#frequency capping

[mfilterit]

Are your ads on OTT causing Ad Fatigue? Know the Impact of Frequency Capping Breach

Digital advertising has undergone a massive transformation. As audiences shift from traditional TV to streaming platforms, brands have gained unprecedented opportunities to engage with consumers in a more targeted and cost-effective way.

Enter Over-the-Top (OTT) platforms like Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, and JioHotstar — which have changed the advertising game. These platforms allow brands to serve personalized, data-driven ads to the right audience at the right time.

What is Frequency Cap Breaching?

Frequency breaching occurs when an ad is shown to the same user excessively, far beyond the optimal number of exposures. While repetition plays a crucial role in brand recall, too much of it leads to ad fatigue, causing frustration and making users disengage.

Effective frequency capping ensures that users aren’t served the same ad too many times within a short period. This enhances ad effectiveness, prevents irritation, and maintains a positive viewing experience. However, finding the right balance requires data-driven decision-making, continuous testing, and collaboration with advertising platforms.

Frequency Capping in USA, India, Dubai, Saudi Arabia

Click here to read more: Are your ads on OTT causing Ad Fatigue? Know the Impact of Frequency Capping Breach

[mortalscience]

[neverendingford]

.

[hazellight11]

HEY PHONE STOP INSTALLING RANDOM FUCKING GAMES WITH EVERY FUCKING SYSTEM UPDATE

[hnry2cios]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/passives--capacitors--aluminum-electrolytic-capacitors/eee-fk1h221gp-panasonic-7113777

Multi section capacitor, low frequency signal, Audio capacitor

EEE-FK Series 50 V 220 uF Ø 10 x 10.2 mm 105 °C Low ESR SMT Electrolytic

[neuphony9]

Neuphony's EEG technology captures and analyzes brain waves, offering real-time insights into cognitive states. It's designed for personalized neurofeedback, meditation, and mental health improvement, empowering users to enhance focus, relaxation, and overall brain performance through data-driven approaches.

[an-inkpot-or-a-fencepost]

I’d like to shout into the void how much I love my hyper competent lab tech and how he is the only thing between me and a panic attack about my lack of electrical engineering knowledge

[sadlittlestray]

*go to use my hands*

*they do not work*

ugh hold in -_-

*A STARTLING SERIES OF CRACKS, TERRIBLY LOUD AND JUST AWFUL TO LISTEN TO*

:)

[mthw2cope]

https://www.futureelectronics.com/p/passives--capacitors--aluminum-electrolytic-capacitors/eeu-fr1v222-panasonic-5028797

Reforming electrolytic capacitors, Aluminum oxide, electrolytic capacitors

EEU-FR Series 35 V 2200 uF Ø16 x 25 mm LS=7.5 mm 105°C Low ESR Electrolytic Cap

[haus-of-wu]

hey staff can u like. cut down on the frequency of the temu ads and force them to NOT have audio on when they auto play.

[sunshinechay]

I am once again confused about what is happening in Low Frequency

[irisintheafterglow]

a kaiju attack spoils date night with bf!hoshina. he is so pissed.

cw: canon-typical violence, swearing, mild angst/fluff, happy surprise ending

"is it just me, or does the vice-captain seem angrier than usual?"

"maybe he's just fired up. there's a lot of yoju for him to take care of," iharu observes, scanning the emptied streets from the rooftop of an evacuated office building.

"you idiots really don't pay attention at all, do you?" shinomiya mumbles under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. the rest of the officers with her stare at her blankly. "it's thursday, geniuses."

"is there something special about kaiju appearances and days of the week?"

"not that i've heard of," kafka states, scratching his head with a finger. "did new research come out?"

"maybe it's because of the full moon," haruichi says and the other men look up at its soft shining light, nodding in understanding.

"that makes a lot of sense."

"but why would that make the vice-captain angry?"

"maybe he's a werewolf," iharu whispers with sincere worry. "maybe kafka's not the only shapeshifter in our division."

"it's date night, you meatheads! the vice-captain's supposed to be off-base and relaxing," shinomiya explains impatiently like it was written on the floors in fluorescent paint. "he's probably angry that the attack came right when he usually picks up..."

"picks up who?" the officers stiffen and quickly fall into perfect lines. you smile at their professionalism and try not to laugh at how quickly they changed their gossiping demeanors. "you know, officers, you should be careful about what you say in regards to the vice-captain."

"our deepest apologies, platoon leader," kaguragi monotoned, ever the perfect soldier.

"at ease," you command them. "you have nothing to apologize for. i'm simply warning you of what might have happened had it not been me passing by."

"understood, platoon leader," izumo confirms. "if we may," he continues slowly and you can see the rest of the officers eyeing him warily. "were we...correct in our assumption as to the reason for the vice-captain's mood?"

"the werewolf assumption or the assumption that only shinomiya was correct about?" everyone but shinomiya reddens, looking down sheepishly at the toes of their suits. the axe-wielder straightens her shoulders with a proud glint in her eyes. "to answer your question, it would be the latter," you answer with a poorly-hidden smirk. "he'd barely knocked on my door when the alarm sounded."

"oh, i bet the vice-cap was seething."

"he definitely was," you confirm, recalling the colorful curses he uttered as you both begrudgingly shed your nicer clothes for your combat suits. i was supposed to take off your clothes under different circumstances, he'd lamented. don't go thinking our night is canceled because of this. i'll finish them off quickly for you.

your relationship with hoshina was no secret, considering that he talked about you whenever he was given the chance. every kdf member on base knew you preferred to keep your romantic life as private as possible to avoid questions of power dynamics from higher-ranking officials. hoshina, however, either didn't listen or didn't seem to care. he happily declared thursday nights to be date nights, threatening intense punishment for the officers below him if they caused trouble while he was gone. a static-filled message from the scouting teams sounds in your earpiece and you dismiss the officers, moving to join the vice-captain at the front line.

judging by the slowly increasing trail of dead monsters covering the asphalt, you find hoshina easily as he cuts a clean slice through a fast-moving yoju. you change the frequency on your earpiece so that you're directly connected to his.

"someone's been busy," you remark, pulling the batons from your back and electrifying them with the switch by your thumb. they hum in your hands, electric blue lightning crackling in sync with the released power of your suit. "save some for me, would you?"

"any other day, i would," he replies and you hear him smile despite his annoyance. "but it took me three months to get those reservations, so i wanna finish this up quickly." another yoju falls, your boyfriend a phantom blur in the darkness.

"are you calling me slow?" your hand plants itself on your hip as you continue to watch him cut down enemies, barely moving from your place between the dead kaiju. "i can't believe my boyfriend thinks i'm slow. here i thought you were my biggest supporter."

"that's not what i said," he huffs, the slightest waver in his exhale the only evidence of exertion. "i'm just faster." he pauses for half a second to catch his breath, and you snag your chance to overtake him.

"hmm, i think i'll take over for a second, then." launching yourself from the ground, your feet run perpendicular against the wall of a crumbling building as you close the distance. you can feel hoshina's attention on you while you dodge the yoju's swinging limbs and sink your batons into the skin covering its core, electricity surging through its body as it falls with a loud thud. "how's that, mister i'm just faster?"

"cute," he admits, offering you a hand as you hop down from the monster's head. you're shoulder to shoulder facing opposite directions and catch the challenge in his eyes as you look at him over your shoulder. "but i know you can go harder."

"go your fastest then, soshiro," you dare. his throat bobs as he swallows thickly, a subtle sign that you'd thrown him off. "i'll do my best to keep up."

---

"so, this is not how i wanted date night to end up," he says through a mouth full of noodles, slurping them loudly from the bowl on your living room coffee table. "and i'm sorry we couldn't go to that fancy place."

"to be fair, the website didn't exactly update its hours immediately," you remind him. "how were we supposed to know the place got demolished in the attack?"

"true, but i made you get all dressed up for nothing," he grumbles, accidentally dropping a vegetable and splashing broth onto his face. "ow." you snort against your spoon, setting it down in your bowl and swiping over the corner of soshiro's mouth with a napkin. "this was my favorite shirt, too. worst date night ever."

"good thing there's this place called the cleaners, babe." he continues to frown despite your unending patience, letting you clean him up while he indulges in staring at you in your nice clothes. you could make anything look pretty, he thinks, staring unashamedly at you wrapped up in a blanket and covering your going-out clothes. "hey," you murmur, gently grabbing his chin and turning him to face you. "i don't mind."

"you don't mind what?"

"this kind of date night."

"but we could do this anytime," he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. you shake your head, pushing away your food and climbing into his lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

"no, we can't. we don't know how many times we get this in our line of work," you point out with an ache in your chest and he finally blinks up to look at you. "so i'm grateful for any time i get to spend with you, soshiro." his throat bobs again, but he manages to give you a small smile.

"you're too good for me, you know that?"

"if you say so," you shrug, leaning down until your lips barely brush his.

"but, you know," he murmurs and you pull back, staring into his starry eyes. "there's not a lot of nights," he inhales, reaching behind him to grab something from under the couch's throw pillow, "where i get to pull this move."

"what're you--ohmygod." he smirks at you as you blink down at the small box sitting in his hand, covered in crushed velvet and embroidered with gold. "that's-you didn't..."

"i did," he whispers, memorizing every inch of your shocked expression. "so," he pushes open the top half of the box with his thumb to reveal something that sparkles even in the dim lights of your apartment, "please--"

"yes!" you scream before he can finish his sentence, your excitement echoing off the walls as you both break out into wide grins. "holy shit, yes!"

"baby, i didn't even ask the whole question," he chuckles, giving in and slipping the ring on your finger. "what if that wasn't the question i was gonna ask?"

"i'd skewer your head with my batons," you smile sweetly and he hums, admiring the jeweled band in the light. "that was the question you were gonna ask, right?"

"of course, sweetheart," he assures you, finally leaning up to press his lips against yours. "you're the only one i'll ever let keep up with me."

"you gonna marry me, hoshina soshiro?"

"i'm gonna marry you so hard, the entire base will know." you fondly remember your conversation with the officers earlier in the night.

"darling, i think they already know."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[dix0nspretty]

Ours

Summary: Your boyfriends get jealous when the soldiers on base get overzealous and prove who you belong to.

Task Force 141 x GN!Reader, 1.3k words.

Era: MW2-ish

TW: Polyamory, jealousy, marking (hickeys), the 141 being grumbly assholes. Unwanted advances (not 141), Ghost being ghostly. AFAB genitalia.

Can you believe it's only one more week of TCoD? I don't want to let her go :((

Day 25 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt. This first whump prompt!

Day 25: Hickeys with the 141 (kink)

It goes without saying that any good thing a 141 member manages to get their hands on is shared between the four men. Price’s fancy bottle of bourbon is split with Simon first before the Sergeants are allowed their tastes. Despite Soap’s bitching and moaning about all of his food being eaten, he’ll always bring enough leftovers from home to feed his lovers.

Ghost shares his cigarettes and his bed, glimpses of the face under the mask and the gentleness he tries to smother into nothing. Gaz frets after his teammates like a mother hen- using every bandage and suture in his kit before he even thinks of patching himself up.

So when you make your way onto the team, it’s a matter of who got to you first. If Gaz would charm you with his perfect white teeth and admirable loyalty. Maybe Johnny with incessant flirting or his infectious rambunctiousness. Or maybe you were a little cracked, with a sex drive driven by a need for praise and an insatiable daddy kink only Price could fix.

No one expected you to latch onto Simon first- the person least happy to have you joining the team and interrupting the perfectly balanced polycule. These are his lovers, his group that he reluctantly let into his scarred, traumatized heart and gave access to the most vulnerable parts of him. Then you show up and throw a wrench in everything.

Debriefs lose their touch of intimacy, meals feel almost formal again. There’s not as much touching and contact because no one knows how to introduce the very-against-regulations romantic situation that you aren’t a part of yet. Simon didn’t want you or the change in routine you brought along. Losing his frequency of physical contact that he only just got back after decades nearly killed him.

He wants his Johnny, his Gaz and his Cap, but you’re fucking everywhere, looking at him with those big eyes and the slightest pout on your pink lips that he can’t decide whether he wants to slap or kiss you.

The latter eventually happens, tensions boiling over during a late-night training exercise until it’s all teeth and tongue and spit. You’re not trusted enough to catch more than the smallest glimpse of his mouth, the balaclava rolled up to sit right above his eyes and a flash of pale skin before spit and sloppy kisses turn to rough thrusts into the gym mat and scraping bites to your throat, intent on leaving a claim.

When you stumble into the 141 wing over an hour later than normal, limping and covered in blossoming hickeys with the worst sex hair known to man as you trail after Ghost like a dazed puppy, that’s all the rest of the team needs to know.

You’re theirs and they’re yours, even if it takes you a while to catch on. Soap shoves his tongue down Ghost’s face right in front of you just to watch you bristle, but the second your eyes turn wet with hurt and confusion about how the Lieutenant you’re screwing is kissing someone else, they’re falling over themselves to explain the situation to you. They can’t have their newest love crying, after all.

Once things are explained and your tears soothed, you melt into the polycule and everything finally feels right. The four-person relationship felt perfect before you, but now it feels complete. Like there was a piece missing they were unaware of until the space was suddenly filled. Now they share everything with you, too.

Slowly, you start gaining attention from men on the base. Your lovers can hardly blame them- you’re fucking stunning with the perfect body, the brightest smile, the kindest heart they’ve ever seen. Who wouldn’t look at you as if you’re the sun when you shine as bright as one?

But then one of the soldiers becomes overzealous, corners you in the weapons locker while you’re cleaning guns and gets handsy. All it takes is Price seeing how flustered and nervous you are when you crash into his chest to know something happened. You’re avoiding his eyes the way you did before you knew him as a lover, how you always show submission to a superior.

That won’t do.

“Come on, pet,” John’s task is forgotten immediately, his arm winding around your waist to tug you into his side as he walks you to Soap’s quarters- he knows for a fact the Sergeants are in there, having heard the noises as he passed earlier. He would’ve stopped but he had work to do… except now you’re flustered and quiet and something needs to be done about it. He knows without checking the security footage that one of the many Sergeants and Privates that have had their eyes on you finally crossed the line. “Let’s go see your boys, hm?”

He doesn’t bother knocking when he gets to Soap’s quarters, instead opening the door and ushering you in even as Gaz and Soap startle. The two Sergeants are scrambling to cover naked flesh before they realize it’s just you and John and settle. “Steamin’ Jesus Cap, give a warning next time. Gaz was going tae…”

Soap trails off, brows furrowing unhappily when he sees the way you’re acting. Like a shy little kitten, avoiding eye contact and picking at your shirt. “What’s wrong, bon?”

“One of the men got too close,” Price speaks for you. Your head snaps up, startled that he knew considering you didn’t say a word about it, but he continues with nothing more than a kiss to your hair. “About time we let base know the pet’s taken.”

“C’mere, love.”

Gaz emerges from the sheets, pretty cock bobbing as he steps close and wraps you in his arms to press kiss after kiss to your face. He leads you slowly to the bed, leaving Price behind to undress as he kisses your brow, your nose, cheekbone, chin.

Soap gently eases you into the sweat-dampened sheets as Gaz’s mouth latches onto your throat, suckling a mark onto the skin and drawing a quiet whine of pleasure into the air. “There’s my love. Sweet as always.”

Gentle hands undo your clothes, slowly stripping you until you’re just as bare as the others. The bed dips when Price crawls in. You don’t notice how he leaves the door unlocked, undoubtedly for the ghostly Lieutenant to slip in when he deems it time. You’ve never been quiet when melting under their touches.

It's hard to tell who’s where, three sets of hands working through hair and caressing over soft skin, a calloused finger swiping through your arousal to make you whimper. Someone shushes you before ever so gently feeding your weeping cunt two fingers, curling unhurriedly and caressing that perfect spot. No matter what’s being touched, two mouths are coating you in marks that’ll undoubtedly bruise onto every inch of skin.

You mewl at the first nip of teeth against that sensitive spot on your pulse point and your first orgasm unravels so softly it’s nearly soothing even in its intensity.

No one hears Simon approach except for Price, greeting him with a murmured “There you are…” from where he’s busy leaving beard burn between your thighs, eating you out as you cum on his tongue repeatedly. John’s always been a munch.

Simon smells like blood, but you know better than to ask. Someone messed with a 141 member, so he acted according to his own ethics.

“Not enough hickeys,” He critiques in the soft tone reserved only for the people in this room, nipping at your bottom lip in a rough but not unloving manner. “That won’t do.”

By the time your lovers finally let up, you can’t remember your own name or the year, much less the irrelevant Private healing in medbay for daring to touch 141 property. “You’re ours…” Price whispers as you all doze together in the bed, sated and spent to the ends of your reserves.

[rosiesweets]

and i'd give myself to you (every time) - one

synopsis: so turns out the way paige meets the love of her life is delirious at one am standing in the front of some gaudy ass mansion. who would’ve thought.

a/n: thank you so much for the love on my prologue. my sweet little heart is bursting with love. kisses to each of you. i’m a little shy to respond to the anons in my inbox, but know that i read each one and smile. maybe one day i’ll get the courage. here’s part one. i’m fully aware the timing of this regarding the actual w season makes no sense but please suspend your belief for me thank you <3 not too long yet, we’re still in a place where short scenes make the most sense to me. once again, please share your thoughts, hopes, and dreams with me (about this fic or whatever else). xo, chiara

p.s. is now the time to admit i’ve never watched a full season of any bachelor franchise show?

p.p.s. in no way am i committing to any frequency of updates. please do not take any span of time i take in between them as precedent. apologies in advance. again i will return to edit when fuel returns to my brain.

-

and in your eyes i see forever (or something like that)

paige is going to kill dijonai carrington.

okay probably not, but she’ll switch all the caps on the lip liners or something of similar weight to the (natural) blonde. paige should be in her apartment in dallas right now taking a blissful break from going three years back to back in wnba and unrivaled seasons. paige already expended enough effort to last for months when making the decision to skip out on unrivaled this year. don’t get paige wrong, she loves basketball. she wants to be playing twenty-four seven. but she knows her body. knows the signs of when her knee is feeling more than just regular wear and tear. she wants to play everyday, but she wants to play for a long time more. so she’s making the smart (ridiculously painful) decision to skip unrivaled in pursuit of a basketball career that lasts until her forties.

so someone please explain to her how instead of laying on the couch (or on some beach in the carribean) she is sitting in a limo by herself, in a suit too hot for la in june, waiting for three hours to meet some girl from maryland that dijonai won’t stop calling the people’s princess.

she’s alone because the producers told her she had a “special spot” in the line up or whatever that meant. she surely does not feel special being forced alone with her thoughts instead of distracting herself by meeting five other people who she’ll have to share a bathroom with soon. she’s just here, sitting on squeaky leather twiddling her thumbs because she refused the prop the producers repeatedly tried forcing upon her.

(eventually the producer, some girl named caroline, holding a basketball out to her quickly put it down when met with glare from paige’s ice blue eyes. there was going on national television and there was going on national television looking like a loser in the first ten seconds. paige didn’t need a prop, have you seen her jawline? she’ll walk out, give the girl a crooked smile bordering on smirk, lean in close enough to let her cologne linger and let the rasp of her voice as she says hello do the rest.)

the creeping dread of having to spend the next five to eleven weeks (let’s be real paige is not getting eliminated before week five at least) living with thirty people she doesn’t know and competing for the attention of this one girl is starting to set it in. and in her stomach there’s a feeling of more than just the typical “i’m going on national television” nerves. paige has never really needed to compete for attention before. she just always had it. on the court, in the bar, literally just standing on the street.

and paige doesn’t think she’ll fade in the background or anything but it’s still a new sensation. the knowledge that azzi doesn’t have to ever make eye contact with her. that she’ll have to scheme and smile better than the others whose entire brands rely on this working out for them.

on the other side of the nerves is guilt. paige isn’t really here to find love. she’s here to take the w, and the dallas wings, to potential new group of fans (the middle of a venn diagram between gays and people who love reality tv). paige wants women’s basketball to grow into something the world never expected. wants college park, and maybe one day american airlines center, to be packed every night. so she’s here. after one too many dirty shirleys while listening to dijonai convince her to spend her break on reality tv so not only this girl azzi, but america can fall in love her, and eventually women’s basketball.

but it feels wrong. to participate in the objectification of this clearly earnest (and stunning, paige has watched the tik tok compilations) girl. paige can’t really fathom it. how a girl so beautiful could be driven to find love like this. this insane spectacle. full of people who surely do not actually want to marry her, cameras around twenty-four seven, and the decision of a lifetime being made on merely hours with someone when you think about it. a person like that, has to in some ways hate herself no? to put herself at the center of a circus and beg for love. and paige knows she’s the one competing, but really is the bachelorette not the one asking america to validate that she’s lovable enough for thirty random people to compete for her? to be so unsure of yourself that you put yourself in a situation where you’re guaranteed for someone to pick you at the end? paige thinks a life like that must be lonely. and the guilt simmers stronger.

but paige swallows it. this girl an adult. she knows the game, the premise. she’s been given scouting report. paige won’t infantilize her with pity because she doesn’t understand how anyone could do this. azzi will be engaged to a random person at the end of this. and will probably be humiliated six to eleven months later when they “amicably split.” but that’s her choice. azzi gets to write her love story this way. on the other side paige will be charismatic and fun, but aloof enough to not trust forever in. she’ll walk away bringing new people to the game. and hopefully be remembered as unproblematic and a little goofy.

so paige sits. and sits. and sits. holy shit why did no one tell her that filming each episode took over ten hours. she has heard the same door open, the same heel or loafer click along the fake cobblestone enough to decide perhaps getting blown out by thirty in game three of the playoffs to the indiana fever of all goddamn teams, actually wasn’t that bad.

finally. after what feels like and is actually hours later. while paige is starving, slightly sweating, and so ready to go to sleep, the knock on her door comes. it’s her time. as she opens the door she thinks perhaps she should’ve rehearsed or prepared something to open with. something cool and memorable, just slightly cringe but it’s paige so it’s not really. oh well. she trusts her years of cd media training will carry her through.

she holds her hand over the single button of her blazer to keep its closed as she steps out. she’s gone with something simple yet still a statement. all black louis vuitton, black gems on the lapels. a moment of perfectly understated glamour. no shirt underneath. rings across her fingers. nails black and short. she knows what she looks like.

she looks up to meet azzi’s eyes and fuck.

paige has seen beautiful things before. the basketball as it swishes through just at buzzer. paige has seen beautiful girls before. some in her dms, some bold as they come up to her in bars and coffee shops. paige has seen this beautiful girl before. in photos as dijonai swiped through a haphazardly made power point titled “paige bueckers: bucket and now soon to be bachelorette contestant please it would be sooooo fun and funny.”

but nothing could have prepared her for this. azzi is so beautiful. paige knew this. was prepared for her wide eyes, deep dimples, and cheekbones. what knocks her out is the smile azzi has on she meets paige’s eyes. lips full, bunny teeth just catching the bottom one swiped with sheer gloss. paige has never seen a smile like this. pure and warm and perfect.

paige doesn’t remember walking up to azzi. doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around her shorter frame in a quick hug. paige doesn’t remember taking her hands in hers. all paige senses are soft palms and the slightly sweet scent of warm vanilla. and suddenly without her consent the words slip out of her mouth, “wow wore my favorite color just for me?”

literally paige needs to be sedated. because why the fuck did she just say that. this isn’t even about her. of course she says something the stupid big head athlete would say. she sounds like a guy. fuck the bar was so low and she still fucked it up.

before her thoughts can spiral even worse something cuts through. azzi laughs. and not to be hyperbolic or anything but paige’s world lights up. of course the most perfect mouth she’s ever seen lets out the sweetest laugh she’s ever heard. paige smiles. not the cocky one she had before. genuine. it takes up her whole face without her asking. azzi’s (surprisingly deeper than expected) voice returns “your favorite color is lavender?” and paige quickly goes “what? surprised?” azzi intertwines their fingers, shifting their hands from laying softly on top of each other grasping palms to fingers locked (and holy shit paige hasn’t felt this way from a girl merely holding her hand since she was fourteen), “honestly, yeah. you look like someone that would like something darker. bolder.” paige lets out a quick “i think you’ll be surprised by my depth princess," surprised by the small percentage of her brain still functioning enough to speak. “i guess i’ll look forward to being surprised by you then.” knowing her thirty seconds is probably up paige decides to leave it on, “i guess you will.” with a squeeze of azzi’s hands paige lets her smile grow even wider if possible and turns to make her way with the other contestants.

as she walks up the path to the mansion something in her mind shifts. and well shit. paige should’ve known. there’s never been a competition she didn’t want to win.

[colossrat]

Billy likes to be independent, he is a little homeless boy who fights life tooth and nail. He always needs to be strong to show society that he doesn't need, much less want, an adult in his life sending him here and there.

But he doesn't need to fight to prove himself strong when he already looks strong. Billy can't ask for help as Billy because that will bring trouble or an adult trying to dad him

But Cap? he can let himself be vulnerable as Cap, even if he doesn't need help, he can ask for it. Marvel will just be a friend in need of help and no one will treat him like a helpless child for that

So, after a good few months, if not years, of becoming friends with his league colleagues, the captain starts to show how he loves having people around him for little things.

he wants to open a jar from the kitchen. He has the strength to go head to head with Superman, but he would never miss the opportunity to ask Superman himself to do it for him. Clark always gets a little confused, because the pot isn't that tight, or tight at all, but he always helps because he sees how it brings a genuine and happy smile to his colleague.

Does he need a snack? He will ask Flash to prepare something for him, saying that the food he makes is the best and with the best flavor.

captain has a problem with magic, he is completely capable of solving it himself, but he will knock on zatanna's door to ask for advice, potions, a protection spell and even a good luck hug if he feels she wouldn't refuse

There's a new movie, he doesn't even want to see it that much, but he's going to ask Cyborg if he can make the movie show in the watchtower break room because he finds the control and streaming platforms confusing

He will ask Batman silly questions, or even prepare complex questions with Solomon's help so he can ask and listen for hours while the bat explains things to him. Not that he didn't already know the answers or couldn't find them in the rock's library of infinite knowledge. but he likes to have someone talking and explaining things to him with so much patience, teaching and even being happy to have someone to listen to his knowledge

Are they going on a water mission? He will ask Aquaman for tips on how to swim faster or more efficiently

Is he having a slower day? Why not ask the Martian Hunter to accompany him to a cat cafe? Ask what are the best sweets or brands of cookies? ask for help to bake a cake or taste the frosting, a brigadeiro

He's having problems with his communicator, better go see Red Tornado if he has tips on how to use it without confusing the private lines again, or ask if he has some free time to go for a fly through some storms. He makes hurricanes, he must like storms just like him, right?

There is a dangerous magical temple sending dangerous magical frequencies, he can destroy it alone, but he asks the hawkwoman for help to put everything down with her mace

there's a cockroach in the watchtower… better ask dr.fate for help to kill it

A LADYBUG ON THE WATCHTOWER?! Call the jl green lanterns asap so they can conjure up a green safe pot to transport her back to earth!!

Did he fall? He wasn't even hurt, but he's going to ask Diana to check if he doesn't have a bump on his head. Diana understands where her little brother's requests come from, and she never unmasks him, she just takes the opportunity to make her little brother happy without feeling bad about asking for help.

Now, a hero approaches little Billy with a piece of food? oh. he will bite off your fingers and throw the food back in your face (not really because that would be wasteful, but he would return the food and tell you to eat it yourself, that he would get food for himself on his own)

He can be feral, try to teach him a life lesson and he will teach YOU a life lesson.

His shoelaces are untied and he just stuck them inside his shoe? you leave his shoelace inside the shoe. If a hero, be it the Man Of Steel himself, bends down to tie his shoelaces, OH MY, he'll kick you in the face and scream that you're not supposed to touch his stuff

Unless that you are also a child or mr tawny, then he maybe either accept your help or gently refuse

[yeonniesblog]

Oikawa Tooru felt a bit dizzy behind his eyes. Maybe the gymnasium lights were too bright.

Or maybe it was her—standing there, just here for your brother Yahaba’s match—lingering by the bleachers after the game, fingers curled around his water bottle like you had every right to be there [you did], and no right to make his pulse stutter [you absolutely did].

Oikawa noticed the exact moment you walked in. Of course he did; he had a sixth sense for these things—he could read the shift in air pressure before a serve, the angle of Iwaizumi’s exasperated scowls, and especially, the gaze of a pretty spectator watching him with quiet intensity that made his skin prickle.

And now, despite his legendary focus, his brain short-circuited like bad Wi-Fi.

Badum.

His heartbeat was obnoxiously loud, the kind of dramatic thud that belonged in a shoujo manga, not in his stupid chest. He tightened his grip on the volleyball, knuckles whitening.

Focus. Serve. Ace. Repeat.

But then—then—you looked up. And smiled. At him? No. No, definitely at Iwaizumi, who was stretching behind him like some muscle-bound shoujo rival. Not that Oikawa noticed. Or cared. Obviously.

“Oikawa!” Coach barked. “You’re up.”

Right. Serve. He could do this. He’d done it a thousand times.

He tossed the ball, leapt—

—and his knee almost buckled when your voice cut clean through his focus.

“Nice form, Oikawa.”

The ball sailed straight into the net. thwap.

Silence.

“Wow,” Iwaizumi deadpanned. “That was embarrassing even for you.”

Oikawa’s cheeks burned. “A fluke!” he declared, flipping his hair. “The air was... wrong. And my shoelaces were—”

“You’re staring at [Name] again,” Hanamaki stage whispered.

“I’m not—!” But his traitorous pulse was already sprinting ahead without him. And it only took one sentence from you to prove him wrong.

“Oikawa.” Your voice, closer now. Too close. He turned—and there you were, tilting your head, a little frown on your face that flipped his stomach inside out.

He couldn’t say when you started affecting him. You were just supposed to help him with notes, as class president, catching him up after missed lectures. So why did your voice shake him more than a punch from Iwaizumi?

maybe it was because he was a keen observer..? He noticed how your pen would hover over the edge of his messy notes, then burst into doodles—bunnies in jerseys, a stick-figure Yahaba mid-sneeze—but you’d freeze when given a blank page.

How you empathized with everyone—the teacher, rivals, even the cranky lunch lady—but turned into a flustered mess when he thanked you. Left ink-smudges on your cheek he ached to wipe away.

And the way you bit your lip trying not to laugh at his dumb jokes, turning your lower lip a soft, tempting pink.

Oikawa Tooru knew exactly why he liked you. He was doomed.

“Are you okay? You look tiptop—just like you do on TV.”

The gym air turned to concrete in his lungs. His brain screeched to a halt like a buffering video.

TV.

TV.

TV.

“…TV?” he croaked, voice cracking like an old vinyl record.

You spun Yahaba’s water bottle cap between your fingers. “Yeah, I caught your match while flipping channels.” A pause. “Right when you said that thing about—”

Oikawa’s entire life flashed before his eyes.

Please no.

“‘If you’re gonna hit it,’” you quoted, eyes crinkling, “‘hit it until it breaks.’”

Nuclear silence. Iwaizumi looked like he scored ten points for the team “She knows your catchphrase,” he grinned.

“IT’S NOT A—” Oikawa clutched his hair, executing The Exact Flip mid-panic. “I WAS FIFTEEN! IT WAS METAPHORICAL!”

“Sounded pretty literal before the Shiratorizawa match,” Matsukawa said casually.

“With tears in your eyes,” Hanamaki added.

You blinked. “Wait, really?”

“NO!” Oikawa shrieked, voice hitting frequencies only dogs could hear. “THEY’RE LYING—YOU GUYS I SWEAR TO—”

Through the chaos, you smiled. Soft. Infuriating. “I thought it was cute. Kinda cool, too.”

Oikawa’s brain blue-screened.

Because that was the worst part. You liked it. You remembered him. And now his heart was pounding loud enough to echo across the entire prefecture. He likes you. Oikawa tooru likes you.

“Aw,” Hanamaki cooed. “Captain’s blushing.”

“I’M NOT—!”

“Wait, wait,” Matsukawa cut in, eyes gleaming.

“[Name], you do know our captain has this weird habit of staring at the bleachers during timeouts, right?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

"Like he's looking for someone" Hanamaki singsonged.

Oikawa made a sound like a deflating balloon. “You all just lost your bestfriend priveledges.”

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said solemnly, “just admit you like that she watched—”

“NO!” Oikawa lunged, spectacularly missing as Iwaizumi dodged.

“HE DOES THAT,” Hanamaki told you brightly, “when he’s—”

Oikawa’s shoe connected with his shin.

LOSER MEN ON TOP UGHHHHH.