#and their ideas for their future

[dearweirdme]

What is Jimin's obsession with being all over Jungkook in very obviously fanservice-type ways? Especially when 9 times out of 10, Jungkook looks annoyed or disinterested in him. It comes off as super strange and almost inappropriate. I actually am shocked JK and Jimin are still friends, with the way things have gone down over the years. It may be cute and genuine to Jikookers, but I truly don't understand that take.

Their recent show was even weirder to me, because neither of them looked like they really deep down gave a crap about doing the show. So many of the interactions seemed really fake. Idk I can never tell how much control the company has over them.

And tbh, I'm surprised they keep resigning with them. especially JK and Tae. I feel like BTS's popularity is slowly going down anyways and that they could probably easily leave the company and go do whatever they want. Is it just for the money that they're staying? I feel like all of us fans are more upset by the company's mistreatment then they are. Considering they resign every time.

It comes across as either Jungkook has no or very little control over what he can say and do (hence him rarely publicly supporting Tae's work, doing cheesy and fake reality shows soon before enlistment, etc etc) OR he does have control and he just let's the company spout their bullshit and continue doing sketchy things. Which I wouldn't understand.

Like, I obviously know that Taekook can't just openly be in a relationship, but I just wonder how the company keeps getting away with the Jikook fanservice crap and the mistreatment. Especially if Tae or Jungkook made issue of it.

Hi anon!

Your ask has been sitting in my inbox for quite some time now, and I wasn’t sure if I was going to respond, because I was kinda done with the amount of toxicity I was seeing. And I think your ask contains a lot of that. However, I cannot let go of this particular part.

‘I feel like all of us fans are more upset by the company’s mistreatment then they are.’ I feel this leads you to a path of resenting them for not responding to their own trauma and difficulties the way you would like them to. It’s their battle, not yours. Just because you choose to fight for them, doesn’t mean you get to expect a certain outcome.

Getting out of a contract is extremely difficult. If that weren’t the case we would know of many a case where a group or an artist left. We know the abuse that takes place within Kpop. More and more signs of it come out every day. Idols don’t take that just for the money. They take it because the contracts they signed when they were kids (without proper advisors) holds them there. Resigning is different though, but also still complicated probably.

Contract conversations are difficult. I believe they have the power to not resign and get out, but I also recognize that even not resigning will come with difficulties.. especially when it comes to their group contract. You have to consider the possibility of Hybe owning the rights to BTS’s name and stuff surrounding that. That means they are able to use it even when members don’t resign. I think Hybe intents to keep them all. Not only are they all still very popular and profitable, it would not look good on Hybe to lose them. That gives them leverage, and perhaps they’ll be able to negotiate great deals (budget, freedom, etc). It will tell us a whole lot if some of them decide to not sign on because of that.

I don’t expect Tae to sign his individual contract with Hybe, but if he were to do so, I would still support him. I’d think he has a reason for doing so and I trust his judgement when it comes to his life.

Jk has no real power within Hybe. No idol does. Hybe will have no problem throwing any one of their idols under the bus if it suits them.

I always feel that it’s so important for us fans to realize that we basically know nothing. We have thoughts, we have theories, we see certain things go wrong or be off, but we don’t know what lies beyond those things. It’s important to talk about the things that are wrong, nothing will change if we ignore the bad parts. But personally I always keep in mind that my knowledge of things means absolutely nothing in comparison to that of Tae, Jk and the others themselves.

[noodles-and-tea]

Continuation of this

[northernfireart]

read the whole story> here by @clarionglass :)

[sunsetsands]

Season's Greason's to all who celeason's

[akanemnon]

Shouldn't there be a minotaur in the labyrinth? Who put this goat here? This is not accurate to the mythology! /j

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[jagalart]

Yarrow and Feverfew

Art trade with the incredible @liscepu, I'm so grateful for the chance! Thank you for fueling my love for the game again <3

[uncharted-constellations]

~What i couldve been~

I was just gonna do the adult timeline zelda but im so enchanted by the idea of these two versions of the same character. People always talk about how link would be changed but never zelda.

[nathaniacolver]

i don't think you guys understand the levels of lesbianism in this scene

this 90 caliber electric net is caitlyn's E ability......aka, she's the ONLY champion in league of legends that can use this ability.........thus, the writing decision to have vi, a separate, melee league champion, be the only one in the show that EVER also triggers it (someone informed me that cait does use it during Hellfire), with her bare hands (and against another champion, at that), suggests levels of intimacy and trust that i can't even comprehend

additionally, this isn't the first time caitlyn's given up her gun (aka ALL of her special abilities) for vi, either

oh to have a girlfriend

[caemidraws]

Night of the Masks

[pricetagged]

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited. (Link to Ao3)

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

-----------------------

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[demaparbat-hp]

Hey, Spitfire! Try not to kill your brother ahead of time!

.

Looking for Ursa right after being banished had some...wildly unexpected results. One: Zuko actually found her. Two: she wasn't alone. Three: leaving her children behind in order to protect them was, apparently, just something she did.

Looking at the bright side, Zuko now had a three-year-old younger brother to look after. Looking at the dark side, Zuko now had a three-year-old kid he needed to parent while also keeping him a secret from his father because—may Agni help him—the Fire Lord would have to go through Zuko first if he dared to even look at Lu Ten II.

(AKA an AU in which Zuko is a good big brother and doesn't want another kid to grow up like he did.)

[wombrion]

I love the way u draw the Touden siblings sm I actually started crying 😭

Ik making fan merch can be a big ass hassle.. pero like...... if you ever made some I'd be broke af so mf fast I'm not playing w u rn. (LOVE UR ART SM KEEP GOINGGG <3)

wawawaw thank uuuu.... have some sibs

[siggiedraws]

silver brings history books from the future and sonic likes to pick them apart

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Don't Forget To Record

Vlogger Danny in Gotham

Danny moves to Gotham with Sam and Tucker and decides it would be a fun idea to record their journey from packing their things in Amity to recording how life is in Gotham.

~

The trio packing their things:

Sam: "Do we really need to pack so many weapons?"

Tucker: "I mean they have a very high crime rate so.."

Danny: "So? They're mortal we've handled worse on the regular."

Viewers: " Yo yeah.. what the hell are ya'll talking about?!"

~

Tucker holding the camera when Danny runs into frame

Danny: "Sorry I'm late I got jumped scared by some clown and accidentally snatched his wig!"

Sam: "I think you're still holding it in your hand?"

Danny lifting his hand into the cameras view

Tucker: "Uh babe? I don't think that's a wig.."

Sam: " Holy shit! Did you just scalp some clown?!"

Viewers a week later seeing the Joker getting arrested with a very fake looking wig just barely hanging on after fighting the Bats

Viewers clicking the subscribe button

~

The Trio vlogging themselves being their usual brand of Amity feral

Gothamites:

~

Just an Idea

[goljie]

davejohn in the summer (one is sweating, one isnt. you decide)

summer city date