#but every week without fail this fucking guy suggestion playing mid week at night

[asteria-argo]

If you had a routinely scheduled event with a group of people that was difficult to schedule because of conflciting time tables would you consistently complain about wanting to hold the event at a different time that better suits you but puts everyone else in the group out of their way?

(The event being at the current time it is is not a detriment to you at all and it is merely a matter of preference)

[bts-hyperfixation]

Hate you more - kinktober - day 22

Jin X reader

Hate sex

Kim Seokjin. Even the name made you boil with loathing. He was loud, narcissistic, and obnoxious. Yet somehow everyone around you loved him. They craved his attention, swooned when his eyes met theirs. Everything about him was infuriating. Which is why you’re not exactly sure how you ended up bent over the cleaning supplies in the dorms cupboard for the third time this week as he railed you from behind.

It started after a night in with the boys. You had gone round to play video games with Jungkook and Tae, but he was constantly around. You were sat mid Mario Kart race when he entered the room placing himself on the armrest of your chair

“I see you’re losing Y/N” He taunted. In actual fact, Tae was far behind you, but he only cared about making you feel bad. The others had said that you were looking too far into it, all a joke on their hyung’s part but you were convinced it was part of some unspoken vendetta. No one believed you though, after all Jin would never want to make someone feel bad. The small smirks when someone comes to his defense tell you otherwise. You elbowed him in the ribs, making him fall from his perch and then ignored him for the rest of the race.

You placed a very close second, losing to Jungkook. The night had continued in much the same way, each of the boys had come home and joined you in the living room. Your casual gaming day became a full-blown game night. Someone suggested playing Mr and Mrs, Jimin and Taehyung going first. The only problem with that being they were on the same wavelength every answer had matched, meaning every turn lead to you and the rest of the boys having to drink.

Next the 94’s took their turn, not quite as consistent as the soulmates but still close. They failed on two answers: who is the better rapper (opting for each other), and who is better in bed (opting for themselves). At this point you were relatively tipsy having played another drinking game before getting to this point. Your head a little hazy, you hadn’t realized who they chosen to be your partner until it was too late.

As expected you and Jin answered every question differently. Neither willing to concede that the other might be better at something. The boys original plan had been for you to find some common ground, an answer that matched… a compliment given… something. They got nothing. So, they devised another plan. Jimin spilt his drink on the tiled floor, pretending to be a lot more drunk than he was. Namjoon offered to help him clean himself off, asking Jin to fetch the cleaning supplies for the floor in the meantime. Jungkook and Taehyung grabbed you, pushing you into the small supply closet and face first into Jin’s chest. The door slammed shut behind you.

“Guys this isn’t funny” you whined, banging on the door. It was no use. A note slid under the door.

“Reconcile your differences, we will come back for you later'

You'd let out a huff and made yourself comfortable on the floor, dragging your knees into your chest.

“NAMJOON-AH…. YOONGI-AH… THIS ISNT FUNNY.” His grating voice reverberated around the room.

“Would you just shut up!” you snapped, “They aren’t gonna let us out, all your doing is giving me another fucking headache.” He looked at you curled up on the floor and shrugged, not really caring what you thought.

‘JUNGKOOKIE-AH, YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE” he shouted for a little longer before realizing they really weren’t coming back. He lowered himself down to the floor across from you and assumed a similar position, except he’d been staring at you. “This is your fault you know?” he accused. You scoffed and met his eyes.

“Oh do share how you think this is my fault, oh-wise-Seokjin” you lifted your head to meet his stare. It was clear he hadn’t appreciated the sarcasm dripping in your tone, but he replied anyway.

“If you didn’t have such an abrasive personality, I wouldn’t hate you half as much and they wouldn’t have deemed this necessary” his matter of fact tone had pissed you off so much, you’d leapt to your feet, furious. His mirrored your action, getting right up in your face challenging you to come up with an excuse.

“If you weren’t so self involved, you would see that the world doesn’t revolve around you asshole” you were breathing heavily, vibrating with anger “maybe you should consider that my personality isn’t abrasive, I just don’t worship you and that frustrates you to no end” his eyes flitted away from you gaze for only a moment before he had scooped you into his arms. Lips desperate against yours. All the anger being taken out in this one intimate movement. The two of you had come away chests heaving, just as the door was opened by a very afraid looking Hoseok. You had shot one last glare at Jin before storming out of the dorm that night.

Now the two of you were in the cupboard once again, this time by choice. It was the only place the boys wouldn’t look for the two of you. They never cleaned the dorm themselves; it was the perfect place to hide. Jin had you bent across one of the shelves. Back pressed firmly in to the wood as he thrusted into you, taking out all of his frustration at you on your dripping pussy. One hand was wrapped in your hair pulling sharply, as the other rubbed furiously at the sensitive bunch of nerves between your legs. Your hands sort purchase on his biceps, grasping so hard the half-moon prints from your nails were sure to leave bruises.

You found it very therapeutic to let out your anger this way. Seeing his stupid face contorted in pleasure, ruining his perfect façade mad you hornier than you thought possible. The shelving unit shook with the force of each push. The occasional cleaning product falling to the floor around you. Jin’s hips stuttered as he reached his high, releasing his cum deep inside of you. The relief on his face made your stomach flutter in what you believed to be disgust. Once he had regained full function his hand pinched at your clit, rubbing, flicking, and stroking until you came on his softening cock. He helps you to your feet without a word, grabbing a clean rag and handing it to you before he zips himself up and walks out of the small room. You follow shortly behind after smoothing your hair and dress. You walk into the kitchen to find the maknae line staring at you.

“What?” you question.

“You know if you wanted to keep that a secret you probably shouldn’t do it in a room that shares walls with most of our bedrooms” Jungkook's tone is nonchalant, earning him snickers of approval from his band mates and intense blush that creeps up your face.

Masterlist

Taglist

@sweeneyblue1 @adventuresinwonderlust

@samros95 @thedarkwinterrose

[skinsharpenedteeth]

MG Week, Day 1 - “you don’t have to stay”

Pairing: Malex Rating: Teens and up Word Count: 1814 TW: domestic violence

Michael Guerin Week, Day 1 “You don’t have to stay”

                A glass plate shattered against the rough-hewn wood of the cabin wall. Michael ducked away from it; his hands held in front of his body to protect from the next object Alex would fling at him. Another crash beside his head made him flinch again and he looked down to see the handle of his favorite coffee mug. This was getting out of hand.

              “Alex, fucking STOP IT,” Michael shouted. Alex just narrowed his eyes and shot another plate at him. This guy should’ve played baseball, he had quite an arm on him. The plate stopped in mid-air two feet away from Michael’s head and he used his telekinesis to slowly lower it to the ground. They needed at least two intact plates for this house to function.

              “Alex, stop it, please. I’m sorry,” Michael said, looking at Alex who was staring at the plate on the floor like he could explode it with his mind. He was so angry at Michael. He was always so angry at Michael and Michael? He had no clue how they’d gotten to this point. “Look, whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

              “You should probably know what you did if you’re going to apologize for it,” Alex snapped quietly, his voice so low Michael was almost sure he’d imagined the words. But Alex’s red rimmed eyes were glaring daggers at him and his lips were pinched white against each other.

              “You’re probably right, but I don’t. I just got home! What could I have done in the last two seconds since I walked in the door?” Michael asked, his tone pleading. He stepped over the broken plates and glasses and started towards the kitchen island. Alex watched him approach. Michael thought that Alex might let him get close enough to touch him, to hold him against his body and let him calm down, but when he reached out for Alex’s hand, he took a step back instead.

              “I feel like…” Alex started, not looking at Michael’s face but instead staring at the buttons on his shirt. Michael waited because Alex was usually the better of the two at sharing feelings. Michael was usually the one running away from them.

              “I feel like we moved in together and I’ve become furniture to you. You come home, usually a little drunk, you stumble over and kiss me and eat dinner, and then you ignore me until we get in bed and you fuck me. I feel like a fucking ottoman. When I’m useful, you use me, when I’m not useful you let me take up room in the house until I’m wanted. I can’t live this way, Michael, I can’t do this,” Alex finished, his voice watery and trembling. He finally met Michael’s eyes then and all Michael could see was how much he was hurting the man he loved. He didn’t mean to treat him like that.

              “You don’t have to stay…” Michael started sullenly. Alex seemed to freeze as he heard those words and then Michael felt him breezing by him, knocking his shoulder and pushing him to the side. He watched him head towards their bedroom and then Michael felt his own hot rush of tears. He could hear the closet doors rolling open and the sound of hangers clicking against each other and screeching quietly along the metal bar they clung to. Alex was going to take him at his word.  Alex was leaving him. He hadn’t meant to say that.

              He braced his back against the cabinet and sank down onto the kitchen floor. He was crying like he hadn’t done since he was a child. Hiccuping sobs were bubbling out of him and his face felt shiny and hot from tears. He wrapped his arms around his knees and drew up in the tightest ball he could manage, trying to hold himself together. This wasn’t what he wanted. None of this was what he wanted. He’d invited Alex to live with him because they’d been doing so well. Now, two months in, they were shattering. Had he become complacent with Alex? He was so much more of an introvert than Michael was that he hadn’t thought much of not asking him to meet at the Wild Pony after work. And Alex always settled down with a book after dinner while Michael watched TV. It had felt wonderful and comfortable to Michael, not like he was taking advantage of Alex but like they’d found a groove.

              “Michael!” Alex’s voice rang out from the living room behind him. Michael sniffed and wiped at his eyes. He didn’t think there was any way that Alex wouldn’t know that he’d been crying, but he didn’t want to also look disgusting. He pushed himself off the ground and stood up, facing Alex who was standing by the couch with a bag in his hand. He still looked fired up, his body practically vibrating with energy. His eyes looked over Michael, taking in his flushed face and red rimmed eyes, and his expression every so slightly softened.

              “Michael?” he said his name again, but this time gentler and searching. He put down his bag and walked over to where Michael was standing. His face seemed to be asking Michael all sorts of questions, but Michael didn’t know how to answer them. It was Michael’s turn to put space between them, stepping back and leaning against the cabinets.

              “Do you need any help?” Michael asked, voice weak and still thick with emotion. He couldn’t blame Alex for wanting to leave. He was no good at this. He’d never lived with anyone before. Alex just looked at him, eyes sad and imploring as they traced over his features.

              “Do you still want me to leave?” Alex asked, his voice subdued as he continued to look at Michael like a puzzle he was always a step away from figuring out. Michael shook his head slowly before answering.

              “I never wanted you to leave,” Michael responded, feeling a tear he hasn’t known was there trace it’s way down his cheek. Alex’s brown eyes were also shining with emotion as he tried to take in what Michael had said.

              “Then why did you—” Alex started, but Michael cut in quickly.

              “I never told you to leave, Alex. I just said you didn’t have to stay. I don’t want you to stay in a situation that’s obviously hurting you, even… “ he cleared his throat before continuing, losing his nerve  looking and lowering his gaze from Alex’s, instead concentrating on the space between their shoes. “…even if it’s with me.”

              “What if I want to stay with you?” Alex asked, feet shuffling closer to Michael’s. Michael wrapped his arms around himself, trying to hold together what little hope he had that Alex wouldn’t walk away.

              “Why would you? I’m obviously not giving you what you need. I didn’t… I didn’t even know there was a problem. I just thought we’d found a lull since we were living together. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to make you feel like… like an object. You’re not that to me, not at all, not in a million years.” Michael laughed without humor, swallowing thickly. “I guess I really am pretty unobservant.”

              Alex sighed though his nose. Michael sneaked a look at his face and saw that he was looking towards the door with a look of indecision on his face. Michael took a chance then, stepping into Alex’s space and causing him to look from the door to his face.

              “I don’t want you to go,” Michael said simply and slowly, broadcasting his moves, raised his hands and rested them on Alex’s waist. Alex looked back at him and his face cleared of unmade choices. Nodding, his arms wrapped themselves around Michael’s shoulders and Alex pressed them together. Michael melted into him, arms moving to wrap around Alex’s back and his cheek pressed hard against Alex’s shoulder. He sniffed wetly and continued, “But I do think we need to work on our communication.”

              Alex laughed a little weakly against his shoulder. It was humorless, just a little bittersweet.

              “Yeah, I’d say so. I’m sorry for over-reacting,” Alex apologized against his collar, voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt.  

              “How long have you felt like that?” Michael asked, still holding him close. It was easier to talk this through when he didn’t have to look Alex in the face but still got to hold him against him.

              “About two weeks,” Alex mumbled. Michael hummed in response, squeezing his arms more tightly around Alex for a moment. Michael turned his head and kissed his neck softly, not looking to start anything but out of need to show him affection, to show him through more than words that he was sorry. But just in case Alex needed to hear it too…

              “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Michael whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of Alex’s ear as he apologized. He felt Alex shiver in his arms before he pulled back far enough they could look each other in the eye again.

              “Okay. I accept your apology. And I’m sorry also. I should’ve spoken up sooner and not let it eat at me for days,” Alex replied before giving Michael a small peck on his lips. “I’ve never lived with anyone I chose either. I’ll try to get better at talking.”

              “If talking is too much, I accept text messages, emails, post-it notes, and hand written correspondence. Sometimes I think better when I don’t have the pressure of the other person staring at me and counting on me to get my meaning right. We can try that if we need to also,” Michael suggested.

              “Okay. I’ll accept that plan,” Alex said before raising his arms and draping them over his shoulders.  Then he tilted his head and leaned forward, his hips capturing first Michael’s top lip and then with another kiss, his bottom lip. It was sweet and slow and made heat and electricity sing through Michael’s veins.

Michael felt the tension drain from his body as he returned the kiss and kept kissing. Small, desperate pecks and long, deep caresses of lips and tongue. He and Alex were clutching each other, hands grabbing and pulling, as if they were trying to shove themselves into one body. It escalated quickly, every breach to gasp air combined with an “I’m sorry” or an “I love you”. This they were good at. Their bodies always knew how to speak to one another as words so often failed them.

They’d try again tomorrow. They’d try to use their words instead of their bodies to communicate, but they’d had enough words that night. So they stumbled to the bedroom together with less clothes, less words, and less anger that they’d started. They’d try again tomorrow.

[deathsteel]

This Ain't a Scene Its a Goddamn Drag Race

~Part Two~

Castiel woke up the next morning to the sound of the show's security guys stationed in the hallways changing shifts. He tried to block out the sound of their chit-chatting by burying his face in his pillow, but ultimately failed when they burst into raucous laughter right outside his doorway. With a groan he dragged himself out of bed and towards the bathroom; might as well get a run in before the production staff descended on them so they could film the reaction shots to last night’s elimination.

There wasn’t much about being on a reality show that Castiel would call ‘glamorous’, but filming the practically scripted confessional segments after each elimination and mini-challenge was probably the most degrading thing that Castiel had ever done in his entire life. And he’d once been talked into ripping open bags of trash all over himself during a show by his drag mother. Needless to say, performance art and lying to the public at large were not his favorite activities.

He’d gotten into a huge fight with one of the producers early on about how staged some of the things on the show were and it was probably why he’d been struggling his way up from the bottom since the very first episode. But luckily Gabby was very adamant about preserving what he called “the integrity of the process” and basically ignored the producers when they tried to steer him towards favoring a certain contestant.

That didn’t mean that the host was around all the time so the execs still got their dose of drama to satiate the audience, regardless of whether the rivalries between the queens were genuine or not. In actuality, Castiel liked most of the others, even Luc and Michael at times had been funny when the cameras were off, but he wasn’t about to delude himself into thinking they were best buddies. Not even Balthazar who had quite obviously been flirting with him the night before right in front of Charlie, one of the less anal PAs, who had been assigned to watch them for the evening. And definitely not Kevin who only lived an hour away in Olympia and treated him like the drag mother he’d always wanted.

Not to say it wasn’t tempting, both Balthazar’s lasciviousness and Kevin’s overtures of friendship, but Castiel wasn’t going to be the next Willam or Latrice Royale; being a slut and a saint hadn’t gotten either of those two queens the crown. And that was what all of this was about, right?

He was plagued by these thoughts as he headed down to the hotel’s indoor gym and put a couple of miles behind him on the treadmill, staring at his own reflection in the mirrors that lined the walls because he wasn’t allowed to turn on the T.V. that was mounted in one corner of the room. Castiel honestly would’ve done it just to spite his contract if he could (because he was dying to find out about some gossip that was centered on anyone besides himself) but Hael, one of the show’s interns, was there with him; ‘keeping an eye on him’ while really tapping away at her phone.

If Hael was a man, Castiel would flirt a little, trail his fingers up the inside of a thigh and BAM! He’d have instant access to being able to call his mom or text his sister or god above, check TMZ. He just knew in his gut that Rihanna had done something since he had been locked up in this rhinestone studded prison for the last month.

But Hael was a woman and even though she eyed his biceps when Castiel was doing half-hearted pushups as part of his cooldown, the thought of whoring himself out for five minutes with an iPhone kinda made him nauseous. Or that could’ve been the mini bottles of vodka he’d been slamming back with Raphael, Kev, and Charlie last night as they’d eaten delivered pizza in Kevin’s hotel suite. Balthazar had stuck to nursing a beer, amused by their antics, but otherwise aloof in the way that Castiel thought only took away from the other man’s attractiveness.

Now that his head was pounding from both his workout and his hangover, Castiel understood why the Brit hadn’t indulged like the rest of them. That strategic, wormy, sexy bastard.

By the time Castiel had made it back to his room, he could see a room service tray being delivered to Luc’s room and another on the floor already outside of Balthazar’s, so at least the other queens were up and about. They’d probably have to leave soon to go back to the studio and Castiel resigned himself to a fast shower and a shave instead of the long, leisurely one he’d intended to jerk off in.

Whatever, he’d just do it later.

Today they’d just be shooting reaction scenes based on last night’s elimination and doing the mini-challenge which wasn’t exhausting, but they never knew what the mini-challenge was going to be so you definitely had to have your wits about you. Castiel definitely did not have much of anything about him at the moment, but he planned on phoning it in for the mini-challenge since it wasn’t likely to affect him too much if he lost whatever little advantage the win would get him.

By the time he had finished changing into a well-loved pair of dark wash jeans and a faded black polo shirt and popped his medication, Castiel was already exhausted. So when one of the PAs pounded on his door and called a ten minute warning for him to be ready or else, Castiel just sighed at the dark circles under his eyes and his messy unstyled hair before shrugging and snagging some sunglasses and a baseball cap out of his suitcase and heading out the door with his shoes untied.

Castiel rode in sullen silence with Luc again mostly because he was the last one to make it downstairs to the waiting towncars, but also because he was the only one of the queens who could stand Luc’s morning routine of picking at his fingernails and muttering obscenities under his breath.

As soon as all of the queens were herded into the studio, wardrobe descended on them like a plague of locusts; tugging at their street clothes and strapping mics around their waists until all of the queens were dressed in their ‘confessional outfits’.

When Castiel had finally gotten the official word that he had been chosen as one Drag Race’s contestants, he had been mailed a two inch thick envelope containing a contact that Castiel had signed without even reading, a list of “suggested” items that he needed to bring for the challenges, and instructions to bring at least two to three weeks of casual clothing to include one outfit that would be used for filming purposes.

At the time Castiel hadn’t known that he was going to be parted from his favorite blue cardigan for literal months, not even allowed to take it back to the hotel with him because the wardrobe crew was scared he would spill something on it that they couldn’t get out. If he had, he would have just let them film him in one of his thrift store t-shirts and cut offs. But now he had to wear his most beloved, comfy cardigan along with a grey button down and skinny jeans two to three times a week, every week, to record his thoughts about the competition’s goings-ons.

The wardrobe crew didn't ever mess with his hair and they mostly didn’t bother putting makeup on any of them unless they looked REALLY rough, but most importantly, the outfits never ever changed. Today, Castiel got some concealer for the bags under his eyes and blush for the pallor that had settled over him due to his hangover.

It took Kevin an embarrassingly long time to understand that the reason behind wearing the same outfit for every confessional was because the producers wanted to splice footage from different days together so that they could create drama by taking things out of context. Castiel had no illusions about the fact that he probably looked like an asshole to most of America right now based on some of the things he had said during confessionals. A witty asshole with a penchant for lighting-fast one liners, but a dick nonetheless.

Castiel was still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as they set up the footage for him from the last few days, everything from the main challenge to the elimination runway to the behind the scenes or “Untucked” bits where they forced watered-down cocktails into the queens’ hands and then had them be gossipy bitches or start catfights. If the producers were feeling particularly sadistic they would get one of the contestant's homophobic family members to record a heartfelt, ‘private’ message that would then be played in front of everyone.

It was voyeuristic in probably the worst possible way and Castiel had decided that he would sooner get his wig snatched off by being shady than cry off his makeup if they managed to get his estranged father to apologize for calling Castiel a ‘fucking f*ggot’ when he was ten and had caught him with purple nail polish on after having a friend over to play.

He usually just read people during the Untucked segments and so far that’s what he had been doing during the confessionals as well; the camera girls seemed to think he was funny and the producers hadn’t caught on that the Drag Race version of Holly Cummunion was a sarcastic, shady act so he’d keep it up until Gabby or someone else called him on his shit. This week though, he had been uncharacteristically honest- probably because he was tired.

He even complimented Luc’s runway outfit for Christ’s sakes so he must have been feeling extra charitable.

The only good thing about filming the confessional scenes was that nothing else was being filmed at the same time. It meant that at least three of the queens could be filmed doing confessionals all at once because it’s not like the cameras were busy filming anything else. With so few queens left they finished filming everything by lunchtime and after a quick change back to their street clothes and a stop by craft services the queens were scattered casually around the workroom by the production assistants and then left to wait until Gabby showed up.

One time the host had arrived an hour late with Starbucks and a hickey the size of a mid-sized principality on the underside of his jaw. The queens had shared amused looks before going on to do the funnest mini-challenge of the season so far; a matching game that used the butts of the Pit Crew as cards. Castiel suspected that he hadn’t been the only queen flustered by the glistening abs and generous bulges of the Pit Crew in their speedos, but for the sake of Sam and Zeke (Gabby’s two regular Pit Crew men who’d, of course, participated in the challenge as well) Castiel had tried his best not to ogle too much even though he was going through the driest, dry spell of the century.

After being allowed back into his comfy polo and jeans by wardrobe, Castiel let himself be placed at one of the workroom tables with Raphael who was filing his fingernails in the most bored way possible. Castiel kept his sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt just in case the studio lights made his already throbbing head any worse, but after glancing in a mirror he decided his hair was fucked no matter what he did so he discarded his ball cap on top of his makeup case and let it be free.

The production assistants were distracted by last minute adjustments so Castiel snuck a glance at Charlie, who was coaxing Kevin and Luc into sharing a mirror since they were both plucking their eyebrows, before he quickly fetched one of his styling heads; the one sporting the ratted up platinum blonde wig that Castiel had styled for the white-trash chic challenge a couple weeks before. He planned on using whatever downtime he had to finally brush the snarls out so he could use it again for something else.

“Alright guys, everyone good?” Charlie asked, doing a thumbs up around the room as she tugged the headphones that she usually wore while filming back onto her ears. “Great, Gabe should be here in five so you all know the drill. Chat, look busy, just act natural.”

Raphael let out a derisive little scoff under his breath but otherwise continued shaping his fingernails and acting like Castiel didn’t exist. But that was pretty natural so Castiel didn’t bother questioning it, instead choosing to joke loudly with Balthazar from across the room about what the upcoming challenge could possibly be.

“Maybe Gabby’s interested in checking out the tightness of our tuck,” Balthazar quipped, winking in Kevin’s direction when the younger queen started giggling.

“Oh, well bless Connie for leaving then,” Castiel replied, referring to another queen, Connie Lingus, who had bowed out of the competition due to medical issues. “That girl had the meatiest tuck I’d ever seen.”

“Well, did you ever see her dragged down?” Raphael interjected, still focused on his nails. “Gave the phrase ‘hung like a horse’ a whole new meaning, baby.”

“I think Gabby has more important things to worry about than our tucks,” Luc drawled in a bored, disinterested kinda way.

He was making conversation to get air time and all the assembled queens knew it; Castiel just barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes and that was only because there was a cameraman hovering at his elbow as he brushed out his wig.

“Hells yea she does,” Kevin piped leaning back from the mirror to smooth down both of his eyebrows with a critical gaze on his reflection. “Like check out the tightness of the Pit Crew! Can I get an ay-men!?”

All the girls let out an ay-men, some less enthusiastically than others, but it happened to coincide perfectly with the now tell-tale sign of Gabby’s impending arrival. Well, it probably wasn't a coincidence, nothing about TV ever was.

‘Ooooh, gurl!’ The hidden speakers in the workroom blared to life with the sign for Gabby’s message that would contain a hint about the upcoming elimination challenge. ‘You’ve got she-male!’

[makeste]

BnHA 235: How Do I Turn This Flashback Off

Previously on BnHA: Re-Destro plucked off three of Tomura’s left fingers like flower petals and also destroyed one of his Emotional Support Hands in the process, prompting Tomura to have more flashbacks. We learned that AFO specifically gave Tomura the hands so that Tomura would never get over the trauma of the whole experience (like, he even told him this directly, wtf). We then got more flashbacks of Hana, as well as new flashbacks of Tomura’s mother and grandparents. Our boy then started to use his quirk on RD with only two fingers, which prompted RD to be all “wha?!” and let him go and finally realize that Tomura was going through a good old-fashioned shounen awakening process. Not wanting to be on the wrong end of this, he powered up himself and tried to finish Tomura off. But as he tried (and failed) to deliver a final blow, Gigantomachia finally came storming into town. At the same time, Tomura finally remembered everything (!!!) and got this really sad look on his face, and holy shit you guys the hype for this next chapter is real.

Today on BnHA: The tragic story of the Shimura family is finally revealed in all of its inevitably doomed glory. This chapter deserves an introduction from Lemony Snicket. This is not a fun time you guys. Baby Tenko was pure and idealistic and wanted nothing more than to be a hero just like All Might (and hey thanks Horikoshi, that was a nice heart I had once before you ripped it out and stabbed it 27 times here), and his father was a bitter and broken man harboring unresolved abandonment issues which he needlessly took out on his own children because humans are flawed and sometimes terrible. And we all know how the story ends, so if you happen to not have the stomach to watch terrified little boys being beaten by their parents, or cute little dogs getting hugged and then crumbled to dust offscreen, or if you don’t feel like getting faked out by Horikoshi half a dozen times because he’s a fucking troll who knows full well what he’s doing, might I suggest putting this chapter down and taking a stroll on over to the theater next door? It’s not too late to see a film about a happy little elf.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added one or two ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

  YESSSSSSSSS

YOU GUYS, I HAVEN’T EVEN FUCKING CLICKED TO THE CHAPTER YET AND MY HYPE HAS ALREADY ASCENDED TO NEW UNPRECEDENTED HEIGHTS. DID I NOT SAY??

AND LO AND BEHOLD, MY GD MIND IS BEING LOST AS WE SPEAK OMG

anyways so yeah I fucking called this back in chapter 222, along with a zillion other people I’m sure. but still, feels good

and this officially makes Tenko the fourth character to receive an “origin” chapter now, after Deku (chapter 01), Shouto (chapter 39), and Katsuki (chapter 62). so that’s actually a pretty big deal! this whole thing just makes me really happy because I love seeing such a carefully planned character arc come together, and it’s so pleasing and gratifying to see the pieces falling into place exactly as they should. it’s like watching one of those “oddly satisfying” youtube compilations. this is the manga equivalent of this. god I can’t wait to watch it play out

anyway so here’s the color spread we were promised last week! awesome

look at all of these characters we haven’t seen in a couple months. it’s a testament to how thoroughly entertaining this arc has been that I haven’t missed class 1-A nearly as much as I would have expected. which isn’t to say I don’t miss them dearly! but it’s just, normally I’d be practically going through withdrawals if you took my favorite characters away for such a long time. and I mean, we cut away right when Kacchan and Shouto had finally gotten their hero licenses, and Deku was going through “AFO’S POWER!?!?” angst, and so forth! and then we just left them for almost half a fucking year! that’s insane!!

but like, the shocking thing to me is that I genuinely have been pretty cool with it. that’s how compelling this arc has been to me. it’s nothing at all like the Basement Arc where I was all but ready to start slapping posters of Bakugou’s face on the walls asking “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS CHILD?” like, I am sincerely shocked to tell you the truth. this arc could go on for another month or two and I probably wouldn’t mind, so long as the quality remained this high. and that’s the biggest compliment to Horikoshi that I can think of. good fucking job dude

that being said, I don’t think this arc will continue much longer, and it is awesome to see the 1-A kids again all the same, so let’s just take in this page real quick before finally getting on to the Tragic Tenko Memories action

I like how Bakugou and Deku have both incorporated elements from their hero costumes into their orange ensembles for no real reason. but they are literally the only two characters who have done this, so I feel it’s worth pointing out

speaking of things that are there for no real reason, Bakugou also has a string tied around his ankle just completely at random. someone want to tell me what’s up with this? should I start inspecting the other characters’ ankles to see if there is a matching one

Mineta looks super cute, there I said it. I’m sorry but it’s true. let’s just cut him out of the rest of the manga moving forward and only have him randomly hovering in the background every so often. Mineta you can’t fly so what are you even doing dude

All Might is just completely defying gravity. just standing on absolutely nothing at all at a 45-degree lean. everyone else who’s mid-air is at least in the process of jumping or landing. but not All Might, no ma’am. he just doesn’t give a fuck

I see you there Inasa. up there spreading joy. and lest you guys believe Seiji and Camie were left out, let me assure you they were not and they are actually chilling over on a bridge just below Bakugou’s mystery bracelet. so that’s nice and also I still ship them yep

Miruko is here which gives me hope we’ll be seeing more of her soon! yes please Horikoshi do this for me

Hawks has no right to look so bored when he so recently texted Dabi a picture of a backpack sitting on his front porch with the caption “your package from Amazon has been delivered.” you are the reason Best Jeanist isn’t in this cover spread, Hawks, so what do you have to say for yourself

Todoroki has the fondest fucking expression on his face, and if you follow his gaze I swear to god it’s landing on Bakugou of all fucking people which makes me believe that contrary to everyone’s initial expectations, he is the one who actually has the matching ankle bracelet. that’s right kids, it was TodoBaku all along, we’ve all been played. either that or he’s looking at Tokoyami. idk guys the whirlwind teenage romance drama continues

anyways I hope everyone is good and cheered by this page, because we’re about to step back into our bleak and violent villain narrative now so say goodbye

okay so the first page is basically just RD thinking about how he’s refined his “stress” ability since childhood and that it can’t be dodged easily, but Tomura still managed to do it

and then we’re cutting to Tomura’s face which has the same sort of weary shell-shocked expression we ended the last chapter on, and ffff you guys I’m not ready but here we go anyway I guess

hooooooly shit

that is some good dramatic imagery. can’t wait to see Viz’s version when it comes out; that last panel definitely deserves to be seen in its fully restored glory

but anyway, so! that’s the Papa Hand! he just took it out of his pocket! and now he’s just holding it and staring at it! SHIT’S ABOUT TO GET REAL HERE YOU GUYS. THE SHIT IS ABOUT TO BUST THROUGH THE WALL AND WATASHI GA KITA THIS BITCH

why does he look so happy oh god :’D this is about to fuck me up isn’t it

so he remembered all the details of the Shimura Massacre and now he’s thinking that he really is just a vicious killing machine? is that what it is? oh god Horikoshi just show us already I can’t take it

but first we’re cutting to Re-Destro posing villainously and looking for all the world like that demon from the “Night on Bald Mountain” segment in Fantasia. I don’t know if it’s intentional or not, but the art for RD these last couple chapters has been giving me a strong old-school Disney animation vibe. they came up with some scary stuff back in the day

Horikoshi really got us rooting for the guy who’s arguing for the destruction of the world. smdh. like I said, we’re being played

OH NO OH SHIT HERE WE GO

okay, without knowing anything at all about the context of this scene, I immediately suspect that this shadowy man tipping his hat toward Tenko and Mama Shimura might be All for One up to his bullshit but let’s see

(ETA: this is probably Mikkun and/or Tomo-chan’s dad actually. but I’m still watching you, mister.)

oh shit oh shit oh shit you guys aahhsdfhshah

SHIMURA KOTARO. THERE HE IS, AT LONG LAST. NANA’S SON OMGGGGG

HE LOOKS SO MUCH LIKE HER AND YET HE’S SO STERN AND UNFRIENDLY. WHERE IS THE TRADEMARK SHIMURA SMILE, OH GOD I’M NOT READY FOR THIS ANGST

let me guess, it was a “in this house we don’t speak the H-word” rule. with the four-letter h-word in this case not being what you might typically expect

also! black hair! so that’s also confirmed! so I guess it changed color due to his trauma? oh god

and you can see he’s got the little scratches which were hinted at in the previous chapter, but they’re not nearly as bad yet. I have to assume that habit got much worse also due to the trauma. oh god. again

I haven’t watched that new HBO show about Chernobyl yet, but I feel like this is kind of what it must be like? knowing full well that Very Bad Things are about to go down but not being able to do anything and having to just watch as it all plays out. shit

anyways yep. no h-word allowed

so he was five! one whole year older than I thought omg. my mistake

in other news guys, I’m currently researching how to build a machine that will let me enter a fictional two-dimensional world and then travel back in time in that world to rescue and adopt a small child who needs lots of hugs omfg anyway so if anyone wants to help me out I think it’s a worthwhile endeavor

...why did I laugh omg. Tenko why is your dad the most dramatic bitch

(ETA: in all seriousness I think we should investigate the possibility of the Shimuras being distantly related to the Todorokis.)

HIS ALLERGIES ARE ACTING UP DAD HAVE A FUCKING HEART

anyways it’s all good because Hana will go visit him and they’ll sneak into dad’s office and she’ll show him the picture of their grandma to cheer him up. and then I’m sure eventually his dad will see reason and they’ll sort out their issues and they’ll all live happily ever after. la la la

so now Grandma is suggesting that Kotaro has maybe been a little too harsh on Tenko lately. yes Grandma make him see reason please

also I’m really curious as to whether or not Grandma is Kotaro’s adopted mom, or Tenko’s maternal grandma. if she is the adopted mom I love her even more and that makes me even sadder about their deaths, because they took in this boy whose mother basically abandoned him and then later DIED HORRIBLY, and they did their best to raise him with love, only for AFO to come along and eventually murder the lot of them which is so fucked up I can’t even. they deserved better

Kotaro has such a jaded look in his eyes here that it’s hard for me to be mad at him at all even though he’s being a jerk dad

he’s had a really rough life. yes he’s being a jerk but he thinks he’s doing what’s best for his children though. fml why is this shit so complicated

okay this next page is kind of conflicting on the are-they-or-aren’t-they-his-adopted-parents thing sob

like on the one hand, he literally calls them mom and dad. but then two panels down Tomura says they’re his parents-in-law. so what is the truth. maybe it’s not him talking to them in that first panel? or maybe he’s just really tight with his in-laws idk

anyway so now we’re cutting to Tenko and his mom, and this is the sweetest thing ever and why are you doing this to me Horikoshi!?

FFFF OKAY BUT!!

BABY TENKO’S LIL TRAIN SET OMG SO CUTE. AND IS THAT A PLATE OF ONIGIRI ON THE TABLE. TENKO YOU MADE A MESS AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN FINISH IT, SUCH A TYPICAL FIVE-YEAR-OLD OMG

THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT KIND OF ALLERGY IT IS?? AND IT ONLY ACTS UP WHEN HE’S AT HOME. THIS IS SUSPICIOUS AS FUCK. WHAT KIND OF FOUL PLAY IS GOING ON. OR IS IT JUST STRESS?

MOM SECRETLY SUPPORTS HIS DREAM TO BE A HERO AND HE’S OPEN WITH HER ABOUT IT I CAN’T

MIKKUN AND TOMO-CHAN! OH MY GOD DID YOU GET INTO A FIGHT TO DEFEND YOUR FRIENDS AND THAT’S WHY YOU GOT INTO TROUBLE I FUCKING CAN’T HE WAS SUCH A GOOD BOY. HE REMINDS ME SO MUCH OF DEKU HERE HOLY SHIT

(ETA: they even look alike.)

cuuuuuuuuuuuute

OH MY GOD

SHIMURA TENKO WAS AN ALL MIGHT FAN CONFIRMED OMFG?!

you guys. that is a lot of emotions that just hit me all at once holy shit. where do I even begin

first of all this continues the pattern of “origin” chapters showing how the characters in question admired All Might when they were growing up. we’re 4 for 4 as of now. I love this

second, it just hit me like bam to learn that Tenko felt drawn to All Might, knowing how they’re actually connected. All Might doesn’t even know (yet) that Nana had a grandson, and Tenko has no idea that his childhood hero is actually his grandmother’s protege. and yet he still winds up admiring him even without that knowledge. pow right in the feels

and lastly, I wouldn’t have thought this whole situation could get any more fucked up, and yet Horikoshi still managed it! Tenko goes from looking up to All Might and wanting to be like him, to hating him and wanting nothing more than to hurt and destroy him. fucking ouch you guys. god but that one hurts

oh and also you better believe I immediately went to the wiki to see if there were any characters around Tomura’s age whose first names might believably be condensed to Mikkun or Tomo-chan. specifically, I went to Miruko first because I wasn’t sure if she was one of those characters whose hero name was similar to her actual name! but sadly her actual name is Rumi. so much for my “Miruko and Tomura were childhood friends” theory which lasted for all of two seconds but was a wild ride while it did

you guys baby Tenko has the chubbiest little boy legs lmao I love him so much oh god. and also on a more serious note this makes presentday!Tomura’s almost emaciated appearance all the more jarring. tack on yet another reason to hate AFO to the list. it’s getting to be a really long list

the parallels between him and Deku are off the fucking charts you guys. this is getting ridiculous. god I’m so weak for this kind of storytelling dfsldkjfk

don’t think I didn’t notice the enormous rack you went and gave Tenko’s mom, Horikoshi. but you know what I’m going to allow it because this is just so fucking good and also because for once he’s being pretty subtle about it all things considered

adult!Tomura’s narration is shockingly insightful here

like, he’s so in touch with his five-year-old emotions, and also his understanding of how this all affected him in hindsight. that’s a lot of self-awareness for a guy who only just remembered all of this like thirty seconds ago

doesn’t Tomura have like a 5/5 on the intelligence score according to the character book? for a longest time I was really skeptical about that, but the more I see of him in this arc the more I see that it’s not just talk

oh my goddddddddd

LOOK AT HIS FACE OH MY GOD. he’s fucking entranced. you can tell he’s instantly captivated by her

HORIKOSHI NO, WHY

GODFUCKINGDAMMIT I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS YOU BASTARD

son of a bitch. well now I’m more subscribed than ever to the theory of Hana also surviving and being taken in by AFO in secret. she can’t be dead! she wanted to be a hero just like him! brother and sister heroes! Horikoshi I s2g if you really did kill her off I’m going to kick your ass. this is the exact spot where I’m drawing the line. this is how much angst you are allowed to have. right up to here and that’s it. the rest of the family can be dead, whatever, it’s sad and it’s fucked up, but don’t you dare touch Hana or I will...!!

and they promised. they made a brother-sister promise about what they were going to be when they grew up! and Tomura only just now remembered it! lord help me this boy is going to need all the therapy after this

OH NO

THAT DAY oh my god this is it strap yourselves in kids, we’re about to luge down this icy hill of Dead Family Feels and I don’t know how to fucking luge you guys

he’s so fucking happy. I’m so fucking stressed rn

oh GOD

TENKO DON’T MOVE!! DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING! OH GOD. HOW DO I TURN THIS FLASHBACK OFF THAT’S IT WE GOOD I’VE SEEN ENOUGH!!

LDSKFHHHH

KOTARO NO GO AWAY, EVEN IF YOU’VE BEEN A JERK DAD YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS AND TENKO DOESN’T DESERVE THIS, AND GOD, ALL FOR ONE CAN FUCKING BURN IN HELL, THIS IS SO FUCKED UP

AHHHHHH

OH GREAT THE WHOLE FUCKING FAMILY IS RIGHT THERE! JUST FUCKING PERFECT. THIS IS ALL GOING TO END SO FUCKING WELL I CAN’T

OH SHIT

KOTARO YOU’RE SUDDENLY CANCELLED YOU FUCKING DICK, BUT YOU STILL DIDN’T DESERVE TO DIE, BUT HOLY SHIT YOU SUCK!!! I DIDN’T ACTUALLY THINK YOU’D REALLY GO THROUGH WITH IT BUT I GUESS I WAS GIVING YOU TOO MUCH CREDIT YOU RAT BASTARD

I’M GLAD MAMA SHIMURA IS YELLING AT HIM NOW BUT I ALSO HAVE A TERRIBLE FEELING THAT HER RUNNING TO INTERVENE IS GOING TO SPARK A CHAIN REACTION, GIVEN WHAT’S ABOUT TO HAPPEN OH GOD

(ETA: or maybe I gave her too much credit. turns out there was no intervening to speak of.)

anyway so now Kotaro is yelling “that’s not your grandma!”, and I can’t decide if this is anger or something else on his face in this moment, which unbeknownst to him is one of the final moments of his life hahaha sob somebody help me how do I stop this ride

also Mon-chan keeps barking and I know that’s going to end really badly in just a moment as well ugh. it’s like those final few seconds after a grenade rolls into a room and everyone sees that the pin is missing and they know what’s about to happen but they can’t do anything to stop it. we’re all gonna die folks

oh no it actually was Something Else on his face oh fuck me

I’m fucking furious at Horikoshi right now for pulling this shit again and giving this scene so much complexity. there’s so much going on here that we’re never even going to get the chance to unpack because it’s all about to go to shit. and Kotaro is an absolute bastard, but he’s also a man who’s still reeling from the pain of being abandoned by his own mother and never came to terms with that. and yet that absolutely does not make this okay in the slightest, at all, and it’s abundantly clear that he is still very much the bad guy here and that what he’s doing is unforgivable. I just really like that he went and gave him this much depth despite him playing such a despicable role here. god BnHA is so good

anyway back to being devastated

HE LOOKS SO FUCKING TERRIFIED AND I’M SO MAD ABOUT EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW HE DIDN’T DESERVE THIS!!!

MOTHERFUCKER HERE IT COMES

[takes a deep breath and clicks to the next page!!]

hey what the

not the panel I was expecting with Tenko reaching out defensively and touching his father and accidentally turning him to ash while the rest of the family shrieks in fear and shock, but okay. I can’t say I was exactly looking forward to seeing that so I’ll take it!

oh Horikoshi. you see, this is exactly the type of shit I’m talking about

okay Kotaro, I can feel sorry for you in this moment and sympathize with the child-you who did not deserve that at all, and also feel yet more rage toward AFO for utterly destroying this family. but that doesn’t mean I don’t absolutely hate you at the same time for what you did to your son. it’s just like that. you had reasons but you’re still a dick. just BnHA character things

Horikoshi why oh my god

RIP SHIMURA FAMILY YOU DESERVED BETTER AND YOU WILL BE AVENGED!!

and yet all the same that does not make it right for you to take out your pain and frustration on your helpless five-year-old son! YOU FUCKED UP KOTARO. but this next page is still going to hurt oh god

[takes another deep breath!!]

oh okay we’re still drawing it out

-- holy shit, wait a sec. is this all taking place after? wait a fucking second

okay you guys holy shit, I just went back to the “house my father built” page and it is very clearly segueing into another flashback. like, in hindsight it’s obvious, but these aren’t actually Tenko’s memories any more. I think what happened was that Kotaro actually did hit Tenko another couple of times and then that was it, and then it cut back to this scene here which is actually taking place after that incident

which means Tenko’s memories were indeed tampered with then if my hunch is right!! let’s read on, but I’m pretty sure AFO is about to come along and murder the shit out of these folks, holy shit is this really happening?!

okay so Mama Shimura is telling Kotaro that she’s done following his rules

like, I’m glad she’s standing up for her children but I really wish she’d rip him a new one much more severely than this though

though he does seem genuinely regretful. but that’s hardly helpful now?? girl just take the kids and leave

oh no we’re cutting back to Tenko and he’s hugging Mon-chan out in the backyard and it’s nighttime now noooooooo

all right, for the third fucking time I’m going to take a deep fucking breath and turn the page holy shit you guys this chapter is taking years off my life

ffff ffff ffffffff

(((╹д╹;)))

(⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾ Д ⁽⁽ ⁰ ⁾⁾;;;)

(φ Д φ )

...well shit

parting thoughts:

I’m okay with this being the only bit they show and not getting any more detail. please for once don’t give us any more detail, Horikoshi, holy fuck

though if we don’t actually see anything, part of me is still going to suspect AFO of directly interfering right up until the end of the series. the whole thing just comes together too perfectly for him. there’s no fucking way

I still 100% believe he gave Tenko the quirk, too. especially now that we know he was quirkless until age five. we’ve previously established that if a child hasn’t evolved a quirk by that age it almost always means they’re quirkless for life. Horikoshi thinks he’s smooth trying to play it off like Tenko was a tragic late bloomer but WE KNOW THE TRUTH. I will go down with this theory damn it

I would say this is easily the single most fucked up thing we have seen in this series up to this point, but I see Horikoshi eyeing the upcoming Noumu plotline and the tragic tale of Tsubasa and his fucked up mad scientist grandpa and looking for somebody to hold his beer, so. I’ll just keep my mouth shut, I think

anyways this chapter was amazing and terrifying and I can’t wait to see how Tomura’s story moves forward from here. happy 5th anniversary of BnHA, y’all

[writing-of-a-british-bitch]

Baby Steps

 Fandom: Queen/ Bohemian Rhapsody

Specified gender: Neutral ( or at least I tried, I may have fucked up a few times)

Pairing: Roger Taylor X reader

TW: language, mention of death

Genre: angst with a fair bit of fluff

Word Count: 2.4K

Request:  can you write a roger x reader in which the reader is sad and roger consoles her and then he tries to kiss her and she gets angry with him because she thinks he is taking advantage of the moment of sadness to have sex with her but in the end, he confesses his feelings

A/N: I honestly feel like I could've written this better. Sorry guys.

Requests: OPEN

"I put my heart and soul into this song "Roger growled, moving the bacon around the pan aggressively. You strolled in, leaning on the counter between John and Brian. Bri waved silently.

"No one is disputing that, "John replied, pointing his fork in the air.

"And you don't like it because you want your song on the album" Roger accused and Bri slid you a cup of coffee.

"It's not that Roger." John huffed, his long hair following as he tilted his head in annoyance. Your rolled your eyes and Roger prickled angrily. Out of all the boys, you were the most distant with Roger. You two didn't hate each other, you just didn't have too much in common. He still cared about you, as you did him, you guys were a family after all.

"Then what is it?" Roger snapped. Grabbing the lyrics of his song off the counter, your eyes scanned the page and your face scrunched up in confusion and in slight disgust. Then a certain line pulled a laugh from your throat and Roger glared daggers at you.

"'I'm In Love With My Car'. Maybe it's not strong enough?" Brian suggested, sarcasm tinting his smooth voice.

"What does that even mean 'not strong enough'?" Roger exclaimed before Freddie wandered in, taking his place beside John.

"I know I'm late, what did I miss?" Freddie asked, bringing the mug to his lips.

"Discussing Roger's car song," John answered with a raised eyebrow

"Is it strong enough? That's all I'm asking. If I'm on my own here then I apologize." Brian stated, raising his hands.

"How does your song go then?" Roger angrily snatched Bri's song from the table, crushing one of the corners accidentally. "You call me sweet like I'm some kind of cheese'" he read, throwing his arms down.

"I mean, it's good." You responded and Roger's eyes turned to you.

"Wow." He hissed sarcastically.

"What? 'When my hand's on your grease gun'?" You shot back, carefully folding the paper and handing it to Bri. John was hiding a smile behind his mug and Freddie wasn't even attempting to contain his laughter.

"That's very subtle isn't it?" Bri enquired, shooting Roger his signature bitch face.

"It's a metaphor, Brian!" Roger snapped, eyes narrowing at the curly-haired guitarist.

"It's just a bit weird, Roger. What exactly are you doing with that car?" John interjected. He was clearly teasing, but Roger didn't get the memo.

"Children, please. We could all murder each other but then who would be left to record this album?" Freddie stated, taking a sip of coffee.

"Statistically speaking, most bands don't fail, they break up," John responded between mouthfuls of food.

"Why the hell would you say something like that? Roger, there's only room in this band for one hysterical queen." Freddie said, keeping his eyes trained on Roger.

"You know why you're angry Roger?" Brian began. You shot him a side-eyed glance, knowing he was about to reignite the fire.

"Why?" Roger requested, frustration clear in his voice.

"Because you know your song isn't strong enough," Brian answered and Roger grabbed some bacon, flinging it at Brian's face.

"Is that strong enough?" Roger yelled, before throwing some bread and eggs at you and John.

"How about that?" You rolled your eyes, knowing you'd have to wash your hair again to get it out your hair. Roger grabbed the coffee machine, lifting it over his head.

"NOT THE COFFEE MACHINE!" You all shouted and Roger stopped mid-air, steam practically rolling from his ears. Roger slammed the coffee machine back down before storming off. You watched him for a second as John and Bri continued eating.

"Sorry about that (Y/N). You're gonna have to wash your hair to get that crap out"Bri apologized and you shook your head.

"Don't worry, hun, I signed up for this when I joined the band." You grabbed another piece of bread and slotted it in the toaster.

"He'll be over it in at least half an hour," John added, standing up and placing his plate in the sink.

"Is he always this ... on edge?" You asked. You'd only been part of the band for a few weeks after being kicked out of your own band. You were a drummer and a backup singer, though singing was most definitely your strong point. Your bandmates were some people you used to be friends with in college. They were a bunch of dicks and the lead singer constantly wanted attention to an absurd degree. His name was Mike. Mike wasn't a very good singer, but because he knew singers usually got the most attention, and he wanted all the limelight, he took that up. Despite knowing that you were a better singer, he forced you to learn drums and continuously pushed you past your limit, resulting in countless scars on your hands. Every day led to a new argument, but apparently one day you 'went too far' and they kicked you out. However, a group called Queen had seen you playing and found you mid-argument. After seeing you getting kicked from your band, Freddie practically demanded you become part of theirs.

"He's got an explosive temper, threw a TV out the window once, "Brian answered. You rolled your eyes. Sounds like Roger. The toast suddenly popped up, causing you and John to jump in unison. You pulled the toast out, taking a bite as Brian began washing his and John's plates.

"Where'd Freddie go?" John inquired.

"Probably with his little pet." You muttered bitterly, mouth full of toast.

"Probably," Brian remarked. You soon finished your food and Brian took your plate off you to wash.

"I'm gonna go get this shit out my hair. I'll be back in time to record." You told the boys before sauntering towards the bathroom.

You walked into the studio, towel in hand as you dried your hair.

"Ten minutes late, my dear," Freddie commented from his seat on the couch beside John and Roger. Brian was in the recording booth with his guitar, playing a tune you'd all agreed upon for 'Lazing On A Sunday Afternoon'.

"Rich coming from you, Fred. Besides, I wouldn't be late if someone hadn't thrown an egg in my hair." You responded, slumping between John and Freddie on the couch.

"Fuck off." Roger murmured, adjusting his necklace.

"Phone's been ringing for you for the last 15 minutes." John butted in, trying to focus on Brian.

"You know who's calling?" You asked, standing up again and walking over to the phone.

"Your mother. Number's written over there." Roger said, pointing at a note beside the phone set. You thanked the three before dialling the number and bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hello?" Your mother's voice crackled through the phone.

"Hi, ma. It's just me. Is everything alright? John said you'd been calling?" You requested, speaking quietly so Freddie and Bri could converse.

"Oh, (Y/N), darling. I need to tell you something." She replied, voice weak.

"Oh sure, what's going on?" You questioned, beginning to feel anxious

"(Y/N), you know your dad hasn't been very well for a long time..." she began. You felt your heart stop.

"Yeah..." You muttered

"Well...he passed away last night. We rushed him to the hospital but h-he didn't make it." She finished. Your hand shot to your mouth and tears pricked your eyes

"We'd really love for you to come home. Your brothers will be here. Alex is coming in from Australia and Danny managed to get a break from his work to visit." She added.

"Ma, I can't come home right now. I'm recording an album with the guys. I don't really have a way to get to your house in America right now." You reasoned

"Oh. Okay. I suppose we'll see you soon." Your mother replied, disappointment clear in her voice.

"Yeah, mom. I'm sorry. I wish I could come home. Say hi to the boys for me. Bye. I love you." You mumbled before placing the phone back. You sniffed, quickly wiping your eyes.

"Everything alright, dear?" Freddie asked, glancing up from the paper he was writing on. Roger had gotten up, standing next to the sound guy, talking to Brian in the booth.

"Y-Yeah. Everything's... everything's fine, Fred." You coughed, wiping your nose, fighting back a new onslaught of tears.

"Are you sure? You're acting a bit odd." Deacy pushed and you nodded.

"Does, uh, does anyone want some tea?" You asked, trying to find any way of getting a little bit of alone time without looking suspicious.

"Me, please, darling. Bring one for Brian too."

"I'm good, thank you (Y/N)."

"I'm in the booth next, so I'm alright."

Three voices rang out and you rushed out of the room as fast as your legs could carry you. Upon reaching the kitchen, you set the kettle to boil before breaking down into sobs. Tears streamed down your cheeks and you covered your face, attempting to fist away the water running from your eyes. You should've been there for him. Now you'd never see him again. you'd never hear his shitty dad jokes, never have your hair ruffled by him again, never hear his laugh again. Never see him smile.

You were so caught up in your grief, you didn't realize that someone else had joined you in the kitchen. A hand was placed on your shoulder, the other on your cheek.

"(Y/N), what's wrong? Did something happen? Talk to me." Roger watched your every move with eyes swimming with concern. You couldn't even form words so you simply allowed yourself to collapse into Roger. He wrapped his arms around you protectively before slowly sliding down to the floor so it was either for the both of you. After spending a few minutes in that position, your tears soaking Roger's shirt and his fingers running through your hair calmingly, you began to shakily explain what had happened. Roger couldn't find a way to describe how he felt. He was freaked, to be honest. Seeing you, strong, independent (Y/N) broken into pieces was unnerving. But overall, he couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked, despite the tear stains and messed hair. And he couldn't stop himself from kissing you.

He regretted it immediately.

You shoved him back, feeling hurt and betrayed, putting distance between you.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?! I'm here, crying because my dad is fucking dead and you think it's perfectly acceptable to fucking kiss me?!"  You yelled harshly, scrambling to your feet.

"I didn't mean-" He tried

"And just when I started thinking that you care about me because I'm your friend or your bandmate! I'm not your friend. I'm just another fucking girl for you to score then throw into the gutter!" You continued, feeling more tears well up.

"You're not-" Roger started

"Fuck you, Roger Taylor! Fuck. You." You exclaimed, raising your middle finger to the blonde haired drummer before running out, leaving Roger on the floor, calling after you. You didn't attempt to go back to the recording studio. You couldn't face your friends right now. You felt too... embarrassed...used. You threw yourself on the bed and swiftly pulled the covers over your head, wanting to hide from everyone and everything as the river returned to flow from your eyes. You loved him, you truly did. But he wasn't the time of person for commitment. He only wanted you when you were vulnerable. He could never love you.

It'd been a few hours since the whole 'Roger' incident and you'd made no attempt to move from the room, only opting to angrily song write. Your grief mixed with the awful feeling Roger had left you with left no room for anything other than anger. Suddenly there was a gentle knock on the door.

"(Y/N)? Roger said you weren't feeling so good. I brought you some soup for dinner. You're free to come to eat with us if you feel up or it." John's voice broke through the cracks in the door. You carefully placed your pen and paper down before opening the door and taking the soup with a small smile.

"Thanks, John. Sorry I missed out on the recording. Freddie's probably pissed." You mumbled, voice hoarse from crying. You placed the soup on the small table by the door, but as soon as you placed it down, a body was thrown at you, colliding into you and making you fall to the floor. The door slammed shut and after a second of groaning, you realized who had fallen on top of you. You raced to get out from under him, and you turned your back to him.

"(Y/N), I know you're angry with me. Just hear me out." Roger said quietly, you tilted your head to let him know you were listening.

"I wasn't thinking. I should've been more tactful. Kissing you was not appropriate at that moment in time. I just... you looked so broken, it hurt me. I just wanted to distract you from the pain. And I know after this, you'll probably be mad at me still but I want to say I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to take advantage of you in any way and I'm an idiot for not realizing that that's the way it would be taken. I really care about you, as more than a friend or bandmate. I would do anything to make you happy. But that kiss wasn't appropriate at the time and I'm so fucking sorry."Roger explained. You sighed, turning around, looking anywhere but the drummer's eyes.

"Rog... I love you too but I need time. I'm going through a lot at the minute and something is telling me that it's not going to get any easier in the next few months." You replied softly. Roger cupped your cheek, pulling your face up to his.

"I want to be for you (Y/N). I want to help you through what you're going through. I want to be there for you in your darkest or best moments. We can take it slow. Baby steps. Just give me a chance. Please." Roger pleaded. You could never say no to those eyes.

"Baby steps..." You agreed after a long pause. Roger broke out in a grin and he carefully entwined his fingers with yours. Maybe this could work.

Tags: @writingfortoomanyfandoms @queens-n-roses @yourealegendfred @fierce-bab @dusthas-beenbitten @silvver-rose @benhardyjones @bensroger

[thesportssoundoff]

What Happens When You Take A Bad Idea And Make It Worse? LET’S TALK ABOUT THE BRAWL FOR ALL!

Joey

March 11th

The Mother Fucking Brawl For All.

Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd actually get around to this but there are miracles around us and what better time than now? The Brawl For All is generally regarded as one of the worst ideas of all time in a business with an entire genre dedicated to grown men and women smashing each other with fluorescent light tubes and slamming one another on beds of nails and thumbtacks. In a business that up until the mid 80s featured nazis goose stepping around and up until 2003 or so regularly and routinely featured women wrestling in their bloomers, the Brawl For All is the one idea that every human being unanimously believes was a disastrous failure. It's the one unanimous tire fire that not even it's most ardent supporter can put out. Not even WCW's junkyard battle royale which featured multiple injuries due to WCW not gimmicking the cars and just having guys taking bumps onto cars and through glass windshields is hated this much. The Brawl 4 All is one of those things people can't even sum up with "It was bad!" and move on. You have to go through layers and layers and levels of badness. You have to view it almost as an affront to your sensibilities, as a personal attack on you as a fan. Hell not just as a fan but as a human being!

Vince McMahon and company have failed in previous ventures before and ventures after. The XFL, the World Bodybuilding Federation, the ECW relaunch, 65% of the undercard Attitude Era angles, their really expensive WWE Films attempts. Some could even argue that the brand split originally was a failure in some respects given that Smackdown never really got going on its own and Raw declined sharply from the brand split onward. That said those failures at least had SOME inkling and morsels of promise behind them. Not the Brawl For All. It was a bad idea from the start, a bad idea during and made even worse by what happened afterwards. Also? The Brawl For All is one of those things that every wrestling fan and every wrestling personality has a hard opinion on, the kind of shit that lends itself to so much gossip, rumor and conversation. Over the next few weeks, I want to discuss the Brawl 4 All a bit more. I want to delve into it because it's as close as we'll ever get to a universal no hope no spin failure by the WWE and because...well...it's one of my favorite fuck ups of all time. It's always been something that fascinated me from watching it live as a casual fan to laughing at it as a smart fan when I stumble across it to making a near yearly pilgrimage to youtube to watch every single fight of it I can find before it got yanked. It's one of those wrestling stinkers that like December 2 Dismember or the Heroes Of Wrestling card that I'm magnetically attracted to. Every wrestling fan FEELS for the Brawl For All even if those feelings are utter disdain for everyone involved with it.

The Concept And How Fucked It Was From Jump

To get why this even happened, you have to go back in a time capsule. Despite catching fire in 1998, the WWF (for the purpose of being as thorough as possible here, we're gonna call 'em as they were when this happened) is still struggling to keep track with WCW Nitro. They're in the midst of an 83 week long ass eating from Ted Turner's Atlanta based wrestling promotion and "good ideas" are running dry. Understand that at this point the WWF has the single hottest property in the business but that sole property isn't enough to get over the hump vs the NWO, the cruiserweights, an ascending Bill Goldberg, Bret Hart, the return of Sting and what was genuinely just a better overall card. Even if Wrestlemania 14 gave birth to so many great stories going forward (Austin vs McMahon, the hard reboot of DX as a faction, Kane vs Undertaker's first match), WCW is in the midst of its highest grossing year ever. Vince McMahon has James Harden putting up 50 points a night and winning on his back but he's still looking up to the Golden State Warriors. Making matters worse, both companies are in the pro wrestling equivalent of an arms race.  Remember how when the UFC and Bellator in 2014 and 2015 signed anybody with a pulse because they were trying to fill up two insanely bloated schedules? It's a bit like that. Anybody who is good (and not a walking flag factory so to speak) is either in WWE or WCW at this point which means if you ONLY have two hours of content, you've got a lot of guys doing nothing.

The Brawl For All on its surface and without malice seems like an awful idea to try and remedy that. Pit sixteen dudes in a shoot tournament and let them go at it with set rules in place. It gets guys on TV, gives them something to do and at the end, in theory, the winner doesn't just get a big financial prize but come out in the end as a star. It's a chance to do something with a section of guys who are doing absolutely nothing at all. Sounds good, riiiiight? Well now let's break into some sexy rumor mongering about what this really was about:

-We can start with the mastermind! Vince Russo is the man who apparently concocted this concept which should be somewhat redeemable if what I laid out above was entirely 100% accurate. It's not entirely the case, even according to Russo's own words. Per Vince Russo, a large reason the Brawl For All came to be was that he had a beef with one of the wrestlers (Bradshaw aka John Bradshaw Layfield aka that guy who got flattened by ring announcer Joey Styles) consistently bloviating that he was the toughest guy in the locker room. Right off the jump, any sort of noble designs are whittled away. Now often in pro wrestling, there's 100 different stories to the same single event often shared by people IN the same room. Imagine how pronounced it is that a) everybody agrees that it was Russo's idea, b) everybody is under the impression that it was over a tiff with a pro wrestling with no shoot fighting experience and c) EVERYBODY agrees it was one of the worst concepts imaginable. The Brawl For All's entire seed was planted not so much out of a design to get guys work and on TV but out of wanting to see a loud dude get punched up. That's insanity out the gate.

-The Brawl For All was by invitation only and depending on who you believe, the process to select wrestlers was rather...exclusive. Bruce Prichard discusses in his podcast with Conrad Thompson that he was the guy who had to round up the talent to fill enough spots in the tournament. Prichard says he had to play to the egos of wrestlers and in a separate interview, Bart Gunn talks about how he got recruited basically by another member of the writing team as well. The name Bart Gunn will become pretty important down the line so jot that down in your notebooks real quick. Wrestlers were recruited with what seems like a pretty easy enough pitch and one I'd imagine that the UFC uses today  with their fighters; basically a "I mean don't you believe you're the toughest dude here?!" and a "We'll pay you!" and we're off to the races. Despite this, the Brawl For All struggled to get people to fill in the spots in no small part due to the fact that no star is going to partake in an absolutely stupid concept like this when they can just make their money being a star. The Brawl For All isn't even a TUF; it's a PFL tournament where all the dudes nobody else wants are lumped into a tournament format with the golden carrot of a $100,000 prize at the end of it.

-Perhaps worth more than the $100,000 prize was the either legit or illegitimate golden carrot of the winner getting to work a program with "Stone Cold" Steve Austin. Understand that no one single act was as hot and drawing as much money at this time as Steve Austin was. He was the it guy, the biggest star in the business and noway near close to peaking as a talent either. The Brawl For All $100,000 prize? That's cool and all  plus that was basically the downside guarantee for a year's worth of work. The opportunity to work with Stone Cold on a pay per view? That's the big money ticket. That's the opportunity to be a made man like how working with Hogan in the 80s was. For top guys, that opportunity may come along at any given point. Again going back a bit to TUF and the PFL, imagine if the UFC offered eight of its guys the chance to compete in a tournament for $100,000. Enticing! Now imagine the winner gets to fight Conor McGregor on a PPV. Tell me if it doesn't get every guy not named Khabib and Tony Ferguson jumping into it. That would be a great no doubt can't miss opportunity!

EXCEPT

-It was probably a lie. Scratch that. We can factually tell that any sort of Austin match for the winner was a lie since every person involved (sans one) says it was real and the winner never actually got said shot. Imagine if the tournament wasn't build on anything truthful but instead on a "The winner will be in the mix" from Dana White. While Bruce Prichard says there was no official plan for the winner to face Steve Austin, everybody else involved from talent to wrestling guru Jim Cornette seems to suggest there WAS a plan in place for the winner to win. That is, assuming of course, the winner was the guy they thought was going to win all along. More on that in the future but just know that the Brawl For All's fighters were flirted with a hush hush unofficial promise of facing Steve Austin that was probably never going to be fulfilled unless won by a specific party. Bart Gunn says he was told the winner would face Stone Cold and well....more on that at another time. Let's just say sports entertainment and combat sports have a long storied history of perhaps listening to the matchmakers a bit too closely.

-The rules for the Brawl For All? Well those were a mess. According to Bruce Prichard, the rules were still being worked out the week of. According to Steve Blackman (a dude who Bob Holly admits would've won the whole thing), there were plans to allow leg kicks and those rules just happened to get yanked the week of. The glove size seems to change depending on who you ask as the WWF says they were 16 ounce gloves but Bart Gunn argues repeatedly they were 22 ounce gloves. Some of the guys admittedly didn't even think it was a shoot fight either and at least one fighter fought thinking it was a work. According to Bart Gunn, even halfway through the tournament he kept expecting it to be a work suddenly.  The "official" Brawl For All rules had points for takedowns, points for a knockdown and points for more punches thrown across three one minute rounds. The scorecard part doesn't even matter at this point. To be honest, it didn't even matter then.

So let's talk about the big problem here

So imagine putting together a tournament designed around the concept of "Who's the toughest guy!" in a show where the audience is conditioned to believe that the toughest guy is the world champion or if the champion is a heel, the toughest guy is the babyface chasing said champion. We already in theory know who the toughest guy is or at least we're willing to suspend our disbelief. Also if we're to believe that the winner of the tournament is the toughest guy in the company, why aren't the big name tough guys we've been told are the tough guys competing in it? The concept falls flat right there on its own but the hole isn't deep enough. We gotta go from six feet to nine feet so now imagine that you've come up with this concept that pees on the first rule of your product. Make it worse. Make it so that the audience is being told to believe that what they see HERE AND ONLY HERE is legitimate.  NOTHING is as frustrating in pro wrestling as "a shoot." For those not addicted to sports entertainment meth, a shoot is something on the program that the audience is led to believe is real. Now for something to be "real" on a show that's already "real" then that in turn means what we're seeing is fake, right? So a "real fight" on pro wrestling ultimately means that what we're seeing is fake. Now most wrestling fans since the 70s and 80s have probably believed wrestling in some form or fashion is/was not real. We accept it as entertainment and as Jerry Jarrett once lovingly put it "theater of the illiterate." The key is to not remind us that what we're seeing is clearly fake (a problem wrestling fans seem to be having right now with Ronda Rousey). Reminding the audience that what they're saying is predetermined scripted fakeness and then asking them to invest into the REAL portion of the product that breaks their illusion only works if a star is doing it. It doesn't work if a bunch of random dudes and mid carders are doing it. Imagine if in the middle of one of those UFC Embedded gimmicks, we saw Conor McGregor rehearsing the press conference lines and then he went out to try and sell his beef with Cowboy Cerrone as legitimate. You've already hurt the audience's feelings and the Brawl For All actively did that at a time where all WWF fans wanted was to watch Stone Cold kick ass and DX make inappropriate jokes. You've brought DOWN the segment.

So now we're nine feel into the hole. Let's go sixteen feet deep. Nope! Let's go from here to fuckin' middle earth on this bad boy; pro wrestling is a TEAM effort. It requires two or more able bodied people to work together to create a magnificent fake fight spectacle that tells a story and ends with you becoming emotionally invested in its finish and what's to come. That requires participation. Now come up with a tournament where guys are going to beat the holy shit out of one another FOR REAL and then have to go back to participating with one another as if nothing happened! Every single wrestler involved in the Brawl For All has spoken about the bad blood and residual effects the Brawl For All had. Also remember these are not trained fighters either. Some of these guys are amateur wrestlers who probably haven't done that for years. Some dudes dabbled in kickboxing or BJJ on their spare time or in years outside of wrestling had some formal combat sports . Some of these guys were bodybuilders by trade and some of these dudes were just pro wrestlers who happened to have a few "So and so cleaned out a bar room with one hand and six beers!" type magical fishing trip stories. So you're taking a bunch of ego driven (some chemically enhanced) guys and sending them out there to beat each other up on a Monday or a Tuesday and then magically get over it in time to make the house show loop where they're going to team together. We've officially come out the other end through China, folks.

And yet despite all of this very obvious right in front of our faces warning signs, the Brawl For All existed.

Next time we'll talk about who was in it a bit more---and why IF the Brawl For All had a true tertiary motive designed to elevate one guy to superstardom, it was an even bigger failure than humanly possible.

[asian-hero]

Is It Just Me Or Are We Soulmates? -7

this chapter is long and i don’t know why

p1 - p2 - p3 - p4 - p5 - p6

wanna read on ao3? here’s the link -> link

Lance woke up with a groan, holding his head while sitting up. Slowly, he looked around at his surroundings. He noticed that he was back in his bedroom, and Hunk was sitting in the bed next to him, watching the news.

“What happened?”

Hunk looked over at him, grinning a little. “Hey buddy, how are you feeling?”

Lance rubbed his temples, trying to relieve some of the pain. “I want to die. I feel like shit,”

Hunk laughed, walking over to him to hand him a water bottle. Lance snatched the bottle out of his hands, chugging it down quickly. Once he finished, he threw it across the room, missing the trash can. He heard Hunk sighing next to him, going over to throw away the bottle properly.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

Lance furrowed his eyebrows together, deep in thought, before shaking his head. “No, all I remember is drinking with you and Allura,”

Hunk blinked a few times before a confused look appeared on his face. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Should I?”

Hunk sighed, debating on whether or not he should tell him what happened last night. Deciding that he wanted Lance to get over his embarrassment before they left the hotel room he told him what happened:

“You were practically smothering Shiro with compliments and clinging onto him,”

Lance stared at his friend, slightly shocked about what happened. But he shrugged it off. He knew he was a flirty drunk, so flirting a little with his soulmate didn’t matter that much to him. Before he could say anything Hunk held up a hand.

“You also told him that you love him, then kissed him.”

Lance felt himself heat up, embarrassed with his actions. He put his face in his hands, trying his best to hide from his friend. Peeking through his hands, he saw Hunk struggling to contain his laughter.

“Is that all I did?” He asked hopefully.

Hunk shook his head, letting his laughter fall from his lips. “You also threw up right after you kissed him.”

Lance looked up from his hands, his face completely blanched of all color. He felt himself sink further into the bed, wanting to smash his head into a wall. It didn’t help that Hunk was just standing there, laughing at Lance’s misery. He looked up at the laughing boy, groaning.

“It’s not funny Hunk!” Lance whined, throwing a pillow at him.

Hunk dodged the assault, giggles still trickling out of him. “I mean, it kinda is.”

Lance glared at him, crossing his arms while huffing. Not only did he embarrass himself in front of his soulmate by throwing up, but he confessed his love for him after he’d been ignoring Shiro all day. He looked at Hunk cautiously.

“Do you know what he said after I told him I love him?”

Hunk smiled at his friend, sitting on the edge of his bed. “He said to talk to him when you’re sober,”

“How am I supposed to? I don’t even have his number!”

Hunk pointed to his wrist. “You could always write to him,”

Lance lit up at the suggestion. He moved to get a pen when his head started pounding again. Groaning, he slowly made his way to the bathroom instead.

“Maybe I should do it after I take a shower,”

------

Hey

Shiro looked down at the neat penmanship on his arm. He traced over it with his finger, contemplating on what he should say.

“Just say ‘hi’ it’s not that fucking hard,” Keith said, as if sensing his thoughts.

Shiro pouted, crossing his arms as he did so. “It’s not that easy,”

Keith tore his eyes away from the game he was currently playing to look at Shiro. When he saw the dejected look on his friend’s face he sighed, patting his shoulder.

“Just see what he wants, then you’ll have a right to be all freaked out,”

Shiro nodded his head, his pen slightly shaking as he wrote down his reply:

Hello

It was a simple message, nothing more than a greeting. Somehow it made Shiro’s heart race. After yesterday Shiro was confused about where they were in this relationship. Was it a relationship? Or is he just overthinking things? Before he could think anymore about the situation at hand he noticed a new sentence had appeared on his arm.

We need to talk

Shiro felt his breath catch in his throat. He thrusted his arm in front of Keith’s face, making the other man protest.

“What the fu—”

He paused mid sentence, less focused on the fact that his character just died and more on the neat words written on Shiro’s arm. After examining it for a couple of seconds he looked at Shiro.

“Well, are you gonna respond?”

“What am I supposed to say?” Shiro asked, clearly freaking out.

Keith rolled his eyes, picking up his controller. “Say ‘okay, sounds cool’,”

Shiro hit his shoulder, drawing out a small hiss from Keith. “You’re not helpful,”

“Helpful wasn’t apart of the deal when you made this friendship.”

Shiro spared one last glare at Keith before writing a response:

Okay, about what?

He waited for a couple of minutes before slumping down next to Keith, who paid no attention to his friend. Only when Shiro fell face first into the side of the couch did he decide to look over.

“Everything okay there?”

A muffled “no” came from the couch, making Keith huff. He turned off the TV and got up from the couch, pulling Shiro along with him, despite the other’s protests.

“C’mon, let’s go. I’m not letting you mope around all day,” Keith said, pulling on his hoodie.

Shiro sighed, reluctantly putting on his shoes and grabbing his keys. He raised an eyebrow at the look Keith was giving him.

“What?”

“Takashi Shirogane it’s winter. What would your mom think if I let you go out without a damn jacket?”

Shiro grumbled something about Keith being overbearing, but put on a jacket nonetheless. Once they were out of the apartment Shiro looked over at Keith, who seemed to be determined.

“Where are we going anyway?”

“The cat cafe in Akihabara. It usually seems to cheer you up,”

Shiro smiled, partially due to how determined his friend was to cheer him up, but mainly because he got to see the adorable cats. The plan seemed to be working, as he suddenly felt much happier then he’d been waiting for a reply. Feeling more playful, he started jogging.

“Last one to the train station has to pay for the tickets,”

------

Lance looked down at his arm, sloppy cursive letters printed on his arm. He had no idea of what he wanted to say. On one hand he just wanted to pour his heart out and create a large speech that would probably cover both arms. On the other hand he just wanted to avoid the whole thing and just pretend that nothing happened. He sighed, pushing his food around, not wanting to eat anything.

“Hey, if you’re not gonna eat then at least put it in a plastic bag,” Hunk said, wiping his hands, “It’s free breakfast, why waste it?”

Lance shoved a bite into his mouth, his eyes never leaving his arm. He wondered if even talking to Shiro was a bad idea. They only had a week left before they had to pack up and leave, so why was he so hesitant about this? Hunk looked at his friend, a sympathetic look on his face. After eating in silence for a couple of minutes, Hunk got up, pulling Lance up with him. Lance looked up from his arm, a confused look on his face.

“Where are we going?”

Hunk didn’t look at him, instead walking over to the elevators, pushing the button to go up. “Well first off, you’re going to change into something other than your pajamas and then we’re going to Akihabara so you can cheer up and be your weeb self.”

Lance lit up a bit, feeling slightly better. Once they were at their room Lance went to pick out a white t-shirt, a slightly baggy jean jacket, and some black jeans. He topped it off with a white cap that had a tiny rainbow on the front. As he waited for Hunk to grab his wallet from the safe he quickly wrote down something for Shiro:

Can we meet tomorrow?

“Hey Lance, are you ready?”

Lance looked up from his arm, shoving the pen in his pocket, standing up. He smiled at his friend, linking his arm in his.

“Let’s go!”

------

It had only been an hour and Lance had pretty much exhausted his bank account. He’d bought many figures and won some plushies from the irritating claw machines. After writing to Shiro he’d gotten a response immediately. Shiro agreed to meet up with Lance tomorrow to talk about their relationship and where it stood. Lance would send him his hotel address tomorrow and then they would talk. He tried his best to not think about it, because the more he thought about it then the more he just wanted to chicken out and leave.

After a couple of minutes of watching Lance fail at every claw machine, Hunk decided that they go to a cafe to eat some lunch. Much to Lance’s excitement, Hunk had taken them to a cat cafe. When they sat down at their table Lance couldn’t contain his happiness anymore. He picked up one of the kittens and set them down in his lap, petting them softly. Hunk rolled his eyes at the sight, looking at the menu.

“So what do you feel like eating? They have okonomiyaki, udon, gyo—”

“Oh my god!”

Hunk didn’t look up from his menu. “I know, gyoza seems pretty good,”

Lance his his shoulder. “No, not that! Look over there!”

Hunk looked up from his menu, his eyes following where Lance’s were. His eyebrows raised slightly when he noticed Shiro sitting across the room with another man. They seemed to be enjoying each others company, laughing a little while petting the cats. He looked back at Lance, who was currently freaking out.

“Are you gonna talk to him?”

“No! Who is that guy with him?” Lance hissed, moving the kitten off of his lap.

Hunk shrugged his shoulders, going back to looking at his menu. “It’s probably his friend,”

“You can’t be ‘just friends’ with someone that hot!” Lance said, crossing his arms while huffing, “I don’t talk to him for one day and then he goes and finds another man? What kind of soulmate does that?”

Hunk looked at Lance, an unamused look resting on his face. “You think so low of him. Just go over there and say hi,”

Lance felt a fire pool in his stomach, causing him to stand up and march right over to Shiro’s table. When he reached it, he put a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, plastering a fake smile on his face.

“Hey Shiro, nice seeing you here,”

Shiro looked up from the man sitting across from him, a surprised look on his face. He smiled back up at him. “Hey Lance, what are you doing here?”

“So this is Lance?” The man said, grinning, “I’m Keith, it’s nice to meet you.”

Lance looked down at his hand before looking back at his face. He was pretty, to say the least. His eyes were dark gray with a hint of violet mixed in them. He had a slim face with a nice jawline. His hair was black and messy, and was pulled into a ponytail. Lance couldn’t help but admit that the man was pretty, which only made the fire in his stomach burn even hotter.

He shook Keith’s hand, gripping it a bit harder than he had to. They all stayed there in complete silence until Keith coughed, standing up.

“Well, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back,”

He quickly walked away from the pair, clearly wanting to step away from that situation. Lance looked down at Shiro, who was smiling up at him. Shiro motioned for him to sit down. He did so, huffing as he sat.

“So, who’s Keith?”

Shiro laughed, taking a sip of his drink. “He’s my friend. I’ve known him since elementary school,”

Lance nodded his head, his jealousy still not quelled. Shiro seemed to notice, as he laughed lightly at Lance. He looked at him, glaring.

“What’s so funny?” Lance asked.

Shiro shook his head, a bigger smile on his face. “Lance, Keith has a boyfriend.”

Lance blinked, confused. “A boyfriend?”

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, his soulmate,”

Lance looked at Shiro for a few seconds before groaning, burying his head in his hands. Shiro laughed, no longer able to hold it in. They stayed that way for a few seconds, before Shiro patted Lance on the head. He looked up at Shiro, who was still smiling.

“Were you jealous?”

Lance wildly gestured at himself. “What do you think? I wouldn’t have just marched over here for nothing!”

Shiro giggled, pushing back Lance’s hair. “You don’t need to be jealous,”

Lance groaned, looking at the table. “I know I shouldn’t be so jealous after what’s happened but—”

“I’m only interested in you.”

Lance looked at him, his eyes wide. Just as he was about to say something Shiro smiled, patting his hand.

“Keith’s waiting for me, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Lance nodded his head, waving goodbye as he watched Shiro leave with Keith. When they left Lance looked down at the table, his cheeks warm. He bit back a smile.

Tomorrow was the day he was going to tell Shiro how he felt.

[jeonsdear]

BTS: Jimin 🍙

(Soft)Fuckboy!Jimin. College Friends to Lovers AU Parts:  (5) Part 4/ 16 Notice: Kinda smutty? Y/N: Your Name Y/F/N: Your Friends Name

When reputation precedes you what is left than to follow through? Jimin is your University’s notorious fuckboy, but to you he is your best friend. He has only has few rules, but his best friend being off limit is sacred. Right?

A/N: So here’s a narrative part! English isn’t my first language so please excuse any mistakes. Enjoy! Part5?

read my stories here request reactions and text messages here

It was half past 6 at night when Jimin appeared at the door of your dorm and insisted on riding along with you and your roommate.

Ever since your conversation about whether you had ever thought about him in a sexual way, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. In fact, you couldn’t stop dreaming about Jimin and his damn hip thrusts in his choreographies. While it wasn’t too hard to keep your mind PG during the day, your body and mind betrayed you when you were asleep.

You hadn’t been lying when you said you were aware how attractive your best friend was. Of course you noticed his deep dark eyes and the way they formed into crescent moons when he smiled. The softness of his skin when he wrapped his fingers around your wrist and the way his plump lips felt on your cheeks when he was planting a rushed kiss on them. Adding the fact that you functioned as a dancing partner of his quite frequently you were hyper aware of how well his body was formed and how the sweat glistening on his skin added to the sinfulness of his movements. And these damn facial expressions be damned. All in all, Park Jimin was more than sex on legs and he introduced you to the possibility of seeing him more than just your best friend and you knew you had to stop. So you did everything to keep him off your mind, focusing on all the weird things you knew Jimin does and all unattractive habits of his. Did it work? Who knew. But you were just about to find out.

Jimin had spent the last week replaying your confession in his head again and again. You were a virgin. You were inexperienced and Jimin couldn’t be more surprised. It wasn’t like he judged anyone for his sexual activities- or lack thereof.   But somehow he had always assumed you to be sexually active. Nothing about the way you treated the topic or the way you danced screamed virgin.

It wasn’t just your confession that had him on edge, it was the images he invoked in his mind by asking you whether you found him attractive. Whether you touched yourself thinking of him.

He groaned thinking of this question and the stupidity behind it as he drowned his cup and searched the room for your face.

He found you talking to Namjoon, a laughter on your lips and a cup in your hand. You hadn’t joked when you said you’d drink alcohol this time and Jimin couldn’t stop grinning about how cute you were, slightly drunk.

He made his way over to you and his friends and circled your waist with one of his arms.

‘’What you’re talking about without me?’‘

A playful pout and a flutter of his eyelashes had you smiling up at him and you leaned your body against his.

‘‘Y/F/N just suggested to either play seven minutes in heaven or truth and dare!’‘, you informed him with an eye roll and Namjoon chuckled while fixating Jimin with a smirk.

‘‘I’m not drunk enough for this yet, give me another 15 minutes’‘, Jimin sighed an dragged you along to the kitchen for another refill of your cups.

There were several eyes on you two and all of them noticed how good this couple looked together. Jimin’s ripped jeans and black shirt went well with your black skater skirt and your dark red velvet shirt. Both of your eyes spoke about the alcohol you had consumed and the easy smiles on your faces showed the fun you were having.

20 minutes later, you found yourself on the floor surrounded by your friends playing seven minutes in heaven. It might have been the alcohol, but you didn’t notice the wicked glances y/f/n, Namjoon and the others sent each other while smirking in your’s and Jimin’s direction.

‘‘Jimin and Y/N!’‘,Namjoon exclaimed as soon as the new couple had to be selected. Jimin next to you, having way too much fun, only chuckled and pulled you up with him, not even aware of the closed space you’d be sharing.

The closet was crowded and way too small for two adults, but somehow you managed to sit down on either side with your thighs touching.

The pitch black darkness heightened your other senses, and suddenly the laugh that was about to bubble up got stuck in your throat. Jimin’s perfume surrounded you and his steady breathing made you hyper aware of how close you two were.

‘‘Sooooo….’‘, he chuckled and tried to make out your face in the darkness. Jimin gave up when he realized there was no use and stuck with placing his hand on your knee.  

The moment his hand touched your skin he could feel you tremble slightly and if you could he his face you’d notice his surprised expression.

‘‘This is so weird.’‘, you muttered under your breath while shifting slightly trying to find a comfortable position, not aware of how Jimin bit down on his lips, fighting an internal struggle.

‘‘Ouch y/n! Can you please not kick me in my junk?’‘

‘‘I’m sorry there is just no space!’‘

You heard him move and the next second he had grabbed you by the arms and pulled you towards him, hoisting you in his lap.

Your breath got caught in your throat and you could feel how close his face was. How close his lips were. His breath fanned over your own lips and you couldn’t suppress the shiver when you realized in what position you were.

‘‘Uhm Jimin?’‘

‘‘Hmm?’‘

‘‘What are you doing?’‘

‘‘This is a lot more comfortable, isn’t it?’‘

Jimin sounded nonchalant but he could feel his heartbeat speed up when he realized how soft your body was in comparison to his own. He had always loved the way you were built. Not knowing whether you’d be perceived as beautiful by society, he had always thought you were the embodiment of perfection.

He let his hands drift down your arms and settled them on your hips.

Yes, the perfect curve.

You didn’t dare to move. You could feel him under you and Jimin be damned but his thighs were good indeed. You could smell the alcohol you both had consumed and it was a good reminder that maybe this wasn’t the best idea. If you couldn’t control your thoughts sober how should you manage them drunk? Granted, you weren’t that drunk. But…still?

Jimin dug his fingers into the soft curve of your hip and leaned a little more towards you, noticing how your breath hitched and how your fingers moved onto his neck. When you started to caress the nape of his neck he couldn’t help but close his eyes, enjoying how this familiar hand made him feel unfamiliar things.

‘‘How is your hair still so soft after all the dye you put in there?’‘

The deep chuckle accompanying his answer had you biting down on your lip.

‘‘I take good care of it. So it’s soft?’‘

‘‘Hmm yeah.’‘

Jimin moved one hand that was still placed on your hip up into your hair, caressing the strands.

‘‘So is yours.’‘

You couldn’t answer because every ounce of you was focused on Jimin’s hands in your hair. And how good they felt. Your eyes drifted shut…

‘‘Did you just purr?’‘

The laughter in his voice was evident but judging by the way he pulled you even closer, Jimin wanted to hear more of it.

‘‘I DID NOT PURR!’‘

‘‘Damn yes you did, you like my fingers in your hair huh?’‘

You could hear the smirk in his voice when he lifted your hair up in a ponytail.

‘‘You should wear your hair up a lot more often’‘, he murmured deeply, his breath fanning over your neck, now that you two were even closer. A single paper between you wouldn’t have fitted anymore.

‘‘Why?’‘

‘‘Because you looking fucking gorgeous with your neck on display’‘

He let his fingers trail down your neck and stopped at your pulse, feeling how it raced.

‘‘Y/n?’‘

‘‘Hmm?’‘

‘‘How much did you have to drink?’‘

You swallowed when you noticed the way his voice broke mid-way through the question and how the grip of his hand on your hip tightened.

‘‘Not too much.’‘

‘‘Me neither.’‘

‘‘Y/n?’‘

‘‘Jimin?’‘

‘‘Stop me if I’m wrong but…’‘, he whispered as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against your pulse point, electing a moan from you.

‘‘That’s what I thought.’‘,he whispered contentedly and licked the place he had just kissed before moving up and biting down on the soft skin. Your hands grabbed his hair tighter and the shiver wracking your body told Jimin all he needed to know.

‘‘So your neck, huh?’‘

‘‘Are you always talking so much?’‘

He chuckled and moved back a bit, trying to make out your eyes in the darkness but failing.

‘‘I’m nervous, what can I say?’‘

You snorted and accidentally moved your body, making Jimin simultaneously laugh and groan out loud.

‘‘Fuck please don’t move, baby’‘

His hands landed on your hips, keeping you in place and your face flushed crimson red.

‘‘I’m trying really hard to be a good boy right now because the seven minutes are probably up every second and I don’t want to walk out of here with a boner.’‘

This was disarming and you couldn’t help but start laughing, losing all the awkwardness that you had felt before.

‘‘I know I’m irresistible but no one forced you to suck on my neck and get all bothered and hot!’‘

Jimin knew you were teasing but he had his pride, goddamnit.  

‘‘You were grinding into my crotch and moaning, so shut up y/n! Don’t even act like you didn’t enjoy my lips on your neck.’‘

‘‘I-’‘

‘‘Jimin, y/n, the seven minutes are over you can come out. Are you guys dressed?’‘

You scrambled off your best friend, bumping your head against a clothing rack and Jimin chuckled before adjusting his pants.

‘‘Good talk, y/n.’‘

Good talk, my ass.

A/N: Soooooooooooo do you hate me yet? 

[redbootsthetimetraveller-archive]

Bea and I, With the Beatles Fanfiction Chapter 2

Same disclaimer as on the previous chapter.

About ten minutes later, this extraordinarily loud fart came from the back of the hall, halfway through the speech, and magnified because of the eerie quietness. It took two seconds for the entire hall to be laughing their socks off. There were even teachers trying to not die from not laughing up the front. The principal, though, was going a shade of purple with anger and embarrassment.

‘RIGHT! WHO WAS THAT?’ he yelled at the top of his voice, still going purple. The room fell dead silent, and I hid my book in case I was caught with it. Everyone was tense, and there was an air that we would be kept until someone owned up, and the person would not. But alas, a hand was held up, right at the back, and they immediately had every pair of eyes in the room upon them. ‘Jasper Kitchen. My office, at morning tea.’ Principal Summers snapped, and turned on his heel and walked back to the front. It seemed like every student wanted to burst into applause at that moment, but didn’t want trouble. Principal Summers went back to his dreary monologue.

‘He’s not in our year, is he?’ Paul whispered to me.

‘No, I think he’s a few grades below us or something. He’s no older than Arthur.’ I replied, also in whisper. Principal Summers finished his speech, and had still not turned back to a natural colour. A few announcements were made, and we were dismissed for first class. For Bea, Paul and I this was Geography, and for Ringo and John Mathematics, and George had English. We bid each other farewell until morning tea, and headed to different parts of the school. Rather than having Mr Putnam, we had a substitute called Miss Russel. She clearly didn’t know much more than us about it, and looking at her we could tell she was probably a sports teacher. She read out the roll and had trouble with my surname.

‘von Harreson… no that’s not right. Elizabeth von Ha…?’

‘It’s von Harrelson, Miss.’ I corrected her.

‘Rightcha.’ She said, and continued on with the roll. I began drawing in my book.

‘She might see that. She’s gonna be more observant than Mr Putnam.’ Bea said to me quietly, as she sat to the right of me. We had worked out how to write without bumping into each other; right-handed on the right, left on the left. And then switch hands when the teacher is looking, because if I don’t I’ll get the cane. Unfortunately, as I was pretending to write notes I didn’t notice that Miss Russel had turned around.

‘Miss von Harrelson, come up to the front please.’ She said while turning a page over. The room took a breath at that moment, and I paused before standing up and walking from the mid-back of the room to the teacher’s desk at the front. ‘Hold out your hand.’ I instinctively held out my right. ‘No not that one, the one you were using.’ She said, sounding slightly flustered. I did, and she hit me hard with the cane eight times. Eight has always been my unlucky number. I tried not to swear lest I get more caning.

‘Fuck she’s got a strong arm.’ I said quietly to Bea. ‘If she sees my handwriting she’d not be able to read it.’

‘Which hand?’

‘Either, they’re both illegible.’ I said slightly smirking. Class went on another long, boring fifteen minutes, and then we were released from that hell of a class. I grabbed out my morning tea of chocolate brownie, hiding my prized treat. It was the first thing I didn’t burn or undercook, which is why I don’t cook, but we needed morning tea this week and Amy was working. I put my coat on, and braved the cold with the gang.

‘Paul here says you got caned!’ Ringo said. ‘What for?’

‘Got caught writing.’ I replied.

‘I getcha. Bloody annoying, isn’t it? You two can’t help it.’ he said.

‘Hm.’ I replied, and tried to unwrap my brownie with my frozen fingers.

‘Hey, lemme help you with that.’ Paul said.

‘Err… thanks.’ I said, hoping he wouldn’t try and steal it.

‘Ah, lucky you!’ he said with a wink, handing it to me.

‘What’s she got?’ George asked. ‘Is that BROWNIE?!’ he exclaimed. George loves his food.

‘You’ve got brownie? You gotta share, man!’ John said.

‘No! My food!’ I said, trying to be serious, but failing and we all ended up wandering around the school. We were nearing the football pitch, and a few hardy souls were trying to have a match amongst the snowdrifts. Suddenly, one of them didn’t quite stop the ball and it came rolling towards us. I stopped it, and kicked it. It went quite far, but the goalie hadn’t really been paying attention and so didn’t realise until it was fractionally too late that the ball was actually going to go into the net. It hit the back net and bounced out again, and several people cheered, and I high-fived everyone. It was time to go back inside again, and the heaters barely heated the rooms, but we weren’t allowed to wear our coats. Bea and I had Sewing, my definitely least, and worst, subject. I would try and fix my gloves in this class, it wasn’t like I was going to finish the handkerchief set we’d been assigned to do anyway. That half hour dragged on for way too long, but it got slightly better because next we had English with Mr Wright, whose profession used to be an author until the war, but now he just settles on teaching English and making bad puns. His classes were always quite enjoyable, as the first twenty minutes were always reading, and the next forty minutes were usually interesting. He’s one of the more popular teachers. The next hour long class was Civics, which could be interesting but was generally boring. Once again, Paul was in our class for this. It was one of the ‘mildly interesting but boring’ lessons. As soon as we were released for lunch, we sprinted as fast as we could to put our stuff back and get in the queue for lunch. Fortunately, Paul, Bea and I got into line rather quickly, and got the measly ration of four fish fingers, fried bread, some chips and a bottle of orange juice, a rare luxury. We sat at our usual canteen table, waiting for the rest of the gang. George got in not too long after we sat down, and came to sit with us, but in silence as he was already eating. Ringo and John came rushing in two minutes later, and as they came over to sit down, Jasper Kitchen walked in, to immediate applause. John even went and patted him on the back. Turns out, he only got off with twenty cane lashes and extra homework for a week.

‘That’s not too bad for what he did, lucky bastard.’ John said as he sat down. ‘What’ve you got next?’

‘Well, it’s German for us, and then we all have Music until the end of the day.’ Bea said. ‘And I think George has Sport, and you?’

‘Well, I’ve got a free lesson, and I’m buggering off somewhere.’ John said. ‘But poor Ringo here has Science with Mr Gibbs!’ Mr Gibbs was this grumpy old shit of a teacher who was only still teaching because Principal Summers doesn’t want to lose his twin, or so the joke goes. We managed to get through our lessons, trying to work out how to swear in French (we’d already worked out German), or trying to work out how to get out of the class. One thirty came around, so Bea, Paul and I started running to Music, which is one of the only classes we ran to. Not many people were in the class, so the classes comprised of two grades. There was Bea, Paul, Ringo, George (who got special permission to join us, there weren’t enough in his grade), John and I, as well as Cyril Acker, in John and Ringo’s grade with Terry Garfield. In our year there was Belle Seward, Errol Hawkins, Graham Carpenter and Derrick Streets. Then the teacher, by far the best teacher in my opinion, and I guess the gang’s, and probably was the most qualified, Mr Eldridge. The class was in the new ‘Arts Wing’, which was much better than the shitty 1920’s classrooms of the ‘Academics Wing’ or the post-war slap-dash updating of the gym, and was actually not crap. Basically what happens in that class is we bugger around, doing stupid little songs and practicing for a gig or something, because we (I say we, because we sometimes go on stage with the boys and we’ve gone on one tour with them, over in Blackpool) were a band called the Silvers. It’s not the best name but it works.

‘So, what’s the lineup for Saturday?’ I asked, fiddling with my flute. The Silvers had scored a gig at the Cavern Club on my birthday.

‘So there’s a few songs…’ John showed me the list, as he was the band leader. He just was.

‘That’s not going to cover a night’s worth! You’ve gotta play for four hours!’ I exclaimed.

‘There’s one song we haven’t shown…’ Ringo started, but was glared at by George.

‘Y’know, if you’re short of songs, we could write some!’ Bea suggested.

‘That’s not a bad idea! Paul and I have already written some, so we’ve had experience, and you’re good at poetry, Lizzy, so it won’t be too much of a stretch for you, but I dunno about you guys though, just have a crack.’ John said, sounding slightly excited. ‘Use your books and rip it out later.’

We all sat with half the school’s guitars, three of them, and Ringo grabbed out his sticks, Paul tried to claim the piano but didn’t quite get it as Cyril Acker pushed him out of the way. John immediately began strumming away, George was experimenting with riffs and Paul began writing away. Bea also began busily scribbling. I put my pen to the paper, and soon started writing.

Some days, I hope to be far away.

Not right here or near, not today

If I stay here my mind might fray,

How I long not to stay.

‘That’s shit.’ I said to myself.