i know folks are gonna call me a pedo for this one, but i grew up seeing my mom and grandma naked. they had health issues and at times needed care and help showering. and i truly think more kids need to be shown the nonsexual reality of naked women at a young age. there is nothing sexual about my grandmothers breasts, they were simply body parts. more women die of heart attacks because people are too afraid of breasts to do real chest compressions, because they are scared to touch their breasts. the sexualization of our bodies literally kills us. i need people to be more normal about naked bodies and i'm 100% serious.
the oldest reblogs for this post that i can find are from january 2nd of 2013. this can has been getting kicked around tumblr for almost 13½ years now
Very generally speaking, when you see a black man in a piece of media, be it tv show, movie, video game, etc. thereâs something you often see a lot of writers do. To go against the stereotype of black men (and black people in general) being dumb and lazy, youâll see this black male character being smart and an achiever. ďżź
The Black Nerd. A common character type, the nerd will always be very interested in all things nerdy: science, video games, mathematics, etc. In an continued effort to combat stereotypes, the Black Nerd will be lack athleticďżźism, probably being asthmatic (the nerdiest of conditions). The Black Nerd will dress smartly, suspenders and bow ties. Theyâll always talk smart too, using proper English with complex words.
Now, I donât have a problem with a black character being a nerd, indeed black people are a people; we arenât all the same and we all have varying personalities. The problem I have is that too often we see a distinct disconnect between Blackness and the Black Nerd. The Black Nerd doesnât listen to hip hop or rap, only classical music. The Black Nerd only has white friends, the only other black characters are into not nerdy stuff. The Black Nerd never ever uses AAVE at any time in any context.
And again I must say that Black people, not being a monolith, there are no hard fast rules to being Black. Iâm more than sure there are Black people like what Iâve described above, Iâm not saying itâs impossible; what Iâm getting at is that the only Black Nerd we see. There are Black Nerds that play basketball, that bump Kendrick Lamar, and use AAVE since itâs an ever changing dialect. Iâm just saying thereâs no one way of being a nerd and no one way of being Black.
Yeah I think Iâll make Leonie a Pegasus Knight. Cause Iâm pretty sure I already made her a Bow Knight and Great Knight. Itâs time to give her something new.
Finally completed that Gautier Inheritance mission with 0 deaths, not including Gilbertâs retreat, now I need to go all in on recruiting Lysithea and then Lorenz.
After that maybe Felix cause I love him, then Mercedes, and idk Raphael? Problem is my brawl skill is apparently not good enough.
I wish I had more time leveling up everyones skills, the problem is the more I recruit the more Iâm split on who to level up and stuff.
"why can't they just be friends?" not in the homophobic sense, but in the "in your need to center romance in everything you are missing the whole point of the media in question" sense
You never knew you could be that physically close to a stranger. For months you would be pressed together on crowded bus rides, falling asleep tangled in each otherâs space with your head on his shoulder and his weight leaning into yours, sharing quiet mornings and tired groans, before ever knowing his name or what he would become to you.
contains: swearing, fluff, banter, attempt at humor
Atsumu was probably the most irritating texter alive. It had only been a few days since you exchanged numbers, and he was already making you regret every decision that had led to this moment.
Your phone buzzed violently against your desk.
[01:23 PM] Atsumu: WYA
You ignored it.
Another buzz.
[01:24 PM] Atsumu: reply
Then another.
[01:26 PM] Atsumu: wyaaaa
You stared at your screen in disbelief. Was he unemployed? Did volleyball players not have classes? With a deep sigh, you finally picked up your phone.
[01:35 PM] You: school?
[01:35 PM] You: Stop texting me.
[01:35 PM] You: Thanks.
The reply came instantly.
[01:36 PM] Atsumu: LOL i see u out the window tho
A picture followed immediately after. It was a pigeon. Just⌠a random pigeon sitting outside. You blinked slowly.
[01:39 PM] You: Fuck you.
Beside you, your friend Mia nearly snorted out loud trying not to laugh as she leaned over your shoulder. âIs that your boyfriend?â
You physically recoiled. âEughh. No.â
Mia laughed harder. âYou guys are cute though.â
âWeâre not âyou guys,ââ you muttered, horrified.
âMhm.â
You ignored her and looked back at your phone. Three new messages. Of course.
[01:42 PM] Atsumu: ????
[01:42 PM] Atsumu: oh no i didnt mean the pigeon
[01:42 PM] Atsumu:Â sends picture of chemistry work
[01:42 PM] Atsumu: my camera angle was wrong mb
You stared at the screen.
Bullshit. Complete bullshit. The chemistry worksheet was blurry and barely visible in the corner of the image while the pigeon sat centered like a professional model.
[01:43 PM] You: One, youâre a liar.
[01:43 PM] You: Two, thatâs even worse.
[01:43 PM] You: Three, if you donât leave me alone, youâre getting muted, buddy.
The typing bubble appeared instantly. Then disappeared. Then appeared again. Dramatic ass texter.
[01:43 PM] Atsumu: wow u type super proper
[01:43 PM] Atsumu: punctuation n everything
You rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. Then you turned your phone off completely before he could continue.
He was already asleep when you got on the bus, slouched against your side like he had given up on consciousness. You didnât even hesitate this time. You just reached over, shoved his face lightly so you could slide into your seat, and dropped down beside him which jolted him awake with a low groan and a confused â...oiâ that barely sounded like a complaint. He blinked at you for a second, clearly disoriented, before instinctively leaning back in anyway, like his body had already decided your shoulder was his default resting place. You made a face out of pure habit and muttered for him to move, but he only shifted closer instead, his shoulder pressing into yours as if he had no intention of respecting personal space.
You sighed, too tired to properly argue, and instead stretched your legs out with a small huff, placing your feet directly on his thighs without asking, like it was the most natural thing in the world. âDonât complain,â you warned, finally leaning back into your seat as your muscles relaxed, but Atsumu only made a vague sound of protest that he didnât follow through on, his body adjusting slightly under your weight without actually pushing you away. If anything, he leaned in further, his head settling more firmly against you, and before you could fully process it, his breathing had already evened out, warm and steady against the side of your neck as he drifted back into sleep.
When he was relaxed like this, you noticed something you hadnât really paid attention to before. He didnât smell nearly as bad as he used to. Not the overwhelming gym-sweat disaster you had mentally associated with him for weeks, not even close. You leaned in slightly without thinking, subtle at first, then a little more obvious as you tried to confirm you were not imagining it, quietly sniffing the air around him like it was some kind of scientific investigation.
It was real.
There was still the faint trace of practice, the tiredness of training and movement and effort, but underneath it was just clean detergent and something faintly familiar, something that wasnât unpleasant at all. Especially considering it was the end of the day and he had definitely just come straight from volleyball practice, it was almost suspiciously improved. You sat back a little, blinking at him like he had undergone some kind of secret transformation without telling you.
ââŚHuh,â you muttered, almost impressed, and before you could stop yourself a small smile tugged at your face as you leaned back again, letting the thought settle that maybe he wasnât as unbearable as you had originally decided.
The next morning, Atsumu wasnât asleep for once. Instead, he sat hunched slightly over his phone with an intensity that was honestly a little concerning, his eyes stayed completely locked onto the screen. He hadnât even noticed you sit down beside him, which was rare enough on its own that it immediately made you curious.
You leaned over slightly to see what had captured his full attention so early in the morning and, unsurprisingly, it was volleyball.
An actual match this time too, not just random clips or highlights. The screen showed Inarizaki High School against another school you didnât recognize, the crowd in the background roaring so loudly that even through the tiny phone speakers you could feel the enthusiasm of it. You watched absentmindedly at first, mostly because Atsumu looked so focused that it made you want to know what was so important, but within minutes you found yourself getting dragged into it despite barely understanding what was happening.
Then someone from Inarizaki launched himself into the air and slammed the ball down with terrifying force.
You physically jolted. âOH shit,â you blurted out, eyes widening. âWhat the hell was that?!â
Atsumu finally reacted to your existence, glancing sideways at you with the smallest hint of amusement.
âA spike,â he said.
âDude nearly killed someone.â
âMhm.â
You stared at the screen in genuine disbelief as the replay showed the hit again, the ball smashing into the floor so violently it barely seemed real. The match itself was ridiculous too, players diving all over the court, the crowd screaming every few seconds, the tension somehow infectious even to someone who barely knew the rules.
Without realizing it, you had started grabbing onto Atsumuâs shoulder every time something dramatic happened.
âWAIT WAIT WAIT-â
SMACK.
Your hand hit his arm hard when another player dove for the ball.
âOH MY GOD HE GOT IT?!â
SMACK.
âNO WAY.â
SMACK.
âWHY ARE THEY FLYING.â
At some point you were fully invested, gripping onto him while reacting to every rally like your life depended on it, shoving him every time someone made a crazy save while Atsumu endured the abuse with increasing offense.
âOi,â he complained finally, trying to shove your hand away after another hit to the shoulder. âWhyâre ya beating me up? Iâm not even playing.â
âThat guy just bent like a pretzel to save the ball!â
âThatâs normal!â
âTHAT IS NOT NORMAL.â
Despite his complaints, though, he had angled the phone more toward you at some point, making it easier for you to watch beside him. And every time you gasped at a play or cursed in shock, you could feel him looking at you briefly, clearly entertained by how quickly you had gone from dismissing volleyball to reacting harder than the actual fans in the video.
âWhoâs that âspikerâ?â you asked, leaning closer to the phone as another player absolutely murdered the ball across the court. âThat guy that keeps smacking it super hard.â
âAran,â Atsumu corrected automatically. âHeâs a second year. One of the best aces.â
âWoahhh,â you breathed out dramatically. âEven his name sounds cool.â
That actually made Atsumu smile a little, his attention still fixed on the match as he replayed the rally again. âRight?â he said, looking weirdly proud despite not even being on the court himself. âUgh, I canât wait to play next year. Think I might actually go crazy waiting.â
There was something different about him when he talked about volleyball. He sounded genuinely invested, almost restless, like the energy in him had nowhere to go yet.
You tilted your head slightly as another rally started. âWhat position do you even wanna play? I donât know volleyball stuff, but I think the spiker people look the coolest.â
âSpikers are just the people hitting the ball,â he explained, nudging your shoulder lightly when you called them âspiker people.â âThatâs not really the position itself. Anybody can spike.â
âHm. Then whatâre you?â
âIâm aiming to be a setter.â
âA setterâŚâ you repeated slowly. âWhich oneâs that?â
At that, Atsumu immediately sat up straighter, suddenly way more awake than he had been all morning. He grabbed your wrist lightly and pointed toward the screen as he replayed another clip, zooming in on one player near the net.
âThis guy here,â he said. âThe setter controls everything. He decides who gets the ball, how high the toss is, how fast the play goes, all of it.â The video played again, slower this time, and you watched as the player touched the ball for barely a second before sending it perfectly toward another teammate, who immediately slammed it down. âHeâs basically setting up the spiker to score,â Atsumu continued, eyes focused so intensely on the screen that you could tell heâd probably explained this exact thing to himself a thousand times before. âA good setter can bring out the full potential of the hitters. If the toss is bad, the spike gets weaker too.â
You looked between the screen and Atsumu, noticing how animated heâd gotten without realizing it. His hands moved while he talked, fingers twitching slightly every time he explained a play, like he could already picture himself there.
âSo,â you said slowly, âyou wanna be the bossy guy controlling everyone.â
He looked offended immediately. âThatâs not what I said.â
âThatâs exactly what you said.â
âItâs strategy.â
âItâs dictatorship.â
âItâs leadership.â
You snorted as he glared at you, but before he could argue more, another rally started and both of you immediately looked back at the screen again, your shoulder still pressed against his while he replayed the point before it even finished, already excitedly explaining something else you barely understood but found yourself listening to anyway.
You found yourself thinking about the match Atsumu showed you far more than you wanted to admit. It kept replaying in your head during class, those impossible jumps and violent spikes and the way the crowd erupted every few seconds like the players were celebrities instead of high schoolers. Maybe volleyball was actually kind of cool. Youâd never really cared much about sports before. Most guys at school obsessed over football teams and argued about players during lunch breaks, but you had always tuned it out, more interested in surviving exams than memorizing athletes.
Still, something about volleyball felt different after hearing Atsumu explain it. Maybe because he talked about it like it mattered more than anything else in the world.
On the bus ride home, he was asleep beside you again, his head tipped heavily against your shoulder while the afternoon sun flickered across his face through the windows. You glanced down at him for a moment before looking away quickly, adjusting your bag on your lap as your thoughts drifted back to the match.
You kind of wanted to see one in real life now. The thought made your face warm slightly. Embarrassing.
After that day, it felt like Atsumu had actually become your friend.
Maybe it was because heâd finally stopped being just âthe annoying guy on the busâ and started feeling like an actual person, someone with a stupid amount of passion for volleyball and an even stupider amount of confidence in himself. Or maybe it was because you had, without really noticing when it happened, stopped treating the bus like a temporary coincidence and started accepting that he was just⌠part of it now. No one really commented on it. Nothing changed outwardly. But something quiet between you did, and it felt surprisingly easy not to overthink it.
On the bus that day, a girl a few seats away was nervously asking someone out over the phone. Her voice was shaky, soft, and even from where you sat it was obvious how the conversation was going without needing to hear the reply. By the time she lowered her phone, her eyes were glossy, and she quickly looked away like she could hide the embarrassment of it. You glanced over briefly, then turned back to your own space, but the word she had said stuck in your head anyway.
âDate.â
You huffed out a quiet laugh before you could stop yourself, already digging through your bag.
Atsumu looked at you immediately. âWhat?â
You pulled out one of the protein date bars and held it up like it was evidence in a court case. âWant a date?â
He stared at you for a second, then snorted under his breath, clearly trying not to laugh too loudly. âShut up,â he muttered, flicking his eyes toward the girl for a split second. âSheâs gonna think weâre mocking her.â
You leaned back in your seat, unbothered. âWow. Mr. Asshole is actually not that big of an asshole?â
âIâm not a bully,â he said instantly, like it was a matter of pride.
âYou still havenât rejected my date though,â you replied, tilting your head.
That made him pause just long enough for you to notice.
Then he clicked his tongue, reaching over and taking the bar from your hand. âOh, I would love a date,â he said dryly as he ripped it open. âSeems so sweet of you. Truly.â
You both sat there for a moment, chewing, before it completely fell apart into quiet laughter you didnât even try to contain.
