#this is technically a repost but the original was before this account hit off and also i dont have any prepared

[fluttershywheresheshouldntbe]

Skyrim

She's finally woken up

[theultimatecrabcake]

Some Danganronpa spoilers ahead for the entire franchise so please don't read if you don't want spoilers, serious topics will be discussed

Ok so a while back me and a discord friend had this au-ish idea where the entirety of danganronpa is just Tsumugi's trauma fanfiction based off of people she knows irl and online as a way to cope because she was abused and neglected at home

These are the main details of the au under the cut, there will be no in depth details about the abuse but it is mentioned, I sincerely apologize if I inaccurately portray these issues just in case I did

Tsumugi cosplays at home and that's why she calls herself the ultimate cosplayer, and she makes herself the mastermind because she likes being the villain to cope with her trauma

All the characters from dr1 and sdr2 and the dr3 anime are all based off of people online that she looks up to (or despises in some cases), and characters with alternate versions of themselves are the combinations of their siblings (ex. Toko and Syo are twins and Izuru, Hajime, and super saiyan Hajime are triplets), with the exception of Junko who is an actress who mainly plays villains but irl is really sweet

Monokuma is Tsumugi's homeroom teacher who occasionally lets his sister substitute and the monokubs are his young children that Tsumugi really hates, he's also Junko and Mukuro's uncle and he and Tsumugi have a father-daughter relationship

Junko helps Tsumugi with her cosplays and makeup which is why Tsumugi idolizes her so much and wants to be like her

A lot of the poor writing in dr is due to Tsumugi not having the proper writing experience or knowledge on certain subjects which is why they come off so poorly

The Love Hotel scenes are Tsumugi trying to work through her own sexuality crisis alone (albeit poorly), and her own LH scene is her projecting what she believes is the only relationship she'd ever be loved in even if it's really messed up

All of the blackened and antagonistic characters in dr are people Tsumugi either hates or fears, and those with redeeming motives are the ones Tsumugi fears but recognizes that they are good people

Most characters in dr are cosplayers irl, streamers/youtubers, or social media influencers, aside from in v3 where everyone is a classmate of hers

The survivors of v3 are Tsumugi's irl friends, and the survivors of the prior games just came down to process of elimination mixed with who she liked

Her insistence of being "plain" in the games is because her parents always called her useless, and a part of the reason she hates Monokuma's kids is because she envies them for having the happy childhood she never had

She made monokuma the mascot because he’s known for his brutal punishments to kids who severely break school rules

All of the backstories for the dr1 and sdr2 characters are based off of one of the following: their main cosplay, their favorite game that they’ve played, or their aesthetic on their main social media account

Tsumugi works a lot of part time jobs to pay for her cosplays and her clothes and food

At some point Tsumugi posted her trauma/vent fanfics online under a different pen name and renaming all of the characters so they couldn’t be tracked (each of the games and the anime were posted as their separate fanfics and each chapter in the games is a chapter in the fanfic) and the fanfic blew up super fast, which she didn’t expect, and then people started cosplaying it for the irony and when she’s asked about if she’ll cosplay from it she says she’s not in it for the irony, she also got jaw-dropped when the cosplayers she turned into some of the characters from dr1 and sdr2 started cosplaying from it

One time Kokichi found her fanfic for v3 and commented about how his character seemed super familiar and she responded “no reason :)” and blocked him because his username was super obvious, he soon makes confused posts about it on tiktok

Eventually during Tsumugi’s 3rd year she reposted all of the fanfics but with much better writing and character arcs because she took online writing classes and the internet BLEW UP EVEN HARDER and so many people geeked out over it

Eventually Tsumugi tells her close friends about how she wrote the fics but it accidentally gets out to the whole class and when anyone tries to bully her about it all of her friends fight the bullies

The Love Hotel scenes were completely separate fanfics she impulsively wrote and posted at 3am when her sexuality crisis hit too hard, even she hates them and deleted them a year after they were posted because she just can’t believe she wrote them, let alone post them, and never rewrote them

The following are her relationships with the characters in V3 since she has no real relationships with the characters in dr1 and sdr2

All of the character’s ultimates are in fact based on actual skills they each have, and if they don’t have a distinct skill Tsumugi deep dives and tries to think of one, Junko was mostly inspired by her ability to analyze super well, which helped with her makeup ability, and because she played villain characters who caused despair

Edit: forgot to mention, but when Tsumugi kills her self insert at the end of v3, it's her essentially venting out how if all the important people in her life leave her she has nothing to live for anymore

Shuichi: They met after being some of the few kids in class who had nowhere to sit during lunch so they sat next to each other, after talking some more and realizing they had a lot in common, they became really close and he would sometimes cosplay with her, he also has a crush on Kaede even though it’s only from afar due to his social anxiety, Tsumugi however feels as though she’s a burden to him which is why she has him hate her in the last trial, when she told him she wrote the fanfic he constantly reassured her that she’s not a burden and was super embarrassed that he was made the protag after kaede, though he did find pregame him a bit odd

Himiko: Himiko is also an outsider due to her depression and general tired personality, she’s one of the few people who don’t judge Tsumugi for her cosplaying and anime interests and they’re both in anime club and will occasionally cosplay together, she was the one who accidentally let it slip about the fanfic thing but Tsumugi couldn’t bring herself to be mad

Maki: Another outsider but on purpose, she met Tsumugi after she found Tsumugi getting bullied and pushed around by some older kids, and afterwards she hung around Tsumugi to protect her and they eventually got pretty close even though Maki is generally socially dead, she also helps get Tsumugi food when Tsumugi’s parents are too neglectful to feed her, she also is the main protector of Tsumugi from her bullies, before and after the fic

Kiibo: An exchange student from being homeschooled, he and Tsumugi used to be pretty close, he was pretty famous on social media so sometimes they would go and do influencer stuff together and he’d cosplay with her, eventually he started dating Miu and they got a bit more distant due to Tsumugi not being a big fan of Miu, but they have no harsh feelings towards each other, even though Tsumugi thinks he hates her, he’s also a top student, he was a little weirded out by how both he and Miu were portrayed in the original fic but after talking it out with Tsumugi he let it slide and they talk more often because of that

Kaede: She met Kaede in secondary school and they got fairly close up until Kaede met Rantaro, after they met Kaede started hanging out with him more (romantic or platonic is up for interpretation) and Tsumugi was really hurt and jealous which is why she has Kaede kill Rantaro, she and Tsumugi reignited a relationship after the fanfic thing came out because she was super concerned about how Tsumugi was doing since you don’t just write that stuff without having some sort of trauma, they became closer afterwards and told Tsumugi she was flattered she was made into such a nice girl but also kinda freaked out that Tsumugi technically killed her but they also talked that out, she didn’t hold pregame Kaede against her because Kaede did in fact act like that when she was younger

Rantaro: Him and Tsumugi knew each other in middle school but didn’t like each other, she envied him because of how easy of a time he had making friends, and later on hated him for “stealing” Kaede from her, he is on ok terms with Tsumugi after the fanfic incident because Kaede and Tsumugi reignited a friendship and they tolerate each other

Kirumi: Tsumugi fears and looks up to Kirumi, as Kirumi is head of the student council and class rep but also very strict, one time Tsumugi got pushed down before school and was forced to come with a dirty uniform and Kirumi ripped into her for it and made her cry (although Kirumi quickly apologized and tried to comfort her but the trauma already set in), after she learned about the fic she talked to Tsumugi and gave her a singular pass for it because she did a fairly good job capturing Kirumi’s determination and sophistication

Ryoma: She’s never talked to Ryoma personally but she knows he has a criminal record for some minor crime and that scares her alongside how he one time suplexed a student three times his size after the student tried to pick on him for being short

Korekiyo: He freaks her out and she really hates his sister, and one time he psychoanalyzed her and it hit way too close to home so now she both doesn’t like him and respects him, which is why she just has his sister be the motive/his abuser because she full on just hates her cause she’s a “normie” who made fun of her one time in public, after he learned about the fic he tried to talk to her about the original version of the v3 fic to talk it through because he knew about her issues and now they’re on good terms

Angie: Funny enough she just is way too afraid to talk to Angie because she is a foreign exchange student and Tsumugi was really confused by her religion which is why it’s handled so poorly and why Angie is so focused on Atua, Angie also is super confident in herself and extroverted and that intimidated Tsumugi so much she just never talked to her, after the fic Angie sat her down and educated her on the details of her religion so Tsumugi could fix any accidental misconceptions about the religion and culture

Tenko: With Tsumugi’s constant sexuality crisis, she also has internalized homophobia which is why Tenko, an open women lover, scares her so much, Tsumugi can’t comprehend it so she made Tenko really creepy and oddly violent towards men even though the actual Tenko only beats up men who harass her or other women and not just every single man, she’s also really nice to Himiko and because Tsumugi fears Tenko she warped it

Miu: Miu is also a woman confident in her sexuality, she just comes off a lot more strongly than Tenko and is even more intimidating to Tsumugi, Tsumugi also thinks she’s gross because she’s open about her kinks and her gross ways of making sure she’s healthy, after she and Kiibo started dating she started to resent Miu, but regardless of this she still acknowledges that Miu is a top student, she only really likes Miu because she and Kokichi hate each other, but after it got out that Tsumugi wrote the fic Miu tried to pick on her but Maki scared her off

Gonta: She really loves Gonta and at some point had a crush on him, but he turned her down after Kokichi spread rumors that she was afraid of bugs and Gonta didn’t want to freak her out due to the fact he lives in an area full of bugs and has a few pet bugs, she has no harsh feelings towards him however and still likes him, though not as a crush, Gonta was still super nice to her after the fic thing and doesn’t think any less of her

Kokichi: She absolutely despises him and everything he does, they’ve known each other since they were kids and he’s always picked on her, though to him he’s only friendly teasing and thinks they have a friendly rivalry, he does everything out of childish amusement and doesn’t actually think he’s doing any harm to her even though she actively hates him and has gotten punched on several occasions by Maki for teasing Tsumugi too much, he also is purposely controversial online and has tried to be cancelled way too many times but somehow finds a way to find dirt on the people cancelling him and now everyone is too scared to cancel him, he also “bullies” cosplayers on tiktok by dueting them and mocking them but to him it’s ironic but to everyone else it isn’t, he has done this to Tsumugi on multiple occasions and she hates it, he tried to tease her about writing the fic and blocking him but Maki punches him in the throat, he makes a tiktok about that as well but keeps her identity a secret

Kaito: He became Maki’s boyfriend sometime after she met Maki and, in his stupidity, accidentally insulted Tsumugi’s comfort cosplay and she hated him after that, his death and illness was inspired by the one time he got the flu and gave it to everyone and it ruined one of her wigs, after a while they began talking more and she began to realize he wasn’t a jerk, just really stupid, so she made him a nicer character, after it got out that she wrote the fanfics she asked if he was mad he died but instead he was like “nah man that was a super cool way to go”, he was confused on pregame Kaito until Tsumugi explained that that’s how she used to see him

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

They Don’t Know You Like I Do

This is a reupload, a throwback. It was originally written in 2019 and posted on my old account calumh-excess. I hope you guys enjoy.

In the same universe as We’re Outsiders.

Sandra should be out of his league. But with a good heart and an open mind, she gives Ashton a shot. That’s all he needs.

Greaser!AU.

Enjoy my masterlist.

Support me on Ko-Fi

No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translations. All rights reserved. Copyright © be-ready-when-i-say-go. 

_________________________

When there’s a knock at the door, Ashton’s a little confused. Though, knocks are more frequent now if he has to be honest. He racks his brain for who could possibly be at the door. It’s not Luke. He had to run some errands for his parents. It’s not Calum. He’s at work; left early this morning. Calum did agree to be at the race. And unless Calum forgot his keys, Ashton is sure that Calum wouldn’t be showing back to the house. 

So Ashton finishes zipping up the boot and walks to the door. Cookie stands on the other side, grinning. Her siblings attached to her hips. He grins at the sight. It’s very common on Saturday mornings for her to show up at his doorstep, whether Calum is home or not. More often not, since Saturdays seem to have picked up at the shop and Cookie seems to be able to sneak away before the morning rush. “Know your boy toy’s not here right?”

She rolls her eyes, extending out the glass dish. “I know. I did talk to him last night.”

Ashton takes the dish; it’s heavier than he anticipated. It smells good though. He won’t lie. The deep inhale almost makes his stomach growl and his mouth salivate. “Thanks.”  They don’t need to be taken care of, but it’s nice. She always brings enough for not just Ashton and Calum, but also Luke and Michael. “One of these days I’m gonna get that recipe.”

“Oh, hot stuff, we’d have to be married for that,” she teases laughing. 

“You say that like I won’t snatch you up from Calum.”

His only acknowledgement to the tease is a smile. “Got one more in the car. Can they sit inside for a second? If you’re not busy.”

“Yeah, they can sit inside for a minute.”

Teresa, Cookie’s sister, taps Ashton on the leg on the way in. A game they seem to always play where he attempts to dodge it, but never seems to skirt out of the way fast enough. Ashton buckles a little at the motion, careful of the food he’s still holding, and drags himself to the kitchen table. “I oughta report this!”

Her brother, Curtis, settles onto the couch. He’s always been quiet. But he smiles at the exchange and settles into the cushions. Ashton leaves the dish out. He’s glad Cookie came by. He wanted to ask her for a favor and had planned to stop by her place or the diner before heading out for the race. 

The door creaks open again and Cookie walks in, heading straight for the kitchen. She doesn’t linger long on the fact that there aren’t many groceries left. She just slips the glass dishes in and prays that they can get back on track soon. 

“You know,” Cookie starts watching her sister and brother pick up the deck of cards at the dinning room table and Ashton stand in front of her. “I could get you in at the diner. My folks ain’t that bad.”

Ashton shakes his head. He knew long ago when he lost his job that Cookie could help him out. Somehow it felt wrong, felt like he would’ve been intruding. Besides, he wouldn’t be down for long. “I appreciate it. But I don’t wanna put your folks in a tighter spot. If I start working there and someone hits the roof, y’all take the hit. Not me.”

“World won’t be so black and white one day.”

“Sometimes I think I could be doing more. More than just surviving and more than just hoping for you.”

“If you got marching boots, I know how to get you in.”

It’s only a nod. They are silent, even as cards shuffle in the background. But Ashton knows, by way of the stirring in his chest, that he’s going to be asking about that march.

“Well, I ain’t mean to take up too much time,” Cookie starts, seeing the current round is coming to an end. 

“Wait before you go, can I ask you a favor?” It’s not exactly the smartest thing in the world he’s done for cash, agreeing to a race.. Though he’s smart and never gets tied up for people that race for pinks. “I need some help.”

Cookie leans back into the fridge, the white Keds on her feet matching the tile as she crosses her ankles. “Help how?”

Ashton knew he shouldn’t have promised Sandra that Cookie would’ve been there without actually asking Cookie. However, by the time Ashton managed to get home, Calum had already gone to bed and Ashton for sure was not about to call up to her house at that time of night. He was just trying to get Sandra to see that he was just a guy, not the label that people had put on him. 

“I have a race.”

Cookie nods. “If you telling me Teresa actually hit you that hard that you can’t drive no more, I oughta sign that girl up for boxing or something,” she teases. 

Ashton has to laugh with a shake of his head. “God almighty, no.”

“What’s about this race and needing help?”

“I need you to tag along. I told this girl they were cool and I just need you around so she doesn’t flip.”

It’s a heavy sigh that expels from her lungs and Ashton all but slides to his knees as he grabs onto her hands. “Please, Cookie? Please?”

“These ain’t no family affair. I’ve got my brother and sister. It’s technically illegal.” While Cookie didn’t hold too fast to the rules that governed them, she was not about to act fast and loose in front of siblings. They have fast lips. 

“I’ve never seen a race,” Teressa cuts in. She’s dealing out half the deck between her and Curtis.

“See!” Ashton says, lips rolling over as he pouts. “C’mon. Just the one solid. Please.”

“And there’s a reason you haven’t,” Cookie replies. If she gets in trouble on her lonesome is fine. Her parents will flip, they’ll give her a lot of noise. However, that was her fault. If she gets into trouble with her sister and brother around that’s a whole new can of worms. One she’d rather avoid. There’s so much pleading on Ashton’s face though. And of course it had to be a girl too. Races aren’t scary, but they can get nasty.“You ain’t racing for pinks are you? Hate to leave you stranded.”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m in no position to race for pinks.”

The house is in decent condition, but he’s between jobs and needs to find a new source of cash fast. His cars the only thing he’s got going for him. He was let off from his previous gig because the owner was worried about his rep. Not that Ashton wasn’t hard working and diligent at whatever he put his hands on. He busted his ass at work. The owner was looking at a ‘bigger picture.’ It’s bullshit if Ashton is asked. He didn’t throw a fit in front of the owner. He thought about it. He wanted to, but he didn’t want to ruin his chances. He quietly took the week’s pay and left the office. He’s got good word from this boss to another place. Ashton’s worried that his reputation is going to precede him all his life though.

Ashton finally continues, “Please, I need your help. I need the bread and she’s--she’s different, Cookie. She’s giving me a shot.” He’s totally smitten, but he wouldn’t completely admit that. Sandra didn’t exactly grow up on this side of town. None of the guys can help him out. Cookie’s his only shot.

It’s one of her few days where she doesn’t have to be on shift during the morning. She had really just wanted to hit the store to see if the hair grease she needed has been restocked and she wanted to just not think about anything until work. 

“Look,” she points over to Teresa and Curtis, “y’all gotta keep tight ships on those lips.”

“Thank you!” Ashton shouts and her siblings chorus. 

“And you,” she starts, finger singling him out.  “I beat feet after it’s done.” Cookie agrees. “But if there’s any heat, I am not hanging around.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Ashton gushes, wrapping her up in a quick hug. “And I totally understand about the cops. I’d literally do whatever to shake your trail. You know that.”

“I know.I know. You surely know how to put a girl in a pickle.”

“It’s a specialty,” Ashton returns. His grin wide. 

The kids continue their game of War before Cookie’s pulling out of the driveway first and waiting for Ashton to lead the way. Admittedly, Ashton didn’t tell Cookie that Sandra was a Soc, a Prep. But maybe she had figured it out by the way he talked about her inexperience with races. Most people would probably laugh at the fact he’s into a Soc. And he knows Cookie would never judge him, but sometimes even he felt a little shame in it. But Sandra is a saint and Ashton is in need of a blessing. 

His logic isn’t flawed, but it is a little wishful. If he wins the race, Ashton can show Sandra his world’s not all that bad, it’s not all dangerous. It has it’s danger for sure. But if he could just get her to see the good, then maybe he had proven that the labels were unjust. And it’s twisted thinking he knows. Sandra already seems him as a good person, she already sees something in him. But it’s the outside world. It was always going to be the outside world it seemed that would be in the way. It reminds of how he was with Cookie and god, it makes him feel like an asshole. He could be the first person to admit that. He would be the first to admit that. 

When they get the makeshift track, old back roads that lead to the deserted factory, Ashton spots the boys. They rush up from the dirt sides. Calum checked the car before he left this morning. But that was then and now it needs another glance, checking for holes in tires or rocks in the tracks.  

Ashton finds her, Sandra, in her red dress with black polka dots. She waves, but doesn’t make a move closer from her car. She swore to Ashton she would find a way to the race. He insisted that they could meet somewhere, but when she looked down, biting the side of her lip, he knew not to push it. He walks over, cheeks lifting into a grin. 

“I feel so overdressed,” Sandra whispers, tucking more of her hair behind her ear.

“Nah, I dig it.” It’s who she is and Ashton can’t stop the thundering of his heart. 

“You sure this isn’t an issue? Like I thought pinks would be involved and everyone here looks,” she doesn’t finish the sentence. This isn’t her crowd. She knows it; Ashton knows it. Ashton’s sweet though. Always helps her grandmother with the bags to her car. He even referred them to a great car shop. One of his friends works there, always looks out for them and makes sure to work on their car exclusively. He’s for sure a fun time, always laughing at something, always making up a new gig when there’s only her in the store and the radio’s playing a good song. But this isn’t her crowd. She’s not sure how they’re going to accept her.

“Hey, my guys are cool. Stick with them and there will be no issue,” Ashton urges. 

Sandra goes to speak, but then she notices a girl with a fro walking up to her, lips painted red. It’s a bold choice, but she wears it well. Ashton’s thankful that Cookie’s approaching. “That’s Cookie. Calum’s girl. The guy that works on your grandmother’s car. I told you she’d be here.”

Sandra nods, a smile lifting her lips. It’s a little bit more comforting to have someone else on Ashton’s side, that’s not a Greaser as company. She thinks the whole Greaser versus Socs is ridiculous, but she’s not naive to think that the lines don’t exist for everyone else. “You Ashton’s girl?” Cookie asks, knowing the true answer. But it’ll make both of them turn red and Cookie can’t pass up on that opportunity.

“Oh, no,” she mumbles as both their cheeks turn beat red. There’s a blashful glance between both of them. Ashton’s hoping Cookie’s teasing isn’t too much but he does like the sound of her being his girl. He needs to win this race, make a good impression and keep Sandra around. That’s all he wants. 

“Alright, Ms. Red, you guys are just friendly. I get it. Mind if I borrow the pretty lady for a moment?” Cookie extenders her elbow, waiting for the gentle grip to move them out the way of the race.

The touch is light and they walk up to the side of the road. Cookie can feel the nerves off Ashton’s girl. She keeps looking over her shoulders. Like she’s afraid something is gonna jump out at her. “First race?” Cookie asks.

The girl nods, ends of her hair flying up in the wind. “Ms. Red? That’s a new one.”

“What’s ya name? Maybe you’d like that more.”

“Sandra. But I like Red better. You’re the one really wearing the devil’s paint better than I ever could.”

“Then Ms. Red it is. And nothin’ wrong with a little make up.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that. I just--,”

“Don’t have a cow, sweetheart. Just kidding around.”

They reach Cookie’s car, her siblings eying the girl on her arm. They’re suspicious of every new person they meet. It took them ages to warm up to Luke, Ashton, and Michael. She can’t blame them. Every white person to cross their path has only ever spit on them. She’s praying that they don’t hold such skepticism in their heart all the time. “Teresa and Curtis, my sister and brother. Ms. Red.”

Both of them give curt nods. Cookie goes on to introduce the rest of the crew before hopping into the backseat of her car with her siblings, she sits on the edge of the door, feet planted on the seat. Curtis sits between her legs. Teresa right in front of him. “Take a front row seat,” she offers to Sandra waving to the passenger side seat. Calum leans up against her car, right behind Cookie and her siblings, his hands buried in his pocket of his work pants. The switchblade curled into his fingers.

Sandra doesn’t miss the tension. She looks up to Cookie, the fear flashing over her face. “They don’t bite. Well, for anklebiters, they don’t,” she assures.

“You’re going to regret that,” Teresa interject, lightly tapping her sisters ankle. “White people just never done us no good.”

Kids, they’ll always be honest. “Tes,” Cookie warns. The tension is still thick, but the engines roar and Sandra jolts at the sound. “Get in, Red unless you want dust on that pretty little dress.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, climbs into the car and then kneels on the seat to watch them. Another girl, from the opponent's side, stands in the middle of lanes, scarf in her hand. She holds it above her head. She holds it there for a moment. Ashton revs his engine, just get get under the guy’s skin.  “The car’s a lot louder,” Sandra comments. It’s to no one in particular. Curtis climbs to the passenger side of the back seat and stands, looking over the door.

“Ashton’s engine is souped up thanks to Calum,” he says as the rumble settles. “Nothing illegal. Just gives him more speed from the start and he can maintain it for the entire race.”

“Hey, look at my man paying attention,” Calum laughs, holding his palm straight up for Curtis to slap it. They go about their handshake, a series of slap, pumps, and snaps.  

Curtis looks up to Sandra. “We ain’t trying to be mean. We just...sissy, what’s the word? Scared, but like not scared scared.”

“Worried or maybe concerned,” comes from both his sisters.

“Concerned,” Curtis repeats to Sandra. She nods. It makes sense all things considered for them. They have to be cautious to some degree. It’s a matter of life or death. Cookie’s teasing and offering of her car makes Sandra’s less anxious though. She’s completely outside of her realm and needs an anchor. They’re nice. “Nice dress too,” he concludes. “Sissy has a skirt like it.”

Before she can express her gratitude, engines growl to life yet again and Sandra snaps her attention to the road. Ashton doesn’t press down hard on the gas; he, in fact, gives the initial lead away. He can come behind and cut to the inside on the turn. He’s not worried about a lead. He’s got a plan. He always has a plan.

Sandra grips at the door, heart thundering in her chest. “C’mon, Ash. Take him.” The words are falling from her lips before she’s even realized it. After the initial kick up of a dust cloud, she can make out Ashton sliding inside. The first turn comes up and he cuts to the inside. There’s a tap to his bumper, but he tries not to show it. Keeps a steady hand on the wheel to correct.

There’s cheering, but it’s hard to catch it over the rumble of the engines. Sandra can feel it bubbling in her chest as she wants to join in again. She wants to scream his name. She wants to let him know she’s rooting for him. As the second straight away comes up, Ashton falls back just a little. The noses of their cars keep trading places.

Her pulse quickens, veins pumping against her skin. But Ashton looks so calm as they round in for the second lap. “Leave him in the dust! Burn rubber!” Sandra screams. It feels good to let the primal shout leave her lips. Louder shouts from Cookie and Ashton’s group start to cut through the rumble. The entire side of the road is almost as big of a roar as the cars themselves.

Ashton slips in front and hauls ass, pressing harder onto the gas. It kicks up another sputter of dust. As the last straight away comes up, Ashton keeps the car going as fast as it can. He doesn’t even stop until he blows past the start line. “Yes!” Sandra cries, pumping her arms into the air. As the drivers meet, shaking hands and exchanging cash, she climbs out of car and rushes over to Ashton.

“That was incredible,” she gushes. Her heart is still racing. He notices the childlike awe lighting up her eyes.

“Aw, shucks. It won’t nothing,” he replies, cheeks warming as her compliment. That was admittedly a tame race. They can get uglier, there can be scraps. But it’s a relief it didn’t happen. He didn’t want to show her that. He’s careful to stand in front of some of the nicks on the car He knows they traded taps on the course.

“It was pretty amazing to me.” The rest of them walk over, to congratulate Ashton. Cookie, much to her word, leaves after giving her cheers. Calum follows directly behind her, wanting to make sure she gets home safe.

“We ought to celebrate!” Sandra grins, brushing her hands over Ashton’s. She notes the rings adorning his fingers and plays at the pinky ring. “My treat! I’ve got a little of an allowance. What do you say?”

Ashton, flustered at the feel of her fingers over his, nods. “But I can cover myself.”

“Nonsense, you just won! No need to spend the earnings already.”

“I can’t.” He can pay his way through the world and he for sure doesn’t want to seem like he’s too willingly to take advantage of her niceness. 

“Ice it. You’re getting a treat! And don’t think you can run off either,” she warns, walking back to her car. 

Holding up his hands, Ashton knows he’s a goner. Hook, line, and sinker, there’s nothing he can do to save himself. The smile rests on Ashton’s face makes his whole body warm. “I’m listening. No runnin’ from me, ma’am.”

The rest of his guys cheer on his victory but soon it’s wrapped up and he climbs into his car, preparing to follow behind Sandra. Down the streets, Ashton realizes that he’s going further north. The anxiety starts to hammer at his chest and his fingers tremble. God, he doesn’t need trouble. Not right now, not after such a great victory.

Staring up at the sign of the parlour, Ashton’s takes a moment to exhale. He can’t afford trouble. He won’t get into trouble. He won’t. He’s going to just go inside, get a quick treat and then go on about his day. He parks right next to her, climbing out of the car. Eyes are already burning holes into his skin. He tries to swallow that bit of panic that his chest.

The leather jacket feels less like an accessory anymore. It’s armor. He wears it so they know. So they don’t start shit. He wears it so when his shoulders fall, the bulk keeps them wide. Even if he’s not looking for a fight, it looks like he’s ready to scrap.

“What’s your poison?” she jokes as they walk in together. “Stud like you maybe it’s chocolate.”

Ashton laughs softly, shaking his head a little. “I’m actually pretty square. Vanilla’s my vice.”

“Mr. Big and Bad goes for vanilla.”

“He does. Can’t tell anyone though.”

“Secret’s safe with me,” she winks, walking up to the counter to order the shake and even a slice of something for him as well. It’s as she leans against the cool material that she notices the distinct sneer on one of the waitress’ face. It dawns on her. She’s brought him to her side of town. But they don’t know him like she does. So she juts out her chin, reaching into the pocket of her dress. She plays at the bills and finally they girl walks down.

Sandra doesn’t let her open her mouth. “Vanilla milkshake, two straws. Slice of chocolate cake if there’s any left.”

“Anything else?”

A shake of the head no and she turns around to see Ashton, smiling up at her. He digs into his pocket and finds some change before walking over to the jukebox. He looks through the selection. He could be a sap. But right now he feels like making a little scene. He slips in the coin and presses for “The Twist”. Ashton snaps his fingers to beat, looking over his shoulder to her. She leans against the counter, laughing, hair flying in the ponytail.

Ashton starts tapping his foot, shuffling closer to her. People, he’s learned, are always staring at him. He’s gonna give them a reason to stare now. Sandra is beside herself, watching him singing along, while twisting himself side to side. The only thing that matters is her smile, her laugh. Ashton likes being a bit of a goof. He likes to have fun. He knows his life has never been easy, but there’s no reason not to smile. He makes it a goal to make someone smile each day. They deserve, everyone deserves a bit of kindness in the world. He thinks himself to be lucky to give that to anyone. Sandra admires that in him. This drive to give everyone a little piece of happiness.

When Ashton slides his way up to her, holding out his head, she doesn’t hesitate to give into his antics.  They dance in the middle of parlour. She holds onto hands, bending her knees. It’s easy to twist her torso side to side. She’s never been able to do this before. To just let herself go. It’s normally so much emphasis on being a lady, being prim and proper. She’s never really ascribed to you, in a way that she wholeheartedly believed. But she was well aware of the society she was in, the role she was told she had to play.

But she didn’t have to play games with Ashton. She didn’t have to pretend. If she wanted to swear, which she never did anyhow, she knew she could. If she wanted to let her hair down, she could. If she wanted to sit unladylike, she could. She was not restricted with him. And that freedom, the vulnerability, made her fall even more in love with him. God, was she in love with him?

“Uh, you want this shake or not?” the girl behind the counter shouts. “Been waiting for forever over here.”

Sandra walks over, sliding the cash across the counter. “Sorry. Just havin’ some fun.” Another set of hands slide in around her and grab the glass and the plate. She immediately notes the slender fingers, the rings.

“Just a little dancin’ sweetheart. No need to get heated,” he says before going back to their table. He notes one shake and the two straws. “Bold, are we?” he teases, handing one to her.

“What can I say? I’m livin’ on the wild side.”

Ashton brings a piece of the cake to his lips while speaking. “Yeah, so wild your hair’s still up.”

It’s not a challenge, just a tease. But Sandra brings a hand to her hair, untwist the elastic around her hair. Her hair falls down over her shoulders as she shakes it loose. “Anything else to say, Stud?”

No, he’s got nothing else to say.  That’s the thing about her, behind her button nose and blue eyes are a curiosity, a yearning to live life the way she wants to, not the way she’s been told to live it.

Outside at their respective cars, Sandra slips her hair tie from her wrist. The bow sells it, makes his heart warm more than he’s willing to admit as she slides it onto Ashton’s wrist. “Something to remember me by,” she grins softly.

“I’m always thinkin’ about you. So it’s not hard.”

“Smooth talking there.”

Ashton brings his fingers to her cheek before tucking just a little bit of her hair behind her ears. “When can I see you again?” Tomorrow’s her grandmothers doctor’s appointment. She starts her new job the day after. He’ll be okay even if it’s just for a quick moment to enjoy her company.

“I’ll ya a ring, okay?”

He nods, “Okay.”

_______________________________________________

He knows Sandra’s grandmother’s car when it pulls into the gas station. He managed to snag this gig at the gas station. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. He doesn’t quite want to go into the factory just yet. He knows it’ll make him the most money, but he’s gonna clean up his act before doing that. She smiles at him, as he closes in on her hair. She’s still has her driving gloves on. “What can I do for ya, Ma’am?” Ashton teases, opening the gas cover.

“Fill her up.”

“How was work?” She’s a secretary at the firm in town. Not a lot, nothing to write home about but it helps out. Every cent does now for her and her grandmother. Her grandmother’s not sickly. Just getting up in age, requires a lot more attention.

“Long, just glad it’s over.” There’s a moment of silence. “Grandma wants to meet you,” Sandra says. Her voice is soft.

Ashton’s been dreading this. Her grandmother isn’t fond of people like him. Though she smiled in his face when he carried her bags, Sandra tells him that always sneered at home. Always said boys like him were no good. “Thought she hated me.”

“She likes you. Likes the man that makes me smile. But she doesn’t like how she’s never met you, according to her.”

“But once she finds out it’s me, she’s gonna blow her top.”

“No, she’s not. She won’t. I promise.” He finds that hard to believe. He wants to believe her. She seems so earnest. But Ashton knows that older people are set in their ways. He finishes filling her tank, taking the change from her fingers. “Hey, hey,” she urges, gripping his chin. “She’s gonna love you. Because you’re incredible and she just hasn’t seen that. All she’s seen is the leather jacket, the hair. She’s only heart stories. But she’s never sat down with the real you.”

“Most people don’t need to sit down with the real me to judge me.”

“She’s gonna love you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can.” It hurts to see him pull his chin from her grasps. It’s not hard, not a jerk, just a soft turn to his head until her fingers fall from around his skin.

“How?”

“Because she don’t know you like I do. She’s gonna love you because I love you.”

His heart beats against his ribs. They’ve been seeing each other, including tucked into dark corners, for only a few months. But to say that she loves him, that’s a whole new thing. “You love me?” The question exhales from his lungs so softly she barely catches it.

With a nod, she grins. “Yeah, yeah I think I do. I know it’s only a few months, but call me young and dumb--,”

Ashton interrupts her with a kiss. “No, be young. Be dumb. We only get this shot once.” The words press against his lips. He should take his own advice. “I love you.”

Lip tucked between her teeth, she looks to the ground before glancing back into his hazel eyes. “So, my house. Saturday. 6:30?”

“Your house. Saturday. 6:30.”

________________

When Ashton stares up at the door, he swears for a hot second he might vomit. He tries to keep it down. These are his good penny loafers. He’d hate to ruin them. But there is just something in his gut that tells him that this dinner is a bad idea. It takes him another minutes to finally lift his hand to knock. There’s a moment before the door cracks open and Sandra is standing there, in a powder pink sleeveless dress, hair pulled back from her face.

“Oh is that him, dear?” Her grandmother calls, the voice far away.

It takes everything in Ashton to step through the threshold. When she finally rounds the corner, her smile falters. There it is. There’s the passing look of judgement clouding her face. “Hi, ma’am. How are you?” He asks, extending his hand.

She doesn’t reach for it. “Good, thank you.” Her gaze lands on Sandra. “Sandy, can I speak with you? In private?”

The two woman walk down the hallway and Ashton stands, right near the door. He could bolt. He could leave it behind. But he stands there, knowing the hushed whispers being exchanged are about him, are about her and him together. The voices get a little louder. He caught “not good” amongst the hurried murmurs. He knows he shouldn’t interject. It’s not his place. He steps through the living room. They’re huddled together.

“Ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude,” he starts. “But I care deeply about your granddaughter. I know the reputation that I have. And I earned it. I won’t lie.”

“You say that like I should give you a shot,” her grandmother snips.

He shrugs. “I’d like one. I’m not the type to make excuses for myself.”

“I know about boys like you. You’re scared and you’re angry. And you take it out on anyone that looks at you the wrong way. You hang out with all those other boys too, all they do is drink and get into fights. Even the girls they associate with get into trouble too. You’re kind are no good.”

“Yeah, yeah maybe I am scared and maybe I am angry. Yeah, I’m a lowlife in your eyes. But I’m the lowlife that carried your groceries to your car for a year. And I’m the lowlife that that keeps the tank full even if Sandra can’t afford it at the time. I’m greasy and not the goody two shoes you’d want for her. Yeah I’ve been in my fair share of fights and yeah I’ve put some people in serious hurt. But I’m not so bad. I’ve been you, okay? I’ve been on the other side of this conversation where you’re so worried about what others are going to think. And all you can see is the trouble I’ve been in.”

He continues after wiping at his nose with the pad of his thumb. He’s riled up. He feels like an ass. Is this how Cookie felt? He can’t change that. He does right by her. He gets her now. “I know the bad I’ve done. But I know the good too. You think me heartless. I wish I was heartless. I wish I didn’t give a shit so much about so many things. Took a friend in because his parents abandoned him. I was barely scraping by for myself, but I took him in. He needed to finish school. I didn’t. I dropped out. Had to. But him, he’s smart. He deserved a second chance. And his girl, she’s brilliant. I mean, the mind on her- I wish she could go to college. But she can’t. Her heart’s too tied to her family. Oh, and she’s Black. So it’s not like anywhere is going to give her a second chance.

“And my friend, Mike, man’s a wizard at the guitar. I mean, that man is bad at the guitar. But he hates playing in front of a lot of people. He could’ve been gone. Luke, Luke’s got some pipes. But he won’t sing unless Michael plays and because Michael doesn’t play all that often, they’re both here. They got families they care deeply about. They got families that they gotta provide for. So you can think of us what you want. You can think us all bad. But you don’t know us. You think you know us. You only know what others have told you. I really don’t mean any disrespect, Ma’am. But I just want you to consider that. Consider people are more than what you know of them.”

He looks to Sandra, who’s wearing a smile on her face. This is the Ashton she knows. Not one to hold back his tongue, one to always fiercely protect the ones closest to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’ll be staying for dinner.”

She watches the way he pops the collar on his polka dotted button up. She’s know sure where he got it. But it makes her immensely happy to know that he matched a dress of hers. His shoes are silent over the hardwood floors. Sandra turns back to her grandmother. “You always taught me to be kind to everyone, to keep in mind everyone has their own story. But you couldn’t even take your own advice.”

“I was kind,” her grandmother retorts.

Sandra shakes her head. “You know what I mean.” She hoped her grandmother would change, she thought she could get the opinion to change. But maybe her grandmother would destined to always be stuck.

“You can’t keep seeing that boy. He’s no good.”

The words mean nothing to Sandra. Her grandmother relies on her. She’s not a child. Holding on finger up to her grandmother, she races outside, finally hearing the car engine roar to life. The evening has a slight chill but it doesn’t stop her from racing to the driver side door. Ashton rolls down the window. It took him forever to even gain the courage to turn over the key in the ignition. She’s probably come out to tell him this is it.

“You didn’t have to come out to tell me. I know,” Ashton says, staring straight ahead.

“If you thought I came out here to tell you it’s over, you’re wrong.” Her voice is soft. She reaches through the window, playing at the collar of his shirt.

“What?” He’s positive he didn’t hear her right.

“She’s older. She doesn’t know you like I do.”

“But that’s your--,”

Sandra cuts him off. “I know who she is to me. But I’m an adult. I want to be with you. And she can’t stop me. Give me a minute, alright? We’ll go somewhere else.”

When her lips brush over his cheek, Ashton can only nod at her request. She walks back into the house. Her grandmother sits at the dining room table, hands clutching her cane. “You can’t keep seeing him. I forbid it.”

“Grandma, I love you. But since you refuse to sit down and have a conversation with him, I don’t think your advice is the most well informed. Now,” she starts fixing her grandmother a plate. “You’re gonna eat. I’ll be back to clean the dishes. But you just relax.”

“Where are you going? Not out with that boy, I know.”

“His name is Ashton. As I’ve told you before plenty of times.” The plates makes a soft thud on the placemat. “Eat. I’ll be back.” She puts the rest of the food up. Her grandmother watches, shouting at her that he’s no good. But no one’s perfect. And she if wanted perfection, she’d never find it. Maybe that was part of her grandmother’s problem. She craved perfection so bad, craved to fit in, to not shake the table that she never saw how unstable the table was in the first place.

“Enjoy your dinner!” Sandra shouts, throwing a sweater over her shoulders and grabbing her keys. Ashton is still waitin in the car. She climbs into the car. “Let’s drive,” she giggles.

“I got a destination in mind. Bit of a tradition. Hope it’s not too square.”

“You? A square? Never.” The drive isn’t very long. The skating rink comes into view and Ashton spies Calum’s bike still around. They still have a little bit of time. They have to go to the rink on the West side. Too many people stared at them, a group of white boys hanging around and friends with folks like Cookie and Calum. And it’s not to say they didn’t get looks on this side either. It’s not to say that Cookie’s unfortunately gotten into with a few of her own, but it’s generally safer. 

“When we’re not supposedly running a muck of the town, we’re skating,” Ashton says.

“How’d you know I was a great skater?”

“You might’ve mentioned it once or twice.” She’s mentioned it more than that actually. But it’s not like Ashton’s keeping count. It’s not like he goes home and gushes to Calum probably too much about Sandra.

The pair walk inside and grab some skates. It takes a moment of wondering before they spy the rest of Ashton’s friends. Cookie spots them first, smiling. “What happened to the red, Ms. Red?”

“Let him borrow it for the day,” Sandra returns, rushing over to help take the pitcher from her hands. The table cheers, noticing the pair.

“Thought you had a fancy dinner?” Michael questions as they settle and tie up their skates. Ashton shakes his head. Michael catches on to the sour expression. That topic is canned without hesitation. They all knew about Ash’s concerns. They’re not really shocked, if they’re honest, that things went sour. It sucks nonetheless. They had hoped for Ashton Sandra’s grandmother wouldn’t be such an issue. 

Ashton gets to his feet first and takes her hand. They step out onto the floor and she glides off. Ashton’s not a terrible skater, but he’s not the best either. She turns around and sees him pushing off hard. “Alright there, tough guy?”

He laughs. “Keep yappin’ that’s fine!”

As they come around a second time, the song shuffles. Everyone recognizes the start to Put Your Head on My Shoulder. People start pairing off. Ashton spies Calum and Cookie finally coming back out. Sandra slows into his side, fingers brushing over his. “You look as coordinated as a baby giraffe,” she teases.

“Keep talkin here, just keep on.” There’s a moment of quiet between them as the laughter dies down, gliding next to each other. A little slower than the rest of the crowd, but neither of them cares. “Sorry about being frosted back there. I just--people don’t understand. And sometimes they don’t want to. Which is frustrating.”

She nods. “I get that. I’m sorry she refuses to listen. I wish I could get through that thick skull sometimes. She means well, but sometimes she can do harm.”

Ashton stops along the wall, pulling her gently into him. “It happens. But you chose me. Over everything.”

She shrugs. “Easy choice, if I’m honest.” Ashton cups her face, fingers gently brushing over the soft skin. He’s lucky to have her. He’s lucky she chose him.

“Aren’t you worried?”

“I’ve got a lot of things to worry about. But not you.” Ashton leans in, just a smidge, lips capturing hers for a brief moment. His breath leaves him. He’s sure time is either paused or sped up but he doesn’t care. There are some wolf whistles that pass by. And both of them know it’s his friends. Sandra buries her face into Ashton’s shoulder, the heat flooding her cheeks.

“You guys are assholes,” Ashton laughs, watching Luke, Michael, and Calum pass by. The song fades out. Something more upbeat turns over the speakers. He coaxes her out from his shoulder. “Don’t mind them.”

“I mean, kind of hard not too.”

“But you got me, baby. You got me.”

Her eyes twinkle and she cups his cheek before kissing him. She does have him. That’s a comforting thought, one that makes her feel safe. As their lips part, Sandra exhales a bit breathy. “C’mon now before your knees knock and you fall.”

“You got jokes now,” Ashton hollers after her figure, skating away. “Now you got jokes. I see how it is.”

The evening is filled with too many orders of cheese fries to be healthy, too many refills for Cokes. They sing along to the speakers and Sandra laughs, hooking her arm through Ashton’s. “You didn’t tell me you could sing.”

His smile is bashful, face turning red. “You ain’t ask before.”

“The four of you ought to start a band or something,” she concludes. She’s heard the stories of Michael’s historic guitar playing. Stayed over at night, once, to listen to the four of them act a fool, singing until the wee hours of the morning. 

“Good luck with that,” Cookie interjects. “All of ‘em hardheaded. Mine especially.”

“But you love it anyway, doll,” Calum returns, kissing her temple. 

The group decides as the twilight is swallowed up by night to turn in. Outside, they split off in various directions towards their cars. “Make sure you get your red back,” Cookie hollers, trailing behind Calum. “You look betta in it anyways!”

The group howls at the comment. “Nah, baby, it’s a team effort.”

In a flash, Cookie runs up, laughing, leaving Calum to wait at the bike. “I know that’s right. Good seeing you again,” she adds on sincerely. “I mean it, too.” Since the race, Sandra’s tried to talk to Cookie more, tried to ease the tension that inevitably may not disappear completely. But they can try. “Mrs and Mr. Red,” she laughs with a wink. 

“See how she put Mrs, first,” Sandra grins. 

Ashton nods. “Yes, yes, I most definitely did.”

Ashton pulls into her driveway, staring back at the same doors that shut him out. It’s okay. That door need not ope, he concludes. Sandra stretches across to give him one last kiss. It deepens when Ashton takes hold of her face. It’s not a kiss that conveys the passion that’s brewing in the both of them. It’s not a kiss that’s light and airy. It’s a kiss that spells how desperate they are for the other to know, deep down, this is real.

As they part, Ashton pulls off one of the main rings he wears and plucks the necklace off from around her neck. Threading the chunky gold metal onto the dainty chain, he rehooks the necklace around her neck. Sandra drops her hair around her shoulders to take a look at it sitting over the powder pink to her dress. “Something to remember me by,” he explains, from his wrist, she can see the hair tie still. How did she miss that?

“I could never forget.” 

She climbs out of the car and he watches to make sure she gets inside. As the door closes behind her, she grins to herself. Making choices is scary. She knows her grandmother will not be quiet about her stance. But this is the first choice that was solely hers to make. And she’s proud of it.

[spiderman-spoilerman]

SPIDERMAN EXPOSED BECAUSE OF TAYLOR SWIFT ADDICTION: What Is Peter Parker to Spider-Man?

This shit that has been going on for months now has finally been solved. For the longest time I’ve been following Spider-Man oh so very closely, eager to find out his identity—not to expose it to the media vultures, oh no, our hero deserves more than that. But… to satisfy my own curiosity. He’s the only Avenger hiding his identity, you know? You’d think they’d be okay with it after all these other superheroes get to run around freely…

Anyway!

As you all know, countless names have been linked to Spider-Man. He seems close with Tony Stark, but that’s hardly relevant. There’ve been links to JD Slinger, the American Pop Singer, in a very poor attempt to sell records—you’re not Hannah Montana JD fucking Slinger! Stick to your trash music!!!

However untrue and disappointing Slinger’s attempt at fame is, he’s not the only one with musical elements that is linked to Spider-Man.

A few months ago, a viral video entering adorable and kind of pedos-get-the-fuck-out-of-here-territory circulated around the internet and into our nightly news, as does every baby goes viral video does. You can check it out on the link below for a good dose of endorphins.

[Link: Baby boy wants to be Taylor Swift, re-uploaded by djflash]

[Description: A six-year old boy is standing in the shower with a towel draped over his body like a makeshift cloak, he is clutching his tooth brush on and seems to be furiously lip syncing. The camera shakes as the person behind the camera stifles laughter.

May Parker, the original uploader and aunt of the then-toddler Peter, asks: Aren’t you tired Peter? From all the singing? You’ve been singing for two hours. Aren’t you cold?

Peter is intensely staring at the mirror as he lip-syncs but pauses to look at May. He says in a tired and raspy voice: Yeah, but, but my fans! I need to sing, Auntie May, for the fa— [looking harried] DROP EVERYTHING NOW, MEET ME IN THE POURING RAIN—

The sound of Peter singing is drowned by May’s scream as Peter falls on his butt, having jumped with his passion for the song, and tripping.

It cuts off with May laughing while taking Peter in her arms, phone capturing her picking him up and hearing Peter crying as he tries to get back to the mirror: It—doesn’t hurt May. Need to get back—my! My concert!

Video ends]

Now how does a viral video of a baby Taylor Swift fan connect to Spider-Man?

Well, May Parker posted it on Facebook when Flash Thompson, who claims to be a good friend of Peter Parker (although I highly doubt this, he’s only in it for the clout and Spider-Man’s love, click here for more on Flash), decided to share it to everyone. One of his reposts on Twitter propelled it to viral success.

Weeks later, May Parker decided to bless us again with more content by taking a video of her now teenage (17 years old—PEDO’S STAY AWAY) nephew singing, once again, a Taylor Swift song.

[Link: I’m so glad im seventeen and can properly thirst upon this wonderful hooman]

[Description: They are in the kitchen this time and May Parker is being discreet with her video-taking. A Taylor Swift song ends softly from his phone’s tiny speakers. A Spotify ad interrupts but the video cuts it off two seconds later for another Taylor Swift song to filter in.

We take in the scenario. Peter is in his pyjamas, shaking his booty while singing Stay Stay Stay. He flourishes his hands a few times, dramatizing, “That’s when you came in wearing a football helmet, and I said, [he changes voices] “Okay, let’s talk” [he finishes one pancake and pours a new batter in before using the ladle as a microphone, as if in anticipation for the moment, and, back bent, face scrunched up, belts: STAYSTAYSTAY I’ve b EEN LUH-VING YOU FOR QUITE SOME TIME- TI-HIME! YOU THINK THAT ITS FUNNEH WHEN I’M—OH MAN, I spilled batter on my shirt!”

The camera shakes with May’s silent laughter. Peter does not seem to notice. He looks side to side, almost as if he is looking for something to wipe the batter with, but there are no paper towels in sight and his shirt is dripping with the excess batter the size of his fist.

In the most compelling, and understandable, moment of decision making, Peter has chosen not to be responsible and strips instead, to the utter delight of seventeen-year old’s in the world (and ONLY those younger than that! Pedos, I swear to god, if I see you, I kill you, that last blog was the last time you make me burn my eyes!)—a wonderful set of abs and toned muscles you would not expect from a seventeen year old boy singing to Taylor Swift with the squeakiest voice in the world.  Adorable. Ten points for my good boy ranks.

The video ends with Peter staring further at the shirt and licking at the batter before it violently cuts off to the roaring laughter of one May Parker]

It is peculiar, to watch May navigate the wonders of technology, too, because the first video was on her Facebook years unnoticed before Flash Thompson unearthed it for the world to see (Mr. Thompson, what exactly were your intentions going through a beautiful May Parker’s Facebook pictures?). But this time, she also apparently intended to send it to Peter’s friend’s Instagram account. However, the fluke came when she posted it and tagged them instead.

People who have followed her upon the first viral video have now decided it to be God’s work to distribute the video, making it viral within days. The very same people were the ones who noticed that Peter Parker’s singing style is the very same as Spider-Man’s.

I hear you gasp. Well, of course. I spit my tea as well, when I realized it too.

See, unless you were living under a rock, about a year ago, Spider-Man was exposed as a Taylor Swift fan when he saved a ten year old girl and began teaching her about the History and Influence of Swift’s discography and career, before proceeding to sing with her the hit song Speak Now. All of it was caught on camera, of course.

The people who spread this new video started a conspiracy theory that Spider-Man and Peter Parker are very similar people. One user @finn-man-the-aquaman pointed out that Spider-Man and Peter Parker’s voice are very similar. Another user @maxine_and_spider-man compared the dance moves from the two videos, putting frames of each steps beside each other, and found that it was so uncannily similar that it couldn’t have been a coincidence. It was an interesting point to make, because both Peter and Spider-Man had particular steps, all seemingly on a whim, but also matching each other perfectly. They are by no means good dancers, God no, but their whimsical dancing looks like two bad dancers following one choreography, couldn’t follow it technically but committed to it emotionally.

Twitter user @emiliar summarized it the best: the chest pump, the feet extension, the little jig, and the butt shake, before leaning backward and singing at the height of their emotions— apparently this is a common dance choreography?

To which @pissshitcry responded with a video that would bring us the wonderful breakthrough that I’ve been walking you all through.

[VIDEO uploaded by spidermansavedmetwice]

[Caption by @pissshitcry: No. Apparently: ]

[Video Description: Spider-Man is swinging through the buildings before stopping by Midtown High School, in front of a harried looking student, screaming frantically, and this is it folks: CAN YOU GIVE THIS TO NED LEEDS, TELL HIM SPIDER-MAN THANKS HIS FRIEND PETER! tHANKS! Before zipping away

Video ended]

Now. Okay. I know, calm down guys, I’m trying so hard not to run up the hills and do an Irish Jig, because I am so, so, so excited about all these new revelations! Nobody has quite documented this, too, so people, watch out for more of my content in a few weeks.

SO! Implication one: Spider-Man knows Ned Leeds.

Implication two: Peter Parker helped Spider-Man somehow.

Implication three: Spider-Man knows Peter Parker.

Cut, do it again, but with more emotions: SPIDER-MAN KNOWS PETER PARKER.

Let’s zoom back to a few weeks after the viral hits and Taylor Swift posts a video of her watching the video and then saying into the camera, with that iconic red lipstick and perfectly sculpted eyebrows: I have never thought this would be something that will happen to me in my career ever, but seeing a super-hero sing praises about me and teaching my [and she quotes from Spider-Man’s erratic explanation about her history] “unattainable song-writing prowess equal to that of the rock singing legends of ye old—” really does bring a smile to my face! More than that, Peter Parker is an absolute cutie too! He looks like such a sweetheart, baking those pancakes, apparently, for her aunt? Be sweet to your aunts guys! But also. I came here to cordially invite both Spider-Man and Peter Parker to come out to my concert in New York in two weeks! I’ll be there May 25th at the Lincoln Center, and maybe we can all sing together!”

She ends the video with the iconic Spider-Man wrist flip. The video has been circulated and has now gained over an estimated 100 million views.

It sparked a buzz of interest among the people, Peter Parker having received much of the spotlight. He hasn’t said anything in relation to Spider-Man but had reluctantly agreed to go to Swift’s invite. And I cannot emphasize the reluctant part. Kid looked so uncomfortable, but maybe he’s just shy!

Okay. Now, this thing is the most glaring indicator of what I will be telling you. The night of the concert. Everyone is there for Swift, but everyone is also there waiting for the much-awaited Spider-Man and Peter Parker saga. Halfway into her song list, Taylor Swift stopped to talk. The time has come.

Peter Parker walks into the stage, and the crowd welcomes him with adoring cheers, similar to Swift’s entrance herself. She introduces him, even though she absolutely does not need to, and the people scream their approval.

When Swift gives him his own mic, he almost drops it before catching it with his incredible reflexes. Swift calls for Spider-Man to reveal himself, much to the delight of the crowd, chanting his name as if it was a concert for him, which, in many ways, it kind of was. However, Spider-Man didn’t appear after that and the duo had to continue on.

It was a cute performance, with Parker stumbling a few times before getting the groove with Swift and belting it out as well. Everyone joins in on them singing and enjoying her old songs, Swift smiling and laughing the whole time.

Peter leaves the stage Spider-Man plushies and roses thrown for him, to which he received with a graceful bow. Swift resumes her concert after a few hearty jokes thrown in—but wait! What’s that?!

A screaming insect crashes at one of the large LED walls at the stage and the camera [and the collective crowd] is surprised to see the superhero—SPIDER-MAN!

“Ehehehe, hello Miss Taylor Swift, Ma’am!” He says, in a particularly deeper voice. Autotune? Before they sing it out, as they would—Swift laughing, and Spider-Man trying—Spider-Man explains that he was nervous meeting Peter Parker, before scrambling to correct that it was Swift he was nervous about meeting.

Swift then teases Spider-Man about a potential crush, which.

BRINGS US TO MY BREAKTHROUGH POINT.

TAYLOR SWIFT WAS ABOUT TO BRING US THE GAY COUPLE OF THE CENTURY, BUT SPIDER-MAN WAS TOO CHICKEN TO GET TO IT.

Okay, alright, I hate pedos, and we don’t exactly know Spider-Man’s age but we do know that he’s very young, what with all the pop culture references he’s been dropping with the intuition of an internet native. So, he’s young, alright? Possibly Gen-Z, even. Here’s a post you can see about his age analysis.

SPIDER-MAN. HAS. A. CRUSH. ON. PETER. PARKER.

[Insert hand chopping movements]

AND THEY ALMOST HAD A CUTE MOMENT ON STAGE HAD SPIDER-MAN BRAVED IT THROUGH.

PETER PARKER, AND I MEAN, PETER PARKER! SPIDER-MAN HAS A CRUSH ON YOU!

We’ve established that Spider-Man knows Peter Parker. They’ve met. Peter has possibly helped, or even saved Spider-Man himself. Now, saving a superhero is something that not just anybody does. And Parker himself is a student at Midtown Science High—he’s a smart kid! And seeing as these events just happened months apart, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to imagine them meeting again, perhaps, with Parker making pancakes in dewy mornings, and a tired (and yearning) Spider-Man is watching from the windows as Peter dances along to Swift’s songs.

The watching from the windows theory and thus getting to know the choreography might not be so creepy if you factor in the fact that Spider-Man might be hiding his crush for Parker’s safety!

It is like the modern incarnation of Super-Hero romance, only now, its more inclusive! To exist in such a beautiful world, and to watch such an innocent tale bloom in this cruel, cruel world. We could only hope to see more of them together, maybe as something... more?

--

COMMENTS:

reblogged by thunderstrike: this is like someone trying to overanalyze twilight for some depth—THERE ISN’T ONE!

thunderstrike reblogged by spidahmanna: come on, give them some credit at least for recounting the most batshit insane crossover in the universe as we know it so far

reblogged by skdfas: this person needs help, but very entertaining to read

reblogged by nedleads: oH MY GOD 

reblogged by kliyon: new ship, age appropriate Spider-Man x Peter Parker

reblogged by ekeke: um yes, i need a dash of meet-cute with one cup of flavored angst—soda please, I like it to hurt— large fluff, a BFF serving of some of them yearning, and a happy sad-meal for one please.

reblogged by unaunann: im done with this site, who wants to burn the internet with me?

3, 000 reblogs in 1 day

--

 Tony, reading the blog: Hmmm…

[Later]

Tony: Okay so I read this blog and I have remedied it.

Peter: Oh my god thankyoumisterstark I swear I didn’t mean to—

Tony: You are now the biggest shareholder for Spotify because I know you don’t want me to pay for a premium account, but if you’re gonna listen to those damn ads while singing to Taylor Swift, at least earn from it, you know?

Peter: …that’s what you took from the whole thing?

--

NEXT ARTICLE: The Avengers film a parody of Queen’s I Want To Break Free. Is Captain America is as beautiful as Rogerina, or is he too buff??? Tony Stark is an iconic drama queen, perfect for Freddie Mercury, and more!

[sweetdeathwrites]

silent night

Summary: Holiday shopping is always stressful, but somehow, Gokudera managed to finish shopping even with the added responsibilities of his duties as right hand man to Tsuna and the organization of the annual Vongola-Varia holiday party. Still, Gokudera can't shake the feeling that he's missing something... and he hates not knowing.

[23 year old!Gokudera Hayato/Reader] Warnings: angst, doubt, self-hatred, guilt.... the full package baby! plus some sexual innuendo/referenced sexual situations

Word Count: 6,253

(reposted [crossposted? idk what that means...] from my Luna/AO3 account!)

(Original author’s note and details:

[a gift for dark_wing19 in the 2018 Holiday Fic Trade!! Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoy!] A/N: Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas if you celebrate that, and Happy New Year! This was so incredibly fun to write and I never really pegged myself as the type of person to enjoy writing holiday fic!! I mention a few times about the Vongola having a Holiday party instead of a Christmas party because I wanted to be respectful of all readers, but also because don’t you think the Vongola would do just that?? I can imagine the Vongola and Varia getting into arguments about how to celebrate everyone’s holidays without having multiple parties because, as we all know, parties that extend well into hundreds of people are no doubt expensive, but more importantly, the Vongola and Varia are very busy people! And all that plane fare for those groups going from one place to the other?? That would just break the bank! I like to imagine the top bosses (yes, I’m including Dino) gathering together and deciding that they will all have one big party together, and celebrate every holiday and religious day that occurs within the season! I think the bosses can be very reasonable when it comes to parties. This fic is for dark_wing19!! I’m really sorry about the wait, I had this almost done by Dec 24th and planned to post on Christmas but time got away from me and blah blah blah… It IS still technically within the deadline so I hope you didn’t wait too long! I tried to use all prompts, “In search of the perfect gift,” “All I want for Christmas is you,” “Sometimes the best gifts aren’t materialistic,” and “It’s the thought that counts!”. Hope you enjoy it! It got weirdly angsty for a hot sec so sorry about that lol I imagine Gokudera and the gang are older in here, but not quiet 10YL! Yet. Maybe they’re 23?)

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It’s that time of the year again. Bells are ringing, children play in the freshly fallen snow, and the storefronts sparkle with unbeatable, slashed deals. It’s twilight, and Christmas trees and light decorations shine warmly in nearby parks, leaving the general feeling of contentedness twisting in the air. Couples walk down the street, arm in arm, blushing with a gentle passion as their little intimate bubbles of love remain unburst by the slow muddle of foot traffic. The one, teensy, ashen little smudge on the eve of the most magical time of the year is currently pushing against traffic, through lovebirds who squawk in protest and annoyance, and stepping in wide arcs much too harshly, crunching and slushing freshly fallen snow. Children complain and some throw feeble snowballs, but they all miss (did they want to deal with the consequences of if, by some terrible, unlikely miracle, they hit him?). Big, poisonous clouds of smoke curl out from his nostrils like some sort of fairy tale dragon, and lovers and young ones alike know to stay clear from him. This man is Gokudera Hayato.

Gokudera has his mind on other things, though. Right now, he’s thinking of his boss and friends– the people he’s been calling his family for years. He’s marking down everyone he’s gotten presents for and which gift wrap would suit them the best (because of course he’s going to color code them– how could he not?), all the while shouldering his way back to his shared apartment with you. Finally, his gift shopping was over! It was long and hard, with a famiglia as big as his, but the famous Smoking Bomber got through it all, even if he was cutting it a little close to the deadline! Confident in his memory, Gokudera checks his mental list (more than twice, in fact) to be sure everyone is accounted for. He is proud of himself for this, which isn’t something he can say about everything he does.

“Tsuna’s got a new watch, tie, and cologne set… Baseball idiot has a gift card to that stupid milk-based snack store and knife sharpening stones… Even Turf-Top has tickets to a boxing tournament… Lambo… that kid’s got candy… Who else…?” Gokudera murmurs to himself as he trods home, weary and eager to put down the multitude of bags that have been digging pale, red indents into his skin for the past few hours, cutting off circulation and making his already sour attitude almost unbearable. Gokudera hoists the paper straps higher up his forearms and regrips the about dozen in his hands with a new intensity: just a few more minutes and he would be home. Home with you– a hot chocolate in his hands, some soft holiday music playing in the background, and a blanket wrapped around him and the most lovely little minx he’s ever seen in his life: you! By now, the pile of presents under the Holiday tree (named so, by all of the Vongola to respect every member’s religion and beliefs!) must be taller than the tree itself!

Gokudera has hardly had a second to take for himself in the past few weeks, consumed by business and his duties as Tsuna’s right hand man, not to mention organizing the Vongola Holiday Hullabaloo (named by popular vote in order to be truly inclusive, and also, perhaps to be just the slightest bit silly. Gokudera can’t say it with a serious face. The Vongola family uses every possible chance to make him say it.) single handedly. Maybe the single handedly part was Gokudera’s own fault, as he stubbornly refused help from anyone… But besides that, and the gift buying, Gokudera sighs with the relief that comes from finally finishing all his tasks. Now that he has a second to himself, Gokudera can’t help but wonder what may lie under the Holiday tree for him… Maybe you got him some new jewelry, or perhaps a piece of technology from Giovanni that would allow him to modify his boxes with even more firepower! Or maybe a coupon for a couple’s massage excursion– no, a full on spa day together? With that thought, Gokudera takes a deep, slow breath.

Calm down, boy, he thinks to himself, Don’t get excited over what you don’t know.

In truth, Gokudera has been rather stressed lately. He misses the time he had, before this chaotic season, that he spent with you.

In his thoughts, everything seems perfect. Gokudera’s fantasizing about hurrying home and collapsing in your arms is a bit dramatic– what else can be expected of him?– but there’s something bothering him… Something at the back of his mind that just gnaws and gnaws until suddenly, but building ever so slowly, there are big holes of anxiety in his brain like swiss cheese. What the hell is missing?

“Shit,” Gokudera mumbles. He finally moves away from impeding pedestrian traffic and finds a small bench where he can rest his feet for a bit, but more importantly, riffle through his purchases. He feels like something’s missing. It’s a feeling he absolutely hates.

“Tsuna, Yamamoto, Ryohei, Lambo, Mukuro and Chrome, Hibari, Kyoko, Haru, Big Sis, some smaller stuff for the Varia… A box of chocolates for Tsuna’s Maman… Reborn…”

The more Gokudera digs through dozens of paper bags, the harder a feeling of emptiness sets in. His brow furrows as he counts every gift once more, grinding the butt of his nearly smoked out cigarette between his teeth.

What the hell is missing?

Feeling the frustration build, he pulls out his pack and lights another cigarette, rubbing out the used one on the bench. Gokudera fumbles around in his winter coat for a lighter he knows is in there and bites the fresh cigarette between his teeth. After coming up empty, he drops the rest of the bags the were weighing on his wrists to search his other pocket– he knows he has his lighter in there somewhere!

Gokudera’s fingers find it in the downy inner pocket of the overcoat, next to a small, but very important box that he’s kept in there for a few months, blunt nails bumping against smooth plastic that he’s so familiar with. The muscles around his mouth tug in what you, his darling beloved would call a slight smile; strangers that hurriedly pass him might call it different. The hunched man seated on a bench in the snow, surrounded by too many bags for a single man to carry, glaring pure heat indiscriminately at everything that moves would be more inclined to call that a grimace, or less politely, a full out snarl. However, the relief and joy Gokudera feels just grabbing the lighter make him feel like he’s walking on Cloud Nine.

He pulls it out, strikes the mechanism, and takes a long huff of that little stick of poison. The lighter is pink and covered with worn (or the term Gokudera prefers, “well loved”) stickers of kitties and hearts and cream puffs. You gave it to him on your one-year anniversary, before you realized how much of a problem his smoking habit was and how dangerous the consequences of smoking were. By your second shared anniversary, you totally denounced smoking and your previous gift, instead urging him to wean himself off and maybe start using nicotine patches, or get on prescriptions to help him off smoking.

Gokudera smiles at your concern, and with your help he’s been able to significantly reduce how much he smokes. But old habits die hard and he needs some instant relief right now. Taking another puff and feeling the nicotine swim in his lungs, filling him with a familiar sense of ease, he can’t help but feel little wiggling worm of guilt for smoking not just one, but two cigarettes in a single day. It’s been stressful, he tries to placate himself. Gokudera wonders how you’ll take the strong smell of ash on his mouth when you kiss him to welcome him home.

You kissing him is one of his favorite activities to do with you– among many others– and he wonders if you’ll abstain from that lovely affection again like you did when he last smoked this much in a day…

He doesn’t want to miss out on a single moment of your love.

Of a single moment of you.

Gokudera shakes off the build of ash that collects on the red tip of the cigarette. A little bead of recognition is rolling up into his brain, slowly, so very slowly… He takes another long puff and goes cross eyed watching that little scarlet circle rush towards the filter…

You.

“SHIT!” Gokudera vaults off the park bench, startling several passersbys and some mothers cover their children’s ears. Caring nothing for the delicate sensibilities of the general public, Gokudera scoops up all his purchases and runs back into the fray of holiday shopping in a panic.

A million gift ideas have come and gone through his head through the entire month of December, and for that whole month he’s pondered and entertained the idea of gifts, then rejected it with thoughts of “No, that’s too cheesy” or “Can’t get them that, that’s way overdone,” only to eventually forget that he failed to get you anything at all.

Gokudera feels overly warm in his winter coat– suddenly, he remembers you were the one to buy it for him and why was it that you seemed to buy him all his favorite things?– and all around him it seems shops are closing their doors and turning over their cursive “We’re Open!” signs.

He runs up to a glassware store with tea sets in the display window– you like tea cups and those cute little spoons, right?– just as a teenaged employee turns off the display lights. He meets eyes with the teen and there must be a wild desperation in his eyes because she reaches for the lock on the door to let him in, but a yell from behind the young worker causes her to jump and turn away from Gokudera.

His heart is pumping loud enough he can hear it in his ears and feel the pulse high in his throat as he silently begs that something just fell over in the store. No managers here, no siree.

To his greatest dismay, the girl turns back to him, with the deepest pity in her eyes, and her hand falls away from the lock. Green eyes are reflected back to Gokudera in the glass door and he sees just how pale and panicked he looks. Through that, the girl in the closed store frowns and shakes her head slowly– no, and I’m sorry.

Breath shakily falls out of Gokudera’s lungs and a hot burn touches his lip and he spits the cigarette he forgot he was smoking to the ground. With a groan, he touches his lip to find it tender, most likely slightly burnt. But he has no time for that. He stomps out the cigarette, in case it didn’t fizzle out in the snow, and turns heel to run around the shopping plaza against, in the desperate hope that some store, any store, is open for him to get you a gift that isn’t absolutely terrible.

He sees a lingerie store across the plaza with its lights still on. Should he… Does he dare?... No time to find out, Gokudera thinks, as he shuffles as fast as he can to the store, the bags around him making the loudest and most embarrassing sound he’s ever heard in his life.

It’s the sound of the dumbest boyfriend in the whole fucking world.

He’s fifty feet away when he considers what sort of boyfriend he is to buy you lingerie for a holiday. On one hand, it’s a sweet, sexy gift that you can wear whenever you want, and he knows you enjoy that. On the other, isn’t it selfish of him to buy you lingerie? After all, you’ll probably be wearing it for him, and in most cases, for hardly ten minutes at a time. Wouldn’t this be more of a gift for him?

He’s thirty five feet away when he considers that, hey, maybe if you don’t like it, he wouldn’t be the worst boyfriend in the world. You would have something as a gift and he could always get you an apology bouquet of roses (“Sorry, I Fucked Up” written in sad, loopy cursive) and a box of bourbon chocolates. Maybe a stuffed animal to boot. Maybe it’s a nice, sexy way of saying how much he loves you, and how much he loves you in the more… physical sense, too.

No, Hayato shakes his head, that’s so stupid.

He’s twenty feet away when he wonders if they have anything in his size. You get dressed up to impress him all the time– why shouldn’t he as well? When you wear anything with lace and silk he feels all hot under the collar… Why can’t he do the same for you? He’s not entirely sure how you would react to him in a lacy bralet and some thigh highs, but if past experience has told him anything, it is more than likely you would pounce on him before he could say anything witty as a hello.

Not even “Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?” Gokudera thinks to himself in a delirious, out of body way. Nope. Not even that.

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?”

No go, buddy,

“Hello, gorgeous?”

Sure, why not say it with a rose between your teeth, too?

He’s ten feet away when he thinks that, yes, purchasing lingerie for himself would be a nice present for you– maybe he could get a nice red velvet number with a white fur trim to match yours. The emotional bonding of two people, simply lounging around and being in love in lingerie must be rather significant. That skin-to-skin contact, the intimate traces of silk, lace, latex, or even leather?.. That must truly send a shock up the spine, right? It does for him, when you sit on his lap in teasing, almost see-through netting, in that fiery red color of his flame. And with the both of you in lingerie, what sort of gaudy opulence is that!

He’s five feet away when, all on board with his plan, in his mind the most significant barrier to his plan is the size restrictions all stores have. He’s not sure if men’s lingerie even exists, but that’s no matter to him. Gokudera is fully worried on whether or not he can fit the women’s sizes that this store provides. The holiday season must have wiped most of the sophisticated styles from the racks. He can deal with looking a little racy, but will he be able to fit the sizes? Gokudera doesn’t think he has enough time to get his bra sized, or if they even have his band size in stock. If they don’t have any bras that fit him, he supposes he’ll have to settle for a teddy or some sort of sexy contraption that fits around his chest loosely. For the bottoms… Well, he’s seen the underwear you have for special occasions and what’s on display in this shop, and frankly? The goal of the underwear doesn’t seem to be to conceal, so Gokudera thinks he will be fine in whatever he chooses. And he knows you have some lovely garters and stockings he can fit; from previous experiences, both of some sexy, but also of some simply curious endeavors.

He knows he has some high heels that he can wear as well– these are from a mission he had to cooperate with the Varia– Lussuria, in particular– that ended in satisfaction but the details of the mission are things he would rather not remember or talk about. In the end, though, he learned that Lussuria is not as unbearable as he originally thought, that Lussuria might actually be a pretty good friend, and that Gokudera looks damn good as a woman.

Gokudera is standing right in front of the store, face almost pressed to the glass, when he realizes that it is closed and the lights are simply a festive, though confusing, decoration choice. Shit.

The walk back to that sad little park bench is slow and each step fills him with a pitting sense of dread that makes his feet feel they’re chained. Yellow light flickers above him and casts Gokudera’s shadow long and mourning, as the lamp post seems to feed off of his dilemma. Gokudera’s palms press into his too warm eyes and he is completely at a loss for what to do next.

A sudden buzz in his pants pocket scares him out of his misery before he realizes it’s a phone call. After he realizes it’s a phone call, he’s even more scared. He’s sliding the cell out of his pocket when a million thoughts rush through his mind. What if it’s you? Would he lie? No, sweetheart, I have everything under control, don’t worry about a thing. I’m just the absolute worst boyfriend in the world– nothing you didn’t already know. Love you, be home soon.

It’s Tsuna. Gokudera moans in relief and answers.

“Hey, Gokudera, how’s the Hullabaloo coming along?”

“BOSS!” Gokudera shouts into the receiver. A small noise of pain meets him from the other side.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I’m…” hesitation pulls at the right hand man’s voice, “in a bit of a situation.”

Tsuna finally gets the full story out of Gokudera nearly ten minutes later, with many pauses for apologizes and his best friend agonizing about how he forgot the love of his life’s present. Silence falls over the phone when Gokudera takes a deep breath after his explanation.

“Well,” Tsuna’s voice is light and tinny over the call, “you do actually have a present.”

“What?” Gokudera’s brow furrows and his fingers twitch in the craving for another cigarette.

His boss laughs, not condescending, but in a way that gives Gokudera the sense that he’s missing something. And that is a feeling that Gokudera hates very much. Gokudera pulls out the cigarette carton: damn the consequences, he’ll have as many as he wants tonight.

“Hayato,” Tsuna says, “you have a ring.”

At that, all the blood drains from Gokudera’s face leaving him as pale as the snow that surrounds him. Now he really needs a cigarette.

Gokudera swallows and clears his throat after a pause that was longer than it needed to be. “S-So?” he says, and shakily lights what’s clenched too tight between his teeth. It lights but Gokudera doesn’t seem to feel any warmth from it.

“So? So, Hayato, you’ve been sitting on this for months. No, it’s closer to a year now, isn’t it?”

“Well, I– it’s more complicated than that– y-you see–”

“Hayato, you’ve been giving me excuses for months.” A tired sigh comes over the receiver and a quiet moment passes where Gokudera’s eyes lift. Now all the stores are closed and empty. A light, thin snowfall hides footprints just barely and lights in apartment buildings start to disappear. It’s late. He hopes that you’re sleeping, but he hopes even more that you waited for him so he wouldn’t miss holding you close in bed on such a special evening.

“I think it’s time.” Tsuna isn’t pressuring. Tsuna is concerned.

Gokudera takes a big suck from the cigarette and watches the heat from his breath and the nicotine tinged smoke rise white against the dark, velvet lined sky. His voice comes out weak. “I’m not ready.”

“Are you? Are you really?”

Gokudera closes his eyes and buries his head in his hands, fingers pulling at his soft silver hair, the hair you love to run your hands through and wash and brush for him.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

Tsuna snorts, “Of course you can!”

“I’m afraid.”

At that, Tsuna quiets. No one speaks. The man he trusts so implicitly and so completely, the man he found most capable in the world, the man who was his first friend– how could he doubt himself so? How can Tsuna help his best friend when he can’t help himself?

But he can.

They aren’t fourteen anymore. They’re grown. Tsuna has matured into a fine mafia boss, fitting for the Vongola. Fitting for his family. Tsuna is a man now.

“Hayato,” he begins, “it’s okay to be afraid. This is a big commitment. You’ve been thinking about this for years, saving up to buy a ring. Turning it over in your hands at night, right? When you think they’re sleeping and you’re just torn apart by it?” Gokudera laughs softly in reply. His boss– his best friend knows him so well.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Tsuna continues, tone growing rough over the phone. “But don’t you ever fucking say that you’re not ready.”

Gokudera almost swallows his cigarette in shock, choking on the smoke. He can count the times Tsuna has said “fuck” on his fingers. Maybe he would have to use his toes too, but Tsuna hasn’t really sworn much since they were handed their high school diplomas and threw fringed caps in the air.

“Do you think you would have bought a ring if you weren’t ready? That you would have come to ask my blessing, which you’ve always had, if you weren’t ready? Hayato, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t see love in you. It’s in the way you talk, I can see it in the way you hold yourself. Your eyes, Hayato, I see that love there. It’s not just my intuition, it’s a fact. Don’t you ever doubt yourself about that.”

Gokudera, floored, immediately apologizes, assuming his position as right hand man and subordinate. “I-I’m so sorry, Boss, I didn’t mean–”

“For the love of god, Hayato, shut up!” Tsuna yells, “Don’t disrespect me like this! Don’t disrespect the family like this! Don’t you know how much we believe in you? In your future? How any of us would do anything to help you get a shot at happiness?

“So don’t you dare disrespect us like this. You’re ready, Hayato. Don’t you dare disrespect yourself like this, and don’t you fucking dare disrespect your partner like this.”

The line goes quiet except for Tsuna’s panting and Gokudera doesn’t know what to say.

He’s seen this love for family in Tsuna before, experienced it back in middle school when he almost blew himself to bits to win against the Varia, but it never fails to wipe him out with the depth and sincerity of Tsuna’s love. It’s a love that, to a stranger, could be easily mistaken for rage. But Gokudera is no stranger and he can’t stop the hot tears from spilling over his green eyes, palm pressed firm against his teeth so he Tsuna can’t hear him cry.

“T-Tsuna…” Gokudera manages to croak out, with not much else to say.

“Hayato,” his childhood best friend says in a much quieter voice, “Please stop holding yourself back. You deserve happiness. You’ve protected this family for so long, and we will always protect you… But you deserve to give yourself the chance to start your own family, grow your own happiness. It’s a risk, but please take that chance.”

Tsuna can hear Gokudera sniff on the other side of the line. He smiles.

“Yeah… O-Of course, Tsuna,” Gokudera swallows. “I think I’m ready.”

You’re worried. The clock reads well past midnight and Hayato isn’t home yet.

He left the house in the early afternoon, when the cool winter light hit him so softly and beautifully that you couldn’t help but kiss him goodbye so many times that he had to drag you on the couch and kiss you just as much in return. He promised to try to be home early so that you could bundle up together in front of the fire and plug in the tree lights, pull out hidden presents and put them under the tree. Hayato laughed and said that he wanted to watch holiday movies on the television with you, and yes, even the really awful ones because it was something he said he might actually enjoy if he experienced it with you. He laughs in this soft way around you, a laugh he doesn’t have with anyone else. It’s tender and he has this strange little smile that’s even softer when he looks at you. It could be love. It scared you at first, but you’re certain now, and it’s not so scary when it’s so gentle. You hope it’s love. You love him back.

You’re very worried.

For an hour or three, you passed out in front of the TV in the living room wearing his pajamas that are way too long for you. The spirit of the season made you sentimental, what can you say? But those few hours disoriented you and the sun had long since set. Through the glass windows above the kitchen sink, you can see the snow had started falling again. It had picked up.

Hot chocolate sits on the kitchen counter in lovely holiday mugs that you received as a present one year but the drink has been cool for the better part of an hour now. You don’t feel thirsty with the way things are now.

The small window pane in the front door shakes shrilly in its frame when the wind picks up and you jump. It’s even colder out now. You’re just barely tethering yourself from running headfirst into a panic attack but Hayato hasn’t picked up his phone calls and the last few went straight to voicemail. The house feels bigger without him, lonelier, but so much more claustrophobic as well. It’s the juxtaposition of the fearful, you know, but you can’t quiet those worries of him being stuck somewhere without help, freezing to death in the cold– you should have made him wear those gloves and wrapped that extra cashmere scarf around him as you kissed him goodbye for the second try. What if something bad happened to him? What if the worst happened to him?

You’re nearly burning a hole in the carpet with your pacing, and just as you’re about to call up Tsuna and wake him at an ungodly hour, technically the day of the Vongola Holiday Hullabaloo (you pushed very hard for that name), the front door rattles with the struggle of keys not turning the locks, you all but break down the door.

Gokudera, despite his quiet attempts to enter the house without waking you, curses and can’t seem to get his keys to cooperate and open the damn door. He’s freezing out here, he grumbles to no one in particular. He does say something rather nasty and biting about Jack Frost, though. Maybe the door is so hard to open because his hands are all but pieces of a cadaver with how frozen they are from the elements and refusing his damn gloves you tried to get him to wear earlier, and the combination of the heaviness and multitude of his many shopping bags.

Gokudera gets the shit scared out of him when the door knob flies out of his hand and he’s face to face with the love of his life, who is absolutely pissed the fuck off.

“Hayato!” You hiss, and drag him inside.

He’s startled by your abruptness but you’re wrapped in your favorite blanket from your shared bed and he notices, giddily, you’re wearing his pajamas and they’re just so big on you and you’re just so goddamned cute and–

“I swear! I almost called the cops, Hayato! But I couldn’t, because my man is the bane of their existence, so you know what I was doing? Just worrying my damn head off! If my hair turns gray and all falls out, I’m holding you personally accountable! What were you doing out so late? It’s freezing!” You rant and chastise and shake your head, but you help him put his bags down and take off his coat, putting it over the couch. You take his hands in yours and gasp.

“Jesus, Hayato!” You bring his hands to your mouth and blow hot air on them, rubbing and trying to warm them, “You feel like ice!”

“Tell me about it,” he groans, and leans his full body weight on to you, tipping the both of you over. Luckily, he made sure the couch would be there to catch you.

“Hayato, I’m serious! I was so worried!..” Your voice takes on a wounded edge as you trail away, burying your face into his chest, speckled with stubborn, melting snowflakes. The man above you looks down to see your hair wild from running your hands through it and that makes him uncomfortably guilty. Another feeling he hates, especially when it concerns you.

“Hey, I’m, uh,” he sits up and brings your face up to his. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything but turn your face into his palm and sigh. He smells like ash.

“I lost track of time and Tsuna called me about–” he stops talking. When you look up at him he has a lost, helpless look on him. His hand on your face twitches against your cheek but it doesn’t leave. Hayato clears his throat.

“He, uh, called me about the party tomorrow. Then my phone died, sorry.”

“Hullabaloo,” you remind him, ghost of a smile creeping up your face.

He groans and the atmosphere is suddenly light, and the rest of the room returns in technicolor, high definition, 1080p. The crackle and lovely warm smell of the fireplace greets him and the television plays some god awful Hallmark movie softly. Gokudera finally feels the burn of the cold he’s been out in all night and he bunkers down further on the couch with his arms wrapped around you, pulling you half in his lap and you squeak a bit but don’t protest.

“Whatever,” he grumbles and buries his face in your neck. He missed you.

You squirm in his lap– his nose is cold!– and say, voice full of mischief, “It’s called a Hullabaloo,” and when greeted with another complaint from Gokudera you say more insistently, “What is it called, Hayato, love of my life?”

His hair tickles your neck as he shakes his head and says, in the resigned way only a man that’s hopelessly in love and fighting a losing battle can say–

“Ugh. Fine. It’s a damned Hullabaloo…”

He feels you roll over in his grasp so you straddle his hips and your face is looking up at him, gentle and kind.

“Thank you.”

“You’re not welcome.”

Within a commercial break, Hayato is settled in and donning a new set of sleepwear, snug and warm on the couch, and you have hot chocolate and sugar cookies in spades. He’s got an arm around you and you are all but tangled in him. You can hear his heartbeat in his chest, faster than normal, and it’s concerning but the debacle you were faced for the past few hours has exhausted you and the low, dancing lights from the Christmas tree lull you to a happy sleep. The both of you know you won’t be awake in a few moments.

“Hayato?”

“Yeah, babe?”

He feels your breath warm against his exposed collar and it’s almost as nerve wracking as it is a comfort. He’s all too aware of that little box in his coat, just behind the two of you to his right, slung over the couch. It’s the heaviest little box in the world, he’s sure.

“I was really worried. I thought something happened to you…”

“I know,” Hayato whispers and places a kiss on your temple, petting your hair. “And I’m so sorry. Really.”

“I know,” you reply back in a quiet voice.

You add on, as sleep has made you embarrassingly and so emotionally raw, “All I really want is you, Hayato… ”

The couple on the television kiss and orchestral Christmas music swells: the credits roll to the sound of a remixed, pop version of holiday classics. It’s really a pain to witness. Hayato can tell you’re trying your hardest not to drift away when you ask a question that freezes him up.

“Are you really okay?” you ask, pressing your ear to his chest, mumbling, “Your heart’s beating so fast…”

Gokudera coughs a little, then belatedly hopes that you can’t smell the ash on his breath. He knows you noticed he’s smoked, and smoked a lot, but you haven’t said anything about it. He’s grateful you’ve given him that small mercy.

“Yeah, just, uh,” he sighs, running his hands through your hair, “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another Hallmark movie begins and the snow outside drifts to the ground, calm and steady. You’ll wake up to a beautiful, snowy Christmas morning, then go to the Vongola-Varia Holiday Hullabaloo (damn you for making him think it…), and be surrounded by friends and family. A truly memorable night indeed.

Your body leans heavily on Hayato and when he’s sure that he’s sure you’re asleep, he carefully reaches behind him, fumbles with his coat, and nearly drops the ring box on your head when he takes it out.

You’re damn right I’m not okay, I’m scared as fuck, he thinks, opening the box and running the flat of his thumb over the smooth parts of the silver ring. He didn’t want to get you anything too gaudy, but it’s still rather dramatic and pretty (just like me, he thinks in a detached humor). He knows you’ll like it. He hopes you’ll love it.

Pressing another kiss to your head, Gokudera takes a deep, steadying breath. Of course you’ll love it, he reminds himself– if Tsuna can see it, it has to be true. He knows, deep down, that you’ve been waiting for this for a long time. You’ve been ready for a long time. He’s finally ready, too. He thinks of a plan, as responsible as he is, but he knows it’ll all go to shit the moment he opens his mouth.

In the morning, you’ll wake up to soft winter light, and Hayato on one knee in front of you in pajamas; you’ll laugh at first, disoriented and sure you’re in a dream. Then he’ll make a little speech, fingers itching for a cigarette and instead occupying one hand on your thigh and one in his pocket, running over the edges of that little box over and over.

You’ll start to get teary, some stupid holiday movie that you love to hate will play in the background, and the lights from the tree will make Hayato look so beautiful, so devastatingly handsome with his heart bared wide open for you like that.

Eventually, you’ll shout yes, and Hayato will cry before you do, and he’s not afraid to admit it. Though Yamamoto will tease him about it, Ryohei will cry too and tell him he’s the most manly guy on the face of the earth. The whole Hullabaloo will be full of congratulations and love, friends and family– and presents.

And Lambo, that son of a bitch, will say, after all that fuss over the ring and marriage, “Wait, the ring is great, but where's the present you got them?"

And Gokudera will knock his lights out– or try his best to.

And you’ll forgive him and kiss him under the mistletoe to calm him down because really, all you want is him.

And the best present he ever could have gotten is you.

Gokudera takes another deep breath, and squeezes the box one more time in his hands before he hides it away safely in his pocket. He kisses your hair one more time before resting his chin on your crown and closing his eyes. Gokudera Hayato falls asleep with a slow burning determination to be the most loving and supportive husband he could possibly be for you. He smiles as he drifts away, dreaming of weddings and honeymoons.

[mediacalling]

Why Am I Shadowbanned on Instagram and What Can I Do About It?

Have you noticed any drops in your Instagram engagement in the last few months? If so, you aren’t alone.

Starting several months ago, a number of profiles started seeing big dips in the engagement on their Instagram content. While some brands experienced this originally when Instagram’s feed algorithm was introduced, this was something a little different. Some profiles were actively seeing declines in the growth of their follower count, or their content not showing up in Instagram’s Discover section.

Some of these users could have been shadowbanned without even realizing that this is something that could even happen.

Woah. Shadowbanned? 

What Does “Shadowbanned Mean?”

Shadowbans are a little bit like a time-out for users (particularly business profiles, in this context) that are placed because of certain behaviors the account makes. This often includes violating terms of service.

In a shadowban, the user isn’t technically banned, so they can still use the platform like they normally would and engage with other users, but their content may be kept hidden or given a lower priority in the algorithm.

In most cases, the platform will not tell you that you’ve been shadowbanned; it’s like they don’t actually want you to know.

In the specific case of an Instagram shadowban, your followers can still see your posts, but they may appear further down in the newsfeed. Your content also won’t appear in the Discover section of Instagram or in hashtag searches. This significantly damages your potential reach, leading to drops in engagement and the declining follower count.

How Can You Tell if You’ve Been Shadowbanned on Instagram

If you’re seeking consistent decreases in engagement and follower growth, you should consider the option that you’ve been shadowbanned.

There are sites out there that claim to have the ability to tell you whether or not your account is shadowbanned on Instagram. From my experience, and talking to other industry experts, these sites are not reliable at all.

The best way to check is to search for a hashtag after you’ve uploaded a post containing it. If you can find your content (it won’t be in “Top content” but “Most Recent”), then you’re in the clear.

Why You Might Have Been  Shadowbanned on Instagram

Behavior that Instagram deems to be spam-like—even if it’s not a technical violation of terms of service, which they could actually ban you for— seems to be the most common cause of being slapped with an Instagram shadowban.

Some of the most common ways you can get your account shadowbanned (or actually banned) include:

Using Banned Hashtags

Did you know that Instagram has banned certain hashtags? Typically they only ban hashtags that are consistently used in ways that are abusive and/or violate Instagram’s terms of service. Using a banned hashtag even once can land you in hot water.

Some banned hashtags are not even a little bit shocking, like #weedstagram and #sparklingnudes (seriously…. they had to ban that one), but others are a little more surprising, like #valentinesday and #skype. Check out all the banned hashtags here.

When in doubt, search for the actual hashtag before using it and see if it shows up as being banned. If it does, you’ll only see a top results section and no “most recent’ posts, along with a note at the bottom of the page that the hashtag has been hidden.

Repeatedly Using the Same Hashtags 

Instagram may flag your posts as spam if you do this. This is yet another good reason to diversify your hashtag usage; while you can always use your branded hashtag, switch up the generic ones like “#TBT” and “#instagood.”

Using Direct-Access Automated Scheduling Software

Some social management software has found a way to circumvent Instagram’s own technology and automatically posts content directly to Instagram. This violates Instagram’s policies. This does not include Agorapulse, which sends you a notification so you can publish it manually and abides by the terms of service.

Buying Followers

Buying Instagram followers is a bad idea for a lot of reasons; not only do you waste money on “followers” that are typically nothing more than bots, but they can sink your engagement rates and the practice could potentially get you shadowbanned. Technology is sophisticated and it’s shockingly easy for Instagram to detect bots – and the brands who use them.

You’re Exceeding Instagram Posting Limits

Did you know that Instagram had posting limits for your account? I’ll be honest, I didn’t until I was researching this post. You can only like, comment on, and upload so many posts (and follow so many people) within a given time frame.

Now these limits are really high. You’ll have a hard time hitting them unless you’re using some sort of bot (and see above 2 sections on this), or you’re really active on Instagram. These limits include:

Following or unfollowing no more than 60 people in an hour

Liking no more than 150 posts in an hour (you can get to 300,  but it’s best to keep it at 150)

Placing no more than 30 hashtags on a single post

Posting no more than 60 comments per hour on others’ posts

 How to Come Back from a Shadowban

If you think you’ve been shadowbanned on Instagram, the first step is to figure out why.

Take a look at the common reasons this can happen, and see if you may have accidentally partaken in any of them. If you have, make some changes as soon as possible. Delete the post with the banned hashtag; you can repost it with new hashtags once you do. Get rid of software that isn’t compliant with Instagram’s terms of services (and sign-up for Agorapulse instead!)

It doesn’t hurt to give your account some cooling-off time; stop all activity for 48-72 hours as soon as possible before you come back and resume your marketing.

Check the apps you’ve allowed to connect to your Instagram’s API and make sure there isn’t anything there that could be hurting you. You can do this by clicking on the cog where you’ll also log out, and choose “Authorized Apps.”

You can also contact Instagram directly and report the problem. Make sure you mention that your content isn’t showing up in searches, and not just that your engagement is dropping.

Final Thoughts

If you want to keep your Instagram account and its engagement growing, it’s best to avoid any behaviors that Instagram find problematic. Not only will this keep your account in working order, most of the terms of service are really set up to benefit most brands; no user wants to see content that feels like spam, either, which is largely what the shadowbanning seeks to prevent from taking hold on the platform.

What do you think? Have you ever been shadowbanned on Instagram, or any other social media site? How did you realize you were shadowbanned? How did you fix it? Leave us a comment and let us know what you think! 

The post Why Am I Shadowbanned on Instagram and What Can I Do About It? appeared first on Agorapulse.

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[garynsmith]

How I had to change to increase diversity at Redfin

http://ift.tt/2pToSdP

Reposted with permission from Glenn Kelman.

I realized my company had to change after talking to an African-American woman who’d just quit Redfin. When I asked her what it was like being black at Redfin, she simply said “lonely.”

I wish all the people engaged in culture wars and political-correctness debates could have been there to tell me what I should have told her then.

She didn’t judge the company based on our diversity efforts; she experienced it based on our actual diversity, as one of a small number of African Americans in our Seattle office.

It was easy to decide then that I had to change the company because I hadn’t yet realized how much I’d have to change myself.

This essay describes those changes, personal and organizational, but it isn’t aimed at the diversity advocates. It’s for the people in my seat, the ones accountable for delighting customers and generating profits, who will lose our jobs and our identities if our businesses don’t grow at a berserk rate.

Redefine hard core

The unholy power we draw on in our darkest hours as an entrepreneur is not our intelligence or creativity, but the intensity of our work ethic.

Our companies are fighting for their lives against giants with more money and people. Often there’s a billion-dollar prize at stake. Once our survival seems assured, we never quite get over what we went through, and we never want to get over it. What we fear most is becoming as complacent as the companies we’ve challenged.

But in many startups, this pressure to work hard is so overwhelming it becomes a form of aggression against anyone with other commitments, including people with children and aging parents.

It follows you into the bathroom and down into the parking garage. It’s why startups are often run by a cadre of young men, single or married to stay-at-home spouses.

When a Redfin team slipped a deadline, I used to ask why their offices were empty at 6 p.m. Our chief technology officer, Bridget Frey, has been militant in objecting to such questions on principle. “You want to know where they are?” she said. “They’re picking up their kids from daycare, just like you.”

Bridget suggested an alternative performance criterion: results. We invested in measurement systems that an entry-level engineer could access on her own at 9 p.m.

It took a year to warehouse data from across the business in one place, to figure out which metric to assign to each team, and to train the team on how to move it.

But it was worth it. Since the two of us embraced this approach four years ago, I’ve stopped asking why people aren’t in the office. Redfin’s traffic has accelerated from 26% year-over-year growth to 45% now.

In roughly that same period, the percentage of engineers in Redfin’s Seattle office who are female has grown from 0% to 33%.

Objective measures such as these are the ultimate refuge for people who have faced double standards and moving targets all their lives, but are also the happy place for CEOs eager to have someone else responsible for hitting a number.

I realized this at a dinner with a portfolio manager who was the mother of five. I told her that the macho hedge-fund world would be the last industry I’d want to work in as a mom.

“It’s the best,” she said. “If I worked for you, my career would depend on whether you liked me. Here, I’m judged on my trades. My partners make too much money from my trades to be sexist.” The most convincing arguments for diversity come from the capitalists, not the socialists.

Embrace bureaucracy (the good kind)

Since we at Redfin are coders and customer advocates, not traders, many Redfin promotions are still subjective, but that conversation got me thinking about how to make them less so.

For years I’d resisted writing down the criteria for hiring and promoting employees. I believed that check-box promotions, where people move up by doing everything right except generating results, create a confederacy of do-nothings.

I preferred promoting people based on the manager’s discretion. That changed when another woman left Redfin for a bigger job at another company, without realizing she was about to get promoted at Redfin.

Her manager never knew what the standard process was for promoting her, because there wasn’t one. That left the departing employee to worry about our basic fairness.

No one should have to worry. It’s your job as a manager first to be fair, but also to convince people of your fairness. Fairness, after all, is the starting premise of any collective activity, whether it’s a kickball game or a technology-powered real estate brokerage. And the only way to be fair about a promotion is to write down what it takes and refer to that regularly.

Redfin has documented the promotion criteria for every engineering role above entry level, and for all directors and vice-presidents.

We now require managers to make the case in writing for every promotion, and also, because the process should be rigorous, the case for rejecting or deferring a promotion. These documents overwhelmingly focus on results.

Does all this documentation sound like bureaucratic baloney to you? Well, bureaucracy was originally conceived in 134 BC as one of the foundational innovations of modern society, where Chinese mandarins were chosen based on a civil-service exam rather than by political or family affiliation with the king.

It helped an entire continent avoid the dark ages. Like all great ideas, it spread to the rest of the world. A bit of it should come to the technology industry too.

Train people to be strategic

Board members who decide someone shouldn’t be promoted view promotion criteria as bureaucracy in its worst sense. We often simply conclude “she just doesn’t have it.” I can’t count the number of times I’ve heard that phrase, about men and women, from me and others. It sounded innocuous enough, until one day I realized it was the sound of someone’s head hitting a glass ceiling.

But it’s also often a fair assessment. The would-be executive being passed over may chase off-base ideas, or get overwhelmed by the sheer number and ambiguity of projects he or she has to handle at a senior level. Promotion denied.

When our chief technology officer first heard that someone just wasn’t strategic enough, she responded with a question no one had ever asked before: “So what are we going to do about that?” My initial response: nothing. If there’s one belief boards hold sacrosanct, it’s in God-given talent, which it is their job to find, coddle and lavishly overpay. You either have it or you don’t.

But most engineers don’t believe in the kind of God who anoints people for corporate leadership. They believe in humans’ power to make things better, and that includes all things, even other humans. They abhor the waste of writing off one of your most talented employees.

So Bridget and I have worked on a program to train Redfinnians on the un-trainable: how to be strategic. We go through the calendars of up-and-comers to clear time for chasing big ideas.

We expose them to board-meeting materials so they’re ready to contribute, not just listen, the first time they participate. We turn their writing upside down to put their conclusions first. We teach them the business, explaining our technology stack and financial statements, even if it isn’t directly relevant to their jobs.

About half the time, none of this makes a difference. Talent still matters, and the would-be executive really has hit his or her ceiling. But half the time, the person breaks through. And this in turn has increased our money-making capacity.

Redfin could never have launched a mortgage business this year while also building an automatic system for scheduling home tours, because one executive was responsible for both projects.

Fortunately, we’d been developing another executive to take over on-demand tours. Since the new executive is an Asian-American woman, this increased the diversity of our executive team, but we think of that increase in diversity as a means to an end, not an end in itself.

Diversity as a product

We still have a long ways to go to take advantage of all the talent the world has to offer us. This is in part because for years, I focused on short-term results, hiring the folks nearest at hand, elevating the loudest voice in the room.

In Silicon Valley, we talk about the technical debt that piles up from years of hacking in quick-and-dirty features, but we also accumulate debts from such short-sighted business practices. To grow into a great company, with better talent than our competitors, Redfin has to set aside time to pay those debts too.

It has helped to approach diversity at Redfin like other challenges our engineers have to solve, first because it brings a relentless mindset to the problem.

When I hear that there just aren’t enough qualified candidates to diversify Silicon Valley, that the problem is too hard, that it’s not our fault, I try to recall another time when Silicon Valley tried to solve a problem, failed on the first or second try, then resigned itself to defeat.

We’ll increase diversity the same way we solve every other problem: by iterating fast, thinking long-term, trying out risky ideas, valuing progress over perfection, analyzing everything.

This is why at Redfin engineering has taken the lead on rewriting job descriptions, retooling career ladders and recruiting from new sources, developing a prototype for improving diversity beyond engineering in the same way we develop prototypes of our products. We never assume we’ve solved the problem, instead measuring whether we’ve made it better, then fixing another round of bugs to make it better still.

The crazy thing is that I still believe in all the utopian stuff that brought me to the technology industry in the first place. I think Redfin is a work of art. I want it to be a meritocracy and a sea of love, for everyone.

We’re still figuring out how to be a city on the hill, and I’m still figuring out how I need to change to make it so, but this is what has helped us get this far.

Glenn Kelman is the CEO of Redfin, a technology-powered real estate broker. Follow him on Twitter. 

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