#Video Review: Thread

[emotionalsupportkelpie]

Dustborn: A Heartfelt Review

Red Thread Games’s Dustborn has had one of the most interesting releases I’ve ever witnessed for any video game in my life. The far-right hates it, of course, because it’s “woke,” but for some reason they especially hate this game and review-bombed it everywhere; and some younger folks who are in the unfortunate “media purity” mindset (which is, arguably, also far-right, even though they don’t…

[fortune-maiden]

Day 80

Still on my first playthrough but after the last defensive battle and the revelations so far my current theories about the cast and situations are:

- the TRC is the moon

- Nozomi is the only regular human who actually grew up in the TRC in the cast

- everyone else is an alien commander that had been captured and put into a lotus eater machine to believe they’re ordinary TRC humans who have lived there all their lives and are the only ones who can fight against the aliens which they very definitely are not

- they’re still in the pods

- this is a reverse Enders Game scenario where they think these battles are real but it’s a simulation to test that they’re ready for the real thing by surviving 100 days

- idk how to explain Karua yet but I think all Takumi’s memories with her are her memories that he has inserted himself into in his lotus eater scenario

- Another option is that the cryptoglobin blood Nozomi was given was sampled from him and something something transplant memories

[ninoochat]

[wavetapper]

jam has a fascinating atmosphere for a sketch show created via its use of 90s ambient as a soundtrack and the constantly changing footage speed/framerate/aspect ratio. now can you imagine if it was good

[xflowerstarx]

Dustborn Review

Don’t get me started on the Manchester Airport incident. The Hong Kong protests are just as bad, which is another prime example of police violence and corruption. No wonder Justice is portrayed as the bad guys in the game. Although, one of the main characters, Noam, looks nothing like a Hong Konger. Noam says that she misses her home country and she isn’t sure if she wants to go back. This…

[maaarine]

'We Can Bury Anyone': Inside a Hollywood Smear Machine (Megan Twohey and Mike McIntire and Julie Tate, The New York Times, Dec 21 2024)

"Last summer, as the release of “It Ends With Us” approached, Justin Baldoni, the director and a star of the film, and Jamey Heath, the lead producer, hired a crisis public relations expert.

During shooting, Blake Lively, the co-star, had complained that the men had repeatedly violated physical boundaries and made sexual and other inappropriate comments to her.

Their studio, Wayfarer, agreed to provide a full-time intimacy coordinator, bring in an outside producer and put other safeguards on set.

In a side letter to Ms. Lively’s contract, signed by Mr. Heath, the studio also agreed not to retaliate against the actress.

But by August, the two men, who had positioned themselves as feminist allies in the #MeToo era, expressed fears that her allegations would become public and taint them, according to a legal complaint that she filed Friday.

It claims that their P.R. effort had an explicit goal: to harm Ms. Lively’s reputation instead.

Her filing includes excerpts from thousands of pages of text messages and emails that she obtained through a subpoena.

These and other documents were reviewed by The New York Times. (…)

Mr. Baldoni was best known for the CW satirical romantic dramedy “Jane the Virgin.”

Wayfarer provided the resources for bigger ambitions. It was bankrolled by the billionaire Steve Sarowitz, who is co-chair of the studio with Mr. Baldoni.

They and Mr. Heath, the chief executive, are all deeply involved with the Baha’i religious organization, which promotes unity, peace and gender equality.

Mr. Baldoni has presented himself as an ally to women, writing books, co-hosting a podcast with Mr. Heath and giving talks on toxic masculinity. (…)

She claimed Mr. Baldoni had improvised unwanted kissing and discussed his sex life, including encounters in which he said he may not have received consent.

Mr. Heath had shown her a video of his wife naked, she said, and he had watched Ms. Lively in her trailer when she was topless and having body makeup removed, despite her asking him to look away.

She said that both men repeatedly entered her makeup trailer uninvited while she was undressed, including when she was breastfeeding. (…)

As the film release neared, Ms. Lively and other cast members informed Sony and Wayfarer that they would not do any appearances alongside Mr. Baldoni.

So did Ms. Hoover, the author, who had her own dissatisfactions with him and had become more upset after he told her about Ms. Lively’s allegations, according to text messages from Mr. Baldoni and Mr. Heath.

By the first week of August, Wayfarer and Mr. Baldoni had retained Ms. Nathan, who had worked with high-profile clients including Mr. Depp, whose ex-wife, Amber Heard, accused him of physical abuse. (…)

Three days later, Mr. Baldoni texted Ms. Abel, flagging a social media thread that accused another celebrity of bullying behavior and had generated 19 million views. “This is what we would need,” he wrote.

Ms. Nathan soon floated proposals to hire contractors to dominate social media through “full social account take downs,” by starting “threads of theories” and generally working to “change narrative.”

“All of this will be most importantly untraceable,” she wrote. (…)

When Ms. Abel wrote to her Aug. 4 that “I’m having reckless thoughts of wanting to plant pieces this week of how horrible Blake is to work with. Just to get ahead of it,” Ms. Nathan replied that she had spoken off the record to an editor at The Daily Mail.

“She’s ready when we are,” Ms. Nathan wrote.

A flurry of articles followed the Hollywood Reporter piece. Many made it seem as if the only rift was over creative control.

Some journalists had gotten wind of complaints about Mr. Baldoni’s behavior, but none of the most serious ones were published.

“He doesn’t realise how lucky he is right now,” Ms. Nathan texted Ms. Abel. (…)

It is unclear exactly how Mr. Wallace operated.

There are references in emails to “social manipulation” and “proactive fan posting,” and text messages cite efforts to “boost” and “amplify” online content that was favorable to Mr. Baldoni or critical of Ms. Lively.

“We are crushing it on Reddit,” Mr. Wallace told Ms. Nathan, according to a text she sent Ms. Abel on Aug. 9.

The next day, one of Ms. Nathan’s employees texted, “We’ve started to see shift on social, due largely to Jed and his team’s efforts to shift the narrative.”

Ms. Nathan wrote to Ms. Abel: “And socials are really really ramping up. In his favour, she must be furious. It’s actually sad because it just shows you have people really want to hate on women.” (…)

On Aug. 16, Ms. Nathan shared the Daily Mail article headlined “Is Blake Lively set to be CANCELLED?” with references to ‘hard to watch’ videos and a ‘tone deaf’ promotional Q. and A.

“Wow. You really outdid yourself with this piece,” Ms. Abel responded.

“That’s why you hired me right?” Ms. Nathan replied. “I’m the best.”"

[gghostwriter]

Time Gave No Compass, Were There Clues?

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times fate brings you to cross paths with a certain handsome stranger and the one time he purposely crosses with yours Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 5.6k+ a/n: this is connected to ‘One Single Thread of Gold’! This took forever to make simply because I had this fear that the second part wouldn’t come out as great as the first and I’ve been in a writing funk lately—not quite sure if my writing worsened or got better during this period but at this point, maybe I shouldn’t care that much anymore? That’s a lie so please comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first encounter—a knight in a vintage blue vehicle

The drumming noise of the rain against the vinyl awning of the Japanese restaurant became the perfect soundtrack for watching countless strangers scurry to the nearest shelter.

It was the night that you have dubbed your unluckiest as a woman in Washington—up until he came along.

According to the morning weather forecast, there was little to no chance of rain. A radiant reprieve from the downpour of light rainfall the city had been experiencing three days in a row. A believer of facts you were, excitedly slipped on your new pair of heels and joined the outside world, sun shining up above the sky without a single speck of dark cloud lingering in its wake.

The work day was nothing special—jumping on video calls with your boss, answering international emails from the magazine’s sister branches abroad, and reviewing articles set to be published for next month’s print.

Nothing unusual. No sign that the day would roller coaster down and up again, before ending right before a drop, leaving you white knuckled with anticipation.

As you were exiting the diner with your freshly cooked to-go in one hand, the weather decided to beat the statistics presented by the news forecast. Rain poured down hard, effectively stranding you on the covered sidewalk.

“Oh,” you mumbled under your breath, forced to settle down on the empty outdoor seating. The gust of cold wind that caressed your cheeks to turn pink reminded you of comforting childhood memories—warm cocoa, blanket forts, and cuddles with your precious teddy bear. 

It brought a smile on your face, recalling the time when life was still simple.

Working as a writer for an established fashion magazine had its own ups and downs. You felt lucky enough to be given the opportunity to work with living and breathing artists, all the while having the flexibility to live anywhere in the country.

Your boss initially found it odd when you mentioned temporarily moving back to Washington. It wasn’t a state well-established in the industry after all. It was a city filled with starched pressed suits, neutral ties, and newly shined loafers—the epicenter for politics and everything serious. 

The ridiculous misconception about fashion and its frivolousness caused your nose to scrunch. It was the same idea that pushed newly graduate you to move to New York and burn the midnight oil to be where you were now, highly respected in the circle.

She understood your truth—the need for a change of scenery before jumping back in to the game with fresh new eyes. Jokingly, she wagered you’d only last two months away from the Big Apple before coming back. It had been six months since then and you were starting to believe the urge for the city that never sleeps will never cross your mind again.

As you mused about the trajectory of your career, the clouds started to let up, enough that you took the chance to open your compact umbrella and possibly ruin your heels to get to the nearest subway entrance just 10 minutes away.

A mistake that you realized halfway as a sudden blast of strong wind flipped your umbrella inside out, rending you vulnerable to the hasty returning rain.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as water started to stain your light purple satin heels, turning them near black.

Definitely ruined.

The flickering light of the entrance and the still warm spot underneath the restaurant pulled you in two different directions. Should you just brave the weather already starting to look like a drowned animal or should you go back with your tail tucked between your legs?

As you debated your next move, being poorly protected by your broken umbrella and soaked by the tormenting weather no less, a blue vintage car came to a stop beside you and honked it’s horn.

“Um—do you need help? A ride, maybe?” a voice shouted out of the rolled down passenger window, barely heard against the torrential downpour.

A good Samaritan was rare this day and age. So uncommon that it made you immediately wary. You looked around, making sure it was you the stranger was addressing before uttering a reply.

“Depends on who’s asking,” your free hand clutching the ends of your spoiled umbrella. “Are you a serial killer by any chance?” 

He paused, caught off guard with your question, and chuckled. “What? No, no. Not at all, just a concerned citizen.”

You bit your lip, wavering between accepting his offer at the risk of your life, before reaching to open the passenger door. “Fair enough.”

The stranger promptly layered a black windbreaker on the tan leather seats. “Sorry, it’s just—did you know that wet leather can lead to discoloration?”

Your eyebrows raised, shuffling to get comfortable on the seat—mindful of your back not touching, before giving him a nod. “Yes, actually I did but it’s great to see someone else know about it too.”

He pressed his lips together into a tight smile and reached forward on the console, tinkering with the unlabeled knobs, turning up the heat. 

Your eyes tracked his every movement, curious as to any indication to who this mysterious gentleman was.

His nails were light pink in color, clean, and cut short—possibly for a desk office job. His fingers were long and bony, model length you’d surmise—a little calloused on one side of his middle finger possibly from holding a pen too tight. The back of his hand veined and wide in size, big enough to dwarf your dainty slim hands in comparison.

Your cheeks heated up, feeling guilty for gawking at a man’s hands before spilling your address without so much of a thought for your safety.

The stranger blanched, clearly caught off guard with your trusting nature. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to go with strangers willingly? Or provide vital information about yourself for that matter?”

You appraised his profile as his eyes trained on the road. 

Hazel colored hair that curled around his face. Sunken eyes framed by long, dark lashes that any woman could envy. A tall and straight nose bridge. Maroon pillowy lips and a sharp jawline perfectly matched with a five-o’clock shadow.

He was handsome.

Pretty even.

The type you’d see a casting agent and photographer fawn over.

Shoulders seemingly angular and wide, stretching his black knitted cardigan well. It’s arms pushed up to showcase his forearms lithe in form with muscles flexing underneath as he twists the wheel to take a right. His seat pushed the farthest it could go, highlighting how tall he could be.

Your handsome gentleman could rival male models that graced your magazine’s editorial pages.

“Well, you don’t look like a serial killer and I think I’d take my chances with you than out there—” a flash of lightning trailed on the darkened sky followed by a loud clap of thunder. “—yeah, I stand with my choice.”

His laughter mid-pitched, filled the confined space. “And how does a serial killer look like?”

“Sinister and not trustworthy. You look neither, by the way,” you shrugged.

“Actually, there’s a minor percentage of killers that don’t fit in your description. Ted Bundy is an example, he used his good looks to lure in unsuspecting women.”

You hummed in agreement. “You’re right and you could definitely use your looks too but I still doubt you’re one. Let’s call it intuition and if I had to guess, you work at a desk job. Finance or Human Resources, maybe?”

“Are you saying I look—” he cleared his throat, a wrinkle appearing between his well shaped brows. “—handsome?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like I’m flirting with you—which I’m not, well, maybe. But yes, I think you’re good looking. Handsome.” 

The pink flush that slowly darkened to a cherry red started its descent to his exposed neck, making him look more endearing. His reaction made it quite obvious he was never one to receive such flattery about his appearance which made you question the eyes of the women around him.

He was utterly distinguished and dressed in this comforting nerdy fashion that added to the appeal.

“I take it you’re not used to compliments.”

The long lashes that framed his molten chocolate eyes fluttered, as if highlighting is naivety in dealing with the opposite sex.

It sent butterflies free in your stomach.

“Yeah, but thank you. And I’m really not a serial killer—I wouldn’t be using a memorable vehicle in picking up a victim in a crowded street with city cameras around. Not that, that information helps me state my case. In fact, it’s making it worse—” he rambled out, easing the car into a stop beside your apartment complex. “What I meant was, I-I think you’re good looking too, beautiful.”

You laughed at the absurdity of where your night has ended up.

The air trapped between two bodies crackled with an energy you couldn’t name. It was humming below the surface, making you feel hyper aware of the man who drove you home.

It was igniting.

Possibly the start of something.

In contrast, the outside was quiet and still. The rain had finally come and gone, leaving behind its comforting atmosphere.

The lamp posts reflecting off the puddles of water, tinting the streets a warm, honey gold color. Leaves dancing, like string puppets controlled by the forces of nature. The wind whispering and giggling—to what, you didn’t know but you felt it wasn’t important to dissect. No more important than the stranger who’s scent, aged books and cedar wood, intermingled with yours, vanilla and a hint of amber.

“Thank you for the ride,” quickly exiting the vehicle. Suddenly you felt shy as the last few minutes replayed in your head—how trusting you were to take his offer and how naive it was of you to let your guard down.

The sound of a subsequent car door opening echoed on the empty street. “You’re welcome and you’re wrong, by the way.”

“Wrong about what?” You twisted to look back.

The street lights hitting his face, casting a mysterious shadow on his handsome features.

“About me working in finance or human resources.”

Huh. 

Your steps faltered to a stop.

That was a first—people around you always did say you read people best.

He was an exception it seemed.

An anomaly.

A mystery you wouldn’t mind taking a second try in solving.

“Better luck next time then. I hope to see you around,” you waved as you opened the heavy metal gate behind you.

His hand mimicked your goodbye before promptly reaching down to open his car door, effectively disappearing from your gaze as you pushed the main door open to the lobby.

As you watched the remaining water droplets slide down your coat, waiting for the rickety elevator to descend, an all important question popped in your mind that you never uttered into the world.

His name.

You forgot to ask for his name.

Hurriedly running back to the entrance, your stained heels clacking on the stoned pathway, you opened the gate just to spy the gentleman’s memorable light blue vehicle rev forward to blend into the chilly city night. 

Damn.

**

The second—a shared cup of Joe between two no longer strangers

The sun peeking underneath the cotton candy white clouds did little to fight off the inevitable Autumn air. Weeks of sunny days from the past storm is nearing its end causing the city occupants to flood the streets and parks for their last soak of Summer. 

Weeks have gone since your enthralling encounter with the handsome stranger and his vintage blue car. You’ve spent days replaying the memory in hopes of finding any more clues on who he was or even how to run into him again. Nights lamenting over the missed opportunity and the bitter what-if that came with it. The thought, now hazy from time passed, seemed to be colored in this golden hue you couldn’t quite describe.

A sigh escaped from between your pale pink lips. 

The moment was captivating.

He was beguiling.

But until you run into him again, his very being in your mind lived rent free.

Hand adjusting the pale pink scarf wrapped around your neck, you stepped into the warm quaint bakery down by the office. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting coffee beans enveloped the otherwise packed store. It was still early on the day and otherwise sleep deprived workers were queuing up for their daily fix.

This had been your spot since renting a small office space to commute to. Given your need to separate home from work, you’ve opted to find a studio you could call your temporary ‘work room’. It added extra expense, you’d agree but the comfort of being in a sea of strangers going to and from added a sense of productivity you’d never quite get if you created a makeshift office in your one bedroom apartment downtown.

You squeezed your way towards the front to view the pastry selection when you spotted him.

The gentleman in question at the counter, clearly holding up the line. 

He flashed Sarah, your usual fixer as you joked, a tight smile filled with apologies and embarrassment. 

Destiny seemed to have heard your calls and to that you were grateful.

Not wanting to let this second chance encounter go to waste, you excused yourself to the register and deftly slid your card on the white granite counter.

“Hey Sarah, do you mind adding my order with his? And a one of your buttery croissants would be much appreciated.”

Her eyebrows raised, clearly wondering the reason behind your surprising actions. Eyes flickered to the stranger beside you muttering his light disagreeing reaction before nodding towards you, as if agreeing with what she saw. “One long black and a flat white coming right up.”

“Hey stranger, fancy seeing you here,” you cocked your head to the side, loose tendrils escaping the confines of your loose bun.

The same blush that haunted you graced his face. “Hey—hi, it’s you! It’s nice to see you again,” his fingers proceeded to fiddle with his leather worn wallet. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Pay for my coffee, I mean.”

“It’s no problem at all, just think of it as my payment for the ride the other day and also a thank you for, you know, not turning out to be a killer, like you kept bringing up.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling close. “Well, I just wanted to instill some extra caution in you. It’s good to think well of people in general but it doesn’t hurt to be wary of them either. Especially the statistics of you—a young woman being targeted is quite high no matter how safe Washington seems to be.”

“I did get an earful from my friend about the reckless act I did. So, safe to say I’ve learned my lesson—” you paused, flashing Sarah a smile as your hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee and the bag containing the pastry. “But between you and me, I think she was more miffed about something I didn’t do.”

He mimicked your movements and proceeded to guide you to the nearest available standing table, his free hand hovering near the small of your back. 

“And what was it?”

“Not getting your name.”

His free hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel, pulling it towards the front of his body as if it was a shield that could hide away the blush that slowly crept down his neck.

“I, yeah—Spencer. Spencer Reid.” 

You introduced yourself with the same enthusiasm, finally at ease for knowing who he was.

“Well then, Spencer Reid, was I really wrong or was that just a lie to throw my deductive skills off course?” your hands pushing the packets of sugar towards his steaming open cup.

He thank you silently, counting at least 8 packets of sugar before returning the remaining ones in the jar. “What do you mean?”

“You not working in finance.”

“Well statistically speaking, more than 43% of the offices located here don’t belong in the finance section,” he grinned. 

With his eyes twinkling, he further continued. “21% of those are actually the government sector while the remaining are a mixture of publishing, business, and IT.”

“You sprouting off statistics doesn’t really sway me from my guess, you do know that?” You hummed, watching him dump and stir all the sugar into his dark cup of Joe. The idea of how sweet it would be sent a slight shiver down your spine. “If not finance then hmm—what about teaching?”

Appraising his get up for the day—a purple button down layered with a seemingly fraying cardigan and a black overcoat. He reminded of you of those quirky university professors that students would have no problem having a crush on. 

“You look like a young college professor with a couple degrees under your belt. Maybe literature? Or math?”

An airy laughter emitted between his lips. “Why is it always returning back to math?”

“I truly don’t know—” you shrugged. “You look smart and academic so that’s my best guess.”

“There’s actually a statistic on how many academically gifted people end up in the field of science rather than in math but I don’t know if you’d like to hear it.”

You leaned forward. “I actually do but that would cement my idea of you in maths.”

A ring from his pocket interrupted his reply. Spencer clambered to answer the call even before its’ third ring. 

“Yeah. Okay, got it. 5 minutes.” 

Any humor or lightheartedness the conversation brought had been erased from his face. It must have been work and the gravity of his responsibility must be heavy—definitely not finance and maybe not a professor then.

“I have to go—” Spencer tightly smiled, hands pulling the satchel and drink closer to his body. “It was really nice seeing you again.” 

You nodded, wordlessly walking out of the shop with him. As he started to step away from your presence, he turned back one last time to further throw you off course.

“You were right about one thing.”

Brows furrowing together, you shout back. “Which one?”

Spencer just smiled and shrugged his shoulders before turning forward, picking up his pace and leaving you further baffled about his mystery.

**

The third—a run- in during an otherwise idle day

The white noise the train against its tracks threatened to lull you into a daze. Its compartment surprisingly sparse with occupants during this otherwise tranquil Saturday. Everyone seemed to be at nearby parks, watching the leaves slowly turn this red-orange hue.

Your companion in hand—a book with its spine cracked and front cover folded backwards, sat idly on your denim lap. It was a tattered and worn copy of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. When you were in your teens, it had been the gateway to your love of classic literature and it had been your favorite ever since.

The bench you were seated on shifted and with it, medium brown brogues registered in your periphery.

Inwardly, you scoffed at the stranger invading your space when there were a multitude of empty seats available in your section. Briefly you wondered if this was going to be another day of being picked up by men who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’ which inevitably would ruin your day. 

As you were debating on nicely excusing yourself away, the man cleared his throat.

“Hey—hi,” he sheepishly greeted in this voice that had been replaying in your head since that rainy weekday night. 

You blinked away the surprise—the bafflement that fate had seemed to cross your path with his again and again and again. It always happened when you least expected it. After all, you spent numerous days craning your neck for even a small glimpse of Spencer Reid to no avail. Your eyes would subconsciously sweep the streets for a view of any suede coat matched with a purple pattern scarf. It had been your own version of Where’s Waldo—a past time that your friend joined as you forbade her (and by extension, yourself) from looking him up online. 

You wanted to keep the mystery and it seemed fate was rewarding you today.

“Hi-hey Spencer. This is a surprise,” your cheeks stretching wide from the grin you gave him. 

His fingers brushed a nonexistent stray of hair behind his ears. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it was you. The odds of ever seeing you again—or anyone I’d know on the train is low, with how many people Virginia has.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” your hands closing the book that no longer held your attention. “How we seemed to just run into each other? Funny how that works.”

“I mean, you could say that—not that I believe in destiny or fate with how abstract and little scientific studies it has. Maybe we just run in the same small schedule or circle.”

Your eyebrow raised, appraising his look. 

His hair looked unruly—with one side more flattened the the other, possibly slept on. His clothes, although free from any stains that would indicate it as yesterday’s, had crease marks that were reminiscent of its folding. They were clean but also not pressed—came from the satchel then. The very same bag laying on his lap, no doubt filled with dirty laundry and other necessities.

“I don’t think so,” you pondered on. “Are you just on your way back home from work, by any chance?”

“How’d you know that?” His voice cracking at the end.

You shrugged. “I pick up on things, small details and all that.”

“That’s really good. Must come in handy with your work as a journalist.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised. “How’d you know that? How’d—what gave it away?”

“It was an educated guess which—” he flashed you a grin. “—you just confirmed now.”

“Touche. Although that does seem unfair,” you pouted. “You know my occupation but I can’t even get yours right.”

He tilted his head to the right, eyes twinkling with life that keeps you pulled in. “You’re welcome to guess. In fact, I could give you a clue if you wanted—” he paused waiting for your agreement which you readily gave. “—alright you were right about one thing the last time: the one about me having multiple degrees.”

“You look young so I’m guessing a genius?”

“Well, my co-workers do like to tease me as one and it is true so yeah. I am a genius.”

The way his eyes shifted showed how bashful he was in admitting out loud he was one. You briefly wondered if there was ever a time where he felt embarrassed about it—probably in high school, you’d surmise. Teenagers, after all, had the tendency to ostracize anyone who doesn’t fit the rigid status quo they’ve collectively agreed upon.

“That’s amazing!” You gushed. “And it does narrow it quite down, actually. Do you happen to work for the government? I mean, I’m sure they try to collect the best minds our country has to offer, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do work for the government. And you’re right, they do tend to employ gifted adults as a way to also surveillance them—to make sure they don’t turn into anti-statists or anarchists.”

You pondered over every detail he presented. Freshly manicured nails tapping on your leg before finally guessing. “Okay so, I was first going to say NASA because—” you shrugged. “—it’s space but then that would be too stereotypical of me to assume. Plus, you’ve thrown off just about any deductions I’ve made during our first two meetings—”

Spencer nodded. He seemed proud to listen to you ramble your way through. 

“—I was also going to guess administrative work but it’s a weekend and you’re just on your way home so that’s a no—”

A small spread on his face.

A good sign that you were in the right direction.

“—it can’t be the judiciary too, right? I always imagined them to be wearing neutral suits and have this stoic air around them—”

He chuckled.

“—so I’m guessing law enforcement? Can’t be a regular cop, they have uniforms. So, for the FBI? Or am I just reaching?”

Spencer vigorously nodded his head, the wavy tendrils tucked behind his ears escaping their confines. 

“That’s right! Wow—you’re really good at this. Maybe you should have also been scouted!” He teased.

You giggled, the happiness from getting it right and the idea of you working with a gun seemed ludicrous. “Sadly, I may be too clumsy for that kind of work. With my type of luck, I’d probably trip over my feet and mess up a crime scene.”

The automated voice announcing the next station broke through the lighthearted conversation. Spencer’s eyes widened ever so slightly, indicating that this was his stop.

“I guess this is it, huh? See you soon then, Spencer?”

He sandwiched his lower lip between his pearly teeth. “Would you be interested in purposefully seeing each other next time? I would love to get to know you more—over dinner? Coffee? Any would be great—you don’t have to say yes of course but yeah.”

“Can I say yes to all of the above?” You teased. “I would love to.”

Spencer started to get up, hands pulling on his satchel to secure it. The train was coming to a stop and you could begin to see the stop come into view.

Your hand quickly reached out to tug on his rolled sleeve. “Wait—how do we contact each other?”

“It’s tucked in your book. My number, I mean,” he laughed. The sound coaxing you to release your own. “See you!”

Your eyes tracked him getting off the train and his would meet yours one last time, before disappearing towards the station’s nearest exit. Your hands hastily opened the front page to where a new object was slotted in between without you knowing.

His calling card.

Federal Bureau of Investigation - Behavioral Analysis Unit SSA Dr. Spencer Reid 1-761-xxx-xxxx

Giggling, you fished your phone from the confines of your wallet and quickly sent out a text.

Hey. Are you a magician too, by any chance? 

**

The fourth or better yet, the planned first—two strings interwoven by fate

Spencer hadn’t been able to explain the circumstances that led him here tonight—walking through a nearby park in the sparkly but cold weekend night with a beautiful woman right by his side. 

The dinner date had gone surprisingly well. So great in fact that he didn’t want it to end. Suggesting to walk you back home rather than use his blue well beaten vehicle left parked near the restaurant was his idea to prolong the night. 

He was well aware that you both could be exposing yourselves to a seasonal bout of cold but for the first time, it didn’t matter to his overactive and over-analytical brain. Nor did it seem to matter to you—given with how vigorously she accepted his suggestion to walk. 

Your dainty right hand was wrapped around the bouquet of flowers he personally selected. An array of daisies, daffodils, and sedums.

Joy from having to meet you, to new beginnings, and affection.

Spencer wanted to convey what he had been feeling since that run-in the coffee shop. Regardless if you knew what they meant.

This was all uncharted territory and the incidents that brought them into each other’s worlds was baffling to say the least. 

Was this the really the works of fate?

Does this prove that destiny is true and the notion of having free choice is a lie we tell ourselves?

He concluded it probably didn’t matter.

All that mattered was where he was now—with you.

“So you really took all those degrees all together?” you clarified, eyes widening from disbelief. “The amount of studying and writing you’ve done must have been massive.”

“Well, it did help that I could read fast—20,000 words per minute, but I could still remember my hands cramping from the amount I had to type down.”

“Of course you can still remember, with your eidetic memory and all. That must be nice—never forgetting any novel you’ve read.”

He shrugged. “It does have it’s perks but between you and me, there is a downside to it.”

You halted in her step, staring inquisitively up at him. 

Spencer found it cute—how even with yout heeled boots on, you could only reach up to his chest. It gave him this sense of protectiveness over you being. 

“Oh yeah, like what?”

He pondered. “Well, we did have this one vampire case and one of the victim’s laptop password was ‘Cullen’ and I didn’t get the reference—thought it was ‘colon’ actually. So I decided to read the first book and didn’t like it.”

“You actually read ‘Twilight’?” You giggled. It sounded like wind chimes echoing through the trees.

“I was curious!” His voice went up an octave. “Is that what teens are reading, really? What ever happened to reading ‘Lord of the Flies’ or Franz Kafka during high school, for that matter?” 

“The one where a group of boys are stranded on an island or the one where the protagonist turns into a cockroach? Doesn’t really read romance for teen girls, Spencer.”

He chuckled. “And a 104 year old vampire does?”

“It’s about the idea,” you continued on walking, free hand swinging in between you—all he had to do was reach out and intertwine it with his but could he do that? Should he? Would she want that? “How Bella is your average, teen next door and someone like Edward, mysterious and handsome, could fall for her. It’s about the premise—I mean which teenage girl didn’t dream of something like that?”

“Does that include you too?”

You laughed. “I mean—Edward isn’t really my type but sure, I guess.”

Spencer decided to do it. He tentatively reached out his pinky to yours, looping them together.

There, a small touch you could say no to.

He waited for the reaction. From himself, there was a lack of worry for germs (this surprised him) and from you, the possibility of rejecting his small advances. With a breath lodged in his throat, Spencer watched a shy smile grace your face and cheeks turn further pink. 

Empowered by the reaction, he reached out to intertwine the rest of his freezing hand with yours and proceeded to tuck both into his coat pocket. Spencer felt his cheeks emit warmth, wondering where his courage came from. If Morgan just saw him now, no doubt he’d get a pat at the back and a whispered ‘you’ve got serious game, kid.’

“It’s a good thing he isn’t my type at all, don’t you think so?” You whispered. “I mean, you don’t sparkle in the sun, do you?”

His laughter echoed through the otherwise empty streets. 

“Oh god—that was so so bad. Ignore my cheesy flirting, please.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, feeling lightheaded from your presence. “I don’t think I do, actually. We could check—” clearing his throat “—once the weather gives way to the sun.”

It seemed like you got what he was subtly stating. “That long, huh? I’ll hold you to that promise.”

“Please do.”

Both your steps slowed to a stop in front of your apartment complex.

Spencer sighed under his breath, he really didn’t want the night to end. There was still so much to talk about—anything and nothing at the same time. Is this what they meant when they said time flies when you’re having fun? 

“Well,” you squeezed his hand twice. “This is it. I had fun tonight, Spencer.”

He squeezed back in return. “I did too. Can I—call you again?”

You nodded, a single tendril of hair escaping from its' loose bun.

Mesmerized, Spencer reached forward and secured it behind your reddening ear. “Get home safe.”

“I doubt anything would happen between my way up from the elevator to my door but I will. Drive safe and let me know you got in safely, got it?”

He reluctantly let go of your hand, slowly backing away without turning his back on you. Each second seeing you bundled up in a coat with flowers still on hand was an image he never wanted to forget, never wanted to miss.

As he was a few steps away, the wind carried your sweet voice to his ears.

“Hey, Spencer. There’s one thing I think you forgot to take with you.” 

He patted his coat, unsure as to what you were pertaining to. Eyes scanning his being when the distinct sound of your heels against the pavement, getting closer and closer, made him look up.

A pair of soft warm lips met his cheeks. 

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

His jaw dropped. The act short circuited his otherwise intelligent brain. It felt like every thought had dropped away, turning insignificant, compared to the tensed silence between two individuals once considered strangers but now intertwined in a way he could not explain in any language he knew. 

Little white specks floated down from the sky, coloring the moment in the lightest color ever possible—a hue that symbolized new beginnings.

Before his mind could catch up, Spencer felt himself moving.

Towards you.

Closing in. 

Cupping your cheeks.

And meeting his own lips with the ones that short circuited his brain.

In that moment, all he could comprehend was the smell of you—like freshly cleaned laundry dried under the sun. The taste of you—cherries with a hint of the red wine you drank over dinner. And the feel of you—warm, hands grasping his coat tight, flowers dropped on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

These were details he willed to engrave in his eidetic memory. Observations he doesn’t want to forget.

And you, the single woman he hopes to never lose.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[bemusedlybespectacled]

what's happening with James Somerton right now: a probably-incomplete primer

TW: suicide, including suicide as a threat and a manipulation tactic.

The short version:

James Somerton is a former Youtube essayist who focused entirely on queer history, queer media criticism, and queer issues in general. He is also a flagrant grifter who has made tens of thousands of dollars via fraud, both directly (lying about his finances to beg for money and getting donations for films he never even started making) and indirectly (stealing whole essays and articles and books, reading them out loud verbatim for his videos without indicating they were anything other than his own work, and then using the prestige he gained from using their work to get Patrons and sponsorships).

The story as told James and James apologists was that James attempted to apologize twice, was hounded mercilessly on the internet for weeks, and then, driven to the end of his rope, he posted a suicide note on Twitter, was MIA for several days, and from then on has been avoiding the internet.

The actual story, as revealed yesterday, was that James used two sockpuppet accounts to defend himself and parrot his talking points (again, while publicly claiming to be trying to take responsibility for his actions), using one to try to rebrand the con under a different name and another to deliberately stoke the panic caused by his suicide note. He was not only aware of the pain and anxiety he was causing people, but he encouraged it on one alt while hornyposting about his favorite movies on the other.

He is an unrepentant con artist who successfully used a suicide threat to prevent further interference with future cons. The only reason he was caught is because he is apparently incapable of going more than a couple of weeks without trying to get back in the internet spotlight, allowing people to tie his alts back to him. He lies for fun and profit and he should not be taken seriously, ever.

The long version:

In December 2023, Youtube essayist Hbomberguy (Harry Brewis) put out a four-hour-long video about plagiarism on the internet, and devoted two hours to addressing as much of JS's plagiarism as he could. I strongly recommend watching the entire thing, as the first two hours build on the concepts that he uses later in the video.

He also blew the whistle on James' fraud surrounding Telos, a studio James founded using thousands of dollars of IndieGoGo money that never actually produced any films despite him definitely working on them! Any day now they'll be released! Don't you worry!

A day later, Todd in the Shadows, a guy whose entire thing is music reviews, posted his own video debunking multiple outright lies that James had told about history, especially queer history. A few more days later, The Ace Couple, who run a podcast about asexuality, released an episode detailing how they'd lost $1.5k donating to Telos.

I have put the videos, Twitter threads, Patreon posts, and Reddit posts by other people discussing different aspects of James' fraud under the cut.

Every other time James was caught plagiarizing, prior to Harry's video, he would lie about it. Either he'd have some excuse (easily proven to be a lie) or he'd retreat to his favorite deflection: "I'm just being harassed because I'm gay."

This last lie was one he'd use not only to deflect accusations of plagiarism, but all criticism in general, no matter how trivial. Every time, the critic or someone associated with them would somehow dox him, or harass him, or send him death threats, or threaten to falsely accuse him of sexual assault.

This happened to The Ace Couple (who'd tried to correct him on something extremely acephobic in one of his videos), Jessie Gender (who'd tried to correct him when he claimed that there were no queer content creators on Nebula, given that she and a bunch of other queer creators were definitely on that platform), and the person who first blew the whistle on him stealing from Tinker Belles and Evil Queens by Sean Griffin (who was accused of being behind death threats he'd received, and hounded so harshly they had to leave Twitter).

It is important to note that every time James faced potentially damaging criticism, or even just a threat to his ego, suddenly he would claim to be harassed by people connected to the critic, including threats to his life. There has never been any proof of any threats being directed at him, nor evidence that, if the threats were real, that they are actually from people connected to the critic.

In the original video by Hbomberguy, Harry makes a compelling argument that James brought on a friend of his, Nick, as a co-writer specifically as a shield against accusations of plagiarism. "How dare you accuse me of plagiarism! Nick would NEVER do that!" This is even more apparent given subsequent developments which I will get into.

When evidence started dropping about different aspects of his fraud (not only Harry's video, but Todd in the Shadows' video debunking his misinfo, The Ace Couple's podcast about their experience donating to his fraudulent film studio, and Dan Olson's tweet thread about James' obvious lies about his finances), he went into hiding for two weeks, and then put out the first of two apologies. He then deleted that one and put out another one a few weeks later. And then he immediately deleted that one.

While his first apology was rambling, vague, and dramatic (lots of sniffing/crying), and his second was more measured, thought-out, and totally batshit (lots of hilariously and bizarrely implausible excuses for why he'd done what he'd done), they had roughly the same points:

Not ALL of his stuff was plagiarized! Actually, a lot of it wasn't! No specifics as to what, though!

Most of the stuff that was plagiarized was just a failure to properly cite sources, as he had no idea that putting someone's name in your end credits or video description (without specifying what parts are attributable to that person or disclosing that you are using their words verbatim) is not sufficient credit,

Also, he totally had permission, in some cases, to use their work verbatim prior to publishing the video (this is not true, and is disproven both in Harry's video and his own screenshots);

He definitely didn't commit fraud with Telos and would soon have a good explanation for where the money went! (he did not)

He was going to keep the videos up so that he could either donate the funds from any monetization to the fund Harry had set up for his victims or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing his work;

He lost his best friend (i.e. Nick) over these allegations, who absolutely definitely wasn't a scapegoat, except Nick was also responsible for a lot of the stuff James was being criticized for;

He was going to keep the videos up so he could either donate the advertising proceeds to Harry's fund for his victims (first apology) or to "help Nick's portfolio" by showcasing the work he'd done; and

As a result of this entire ordeal, he had attempted either self-harm or suicide (he merely alluded to "doing something stupid").

Again, his response was to 1) downplay the severity of his actions or flat out ignore allegations against him, 2) come up with ridiculous excuses for his behavior, 3) throw Nick under the bus, and 4) claim to be in mortal danger. As far as I am aware, he has never taken any concrete action to make amends to any person, not even donating money to charity.

This was coupled with some kind of attempt to profit: monetizing his apology videos, closing and then reopening his Patreon right before the monthly charge cycle happened (totally to let people unfollow him, not at all as a grab for that money), creating a new Patreon under a different name, and changing his Twitter and Youtube handles to distance himself from the controversy while gathering new followers.

At one point (I forget if this was on Twitter or Instagram), he also said that someone had broken into his apartment due to the notoriety he'd received from Harry's video. I believe that was after his first apology, when people started to point out that he'd just changed the name of his Twitter and Youtube channel and had restarted a new Patreon under a pseudonym. (BTW, the pseudonym he used for his new Patreon was "The Gay Raconteur"; this will be important later).

It had what I think was the desired effect: any attempt at pointing out that he was rebranding his grift now came across as weirdly fixated on minor things he was doing, which certainly wasn't worth putting him in physical danger. (Again, he has never provided any proof of this happening, nor provided any evidence that these people allegedly threatening him were, in fact, in some way inspired by Hbomb).

So along comes March 5, 2024, and James posts a suicide note on his Twitter, saying that he is going to set up his videos to automatically publish (for Nick's portfolio), provide in some way for the ad revenue to go to a suicide prevention nonprofit, and then kill himself.

The immediate response from the internet was compassion and totally chilling any further criticism, since you might be callously criticizing a dead person. Harry and Kat worked for a couple of days to get a wellness check for him while a substantial section of the internet called them murderers.

On March 6, a day after the note was published, Nick tweeted that that he had cause to believe James was fine. Kat confirmed that James was safe on March 11. Due to the drama of the "suicide attempt," however, the chill on criticizing James stayed in place for months.

And then yesterday Lady Emily, one of the cowriters for Sarah Z., drops two more bombs:

James has not one but two alt accounts that he was using to rebrand and start over.

The first one was created between his first and second apologies, and originally was for "The Gay Raconteur" until he changed it to "Will"/"thatgayyouknow" and, later, "The Achillean Boy."

The second one was much older, under the pseudonym "Mikey JB," and used stolen pictures from Grindr instead of his own face. However, it is pretty obvious that it is, in fact, a sockpuppet account and not just some other person who happens to like James, as detailed below.

Both accounts, both between apologies and after his "suicide," talked about how criticism of James was unfair because the plagiarized stuff was "like a decade old" and repeating the same excuses that James had also made.

The "Mikey JB" account not only supported James, but actively threw Nick under the bus, saying that a criticized part of a video "reeks of his co-writer."

On March 6, the day after James' main Twitter posted the suicide note, The Achillean Boy account was hornyposting about Ryan Phillipe. James didn't even take a day or two off of Twitter. If he had been completely off Twitter for a couple of days, that could have been an indication that he really had hurt himself and was unable to access his phone, or at the very least unaware of the panic. But he wasn't. He was aware of it and did nothing. Actually, no! Worse than nothing!

On the same day (March 6), the Mikey JB account was actively contradicting Nick saying he was okay (they "haven't spoken in months" so there's no way Nick could know if he was alive) and saying that "people like you" i.e. his critics, "drove him to it." Not only did he ignore the panic he'd intentionally created, he actively drove it.

He saw people going emotionally through the wringer over the idea that they might have somehow caused his death, and intentionally made them keep thinking it. He say people calling his critics "murderers" for "driving him to his death," and he joined in.

Why am I explaining all of this? I want to make a couple of things extremely clear, and the context is necessary to my ultimate points, namely:

James Somerton didn't merely "credit people improperly;" he conned his followers out of more money than some people make in a year with the Telos con, while raking in thousands more per month on Patreon and buying expensive equipment, while claiming to be near insolvency and in desperate need of money.

James Somerton has never taken full responsibility for his actions or attempted to make amends. He has only ever tried to dodge responsibility, particularly by throwing Nick under the bus.

Every time he has ever been criticized, for any reason, he has lied about threats to his life to gain sympathy and quell criticism. This is a standard part of his MO. He has done this over and over and over again. At this point, I think if he says the sky is blue, someone should go out and check first before doing anything.

"But BB, what if he really is getting harassed/threatened or really is suicidal?"

So, okay: people who are attempting to manipulate you may use legitimate problems as a tool. It doesn't need to be fake to be effective - in fact, it might be more effective if it it's true. An abusive ex who says "if you leave me, I'll kill myself" and genuinely means it and actually attempts it (and possibly even succeeds!) is a lot harder to leave than someone who says the same thing but is clearly just bluffing, because the threat is real.

My rule of thumb in these cases is to treat the threat like it's real, without caving to the intended manipulation. Whether your ex is lying or telling the truth when they say, "I'll kill myself if you leave me," the appropriate response in both cases is to immediately call a mental health service or supportive family member. If it's fake, it's inconvenient for them; if it's real, you reacted appropriately. Your response needs to be the same regardless.

You don't get back together with them because it's a real threat (presumably you wouldn't do that if you knew it was fake and they were never in any danger), and you don't tell them that they're a piece of shit who should be dead (HOPEFULLY you wouldn't do that if you knew for a fact that they were telling the truth).

In this case, I am extremely confident in saying that he was coldbloodedly lying the entire time and was never once threatened, and certainly not to the degree he claimed to be. But even if he wasn't, that does not and should not change anyone's behavior in terms of holding him accountable.

And I mean actually holding him accountable: making sure he doesn't try to start a new con on new people, continuing to point out that he hasn't paid anyone back for his previous con (so long as it's still true), that sort of thing. It doesn't mean people should tell him he should go die for real or, I don't know, try to get him fired if he gets a job at Tim Horton's or Target or something else that's not fraud. That would be wrong regardless of whether he's actually in danger or not. The point is to avoid being cruel without negotiating with terrorists.

Video sources and links under the cut:

Links:

It's like Breaking Bad, but backwards: a brief history of how Somerton successfully screwed himself Dan Olson's Twitter thread about the financial fraud My Year With James: Todd's post explaining the backstory of his video (Patreon-locked) DJSO#: Dan Olson's breakdown of James' second apology (Patreon-locked) Lady Emily's Twitter threads revealing James' alt accounts, part 1 and part 2

[rosekeu]

BAD REVIEWS [PART FOUR] : shigaraki tomura x reader [taglist OPEN!]

"and i'm fresh out of any good judgement.”

<< previous — next >>

It’s been a couple of weeks since Shigaraki snuck into your room and poured out his awkward, angry obsession like it physically pained him to admit it. Since then, you hadn’t seen him—not really. 

He never visited you during the daytime, but when the clock struck 1am, you felt a familiar shift in the air. 

The quiet, almost nonexistent creak of your window. 

You learned the hard way that you should've just kept it open.

Tonight was no different. You stirred in bed before he could even step foot inside, your body already attuned to his presence, like muscle memory. You didn't bother turning on your night lamp.

“I was starting to think you forgot about me..” You whispered, rubbing your eyes and voice still scratchy from your previous slumber. 

“Don’t be stupid.” His voice came low, from the corner of your room.

You smiled into the dark. “I missed you.”

Silence. Then the weight of him sitting at the edge of your bed.

He didn’t touch you first—he never did. Like he was scared it would make you disappear. But in all honesty you were the one who was scared he’d one day stop coming to your late night meetings.

You reached for his hand instead, fingers curling gently around his feeling the soft cloth of his gloves.. His skin was rough, still calloused and dry, but warm. He allowed it.

Shigaraki shifted in the dark digging through his pockets, then he shook a small bottle once—prenatal vitamins, clinking faintly in the dark. He held it out like it was something foreign.

You blinked at the gesture, heart folding in on itself. You had asked him on a previous night about them, and that it was gonna be difficult because your parents were in the dark about everything so bringing those home or seeing the charge on your credit card would be a dead giveaway.

“You actually got them?” you said softly, carefully taking the bottle from his hand.

“Don’t make a big deal out of it.” He avoided your eyes.

You smiled despite yourself, fingers brushing his gloved ones as you took the bottle. “Thank you.”

He didn’t respond. Just sat there in the dark, still and tense like a storm caught mid-breath.

You placed the vitamins on your nightstand and hesitated, before sliding closer beneath the warm blanket. “I start work tomorrow.”

“What kind of work?” He asked slightly annoyed—like the idea of you doing anything outside of this room, away from him, was already grating on his nerves

“Just a teacher assistant position…” You reached your hand out, tugging his forearm, coaxing  him to lay down beside you. “Mostly paperwork. Babysitting hormonal teens. Not that serious.”

You conveniently left out the part about it being at UA. School of Heroes. Yeah.. that small detail didn’t feel necessary right now.

 During these last few weeks of getting to know Shigaraki, he was not a hero fan. In fact, the word hero practically came with a snarl in his voice and anti-hero monologues that lasted until 4am.

So instead, you tucked your legs under the covers, facing him as he stared up at your ceiling like it had done him wrong. You slowly reach up to tuck a small strand of his hair out of his face.

“So…how long are we gonna keep doing this?” You chuckle into the dark of night. “Sneaking in. Not taking me out on a proper date…”

“As long as I fucking want.”

You laughed, nose scrunching. “Romantic.”

He shifted onto his side to face you, his expression unreadable in the dim light—but his voice dropped, low and hoarse. “Fine. We can… play video games—but I get to roast you as much as I want. No complaining.”

“Deal.” 

Your fingers now threading gently through the strands at the nape of his neck, you loved his messy blue hair. Without waiting, you curled your body against his side, resting your head lightly on his shoulder.

He stiffened, caught off guard, the rough edges of his usual stoicism softening under your touch. You felt his breath hitch slightly.

“You’re really doing this, woman?” His voice was low, a little shaky—was he ever going to get used to your touch?

“Mhm… Want to, Tomu.”

His eyes flicked to you in surprise, sensing his burning gaze.

You gave him a playful slap on the chest, smiling into the dark. “What? I’m carrying your spawn, remember? So I think first-name basis is already a thing.”

He would never admit it aloud but the way you said his name always made his heart skip a beat. 

-— MORNING — 

You woke up to an empty bed, sheets still warm. He was already gone. 

Again.

You sighed and rolled out of bed, shuffling toward the bathroom—

“You look like shit!” Katsuki’s irritating voice echoed in your ears. 

You blinked running from your eyes. “Good morning to you too.”

And then he slammed the door in your face. 

“Open the door, Kats!” You banged on it as he shut it right in your face. “I have to be at work in an hour!”

“I said you shoulda set an earlier alarm, dumbass!”

Ugh. This gremlin.

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face before stomping back to your room. “God, I hope your hair falls out.”

“Won’t happen. My hair’s stronger than your will to live.”

You didn’t even dignify that with a response. Just grabbed your uniform and started getting dressed with the grace of someone moments away from committing a felony. As you pulled your black tights over your knees, you remember last night. 

The thought is fleeting, but it makes your cheeks warm. 

“Y/n! Katsuki! Get down here! Breakfast!”

Leaving the comfort of your room to see Kats leaving the bathroom half-dressed, collar shirt hanging open, tie in hand.

“Finally–” You slip past him inside, taking a good look at yourself in the mirror. Puffy eyes, pillow creases, and that lovergirl smile still tugging at the corner of your mouth. 

You are so mysterious, Tomu.

You rinsed your face with cold water, letting it snap you out of your haze. The memory of his sarcastic comments still engraved inside your brain.  Your fingers slowed as you brushed your teeth, mind drifting briefly to the way he’d gone stiff under your touch, the way he hadn’t pulled away.

“Get a grip.” You muttered around your toothbrush. You got one last glance at your reflection and deemed it presentable.

You tied your shoes, grabbed your bag, and made your way down the stairs—just as Katsuki was stabbing at his eggs like they owed him money.

“EAT FASTER, BRAT!” Mom yelled without even looking over at him. “You're both gonna be late!”

“I’m not late,” Katsuki grumbled, mouth full. “She is.”

“Bite me,” you replied sweetly, sliding into your seat across from him.

Your dad raised his mug to you in greeting. “Big first day?”

You nodded. “Yeah… hoping soon-to-be heroes don’t eat me alive.”

“They might,” Katsuki said flatly.

Taking the butter knife in your hands as you dipped it into the creamy, yellow tub of goodness. Spread it over your warm toast and take a satisfying bite. 

“Me and your dad were thinking we should install cameras around the house…” Your mom spoke as she flipped the fried egg on the pan. 

You almost choked on your toast. Which earned you a big side-eye from your brother. 

“Yeah, we think it's a good idea. Especially with all the villain activity lately…” 

Dad nodded along with her statements. “Could help catch anyone sneaking in or out,” your dad added, sipping his coffee.

You laughed a little too hard. “Of course! Great idea. Super smart. Nothing to hide here!”

Katsuki kept staring. You refused to meet his eyes.

Then you glanced at the clock on the microwave and jumped to your feet. “Crap. We gotta go!”

You grabbed your bag and yanked your brother’s arm. “Come on, I’m not being late on my first day!”

Katsuki groaned. “Stop dragging me like I work with you!”

“Kats, we're going to the same building— you know what, whatever!”

As soon as you were in the car and he slammed the passenger door shut, he turned toward you. Suspicious.

“What’s going on with you?”

You avoided his gaze, adjusting the mirrors even though they didn’t need adjusting.

“Nothing,” you said, a little too fast.

“You shit yourself when Mom said cameras.”

“I did not.”

“You literally choked.”

“I was eating.”

He stared. You gripped the steering wheel tighter, trying to stay cool. “It’s nothing, Kats. Trust me.”

“…Tch. You’re a terrible liar.”

You turned the key in the ignition and forced a smile. “And you’re late for school.”

He muttered something under his breath, but let it go—for now.

You pulled out of the driveway, heart still beating way too fast, a memory of warm breath and a hoarse voice from last night lingering in the back of your mind.

Nothing, Katsuki, you told yourself again.

Absolutely nothing.

-

“You excited?” 

“What, like it’s some kind of fun day out? It’s just school.”

“Yeah, but you know, it's UA. The place where you’re gonna be famous someday.”

“Please. I’m not here to make friends or win a popularity contest.”

“You say that but I know how much you’ve worked for this.”

“...Tch.”

“Just don’t blow up anything or anyone– on the first day.”

Pulling up to the school of heroes was an experience unlike any other. Towering buildings stretched upward, their sleek glass and steel facades shimmering in the morning light. Intricate arches framed the grand entrance, guarded by high walls that hummed with security measures. 

You parked temporarily where the students were being dropped off. 

He was already stepping foot outside the care, leaving, but you pulled his forearm.

“Kats, I've been your emergency contact since forever and that's never gonna change alright? I’m only a phone call away or a quick run in this case.” 

You chuckle, “Pinky swear you will!” 

He glanced back at you, eyes narrowing in that signature Katsuki way, but there was a flicker of something softer—maybe gratitude, or just acceptance.

He intertwined his own pinky finger with your own. Like always. 

“Don’t get all sappy on me, idiot.” he muttered, jerking his arm free but not too forcefully.

“I love you, Kats!” You call out as he shuts the door, then grin and roll down your window to annoy him. “I’m proud of youuuuu~”

A/N: hope yall are enjoying some siblings banter, i love them lol. would love to know your thoughts on the fic!!!

taglist: @rax-writes , @radlightfire , @pastelygrape @enyaaa2222 , @moonchild323232 , @ykyouluvme , @choubidoutriso , @ale-t13

[evenyvn]

— streamer! aventurine x supermodel spouse! reader

cw ;; gn reader, fluff, sfw, kinda househusband aventurine since he's already retired from his former job on ipc.

and happiest birthday to my beloved aventurine ♡

streamer aventurine! who streams for fun and got popular quickly due to his former job, and he streams regularly now since he got plenty of times.

streamer aventurine! who streams about video games (mostly gacha games) and probably reviewing fancy products that he got, such as watch, perfumes etc etc. honestly he do whatever he wanted to do and everyone seems to like it.

streamer aventurine! that got viral because his god luck on rolling for gacha games, literally got 3 5 stars on his first 10 pulls, always won 50/50 and soft pity at that, he did stream contents like "pulling on my viewers accounts" and always ended up with crazy luck on his rolls, literally his viewers crying that they finally broke their 50/50 losing streak thanks to aventurine.

streamer aventurine! that shocked everyone when you accidentally walked in one of his streams, but with only your body that have been seen, and he's adamant to keep your face hidden because he wanted to keep your pretty face all for himself. his viewers think that you kinda look familiar but aventurine just shrugs it off with a knowing smirk.

streamer aventurine! that will get teased by his viewers once they knew he's married to a very attractive person (you). they'll be saying something like "is your roommate single?" or other down bad comments just to get his reactions.

stellarjadehunter donated 100 credits! : roommate's face reveal when?

"excuse you? that's my spouse right there!" cue him looking at the camera with an offended look, your laughter can be heard from the other room making him pout.

another comment pointing out that you look like you could be a supermodel makes him giggles behind his hand, trying so hard not to burst out laughing.

after that whole things happened, now you seem to be appearing more on his streams (without showing your face still). sometimes you just sit somewhere off camera or sometimes stand beside him while holding a food and occasionally feeds him, his viewers think your actions are cute and he think it's endearing.

that's it until someone point out how aventurine's spouse looks a little bit too much like a certain famous supermodel, aventurine saw someone who did a whole research and analysis on this and post it on social media, he just laugh it off saying that they're being delulu.

"seriously guys, i saw someone making a whole thread about my spouse, believe me when i say they're just a normal person"

yea no one believes him, ouch.

veritasratio : they're already know, you cannot fool them anymore.

"shut up veritas"

now onto the part where his viewers catch a glimps of your face or hair, the whole community went crazy and the truth finally unfolds. aventurine's spouse is the crazy famous intergalactic supermodel.

aventurine's not happy with it but he's definitely going to brag about it everytime on the stream now. everyone is tired.

"well, I'm a husband of-"

topaznnumby donated 200 credits : "okay okay WE GET IT, your spouse is a SUPERMODEL"

now that your identity has revealed you're showing your face more on stream, even sometimes doing a cooking or baking stream together with your husband (it's honestly just you cooking while he just looks at you with a lovesick face the whole time).

streamer! aventurine who sometimes get on a friendly banter with your fans, literally just him saying that he's your biggest fan and more bragging. he's greatful that your fanbase is actually really chill because you yourself never tried to hide the fact that you're happily married on interviews.

streamer! aventurine who gets more popular, because half of his viewers are just your fanbase now lmao.

✦thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are very appreciated♡

[tavyliasin]

WizKids BG3 MiniFigure Quality

I posted this on a Bsky thread but figured Tumblr people may want to take a look too - there is a vast difference in the quality shown in the advertisements and main page for both the Icons of the Realm D&D minifigures set and the actual product images. The product images are also now on the shop page, and/or in the video review that is displayed on the shop page.

All product images shown here are available either in the images or videos on the shop page. The images and characters belong to the rights holders and are used here to illustrate the review and critique of the products. I do not work for WizKids, WotC, or any affiliated or rival companies. The following is personal opinion.

This is the official advert as seen on Facebook

And THIS is the actual product

More below the cut including other character images~

Ok so looking at just the Astarion image and actual model there, the promo image is really sharp, well painted, highly detailed. It looks to me like a high quality 3D print, but could also be a digitally created or edited image. The product image is very different. The jacket and lower legs are a different colour to each other and neither match the promo image. All detail in the hair is lost. There's very little face detail. The paint in general looks cheap and applied too thickly. Every part looks thicker.

I do not know for certain but if I were to guess, I'd say the actual product is a mass produced mould and pour in a cheaper plastic, not 3D printed. Which would be fine if they were advertising the product with the actual models, but they're showing a version that is vastly different.

Let's take a look at some more, shall we?

Wyll (Phyll) barely has any distinguishable facial features at all, and his horns appear to be uneven. Karlach's (Carlocked's) horns are barely visible from the black lump of her hair, and her axe is visibly warped and bent in the middle. Lae'zel (La'zzle) is stood in a battle stance and whilst some effort seems to have been put in to the markings on her skin and face, the same can't be said for her armour and her hands and hair look like blobs of plastic. Astarion (Astarion't) has the colour issues, and his hair completely lacks most of his classic texture, and most of his colours are inaccurate. Similarly Shadowheart (Shorterhurt) has barely any recognisable facial features and the paint on the hand holding her spear looks chipped even though this is supposedly the promotional photo. Gale's (Goyle's) staff is warped and lacks any defined shape to the blobs at each end, and generally is about as vaguely barely recognisable as the rest. Withers (WitheredAway) has some attention to detail but suffers all the same problems as the rest, undefined, not at all like the promised quality in the advert, and everything is just more blob-like than it should be even on a small scale miniature.

Here they are in their box! And the best box they could get to photograph shows Gale's staff bent at a significant angle. Now I'm not here to judge a wizard by the bend in his staff, but this isn't what's advertised even on the back of the box!

Come on, Gale, that's just sad...

You may notice that the back of the box advertises a line of blind booster boxes! Each of those comes with one Large size figure and 3 Small or Medium figure. Would you like to see the differences between the advertised images on the page and the products shown in the video on that same page?

I know the top image from the video does suffer from the lower resolution, but that drop in quality has nothing to do with the camera/screen. The hair lacks any texture, the mouth no longer has a defined tongue and teeth it's just a blob, the chainmail is far less detailed, all the points on the mace and armour are far less sharp and defined.

The skin colour has changed in this one, despite the red in the armour staying the same. The details have dropped right off, and the face and hair look like a completely different character.

I apologise for the crop in this one but still we have gone from Lump the Enlightened to Lumpier the NotEnlightenedActually - his skin is now green, lacks the fine detail of hair and wrinkles, even misses the skin tone variation and shading from the original. The face is far less defined, you can see clearly that the rope belt has gone from high detail to much more blob-like.

I'm not going to go through all of them, but there are precious few that look like a quality level I would consider to be worth the price point.

You can see the products here:

And here:

The product videos that the screenshots come from are on those pages too in the description part of the product.

Final notes:

This is all just my opinion, but I feel like the advertised images are not representative of the product that will be delivered. If you have preordered already and you feel like you no longer want to have these items, you can apply for a refund before the items are shipped - the standard shop email will tell you that it may take 2 working days (Mon-Fri) to get a response.

If you still like these items and want to order them, I'm genuinely happy for you and hope you enjoy them - there isn't enough official merch for us especially for certain characters.

In my opinion, however, these should be advertised only with the actual products and not the fancy looking prototypes.

And for those feeling disappointed, maybe a meme will help a little? (I don't usually like this template/theme at all but honestly this might be the one time it actually fits)

[themathomhouse]

I've been every bit as entertained by Musk running twitter into the ground as the rest of us (because hubris hasn't gotten less funny in the last few thousand years), but my boyfriend is getting more anxious about it by the day.

He works in indie games, and they had a meeting today at his studio about how much they rely on word-of-mouth for sales. Most of that has been people being directed to their game via reviews on twitter, posts on twitter, or summaries by game websites on twitter. Their new game comes out later this year, and watching twitter collapse in real time means they have no idea whether they'll still exist by next January.

In terms of getting new jobs for the staff, that also used to be done via twitter. He got invited to give a talk at a conference after a twitter thread, found his previous and current jobs there, made most of his professional connections there.

It's not great that much of the gaming infrastructure was on twitter, but it was. There's not time to build a new one quickly enough for them, and they can't compete with the marketing for triple-A games.

I don't really know what the solution is. All kinds of journalism are nearly dead too, but maybe if people go back to browsing video game review sites they might get lucky idk.

He left triple-A games for this studio. Hopefully indie studios can weather the storm.

[alltimecharlo]

hi!! would you be willing to write any more alpha will / omega mack?? i love all of your omegaverse fics, but reallly loved that one you wrote!

yes of course!! leaning into mack’s brattiness here lol, it’s on my mind after that video with his awards! alpha will’s the only one who can control it ;)🩵

The thing about Mack is—he’s not a bad omega.

He’s just bratty as hell.

Will figures it out about two weeks after they room together for prospect camp. They’re both rookies, new to the league, new to the Sharks, shoved into a hotel room and just enough space to barely tolerate each other.

Except Will does tolerate Mack. He likes him, even.

But Mack? Mack is a menace.

He slams cabinets when he’s annoyed. Picks fights at practice when drills run too long. Huffs and glares when people get in his space—and he’s mouthy, which is the worst part. He’s got this look, all narrowed eyes and defiant chin, and Will swears he only uses it when he knows it’ll get a rise out of him.

Which. Fine.

Will doesn’t mind the attitude.

He minds when Mack aims it at him.

Like now.

“You ate my protein bars,” Mack says, standing in the room in an old pair of sweats and a hoodie that may or may not be Will’s. His scent is high and sour with irritation.

Will, halfway through his third one, shrugs. “They were in our cupboard.”

“They were mine.”

Will lifts a brow. “You wanna fight about it?”

Mack steps closer. He’s small—smaller than Will, but he squares his shoulders like he isn’t. “Maybe I do.”

Will stares at him, chewing slowly. He can feel Mack’s brattiness bubbling, just below the surface. The way he’s scenting sharp and pissy. The way his cheeks are flushed, pupils a little wide.

This isn’t really about protein bars. It’s about whatever stressball is wound tight inside Mack’s chest today. Practice. Media. Coach snapping at him during film review.

Mack’s always been like this—louder when he’s overwhelmed, pricklier when he needs comfort.

Most alphas don’t get it.

Will does.

He tosses the wrapper, wipes his fingers on his sweatpants, and says, calm and even, “You gonna keep acting like this, little omega?”

Mack’s mouth drops open. “Don’t call me that.”

Will tilts his head. “Why not?”

“You know why,” Mack snaps.

Will steps forward. “No, I don’t think I do. Want to tell me, sweetheart?”

Mack makes a strangled noise. His scent spikes—clove and heat, heady and angry and deeply flustered.

Will smiles. “You’re being real loud for someone who’s one whiff away from being sweet again.”

“Fuck off,” Mack hisses.

And that’s when Will moves.

Not fast. Not aggressive.

Just close.

He crowds into Mack’s space until the kitchen counter is at Mack’s back and Will’s chest is at his front, and they’re breathing the same air. Mack bristles, stubborn as ever—but his bottom lip trembles, just for a second, and his scent shifts—still sharp, still bratty, but threaded now with need.

Will leans down, brushes the bridge of his nose along Mack’s jaw. Not touching anywhere else.

Just scent.

Just enough to remind Mack who he’s dealing with.

“You done yet?” Will murmurs.

Mack doesn’t answer.

So Will goes for the kill.

He presses his scent gland directly against Mack’s cheek, jaw flexed, breath warm, and lets out a slow exhale of pheromones—grounding, dominant, alpha.

Mack melts.

Not instantly—he fights it, of course he does—but Will’s scent hits him hard. Mack’s eyes flutter closed, his fists clench in Will’s hoodie, and his knees wobble just the tiniest bit.

“There it is,” Will whispers, amused.

Mack breathes in again, slower this time. His whole body softens. His scent quiets, rolling over into calm-spicy and pliant, like a switch flipped.

Will grins against his skin. “You gonna behave now, baby?”

Mack growls. It’s pathetic. Muffled. Half-hearted. “You’re such a smug asshole.”

Will noses into his hair. “You love it.”

Mack doesn’t respond.

Because his face is now pressed directly against Will’s neck, mouth just shy of the alpha scent gland, breathing deep like he needs it to survive. Which, honestly—he kind of does. Will’s scent has always worked on him like nothing else. The only one who can short-circuit Mack’s tantrums. The only one who can make him feel safe and settled and seen without saying much at all.

Will strokes a hand down Mack’s spine. “That’s better.”

Mack mumbles something into his hoodie.

“What was that?” Will teases.

“I said,” Mack lifts his head enough to glare weakly, “you’re so fuckin’ full of yourself.”

Will smirks. “You say that like you didn’t just bury your face in my neck like a little heat-drunk pup.”

Mack scowls. “Don’t call me—”

“Little omega,” Will says again, low and warm.

Mack swats at him, scent blooming with flustered heat, and Will catches his wrist easily, kisses the inside of it.

“You’re impossible,” Mack mutters.

“You love it,” Will says again, even softer.

Mack looks at him for a long moment. “Yeah,” he says eventually. Quiet. Honest.

Will’s grin softens into something real. “Yeah,” he echoes, nuzzling close again. “I know.”

They stay like that for a while—Mack tucked into Will’s chest, scent mellow, the tension long gone.

And later, when they’re curled up on the couch and Will starts nosing into Mack’s hair again just to watch him blush and whine—

Mack only complains a little.

♡

[goldenhickeyss]

Let me vent a bit here, hope you don’t mind...

Something’s been bothering me daily on X (formerly Twitter) and I’m honestly getting super frustrated.

I don’t know if it’s because people keep reporting me as “toxic” or whatever and now my posts are constantly under review, so X just makes me invisible.

I don’t know if it’s because I don’t play by X’s weird algorithm rules — where it feels like the less you post, the more engagement you get (???)

I don’t know if I’m just flopping, but I doubt it, because I literally see my post ideas copied here and there

It is SO frustrating to see how little engagement I’ve been getting lately — even on threads I’ve poured my heart and soul into — while other moots take the same idea, same pics/videos and get double or triple likes.

Like. For real. It’s exhausting.

And yeah, I should say something like “I’m not here for the recognition” or “I don’t care about the numbers”… But let’s be real — when you write your beautiful posts here, filled with thoughts, feelings, and creativity — you do want people to read them. You do want to spark something in others. You do want to build a community. And yeah, you do want your creations to be appreciated.

Same here.

I stopped writing long posts here for a while because I felt like I didn’t have enough command of the english language to express what I felt for Koomi in a beautiful way… so instead I focused on searching for patterns, old posts, and sharing special or even forgotten moments. I think that’s been my best contribution to our little corner of the internet — both here and on X.

But honestly, it sucks seeing how I had more engagement a year ago than I do now. Like, all that work just getting buried… Meanwhile, some semi-toxic accounts out there are raking in 10k likes on the daily.

Anyway. Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

Just needed to let it out.💜

[kikovanitysimmer]

in this video, i invite you beauties into my creative process & show you all how i create alpha hairs for the sims 4.

𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨

(warm up & prep)

guided meditation & breath work for artists (spiritual): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TgyHpWADxTUhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=phskp62LPVc

how to draw shadows and create form: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FIC26ZM0eYQ&t=1s

how to navigate blender: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tH46sGwAFfo

how to use Sims 4 Studio: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXyCj-QtYgE

how to create recolors in Sims 4 : https://sims4studio.com/thread/397/create-standalone-recolor-custom-content

necessities

drawing pad: https://www.amazon.com/shop/kikovanitysimmer

hair brushes:

other 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙘𝙚𝙨

general art videos: https://www.youtube.com/@emhuesart

how to use a drawing tablet: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sb8FtNJOGS4

inspo : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02i3ICQOd8o&t=82s

more inspo: https://www.youtube.com/@pateseich

ART HISTORY:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t6Wc7OMks4U

thank you for watching and good luck!

download the hair I created in the video: 🌸

download sims hair creation essentials: 🌸

[puckpocketed]

Van!! since the postseason is slowly approaching its own end i've been wanting to get more into hockey analysis as this is my first full season as a fan and i still have a lot to learn about the game itself. Idk where to start but i feel like out of my mutuals you know a good bit about that stuff so I was wondering if you have any resources you could point me to? books or youtubers etc

Mei rubberpuckies... <3 Can't say I've got every answer but here are some of the places I visit:

Probably the easiest way to start learning is to have the game in motion in front of you and have someone explain it, video content hits that perfectly!

This video covers player roles. Good way to start understanding how each role fits into a 5-person unit. Content meant for new hockey players or players who are young/transitioning into a new role, and no game footage but the colour coded diagrams and explanation was very useful to me!

This guy also makes content meant for hockey players and doesn't post much, but he covers broader tactical concepts (and uses woho clips, which is so cool!). His videos are very digestible!! Short, have diagrams and bullet point slides... just great introductions to stuff like d-zone coverage and forechecking concepts.

Steve Peters used to work with the Coyotes and now runs Inside the Coaches Room. You might've seen some short clips of his content floating around on twt, he breaks down clips from current/recently played games so they're very relevant!! He's doing playoffs content now. I like his hockey for beginners video a lot as a catch-all primer for NHL ice hockey (I have linked the playoffs edition, it's a very good watch)

Hockey Psychology does some scattered tactical breakdowns of games, most recently FLA @ TOR Game 7. Not a huge fan of their clickbait style video titles or thumbnails but hey, whatever gets them noticed!

Simon St-Laurent does video reviews on the big names amongst draft eligible players. He comes to his own conclusions about the players in isolation of the broader game so you kinda have to take that as you will... I think, like everyone who watches a sport for long enough, scouts and prospect writers have their very specific beliefs about how the game should be played and it shows in the way they evaluate players. I like St-Laurent because he has a coherent, consistent framework that he pulls from. Maybe we won't agree all the time, but at least I can kinda understand how he arrives at his opinions.

In the same vein, Elite Prospects run a channel and like to get various writers to make short scouting videos on players. With the multitude of voices your mileage may vary, but I've enjoyed their work!

Kyle MacLennan on twt/x posts short clips of recent games and tends to highlight one aspect that he noticed. I have this man on notifications I'll be honest!! Clips come with no voice over explanation but lots of annotations and freeze frames. His stuff is the most bite-sized, 1-2min clips of games with a short blurb - wish I could be as concise as him <3 his most recent thread highlights FLA's tight checking in Game 7.

Further reading is... idk I don't want to be that guy because I also just got here but it's frustrating how so much high quality content and hockey knowledge is locked behind paywalls. I believe in my heart all writers should be paid for their work. I also know there is an appetite for deeper hockey analysis out there that could grow the game if only they'd let it </3 MAN!!!

I spend real actual dollars on Jack Han's Hockey Tactics books, which he releases every year part way through the season after watching every NHL team play. There are pictures and explanations of how each team runs their system, and this year's edition has an end section with anecdotes from industry people which I loved digging through. You don't have to buy it but if you find that you're really interested in the analysis side of things it's an incredible resource!! He's also on twt/x where he comments on the game and occasionally does little video review, and runs a paid Substack with the occasional free article <- this one I can't afford but ouggghhh when I get more disposable income.......

Beyond general analysis, there are so many blogs and writers that do cover specific hockey teams I don't think I could name them all if I tried. If you go looking for that sorta thing there'll always be some nerd out there obsessively watching tape and writing about it (and sometimes it's Sheng Peng <3)

Love and light but this is getting really long and I don't want to overwhelm you. You aren't the first person to ask about resources and I've been meaning to do a roundup of publications/channels I like to dig through so thank you for dropping by and prompting me!!