#idk man I never once in my life felt like I was being censored

[alistairian]

Stating the obvious here but I think internet-era people should learn that you probably shouldn't expect that you can talk to everybody the same way you talk with friends and family.

Like the people I'm close with, for the most part, know my intentions and know my politics. I can be blunt and clunky with my words and I'm pretty confident that they know what I'm trying to communicate. I can poke fun my partner's gender or at my dad's bad english because those people know I love and support them.

If I were to make those same comments to a colleague or coworker, however, I think they would be completely justified in thinking I'm an asshole.

When someone keeps saying faggot in a derogatory way and HE doesn't know I'M gay and I don't know HE'S gay, that makes for an incredibly uncomfortable exchange where we both end up pissing each other off. If someone keeps saying retarded and I don't know that they were raised alongside a disabled sibling then I'm just going to think they're an ableist piece of shit, and I'm not going to ask for a detailed background before doing so.

Like "political correctness" isn't about someone busting down your front door and cuffing you for saying the wrong words in your own home. If anything it's about ensuring everyone's on the same page and no ones being needlessly hurt or being unintentionally advocated against, expecially in the case of public discourse in front of an audience. Someone ranting online about the dynamics at play in their friend's immigrant family can be easily read as racist, and those comments can even encourage racism, even if they're both the same race or both come from immigrant families. If that's not what you're trying to communicate you need to be able to... communicate that. Especially if you're posting online where anybody from any walk of life can interpret your words in any number of ways and won't be asking for clarification.

There's basically always been people moaning about PC culture and how they can't say anything nowadays and how people are so quick to "cancel" anyone for anything now. Like no shit if the first thing I hear someone say is some tasteless transphobic joke my entire perception of that person is that they're a transphobe! I'm not going to give that person the benefit of the doubt or expect them to provide a lengthy nuanced take of their "actual" politics and feelings before I decide if they suck or not. Now if that same person was telling the joke to their close trans friends who knew they were an ally/also queer/a big fan of satire and irony then that's a totally different story. And if those friends are still offended then they're already in a position to have a discussion about it. You can't expect that level of understanding or patience from randos on the internet or aquaintences and work buddies.

[karinarro]

Hey hey, I saw your tweets about mgs fans who have proship DNI in their profiles being absolute morons and hypocrites and I just want to say THANK YOU because I feel like I’m losing brain cells over having to wade through so much bullshit in the metal gear fandom of all things. We might have a different focus on what blorbos we have (I’m more on the mgr side of the fandom but love the entire franchise) but I just wanted to send a big 🤝🤝🤝🤝🤝 because booooy does it feel lonely here sometimes.

It’s especially funny because when you think about it, the biggest proshipper in the metal gear fandom would be Kojima himself. Idk how people get into mgs and have never looked up the big words they put in their mouths even once. Like how can someone live like that, getting into a series that is supposed to make you THINK about what happens and how it’s a reflection of real world issues, and then turn around and parrot some right wing rhetorics repackaged as fandom “activism” 24/7, inherently contradicting that you even understood what these games were about despite claiming so otherwise.

It’s so… brainless and boring and as someone who loves to discuss the complexity of this franchise (and things in general), I am glad to come across a likeminded person in this fandom.

Like man I felt like I’m getting to old for this, I got into mgs before anti ship as we have it now was even a thing in the internet. But seeing that you’re about a decade younger than me and get that all of this stuff is horseshit, I feel like I am not losing hope 😅😅

I hope you’re having a great day :]

Also I love your art 🫶

Hey there!! Thanks so much for the kind message, I mean it 🥹🫶 I love MGR too!! I was so obsessed w it as a kid. I had my Raiden phase too~ (Still kinda am! That game awakened my love of mecha.) This is my first time dipping my toes into the MGS fandom. Coming from someone who usually lurks in smaller fan spaces, and said fan spaces are largely pro-fic, I really didn't expect the onslaught of antis interacting w my art hahaha! I was ripping my hair out vetting new followers that came into my twitter. Metal gear is a game filled with so much political commentary, I think I expected... more critical thinking y'know? The fans you mentioned are probably just as bad as the fanboys who think whatever went between BB and ocelot is just a 'russian taunt' I agree w/ what you said Kojima being profic LOL The man hated to have his life's work censored. To him, games aren't only a medium for his stories, but it's also a way to express his opinions & ideas. MGS in particular, it's about war. How war affects regular people, the devastation it brings them. How the fuckheads behind it are orchestrating it, taking advantage of the military industrial complex (To quote Kaz, "And war will become a business...") I'm again reminded of that analysis you rb'd from me: "Peace is only possible in the case of war criminals when they’ve been buried." I can't fathom how so many people missed that message in MGSV. As you said, it seems like people are fucking blind to the fact that their faves are bad people. They are war criminals! Some people in fandom acting like they are above it all, saying 'proshitter dni' and repeating fascist talking points is just so... I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Because you are either that dense, or media illiterate or emotionally unintelligent or... something ! Most that I've seen so far who do this are teenagers, which okay. They are still figuring things out, I can excuse them a little bit. But there are adults over 20 who do this too and I'm just... wow. You know? To stand for Antis is to stand for censorship in fiction. And that goes against everything that Kojima believes. Haha dw there are people my age who aren't this stupid! I've been hanging out in more profic spaces and they're out there. You're not alone friend!! I hope you have a nice day too :] Lmk if you wanna be mutuals on twitter! 🌻

[biconicfinn]

Sam/T'Challa Headcanons

just some general headcanons for my faves <3

i dont remember much of the mcu timelines anymore but whatever have this post okay thank you

i'm thinking maybe they get together post-ca:cw, t'challa helps shelter steve, bucky, sam, clint, scott, and wanda in wakanda for a while so they can recover

obvs bucky goes into cryo and then i'm thinking maybe clint takes wanda under his wing and goes on the run, maybe scott joins them too idk i didn't spend too much time thinking about it

so it's just steve, sam, and cryo bucky

steve spends most of his time talking to bucky and moping and being generally Emo but eventually starts going stir-crazy so he turns his usual captain america suit into the nomad one, and heads off to go be a vigilante fugitive

meanwhile sam decides to stay in wakanda; he hasn't had a chance to just be in a long, long time, not since captain america first knocked on his door asking for a safe place. he stays in a small little apartment in the capital city, kinda near the palace so people can still keep an eye on him

over several weeks sam establishes a routine: wake up, go for a run around the neighbourhood (cutting through the public gardens at the palace), come back home and work out, shower, eat breakfast, go out on a patrol with the border tribe around the area, explore the city and practice xhosa along the way, check in with sarah, lunch, check in with steve and bucky, read, sleep, repeat.

he finds a purpose in the help he gives his neighbours, helping the older lady next door with errands at the market, telling the kids stories about what it feels like to fly with your own wings, joining the border tribe on their patrols around the city

occasionally he runs into the generous (and gorgeous) king who gracefully allows him to stay in wakanda in peace while running through the palace gardens

t'challa rises with the sun and often runs in the morning to get at least some form of training in; crucial on days where he's stuck in meetings

sometimes the two run into each other—once literally, and okoye never lets t'challa hear the end of how he was so very flustered by sam wilson taking off his shirt to cool off and the sight of him all hot and sweaty and half-naked made him freeze and run right into said man—and sam has to come to terms with the fact that getting lapped by superhuman attractive men (though he personally prefers t'challa over steve) is just his life now

typically sam opens their conversation with a cat pun that makes t'challa fight back a smile and respond with something so dry and deadpan, couched in the characteristic diplomatic quality he uses it takes sam a minute to reply and react

but when sam does understand, t'challa is met with a charming half-smirk half-smile that makes his heart trip and he relies on all his diplomatic training to remain neutral or at the most amused at sam's comments

the conversations grow slowly, from casual one-liners and sarcastic quips to sam's stories of riley and sarah and his community back in delacroix, and t'challa's anecdotes about growing up in wakanda

soon enough, what starts off as a brief conversation during a part of their respective runs becomes a standing daily routine run together, the two becoming fast friends, admiring one another's loyalty, dedication, honesty, and determination

of course, because sam and t'challa are sam and t'challa, the platonic friendship with a side of appreciative attraction slowly becomes a crush

and it's not just the funny stories and misadventures they share with one another, but the sleepless nights and trauma and grief and healing too

sam couldn't sleep one night and went for a walk in the gardens he ran into an equally sleepless t'challa and so began yet another routine for them; to sit in the gardens at a clearing where the stars were bright and plentiful and visible, so vast that sam felt an ache in his bones to be up there, to be in the skies along the stars, and he realised that if there was anyone he wanted to be up there with him, it was the man sitting next to him in quiet contemplation, shoulders slumped slightly, expression handsomely brooding; the man behind the mantles of king and black panther

t'challa found himself wandering towards the gardens on those nights he couldn't sleep, when the weight of the crown and his legacy and the nation weighed so heavily on him that he felt he would crumble under it, he sought out the clearing in the garden, and more importantly, the man with his soul in the skies, his heart wherever he could help people

some nights were quiet for the most part, a brief check-in with one another before just simply taking comfort in one another's company. others were filled with conversation, those deep talks you only feel safe having in the dead of night, when the only thing awake and alive is nature, when every word is just that much more honest and real

losing parents and partners, the responsibilities of leadership, recovery and healing; just some of the things the two talk about when they can be just them, no titles or nationalities or protocol there to censor them

over morning runs and late-night conversations, sharing music and food and language and culture, and impromptu excursions to the city or beyond they grow close and find that their feelings are getting more and more difficult to ignore, both wanting more than just a friendship

it's not during a morning run or nighttime confession that they admit their feelings, but over a shared lunch together

they're eating a simple picnic lunch near the warrior falls where t'challa will soon undergo the first part of his coronation ritual and offer the people of wakanda to send a representative to fight him in ritual combat for the throne

the view of the falls is spectacular, and sam's wide-eyed face of awe and wonder, bright smile shining with all the warmth of the sun makes t'challa feel like he could take on the entire country in ritual combat and come out the other side victorious if sam continues to smile at him like that and if they had more time then they would probably go for a swim, but they don't so here they are, alone at the falls, the rush of water and the sounds of the river fauna their only company

they're laying on a blanket on the grass, watching the clouds, and sam feels just as at peace on the ground with t'challa next to him then he's ever felt with his wings in the skies

during a discussion about the coronation where t'challa answers the questions sam asks him. the subject turns to his duties as king, and sam asks about whether t'challa is expected to marry a woman in order to produce heirs for the throne. he knows wakanda doesn't discriminate against people for sexuality or gender identity, but the duties of a king are to ensure the legacy of the royal bloodline is preserved isn't it?

t'challa laughs, and says that while the royal bloodline is important, there is no restriction on who the king (or queen) marries, as long as they would be able to connect with the people, serve and help the people of wakanda the way any good ruler should

"so what i'm hearing is all's fair in love and war"

"i guess you could say that"

"so if gender and sexuality don't matter; does nationality?"

"perhaps in the past yes, but i feel wakanda is changing, and that it will not be such a concern moving forward"

"even if the king were to be with, say, a fugitive american ex-pararescue-slash-ex-avenger?"

t'challa turns to face sam, heart caught in his throat as he processes just what sam said, takes in the hopeful and tentative look in his eyes masked by a slightly wavering tone of jest and hunour, as he shifts to mirror him.

the moment stretches out for what feels like an eternity before t'challa can respond

"for you, my falcon, i think we can make an exception"

their lips meet, the two smiling too much for the kiss to be anything other than as sweet and warm as honey and sunshine, and sam wraps his arms around t'challa, bringing the king on top of him, and two exchange soft kisses and softer words until t'challa gets called away, promising to meet later not just for their near-nightly rendezvous, but for dinner in t'challa's private quarters

okay so that's all for now! i kinda hate how this turned out but whatever it's done!! taglist under the cut! if anyone didn't want to be added i'm sorry just let me know and i'll delete!

@sambuckies @thewondrouspickle @tchalcons @like-butterflies-and-glitter @shadowyenthusiaststudentus @vodka-infused-unicorn @cassleia @finger-lickin-fuckboy @twisterss

[alolowrites]

Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth!

Summary: Bakugou hates sweets. You don’t think this is true and begin a mission to discover his favorite candy. After all, you are the brilliant Candy Master who won’t stop until Bakugou’s sweet tooth is satisfied.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m so glad I was finally able to write a full fic for Bakugou; it’s been so long. Originally, this was supposed to be for the bingo event, but had trouble fleshing out the story’s direction. I really wanted to write this story since the plot was hilarious to me, idk why. 

Please enjoy!

10.30.21 UPDATE: HI!!!!! I went back and edited the heck out of this baby since it’s my favorite Bakugou story I’ve written. I hope it is now decent lmao. Happy Halloween!! 

Word Count: 2.4K+

“Katsuki, what is the meaning of all this?!”

“The hell are you talkin’ bout?”

“This!” 

You marched with purpose and plopped down on the couch where he sat. Bakugou remained unfazed, clicking on the remote control. He mindlessly surfed through the channels with an attention span of an HR recruiter combing through a mountain pile of resumes. Stupid sitcoms, fake ass “reality” tv shows, QVC advertising their products like it's Black Friday all day, every day. Bakugou frowned—why does he pay so much for these useless channels? 

His eyes teared away from the screen as the phone waved frantically on his left. 

You huffed. “According to Maximus Heroes, you—and I quote—‘bleeping hate sweets!’”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Damn idiots censored my words.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?”

“That you hate sweets!” 

You viciously smacked a pillow at him, ignoring his yells. Bakugou snatched the weapon with a growl. For a soft pillow, it felt like a firm foam roller. You stood up and paced around, arms flailing in the air. 

“How can my boyfriend say such a thing?!” You pointed at your signature black top hat. “Do you know who I am? I’m the lovable Candy Master, CEO of the Candy Basket Factory!” 

Bakugou shrugged. “So?”

“So, you can’t say you hate sweets!” You gripped your chest, sniffling a bit. “I feel as though I’ve been betrayed.”

“Would you sit your ass down?” 

Bakugou tossed the pillow at you and crossed his arm; he was too tired to deal with this nonsense. Somehow the QVC channel looked more appealing now. You begrudgingly plopped on the couch, a small pout growing on your face. Bakugou snuck a glance and sighed, tossing the remote aside. 

“Are you seriously so upset about this?” Instant regret flooded through his mind as he remembered that ridiculous day. “It was a freakin’ answer to a stupid question in a stupid celebrity article.” 

“…maybe…”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. You took off your signature hat and examined it; the hat was firm yet soft and had three peppermint candies artistically attached like a beautiful brooch. You moped silently for an eternity until an exciting idea rushed into your mind. Bakugou jumped as you squealed, his mouth ready for snarl, but you beat him to the punch. 

“I got it!” Two hands eagerly cupped his sharp cheeks, your whimsical eyes meeting his feral ones. They did nothing to damper your beaming smile. “You don’t hate sweets; you just haven’t found your favorite candy!”

Bakugou grabbed your wrist yet didn’t pull them away. Another giggle rang throughout the living room as you shot up from the sofa. A specific look crossed your face—one that both irked and frightened Bakugou to no end; he was through dealing with your shenanigans. 

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, the answer is no!”

“Too late! The mind is churning,” you piped, taking a cheerful step toward the doorway. Spinning on your heel, you gave a hat tip to Bakugou and declared, “I won’t rest until that sweet tooth of yours is satisfied!” 

Yup, it was too late. Bakugou had no choice but to go along with this dumb idea. Closing his eyes, he slammed a pillow over his face and screamed.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Ground Zero’s hero agency was buzzing with life. Phones rang off the hook, yet all were answered to avoid the voicemail machine. Interns carried endless stacks of papers, their dying arms begging for relief and fingers stinging from brutal paper cuts. The afternoon shift sidekicks clocked in their arrival while the morning ones yawned out the door.

Everything ran like a well-oiled machine, just how Bakugou liked it. He took great pride in this, hiring only the best and brightest. However, none of them held a candle against him—the number two pro hero. Unfortunately, being a prominent hero brought lots of reports he needed to sign.

And he was not excited about this.

“Um, sir?”

“Damnit, Small Head,” Bakugou growled, halting his pen’s movement. Fiery eyes glared at the man peeking around the ajar door. “If you bring me another paper to sign, I will stab this pen in your damn eye!”

“I-I assure you that I bring no reports, sir!” Kioshi, Bakugou’s personal assistant, waddled inside the office, fixing the tie that was strangling his neck. He slid a peculiar package toward his boss and bowed his head. “You have a special delivery from the Candy Master.”  

Bakugou scrunched his eyebrows. On his desk was a white box with an orange ribbon wrapped neatly in the upper left corner. A tiny card sat underneath it, and with closer inspection, had his first name written across in gold letters. Bakugou shooed Kioshi away, waiting to hear the door close to ensure absolute privacy.

At first, Bakugou had a mini stare-down with the gift. When it didn’t burst into flames, he sucked his breath and snatched the card. Bakugou turned it around to read the following message:

Everyone knows you got a sour attitude, but only I get to see that sweet side of yours. Figured these treats might do the trick. I made them just for you!

Enjoy,

C.M

P.S. These are an ~exclusive~ batch from my top-secret collection! So hush-hush!

Bakugou snorted at your writing, tossing the card aside and opening the box. His eyes narrowed at the vibrant gumdrops nestled above the black tissue paper. White sugar lightly coated the green and orange candies, each twinkling under the natural light that shined through his large window. A smirk curled on his lips; the whole package reflected his hero costume.

“Let’s see how good these are.”

Bakugou ate the green gumdrop. It was chewy and sour, the lime flavor making him twitch a bit. The sweetness kicked in ten seconds later. Bakugou tried the orange gumdrop next, and the acid was strong too but enjoyable. He soon devoured the entire box in one sitting.

Once that was done, he marched out of the office to start his daily patrol. It didn’t take long for a stupid thug to cross his path. Bakugou slammed him against the concrete wall, hauling him up with just one hand. The man trembled in fear but stopped squirming and cocked his head to the side, dumbfounded. 

Bakugou growled. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Your tongue...it got weird colors, man.”

“Eh? The fuck are you talking ‘bout?” 

Bakugou peeked at his reflection on the store’s window. He recoiled when he saw the horrible swirls of green and orange covering his tongue. A vicious scowl crossed Bakugou’s face, his iron grip tightening around the thug’s collar. The guy’s high-pitched yelps fell on deaf ears. 

“Fuckin’ gumdrops!”

They were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“I don’t want it.”

“But, sir, the gift—”

“I know who it’s from, and I’m telling you no.”

“Sir,” Kioshi gripped the massive, cherry red treat in his hand. A black ribbon with long strings almost reached the floor. The assistant sighed. “It’s just a lollipop.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ baby to ya?” Bakugou crossed his arms, refusing to budge on his childish decision. The irony made Kioshi roll his eyes mentally. “Give it away or something. Now get out.”

“Yes, sir…”

Lollipops were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Another day, another gift Bakugou received from you.

They came sporadically and kept the hero on his toes. He never understood why you sent the gifts directly to his office; you both lived in the same apartment for crying out loud! Worst of all, he could never get a single hint on what candy he would receive next. Every time he asked—or more accurately, demanded—you shot him a coy smile and purred, “Ah, ah, ah! It’s a surprise!”

Bakugou wanted to rip his eyeballs out.

However, he reluctantly played along with your stupid game. Whenever Kioshi entered his office, Bakugou masked his slight interest with the usual scowl. If the assistant didn’t bring candy, then Bakugou blamed him for interrupting his private time. The anger was worse if Kioshi brought more reports for him to sign.

Kioshi was thankful for the days when a new candy gift arrived.

Unfortunately, the last three gifts were complete failures. The first was the strawberry licorice, which dangled in Bakugou’s hand. He took a few bites and complained that he was eating a rubber wheel. Next was a bag of colorful gummy worms. Bakugou shoved a couple in his mouth and swore he felt one of them move on its own. Finally, there was the lemon green jawbreaker; it was the size of a baseball. One look and Bakugou shouted over the phone: “You tryna give me dentures?!”

All three candies were crossed off the list. Still, you didn’t give up and sent another gift to Bakugou. He read the simple message on the card:

Chew and blow to your heart’s content, babe!

Love,

C.M

P.S. I promise this won’t change the color on your tongue, haha!

Bakugou opened the sleek, rectangular box and found a bubble gum packet inside; there were three thin pieces. He slipped one in his mouth, surprisingly pleased with the bold raspberry flavor hitting his taste buds. Bakugou skimmed the card again and did as instructed—he chewed.

Typically, an ordinary bubble gum would lose its flavor after five minutes. But the flavor in your gum only got juicier; it encouraged Bakugou to continue chewing. He then blew a tiny bubble before popping it in his mouth. Not bad, he thought as another bubble expanded in front of him. His chews became more aggressive, and the bubbles more prominent than the previous ones. Stupidly, he puffed out a massive bubble, and it grew…

…and grew…and grew until there was a loud pop.

Bakugou’s roars shook the entire building, spilling cold tea all over Kioshi’s shirt. 

Bubble gum was crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Everything was going well down at the Candy Basket Factory. People lined up outside for the magical tours that ran every hour. Kids bounced off the walls as if they were on a sugar rush while their parents felt a migraine pounding on their heads. Inside the factory, the ceilings were high, and the walls were vibrant like the sun. Laughter rang from every corner as employees chit-chatted about their daily lives; they were relaxed yet efficiently worked to the same drumbeat.

A soft smile crept on your face. You were glad everyone was happy; it was the driving force behind your factory’s joyful spirit. Eventually, that spirit would leave these doors and touch billions of people’s hearts with your precious candies.

Just as you closed your eyes, someone barged into your office and barked your name. You chuckled, spinning the leather chair around to meet a furious Bakugou. His nostrils flared like a bull, and his menacing eyes looked ready to kill. However, the gum’s blobs stuck on his porcupine blonde hair squashed the pro hero’s intimidating aura.

“You—”

“—I’m so sorry, boss!” Nozomi panted into the room, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s quite alright, Zomi!” You chirped without breaking Bakugou’s intense eye contact. “I can handle him. Please let everyone know I’ll be busy with an important meeting.”

Nozomi bowed and closed the door behind her. Bakugou wasted no time complaining, his hands slamming on your desk. 

“Quit sending me your cavity-infested garbage! I’ve had it with this fuckin’ game.”

“Oh, come on, babe!” You rolled forward and rested your chin on your gloved hand palm. “Can’t I just send my dashing boyfriend some sweet gifts? Get it!” You jokingly slapped his forearm. “Because candies are sweet? Man, I crack myself up at times…”

“You’re insufferable.”  

You winked at him. “But that’s what you love about me!”

Bakugou gritted his teeth and looked away. A light blush tainted his cheeks; he hated how right you were. You walked around the desk and stood beside him, wiping off the fairy sugar dust on his shirt. He probably barged through the sample stand near the entrance, scaring off the poor intern. 

“Alright, alright.” You gave a gentle pat. “Sorry for going a little overboard with the gifts. I was just excited about finding your favorite candy! I don’t want you hating them.”

Bakugou’s anger subsided. “Why is this so damn important to you?”

“Because I love spreading endless joy through sweets.” 

The answer was simple and innocent. Bakugou blinked and was taken aback by the gentleness in your eyes. 

“Candy makes everyone happy,” you chirped. “Knowing someone’s favorite candy helps me bring their smile back whenever they’re upset or lost. Can’t have the world be all mopey now, can we?”

Your fingers hovered above Bakugou’s head. The gum moved under your command and floated in the air. You flicked it into the trash bin with ease, and Bakugou murmured a quick ‘thanks’ under his breath. After ruffling his hair, you suddenly remembered something sitting on your shelf. Bakugou stared at the small pyramid of chocolate truffles coming toward him.

“I made these babies a few minutes ago,” you said, eying the plate with a proud grin. “Normally, I do a taste test and then send the gift if it satisfies my expectations. But, I got a feeling you’ll love them.”  

Bakugou’s face was unreadable. You gave him a gentle nudge and encouraged him to take one. He sighed before picking a chocolate truffle; it was warm and soft, the cocoa powder dusting his fingertips. After suspiciously staring at the truffle, he ate the entire thing in one go. His eyes widened as all the flavors exploded at once. The crushed red pepper flakes, the hints of rich cinnamon and orange zest, and the bittersweet dark chocolate made from the finest quality found on Earth all danced perfectly together with every bite. 

“So…” You placed the plate on the desk, watching Bakugou swallow the truffle down. “What do you think? Give me your honest opinion! Don’t sugarcoat it, haha! I’m on fire today!”

Bakugou turned away. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” You hugged his bicep with a pout. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Just tell me if you liked the chocolate truffles.”  

“They’re good.”

Your smile grew. “Good enough to be your favorite?”

“Sure,” he smirked, shoving another truffle into his mouth. You cheered on the spot after weeks of constant failures. Of course, some of the complaints were nonsense which didn’t surprise you. Bakugou was a picky bastard; the lollipop fiasco served as a great example. You were glad he thoroughly enjoyed the chocolate truffles.

Before you walked away, Bakugou pulled you close to him and crushed his lips on yours. He caught you off guard, but the surprise was certainly welcomed. You soon melted into the kiss after tasting the rich dark chocolate and spices on his lips. Bakugou’s arms snaked around your waist as your hands gripped his broad shoulders.

“You know,” Bakugou’s hot breath tickled your right ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I think I got a new favorite candy.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, a coy smile plastered on your face. 

“Let’s hope it satisfies your sweet tooth then, Ground Zero.”

“Oh, it will.”

After all, you were the one and only Candy Master.

As always, thanks for reading!

10.18.20 UPDATE: Story’s sequel, Gold Coins and a Gold Heart now uploaded. 

[buccigang-headcanons]

La Squadra Backstories!!!! Stream of consciousnesss style!

So literally I just sat down and wrote down exactly what I thought. I have not edited these at all lmaooo. But I made long drawn out backstories for our underrated assassins so enjoy!!

T/W + C/W - idk I talk about people dying in a lot of ways. Child abuse, drugs, severe illness, dead cats. This stuff is a mess I really didn’t censor it. But nothing is described in detail cuz I’m too lazy for that.

————

Prosciutto cuz he’s at the top of my mind. Mmkay he and Pesci are brothers but not by blood. Pro was an orphan, I still wanna make him Russian, and pesci’s extremely kind and gentle family adopted him when he was like 7. They were like literally a garden catalogue family. Perfection. The parents died when pro was like 15, Pesci was 13?? Idk the age difference I’m just making shit up now. And Pesci had no fucking idea what to do, they didn’t have any other family, and pro was like “I’m still basically a hardened criminal from living on the streets of russia most of my childhood, so joining the local mafia should be a piece of cake”. It was.

Risotto..... fuck it. Polpo is risottos dad. I’ve seen that so much and fuck it I’m here for it now. Idk how I feel about the whole Mariah from part 3 being his mom that seems too coincidental. But either way, he is half Spanish. I don’t think he’s ever been in touch with his Spanish roots at all, but that’s what he is. Polpo had too much fun on vacay in Spain. But it was a once night stand and polpo, a skinny king back in the mid 70s, fucked off to do mafia stuff and didn’t know about this kid. Risotto never knew his father. Time goes by, about the time he’s 10, rizzo’s mom moves to Italy to find the man she once loved. Since the 70s, she has been married and divorced 4 times, disowned by her entire family, and she speaks only of Polpo, the man who swept her off her feet and then disappeared into the night. Leaving only this child with his matching eyes. So they live in Italy, risotto is about 13 now and his mom has been searching seriously for polpo for about 3 years. One day, she gets too close, mafia takes her out. Risotto is all alone in a country he has lived in for less than 3 years. So he decides to take revenge against the mafia. He goes to hunt them down. (I’m too lazy to write out how. Gets a gun. Basically the scene in part 5 where the kid is like “you killed my father and now I’m gonna kill you!!” But he chickens out???) yeah except rizzo didn’t chicken out, he stood firm and killed 2 of them. The other 2 surrendered, and immediately asked rizzo to take polpos test. He did. And he unknowingly met his father, the man his mother had died looking for. He stared into his fathers eyes, black sclera reflecting each other, and passed his test with ease.

Wowwwwwwwww alrighty then that was something. Let’s shake out those jitters because fuck that was intense and let’s move onto some happy shit.

Melone!! Always a bottle of joy. He was a phenomenal student, a perfect child. Perfect grades, perfect attitude, perfect looks. Onlyyyy tiny thing is he murdered cats and buried their heads in the back yard. But that was his only flaw. Aaaaaaaand mayyybe trying to use his extensive knowledge of molecular biology and genetics (even at as young as 11) to asexually breed said cats.

But, apart from that, absolutely perfect specimen of a young boy. And he kept that up until college. Until the rape accusation. Melone had no interest in having sex with her, he swore under oath in open court, he only wanted to “extract her essence” in the hopes of making her amazing genetics stay pure for centuries.

Due to his previously amazing school record, he was allowed to plead not guilty by reason of insanity (because the justice system is bullshit) and was released to his parents. During this whole process, Melone’s mother had begun to grow suspicious of her son, wondering if there was something wrong with him. This led her to explore the crawl space under the garage, more commonly known as “Melone’s childhood laboratory”. The cat skulls alone were enough to set her off. They allowed him into their home long enough to fool the court, but parole officers don’t pay attention, and they kicked him to the curb a month later. Broke, alone, and with no real skills other than his genius mind and gorgeous body, he became a prostitute. It was only a few months before he wandered up to a gigantic white haired man with angry eyes and asked if he wanted a date. Instead of declining, our good ol rizzo just knocked him out cold and brought him home. The rest is history. Literally because I can’t think of what would happen between that and Melone joining the mafia. I assume he was just their house pet for a little while before he decided he wanted a stand too.

Oh good lord these are getting insane. Better keep going. Okay I have no idea what’s about to come out of my head for ghia but oh Lordy. Might as well start. Ghiaccio wasn’t always quite as angry, but it’s actually gonna be a sweet story. Kinda. He used to act perfect, even tho he always felt the anger inside. He was forced to bottle it up and put on a happy exterior always. His mother was Belgian. (From experience, Belgian mothers (Flemish in particular) will beat you until your ass is raw if you talk back). Italian father, they lived in italy. He had 4 sisters, he was the middle child of 5. Around high school, he started acting out. Of course this was due to all of his bottled up anger from the past 15 years. 4 shattered sinks, 16 holes in the drywall, and one classroom fire later, Ghiaccio was expelled from school. His parents were too busy brimming with joy about the success of all his sisters that they didn’t take much notice to him. “If you’re going to behave in such a manner you might as well leave” his mother said. She was past the point of caring enough to beat him. So he left. 16 and with no where to go, he wandered the streets. After a year or so, Ghia had gotten used to that life, and was angry at everyone, sometimes when he wasn’t even angry. Anger had become his coping mechanism. Screaming was easier than talking. Until one day, he screamed at a blonde man in an intersection. Prosciutto was driving back to the squads hang out, boxes of takeout in the back seat of the car. He had chosen to not stop at the red light, just for fun, and nearly ran into our blue haired teenager. Ghia proceeded to cuss him out for a good 4 minutes in the middle of this intersection before pro cut him off. “Get in the back. “ he said, with his own special brand of brotherly love. “I know how you can put that anger to good use”. Ghiaccio, having no real reason to object, got in the back seat. Prosciutto was silent the rest of the drive and Ghiaccio yelled about all the take out food, now splattered on the backs of the seats due to the sudden slam on the brakes.

Y’all I don’t even remember the other la squadra members. Let’s do sorbet/gelato because they have zero backstory or personality so I can just ramble. *Clears throat* let’s begin. These fuckers. Friends since birth. Grew up together, always really close. They were both dirt poor, but because the only school nearby was a decent public school, when were able to slightly experience middle class living. They liked it. They wanted to see upper class, and once they did, they wanted to be there. These two were money grubbing bffs, I’m talking josuke and okuyasu, but like waaaaay more intense and also violent. They both left home around 14, together of course. Gelatos father had left them a few years prior, and his family were on the brink of starvation. Figuring they didn’t need another mouth to feed (and completely abandoning his post as family patriarch lol) he left with sorbet, who’s family had all died in various ways over the years. Most recently, his older sister being taken by some illness that was probably easily treatable, but with no means for a doctor, she died in days. The boys left home and school, and made a living by pickpocketing tourists and occasionally launching into larger heists. They made a decent living for themselves, but eventually started spending their money on drugs. It’s was sorbet first, heroin was really good to him for awhile. Gelato was against it, knowing it was the reason sorbets family had been so poor to begin with. His father was an addict, and despite holding down a job fairly well, spent all his earnings on drugs. Eventually he became too dependent, lost his job, and OD’d. But around this same time, when the boys were 16/17, they were starting to realize their feelings for each other. Confused teenaged minds full of budding love led to Gelato giving in, and soon their days were filled with heroin fueled ecstatic sex. They lived like this for awhile, existing in half reality, until one day they chose to set their pickpocketing targets on a short man with close cropped gray hair. The plan was perfect, sorbet bumped into the man and gelato passed by to grab his wallet, and suddenly they were the size of mere ants. In an instant, they were returned to size, left to wonder if it was real or just a hallucination from long term drug use. But they didn’t run. Formaggio introduced himself, with a loose handshake and a pause to spit out some tobacco, and promptly invited them to a “party”. Although, Formaggio was honest in his promise, this party did have drugs.

Cheese boys turn!! Seriously who am I forgetting??? Illuso my mirror man! Am I forgetting someone else too?? Idk. But shut up Kel it’s cheese boys turn.

So. Formaggio. Probably the most chill childhood. Lower middle class, pretty average, but he was quite gifted with sports. Soccer was his main, and also a fantastic competitive swimmer. (Okay I have a separate hc that Bruno is really good at soccer so hol horse up a moment so I can imagine those 2 playing soccer together in friendly competition. In my lil au where Bruno is in la squadra because I say BruPro exes rights please and thanks.) but anyway, he got really good at soccer and was offered a scholarship to play at a fancy pants private high school when he was 14. Of course his parents made him go, this has been the family’s dream for years, and formaggio’s as well. So high school is amazing, he’s starting to attract attention from universities even tho he’s barely in grade 11 by this point. And it’s all really amazing until he realizes. This isn’t what he wants. And it’s just that. He doesn’t want to play soccer anymore, he doesn’t want to potentially be famous. He just wants to be a kid. So he leaves school, he leaves home, he wants to start over. And he wanders into a diner and sees this small group of weirdly dressed men. At this point, it’s rizzo, pro, Pesci, and ghia. And he’s staring at them because they’re dressed like circus clowns but their aura is so murderous. And then the one who looks like a giant pineapple starts staring back. Pesci gets up and walks over to Formaggio. “I know you! You’re that amazing kid soccer player!!” And he just goes on and on about shit he read in the news (70% of it was false) until pro comes over and yanks his idiot brother away. Pro starts asking Formaggio questions, thinking he could be a good target. Stupid little rich kid. But to prosciuttos surpise, Formaggio is just a down to earth kid with no more money to his name than he needs to pay for this meal. Prosciutto takes him home after that. He doesn’t really offer any explanation.

(The rambling at the beginning of this paragraph actually happened lol so I paused for like 4 hrs oops)

Alright we are back. Had to leave to go to therapy and then scream at my mother and cry to my boyfriend but we are ready to go! Illuso and I really hope he’s the last one and I’m not forgetting one. Illuso was raised in an orphanage from infancy. No idea who his parents could even be. Fun fact: one of the nuns at the orphanage (cuz it’s an orphanage in Italy in 1980, they’re catholic.) nicknamed him Illuso because he was always pointing at things that weren’t there. As a tiny baby and a child, he would always be looking at things no one else can see (yes illuso is a natural stand user fight me). The nuns called him illuso as an insult, hoping to shame him into stopping. He never did. When he outgrew the orphanage, he decided to join the priesthood. He was 19, a priest in training, when the mafia came to the orphanage. They were collecting, and illuso knew they didn’t have the money this month. He tried to talk the mobsters down, but that went about as well as planned. 4 bullets to the chest, 3 open heart surgeries, and half a dozen resuscitations later, Illuso was released from the hospital. The orphanage had been shut down, and no one knew what had happened to the children or the nuns. With no where to go, illuso knew of one place that could use talents like his. The talents of steadily stealing money from the starving children of the church for a decade. It was during polpos test that illuso’s stand manifested. Not due to the arrow, but to protect its user from the other stand. Illuso was able to avoid Black Sabbath by hiding in his newfound mirror world until it was time to return the lighter to polpo (kinda cowardly but whatever.) he was assigned to risottos group by chance and was the last to join excluding Melone. But they loved him as if they had found him themselves.

[marvelousworldgeek-blog]

Texting Strangers

Author: Kennedy

Characters: Fem!Reader and…?

Story: Y/N, who’s going through a rough patch, texts a random number in search of a friend.

Rated PG-13 for language, mention of drinking

Warnings: Reader is going through a rough patch, but I tried to keep it on the lighter side. Also, use of language.  

“Are you lonesome tonight? Do you miss me tonight? Are you sorry we drifted apart?”

The lilting voice of The King floated in through the open window as Y/N sat at her desk, staring at the blank screen in front of her. There was plenty of work to be done, sure. But what was the point now. She hated her job, her coworkers, the tiny cubicles, the sound the water cooler made every time an air bubble floated up. And here she was on a Saturday working from home to try and finish whatever dry, boring project her boss had saddled her with, knowing that Y/N was the only person who would actually get it done. Nevermind that Marc had ten years of experience on her two, or that it was actually Kayla’s department that was in charge of this particular project. Or the fact that Y/N was still technically an intern.

“Do the chairs in your parlor seem empty and bare? Do you gaze at your doorstep and picture me there?”

And to throw a cherry on top of this hate-my-life sundae, today marked the official six month anniversary of Jeremy moving out. Break ups were always tough, of course. But things could have certainly been easier if he hadn’t literally picked up and left in the middle of the night. It seemed as though the past year had been one big non-stop “fuck you”. Work? Terrible. Relationship? Long-dead. Family? Radio silence. Friends? Moved away. Apartment? Actually starting to feel like a cave.

Y/N glanced around the room at the stack of empty takeout boxes, the pile of paperwork, the week-old laundry. Motivating oneself to clean up seemed an immense task when the overwhelming feeling in life was ‘why bother?’

“Tell me dear, are you lonesome tonight?”

The sad song was just too ironic to handle at that moment. Her neighbor across the courtyard was a huge Elvis fan, and listened to old records nearly every night. For the most part it was nice to have the soft music as a background when she was home, but tonight it was a glib reminder of how lonely she actually was.

“This is bullshit,” Y/N muttered to herself and closed the laptop.

It was saturday night and she wasn’t about to stay at home and mope her way through another weekend. No sir. And so with all the energy and false confidence she could muster, Y/N grabbed an outfit out of the closet, threw on some makeup, and headed out on the town.

…

Okay, so maybe the nightclub scene wasn’t what she was after. Thirty minutes to get in, twenty waiting for a drink, then a whole lot of sitting around on garrish plush furniture waiting for someone to walk over and strike up a conversation. The closest she came was two drunk girls telling her they liked her shoes before stumbling off into the sweaty fray. And now this overpriced, watered-down drink was going straight to her bladder.

Y/N set the now empty cup on a table and headed off for the line to the bathrooms. Surprisingly, she only had to wait for two people before she got in and locked herself into a stall. The walls were as high as the ceiling and provided a satisfying amount of privacy. Behind the safety of four walls, Y/N finally had a chance to breathe. And once again the stress of the past months settled in, despite the cheap liquor pumping through her bloodstream. She leaned her head against the wall next to her and sighed, tracing the faded graffiti.

“Satisfaction guaranteed. Call now!” and a number scrawled below, along with a doodle of a stick figure with a ‘censored’ bar over its lower half. Giggling to herself, Y/N snapped a picture and tucked her phone back into her purse. With a defeated groan she clicked back out to the sinks.

“Oh my GOD, couch girl!”

The shrill voice cut through the bathroom, and Y/N (along with everyone else) turned to glance at its owner.

“Come here, come here,” the blonde girl from earlier gripped Y/N’s hand and dragged her out into the club again, “Come dance!”

And then the evening descended into a blur.

…

Y/N woke to the bright morning sun pouring through the window of her own bedroom. Her head was pounding, her feet ached, and her stomach felt sour. Last night had turned into a long, drawn out drunken dance fest with her two new friends (whose names and numbers she had never managed to get), and in the cold light of day Y/N vowed to never try and drink her woes away again.

After much groaning, she managed to shuffle to the kitchen and set the hot water on, all the while cursing her past self. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed her phone and checked the screen. One unread text.

“Dammit,” she groaned.

Work never stops. Reluctantly, she opened the message.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, feel free to drop me a line again.”

An unknown number, great. Y/N scrolled back up through the rest of the conversation. And was surprised to find several hours worth of back-and-forth with the mystery person. Somehow, in her intoxicated state, she had poured out her heart to a complete stranger, telling them all about the stress and sadness and heartache over her life. In turn, they had offered support and humor, and if she hadn’t known better she would have assumed this was a conversation between close friends.

“What the-”

Y/N recalled the number from the wall of the club bathroom. In a panic, she checked the photos on her phone. But the number didn’t match the one she had texted. At least not exactly. Somewhere during her night out she had attempted to text this mystery man but instead had hit up some poor clueless stranger and had a long drawn-out conversation over the course of the evening.

With an exasperated sigh, Y/N tossed her phone on the counter and retired to the couch in defeat.

…

“You look really tired,” Kayla’s brunette locks appeared above the edge of Y/N’s cubicle.

Y/N nodded; “It was a long weekend.”

“Did you finish the projection project?”

“I put it on his desk this morning.”

“Ah man,” Kayla sighed. “I was hoping I could hand it in to him. I have some, um, stuff I had to go over.”

“Like taking all the credit?” Y/N thought to herself.

“Oh well, I’ll get the next one. Thanks!”

Then she bounced away, heels clicking loudly against the floor.

Y/N leaned her forehead against the desk and groaned.

“Fuuuck…”

Her phone buzzed and Y/N sat up, rubbing her temple, and pressed the notification.

“Hope they aren’t giving you too much crap today.”

Y/N frowned; it was the stranger from the night before.

“I’m sorry, who is this?”

It was only a moment before they replied; “You mentioned you might say that!”

“Ha ha sounds about right. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

“A friend.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered to herself, frowning. “Is this being cute? Or shady…”

“A friend with a name?”

“I thought you said we weren’t doing names?”

“Of course drunk me would say that,” Y/N thought.

“Okay friend. Tell me a little about yourself.”

“I’m a member of a secret organization who kept me in a lab for the first part of my life in order to mold me into a super weapon. Now I spend my free time saving the world.”

“You’re funny.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Y/N smiled to herself; “Okay ‘friend’ I’ll leave it be for now. You’re a superhero.”

“Really just a run-of-the-mill hero.”

“Mm-hm, I’ll take your word for it.”

“If you didn’t have to do your job, what would you want to be?”

The question caught Y/N off guard; she hadn’t thought about it in so long. She had been fully focused on getting through school, then getting a job that could get her out of her parents  house and on her own. She hadn’t thought about what she actually wanted to be.

“Um, idk”

“That’s not good.”

“I have a job. That’s what really matters,” she paused, then added, “Do you like your job?”

“I love it.”

“You’re lucky.”

“What do you like to do?”

Y/N sat for a few minutes and considered this.

Another text came through: “???”

Finally she typed, “I love to cook. I actually took a bunch of cooking and culinary arts classes in school. But I would hate being a chef. The hours are outrageous and it gets stuffy in the kitchen.”

“What about a food truck? You could make your own hours, drive to different places every day, you could even travel.”

Y/N actually laughed aloud to herself. She had never considered cooking for a living. She had worked as a waitress when she was in highschool and the kitchen staff were always miserable and overworked. Not to mention kind of mean. She had written off cooking for a living right then and there.

“I’d never thought of that.”

“What is your favorite thing to cook?”

“Breakfast food and baked goods, mostly.”

“That is perfect food truck food!”

“I suppose it is…”

“You should check this out,” they replied, then sent a link to an article titled ‘Considering Opening a Food Truck? Read these fifteen true stories from other chefs who did the exact same thing!’

“I’ll check it out, thanks!” Y/N name typed back, still smiling to herself.

“Hey friend, can I text you tomorrow? I have to go save some kids from a bus on fire.”

“Of course. Be safe, Superman!”

“Hm, nah. Call me ‘Batman’.”

“Okay, be safe Batman.”

“Read that article; I’ll ask you about it tomorrow!”

Y/N chuckled as she pressed save contact and typed ‘Batman’ into the name.

To be continued... 

[helshades]

idk if you watch rupaul's drag race or have any interest in drag queens in general at all but opinions on this dress+the censoring of it on the show for ~bad taste~ reasons? (i find it gorgeous and smartly funny esp when the theme was "padded for the gods" i mean, you can't get more padded than that lmao. almost a feminist look/statement imo) instagram. com/p /BsUaPvenYcj/

I can appreciate the tongue-in-cheek literal-mindedness of the dress and the model makes an interesting comment about intent:

Nevertheless, such statement may be a pad, sorry, a tad misplaced considering the fact that exactly none of the participants in that reality show happens to be someone who could menstruate, and that there is more than one argument that could be weighed against drag-queens, of all artists, trying to make feminist statements, of all things…

In passing, I really wish people would retire from using the term ‘empowerment’ every five minutes about things that have nothing to do with this concept, which was coined to refer to marginalised people, usually in the Third World, chiefly women, gaining self-determination through economic and political means, aiming to become self-sufficient. Empowerment is a sociological concept rooted in Marxist theory, intertwined in the very basis of democracy—peoples’ right to govern themselves. In other words, we are rather far remote from putting on extravagant gowns to wriggle one’s equally padded arse in the face of people meant to elect one individual the best performer in a group of individuals obsessed with being gazed at admiringly for their looks.

One comment I found on Instagram about this post:

‘You’re absolutely fantastic. I would have loved to see this on the runway. This is not distasteful at all, it’s beautiful couture and art that normalizes an unfortunately shamed experience that many folks go through regularly. It is so important to honor and celebrate the bodies that inspire drag. It warms my heart the respect you bring for female-organed folk.’

‘Female-organed folk’. It is more than a little disheartening (though it doesn’t exactly surprise) to see ‘woman’ become a forbidden word amongst people who supposedly are all about celebrating the luxurious aspects of womanhood, and usually appear to crave femaleness—and not in the way a straight man would, longing for the otherness of femininity that complete his half of the heterosexual union… but, rather, here, femaleness as a template, woman as the typical object of man’s desires.

I am perhaps a divergent feminist—not like other girls!—inasmuch as I tend to regard femininity and masculinity as indissociable from womanhood and manhood, and necessary things, to a certain extent. On the other hand, I am not enough of a deviant yet that I might deem drag queen shows feminist. Drag attire, for all intents and purposes, is a caricature of femininity, whose ambivalence has often verged on the schizophrenic: at once an interesting parody of sexist beauty standards and… well, an uninhibited exploitation of the exact same thing, which, as it is being performed by the one sex that precisely isn’t subjected to such standards in civilian life, makes one wish dearly that men would find a more personal way to subvert canonical virility.

I have no doubt men can be feminists. Of this, a stellar example comes to mind with Doctor Denis Mukwege, the famous Congolese gynaecologist who received the Nobel Prize for Peace in 2018 for his remarkable work on healing women who were victims of genital mutilations. This is feminism—and it is noteworthy indeed that Dr. Mukwege’s help is not only surgical, but economic and judicial as well. This is feminism. A million-dollar reality show about men performing as images of exaggerated femininity? I don’t think so.

On the other hand… on the other hand, I do not happen to believe that not being feminist per se would be drag’s original sin. In fact, I happen to find it a very, very interesting play on masculinity, as no one, deep down, actually doubts the presence of a man, a male, under all that outrageous make-up, getup and beneath the exhilarating wigs. Only, on top of that default maleness, there is an exceptionally loud mask, like one of the painted personae of ancient theatre, never meant to hide oneself, but to show, on the contrary, the truth of the character behind. In more ways than one, drag costuming is a support for the expression of all emotions and sentiments that men are traditionally expected to reign in and dissimulate in order to perform virility.

Sharon Needles:

‘It can be perceived as misogynistic, and I can understand why, but I don’t think there’s any drag queen who intends it to be. Most drag queens dress up as super women, as an over exaggeration of the female form, because we like women, usually powerful women. I think that’s why we are so over exaggerated; we are an amplification of the women who empowered us in our youth. The most powerful woman I know is my mother, and she doesn’t wear any make up at all. We’re exaggerating the western consumerist culture that happens to plague women more than men; and thank god, because it’s so much prettier.’

Alaska Thunderfuck 5000:

‘Since I was a kid, I’ve always been skinny and frail framed. I felt powerless as a child, but I always saw so much power in femininity and female sexuality. I was always drawn to beautiful women. We don’t mock anything innate about femininity, but some of the trappings that come alongside.’

Sharon Needles:

‘Look at her, over there, look who you see in the mirror. When I’m fully done and look in there, the real you inside is pushed way back.’

(x)

At the end of the day, this is only a reality televised show where vulnerable people with self-esteem issues go to masquerade and parade because our society confuses personal success with fame and a controlled appearance of self-satisfaction. All it says is not said wittingly—but it never does mean that there is nothing to be said, I suppose.

[veryveryveryshyshyshy-blog]

Torment

Word count: 2.2k

Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, loads and loads of angsty shit

A/N: Be Mean by DNCE made me do this, though its didn't inspire the whole story lol but yes there will be something smutty in the later parts also wow @ the gif,,,,, also i feel like this is kind of a filler chapter lol also feel like i shouldn't have ended it there but idk i cant continue also this was kinda short iDk SORRY

A lot of people deserve forgiveness, a lot of people deserve to forget but all they receive are reminders after reminders after reminders of the mistakes they've committed. 

First, it was a scandalous relationship with a girl. The newspaper article headlines with his secret connection with this nobody, including the explicit (but not too explicit, of course) details of his sadistic and masochistic sexual requests. If that didn’t cause a whole bunch of ruckus, the next one did. Jeon Jungkook was sitting by his window ledge in his secret hiding place, a “temporal safe haven” as his manager puts it. His doe eyes glossy as the light from outside reflected. Though the ray did reveals his tears, his eyes still seemed dull as compared to before. Like a light, that had inhabit his vision before, had been torn away. It was drooping at the sides, so were the sides of his mouth. You could clearly see the toll that he had taken. Exposing his emotions, clearly plastered on his face, vulnerable as the sound of his empty house started to turn deafening. His pupils following the tiny amounts of snow that descended gracefully from the sky. His palm warm against the cold glass of the window, soon to transfer its heat, turning the heated hand into numbed flesh. 

The crestfallen boy knew he was going to have to face the public soon. He didn’t know what the fans thought, getting mixed responses as he read the tweets. He didn’t know what the conservative public of Korea thought of it, he didn’t know what his parents thought. He also didn't know what the members thought or what you thought. Jungkook was desperately avoiding thinking about the latter, especially. The thoughts would harass him till he's ruined. His ringtone chiming interrupted his thoughts. The ringing got more violent as all the notifications flooded in. “Jeon Jungkook Nude? BTS’ Golden Maknae Nude Video Leaked.” #Jungkooknudes trending on twitter.

Moving before his eyes on the screen was two familiar figures. Jungkook’s memory of that special night was slowly tortured and decaying further by every embarrassing moan that blasted out of the speaker of the device. Or by every spank that could be heard in the audio, resounding in the room. Both bodies were moving at the same pace, before his manager pulled the phone away from his face. Now, he was sitting in an office with eight pairs of eyes all on him. His manager had spoken. But the bunny-tooth boy paid no mind to the stressed man,it was probably something along the lines of, “Do you know how much trouble we’re in? If you dare pull some more shit like this. You know what’s coming, kid. Watch out, alright?”, the last part had a hint of sympathy and care, not being as harsh as his few previous sentence. His manager knew that this isn’t what Jungkook wanted, he was human too. He obviously didn’t leaked it himself. But, it did put his job and the rest of their jobs at risk of being taken away, he needed the younger boy to know that his actions have consequence and to be careful with what he does.

Jungkook just sat there silently, staring lifelessly at the table. Nobody could really disclose what he’s thinking about, not the boys as they sat in the room with him, not his manager, no one. They all just stared at him as he was to the table. The dispirited boy had his fringe covering a little of his vision as he stared into the matte black that covered the table, still trying his best to avoid the thoughts of you from popping up in his mind. Nobody had foreseen that the youngest of BTS would’ve been so, well to put it simply, problematic. Nobody thought he would’ve been so sexually promiscuous, everyone speculated that he was the innocent little boy that everyone assumed and portrayed him to be. Some made up rumours that he wanted to get rid of this image, thus causing all this commotion. Others said it was for publicity, quote “These celebrities will do anything to get their face onto the cover of a magazine, be it bad or good news. Absolutely pathetic.”

Amidst all the chaos, nobody asked Jungkook how he felt about this whole situation. Of course, he felt pretty damn shitty. After all his privacy was being pried into. That little minute dust of freedom he had, that he had the right to have, was blown away in a violent wind straight from his bare hands. No amount physical work could have snatched it back as it scatters all over the place. It was out there for the world to look at, the uncensored image of his naked body and the girl he loved on display for the whole world to see. His sultry words, that was supposedly only for his lover to hear, was now heard by millions. Jungkook also felt irritation amongst all his emotions. Why did he have to apologise when he never did anything wrong? What kind of goddamn social contract was it to apologise for his own leaked nudes? It was his privacy being violated here. The person who leaked the nudes and everyone who watched that god-fucking-damned video should be sending their apologies to him instead. Jungkook also felt a tiny sense of happiness lingering at the back of his mind, however he was confused by this emotion. He almost caused 8 other people to lose their jobs, a girl to lose her dignity and pride and not able to face the public. He allowed the familiar elderly couple to be tortured by the hushed whispers spouting more and more rumours about them and him, especially about their relation and how he was badly brought up and nurtured by the couple. He jeopardised a company’s reputation and his own. How could he have felt happy in a moment like this? 

Next thing Jungkook knew, he was, back in the house, lying in the silence and on the extremely huge and empty kingsized bed. The loose string of the smooth silk bedsheets caught in the crooked cut of his nails on his finger as he thought about some of the people he did owe an apology to. Jungkook knew he had to make some amends. He apologised to the members, all of them forgiving and accepting his apology quite easily. They understood what he did wasn't on purpose and that they all had their own things to hide. He apologised to his parents, his parents also being very forgiving. He was exceedingly thankful for all grace shown by his members, the company and his parents.

Now, it was time for the harder part. He walked through the dark cold street, step after step to the familiar address. His hands pushed into the pocket of his coat, in great need of warmth. The air conditioner in the house broke before this, he’s been living without heat for about 12 hours. He couldn’t escape the house either as he was suppose to be in hiding. Just his luck, he also forgot to wear gloves tonight.

He knocked against the wooden door, a crack in the door causing a splinter to prick the skin of his knuckle. He knocked again and waited. After 15 minutes, still not a single soul.

“Hey, I know you’re in there.” His voice sounded rough. As he hasn’t spoken much in the past few days, Jungkook was surprised by his own voice.

The door then opened with a creak, his large eyes engulfed into the small lifeless ones that stood before him. Despite being lifeless at first sight, he saw fear and sadness swimming around in them too.

“What do you want?” The soft, but hoarse voice ruptured in the quiet night. The air so chilled that her hot breath condensed in the contrasting temperature. Silence stood all around them for a moment before Jungkook sighed.

“I just wanted to apologise.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. Feeling guilty and for the first time, he felt small in front of the petite woman.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it.” For someone so small, the girl spoke with so much hatred, Jungkook couldn't believe that much hostility could occupy one being. Booming, so sharp that it cut the silence straight into half. The boy was shocked, expecting an easy and smooth forgiveness. But, his naive mind never ran over the possibilities of what was going to happen. Alas, he was, now, confronted and the infamous feline has really grabbed his tongue, this time. Maybe, even tied it into a knot as it felt like he couldn't talk.

“I’m a girl. You’ll never understand what it's like for me. For you, it’s a bump in your life, its a mistake that’ll soon be forgotten by many. For me, however, I’ll live with it forever. Instead of people telling me that it was just a mistake, they blame me for this. My reputation forever tarnished by you. I’ll always just be known as the girl that had that sex scandal with that idol. People at my workplace talk about me, I’ve been forced to resign to protect the company’s reputation. People at the convenient store talk about me, I see the censored thumbnails of that stupid fucking video on the covers of magazines while walking in the goddamn supermarket. People are making violating comments about my body, right in front of me. All thanks to you, the whole world knows what I look like when I'm fucking you, completely naked.” Her voice once again, firm and loud enough for Jungkook to understand the emotions she was projecting, but not loud enough to wake the neighbours. Jisoo wouldn’t risk that, there was enough talk going around town. Jungkook, then, realised the double standards that was still alive. He’ll be able to move on and build his career again and soon, everyone would forget. But, a female body. The female anatomy wasn’t easily forgotten especially by people who sexualise it so much. Even, Jungkook could still remember what his first love looked like. But, not her face first, if you asked him in this way. He remembered the curves in her body and the way she moulded so perfectly with him. The sole reason why he remember her face was because well she's his first love.

“You said you’d always protect me. Why didn't you keep your promise?” She whispered, her voice broken. Though, she was quick to compose herself again, blinking the tears away. Refusing for the, though downhearted too, boy to see her so broken. She knew how it'd affect him, because through everything she still does love Jungkook.

“I know, Jisoo. B-but this is different, I-I couldn't-“ Jungkook stammered, not being able to say what he wanted properly. Shoving his tears to the back of his eye socket, clearing his throat so he could properly discuss this. 

“I think we should breakup. If that wasn't obvious enough.” Jisoo interrupted coldly. 

"No. Please." Jungkook whispered as he begged. The only words he could muster up. 

"Please never look for me again." She said almost reluctantly.

"Jisoo, we can talk it out. Please, just stay." Jungkook had a tear running down his face at this point. Jisoo wiped at the tear with a small smile, her's also threatening to fall.

"Goodbye Jungkook." With a kiss on the cheek, slowly Jungkook felt her hands slip away and she retracted back into the house. 

This love died too early, Jungkook did love her but the unhappy boy’s eyes weren’t as glossy as he thought it would be. He was hurt, he did feel the sour squeezing in his nose and the closing of his throat. Yet, it didn't hurt as bad as he expected. Above all, his mind, contrarily, hasn’t occupied by Jisoo at all. These few days, it had been set on avoiding thinking about you. Although, the boy was trying to circumvent, eschewing these thoughts seemed to make them worse. Avoidance wasn't going to make him feel any better, he had to come to grips with it.

Everyone advised him that it was a mistake to leave. But, Jungkook didn’t care. He’s been in their restraints for too long, as much as he liked being restrained. He didn’t like it this way. As the male sat in his gigantic kingsized bed, once again. He thought all was right in the world again, like the stars had aligned in the world, except that it's not. He felt he was missing something as his eyebrow scrunched together, then your image popped up in his mind. His eyes widened in realisation as his stared into the white ceiling. His raised eyelids start to falter as he thought about what to do. There was a shit load he had to do, he was muddled as to where to start. 

He had to find you. Jungkook stared at the map, the leather seat beneath him getting warm. As he drew on the map, the red ink smudging on the glossy paper, he narrowed down his options to you two's hometown first. His lean legs reached for the gas pedal, his ink stained hands found the steering wheel and sped down the roads. He went out to venture, close to a pilgrim, on a journey to search for you. Your name is his permanent safe word, you are is his permanent safe house.

[herotheshiro]

i didn’t know where to post this -- here or on my other blog where i’ve moved my fandom ramblings but i’ve decided to put it here since it kind of touches on more personal topics/feelings. jk i wrote it all out and i didn’t really touch too much on personal stuff so into the fandom blog it goes. also putting it under a read more bc it ended up being pretty damn long wow

recently had a sort of issue/not-issue on twitter where i kind of openly expressed my dislike for this one character. no essay backing up why i dislike them, but i do have my (valid) reasons and i tend to be kind of semi-serious w my hate so i didn’t think too much abt swinging my opinions around. and also since this twitter is a recent development, i’m more used to tumblr where even if you openly express an opinion, you have a ton of character space to utilize to explain your opinion so you tend to explain yourself anyway unlike twitter’s limited character tweets where you basically just express your opinion and that’s it. anyway i might have gotten a little carried away since i don’t really interact w anyone in fandoms anymore and only w my fam member who we enable each others’ opinions and put my opinion on my bio and i think that along w my tweet trail led to potentially being vagued abt by a twitter account that mostly posts abt that fandom. i still have reason to suspect that /i/ wasn’t the sole target of the vagueing (if even) bc they said some stuff abt this character’s negative opinion that apparently someone expressed that /i/ never overtly said (like he’s evil and bad simply bc of how he treats this one person but i never said that, just implied that he’s a general asshole and maybe his relationship w this one person isn’t as good as i’ve seen previously from the fandom which is what i’ve deduced from reading canon content). since they never mentioned names or twitter handles explicitly, i purposely made some tweets (still being open, no censoring on purpose) to try to get a direct response and also low-key targeting the vaguers (out of my paranoia that they were indeed talking abt me which honestly prob not but also it’s a relatively small eng-speaking fandom involved w this character so they have to have stumbled upon me at one point). i did get a response (not from the vaguer(s)) from someone calling me out for not censoring my open dislike of this one character. but i also suspect they knew abt my dislike of this one character stemming from their interactions w another character bc they started talking abt shipping even though i never mentioned a ship in those tweets (but i did mention the latter character though not in conjunction w the former). anyway i felt the familiar heat of embarrassment upon seeing that notif of their callout but i almost immediately felt better abt the entire situation bc i finally got the direct callout i was waiting for and i knew what i needed to take down. direct and clear action

in hindsight after i made a series of vagueing tweets last night lol i feel like this entire situation is just me creating unnecessary drama and wildly hitting even ppl not even involved at all (as noted by the callout which was supposedly having non-involved randos in mind) just to make myself feel better or something which isn’t really respectful in any way (and i was totally open abt me just swinging wildly after the callout and my ensuing taking down of posts. this isn’t even a private twitter where ig it’s apparently socially acceptable to talk abt shit like that). and also makes me think maybe i never really learned anything from being online for almost my entire life. a weird part of me has always wanted to become fandom-famous online but i’ve never succeeded in doing so nor have i made an online group of friends i can bounce my opinions and headcanons off of. so i’ve never really developed an online community, i’ve always just been on the fringes and yelling into the mass without getting much attention. now ik that apparently twitter does indeed chuck your opinions well into that mass (good and bad i suppose), it’s a bit surprising to actually get “attention” ... i also mentioned this in my tweets last night but i really really dislike getting vagued abt which my psychoanalyzing brain was like “that’s bc you don’t like not knowing what others think abt you irl” and yeah if you got an issue w me i’d prefer you to tell it directly to my face rather than pretend you like me (which is totally hypocritical bc i do the latter to others but also i tend to just swerve ppl i dislike so it’s not like i go out of my way to pretend to be nice to them).

idk where i was trying to go w this bc now that i’m writing it out i’m like wow yeah i’m still in the wrong huh. sometimes i am in the wrong like years ago when i got called out for grossly shipping irl ppl (which yes i will admit i did do once upon a time but now i no longer do it or am ok w it) but i don’t feel like i was in the wrong this time so i just feel a little frustrated abt the vagueing bc if i was part of the group they were vagueing abt then i was definitely painted as someone w no critical thinking skills which i do, i just don’t share their opinion which they think is right (and tbh i wonder if THEY have critical thinking skills bc they said some things in defense of their opinion which i don’t agree with esp if you’re interpreting canon content like that. are we even reading the same content). i do genuinely feel better abt the series now bc before i was literally anxiety whenever i thought of or even saw the related characters. my fam member was trying to talk abt the series to me and they weren’t even talking abt the related characters but i just wasn’t feeling it bc of this whole situation which i literally made abt me even though there was no indication whatsoever it was abt me. this all make me think that i really should take a good fucking long break from fandoms and social media bc it just gives me unneeded stress and anxiety abt cancel culture, trying to be likeable enough to become fandom-famous, seeing hot takes, etc etc. i’ve already been winding down in terms of strongly interacting w fandoms but my mental health has not been doing so hot recently bc of irl things and fandoms are not ameliorating it at all. ik for some fandoms do indeed make ppl feel better but that’s when ppl actually interact w them and they’re not stuck in a bubble of no response whatsoever while ppl may potentially gab abt them outside of that bubble. my issue is that i always feel the need to create when i really get into a fandom and when you create you want ppl to respond to your creations! so you need to interact w the fandom. but then i then want to actually interact w the fandom fr instead of just posting from time to time and staying out of it and you know where that gets me sometimes. i think it’s bc i had a good time in the pjo and warriors fandoms and i want something like that again in new fandoms i’m in but for whatever reason that’s not how it is now.

i didn’t jump into the vagueing tweet mess bc as i said i wasn’t directly called out and also better to just ignore it but i couldn’t get it out of my head. and that’s making me really consider leaving fandom social media and just create fanworks solely for myself without even posting them online. my works don’t really get much response anyway which is fine tbh even having 1 like these days is good enough so it’s not like i’d be losing out. but idk man ... sometimes you just want to share stuff w others. maybe i should just make my own website and put stuff on there w no expectation for likes or whatever. this has also made me re-evaluate whether or not i really do want to go into art professionally. ik this one situation is inevitable w putting your opinion out on the internet and i wasn’t even in the wrong i feel bc it’s not like i have a problematic opinion (racism, sexism, incest, etc) but it has put a damper on creating content to put online even if the content i eventually want to create is original and is in no way associated w fandoms. even as i write that out i realize it’s kind of stupid to have such a damper put on me. i should watch spiderverse again bc that was the film that really inspired me to create my own creative visual content again and also i’ve been feeling really uninspired lately. ik i shouldn’t let this kind of stuff get me down if i really want to create art in the future but it’s hard to deal w sometimes. honestly i really should be seeing a therapist but also wow now it’s delving into more personal territory so i’ll end it here.

tl;dr i need to learn how to chill on the internet and i think i need to create boundaries for fandoms fr and stick w those boundaries for the benefit of my mental health. maybe i shouldn’t have gotten a twitter in the first place lol even if all i made it for originally was just so i could message a proxy on twitter and not to actually get involved in fandom twitter. i didn’t even get the proxied good in the end anyway bc i was forced to cancel the payment by a third party bc the proxy had not sent me the good in months despite them updating relatively regularly on how busy they were as a student. hah that just how it be

also side note i was like to myself “ok you need to chill bc these series’ characters aren’t real. there’s no need to get so worked up over them” but then i realized even that opinion is “problematic” bc there are ppl out there who really use the characters as like idk a therapy object and i’m genuinely not trying to be an asshole i just forgot the specific wording you use. so even if i’m like ‘they’re fake’ there are others who are like ‘no they make me feel better so don’t hate !!’ which idk is a mentality which i think ppl should shift away from bc you can’t be in fandoms forever unless you’re a professional fictional content creator which is also an opinion i think a good number of ppl would disagree w (“they’re not bothering anyone and it’s their life so what are you to say what they should do??”). idk this is my hot take for the day i guess but it’s fine to be a fan of stuff as you grow up but i think it should become less of a focus/active part in your life as you grow older. i mean maybe that’s a cynical way of seeing things bc maybe creating fanwork is a good de-stressor for ppl but i think i feel that way bc i’m not going into creative content professionally career-wise but ... idk what i’m trying to say here. i guess i just have complicated thoughts on fandoms in general.

[dazednconfusedlove-blog]

You make me sick.

literally.

so i haven’t been feeling well for over a week and a half now. pain got worse this past Tuesday. i started to feel a little better last night.. still hurt to eat or drink.. passed some gas in both places (gross i know.. but gawd did it feel good).. but noticed my lower abdomen felt sore at the slightest touch.. i woke up this morning and was convinced i should go to the ER.. 

by the way crazy dream i had.. like i was going to a water event... i was sitting in the bleachers.. drove there with my sister.. tried to take and hide gifts?? i’m not sure what was going on... my friends from high school were all there in the bleachers but it was as if we were also there for a family party? there was a guy there that looked like he was interested in me.. and we’d swap smiles.... idk... and then i recall JRN and he had lost so much weight.. weird.. i don't really think of him often.. and then all of a sudden i’m on some swinging/twirling pole thing and this trunk rolls up and i remember thinking “he’s gonna get out of the car..” and this white guy gets outta the truck and can't remember what was said..but i know we were flirting........

the night before that i dreamt sean and i were at a fair.. and my grade school friends were there.. we ran into my family who happened to be having dinner and i remember feeling scared to get caught that i was there with sean and had to walk away super fast to avoid getting caught.. and then next thing you know i’m at the salon waiting to get my hair done. i’m upset because jenni was there and copied my hair (what else is new....) and then i looked in my palm and there was my hair chopped.. i think i was trying to take a photo of it.. probably for instagram... smh.. just looked up what that might mean........

“If you dream that you make a drastic change to your hairstyle, then it means that you are taking a drastic, new approach to some issue in your waking life. To dream that you are cutting your hair suggests that you are experiencing a loss in strength. You may feel that someone is trying to censor you.”

and...

“To dream about having a new haircut is symbolic of fresh starts or new beginnings. You will be given a new lease in something which would allow you to pick yourself up from a failed attempt once again. Just like in the past, your entire family would be the only people who would stay behind you and support you in this endeavor. It would prove that no one else in this world would be willing to give you that many chances except your family, and you should be grateful for every opportunity. However, you must do your best to make it right this time.”

and now i wonder.. were my dreams telling me secretly what i already know??? 

I went to urgent care.. because something inside me told me to just go.. they said it was Pelvic Inflammatory Disease... could be caused by gonorrhea or clhamydia... which of course who would i attack.. Mr. Defensive.

apparently he only slept with “1 or 2 girls”... deja vu.. we’ve been down this road before.... when will i learn he’ll never change??? i’m an idiot... it’s one or it’s two.. not much goes on in his life where it could be confusing... it’s not like 5 or 7... he claims they used condoms.. i highly doubt that too... he doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself like 80% of the time.... and of course i’m the one in the hospital in pain.. trying to figure out whats going on.. i’m the only one who else up suffering... Tale as Old as Time...

instead of talking to me.. calming me down.. trying to make me feel better... HE’s THE ONE WHO FEELS attacked.. he’s the one who’s getting defensive.. where the fuck is your concern and compassion....... it makes me that much more obvious he’s lying..wrong and at fault. not that i’m saying this is all his fault.. i shouldn't even be seeing him let alone SLEEPING with him... the concern is always about sean... poor fucking sean. FUCK.

but this whole experience makes me see things... like how he doesn't give a shit about me.. hasn’t tried to see me once.. except to grab his fucking papers.....i am grateful he’s called.. and texted when he has to check in.. like how he called this AM... but fuck man... where are you when i need you.. oh right... “i can’t just drop everything for you”....

it feels like nothing good happens to me when he’s in my life..........

fired from the first job i loved

car accident totalling parents’ vehicle, busting my knee forever

herpes scare

my birthday he ruined when he was fucking Myla

christmas he ruined because he was fucking Myla

and now PID

i’m sure there’s way more shit.. it just makes me SICK.. to know that no matter how much i want him.. love him.. want to be with him... something comes up and makes me think i’m stupid....... why do i even want to be with him?? does he add value to my life? not really.. does he give me what i need? he feeds me and we have good sex occasionally.... is he sensitive, caring, compassionate? hardly.... considerate and thoughtful? once in a blue moon....

i cant help but think that these are the signs from God and the universe telling me “he’s not the one.” the doctor was saying if this doesn't get treated it could prevent me from having a baby....... which really makes me sad.. because i want a baby. a cute chubby healthy bundle of joy with this amazing husband i have yet to meet......

are we not meant to be together? has every obstacle all these years stopped us from being together because it’s just really not meant to be???? i don't know.. i just know it makes me sad to think thats a possibity... like the universe doesn't want us together.... maybe i’m being protected.. and i’m just being stubborn just like all the uber/lyft drivers who ever bared the pain of listening to my drunk ass talk about him said i was.....

why do i even want to be with him?????

[aeliii]

Understanding the world at large is not actually understanding much (and I don't mean this in the Socrates way)

Today after a night out with my friends, I ended up with a conversation about life and the beauty of existence with an older man who seemed to have lived a hard life (at least told us his last few years have been difficult). He told us about how he used to have it all, a pretty stable life with monetary gain but kept chasing numbers and how that chase always kept him dissatisfied. Everything was vibing, and we were getting real insight, until my friend mentioned about not being able to handle human contradiction and I started to ask him questions una genuine interest about how a man saw the world, how it was it for a man, specifically how can they live their sexuality so inhibited (“when you go to a bar with the intention to fuck, whether you do fuck or not, regardless of the outcome, do you ever feel shame at all for your action at all?”) he went around in circles and started talking about how we are all animals and we have instincts and mentioned how he does think I am hot and would fuck me. I paid this last comment as no mind m, seeing as I understood he was trying to further the point about how we’re both wired to reproduce, in our most primal level. This I understand fully, and my understanding of this led me to completely let slide the fact he especifícalo kept mentioning us in a hypothetical sexual scenario. Slightly offended, but for the sake of the conversation I understood. Then I asked, going off this point, if we’re both understood to be wired to reproduce, why is it then that men don’t feel shame and are so inhibited about their sexuality and women aren’t? Or if it’s a neutral process of just reproduction, why is it that the hypersexual outward expression of male is tolerated and rarely is questioned/censored whereas for women they’re placed in such extremes, but if they decide to be specifically outward, even in the slightest, this is automatically scrutinized and question by everyone. Since he kept mentioning how yes he would try to fuck and maybe men are mostly bad, and how sometimes he’s not as good and he’s the one to beat himself up and how he was raised as certain morals, which I agree are factors in all of this, he never answered my questions directly, do you or do you not feel shame or the need to self regulate your sexuality ? Then I decided maybe sexuality is just too sensitive of a topic, especially outside of a dive bar at 2 AM so I explain to him, if we all have masculinity and femininity and we understand that this is part of the wholesome of an individual, why is it that a the wholesomeness of a man is respected/acknowledged/taken more seriously/made in a higher manner than the wholesomeness of a woman? Why do women do not get taken as seriously as men, why is it that we don’t regard as women’s band in the same way we regard The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin (all male bands), and as a man, do you ever feel that you can’t accomplish your dreams, goals, that people question your abilities and integrity based on your gender?

Again, he couldn’t just give me that answer with that specific focus. It seemed his scope of perspective was focused on spiritually, money and morality at large, but he didn’t seem to begin to scrape the surface of what I was trying to ask hin. I was super respectful, very very calm and made my question and clear and concise as possible.

At the end our ride got there, and I said to him “I hope you understand I wasn’t trying to attack you because you’re a man or anything like that, but I simply am asking you your perspective as a man because I’ll never be a man and I don’t understand but I’m trying to” he said no worries and good night and that he loved us and it was all good and nice like when we first started the convo. But I felt feeling a combination of weird icky emotions.

For one, I felt like I just made this dude feel bad, when we started off the conversation on a very spiritual, hippie, “freedom come from acceptance of life,” and the general struggle of the highs and the lows, finding the mid point, how money and possessions can consume you, how you just learn to be yourself and appreciate yourself. He had called us beautiful and said he loved us and I believe his sentiment and I think it was genuine as I have felt those feelings and thought those things as well: the amazement at the beauty in each and everyone, in the world at large, how easy it is to love.

But when I tried to get into more specifics of understanding, I feel this is when the connection felt apart and led to us ending in a sour way.

Indeed, perhaps I used stereotypes and he used some women ones, but I feel I have seen this male behavior and I was able to accept the female behavior he described cause I have either done it myself or experienced it in my life, experienced it with people close to me and with people I’ve known. So there, I admit it, I believe, that as a gender, at least to some extent, I can admit to some wrong, I can admit to maybe having contributed to the catiness attributed to female dynamics, attributed to certain stereotypes, so if in wrong and you’re wrong, then we’re do we meet? But also, I felt I went as far as to say hey if I’m wrong, the alright, I admit it, but please let me understand from your male perspective how I am wrong. Meaning, if as a woman I am this and that then tell me with evidence. Or me, trying to relate to man, put my experience as a woman and ask “does it happen to you too?” If we consider we are more similar than different, then tell me so and be very specific as I will try my best to truly understand you?

And idk he said something about how men know they’re more similar to women than they like to admit or even let us know. I thought this was interesting but was not able to dig deeper.

I’m not really sure what I was trying to do, perhaps I shouldn’t have probed so hard a a single man’s view, especially since he could or could not be in a good place mentally, emotionally, physically, etc (he could or could not have been on a drug, idk), but the chance came to me out of nowhere and from the common ground that I have developed with him about the world at large and spiritually, I felt safe to even go there, in a genuine effort to understand, that it’s not about being angryfeminist and attacking and, and perhaps I could truly see where men are coming from and what can I do to better understand?

And like I said perhaps this was just this particular man, and I’m not going to put this universal all men judgement based on this sole encounter, but once again, when I tried to talk about gender differences with a man, especially the topic of sexuality, I simply feel like I am not being listened to, or at least that there is not as as much amount of effort in them to understand me as a woman in the same way I’m trying to understand them as a men? And in no way do I ever perceive them admitting to their wrongs, that perhaps, just perhaps we’re not just all angryfeminists but that we have legitimate arguments and valid views that are actually observable and are things that as individuals MEN NEED to take accountability for and perhaps don’t feel so self-assured in continuing such behaviors and being so fast to point the finger elsewhere and be in complete denial about the whole thing.

I don’t know how I feel, I feel conflicted cause for one I felt it pointed to the limits of my empathy, and felt narcissistic that I felt sad because it showed that I am actually shallow. Second, I just felt so confused as to why isn’t anyone explaining things to me when I’m communicating in a very neutral, objective way, based on your experiences, as in trying to understand very specific angles to this whole confusion in gender politics. I was so confused that blanket statements that kind of related but not entirely, were used to answer me. I was so confused that I was saying HEY I COULD BE WRONG, I just wanna know how it is for you, I was not receiving answers. If I’m asking you how and why, it’s because I don’t understand because my experiences did not give me true opportunity to see through those lenses, but you bet that I will try my damn best to come to that understanding regardless. So please, literally explain this to me as you would to a child. Be fucking specific, give me evidence. Say it all, I want to know.

I feel better now talking about it. I think perhaps I approached it wrong but now I feel like the whole “the world is a beautiful place, all is love” universal hippy feeling is just shallow and as self-congratulatory and useful as its opposite racist, hateful and all-phobic counterpart is. What good is universal understanding if you just overlook the specific context ?

I feel that that universal understating and love is the first step, and probably a feeling that drives you, feeds your soul and overall is amazing and should be respected. It’s necessary and it shows the genuine kind heart of the human soul. Nevertheless, I do not think this is enough. You cannot say you love everyone and accept everyone and tell me you know absolutely nothing about who everyone is. Can you truly love someone you don’t understand, much less someone you don’t even try to know?

I know I know, this is probably exaggerated as it is impossible to know everything, and of course that includes knowing everyone and knowing everything about everyone. I know my gender discussion excluded other individuals and experiences from queer folks, non-binary people, LGBTQ+, and I didn’t even touch upon class or race. With this man I saw someone who was more or less similar to me, middle class, cisgendered, straight, I disregarded race because I was interested to see what this man had to say as a man and what could I do with those views to better my understanding of women and how society views them (and like I said, consider the possibility that perhaps just maybe I was being too sensitive or I’m not being judged as harshly as I feel, or I’m just in one way or another wrong, and holding a faulty view that came as a result of a faulty belief.

But I feel frustrated. And at this point I don’t think I ever saw any worries in this man to self-regulate and take personal responsibility of himself than I do as a woman. And nowhere did I feel my questions were truly being answered even as I stood there with open arms, ready to accept any answer, as long as it was his truth to what I was asking him.

No. So now I don’t know. I just feel like saying a big NO. Not even in anger, not even in a fuck men or fuck the patriarchy type of way, but in a NO I will not tolerate this any further. no.

I’ve tried so hard, crossing so many times beyond the point of naiveness, but I just feel so frustrated that the weight of actions inflicted upon me are placed UPON ME. Meaning it is I as a woman who has to self regulate my primal instincts and emotional, expressive needs and be understanding of the outside world when the outside world does absolutely nothing to understand me and regulate its negative actions it has on me based on my gender.

And sorry if his parallel is wrong, but never did privilege seem to click, and white privilege, and rape culture, and the inability to truly understand another based on the fact that it has never and will. Ever happen to you (tell me, do white people truly understand the extent in the historical pain felt by Native Americans and Blacks? Do men truly understand the extent in the historical pain felt by women? Do the rich a wealthy ever understand the extent of the historical pain felt by disadvantaged countries that came about as a result of capitalism ?)

Idk but this conversations touched upon a lot of subjects and it truly cemented the fact that this society doesn’t make any sense, and that’s not just a nihilistic wushu-washy “but fuck it we all try to live the best way we can’t without ever knowing wtf we are doing” but in a more concise and extremely revelaba point that it makes no fucking sense to marginalized groups people, it makes no fucking sense to place money above life, human life and nature, hell planetary life, that it makes absolutely no fucking sense to continue in such a consumerist hyper-anything never ending gaping hole of an existence with no absolute regard, true regard, to the life and the people that have been long before us and that are directly affected negatively by all these absurd systems and ideas we all hold so dear a mighty as a way of living.

NO.