#Then again if we had a block button we wouldn’t have ranting youtubers to get yt that sweet sweet ad revenue

[kittenpinkamations]

Gonna be a controversial opinion but tbh i think like 99% of youtube discourse would be avoided if youtube just had like. An actual functioning block button like tumblr’s or instagram’s instead of just being a glorified comment mute, lol

[peachyteabuck]

eye on the prize

summary: commission for astrid, who asked for chris evans x reader interview fluff.

pairing: chris evans x reader

words: 3,006

trigger warnings: RPF, slow burn, heavy flirtation, idiots in love, nondescript mentions of misogyny in the media as a business, a likely poorly reconstructed timeline (time fake and reality is a construct!)

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The hotel bed is large, big enough for four of you. The blankets are thick and the soft, the pillows a perfect balance of structured but plush. Sunbeams stream onto the mused sheets, warming your face. It’s nice, but only as nice as the calm before a major tropical storm can be. As your phone alarm blares next to you, you start to wonder if being caught in a category five hurricane would be better than press junkets.

A whole day talking to people about a movie you made months ago that you know jack shit about. Sometimes you have nightmares about giving a book report on a novel you’ve never even opened (you’re how old? And high school is still haunting you? Jesus, you need to go back to therapy) that cause you to break out in a cold sweat and kick all the covers from your bed and buy a bunch of stuff online to distract yourself from your racing heart and shaking hands.

Still, those are never as bad as interviewers asking about character arcs and plotlines and your relationship with actors you’ve barely (if ever) met and whatever else a normal interviewer would ask a normal interviewee when all you know is your character, the fact that she does shit with magic, and she’s Dr. Strange’s daughter. Anything other than that is anyone’s guess.

Your stylist and makeup artists are the ones to eventually drag you out of bed and plop you into hair and makeup after squeezing you into an incredibly tight pair of jeans and a non-controversial sweater. The forty-five minutes are a complete blur, but then again, nothing feels real until Sebastian hands you a large coffee in a travel cup that bares no logo or other kind of copywritten signifier – your knight in shining…cardboard? What are travel coffee cups even made of? Paper? Can paper even “shine?”

You’re nearly purring when the taste of caramel macchiato burns your tongue. “Ah. Thanks, Seb. I appreciate it.”

Sebastian shrugs, sipping at his own drink masquerading as generic brand. “No problem. I didn’t want you to bite an interviewer’s head off this morning. Or worse, mine.”

You play-hit him in the face and laugh with him, making small talk and trying to kill the time before the mind-numbingly long day really begins. You’re halfway through a rant about the woes of make up artists trying to put you in a full face of makeup to a man who barely has to put on concealer, the fucking asshat, when Chris makes an appearance.

“Hey, guys,” he’s is also drinking coffee from the unmarked travel cups. He looks you up and down before taking another sip. “You look really nice today.”

You blush, smoothing out your sweater – one of the color-blocked ones that sits at the intersection of casual, feminine, and not-intimidating. “Thanks, you too.”

Sebastian’s about to say something snarky when someone wearing a headset calls upon the three of you.

“Let’s get going, people!” she calls, ushering you into three barely-comfortable seats. You’re between Chris and Sebastian, the sheer mass of them making you feel approximately three feet tall. It doesn’t take much to forget how large they both are – even if Sebastian doesn’t weight two hundred pounds anymore and Chris was able to tone down his exercise regime since finishing Infinity War, you still feel like you’re sitting at the big-kid table for the first time.

The first interviewer is from some YouTube channel you only know because your fourteen-year-old niece gushes about them every family dinner. The woman who sits in front of you is young, cute. Dresses trendy, dark eye makeup and red lips.

She’s nice, too, along with being knowledgeable about the projects of each of you. She banters with Sebastian about his seven million movies before turning to you.  

The interviewer turns to you. “And you! You’re nominated for some pretty major awards!”

You smile wide, unable to help yourself. “Yeah, best actress and best original score.”

“That’s so cool,” Chris mumbles. You blush and pretend not to hear him as you speak again.

“It’s just super crazy,” you tell the interviewer. “Not even gonna lie. When I was younger, I would look at stars who like, cried when they found out they were nominated. Not even winning, just their name shows up on the ballot. But now I’m like, it’s me, two-time Grammy nominee! I was nominated for a Grammy, twice!”

Sebastian chimes in, laughing. “When we were at bunch together, I got there early and the caterer showed up and they were like, we’re here for the two-time Grammy nominee?”

“You had a brunch?” The interviewer asks.

You nod. “Yeah, I bunch of the Avengers cast and the cast from my last movie were in my hometown, which is super rare, so I hosted this giant brunch-”

“As one does,” Sebastian chimes in with a crooked smile.

You nearly hit him. “Yes! As I do! I wanted to see all my friends, whom I love, so I host a brunch. Sue me! Anyway…I hosted this brunch and invited a bunch of people over. Just a bunch of my favorite food from my favorite restaurants. Everyone I’d wanted to see for such a long time was there. It was amazing.”

The interviewer paints a faux frown across her face, looking at the man on your right. “Chris, you look very sad.”

“I didn’t get invited to the brunch,” Chris frowns. Unlike the woman in front of you, he looks genuinely sad. A twinge of pain bounces in your ribcage, and you rub his cardigan-clad back

“You were out doing Broadway shit!” you laugh. “You were halfway across the country!”

Chris continues to frown, staring at the printed-out pictures from the social medias of various guests. A few are from yours – you in a flowy sundress with your head thrown back laughing, a shot of you and a few of your friends from college drinking alcohol in the bright mid-afternoon sun. One you recognize from Sebastian’s Instagram, another from Hemsworth’s. A few from Twitter of a few of your non-movie-star friends. You look so happy in all of them, so beautiful in each shot. “I still wanted to be invited.”

You just roll your eyes. “Okay, call me when you’re in my region of the country and I’ll host a brunch,” You touch your forefinger to his nose. Chris blushes, profusely, in his cheeks and his ears. “just for you and me.”

You don’t hear much after that, too focused on Chris’ eyes meeting yours and his small smile. You’re taken aback by how sweet, tender he looks, and before you know it the interviewer is saying goodbye and the next one is taking her place.

It’s a man this time, a little older than the last one with artsy facial hair and a button hip. He mostly pays attention to the two men and soon your brain goes on battery-saver and you’re lost in your own thoughts.

Are hipsters still a thing? Is that what this guy is trying to be? Do hipsters even like Marvel? Is that too “mainstream for them?”

Eventually he asks a question about you, your recent entry into the Marvel Cinematic Universe, your music, your composing. You’d be happy to talk about your passions, of course you are, but the first genuine question of the interview is positing towards…not you. You’re about to tune everything out again, but then Chris speaks and you snap back to attention.

“It’s always interesting to meet people who bring something new to the art form, ya know? A huge part of acting is learning and evolving and all that, especially from other actors,” Chris avoids your gaze, and the gaze of everyone else, as he speaks. “If you stop learning, if you stop growing, what’s the point? Why would I do this job if I didn’t think it could change me for the better?”

There’s a moment of thick silence, the heavy weight of Chris’ introspective answer settling over the people in the room. It’s one of the things you lo-

It’s one of the things you enjoy most about Chris, how dedicated he is to acting as more than a job. It’s amazing, truly, how much he adores what he does. You could spend the rest of time with him, a plate of cheese, and a bottle of wine; listening to him talk about how he thinks of acting as an art, how that art can impact people and society, how actors have a responsibility to that art (that is, of course, after you mock him endlessly for Not Another Teen Movie and Fantastic Four).

You feel like a high schooler again, doodling your first and his last name in hearts in your math notebook with your favorite pink glitter pen. You’re an adult, why are you blushing red as a raspberry every time he says something smarter than a fast food order?!

The rest of the day goes down in a blur, the only time you start to care again when someone on the production staff calls for dinner (yeah, no lunch on press junket day. You can ask for a light snack, but you learned the hard way a full meal is “bad for your figure” and “makes you likely to burp on camera” and a bunch of other stuff you care very little about).

All three of you groan in happiness when you enter the room designated as craft, the thick smell of barbeque hitting you like a baseball bat. But a good baseball bat, though, like…one you ask to be hit with. Honestly, you have no idea what you’re talking about because you’re so hungry.

When you finally manage to scavenge food, Sebastian’s right behind you as you stare at a very delicious looking tray of pulled pork. Your plate is already full, but what if they take the food away? And then what if you get hungry later?

“You know he’s flirting with you, right?” he whispers as you watch the man in question scroll through Twitter on his phone. Chris is eating about the same thing you are, plus celery. You almost make a quip about it being “nature’s floss,” but then you realize that would be dumb because Sebastian definitely wouldn’t find it as funny as Chris would.  

You shrug, picking up a French fry from your plate. “Yeah, but you were, too.”

He scoffs into his second Americano of the morning. “Nah. Not like that. He likes you! He like likes you!”

“He does not-“

“And you like-like him!” He boops you on the nose and pinches your cheek like some sort of grandmother who hadn’t seen her fifteen-year-old son since he was five. “My little baby has a cruuuush!” he coos while making small kissy noises.

You’re about to bite back about how you’re not that much younger than him, but then the sound guy on the other side of the meat tray glares at the both of you. Looks like, while Chris couldn’t hear your bickering from the across the room, this dude definitely could – and he’s not very happy about it.

“Sorry,” you both mumble, shrinking away from the persecuting techie and his judgmental eyes.

Sebastian only talks again when you find an unpopulated corner, devoid of prying eyes and anyone who could be annoyed with the two of you gossiping like high schoolers.

“You know I’m not wrong, right?” he says around a bite of crisp apple. What is up with this guy and fruit?  Sure, he’s on a restrictive diet for a role to keep him from bulking up (something at the intersect of keto and vegetarian but able to eat lean meats) but he’s can’t eat like, the vegan stuff? Why must he always eat like rabbit in your presence? “Have you not seen what he says on Twitter?”

You scoff. “No, because I don’t have a Twitter. And neither do you!” You narrow your eyes accusingly. “How do you know what he posts?” Sebastian rolls his eyes. “I see screenshots on Instagram, first of all. Second, he could be complimenting your music on the inside of a cave. It’s about the principle.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you hiss. “Also, I’m done arguing with you about this. Let me find a cheeseburger and eat in peace. Is that too much a woman to ask, Sebastian!?”

He just laughs you off and lets you eat in peace, eventually getting his own food. Though, you suppose the meal was specially timed, because then Chris Evans is sitting next to you.

He’s about to say something, too, and you’re about to listen, but then you get called for an individual interview for a women’s health magazine and you have to leave him and you plate of food and fuck…you hate this job. A lot.

The interview is boring, once again, and the next time you have another coherent thought you’re taking the elevator back up to your hotel room and waving off your manager, who is telling you to be downstairs by seven tomorrow to catch your flight back home.

You’re just kicking off your heels when you hear a faint knock at the door. When you look through the peephole, you see a very sad-looking Christopher Evans. With his small frown and hunched shoulders, he looks like a kicked puppy; and even though all you want to do is take your bra off, you let him in.

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking as if he was a child preparing to be scolded.

“I lost my hotel key. And my backup got demagnetized.”

You bite back a laugh, trying to seem sympathetic. “Do you want to chill in here until security brings you another one?”

Chris nods solemnly as he steps through the threshold. “Thanks.”

Neither of you speak for a while, instead Chris looks around your quite messy (or “homey,” as you call it when you FaceTime your best friend and she scoffs at how easy you can make a room look like a hurricane tore through it) room and you…find an outfit for tomorrow?

You’re the first one to speak, only breaking the quiet after changing into fuzzy socks and sneakily taking off your lacey bra (and tucking it under the covers of the bed for you put away later).

“Well, that was excruciating,” you mumble. All you want to do is change into your biggest, most comfortable hoodie and your cotton panties and order room service and ignore humanity until you leave for a flight the next morning, but a man you’ve had a crush on since he appeared as Johnny Storm is right in front of you and after that talk with Sebastian your world is kind of shaken to its core and should you make a move? Is he the kind of guy to not like that? Would you want to be with a guy that doesn’t like that? What if he-

“Always are, I guess.” Chris interrupts your train of thought, saving it from going off the rails. When you at him he looks just as, if not more than, exhausted than you are. “That’s one of the things that you forget, I think. How hard it is to talk about these movies.”

You snort. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Chris smile a little wider as you laugh. “Yeah. Other movies I can talk about like, characters and plots and shit. With these I live in constant fear I’m gonna pull a fucking Ruffalo and get my ass fired from the best paying gig I’ve ever had.”

Chris laughs with you, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Word.”

An awkward silence fills the room and you find something, anything to do to avoid his heavy gaze under those thick eyelashes and his thick beard that you just want to run your fingers through or his even softer hair that you want to mess up while you-

“Do you want to get dinner together sometime?” you blurt. You’re ready to take back the words as soon as you say them, wanting to backtrack or say “just friends” or “ha-ha, just kidding!” or something else that absolves you of non-platonic commitment.

By a long stretch of luck that you can’t even begin to thanks a long number of deities for, Chris doesn’t laugh at you or turn you down or even walk out of the room. He meets your gaze with excitement in his eyes and a smile wider than your home state. “I’d love to,” is all he says. It’s all either of you get to say before his phone rings loudly, and the name of the head of security flashes on his screen. He sighs loudly, apologizing as he takes it. Somehow, you feel more awkward as he turns away and answers the call. You fidget with your hands, with a loose thread on the sweater you’ve come to hate more than anything else in the world, with your phone. Nothing makes it easier to face Chris again once he hangs up.

“That was…,” he laughs lightly. Not laughing at you, maybe at life or how weird his life is, but never at you. “You know. They fixed my key and want to give it to me in person.”

You swallow and nod. “Yeah, understandable. I’ll, uh,” you clear your throat. “I’ll see you…”

Chris finishes for you. “How about we find a good restaurant near here after I’m confirmed to actually be me by the private security detail our employers hired to make sure no one kills us? We can have that second dinner I’ve heard you always eat late at night.”

Holy shit…he remembered that time you vaguely mentioned how much you enjoy staying up late and eating lots of food. It makes you blush as you respond.

“Yeah that sounds,” you sigh happily, smile just as big as his is. “That sounds great.”

[sugar-petals]

Rude Boy (M) — Teaser

pairing: sub!tom holland x dom!reader

genre › smut, crack | one shot

➯ your gymnast neighbour tom cranks up his music so much that it starts a house feud. you decide to put an end to this by showing up at his flat. but tom opens the door in a way that takes you by surprise.

:: a/n › don’t let the title deceive you, we’re headed for a subby tom fic! 💕with some mcu characters mixed in for the fun of it. rude boy’s past 13k words & I love to spoil you rotten so this teaser is at scenario length. enjoy! 

Now that became perfectly obvious to you: This guy was rude.

As if the plastering on the wall alongside the apartment corridor wasn’t porous enough— the hammering bass from flat #89 made it seem like the entire house was bound to corrode in a song or two.

“Hey, you! Turn the damn music down!”

Knocking at the plain door sporting a scraggly ‘Holland, T.’ sign only elicits a faint reply between beats. The voice sounds entirely out of breath. Its pitch is surprisingly high, too.

“Hello? Is this Mister Stank?”

“Who?!”

Almost an eternity passes. Footsteps follow. The door first clicks, then buckles. One second later, a babyface framed by curls peeks through the opening. Slathered in what appears to be a layer of sweat and— oddly, a white layer of powder.

Cocaine?

You’re completely stiff at the sight. So that’s Mister ‘Holland, T.’, then.

“Tony Stank! He’s been knocking here earlier. You’re not Tony, though?”

The babyface looks even more innocent than it already was by now. If he wouldn’t be all drenched and smelling like a crowded Olympic hall, the gaze would be easy to fall for. All big and hazel.

But you remain solid in your spot and feel no less irritated.

“He’s called Stark! Not Stank!”

Babyface looks confused.

“Stark? I just heard him mumbling something and things. Was busy with the weights so I couldn’t open the door.”

You place your arms akimbo.

“Tony lives in apartment #90! You know what that means?”

He shakes his head, which loosens some curls into his face.

“Um, no idea?”

You point down the corner of the hallway with more insistence.

“He lives right next you!”

“And?”

The guy’s voice goes up in pitch once again. Clearly, he didn’t catch his breath so far either. Lifting weights, he said. Poor Tony. 

In fact, poor everyone in the radius of ten miles. 

At least you know that whatever white powder is on his face—

Has to be magnesium carbonate powder.

He’s not even on drugs and acting like that.

How much worse can it get.

“Your music was so loud this morning that Tony did the same thing I’m doing right now, bloody idiot!”

“N—no need to be rude!”

“You’re the rude one! I’m from apartment #88!”

“Oh?”

Sweaty Holland gazes toward the other side of the corridor, seemingly surprised realizing that there looms the precise door you just came from. Apartment #88 in its full actual lack of splendour.

You feel like you’re about to burst any second.

“Yes?! I’m studying for exams and you’re blasting Rihanna! Since 10:30!”

Blank face. The guy really got you to a point where you roll your eyes like a preschooler. He looks disoriented more than anything, rubbing his powdery hands through his hair making it almost look strangely grey for his age. Something does seem to sway his confused features.

“Damn, shit... Wait a minute,” he says. “Tom, by the way. Sorry.”

The curly head disappears before you can say anything else. While you hear him walking away, the door ever so slowly falls open, revealing an almost loft-like building. You’d be very much at home in your casual clothing right now, but the thought of magnesium and the repugnant smell of athleticism has already ruined the sight.

Umbrella just keeps playing in the other part of the flat. Tom audibly rummages with some sort of dumbbells around the corner. They land and roll on the floor dull, making Tony’s words from yesterday all too present in your mind once more.

‘Bloke’s a gym rat! 20-fucking-something, sexually frustrated, IQ of a toast! Walking, cocky mess’, furious Stark in his blue designer shades had ranted meeting you on the way down in the elevator, recalling how he saw Tom moving in the other day.

Given how babyface still seems to be busy with his makeshift gym, you wish he never did.

This was one of the most crowded neighbourhoods.

“Will you please shut the goddamn stereo down!” you tap your foot more than once, still having to put up with Jay-Z’s intro rap droning from the speakers in the flat.

“Um! Searching for the remote!” Tom replies, but you’re already stepping into his training room, ready to either phone the police or take the bumping stereo out of service yourself.

But you can hardly believe your eyes. Looking into the area, framed by high shelves where towels and isotonic drinks are stacked.

Tom stands there without a single piece of clothing covering him.

No tank top. No boxers, not even socks. His arms serve as a less than adequate shield for his front.

“Shit!”

Looking all browbeaten head to toe, Tom mumbles something all panicked that gets drowned out by Rihanna’s catchy chorus. By now, the entire city of London probably knows his taste in music. And you: Just about every buff inch of him.

Fuck.

Time to get out of here.

You stumble backwards. Then, almost fall over, stepping on something squarish on the ground. Out of nowhere, the music stalls.

Silence.

You look down and realize that you’re standing on the tiny remote.

“Was getting ready for the shower! I’m sorry!” Tom repeats now that the stereo is off, covering himself with a scruffy towel in the meantime. Thank god that there are shelves around. But you have hardly gathered yourself by now.

“And... that’s how you opened the door?”

You know the answer given how Tom’s face changes from pale to crimson red, even visible through the layer of magnesium that not just his face is plastered into. It makes you wonder which odd parts of a body one can work out with.

“Was only peeking my head out! I didn’t know someone would come at this time of the day.”

Tom hurriedly tries to wrap the towel around his hips properly by now, but realizes it won’t cover enough of his backside. He hunches before you more frozen than ever. 

You sigh out. This lad indeed is akin to a toast.

“But it’s the afternoon?”

“I was only trying to prepare for the shower!” he repeats, wilding pointing about. “I’m so sorry, I—”

You pick up the remote and lay it down on the shelf to your right hoping your glare would suffice for him not to lay a finger on it anytime soon.

All this shower talk.

“Exactly where you’ll go now. Fucking twat.”

“T-twat?”

Tom’s jaw hangs loose. He’s still flushed like a ripe tomato.

“The entire corridor smells like gym. And get yourself some headphones for Rihanna, thanks.”

Enough seen, enough talk. Nobody down this very avenue could be grumpier. You bury either hand in your hoodie’s muff and turn. But Tom doesn’t look like he’s heading for the bathroom.

“Hey, wait! We didn’t even finish to introduce ourselves!”

“Do I look like I care? You’re wearing a towel! That’s past introductions. Fuck your politeness. Dickhead.”

For the sake of the other apartments and the plastering on the walls, you don’t opt for the now-you-know-how-it-feels-door-slam, but make sure to shut your own flat off from the sweaty stench in the corridor lightning fast.

Hoping that the barricade would at least block out that, if Tom wouldn’t put on Unapologetic the next hour. Who knows, you already see it coming. ‘Holland, T.’ arguably was the rudest neighbour you could possibly have. You regret doing as much as step one foot into his reeking apartment.

The silver kettle bleeps— you pour up your tea. Needs to sit for eight minutes, the fancy ‘Ayurvedic Relaxation‘ label of the bag says.

You close down the window of your unloved study notes on the laptop, alongside some other worksheets, digital drafts, presentations, and forms that need signatures from what seems to be the entire university. And then— sigh out, click the Youtube icon in the bookmarked pages. Eventually, you get comfortable in your hammock chair.

Perfect.

While the tea steams off, a soothing voice starts to play in a colourful intro. You alter the volume by three bars for better tingles. Finally: Your favourite. Mantis Chiropractic Medicine. Emotional Relief, ASMR, and life advice. Only the best cracks! And good-looking clients, too. What a dream. Atmospheric music with flutes and harps begins to chime after the intro jingle right away, making you sink into the hammock all slack.

Soft-spoken and polite as ever, Doctor Mantis begins to explain common side effects of sitting too much and how to remedy them that you stir in your tea, checking the watch: Only six minutes left of Ayurvedic Relaxation. Fair enough.

In the hallway, you hear a door closing while Mantis demonstrates a few carpal tunnel exercises. It’s from the direction of apartment #85. Likely Mister Rhodes returning from the Met Office. It’s 7PM. Punctual as ever. 

Mantis keeps on speaking gently on your laptop, showing her client how to correct his posture while typing.

You have to remind yourself not to get distracted because the notes and presentation are nowhere near finished. One video and you promise yourself to return to at least the mock exam questions. Again, you lean back into the hammock’s sturdy fabric and let the flutes carry you to another place and time.

Mantis, with her flowing black hair tied neatly into a ponytail, situated in the office with her immaculate white gown, already proceeds to diagnose a client on the screen with careful spine taps that a fast knock makes you jerk up. It’s not a sound coming from the video.

“Uh— Hello? Are you there?”

More knocks follow.

It’s Tom’s annoying voice.

“Please go away! I’m busy studying!” you shout, closing down the diagnosis video to remedy not your back, but conscience.

“Aren’t you watching a vlog or something?”

Too late.

Three bars on the volume button were a bit too loud. Damn it. Your entire Ayurvedic Relaxation is ruined.

“That’s a, a lecture video!”

You even catch yourself stuttering.

“Are you a med student or something?”

The voice remains persistent at the door.

“Tom. Fuck off into your gym, will you.”

To your anger, he actually knocks again.

“Please! At least come to the door! I don’t want to yell. You don’t have to open. Please. Please...”

You rub your eyes.

He has a point. Tony is still working during that time of the day anyways. Not to mention Rhodes. Yeah, Rhodes for sure. You close your laptop fast, slip out of the hammock, grab your teacup for emotional backing— and trot out of the bedroom with a grim feeling in your stomach.

“So what is it?” you grit, now inches away from Tom, but somewhat gladly, with the odour barricade still in place. Ten elephants and a pack of lions couldn’t move you to open that door.

“Y/N. I’m sorry for the music today,” Tom half whispers, half murmurs, now much more deferential.

He’s read your name on the door label. You sigh.

“The better apology’s leaving me alone. Can’t concentrate.”

A deep sip from your tea won’t make your annoyance go away either, but you still try and almost burn your tongue.

“With all due respect. If I would listen to lecture videos that loud my ears would be reeling, too...”

You could stomp the parquet below you to pieces on this very spot. Mister Stark was more than right about Tom. He was the cockiest mess.

“Look who’s talking! Rihanna’s bass line was peeling off our carpets this morning!”

You don’t want to know what janitor Rogers thinks about that.

“Y/N, please don’t yell,” Tom muffles from the other side repeatedly, tone more sympathetic. “I made enough noise myself today.”

“Oh, really? Never knew.”

“And, I’ve been using my earphones. Or did you hear anything Rihanna play?“

Mentally and physically, you give up your Ayurvedic Relaxation once for all and put the mug down on the next best birchwood cupboard. He does have not one, but two points. Maybe he’s not a toast, at least that. Still a bloody idiot, but you have to begrudgingly admit that he makes sense and didn’t touch the remote. 

Just in case— You peep through the fish-eye of the door and see Tom wandering about, not topless as far as you can trust your tired eyes. When he turns to the door, you try to read his face. He looks innocent. Sad, even.

“Please, Y/N. I just wanted to apologize for being rude. I’m still new here. And now that you’re playing something loud yourse—”

Ugh.

It’s a tie.

Click goes the door. And there you see him stand, in his striped Hello Kitty PJs that are way too tight at the arms, with tiny hearts printed all over them. He’s visibly scrubbed down, smelling like he’s used four shampoos at once. His curly hair looks kind of bouncy in the brutal light of the hallway.

“Nice to see you dressed for once, Holland.”

“Sorry, I probably look ridiculous.”

You open the door wider.

“Come on in rascal, still have some water in the kettle.”

© 2017-2019 submissive-bangtan. All rights reserved. Do not repost, translate, or modify my work.

[gaslightgatekeepgodot]

A (sizeable) rant/essay concerning my experiences in the Tumblr JJBA fandom.

None of you asked to hear this, but I’m getting pretty pissed off at some people in particular (I will not name names, though I may heavily implicate some people) and it’s finally started to kinda spill over. So I’m letting it spill; take it or leave it.

I’m... Fairly irate at the moment, and writing out my feelings does tend to help me calm down in situations like this, so if I was going to put this anywhere the best place for it is probably on the public internet. Again, take it or leave it: this is the internet, you don’t have to interact with me if this concerns you or your ideals. Just click that handy little block button on my profile and you never have to see little Nat mouthing off again.

If you want me to summarise (I know not everyone wants/is able to read a fluffed-up pillar of text) or explain my reasoning behind anything I’ve said below the cut, feel free to direct message me here or on Discord @nati bati yi#1462. Once I get this off my chest I’ll be more than willing to chat to people about it. <3

(Before I say anything else, this is not intended to be a callout in any way, shape or form. I don’t mention the specific names of anybody, and the actions I do mention here will only point to specific people if you know them too. Anyone on the outside should have zero idea of who anyone I bring up is; I do not want anyone to get harassed over this, and I very much do not want to start drama - that’s what inspired me to go off and write this hunk of garbage in the first place. I’m just... Sick to death of the fandom as a whole.)

Anyway. Here we go.

From what I’ve been able to tell, being in this fandom for just under a year now, there are two main halves to it: the gay-hating, stale-meme-parroting dudebro side, who seem to mostly congregate around YouTube and Reddit, and... Whatever the side based on Tumblr (and probably now Twitter) is. I don’t spend a lot of time on Reddit, so naturally I’ve been more exposed to the Tumblr side of the fandom, and after experiencing the ideals some people here want to force on other people I’ve come to the conclusion I’d almost rather be immersed in the bigoted dudebro side. And I say this as an ace-spec/gay trans man.

I’ll start with the blocklist.

I think most of us on Tumblr came to the conclusion that the blocklist was utter bullshit, but I did see a few people in a Discord server I have since left (I will expand on this later) defending the reasoning behind some ships being on there, citing the fact they had been abused in a relationship with a similar age gap. I can definitely see why that would bother a person, and I do not want to erase the fact that people have been and will be abused in similar relationships, but you can’t project your singular experience onto every fictional, non-canon character relationship and every person who ships it. For one, not every relationship is going to turn out the same just because it meets this one criteria of “the age gap is too big”, and, also, you don’t have to write fiction to totally reflect reality. You are in full creative control. Maybe if the characters were real people they wouldn’t click, but if you’re drawing a picture or writing a fanfic you don’t have to go along with that. You can write them so that they’re good to each other, while still keeping it in character. Araki has said that Jotaro and Kakyoin’s personalities don’t work together very well, and that they wouldn’t have become friends or even spoken to each other if Jotaro wasn’t a Stand user... But Jotaro/Kakyoin just happens to be the most-written about JJBA ship on AO3. Me? I love Jotakak. It’s about the only thing I do ship. And I’ve read some quite frankly amazing fanfiction where the two boys are paired and they work together, and it’s still very much in character. Of course, I’m very much against loli/shota content or content depicting characters who don’t look very old- if someone drew Koichi in a sexual situation I would be pissed as all hell, but I don’t have to engage with that content any further. I can just filter out the tag/block the OP and move on. You don’t need to make a fuss and tell/imply to people that they are paedophilic for enjoying well-written content where a 17-year-old is in a healthy relationship with a 22-year-old, platonic or otherwise.

My second point brings in some of the things I’ve learned while studying media this past year. My main point here: not everyone in an audience is the same. There is a reason differential decoding and the uses and gratifications theory exist. The uses and gratifications theory states, at its most basic, that the audience of a media text is active, not passive; i.e. they are not just absorbing every piece of data thrown at them by the text they are consuming, and they are consuming different media to satisfy a need- for JJBA, that need could be entertainment, escapism, identifying with a character similar to yourself or to give you something to talk about with your friends. Differential decoding arises when someone consuming a piece of the media does not entirely go along with the creator’s preferred reading of it- an example might be how a sizeable amount of people enjoy villainous or “disgusting” characters such as Dio, Cioccolata, Stroheim or Melone, when they were clearly written in canon to be abhorrent, unlikable people for varying reasons. I can also say that, because the audience is active, and consume media based on their personal needs, that somebody writing fanfic of a ship you don’t like isn’t going to make incest or paedophilia more socially acceptable. I don’t consume that content, because I don’t feel the need to. Sure, real paedos might, but they’re a minority. Just because a couple hundred people or so read a fanfic on the free web where a grown adult does the dirty with a little kid, doesn’t mean to say everyone in the world will suddenly start thinking it’s ok. Mention it to any sane person in real life and they will not like that idea any more than you do.

And my third point is more a personal thing than anything else, but there is a community I used to be part of (and was part of almost from the beginning) where I didn’t feel welcome because of people causing drama over things like what I mentioned above. I started multiple discourses entirely by accident by saying I didn’t understand why everyone though X ship was horribly problematic and worth getting mad at people over. I still don’t feel like anyone deserves to be harassed over characters and ships they enjoy, but that doesn’t mean to say I support all of it. Along with generally feeling ignored by a lot of the moderators of that server, as well as their friends, I was just sick to death of how they seemed to single out some certain people to say, “hey, don’t do this” when other people seemed exempt. I was verbally warned for posting innuendos in a general chat (but it’s not like I could anywhere else on the server, because I’m not 18 yet), but at least once every day I would see two people flirting in-character in whatever channel they happened to meet in, and it never seemed to be in a roleplay channel- I couldn’t see into NSFW to check if they did it there too, but the fact it would leak out into gen concerned me. They would throw innuendo after innuendo at each other, and they never seemed to stop, or be told to stop. Yes, I could have messaged the moderators to say it made me uncomfy, but one of them was a moderator themselves, so I felt a little out my element doing so. 

Another thing that bothered me is when I tried to join an offshoot of that server for kin, and the admin - I assume - of said offshoot server messaged me (with some other conversation concerning it in between) that, despite the fact I only wanted in to help me figure out what it meant to me, I wasn’t allowed in because somebody was uncomfy with doubles. I completely understand that, but I had spoken to the only person it could have been (I wasn’t given a name, but it wasn’t difficult to figure out who it was) multiple times about that character and how similar we were- hell, we had even roleplayed together as doubles of that character and no problems were ever expressed to me. If anything it seemed like we left off in a spot we could have carried on from later. It might not have been intended that way, but being told I wasn’t allowed in there made me feel excluded from the community nonetheless, especially because I’d had a few people tell me the night before that they wanted more people in there and that I’d be totally welcome. I was also told, before any of this happened, that the same person blocked a friend of mine in another server for going on a small rant about how they didn’t like the way Josuke acted in the episode where he plays dice with Rohan and ends up burning his house down, because they kin Josuke..? At least, that’s what was relayed to me.

But, hey ho, it’s all behind me now. I won’t lie; I don’t really plan on ever going back. I don’t want to engage anymore, because it makes me uncomfortable and anxious thinking about it, so I most likely will unfollow most (if not all) of the blogs pertaining to that community tonight. I do have a few people still there who I miss speaking to, but I’ve DM’d all of them on Discord at least once since I’ve left and talked to them about either how I miss them or something entirely unrelated to the server. I’d like to talk more with them, but DMs are always awkward for me to begin with... I have a feeling they might not want to talk after reading this, and I think I’m ready to accept that? Might be difficult not being able to scream about fanfic as much, but I won’t impose on anyone if my presence makes them uncomfy. I don’t want to be that guy.

I’ll say it again: now that I’ve got this off my chest and subsequently calmed down a lot, I’m more than willing to talk about any of it. Just shoot me a message on Discord and I’ll reply when I’m able and feeling up to talking about it again. For now I’m probably just going to go back to pissing about on Flight Rising or play Smash or something

[fratboyvivimatthews]

“who’s crosby again?” - casey mittelstadt

summary: with his favorite player being sid the kid it spikes some tension between the two, causing them to diss each others favorite players. 

warnings: play fighting, little brothers, rude comments towards crosby (sorry i’m not a fan), teasing, fluff, shots at william nylander, auston matthews, and connor mcdavid

word count: [2,305]

“Luke!” I yelled calling for the younger Mittelstadt to settle Casey and I’s fight. I looked up from my spot in Casey’s lap to see that the youngest brother still wasn’t present when I needed him to be. “Luke Mittelstadt get your butt down here,” I screamed again knowing very well that he would listen to me eventually. 

Casey remained quiet his eyes glued to the TV watching replays of Crosby’s best highlights. “He may love you Y/n/n, but you might want to try saying please.” Rolling my eyes at the oldest I watched as he smiled seeing as he managed to push my buttons for the millionth time this afternoon. 

“Luke could you please come down here?” I then asked my voice loud enough for him to hear me. “We both know I’m your favorite person in the house right now so please, for me?” With in a blink of an eye the teenager was present in front of me with a smile. Casey did a double-take seeing as that I got his little brother to come downstairs, whereas he couldn't even do that. 

Out of breath Luke panted before smiling at me. “Sorry I was playing Fornite. What did you need Y/n/n?” A smirk spread across my face as I felt Casey’s whole body stiffen. “It’s about Crosby isn’t?” He then asked looking back at the TV to see the one-handed goal from last season. 

Luke sat down next to us watching as Crosby managed to walk two defenders. “It in fact is. So Luke could you please tell me who your favorite player in the league is?” I asked looking up to Casey to gage his reaction. 

Without even thinking Luke started listing players that he liked counting them all on his fingers as he went. Once he finished and Crosby wasn’t anywhere near the top of his list I smiled evilly up at Casey. His blue eyes looked down to meet my e/c ones before shaking his head. “That doesn’t mean anything you know. Luke doesn’t even know what he’s talking about. Sid Crosby is the best player in the NHL right now.” 

My eyebrows rose as looked to the TV. The YouTube video of Crosby’s highlights had ended, and now was replaced with one of Connor McDavid’s. “Oh really? Mind telling me who won the Art Ross Trophy last year, Case?” 

He glared down at me and a laugh escaped Luke’s lips as he watched the scene play out between us. “Not Sid the Kid that’s who,” Luke added clearly taking my side in this argument. “Pretty sure it was McDavid, seeing as he’s the best in the league right now.” 

I smiled over at my boyfriends youngest brother before high-fiving him. “Oh shut up you two. Of course Crosby’s better than McDavid. He burns him every time they play against each other.” My eyes rolled right as there was a video of Connor beating Sid to a puck to score. Casey fell silent. “This isn’t over,” he huffed before shoving me off of him. 

My laughs mixed in with Luke’s filled the living room area as we watched Casey turn the video off before stomping away upstairs to his room. “I think we just started a war,” I then said once catching my breath only to start laughing again. 

“Trust me Y/n/n knowing Casey he’s going to find video’s of Crosby’s best, and then he’ll find videos of Crosby beating your favorite player to prove his point.” Luke gave me a pointed look before smiling back at me, “But until then wanna go play Fornite with me?” 

Nodding my head I smiled, “I would love too.” 

I was seated in between John and Luke for dinner. “Has Casey seriously been up in his room all day?” John then asked as I took a bite of my pasta. Nodding my head to answer him he shook his head with a laugh. “Well you better hope he doesn’t know who your favorite player is.” 

My smile I held on my face fell, “He won’t find anything. If he would have found something he would have rubbed it in my face already.” John and Luke both nodded their heads to agree with my statement. If Casey really had found all of the video that he would need to prove to me that Crosby doesn’t suck he would’ve placed the computer in front of my face by now proving I was wrong. 

“He’s such a sore loser,” the middle brother said under his breath trying not to catch the ear of his mother. However, the fact that she leaned across the table and smacked him proved to all of us she had in fact heard him. “Why’d you do that mom?” John whined before running his hand through his hair, “He is a sore loser.” 

Dede glared over at him and he shut right up not willing to speak out against her again. “John drop it, I’m sure this isn’t the kind of family dinner Y/n wanted to have.” The only other female at the table smiled over to me, “Even if she’s witnessed worse dinners.” 

I laughed at this remembering the when Casey, John, and Luke were fighting over who got to sit by me at Forth of July. The two boys sunk into their seats and stayed quiet while eating the pasta in front of them. “Tom will you please go get your oldest son, he’s being immature about this whole sit-” 

Dede didn’t get the chance to finish her statement because Casey sauntered into the dinning room with a smirk resting on his face. “Casey Mittelstadt it’s about time you came down for dinner. You‘re lucky Y/n’s here other wise it wouldn’t be good for you.” 

His emotions stayed in check as he walked around the table away from his seat. That’s when I noticed the lap top he was carrying behind his back. Luke looked over to me unsure of what was happening, but once I looked to John I realized he found the videos he needed. 

My plate was moved from out in front of me and replaced with the lap top. “Here you will witness Sidney Crosby being the best player in the league.” The video played as Dede tried to argue with her son about bringing it to the table. 

“He is not better than McDavid!” Luke then cried slamming the lap top shut. Casey glared at his youngest brother before starting his rant on why Crosby was better. “To bad he’s such a big cry baby,” Luke called cutting his brother off. 

“He has a point, at least McDavid doesn’t fake injuries like your favorite player does,” I added narrowing my eyes at the blond standing behind me. 

John stared to argue along with the three of us leaving Tom and Dede to sit in awe at how much this mattered to all of us. "Crosby pays off the refs!” I then yelled, “All of the refs take the money straight out of his pocket, like Edina people!” 

This sparked a surge of more energy between the two sides. “At least he doesn’t get bench when playing a better team,” Casey taunted referring to when William Nylander didn’t get to play in the third period earlier this year. “And he’s the captain!” 

“So is Connor McDavid!” 

“Who won the Hart last year? Oh yeah McDavid, who’s a cheap shot that slashes peoples fingers off: Crosby!” 

“At least William Nylander doesn’t have to pay the refs off to win a game because he’s so disliked. Crosby has to pay people to be fans of him!” 

“He didn’t pay me!” 

Turning away from facing him I opened his lap top again to look up highlights from Auston Matthews and William Nylander. “Bet Crosby can’t do that,“ I huffed pushing the computer into his chest for him to watch. His mouth hung open a little staring in awe before he slammed it and he lap top closed. 

“Yeah that’s good and all, but Nylander and Matthews are only good when they’re together. Nylander can’t even record a point without Matthews. Crosby can score one handed.” My eyes rolled at him as I stood and walked away. “See you’re walking away because you know I’m right.” 

I turned on my heels to look at him, “No I’m walking away so I don’t punch you in the face Case, but this isn’t over.” 

He smirked while crossing his arms over his chest, “Oh don’t worry Y/n/n this just got real.“ I continued to walk away Luke and John behind me. 

“Let’s go find some dirt on Crosby.” 

Sighing I wasn’t ready to admit defeat. “Why can’t we find anything? There is so many awful things he’s done and we can’t find one of them,” I huffed running my hands through my hair and then down my face. “It’s like they all disappeared.” 

John laughed at me while Luke sat there wide-eyed. “Could Casey block them from us to watch them?” The youngest then asked while the middle child laughed at me. “He can’t control that can he?” 

“No he can’t,” I said narrowing my eyes at the blond who was peaking into the room. “Now if he would please leave us alone that would be great thanks.” His laugh filled my ears as he pushed the door all the way open and then walked. 

Casey smiled at me before kissing my cheek, “Come on babe don’t be like that.” His arm was then wrapped around my shoulder trying to pull me close to him. “You know you love me.” 

I shook my head and looked to John. “I don’t actually, I love John. John doesn’t like Crosby therefore, he is now my favorite Mittelstadt.” This caused both Casey and Luke to glare at me before starting to argue with me. John sat at his desk smiling proudly that he was my new favorite. 

“Oh Y/n/n you can’t be serious,” Casey whined. “I’m your favorite.” 

A smirk crossed my face as I thought of my plan. “Made if you agreed with us that Crosby is a dirty cheater and isn’t the best in the league anymore then you’ll be my favorite.” My boyfriend then started to pout at me. “But I guess if you can’t agree to that then we’ll have some problems, the main one being you’d no longer have a girlfriend.” 

This caused him to glare over at me and the two younger Mittelstadt’s to stare at me in awe at what I had said. “Okay Y/n you might have taken that a little to far,” John stated. 

I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m just kidding guys.” This caused Casey’s whole body to relax and lean into me. “Now if you’d please give me your car keys, me and your brothers have a couple things we need to do before we come back for movie night.”  

Casey rose his eyebrow at me, “What are you going to do with my car? Why can’t you take yours or John’s?” A smile crossed my face knowing very well that he would give into me. “Fine you can have them.” 

“Thanks Case,” Luke said grabbing them out of his brothers hand before running out of his room and down the stairs. I kissed my boyfriends lips before pulling away to see him smiling up at me. 

“At least you’ll kiss me now,” he muttered with a pout. “You wouldn’t earlier today.” I gave him a cheeky smile before kissing him again, “You know Y/n/n you could stay back and little them go. I’m much more fun to hang out with.” Casey was giving me a suggestive smile but I smacked his chest causing him to stop.

John started to groan waiting for me at the door. Pulling away from Casey I walked to the door where his brother waited with a scowl on his face. “Let’s just say this, once we finish our errands you aren’t going to talk to us for awhile.” 

“Now before we started family movie night, I have a little movie of my own to show everyone,” Casey said with a cheeky smile looking straight at me. “Please put your hands together for Sid the Kid Crosby.” 

Letting out a groan my head fell back on to the back of the love-seat as Casey took his seat back next to me. “You couldn’t let it go, could you?” I asked turning my head causing my h/c hair to fall in front of my eyes. 

Pushing the stray pieces behind my ear Casey smirked at me, “You started this fight.” My eyes rolled as I watched Crosby did charity work. “If you wouldn’t have bad mouthed my favorite player tonight would have gone a lot different.” 

Just as the video finished I leaned over to him, my lips brushing against his ear. “Who's Crosby again?” It was now Casey’s turn to groan and throw his head back as Luke, John, and I made our way in front of the TV. Smiling right back at Casey like he had with me I started to speak. “After seeing the movie Casey has presented about Crosby, we would like to show our research we had conducted tonight.” 

Luke and John were working on plugging in the lap top to the TV. “Nobody was harmed in the making of this film,” Luke started to say. 

“Well other than Casey’s ego,” John finished for his younger brother with a smile. Dede looked between the two teenagers standing next to me, to the one sitting in my spot. Once she saw that Casey wasn’t to fazed by the statement she settled back into her seat. Tom on the other hand hadn’t stopped laughing, and only stopped once the beginning of the video started. 

Our movie we had made started with highlights from each of our favorite players beating Crosby in battles. It then went into our research opening with my questionnaire with random people we met at the hockey rink. “Hi can we ask you a few questions?” The little boy nodded, “Great I’m Y/n, that’s Luke and John. What’s your name?” 

“Jack.” 

As our investigation continued to play on the TV Casey turned to look at me not impressed with what we did. “That’s why you needed my car, to go ask random people about Crosby?’ I nodded my head with a cheesy smile. “You’re never getting the keys to my car again Y/n, I hope you know that.” 

Kissing his cheek causing a smile to break out his face I answered, “I know, but I also know you’ll forgive me in a day or two.” His eyes rolled at me as I kissed his cheek again then his lips. 

“No kissing the enemy Y/n/n,” Luke whined turning his attention away from me asking somebody if they knew who Crosby was. 

“Who’s Crosby again?” The person answered with a confused look crossing their face, “I’ve only heard of Matthews.” All three of us turned and smiled at Casey. The Buffalo draft pick threw his head back not looking at us anymore.

Under his breath he was muttering about how unfair this was to him. “Mom can’t you do something about this? They’re bullying me,” he then whined turning to look at his mother. She offered him a small smile. “I’m taking that as a no.” 

Just then Dede and Tom showed up on the screen causing Casey to let out a shocked gasp. “You turned my own parents against me Y/n!” Giving my boyfriend a cheeky smile I reached over to high-five his family members. “That’s unforgivable. Maybe I don’t love you anymore.” His arms crossed over his chest as we listened to his parents talk about their favorite players.

“Personally I enjoy watching my three sons,” Dede said with a wide smile. “And this Crosby character sounds terrible. Is it true he slashed a persons finger off?” Casey glared over at his mother and father before standing and running in front of the TV.

Narrow his blue eyes at me and his brothers he huffed, “I disown all of you, I’m no longer your son, or your brother.” As he went off on his rant he pointed to each one of us. “And you,” he seethed pointing his finger back at me, “I make one comment on how William Nylander got benched and you turned it into this. You can sleep on the couch tonight-” 

Only my voice from our homemade movie cut him off. “Okay so clearly you already know my name-” 

“No you have to say your name,” John’s voice called from behind the camera. Luke was standing next to me asking the questions.

“Okay fine. I’m Y/n Y/l/n  and my favorite player is Casey Mittelstadt.” This caused the blond haired hockey player to turn away from glaring at me, to smile in awe at the TV. Looking to Luke I smiled seeing as his idea worked like a charm. “What’s your favorite thing about him? Why is he your favorite?” Luke asked trying his hardest to keep a straight face. 

My shoulders shrugged, “I guess I like his speed, and his style of play. He never gives up on it, and always has a positive attitude towards the game.” I watched as the blush spread across Casey’s cheeks and neck. His smile grew in size as my compliments went straight to his head. “He just has this unique thing going for him. I mean did you see him play in World Juniors? Man was I impressed with him.”

“So would you say that he’s better or worse than Crosby?” The youngest asked with a smile. Casey turned to look back at me with a open mouthed smile his cheeks burning red. “I would say that once he gets into the NHL and has a chance to play a couple games, he’ll be right up amongst the top players.” 

The movie ended and I had all of the Mittelstadt’s looking at me with loving smiles. “Well now it’s our turn to pick the movie, so I’ll get that started,” Tom announced breaking the silence that had taken control of the living room. Casey stayed frozen in his position his smile only growing. 

“Y/n/n you’re too good to me,” he then stated before walking back to our seats. Pulling me up to stand with him by the pocket of his old U of M sweatshirt he kissed me. My smile grew as I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Best girlfriend ever,” he then whispered with a glowing smile. 

It wasn’t long until we had two young Mittelstadt brothers complaining about us kissing. “Oh shut up John it’s not like you and your girlfriend don’t kiss in front of the whole family,” Casey huffed pulling me down to sit in his lap. “In fact if I remember correctly you guys had a make-out session on that couch yesterday.” 

Luke jumped up from his seat next to his brother making a face before walking to his mother and father. “Great now we have another thing to fight about,” I mumbled causing Casey to look down at me as John started to go off about us. 

“Don’t worry Y/n/n now that we’re on the same team again, and almost four years of dating I say we got this one in the bag.” My eyes rolled before I leaned back into his arms. “He’s got nothing on us, trust me.”