that wlw in fandom feel when you just don’t like one of the biggest f/f ships that it feels like every other wlw in fandom loves and like it’s absolutely everywhere and people act like you’re supposed to love it because all other wlw in fandom do
you know how when abe and suyama are totally trashin the other people on the team for porn fantasies and stuff (and tbqh porn industries are shit anyway so it’s true, thank u abe and suyama) and then the other team members are like, “then what would you do if you had a girlfriend?!” and like…
suyama is like “well first I’d hold her hand?” and then the other people burst out laughin, and suyama is like “that’s normal isn’t it?! what am i supposed to do, jump the girl?”
I’ve been seeing some discussion about factions on my dash and I’ve been noticing a trend. People seem to believe that being ‘sorted’ into a faction is dependent on your personality, and it’s really not. It’s not like Hogwarts houses; brave people who would be in Gryffindor aren’t automatically in Dauntless. It’s about what you believe will cure humanity’s problems. You don’t necessarily have to be selfless to be in Abnegation, you have to believe that selflessness will solve our issues. That’s how I, a Slytherin, can be in Amity; not because I believe I am especially kind, but because I believe kindness can solve our problems.
That’s why you’re meant to choose your faction instead of being placed in one, like Hogwarts. Because it’s your choice, it’s what you think will solve our problems. It’s bigger than personality traits, and I think it says a lot more about you.
We die to each other daily. What we know of other people is only our memory of the moments during which we knew them. And they have changed since then. To pretend that they and we are the same is a useful and convenient social convention which must sometimes be broken. We must also remember that at every meeting we are meeting a stranger.
Some nights call for fluffy Michael. This goes out to all my Mikey girls who need a little smile tonight. :)
You jolt awake at a large sound coming from the direction of the kitchen. The clock on your nightstand glows 2:27 in bright red. Another crash rings through your apartment followed by a muffled “fuck”. You sigh before throwing the blankets off and placing your feet on the cold hardwood. As you pad down the hallway, you see the light on in the kitchen and start to smell something burnt. Turning the corner you see your boyfriend hunched over the stove, an open container of popping corn next to him. “Mikey. It’s 2:30 in the morning. What the hell are you doing?” He keeps his focus on the stove. “I got this craving for popcorn, but then when I came in here I remembered you didn’t buy the microwaveable shit anymore, so I thought I would make something else. But I just really want popcorn, so now I’m trying to make some without burning it.” You walk up behind him to see one pot on the stove with a small amount of charcoal coloured popcorn and a second pot with unpopped kernels resting on the open flame. “Mikey, did you put oil in the pan?” “Shit.” He mutters before reaching to put a splash in with the kernels. “You’ve also got the stove too hot.” You reach around him to turn the dial from high down to medium-low. “Thanks.” You continue to stand behind him and wrap your arms around his middle. “You’re welcome.” You turn your head and place your cheek in the middle of his back. “Babe, you feel a little tense.” “M'tryin to concentrate.” You chuckle. “Move over, lover boy. I’ll take it from here.” “God bless you.” He slides to the left, and you take his spot in front of the stove. A few minutes later you and Michael are sitting at the small table in the corner of the kitchen, a bowl of Parmesan popcorn in between you. “Wanna see how many in a row I can catch?” You grin. “Wanna make it a competition?” A sly smile crosses your boyfriend’s face. “Loser has to give a blow job?” You crinkle your nose. “You’re just assuming I’m going to lose?” “No! But it’s pretty obvious that you’re going to.” “Fine. If I lose, you get a blow job. But if you lose, I get to do whatever I want and you don’t get to come until I say so.” Michael sits there and weighs his options momentarily. “Deal.” He thrusts his hand toward you, and you give it a shake. Ten minutes later with half the bowl of popcorn is scattered on the floor, Michael is sitting on the edge of his seat trying his best to distract you. “I mean, there’s no way you’re going to get more than twelve. That’s like a record for anybody.” You smirk as you catch another piece in your mouth. “Well that was number ten, so I wouldn’t be holding my breath, Michael Clifford.” He pouts as you catch pieces eleven and twelve in your mouth. “What happens if we tie?” “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” “Yeah… But what if it does?” “I wouldn’t worry about it because I’m telling you it won’t happen.” You grab a piece of popcorn and throw it in the air. Right as you’re about to catch it, Michael rushes over plants his mouth on yours. You can’t help but laugh into the kiss. When you pull away, Michael is sitting back with a satisfied smirk on his face. “So what happens now, sweet cheeks?” You take a handful of popcorn before grinning at him. “I guess we’re about to find out.” His smile grows bigger as you lean over to give him a slow kiss, your hand caressing his thigh. “After my kitchen doesn’t smell like burnt popcorn.” You pinch his cheek as you exit the kitchen, leaving him with a bewildered look on his face and a tightness in his pants.