm. Hyunjin, however, gets defensive on your behalf. 

“Why should she have to tell you? Calm down,” Hyunjin says, frowning at Jisung.

“It’s okay, Hyunjin. We should get going.” Without waiting for an answer from the others, you grasp Jisung’s hand and pull him with you, while he comes along without saying anything at all.

The walk back to your apartment, which is seven minutes long from campus, is filled with an uneasy silence, a dreadful change from the playfulness earlier in the day. The air is charged, full of everything you both want to say to each other, but nevertheless, you keep your mouth closed. More than anything, you’re confused. 

It’s been a long time since either of you were with anyone romantically, so maybe it is surprising to Jisung that you randomly asked Soobin out. However, you don’t understand his anger, especially because Jisung has always supported you in your dating life, even setting you up sometimes with people he knew. But you don’t think the problem is the fact that it is Soobin either, because Soobin is one of the most beloved people on campus due to his sweet personality. You don’t know what’s wrong, and that’s what bothers you the most.

Neither of you speak even when you reach your neighborhood, a suburban oasis in a big city. When there’s good weather, you and Jisung love to come outside and either take long walks around the block or pack picnics to share on the perpetually green lawn in front of your apartment building. Today, you head straight up to your flat, an indifferent pair of strangers standing in the elevator.

After unlocking the door to your apartment, you finally decide to break the silence, turning to look at Jisung, who trails a few feet behind you. “I’ll be in my room, studying.”

You want him to say something, anything, but he just nods, keeping his eyes trained on the grey hardwood flooring. Sighing, you pad across the apartment and enter your room, shutting the door you always keep open. 

You and Jisung had signed a lease on your place last year, partially because you couldn’t afford off-campus housing on your own, but also because you couldn’t imagine a better roommate than him. People made plenty of comments about how you both— two people of the opposite gender— renting an apartment together would be a recipe for disaster.

While Jisung had assured you that everything would be alright, the weeks leading up to move-in day were filled with apprehension for you. But unlike what he believed, it wasn’t because of what others said. The thought of you and Jisung living together made you worry if proximity could potentially make it easier for him to realize your feelings for him. 

However, when the big day rolled in, you couldn’t remember any of your fears as you and Jisung sat in your new apartment, leaned against a pile of half-opened luggage. Exhausted from dealing with delayed furniture shipments and sorting through the endless boxes of belongings, both of you had given up. Resolving to lay on the barren floor and play Go-Fish, you both laughed for hours about the annoyed look on the grumpy mover’s face when Jisung kept asking him questions. Before Jisung subsequently fell asleep on your lap, he promised you that you both would make a lot of good memories here. And you did.

Last Christmas, you both spent it together, huddled on the couch while gossiping and drinking hot chocolate, because both of your flights got canceled due to snow. Then there was the time Jisung forced you to stay awake with him all night because he was scared after watching some bad slasher film, but you told him Disney bedtime stories that eventually made his fear go away.

You can’t help but feel a small pang thinking of whenever he brings you strawberry shortcake from the bakery you like, or all of the times he spam calls you when you’re out late and haven’t informed him. You’ve never fought with Jisung like this, not without him immediately coming after you and begging you to forgive him, even if he wasn’t in the wrong. Being distant with Jisung is a new feeling, and you don’t get how you could ever accomplish that with your best friend in the whole world. 

Shaking off your incessant thoughts about Jisung, you turn on your computer, hunching over on your desk in the artificial glow of the screen. You still have a few chapters of reading to get through, and then you have to solve ten long practice problem sets for Chemistry. For now, you’ll have to put off the deliberations that pull at you.

“Y/N.”

You feel someone shaking you awake, gentle hands coaxing you out of an uneasy nap. You lift your head from where it rests on your arms, blearily looking up from where you are slumped over your desk. Your laptop has fallen asleep, the dim glow of your lamp lighting up the room instead. And the blaring, unwelcome red of your digital clock signals an unfortunate time well past twelve. Rubbing your eyes, you finally notice Jisung hovering beside you hesitantly.

“I thought you’d want me to wake you up,” Jisung says, his hands shoved into the pockets of his pajama pants. “I’m sorry.”

He’s wearing a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up snugly over his head, a few soft pieces of hair messily sticking out from underneath. He looks so cute you want to hug him, but then you remember the events that transpired before you accidentally fell asleep. 

“It’s okay. I need to finish working, thanks,” you say dully, both tired from studying and being stuck in this bad day with Jisung.

He shakes his head. “No, I mean, I’m sorry for earlier. At the coffee shop.”

You bite your lip, melting at the regret and sadness in his eyes. Your best friend misses you too. “Can we talk?”

Jisung stays quiet before speaking, and you swear he can probably hear your anticipating heartbeat filling the room. “Are you hungry? We didn’t have dinner.” 

He doesn’t answer your question, but you still fold at the thought of how he didn’t eat without you. “Yeah, I am hungry.”

“I’ll make us something.” He turns and heads into the kitchen, and after a second thought, you hurry after him. 

Jisung takes off his hood and brings out a metal pot out of one of the cupboards. You watch as he rummages hastily through the fridge, before he shuts it with empty hands. He turns to you with a sheepish look on his face. “So we don’t actually have any food.”

Realization passes between the both of you: in the past few weeks, you both were so immersed in your preparation for your exams that you had completely neglected buying groceries, opting instead for easy pre-cooked meals or food deliveries. Your stomach rumbles loudly, and you rub it, embarrassed, but at least it breaks the tension, as Jisung snorts, an amused look on his face.

“We could go to the store and get something,” he suggests, from where he stands behind the kitchen island. 

He fidgets nervously, a reminder of how any other time, you would have jumped at the opportunity to ditch your books and buy cheap junk food with Jisung. But now? You don’t want to go out. You want to stay here, you want to talk to your best friend, you want things to go back to how they were before your fight with Jisung. And yet, you nod your head in agreement, grabbing your apartment keys and wallet from the counter before following Jisung out of the apartment. 

The hallways of the building are tainted a vivid yellow from the incandescent lighting, a sharp contrast to the gloomy night outside. The moon is high up in the sky, shrouding the sleepy apartment complex in a silvery glow. There’s no one outside except for a homeless man dozing on one of the benches lining the walkways. But the distant city lights tell you that not everyone slumbers, that outside of your bubble, people have their own lives and stories. The only story that matters to you, however, is the one with the beautiful boy who walks beside you, his step heavy and eyes downcast. 

In a matter of wordless minutes, you and Jisung have arrived at your go-to place for midnight runs, a sketchy little convenience store peeking out from behind a cluster of drab office buildings. The neon lighting of the store glows in the dark and reflects in the pools of water left by a mild rain that had graced the land while you were sleeping. 

Jisung quickly walks ahead of you and opens the door for you, a blast of air conditioning granting you solace from the humidity. The familiar sight of the plentiful arrays of colorful aisles and the broken fan hopelessly creaking by the entrance pulls you in. You scour the shelves of mouthwatering foodstuffs, before settling in front of one of the sections.

“I don’t know if it’s a noodles or sandwich kind of night,” you wonder out loud, picking up a pack of ramen. You don’t notice Jisung standing behind you, as you assume he’s already zeroed in on the ice cream freezer like he always does.

“Definitely ramen.”

You jump, hugging the packet to your chest as if it would protect you from the perpetrator. Jisung innocently watches you, a small smile playing upon his lips. He holds two wrapped popsicles in his hands, one melon-flavored and one mango-flavored, and stretches the latter out to you. You accept it, returning his smile, and it feels like things are normal again. You know you should bring up what lies unspoken between you two, but you want to preserve this moment for now.

Jisung selects ramen for himself as well, and you both go to the front counter to check-out, failing to exchange any more words as you both just continue to enjoy the calm. After, you both quickly exit the shop and start jogging in synchronization, remembering that a pile of work still awaits you. When you board the bridge that connects the rest of the city to the way back to your apartment, Jisung doubles over, panting. 

You decide to take a break, walking over to the edge and drinking in the view. The blurred lights of the magnificent skyscrapers illuminate the midnight sky like lightning, and the river in front of you is littered with cargo ships peacefully gliding along on their separate journeys. You lean against the railing, closing your eyes and letting the wind ruffle your hair. Jisung comes up behind you once more, but when he speaks this time, it’s less of a surprise and more of a comfort. 

“Everything is changing,” he says, resting his hands on the railing as well. “I’m scared.”

You open your eyes, turning to face Jisung. His eyes are filled with tears, and your heart reaches out for him. You tightly grasp his hand, trying to convey everything you can’t say to him. 

“Talk to me. Please.”

“I’m not ready for all of this. Graduation’s getting closer, and I know you’re excited but… I don’t know, I still feel kind of stuck.” Jisung’s gaze fixates on one of the boats below. “Every time I type out a line of code, I want to smash my keyboard into bits. Every goddamn time.”

His words are strong, but his voice is rough with emotion. 

“Jisung, don’t do this if it’s not what you want.”

“We’re literally graduating in a month, Y/N.” Jisung lets out a disbelieving sound. “But that’s not even a concern, because my grad school actually offers a joint program on computers and audio design for engineering students who want to go into music production. But I couldn’t do that, because you barely get paid unless you make it big.”

You frown, setting down the plastic cover of your food. “Well, why not? If anyone could break out, it’s you.”

Jisung shrugs, shaking his head. “I can’t take that risk. Just plain old computer science is the way to go.”

You stay quiet for a second, keenly observing his despairing expression. “Your mom would want you to be happy, Hannie.”

“I could be happy, maybe, one day. But not right now.” Jisung runs a hand through his hair, not meeting your eyes. “You’re moving away next year for your PhD, and I’ll still be stuck here, in a place where you aren’t there.”

“I’m only two hours away. You can get away from campus and visit all the time. We’ll be like the Kardashians taking on a new city!” You crack a watery smile.

Jisung sniffles sadly, and your heart sinks, because you failed to make him happy. Again. But then he looks up at you, a glimmer of humor in his eyes. “Only if I get to be Kourtney.”

You laugh, shoving him in the arm. “Fine.”

And then you both say nothing again, just gazing out at the world beyond this bridge and instant.

“What happened today?” You break the silence— questioning, not accusing.

Jisung groans. “It’s… look, I know we’ve both dated before, but none of them were it. And maybe you never felt that way, but I know for a fact that none of the guys you dated were right for you.”

“Jisung—” you start, but he interrupts you.

“And we’re graduating soon. So I thought you’d realize it by now.” Jisung taps his foot like he always does when he’s nervous, and your pulse quickens at his halting words. 

“Realize what?” You ask him softly, trying not to come to any conclusions but betrayed by the treacherous beat of your heart.

The tips of Jisung’s ears turn red. “I- I need you to not say anything. Because I need to say something. And if you don’t like what I say, then I’ll walk away and we can forget everything that transpired here. Okay?”

You maintain your serious expression, although you want to swoon at his adorably flustered state. “Okay.”

Jisung is about to finally reveal what has gotten him so worked up, but then he sighs in frustration, shaking his head. “No. I can’t do this with you looking at me. Can you please turn around? Please?”

Hiding a smile, you oblige him and face the other way. “Okay. I can’t see you now.”

You hear Jisung take a deep breath. 

“I’m never going to get this right. Y/N, I like you. And I mean like-like you. Like, romantically. Everything about you, I like. Even your disgusting food combinations, I like. Your smile? Oh god. Don’t go on a date with Soobin. Go with me. I like you.” 

Even though the past few minutes manifested Jisung’s declaration, you still whirl around, shocked. “Say what?”

Jisung rolls his eyes. “Seriously? I pour myself out to you and you need me to repeat it? You’re really something, Y/N.”

You smirk, stepping closer and looping your arms around Jisung’s neck. You take in how Jisung’s eyes have widened and how his lips are parted at such an intimate gesture from you, wondering if this is how it feels in the movies, when the heroine finally gets the boy she’s been loving from a distance for so long. 

You look up at Jisung, and your heart has never felt so happy. “I guess this is my time to be vulnerable too. I don’t just like-like you, Jisung. I love you.”

It’s Jisung’s turn to be surprised. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. For a very long time.”

He smiles bashfully, his elation at your own confession evident. “I love you too.”

Jisung tilts his head to his right, as you do the same, almost about to close the miniscule space between you both. And then he pulls away.

You watch Jisung, confused, as he covers his face with his palms, shyly giggling. “I’m sorry, it’s just that I dreamed of this for so long. Can you give me a second?” 

Never able to get enough of his antics, you watch as he pulls a stick of chapstick out of his pocket and swipes it on. He dabs his lips carefully before turning back to you. 

“Now where were we?”

Before you can even say anything, he’s closed that gap. His lips are soft and sweet, the taste of cherry and vanilla chapstick lingering. You close your eyes and melt into the kiss as Jisung brings up his hands to cradle your face. The sweet scent of him clouds your senses and washes away your inhibitions, and there’s nothing besides you both in this moment. He kisses you like there’s no tomorrow, no exams, no school or anyone else. He kisses you not like a friend, but a lover that he’s yearned for, which certainly wouldn’t be a lie.

You can’t believe that you’ve been pining after Jisung for the mere duration of your college years. It feels like you’ve waited your whole life for this. The murky puddles of water around you and the pungent stench of a nearby dumpster are nowhere near romantic, but with the way you’re kissing Jisung, you might as well be in heaven. 

If you dare to predict the future, you’ll have the rest of your life to look forward to moments like this, miss him even when he’s laying in your arms, love him when you both slow dance in the refrigerator light at midnight. And because you’re two broke peas in a pod, you both will definitely conduct more fake proposals with each other when you go out to eat. Hopefully before the real deal. You’ll just have to see who pops the question first. 

“Wow,” Jisung breathes against your lips. “My dreams have not done this moment any justice.”

You chuckle, leaning in for another kiss. “Mine too.” 

But Jisung dodges your lips, making you scoff as he raises his eyebrows at you. “And what are you going to be doing about Soobin?”

“You should be nicer. Poor Soobin. I wouldn’t have to let him down now if you’d just told me all of this earlier,” you scold Jisung lightly, cupping his chin. 

He pouts, swatting at your arms with the oversize sleeves of his hoodie. “Never mind. Let’s stop talking about him.”

You roll your eyes playfully and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. You’re sure that the lovesick look on Jisung’s face mirrors your own. He may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Your best friend in the whole world. And whatever the future holds, that will never change.

“I love you, Hannie. Love you so much,” you whisper, pressing another soft kiss to his lips. You’ll never, ever get tired of kissing him.

Jisung smiles down at you lovingly, slipping off his hoodie to put it on you, noticing the way you shiver. But you’re not really that cold; it's the way he’s looking at you right now. Not that you’d tell him that. “Let’s go.”

“Where?” You ask, still in a dreamy daze. This day has turned out to be better than any other you’ve ever had. Everything was worth it.

“Home.”

Check out the rest of boys' stories on Love Playlist!

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#jisungsdaydreamer #han jisung #jisung #han #han jisung stray kids #han stray kids #jisung stray kids #stray kids han #stray kids jisung #stray kids han jisung #stray kids fic #stray kids one shot #stray kids series #han jisung one shot #han jisung fic #han one shot #han fic #jisung one shot #jisung fic #love playlist #bts #skz #skz han #skz han jisung #skz jisung #stray kids fluff #han jisung fluff #han fluff #jisung fluff #best friends to lovers

[localwebslingers]

@watsonjackpot asked: 🎵 and got "Battle Cry" by DotEXE

------

This was one of those fights where Peter didn't just have his head in the game, he made the rulebook. One of those fights where it was like his pulse echoed back with every beat of it. Each punch and dodge wasn't just movement, it was him. Moving from one beat to the next, like it was all on pure instinct. Like each thing he did was as natural and easy as breathing was. He wasn't panicked, he was calm. Focused, every single sense honed in with the kind of precision that came from years of Spider-Man.

His hands barely tagged the surfaces he was jumping off of, breathing quickened but only to keep up with the exertion. Webs landed to catch and throw back the right things, swinging him around all the right obstacles and keeping him in constant motion. Under the mask he was grinning, spouting off lines as he jumped out of the way "Missed me!" and trading the missed blow for one of his own that landed, "What, no kiss?" before he was moving away again. His head was in the game, he was in the zone, and that was when Spider-Man was as close to fun as being a vigilante could get.

So of course his phone was ringing as he swung around a lamppost and planted his feest on the big guy's chest, "Hold that thought, gotta take this." and pushed off hard enough to kick the guy back, who didn't seem happy about it, and launch himself up into the air as he answered his phone. Barely glancing at the screen to see how it was before shooting a web to pull himself back in, "Hey, MJ, what's up?"

Other than...well, him right now.

#answers #muse | peter parker(tasm) #watsonjackpot #[v: down at street level]

[blakebouchard]

If Daggerheart becomes the game that powers Critical Role instead of D&D 5e, you’re going to see a shift almost overnight. How many tables are out there of people who play D&D strictly because it’s the Critical Role game? I guarantee you the number is not zero.

Keep in mind what Critical Role did for 5th Edition: It not only served to promote 5e, it also taught 5e, and the importance of that second part can’t be overstated. To a newcomer, D&D is bigger and scarier to get into than, say, any arbitrary video game. There’s rulebooks to read, dice to buy, you have to find a table of people who aren’t absolute psychos to play with…

Critical Role took one of those impediments out of the equation, by teaching their viewers the 5e ruleset through play. After hours and hours and hours of listening to charismatic voice actors playing, you can start to get a comfort and a familiarity with the rules that you wouldn’t necessarily get otherwise. Critical Role teaches the rules and tropes of D&D to its audience.

Now suppose instead of teaching the audience how to Roll with Advantage, you’re teaching them how Success with Fear/Failure with Hope works. Instead of hearing about Paladins and Barbarians, now you’re talking about Seraphs and Guardians.

It might have made sense for them at one point to weld themselves to the D&D brand, but I think we’ve seen some pretty good evidence that it might not be the best play in the long run. If Critical Role is really getting into the publishing business by way of Darrington Press, then it is absolutely in their best interest to start using their own ruleset.

And it seems like Daggerheart is being built with Actual Play in mind. The fact that it’s being built for Theatre of the Mind style play with a “Yes-and” success/failure mechanic tells me that they want this to be a more narrative-forward “Swashbuckling” game than a “Kick in the door and kill goblins” game. Players are going to have interesting choices either way.

Daggerheart has the chance to fulfill the promise of Dungeon World: To be “recognizably D&D,” but to prioritize the narrative aspects of the game without throwing out the satisfying character customization and progression that D&D is known for. That last bit is where Dungeon World stumbled, in my opinion, but there’s definitely a big opportunity to improve on that style of game.

Critical Role shouldn’t be afraid of D&D because ultimately, their responsibility is to their fans and themselves. They have no obligation to continue to teach and promote 5th Edition. They have millions of subscribers on Youtube, Twitch, the various socials. If they start talking up their own thing, it creates a conversation that has been sorely needed for a long time: “What if D&D isn’t the best game for our table?”

Furthermore, they have a ready-made audience for their game. Critical Role fans are tabletop fans by definition. They’re here to watch a tabletop RPG featuring strong world-building, well-realized characters, and escalating tension and drama. It’s high time that they had a ruleset that prioritized those things, rather than fostering arguments about how the grappling rules work.

I say this not as a Critical Role fan, but as someone who just wishes that the conversation around D&D and tabletop in general was a bit more nuanced. Players should be able to ask for what they want, and not get shouted down because what they want isn’t D&D. Not only does it lead to better game design, it leads to more people at the table actually getting what they want, rather than settling for the “Safe” thing again.

#daggerheart #dnd5e #critical role #darrington press

[astrowaffles]

Stopping the JNT from being arrested: a comprehensive rulebook by Iwaizumi H.

General Audiences | Chaos, attempt at humour

1. A volleyballer in prison is a volleyballer who won't be volleyballing for a long, long time.

2. If you see Sakusa and Atsumu "sharing hand sanitizer" by holding hands, say nothing.

3. Just because Kageyama always catches him does not make Hinata less banned from jumping on our setter. If either of you are injured then we are in deep trouble.

4. Just because Oikawa is in the proximity does not mean you can send out search parties to find and assassinate him. See rule 1.

 OR: Whoever's idea it was to put the entire monster generation on one team, Iwaizumi hopes both sides of their pillow are warm tonight.

The JNT Rulebook

Failure to meet these rules will result in suspension from the Japanese Men's National Volleyball Team, if you aren't arrested first.

sincerely,

Iwaizumi H.

 1. A volleyballer in prison is a volleyballer who won't be volleyballing for a long, long time. 

       a) it's no use phoning home for bail. the last time we tried that, Akaashi spent the whole two minute phone call cackling. - Bokuto

 2. If you see Sakusa and Atsumu "sharing hand sanitizer" by holding hands, say nothing.

 3. Just because Kageyama always catches him does not make Hinata any less banned from jumping on our setter. If either of you are injured then we are in deep trouble.

 4. Just because Oikawa is in the proximity does not mean you can send out search parties to find and assassinate him. See rule 1.

 5. If Hoshiumi is seen one more time with Hinata on his shoulders to "bring revenge down on the heads of everyone over 5'8"" we will be forced to tape them both to the floor.

 6. Just because Kuroo said it does not mean it is true.

         a) No, you will not jump higher if you drink out of the JVA's special water bottles.

         b) No, Kuroo is not obligated to tell the whole truth "because we're buddies". Kuroo can leave out whatever bits he likes, which is why what he says is usually Not True.

 7. Gravity is real and if it wasn't, volleyball wouldn't work. 

 8. If you continue to rickroll Kageyama he will stop opening his emails out of sheer fear, and we need him to read his official communications. Stop it.

 9. Do not trust what Kenma says. Remember he is funding Kuroo's shenanigans.

 10. If the "your mom" jokes don't stop, Suna Rintarou will be put into isolation.

         a) "your brother" and "your twin" jokes are equally unacceptable, as our reserve setter appears to be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

         b) "your cousin" jokes are banned by proxy to prevent said reserve setter being murdered by Sakusa.

 11. Oikawa is trying to annoy you into revealing our strategies. If you feel you may fall into his trap, avoid him or fetch the athletic trainer (me), who will deal with him accordingly.

 12. Bokuto: one more rant about Akaashi and I will call him personally, and you can explain to him why you are slacking off at practice. 

 13. Taking pictures of Hoshiumi with a rat filter on is not funny.

 14. Throwing volleyballs is not an effective method of communication.

 15. Ridiculous service ace competitions are to be reserved for private practice. Atsumu does not need another black eye.

 16. Hinata and Kageyama are hereby banned from communicating with just eyebrow raising. It's creepy and Bokuto was very close to hiding himself in a cupboard yesterday.

         a) this also applies to talking in tandem.

         b) it also applies to finishing each other's sentences.

 17. Ushijima is the captain and if he says throwing flying squirrels out of the top floor window to "see if they actually fly" is a bad idea, then it is a bad idea.

 18. Atsumu is the reserve setter and therefore does not need be on court "in case Kageyama trips".

 19. If calling your old highschool captains is what it takes to get you to work, I will do so. 

 20. Personal questions about Oikawa are banned.

 21. Team Brazil players are banned from the Team Japan village. If I find any I will decapitate them. 

 22. Atsumu is not a tiny baby, he is 6'1''. Just because that makes him one of the smallest on the team does not make him short. Refrain from pushing him into insanity this early in the season.

 23. Arm wrestling is banned.

         a) I will always win and it is stupid to think that it will ever change. No, your lucky underwear does not make a difference, Bokuto.

 24. Either Yaku takes his voice down a notch or I take his kneecaps.

 25. If you were represented by a bird in highschool, you are hereby banned from making any important decisions.

         a) I am well aware this excludes our captain from making decisions. I stand by that.

 26. Kageyama cannot speak Italian so please stop harassing him for lessons.

 27. Eavesdropping on other teams is not banned but it is frowned upon by the Olympic committee. Don't get caught.

 28. Don't bother eavesdropping on Oikawa, it won't get us anywhere. I already know his main strategies anyway.

 29. Sakusa is a grown man, no you cannot adopt him.

 30. Meian Shugo is a lovely man who will not appreciate being dragged out to Tokyo. Jackals, keep your chaos away from me.

 31. One more heavy sigh from Komori will push me off the edge. Shut it.

 32. It scares everyone shitless when they hear high-pitched screams in the middle of the night. Someone buy Sakusa some pesticide.

         a) Bokuto you are not scared of spiders, there is no need for you to scream too.

 34. I appreciate that we have an A team and a B team, but we are all Team Japan, so the expressions "bench warmer", "loser", "second place", "spare parts" and "extra Kageyama" are all banned.

         a) no-one seems to care that we have two liberos as well as two setters. Targeting Atsumu is not tolerated. Keep it in your heads.

         b) yes, that includes Sakusa. He does not have a "bullying Atsumu pass", no matter what he says.

 35. Bringing a tape measure to games so you can find out who's the tallest person in the room and then attempting to fight them is definitely frowned upon. I am assigning Ushijima to guard Hoshiumi.

 36. I am well aware that Sakusa is MSBY's guard dog. Luckily the JNT is full of terrifying men over 6'0'', so he can stop growling whenever an "enemy" walks past.

 37. Speaking of height, Kageyama is far too big to be racing around gyms. In fact, so are all of you. Hinata, stop encouraging it.

 38. Barking at Team Argentina is not acceptable behaviour. It can actually be filed as a hate crime.

 39. Ushijima is the team ace. It is irrelevant if Sakusa was #1 ace in highschool or not.

         a) I would also take the complaints a lot more seriously if they were actually from anyone except Atsumu.

 40. Being gay does not provide legal protection.

         a) You cannot report a hate crime if the "hate crime" is Oikawa's existence.

         b) even if you could, Oikawa is also gay.

A03 | Exclusives | Tip Me | Commissions

#hq #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #iwaoi #oiiwa #iwaizumi hajime #hq iwaizumi #hajime iwaizumi #oikawa tooru #hq oikawa #tooru oikawa

[heatherlucky29]

The thematics of Thor: Love and Thunder are really like

- when you feel lost, find yourself in the people you love

- lean on these people, especially in hard times (they'll bring you corn chips in chemo)

- atheism >>>>>

- you can read all the textbooks in the world and not understand what's inside

- throw the rulebook out the window (or shove a pencil through it) and LIVE

- communication is key

- scienceing is equal to thunder shenanigans in the arena of actual world-saving

- beat a dead horse? nah, how about beat a pair of live screaming goats

- children are the future, they are capable and just need you to believe in them and respect who they are

- CHOSEN NAMES ARE IMPORTANT, HONOR THEM (re: Axl & DOCTOR Jane Foster)

- the upper class couldn't care less about the classes below them beyond entertainment and sacrifice, not all gods are bad but to have privilege is to have potential to do bad

- the crimes of said upper class shouldn't be given power/headspace enough to inhibit the way you interact with the world and loved ones around you

- rocks = GAY

- revenge should be abandoned in favor of the person for whom it was enacted in the first place

- take responsibility for your late former nemesis' magic orphan and praise their hammer decorating skills over panflaps

- worthiness isn't defined by rank, race, or status, but by your actions, the quality of your hair extensions, and the goodwill of your heart

#thor love and thunder spoilers #thor love and thunder #marvel #tessa thompson #natalie portman #chris hemsworth #taika waititi #valkyrie #jane foster #thor #loki #disney

[zorlok-if]

A little appreciation for Tommy and Jin's ex-best friends turned bitter rivals (with undercurrents of something more) dynamic.

Screenshot from the revised prologue, text for the full passage (not just the screenshot) under the cut

In the previous scene Jin was insisting that Tommy picked a terrible name with Zorlok and Gina and Levi started exploring alternatives. Tommy makes the choice: "Tommy won't sit back and take this silently. In this moment, he decides to stand up for himself – [assertive]"

"It doesn't matter," Tommy says. "We aren't having a debate. I'm not asking for your input. What I name my demon—or devil, Levi—is entirely up to me. I've made my decision, and I'm happy with it. So, can we please just keep playing? I want to see what happens here."

Levi sinks down in his seat, softly closing the rulebook. Gina tucks her hair behind her ears, dropping her head to look at the ground. But Jin doesn't back off.

"Dude, you're making a mistake. All I'm doing is trying to help."

"Well, dude, you're not."

"But—but it sounds like warlock! You just switched out the 'w' for a 'z'. Like, dude—" A disbelieving scowl furrows Jin's brow. "Think about it. Okay? Really think about it. Your warlock's patron is Zorlok?"

"Umm, okay, and did any of us say anything when you named your bard Amadeus?"

"Oh my God, what?! That's completely different! My choice was clearly intentional, it is a reference, and it sounds cool. Now, if I'd named my bard's mentor Bozart or Fuzician, then you'd have a point. But I didn't. Because that's ridiculous."

"I. Don't. Care." Tommy throws out each word like a dart. "Cut it out, Jin. You're acting like a jerk."

Jin and Tommy glare at one another for a long, uncomfortably quiet moment.

"Fine," Jin eventually concedes, breaking the silence and some of the tension. He leans back and looks away from Tommy, his buff arms flexing as they tighten across his broad chest. Tommy quickly looks away too. "Sorry," Jin mumbles. His voice is so low that Tommy can barely hear it, and so terse that he can't tell if it's sincere.

#the boys are fighting! #i fucking love them #tommy #jin #sneak peek