#i of course post this when no one's online rip

[happylittleshrub]

I finally started playing the 2021 Guardians of the Galaxy game! It's so much fun! Rambling about Rocket below

Ok so he seems to use macabre humor to cover his pain. In the Quarantine Zone he remarks that if he hadn’t escaped we would probably be walking over bits of him right then. Like dude, that’s so morbid don’t say that 💀His past very clearly still bothers him, why wouldn’t it it was horrible, but he tries to brush it off or seem casual about it to hide his vulnerability. I did love when we first arrived and Rocket was geeking out about all the ships and weapons that were there, he’s such a little nerd ❤️❤️❤️

I liked when he told Quill to stop the fake techno babble “Don’t make up tech stuff, it’s annoying.” 🤣 He also chastised me when I went down the wrong path, but going off the beaten path is how you find collectibles, Rocket! It’s like he’s never played a videogame before smh my head. Btw as someone who grew up watching Pokemon I was simply delighted that our group was called Team Rocket lol My immediate response was TO PROTECT THE WORLD FROM DEVASTATION! And I kept making jokes to myself about how the monster we were gonna capture was Pikachu, I had way too much fun with that 😂

I love that Rocket’s the one who upgrades your weapons! It makes me so happy to go to him and get a tech upgrade, I’m always so giddy and afterwards I’m like ‘Thank you, Rocket’ ❤️🥰🥹✨💖 And when he does it he wears his goggles 🥺❤️

I’m most familiar with MCU Rocket who only gave bits of backstory when very drunk so I was surprised when Rocket in the game was more open to talking about it. I found the spinal control unit so I was able to get some further details from him, and all of them were sad :( RIP Lylla again she can never catch a break. His story about being controlled and doing things against his own will and all he could was watch like his own body was a prison was gutting. I wish there was a ‘hug Rocket’ button because man 😭

When they were debating about who would get sold to Lady Hellbender I wanted to step in to defend Rocket when he accepted being a monster the way he defended Groot but I wasn’t given that option >:( 

(I got an interaction later on between Quill and Groot where he tells Groot he thinks he’s awesome and reassures him that doesn’t see him as a monster and I did really like that! It makes me wonder if there’s a similar interaction with Rocket if you choose to sell him.) 

Also Rocket’s friendship with Groot is so cute! It’s so obvious how much he cares for him 🥺I love that he has a little Groot bead in his beard too.

Of course I stopped Drax from tossing Rocket across the ravine. I saw clips of it online and while admittedly it is kinda funny I could never do that to him 😞 It wasn’t even that hard to find an alternate way across. The worst part of the level was watching Rocket drown in jello over and over again because I kept failing the quicktime event 😭 That’s apparently a common issue though because I looked up a tutorial for it and everyone in the comments was complaining about how they ran into the same problem. I’m so sorry Rocket 😢 Once we got out of the stupid jello Groot cradled Rocket like a baby 🥺 Their friendship is the frickin’ cutest I love it so much. Speaking of Groot though his arms were free so he totally could’ve pulled us out of the jello but whatever 

Okay one more thing when Rocket is assuring Groot he’ll break him out of Lady Hellbender’s fortress and he says, “I’ll do it Rocket-style if I have to.” And he gives him a little wink! Ugh I love him so much!!! ❤️ So yeah looking forward to continuing my adventure with him (and the other Guardians too lol) I’ll make another post once I progress further in the game 🙂

[forzaun]

okay so. i have 16 (13 for here and 3 for the spicy blog) drafts now. i will unfortunately not be replying to anything from november because it's just been too long that i haven't had muse. similarly, some isha threads and all silco threads will be dropped as well, because both of them have been very quiet in favor of jinx's muse.

and, which makes me very sad, i don't think i'll be replying to asks for the time being unless it's something we've plotted. i do send a lot of spontaneous asks, and a lot of prompts, but sometimes that's just as far as they can go from my end. i've been hashtag struggling with muse a lot and i feel bad that i have these drafts that i don't know if i'll ever get done, so having less to look at might help!

i'm going to force myself to put everything into the queue, which i think i'll make post twice a day instead of four.

[lemongogo]

college … wasted on the youth (me)

[north-wilkesboro-moonshine-cave]

hanukkah sameach to quinn hughes specifically who has been forced to appear in both the christmas and hanukkah photo for his team on twitter i am thinking of u when i make this nhl hanukkah twitter post spreadsheet bud

[hamiltonaf]

Jealous Lewis would also be great.😅 Love your writings❤️ They are so unique.

Jealousy | Lewis Hamilton

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: None

A/N: Hi lovelies. This took a while to write because I had so many scenarios running through my head and finally settled on this one. Sorry if it ended abruptly, it’s literally 2am and also, sorry for the disappointing title lol.. I had a lot of fun writing this so I hope you guys enjoy - thank you anon for requesting .xx

(Y/BF/N) - Your Best Friends Name

(Y/F/N) - Your Friends Name

I couldn’t believe that the time has come for my best friend to get married. She beat me to it. I was over the moon for her at the time she FaceTimed me to share the news, fast forward to the present, it’s her bridal shower day. Of course, I, as her best friend, had to be the one to throw her a bridal shower she’ll never forget.

I felt awful when I found out that Lewis’ was arriving back on the same day as the bridal shower, though I did let him know beforehand and it wasn’t a big deal since I’d only be away for a few hours.

I got ready quite early to help some of the girls set up at (Y/BF/N)’s house. Luckily one of the other girls made it their sole duty to distract (Y/BF/N) for the day so we didn’t have to worry about that.

At perfect timing, (Y/BF/N) had a blindfold on her eyes and was lead through to the house. Once the 3 seconds were over, we gave her the go ahead to remove the blindfold which made us all erupt in screams.

The formalities followed with all of us playing games, dancing and just acting silly. That was until the real entertainment had arrived. We all heard a buzz at the door and the music was switched off. We all played along and insisted that (Y/BF/N) should answer the door since it’s her house anyway. Two police officers were at the door, “Ma’am, I believe we received a noise complaint from your fellow neighbour.”

“Oh my- I’m so sorry about that. We’ll turn the music down” (Y/BF/N) said worried. “May we come in ?” The officer asked. (Y/BF/N) stepped aside since she was so scared and worried… little did she know what was coming. “Ladies, turn it up” both officers said as I changed the song. Hats were thrown, sunglasses tossed aside, and shirts were ripped open. All the girls erupted in screams yet again and were fangirling so hard.

I stepped aside and watched the fun, as did (Y/F/N) alongside me since she felt uncomfortable, and she was also in a relationship. The rest of the girls were single, obviously except for (Y/BF/N), but they were having the time of their life. (Y/F/N) and I had a good laugh as we cheered on the girls who were enjoying it a little too much.

After all the fun was over, we took pictures with the guys, not thinking that one of us would think of posting these pictures online. We spent the rest of the night having a laugh at old memories and some of the girls were giving (Y/BF/N) advice as if they have already been married which was the biggest joke of all.

Some of the girls were drunk and so was (Y/BF/N), as much as I wanted to stay, I couldn’t abandon Lewis knowing he’s waiting for me at home. Luckily quite a number of the girls were sober, so they were staying behind to look after them for the night. I was so excited to get back home to Lewis and couldn’t wait to see him. It didn’t even cross my mind that my picture with the police officers was viral on social media since some fans follow my friends.

Once arriving home, I rushed in my heels to our front door, eager to see Lewis’ face. “Baby, I’m home !” I called for him. The only noise I could hear was the faint noise coming from the gym.

I watched him do some boxing on the punching bag. Shirtless with beads of sweat dripping down his abs. I think I was drooling. I whistled as I got closer to him, “Hey sexy. I missed you” I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him in for a hug. I kissed his cheek, then noticing that he didn’t hug me back. “Are you okay ?” I asked concerned. He remained silent and continued punching the bag. “Lew ? What’s wrong ?” I asked as I crossed my arms over my chest.

He shook his head at me, “Uhm care to explain as to what got you so upset ?” I raised a brow. He shut his eyes for a second and stopped punching. He huffed before answering, “You know what you did.” “Well obviously I don’t ? What the hell is going on ?” I asked as I grew angry. “How could you go out tonight and do that knowing I was coming back home today ?” He asked frustrated. “Do what ?” I asked baffled.

“How could you allow those male strippers all over you ? You’re the one that hosted the bridal shower so that only means that you called them !” He stated. “What are you even talking about ? Yeah, I called them but I’m not getting your point ?” I answered confused. “Does this ring a bell ?” He asked as he then showed me my picture taken in between the two shirtless male strippers. “This went viral. Everyone is already talking about how we broke up and here you moved on by posing with these guys” he said as he then placed his hands on his hips.

“Lew what the actual hell. Why didn’t you call me then if this was bothering you ? For your information, I didn’t even get involved when those guys came. Yeah, I called them, but the girls are all my witnesses that I stood aside with (Y/F/N) since we’re the only ones in a relationship. Those guys respected us standing aside from the fun, the only reason (Y/F/N) posted was to thank me” I was pissed off. I notice how the jealousy and anger dropped as his face softened. “Babe I’m so-“ he started. “Save it” I held my hand up to stop him as I left the room.

I guess he took a hint to leave me alone and give me some space. I was packing away my jewellery and heels in our walk-in closet when I heard the bathroom door shut. I tried to kill some time until he was done before I went to have a shower. Once I was done, I did my nightly routine and wore my satin pyjamas before leaving the bathroom.

I walked into the room to see him sat up against the headboard with his phone in hand. I then walked over to my side of the bed and grabbed my pillow - I could literally feel his burning gaze on me - I was prepared to sleep in the guest room for the night just because I’m petty. “Sweetie, where are you going ?” He asked. “To be away from you” I said as I stopped in my tracks with my back facing him before leaving the room. “Oh my days…babe” he groaned as he got up from the bed and ran to stop in front of me.

“Baby please…I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I was just jealous, and I missed you so much. Seeing you with those guys got me upset because we haven’t been together for 2 weeks” he pouted as he engulfed me in a hug with his face nuzzled in my neck. “Lew, you should’ve known better to jump to conclusions. Besides that, who needs them when I have you” I smirked as he then looked at me with a grin. “That’s what I thought” he grinned as he then placed a hand under my chin to pull me in for a kiss. “I felt like kicking myself seeing you in that dress” he said in between kisses. “Well, you can make up for it” I smirked as he then lifted me up to wrap my legs around his torso.

[buttsmasher]

Gage (Edited)

Been trying to go through my old stories and slowly re-upload them after I give them a review. Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Tags/Warnings: Fag bashing, face farting, willing victim turned to unwilling, asphyxiation by farts, fart torture

Gage is a grade A prick. You pretty much learned that the moment he moved into the house. Your other roommate literally moved out because he couldn’t stand him. The only reason you’ve stayed is because the rent is cheap and the landlord isn’t complete trash. The other reason is that you have a sort of hate crush on Gage.

You understand he’s a prick and he seems like a bit of a fag basher, but dude has a rockin bod. And he has no sense of other people’s personal boundaries. One time when you had friends over, he walked out of his room completely naked to get a beer out of the fridge. Which you didn’t mind too much because you got front row seats to watch his ass jiggle. Your lesbian friends were mortified of course. Especially when he started to shake his hips to make his dick flop around. After that, you’ve all decided to do movie night at their house now to avoid any more incidents.

The other thing about Gage is that he’s a literal gas bomb. The dude is constantly gassy and it may make your dick strain against your shorts when you’re both watching TV and he lifts a leg to let out a massive fart. And look, if you’re secretly there taking quiet inhales of his stinky gas then no one needs to know.

It all comes to a head today though. You keep a journal, and you may or may not have written all your dirty fantasies about Gage in them. Looking back at it, probably not the best idea, but too late to change that now. 

You’re in the kitchen making scrambled eggs when Gage comes into the kitchen. “Good morning.” You mumble to him, not fully expecting an answer. He opens the fridge and pours himself a glass of OJ as he plays on his phone. He laughs at something before walking towards the kitchen table. 

“Hey fart slut, what’s for breakfast?” You freeze. Did he really just say that? He snaps his fingers a couple of times. “Yo, fag, I’m talking to you.” You slowly turn to look at him.

“Uhm, Scr-scrambled eggs?” You don’t know why it came out as a question. 

“Cool, I want cheese on mine.” He doesn’t even look at you as he plays on his phone.

“Oh, uhhh, I didn’t make enough for the both of us.” You look at the pan and push it around. 

“It’s fine, just give me yours.” 

“What?” He locks eyes with you.

“Let me put it another way. Give me your breakfast and I don’t post your dirty fart fantasies online.” You try to stay calm but you’re freaking out. You turn back around fully and focus on finishing the eggs, throwing cheddar cheese on top right before you finish. Your hands are shaking as you plate the food and bring it over to Gage.

“Anything else?” You say nervously placing the food and a fork down in front of him.

“Tabasco.” He doesn’t look up from his phone, you just do as he says. “Sit.” He says as you go to make yourself more scrambled eggs. “I gotta say, you’re pretty nasty. I mean, to like that shit, you gotta have some serious problems.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean, to want to get on your knees to sniff someone’s dirty ass. That’s some dog level shit.” You watch as he stuffs his mouth with eggs. “Tell me, how are you any better than a dog?”

“You’re an ass.” Your chair groans against the floor as you get up. 

“Sit back down.” Gage says firmly.

“No, fuck you. I don’t have to take this.”

PFFFFFBBRRRFFFFFF

You freeze as Gage rips a five second fart. The smell hits you from where you’re standing. You can hear Gage laughing from behind you and you can’t help the shame that wafts over you. “You’re pathetic. You get one whiff of my ass funk and you can’t walk away.” You take a deep breath and calmly begin to walk to your room. “I have more where that came from, you know?” You squeeze your eyes shut, wanting to ignore him. 

PFFFFFF

A high pitched fart hisses from his ass. “See? And they can be up your nose if you ask me nicely.” You’re not even looking at him and you can just see his cocky grin.

“What do you want?” You ask, knowing you’ve already lost.

“Heh, knew it.” You hear his chair scrape against the floor as he gets up. “You just need to beg.” He puts his hands on your shoulders. “Beg your daddy to fart up your nose.” He whispers in your ear.

“You’re an ass.”

“I know.” He turns you around and pushes you down onto your knees. “Beg doggy.” You lock eyes again, completely humiliated on the ground.

“Please, Gage, fart up my nose.” You say without enthusiasm. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

“Fuck, that was a big one you just missed out on. Beg.” You sigh.

“Please daddy, please make me your fart slut.” He laughs.

“Better.” He turns around giving you the view of his brief clad ass. “Get your face in it.” You do as he says, getting a whiff of the lingering scent of the last fart. “Just remember you wanted this.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF

Airy farts warm your face as your nose gets overwhelmed by the absolutely toxic smell. It’s not like anything you thought it’d be like. “Wait.” You manage to cough out. “Wait stop.” You go to pull away but he holds you firmly in place.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He hikes his leg up slightly.

PFFFFFFFFFFFBBRBRBFFFFFTTTTTT

“Oof, that one’s gonna be bad.” He wasn’t wrong. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you're forced to endure that blast of a ten second fart. It’s absolutely eggy, and your eyes are watering. “Definitely wouldn’t want to be down there. But you’re liking this right fag?” You frantically shake your head no, wanting to pull away. “Aww, I knew you’d love my ass. Here, I’ll blow you a kiss.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFF

Another disgusting fart burns it’s way up your nose and down to your lungs. Your face is extremely warm and you can’t think straight. You strain to pull away from the toxic fumes constantly barraging your face but Gage’s hold is too strong.

PFFFFBRBRBRFFFFFFTTT

“Look, I know my brew is strong, but you’re the one who wanted this. And you begged oh so nicely for daddy to fart in your face. Who am I to get in your way of your dream?”

PFFFF PFF PFFFFFF PFFFFF

“It’s okay, I won’t judge you. Well maybe a little. Only cause you’re a fucked up a fag.” 

PFFBBRRRFFFTTT

It’s getting really hard to breathe down here. The only air you’re getting is Gage’s eggy farts. You’ve begun to uncontrollable cough and gag against his dirty briefs. 

“Man, imagine if I didn’t have these undies on. There’s no way you would survive that.” He laughs as he pulls his tight black briefs under his naked ass.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFF

“Jesus, what did you put in those eggs? I bet you put in some extra fiber didn’t you?” 

“I know I’m a gassy guy, but damn, this is way worse than normal.” 

PFFFFFFFFBBBRRRRRRBRRRRR

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT

Everything is spinning around you and you’re having a hard time staying conscious. 

“Is it everything you hoped for faggot?” 

PFFFFF PFFFFFFFF PFFFFTTT PFFFFF

You feel yourself slump further into his musky ass, no longer able to keep yourself upright. You can hear Gage laughing as everything fades to black. A final fart hits your nose as you finally lose consciousness. “Night night fag.” Gage lets your body hit the floor before leaving you there.

When you awake again, you’re still on the kitchen floor. The smell of Gage’s ass still lingering on you.

[strrykais]

angel with a shotgun

idol : kim seungmin // stray kids song : angel with a shotgun - the cab warnings : none word count : 740

nervous did even cover the exact feelings you were feeling at this exact moment, dispatch got a hold of you and seungmin on a night out when you both were out together. seungmin wasn’t as upset as you were when the post went out, though both your fandoms supported each other, there were some where they weren't so happy someone like you was with seungmin.

they called you names, criticized your talent, and even went for your looks. it was a horrible week for you, seungmin tried reaching out to you, even stopping by your dorm, only for one of your members to tell him you didn't want to speak. you felt bad distancing yourself from him, but you thought this was the best course of action. 

fans can’t drag him down if you two aren't connected, so when the company a week later called you both in, to discuss what is best for both your images. you already knew that you were gonna get the short end of the stick, you and your group were only a few years in, with seungmin and stray kids dominating the charts. 

you sat picking at your nails avoiding eye contact with seungmin on the other side of you, you couldn’t face him, you never meant to get so swept up in this relationship with him. you wanted to keep it on the downlow for the sake of his career, but he wanted to shout it from every corner of the earth.

“can you please talk to me baby.” seungmin says reaching out to stop you from picking at the ripped skin around your nails. 

“they are gonna put me on hiatus, but what about you, your tour is coming up and your comeback. oh my god, imma feel sick, stay are gonna hate me more than they probably do. seungmin, i'm so sorry.” you rambled tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

seungmin sighs, reaching out to cup your face wiping the tears from your eyes. “you don’t need to be sorry baby, it takes two to tango. this is just as much my mess as it is yours. we can work through this but you have to want this. do you want me? us?” 

you nod as the door swings open, seungmin pulls his hands away from your face placing them into your hand giving you a squeeze. both your team management and a few other higher ups that you don't know the names of come in speaking over each other. 

“well it seems you two are actually the ones in the photos, and are together.” one of them say.

“it would have been nice to know, so we could get ahead of a story like this.” 

“we have two options, we can put out a statement stating that it is just two friends hanging out or we can confirm that you both are together.”

you turn to see seungmin deep in thought, then you glance to look at your manager.

"i think you should deny the claims of you dating, you are barely hitting the charts and dating isn't something that is gonna help. you know how it is out there.” your manager speaks out, her face held sympathy for the both of you. you knew she was right, but it hurt to realize that you could probably never date someone who could make you happy out in the open.

“and if we want to confirm it.” seungmin says, squeezing your hand, staring out at them.

“i - uhh seungmin are you sure?” his manager stutters over the fact.

“yes, what happens after we confirm it.”

“well we will do everything in our power to protect you online, threats and what not.” his management states.

“what about her and her group?” seungmin says nodding to you as you sit quietly watching him.

“you are our main priority, your fanbase is much bigger than hers, you need extra protection.”

“no give it to yn, yes my fanbase is bigger but they wont attack me, you will do everything in your power to protect her online, as i will do everything in my power to protect her here.”  

“okay we hear you we will draft up a response, but you know this is gonna be a very bumpy road you both are traveling down.”

“yes and i will do everything to make sure we come out unbreakable.” seungmin says, smiling down at you.

1k extravaganza

ⓒstrrykais

[cherrari]

lesbian lestappen oh my god you've written SUCH an excellent little brainworm i am never going to stop thinking about them tysm <33

here's all of what i wrote for it (unfinished) just for you anon (unfinished) (did i mention it will never be finished) 6k words. some of those words are nsfw so be warned

Charles barely has time to rip her helmet off before Jenson’s grinning face fills her vision.

She’s seen this scene before. Twice, actually. And neither time did she see it directly from the sidelines; she watched the post-race interviews later, once she was back in her apartment and thoroughly wasted. 

Jenson, with all the bright-eyed joy and energy only someone not strapped into a car for hours could have, thrusts a microphone into her hand. His eyes practically sparkle.

“Charles, congratulations!” His hands flail a little, a gesture that looks like it wants to be a hug but doesn’t quite have the nerve. She manages an apologetic smile. Under different circumstances—sans camera and crowd—she’d probably take him up on it. He knows it too. “How are you feeling?”

She’d rehearsed this answer in her head a hundred times, crossing the finish line, and yet now, with Jenson in front of her, the script has evaporated.

“I am…” She shifts the mic awkwardly between her fingers, and it feels heavier than it should. “Overwhelmed. Happy. So, so happy.” She breathes in deep, trying to ground herself, though it’s no use. The adrenaline’s still surging, refusing to let go. When she looks up again, Jenson’s nose is scrunched, his smile all shaky like he’s seconds from tears. Cute, she thinks distantly. “We—the team—have worked for years for this moment. Hoped for it. To see it come true is a dream.”

It’s not the polished, eloquent answer she wanted, but it’s something. Her skin’s slick with sweat, her pulse still hammering. She should be forgiven for not having it all together. If anyone deserves a pass, it’s her.

Jenson bobs his head, a blur of motion. “I can only imagine,” he says, enthusiasm practically bubbling over. His grin is infectious, pulling a tired but genuine smile from her. “You didn’t look nervous at all out there.”

“Of course, I was very nervous, but—” Charles falters, the words forming a knot in her throat. It’s impossible to articulate this feeling. Jenson knows—he’s been there, lived it—but the fans, they deserve to understand. “Once I got into the car, though, I didn’t think about anything else. Even if the race seemed uneventful, I couldn’t let my focus slip, not for a second. Especially not on this track. But then, in those last few laps… my mind started to wander. To Jules, and my father…”

She glances sideways at the camera, wondering if the vultures online will feast on this—call her an attention-seeker for dredging up the dead. But it’s the truth, isn’t it? 

Again, Jenson nods, hanging onto her every word.

“Being the first Monégasque to win here at home—just incredible,” he says, laughing a little. “And with the weight of all that pressure? Wow.” Charles feels the heat in her cheeks, letting the praise sink in, filling her up like water on dry earth. Then, cruelly, he adds, “Plus, being only the second woman after Max? Your family must be doubly proud.”

A chill runs down her spine, something inside her curling up, shrinking into itself.

Max. Always Max, like a shadow she can’t outrun.

“I hope so,” she manages, clutching the microphone tighter. “And I hope I can do it again next year.”

Not entirely unprecedented, then. She takes in the crowd and reminds herself that at least Max will never have the support of the entire nation. 

It leaves a bitter sting in her mouth nonetheless.

-

Three years ago, Charles spent her Sunday evening after the Monaco Grand Prix curled up in her bed with a giant tub of ice cream and a twitchy finger that kept tabbing between fifteen different YouTube videos. Some were of random stuff to take her mind off the race, others were of the race her mind refused to let go of. One was called Funny Charlotte Leclerc Monaco Compilation. A handful were interviews of people who actually finished the race. Unfortunately, she spent the most time watching those.

She popped open a bottle of wine Pierre had given her years ago when she reached Max’s. She can distinctly recall the sweet taste of plums down her throat as she listened. 

“How does it feel to be the first woman to ever finish the Monaco Grand Prix?” the interviewer had asked. Maybe it was Jenson. It could have been Rosberg. Her memory of that day is fuzzy.

It was windy out, but Max’s hair stayed stuck to her red cheeks, making her look like a cherry. She had answered in a joke like she always did. “I’m the first woman to win at many tracks, it never gets old.” She laughed, and waved her hand. “No, no, but more seriously, Monaco is a very historic place, of course, so…” Charles tuned out after that. 

Historic, yes. But not home. Max might live in Monaco—Charles sees her against her will sometimes, at the grocery store or the gym—but it will never be her home. 

Then, unimaginably: 2022 was even worse.

Charles didn’t even bother with the wine that night. The bottle sat untouched as she pulled out the small box stashed under her bed, the one filled with things Andrea would have a coronary over if he ever found out. She got high enough to see colours she didn’t know existed, hoping to blur the sharp edges of another disappointment. 

And still, through all the haze and frustration, Max remained unaffected. Well, not entirely unaffected—Max had sent her a text, asking if she was okay, if she wanted to go out, do something to take the edge off. It was thoughtful, even kind, but all Charles could think was: I’d rather you care about the race than about me. 

Who gives a damn if Charles is the second woman to win anything, when the first woman doesn’t care at all about keeping track? It makes Charles furious, how effortlessly Max shrugs off everything that matters to her. It’s easy for Max, of course. Easy to be nonchalant about records when you’re winning all the time. Meanwhile, Charles claws her way to pole by the skin of her teeth and more hours in the sim than she can count.

Now, standing in the chaotic, neon-lit depths of Jimmy’z, two tall glasses of something fruity already down, she’s still thinking about Max. The absurdity of it stings. It’s embarrassing, if anything.

“Charles, another!” Joris shouts, shoving a third glass at her. The second one is still in her other hand, empty. “You are not allowed to zone out, not today!”

Charles smiles, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude towards her friends. 

“Take this one back at least,” she jokes, and shoves the empty glass towards him. “Get yourself another too and we will drink them together!” 

Joris grins. “Sure, princess.”

Charles huffs, but the effect of the alcohol on her mood can’t be understated; she doesn’t feel more than a stir of annoyance at the nickname. 

It’s fine if her friends say it. They love her. They’re happy for her. They care that she’s the first woman to win the Monaco Grand Prix and not be in a Red Bull. That, and the thousands of fans who cried for her today, are who matters.

-

By the time Charles and Joris are done, they’ve probably downed enough alcohol to fill an entire bathtub. She can barely stand on her own by the time they leave, her legs wobbling like they’ve forgotten how to hold her up. Andrea tuts softly and hooks an arm around her to guide her back home. Her feet, suddenly aware of their existence, throb painfully with every step, and she winces. Andrea keeps giving her sharp little pinches to keep her from nodding off mid-walk.

“Water,” he commands, sliding a tall glass across the kitchen counter once they’re inside. Charles slumps into a chair, the effort of just sitting upright making her feel like she’s run another race. “And painkillers for tomorrow.”

“Those don’t even work,” she mutters, her words slurring slightly. “You know that.”

Andrea rolls his eyes in that way he always does when she’s being difficult. “Drink the water, then. I’ll text everyone and let them know you’re still alive.”

Of course she’s alive. She’s a Formula One driver. She drives really fast cars for a living. Like, really fast. A few litres of alcohol? Please. That’s nothing compared to what she does on the track. 

In fact, she feels fantastic. A strange, buoyant kind of euphoria settles over her, and she can’t even remember why she was pissed off earlier.

“This is amazing,” she tells Andrea, almost giggling at how brilliant it all seems now.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, ruffling her hair with a half-amused sigh. “To bed with you, champ.”

Charles stumbles through her nightly routine with Andrea watching over her like a prison guard. By the time she gets the toothbrush in her mouth, her awareness of him fades into the background. The minty aftertaste hits her like a freight train—far too intense—and she pulls a dramatic face that has Andrea snorting with laughter.

“You won today,” he reminds her, his voice soft but firm, as if grounding her in the moment as she sits on the edge of her bed in freshly donned pajamas. “You fucking won, Charles. You don’t need to dream tonight.”

Charles hums, a sleepy, noncommittal sound, her body already too heavy with exhaustion to respond properly. The next moment, she’s out cold.

-

Monaco is a very small place. Charles goes grocery shopping and sees Lando picking out bananas. Charles goes to the gym and comes face-to-face with George’s attempts at a thirst trap. Charles drags her friends to the movies and the person in front of her in the popcorn line is Kevin. 

Charles exits her apartment, and two seconds later she’s staring at Max. They’re in the middle of a sidewalk, for fuck’s sake.

“Charles,” Max greets. Her tone is as unreadably affable as always. “I’m surprised you aren’t still hungover.”

“Hah,” Charles forces a laugh. She only drank on Sunday night. It’s Wednesday. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.”

She already knows what Max will say before she says it. “I didn’t ask,” with a shrug and a good-natured grin. “Where are you headed to?”

Charles glances down at herself. She’s in her running clothes: headband to soak sweat, cotton white shorts for easy movement. It’s pretty obvious where she’s headed to.

“Pier,” she answers anyway, because she’s nice. 

Max’s face lights up. “I’ll join you.” 

She doesn’t look dressed for a run. Charles would bet a hundred euros Max had been on her way to the grocery store. But she can’t say no without seeming rude, so she just nods.

“Okay.”

The jog to the pier is uneventful, save for a few people pulling out their phones to snap videos of them running side by side. Charles feels the weight of Max’s gaze on her back, a persistent itch she can’t shake, but at least Sylvia will be happy. Free PR, if nothing else.

When they stop in a quieter area, Max wipes sweat from her brow, raising her arm just enough to flex her bicep. Charles isn’t sure if it’s on purpose, but it feels deliberate.

“I haven’t seen you around,” Max says, her tone conversational, like it’s perfectly normal to expect to run into each other daily.

“I’ve been busy,” Charles replies. It’s true, at least. “Celebrating, and then resting.”

Max nods, but there’s something unreadable in her expression. “Looked like a fun party, Sunday night.”

Ah. Charles should’ve seen this coming. She should’ve lied, avoided this little jab of pettiness. She bites the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to stay calm.

“It was,” she says lightly, not giving Max the satisfaction. “All my friends and family were there. Even my mother.”

She watches Max’s expression flicker just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough. Small victories.

“Is the Prince of Monaco your family now?” Max’s brows lift.

“Obviously not. He is just—supportive.” 

Max doesn’t seem to notice. Or, more likely, she just does not care. “It must have been quite the celebration then. A win in Monaco, the Prince attending...”

“Yes, it was.” Charles wipes sweat from her forehead, wishing she could wipe away this conversation too.

Max’s eyes linger on her, bright blue in the sun. “You didn’t think to invite me?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to come,” Charles says.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Max tilts her head, seeming genuinely puzzled.

Charles pinches the bridge of her nose. “You didn’t want to party the last time I won.”

“That was two years ago,” Max points out, unhelpfully.

The statement pierces through the little threads of patience Charles still has like a needle through fabric. She digs her nails into her palms to stop herself from balling her fists. Don’t do something you will regret.

“Alright,” she says, the word clipped. “I apologise, then. I should have asked.”

“Why are you mad at me?” Max asks, instead of saying anything normal like it’s okay or no problem.

Charles rolls her eyes this time. She can’t help it. “I’m not mad, Max.”

“You are.” Max’s relaxed tone finally snaps. Her thick brows furrow, concern etching lines into her forehead. “You’re like this sometimes after this race—after Monaco, but I thought since you finally won this year, you would be happy.”

“I am happy,” Charles bites out. Again, not a lie. “I am very happy, actually, and I don’t think you know me well enough to say otherwise.”

Max goes quiet for a moment, and when she speaks again, it’s slower, measured. “Well,” she says carefully, “as I’ve tried to tell you before, I’d like to know you better.”

“Putain,” Charles spits, her cheeks going bright red. 

There’s almost certainly someone filming them right now, tucked away on a balcony, phone raised, ready to capture their moment for TikTok. The video will get clipped, stitched, dissected. The comments will roll in: Charlotte Leclerc is so arrogant lol, how does she have the audacity to yell at the only other woman in the sport? Especially when Verstappen is a three-time WDC and Leclerc barely has six wins! Laughing emojis, rolling eyes, the works. She can already picture it.

“I am not having this conversation, Max,” she says, voice stiff and low. 

“Why not?” Max openly frowns now. “You’ve been avoiding me for days—”

“You are not so important to me that I have to go out of my way to avoid you,” Charles laughs, somewhat in disbelief.

“Yeah, okay,” Max scoffs. “We live like a block apart from each other, but I haven’t seen you in a week. Not to mention you normally—”

Charles cuts her off with, “Good talk. See you in Canada.”

“Oh my god, Charles, will you just—”

Charles turns on her heel and jogs back the way they came. After two blocks, she glances over her shoulder and finds Max isn’t in sight anymore. 

She allows herself a measure of relief by exhaling without feeling like her chest is about to cave in.

Fucking Max, she swears in her head, and isn’t that the problem?

-

Max is not very clingy. They rarely talk outside of work, and Max never seeks her out on purpose. They cross paths by chance, yes—often at that, but Max would never stoop so low as to show up at her hotel doorstep begging for attention. 

What Max is is affectionate. Touchy, more like, given that there’s little actual affection in it. When Charles happens to be near, Max will touch her just because. A hand around her waist or fingers digging into her shoulder. 

Or like now: squished together in a booth at the dinghy club Lando dragged them all to, to celebrate his second win. 

Charles isn’t exactly in a celebratory mood given everything that’s happened recently, but Pierre requested she come and she can’t say no after bailing on the post-Silverstone festivities. There’s only so many parties one can miss before people start nagging.

The high from winning Monaco wore off just as quickly as it came, but so did her annoyance. Now, seeing Max’s smile doesn’t make her fume, at least not beyond its normal extent. 

“Another?” Max asks, nudging Charles in the side. Charles blinks at her, dazed and overwhelmed by the pounding music reverberating throughout the room. She’s pretty sure Lando took over the DJ booth, and it shows. “A drink,” Max clarifies.

“Oh.” Charles says, looking down at the empty glass in her hand. She hadn’t even realised it was empty. “Sure.”

Max waves someone over and shoves the empty glass towards them. Charles watches the movement of her hand and thinks about how unfair it is that Max’s hands are two centimetres wider than hers. It must affect her grip strength, make it easier for her to hold the wheel. 

“I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore,” Max says, chuckling as her hand drifts to rest on Charles’ thigh, right where her dress ends. The touch is casual, almost too casual, and Charles feels a prickle of irritation despite herself. “Even though I still don’t know why you were mad.”

“I wasn’t mad,” Charles lies for what feels like the twentieth time.

“Sure,” Max says, a playful glint in her eyes, her hand still resting exactly where it was.

It’s like being back in that alley again—the heat rising to Charles’ cheeks, spreading too fast, too obvious. She can already feel the flush creeping up her neck, but at least the dim, awful lighting in the club might pass it off as alcohol instead of what it really is: embarrassment.

Max knows her too well. She leans in, close enough that Charles can feel her breath on her neck, waiting. Waiting for her to give in, to glance back, to react to how casually Max is touching her in the middle of a club with half the grid and their partners milling around.

“Max—” Charles sighs, her voice low, strained. “Not in public.”

Max’s hand slides off like it was never there, her laugh light and breezy. “Okay, okay,” she says, amused. “I’ll let you drink a little more. Maybe that’ll help get that stick out of your ass.”

Before Charles can snap back, the server arrives, placing two tall glasses of something pink and syrupy on the table. Max grins and hands one to her without missing a beat.

“Let’s just drink,” Charles mutters, her patience running thin. If she’s going to have to deal with Max and her casual provocations tonight, she’d rather not do it sober.

Max’s grin widens, all easy confidence as she lifts her glass in a mock toast. “Cheers, baby.”

Charles clinks her glass against Max’s with a grimace and a pooling heat between her legs.

-

It was always “princess” when she was younger, but not the flattering kind. When they called her that, they meant to dismiss her, to belittle her. You’re too pretty to belong here. You don’t really want this. They couldn’t stomach how well she drove, so they pinned her success on everything else. Her father, Jules—it surely had to stem from them, as if her talent were just a product of her surroundings rather than her own blood, sweat, and tears.

No matter what she did, how well she performed, it was always too pretty, too privileged, too lucky.

Until the wins started piling up. Then “princess” took on a new flavour, but it still didn’t taste any better. Now it’s said with a smile, a nod to how perfect she looks even after hours in the cockpit. Her dimples, her curls that never seem out of place, her lashes that stay long and dark. 

There’s only one person who can get away with saying it without lighting that spark of irritation.

“You are such a princess,” Max says with a chuckle, her eyes dropping to the bright red panties Charles is wearing. Still, somehow, despite Max’s best efforts.

“Not everyone fancies going commando in public,” Charles huffs, though her cheeks betray her.

“I wasn’t judging. I think they’re cute.” Max pinches the edge of the fabric between her fingers, pulling lightly at the hem. “They’ll look even cuter around your knees, though.”

Charles rolls her eyes, but the flush deepens. “Just get on with it before I change my mind.”

Max doesn’t hesitate. Her hands are strong as she lifts Charles by the thighs, positioning her with ease, before yanking at her panties with a deliberate roughness. The seam catches against her skin, sending a sharp jolt through her, heat pooling low in her belly, spreading like wildfire up toward her chest.

Months of dancing around each other, teasing, resisting. And for what? To give in so easily?

She squirms under Max’s gaze, feeling exposed, too open, laid out on the scratchy hotel bed. But exposed is exactly how Max likes her. There’s no question about that.

“You’re very pink down here,” Max observes. “Little princess with her princess parts.”

Charles swings a leg over Max’s shoulder, a warning more than a real kick. “You are so annoying,” she says through gritted teeth. “You can put your tongue to better use, no?”

“Your wish is my command,” Max drawls, and lowers her head to do exactly that.

-

Monza is glorious, and it’s easier to drown her own trepidations out among the roar of the Tifosi. Charles is on top of the world as she hoists the P1 trophy, basking in the elated cheers of the crowd.

As she stumbles off the podium, Carlos wraps her in his arms and presses their wet foreheads and noses together. Carlos squeezes her ribs tight enough to bruise. She can’t find it in herself to mind. Charles has to pull away lest someone get the wrong idea, half-laughing as they nearly tumble onto the green.

“You did it!” he shouts.

“I did it!” she shouts right back.

The team hoists her up for photos, and the noise never stops. People rush around her—a wave of hands and congratulatory touches—and she’s almost overwhelmed by the love and admiration emanating from them.

She feels like a god, almost. It’s a terrible, arrogant comparison, but it’s true. She’s transcendent. Her supporters cry, they weep, they break down into tears of joy on the grass as they sink to their knees. What kind of power does a person have to make someone fall to their knees in ecstasy? Not in bed, but over a fucking sport? She would know.

After the interviews and the onslaught of media and congratulations comes Max. There’s no hesitation as Max walks toward her across the bar. Charles feels that same rush, but this time, she doesn’t push it down.

“You won again,” Max states. Simple. Not quite soft. Just an observation of the obvious.

“Yes,” Charles affirms.

“A little iffy if you only win at your own tracks,” Max teases.

Over Max’s shoulder, she sees Alex shoot her a look. A look that says don’t rise to the bait. Just ignore her.

But if I don’t bite, I will never win, is what she said to Alex in a darkened bathroom before the press started to arrive, shoulder to shoulder at the sinks as Charles washed her hands.

What will it be, when Max loses a championship? When Charles doesn’t just take pole, take a win, but something far greater? Will Max still want Charles after she gets it?

She needs to savour it while she can. She deserves it, tonight. Deserves all of it, more than anyone has ever wanted to let her have.

“There’s no ‘if,’” she tells Max.

“Touché,” Max hums. Her lips crook, and a slow, vicious shudder of anticipation roils through Charles, to the marrow of her bones. “You’re probably eager to celebrate. Am I allowed to join in on the festivities this time?”

Max’s words are so measured, so controlled, but Charles knows better than anyone how much that mask holds back.

“You seem to be the eager one,” Charles says pointedly.

“How could I not be?” A hand settles on her arm. It feels familiar. Max leans closer so that no one else hears what they whisper to her. “You know what happens when you win. Your cheeks get all pretty and red. That’s my favourite look on you.”

“Such a charmer,” Charles says, voice hoarse. The glass she’s holding sits between them, and a gentle touch from Max guides it to her lips. The cool glass presses up to her mouth and Max’s lips brush her ear. Max’s cologne, perfume—whatever it is—slithers in through her nose, and it’s sharp, tangy, like a fresh spritz on a hot neck.

Charles closes her eyes. It would be easy enough to steal a kiss. No one is paying them much attention anymore; not even Alex.

Just as she’s about to do something stupid, Max pulls away and smiles at her.

“My hotel is nearby?” she says, sounding so unabashedly hopeful that Charles can’t even make fun of her for it.

“I think I’m needed here,” she whispers back.

Max’s lips twist into a pout. “I guess so.” She sighs. “Maybe later?” Charles watches her fingertips, follows their slide down her chest, away from her chin. “If that’s—If you’d like.”

It’s not quite a stutter, but for someone with double her wins this season, it’s awfully hesitant.

“Later,” Charles promises, and waves Alex over, finally.

-

Max’s tongue is sharp in ways that aren’t limited to her words. No matter how many times this happens, Charles is always surprised by how deftly she works her, mouth hot on Charles’s thigh.

“Let me—” Charles thrashes, but Max’s arm is secure around her stomach. “Let me, fucking—not like this,” she whines.

She hates it when Max makes her come before Charles can put so much as a hand on her. It feels a bit like she’s losing at something. Even though Max always insists she’s happy on her knees, Charles doesn’t buy it. Nothing feels better than being worshipped.

Max, predictably, ignores her and pushes a third finger in, her tongue tracing a slick pattern up her belly. “You come best when you have a little bit of a hard time with it,” she says.

“Fuck you—”

Max’s palm grinds against her clit, and Charles grunts. When she glances down between her legs, Max has a cheeky grin in place.

“I’ll fancy my chances with that,” Max replies easily, and nips Charles’ inner thigh like a cat. Charles throws her head back and moans.

There will never be enough time. Not enough to catch her breath fully while her heart races like a jackrabbit, and certainly not enough to do everything she wants to Max.

“Roll onto your stomach and spread your legs.”

Charles obeys without thinking. The first orgasm rolls through her when Max pulls at her hair, grinding her own cunt against Charles’ hips, dripping onto her. Then the second comes after Max forces her head down and rims her, the thumb on her asshole sending shudders through her whole body.

She never gets Max on her back that night.

-

Mornings after are Charles’ least favourite part of this, probably. This isn’t a concept she can touch without being burned, but somehow that’s only worked to entrench the fever in her skin more deeply.

Max’s hotel room is predictably fancy, and Charles gazes around it now, with Max still dozing off beside her. She looks like a curled-up bear. There’s something small and appealing about her sprawled on the sheets like this—something different to her larger than life presence on the podium, or on the track.

Charles slips out of the bed without jostling her, somehow. Quietly, she tiptoes naked through the room, and tries to find something of hers in the piles of clothes. Her bra goes on first. She fishes her panties out from between the bed and night stand, where they’d been tossed aside and forgotten. They’re a lost caught; her jeans go on commando.

As she’s slipping on a sock, something hefty and warm wraps around her middle, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“You should know better than to bend over in front of me,” Max says.

“Good morning,” Charles huffs, standing up properly. She lets Max turn her around, and she tries not to let her face flush when she gets a face full of Max’s bare tits. “I have a meeting in an hour, just so you know.”

“A virtual one, I assume,” Max says. “An hour is a long time.”

She looks down the bridge of Max’s nose. Charles’ fingers hover up against the muscles of her chest, almost touching.

“Not when it comes to you,” she says.

Max doesn’t even bat an eyelash, just smiles. “For breakfast, Charles. Not sex.”

Inside Charles, anticipation simmers. For the food, naturally. “Well, hurry up then.”

Max doesn’t waste time in calling for room service. Charles takes care to stay quiet in the background, careful not to let the staff member on the other end get any juicy gossip about there being a woman in Max’s room at seven in the morning. When she hangs up, Max prowls towards her again. The kiss she plants on Charles’ lips is just long enough to make heat bubble and spit at the bottom of Charles’s stomach. Soon, Max’s fingers are tangled in her hair and her tongue is in her mouth. Just the suggestion of Max’s breasts up against Charles’ makes her breathing unsteady.

“Already?” Max murmurs, amusement colouring her words. “You do have stamina, I���ll give you that.”

“You started it,” Charles accuses.

“Can’t blame me for being greedy,” Max points out, as her fingers trail down to Charles’ chest. Charles wishes she hadn’t found the bra, now. “We don’t usually get mornings.”

Charles thinks about what Max said at the pier. I’d like to know you better. Here, with the morning sun coming in, she feels closer to letting Max take a crack. “Better make the most of it, then.” Not an invitation, just a quip.

The food comes after a few minutes of frantic, slightly delirious making out. Max releases her and goes to the door to answer, taking care to wrap her towel completely around her torso.

[kittyit]

One thing I don't like about trans critical spaces is how they are focused on trans women being unattractive and 'cringe.' this is just my personal experience, but I have been sexually victimized by multiple trans women, most of whom passed, many of whom were skinny and beautiful and most of which had high brow tastes and no interest in anime or other cringe topics. one of these TIMs was a serial sexual assailant and I think probably attracted to underage boys, and she was also beautiful and charismatic. Meanwhile, I also know multiple trans women who are good people and don't infringe on female spaces but who are conventionally "ugly", broad-shouldered, and have masculine interests. It also seems like the only thing TIMs criticize about each other publically is being "ugly", large, or fat.

my position has consistently been for about 15 years that mocking someone's appearance is not a feminist act. it simply isn't.

mocking appearance is essentially a cruel hobby, it's primate social aggression we're using our huge brains for. it's really fun, and that's why almost everyone does it. i sometimes do it too, in private, in intimate company, and it's enjoyable. i say this to clarify that despite my position, i don't set myself apart or above from women who do it. i do it too. and it's constant in basically every subculture online. julie bindel actually posted on her facebook recently troubled about this same thing. as you said, it's so common in queer/trans circles too, the long-forgotten 2013 values of tenderqueerism fallen to the wayside. stan culture, politics, just basically everything...i really can't stress enough that in my opinion, it is a hobby

mocking appearances is not feminist or activism. it quite often is anti-feminist. it's kindergarten stuff to not judge a book by its cover. it doesn't matter what a male person looks like - he is still male and all considerations that apply to male people apply to him. i don't need to think a male person has a hideous appearance to criticize him for any of the oppressive acts he's doing. focus on appearance (or other unrelated personal attacks) often takes the sting out of a criticism of someone's character, morals or actions and makes your argument easier to dismiss. and of course the now mocked & dismissed concept that when you rip into someone's appearance, you do friendly fire to anyone around who shares those features. but of course this doesn't matter to anyone because it's 1. so fun 2. we're so used to it 3. everyone is doing it 4. so who cares? (I do. However)

i also just can't really scrape up that much finger wagging anymore at women who do spend a huge amount of time blowing off steam mocking the insane parodies that trans women present as. it's basically evil imaginative play. it's just not activism and acting like it is, as you said, is really detrimental to radical feminism being understood as a feminist way of thought that deeply affects women's lives.

as for the rest of this, have you read pronouns are rohypnol? you do not have to call a serial rapist pedophile you knew she. there is no one here but us, he cannot hear you. i encourage you to free up processing power in your mind, especially if you've survived trans male violence. calling the men who harmed you he can be a turning point in reclaiming your own sense of reality, it was for me

[loycspotting]

Leaving Tumblr

Last night, my account was terminated. I don't know why. I was in the middle of using the site when suddenly I was locked out. No warnings. No announcements. Nothing. I was an absolute wreck. I couldn't eat or sleep. There was no word from Tumblr's management team. I could only explain what happened and sit on my hands. I felt utterly helpless waiting and hoping for a miracle. I had a home here. I had friends who became family. People that I love. Fandom that was my absolute joy and honor to participate in. It was all ripped away for no reason at the drop of a hat. My work. My mutuals. My home. Gone. Just like that. I couldn't say goodbye. I didn't know if or how I'd be able to find my moots again. I was able to create a second account called @loycspotting-thee2 and wracked my brain trying to remember my friends' usernames while terrified that that account would disappear too. I couldn't focus on anything. I was completely distraught. Thankfully, a miracle did happen and my account was magically reactivated. Again, no warning. No one reached out and explained what happened. One moment it was here, gone the next, then here again. In all my years of being on social media, I've never feared that a platform would kick me off like that until last night. I stayed up reading story after story of people who have used Tumblr, some of them holding accounts for YEARS with thousands of followers, logging on just to find it wiped from existence on any random day. This is a serious and repetitive issue, but not apparently to Tumblr. I may not have been a Tumblr user for long, but this incident has irrevocably broken my trust. No amount of saving and cataloging and backing up my account will protect me from being a victim of this website's carelessness. I would always have to worry if I'd be the unlucky user of the day that got their account deleted with no guarantee that it would be reactivated. I cannot and will not live in fear that everything I've created and the home I've found will be taken from me again against my will. Therefore, I have decided that the best option for me is to deactivate my account and say goodbye on my own terms. I am absolutely heartbroken to come to this decision. This has been the most unreal online space. I loved it here! It was everything I've been looking for and I only regret not signing up the first time I heard about it all those years ago. I love being in the Ewan McGregor fandom! Where it's not just a fandom. It's a fanhome 😁. I found my voice here, as well as people who heard me. People who understood me. This was my absolute favorite place to be, bar NONE. I felt fulfilled writing and reviewing. There were so many more things I wanted to do and experience with you guys. It was you who encouraged me. You listened, reblogged, commented, and messaged. You accepted me. From the bottom of my heart I love my mutuals. Even if we don't follow each other, if we've talked or interacted with each other's posts I love you too. I love the passion and creativity flowing through this site. I don't know what will happen with the Ewan McGregor Screentime Percentage project. I'm not ready to quit just yet. Maybe I'll start a Reddit or letterboxd account. Of course, for the writing, I can consider joining Ao3. If you want to keep in touch, then I implore you to message me so we can work something out. The friendships I made here are paramount to everything else. I'm going to leave this up for 9 days (or until I'm terminated again 🙄) to give myself time to get things in order. On September 1st, I will say goodbye.

[yukidragon]

Imagine if instead of calling MC during post-nut clarity, Ian went to reddit to ask for advice? (Well, the bland-name legally-distinct version of reddit in this universe.)

Of course the comments would rip him apart and there'd be more crying, but it's kind of interesting to imagine the post he might've wrote.

For example, imagine the way Ian would describe MC in the post to other people. Would he try to justify what he did because the relationship was rocky, or would he be mostly bemoaning that he has no idea why he did it? Would he talk up MC's good qualities or slip in a lot of things that bugged him that he never brought up? What little unspoken biases would come out during the post?

I think the tone of the post would be mostly focused on how much Ian is hurting, as it is him venting to a bunch of internet strangers. He focuses on how terrible a person he feels he is, and how much he fears what's going to happen when MC finds out and how this might destroy their relationship. He just can't lose them! He can't!

I like to think Ian would have the state of mind to at least use a throwaway account and aliases for himself and others he mentions in the post. However, if MC is the type to visit those forums often, maybe even introduced Ian to them in the first place or vice-versa, it's possible MC recognizes enough details to realizes it's about them. Maybe it could even go viral and they find out about the post listening to a reading on podcast or video site.

Using my MC Alice as an example, I can imagine Ian talking about her weight and how he totally loves her in spite of how overweight she is, and she's so cute and kind. But the affair partner looked like she stepped out of a porn ecchi manga - big boobs, big butt, tiny waist, long trim legs, and incredibly flirtatious and sexually charged.

On that note, Content Warning for fatphobia, acephobia, and internalized religious-based shame!

Oh Ian had no idea it was flirting at first, he swears, but it felt so good. He never really felt like Alice really saw him as attractive since she's asexual, and she isn't all that enthusiastic about sex. It's another subconscious bias slipping through to justify himself and get sympathy despite the horrendous thing he did.

The sex with the affair partner was mind blowing, but once it was over Ian realized what he had done and felt just so awful. The affair partner tried to reassure him that it was only natural he found her more attractive (because people who tempt others to cheat in a relationship love to stroke their egos). No one has to know and they can keep having fun~

Naturally taking the affair partner takes snipes at Alice. She had done so in the past that Ian had called out in so much he offered feeble protests that Alice had good points too, while trying hard not to upset his new "friend." The comments usually were so innocuous he felt like he was overthinking it, but in the situation they were overt and insulting and he snapped at the affair partner in that moment.

Now Ian feels bad about that too since affair partner is telling him he overreacted. She tried to reassure him that everybody in a long distance relationships cheats. In fact, Alice was probably cheating on him right now. Anyone who says they're ace - in her opinion - are just lying to seem more "righteous" than they are and asexuality doesn't actually exist. Affair partner's comment that there must be somebody desperate enough to want to fuck a fat girl was what set Ian off.

Yes, my version of the affair partner is complete scum. I mean, people who tempt others to cheat tend to only care about making themselves feel superior to someone else.

The post online is a lot of word vomit with a token attempt to clean up spelling and grammar errors. Ian just keeps crying and is desperate for anyone online to tell him how he can make it up to Alice and save their relationship. He doesn't want to end the friendship with affair partner either since he knows it's his fault this happened, because he just couldn't control himself. All that internalized shame for his sexual urges bubbling to the surface. He knows he fucked up and he just wants to know how to atone for his sins.

Of course when describing Alice before describing the affair partner, Ian mentions their good points. Alice is so kind, even overtly so, holding him whenever he cried, always reaching out to others, being more motherly than his own mom. She's sweet and kind like that to everyone, and everyone loves her. She's everything he could ever want and she satisfied him in bed.

Man, imagine if Ian intended to write that Alice is everything he wanted in a partner, only to accidentally use the alias he made up for the affair partner instead of the one he used for Alice.

I mean, easy mistake to make, right? He's using fake names he just made up on the spot. Of course he's going to mix them up. He even insists as such when a comment calls him out for it before he can fix it in an edit. It was just a typo!

Ian admits that he felt guilty about subjecting Alice to his sexual urges. He knows sexual urges are sinful. She's asexual and doesn't really initiate sex but is always eager to please him anyway. She's always been like an angel to him and to everyone. Sex with her sometimes made him feel like a filthy sinner like he was desecrating something too pure and good for this world in the name of his shameful urges.

The affair partner though... Ian admits she's exciting, thrilling, so open in discussing sex like it's no big deal. She flaunts her body, confident in a way Alice isn't. The two of them are like night and day. When he had sex with the affair partner he didn't feel like he was defiling an angel. He admits he doesn't know what he was thinking, but it was the most intense, raw, and amazing sex he's ever had.

Which makes Ian feel even more like absolute shit for enjoying it so much.

Perhaps the allure Ian felt, aside from the physical attraction, was that he didn't feel like he was dragging someone else down. They were both filthy sinners acting like animals, only focusing on the pleasure and not thinking about consequences. He didn't think about the future, or about guilt and shame... at least not until after the post-nut clarity hits.

Even if Ian had this irrational feeling that sex with Alice was wrong, he knows it's wrong with the affair partner. In the afterglow, cuddling with Alice made him feel safe, accepted, loved, and like what they experienced wasn't as dirty and sinful as he felt. The aftercare soothed his worries and made him feel like what they had was actually pure and good and full of love.

The afterglow with the affair partner felt wretched. Ian immediately wanted to throw up. It was all wrong. He still can't understand why he got caught up in it like he did when he knows it's wrong... but in the moment it felt so good.

Another piece of advice Ian requests of the people of the forum is how to stop thinking about the sex he had with the affair partner so that he never gets tempted again. All he wants is to be happy with Alice, his partner, the woman he wanted to marry since they were kids!

The comments, naturally, tear Ian apart, but some scumbags support him, insulting Alice due to his description of her and saying what he did was only to be expected. If she wanted to keep him, she should've tried harder and lost weight.

While Ian doesn't respond to every comment, he responds to many. To those raking him over the coals, you can practically see the tears spilling onto the phone screen as he types that he knows he's a piece of shit, but he came here to get advice on how to fix things! Alice is the only one he wants to be with! He never wanted this to happen!

Ian makes an edit to the post in response to the scumbags, pleading with people not to insult Alice. He tries to protect her honor, talks even more about so many good qualities about her, and how these people don't even know her or understand!

He also insists this post isn't rage bait or farming for attention.

Ian also slips in that he knows Alice would forgive him even if he told her, since she's just that kind and forgiving of a person, but she would be crushed. She's already put up with so much over the years and still loves him. He can't handle what this will do to her. He doesn't want to break her heart over something so selfish and vile. He can't believe he did something so stupid, but he just wants to know how to fix this without hurting her.

In a way, Ian irrationally fears that he's now just like these scumbags in the comments due to his cheating. The things they say about her... did he subconsciously think them? Is he really such a horrible person? The ones trying to justify what he did are so vile, and the rest are condemning him and hoping that Alice dumps him.

Ian was hoping to get advice, and he does, a little. There are some people in the comments that take a more soft approach to chastising him. In the end, their encouragement is just confess and go to couple's therapy.

Ian resisted going to therapy all this time because of hearing negative things about it, how pointless it is (mainly from his mother), but he decides that's the best shot they have. He'll do anything to fix this now.

Ultimately, the comments make him fear telling Alice all the more given how much hatred he got for his post.

Ian does post updates in the aftermath. First that he broke down and told Alice. She forgave him and they're going to try and make it work. He doesn't specify how, just that they talked a lot and many tears were shed. Though he got so much hate online, some of the advice did seem to help, so he's back to vent more and get more advice. He'll suffer the hate if it means atoning for his sins.

Oh there's also a brief mention of Alice going to the hospital for a while, but Ian mostly focuses on how awful he feels and how it must be his fault, without going into details out of respect for her privacy.

Then there'd be another update from Ian later on about how Alice ended things, and he's devastated. He was so confused by it, as if it came out of the blue. They were working on fixing things! He thought things would get better, but then she told him that she just couldn't do it anymore right now. She needs some space.

Ian goes into self-pitying mode, knowing it's his fault and he messed up, but he thought things were going to be okay. What does he do now? How does he fix things? What did he mess up after things seemed to be getting better?

Then an edit is thrown in that Ian found out Alice's friends apparently talked her into breaking up with him. She still says she needs space to think before they can try again. Ian can't blame them given all the comments roasting him, but he was trying! He really was! How can he prove that?

At this point the comments are just all telling Ian to leave Alice alone and let her move on. It's over. Even the more empathetic posters don't have advice for him this time.

Hmm... Ian might not have gone to a forum for advice right after cheating in Sunshine in Hell, but I like the idea that he sought out advice after he confessed what he did to Alice. He might've even been a regular poster to online forums for advice anonymously in the past.

Of course if Alice stumbled across the post and realized it was Ian who made it, it'd make her feel even more violated than before. She'd be the type to read way too much into how Ian talked about her and the affair partner, particularly when people in the comments called him out for how he phrased certain things.

If nothing else, it'd make Alice feel more certain that Ian wouldn't be happy in a relationship with her in the long term. It'd also tear her apart to hear in his own words just how much he's suffering.

The post would haunt Alice at the back of her mind, the hate comments and Ian's little offhand remarks in the posts picking at her insecurities.

Naturally, Alice would avoid those forums for a while, as well as anyplace else Ian might be lurking online. Even posts that seem sort of similar give her this feeling of paranoia that it might be him vague posting about her again. Finally, she decides to just take a break from the internet as much as humanly possible, including socials.

Wow, this little off the wall what if scenario grew into something much bigger than anticipated. I hope you all enjoyed this idea, as well as how I applied it to Alice and Ian's relationship. If you did, perhaps consider what sort of post Ian might make about his relationship with your MC and the fallout from that. Have fun!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

[chimivx]

public occurrences. // myg.

pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Female!Reader

summary: It's been almost a year since Vegas. As one would expect, life hasn't gotten any easier. If anything it's gotten even more chaotic. The world knows who you are now... There aren't anymore secrets to hide.

words: 6k

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS IN THE WARNINGS. use of cuss words, they talk of anxiety, some mental health situations, talks about a miscarriage, talks about Jin and other members leaving. other than that- not much else. If I missed anything PLEASE let me know.

a/n: CAN'T BELIEVE ANOTHER VEGAS IS HERE. Enjoy my loves. Thank you for all the love and support always. <3 It's just a short little drabble of one specific moment of time, but I thought it was pretty important.

~ the end of february 2023 ~

A dull pain begins to erupt where you’ve had your jaw clenched for the last twenty minutes. A soreness in your jaw you’re not quite sure will ever be able to go away. For the past few months it’s found itself in this compromised position.

Your entire body is made of steel, your joints creaking as you attempt to pull yourself together amidst the panic ensuing within your nervous system. Limbs heavy to the point you aren’t sure whether or not you’ll be able to exit the vehicle.

Breathe in, breathe out. The words repeat.

Breath in, breathe out. It made you want to sing Hobi’s song. Inhale, inhale, exhale, exhaaale. But there was no time for fun. Not when you were about to walk outside in front of cameras for the first time in eight years.

The morning was spent in a blur, the attempts to perfect your hair and makeup happening at an hour too early, much like how you rolled out of bed. An hour too early. You were awake before your daughter even had the chance to stir.

Anxiety had been simmering beneath your skin for weeks. You could barely eat, the nausea would rip through you violently. Again, for the past few months that’s how life has been, nausea, anxiety, melancholy thoughts and dreams, however this event seemed to be adding twice as much. These past few days you’ve probably accumulated a total of nine hours of sleep. You had more shuteye the week after your daughter's birth.

There seemed to be a butterfly effect from the events in Vegas. The incident that caused countless meetings and endless discussions because the company just couldn’t handle anymore media control or protection. You should never have trusted that girl.

BigHit took their time, the company drug out the announcement as long as they could so it would surpass Jin’s deployment and your goddamn wedding. Now, with it being the end of February, Yoongi’s been traveling absolutely everywhere for basketball games, photoshoots, and he’s announced a tour… It was about to happen. For the very first time in eight years you were officially about to be on camera, branded by flashes, posted online permanently, forever going to be seen and known as Min Yoongi’s wife.

Next to you, Yoongi grips your knee tight, in hopes to settle your worries. Glancing down to his knobby hand you sigh and suck in a deep breath.

“We’ll be fine,” he said softly. Meeting his comforting gaze, you attempt to smile, one that makes him laugh. “I promise. Remember everything we talked about?”

You do. Of course you do. It’s been playing on repeat for one hundred and sixty eight hours. 

That’s how many hours are in a week. You had to google that.

When this entire plan was set in place you requested a play by play, a step by step tutorial- a rehearsal even! You were walking out into the public eye with your child for the first time. People knew who you were now. 

There were going to be cameras, and fans, and paparazzi, and loud noises, and people rushing you, and standards to follow. It was all too much, it all seemed to be entirely too much. You were going to have a toddler on your hip, one who could barely stand to be in a room full of people her father worked with let alone god knows how many strangers at an airport.

“What happens first?” Yoongi asked, reaching for one of your hands to tangle his fingers with yours. He could feel your panic. “Tell me the first thing we’re going to do.”

Gulping, you respond, “Park.” Looking up at his short hair that you’re livid with- his long hair was dreamy, and sexy, and you could pull it- you receive another laugh. He hadn’t expected you to be so literal.

“Good, we’ll park,” he praised. “And then what?” Tipping his chin down his eyes widened a bit, becoming all the more endearing.

“Then, Branson and his team get out,” you said, feeling a bit better looking into his eyes. Yoongi gives you a soft smile, dragging his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Has Branson ever let you down?”

“Never,” you whispered. Almost nine incident free years with the man, after Yoongi, you depended on. 

Your husband leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Exactly,” he said. “What happens next?”

Going through the last three simple steps, everything seemed ready to go to plan. Once Branson was ready, you were going to take your daughter out of her carseat, exit the car, and follow the men inside. You would be the one to carry your daughter, just in case. People were unpredictable in these situations, and Yoongi agreed that if something were to happen to him here, you should be the one to carry her inside. As much as that little comment terrified you to hear him say, he was right.

Simple as pie. You hoped.

In a perfect world that’s how it would happen, and you want nothing more than for this to go smoothly.

People knew your name. Everyone has found out that it’s been years. The company was prepared for mass destruction, and so were you and Yoongi. A first public appearance, this is where it would all go to shit. There isn’t much chaos people can fully ensue over the internet.

As for your friends, the two of you personally asked them to stay out of it and at the drop of a hat they agreed. The five boys and Sunny shook on it. No one would say a word publicly, no one would do any interviews, no tweets, no Instagram posts, no stories pushed, no Weverse comments. Silence. Radio silence.

Jin has most definitely heard what has happened, and the next time you and Yoongi get to see him, there will be tea to spill. Your heart aches whenever you think about him, especially for Yoongi. He’s had to go through this madness and so much more without his best friend.

The week after he left was complete and utter hell for your family. And not just because of Jin.

Pushing aside all thoughts of having to redo the motions with Hobi very soon, you come to realize that steps one and two of the plan have already commenced.

The black SUV was parked in front of the airport, and Branson and his team were setting themselves up. Through the dark tinted windows there are crowds upon crowds of people, masses of them so large one would think the entire band was here. It reminded you of a concert, they were all waiting in groups with their phones out, pointing them at the vehicles that you and your team were in.

Slapping your hand on top of Yoongi's, you grip it tight, digging your nails into his palm. He places his other right on top of yours.

“I can’t do it,” you mumbled, whipping your head to shoot him a terrified look.

Yoongi smiles, though your fear threatens to crack him. If this wasn’t ordered by the company he’d whisk you away to safety, getting inside the airport without a soul knowing. He’s broken these rules before, going against what his company wants for your sake, it’s been eight years of you coming first, you topping all things that have to do with his job. 

Now that the gig was up, now that people knew who you were and knew that it’s been forever, he feels as though he owes it to his fans to do a three minute appearance. As much as he was deeply in love with you, he loved his fans almost as much. He wanted to show you off, he wanted the world to see who’s been keeping him sane all this time, who’s been the source of his happiness for years.

“Yanno, the last time you told me that you seemed to handle everything just fine,” he said, glancing at your sleeping daughter beside you. Blowing a gust of air through your lips, you roll your eyes.

“I didn’t have to do any work, D, they cut her out of me,” you grilled back, narrowing your eyes. “I can’t-” your words are cut off by a sudden short breath. “I feel like I can’t breathe,” escapes you in a whisper. 

Branson taps his fist on the window a couple of times gently, signaling that he was ready for the three of you to come out. The murmurs from the crowds can be heard, leaking through the cracks in the doors, swarming around you constricting your chest.

Yoongi slips an arm around your back, holding you against him tight. Burying your face into his chest, he rests his chin on top of your head and takes a deep breath. You can feel his beating heart steady between his lungs. This was just another day for him. He’s had ten years to grow used to this.

“I was afraid this was going to happen,” he said softly. Peeking up at him, you frown.

“What?” you question, lowering your brows. He nods a couple of times, giving you a small smile.

“I was afraid this was going to happen, because I knew this was going to happen,” he said.

“Me freaking out, right?” you sighed, your tone completely breathless. A soft hum leaves his chest as he ponders what you’ve said, then he shakes his head. “What?” you question again with more vigor.

“Well,” he huffs a gentle laugh, “I figured something along the lines of that would happen, but only ‘cause of her,” he nods to your daughter, “Not because you’re scared of going out there. You’re only worried for her. If it were seven years ago you think you’d feel this way?”

Shaking your head to answer him, the electricity coursing through your veins seems to subside.

“Exactly,” he smirked. “Before her you were dancing in the streets before my shows, you were talking to people, my fans! You were prancing around stadiums and concerts like it was nothing.”

“I loved doing that,” you smiled. 

“Fuck yeah, you loved doing that,” he said, giving you the smallest shake. “And, you know what? It’s not just you going out there as my wife, right? They know what you’ve done for us, they know what you’ve made for us.”

Your smile starts to grow. He was right. The fans, the people, they loved your work. The music videos, the art, the TinyTan, the creative concepts, the photoshoots, all of it. They finally knew that it was you. The ghost creator had been unveiled.

“You probably have fans of your own,” Yoongi said matter of factly. “I guarantee you all these people are here for you, not me.” Frowning humorously, you make him laugh.

“Doubt that,” you said flatly.

“Alright, half and half,” he winked, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “We can do this, you can do this. We’re doing it together, like we do everything. We’ll get through this together. We always do. Just think, next time we see Jin we have to tell him all about this, he’ll never believe it.” 

Averting your eyes from his, your mind is suffocated by the many, many things you’re going to have to tell Jin when you’re with him again, which you’re hoping is soon. So much has happened, so much has changed, and it’d only been about three months.

“Yeah,” you whispered, flickering your eyes up to Yoongi who’s flashing you a curious look. “He probably still thinks I’m pregnant.”

A flash of discomfort wrecks his expression for all of two seconds as he glances away from you with a breath. Swallowing hard, he relaxes his face and looks back at you, his lips pressed together tight.

“He, uh,” he began in a whisper, “He... knows.” Before you have a chance to say anything, the subtle shock on your face telling him plenty, he cuts you off. “I’m sorry, baby. I had to tell him, it’s Jin, that’s my best friend, he’s the only one I could even say the words to.”

Sitting up a bit, you reach a hand up to cup his cheek, dragging your thumb over his smooth skin. “D, it’s okay,” you reassured him, bobbing your head. His lips form a pout, one that gets you to giggle. “I promise, it’s okay.”

There’s a moment of quiet between the two of you, feelings swirling around the empty air as you both choose what to do or say next. Yoongi leans into you, kissing your forehead once more before placing his own there.

“You’re so incredible,” he said, watching you flutter your eyes shut. “The strongest woman I know, the most talented woman I know. On top of having such a beautiful, creative mind, you’re a fucking fantastic mother.” Yoongi pauses, taking a deep breath, as do you. “He was lucky to have you for as long as he did.”

A lump lodges in your throat. Scrunching your face, you shake your head, rubbing your forehead to his.

“Don’t make me cry,” you said, voice wavering with uncertainty. 

“Cry?” a tiny voice speaks up from your right, a yawn of the same intensity coming out of her straight after. Popping your eyes open you share a small smile with your husband, and just as you’re about to turn to your little one, Yoongi slips a hand beneath your chin, holding you in place.

“Hey,” his voice is soothing. “I love you.” Your heart flutters.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, accepting the quick kiss he gives you.

Turning to the carseat that has secured a permanent spot in this car, you smile at your daughter who has her head turned toward you and her father. Her sleepy eyes entice a happy hum from you.

“You were supposed to sleep through this,” you said sarcastically sweet. Yoongi chuckles, unbuckling from his seat. The clang of the metal on the door makes your heart skip a beat.

“No,” your daughter said. “No sleep. All done.” Her voice is tiny, and slightly broken, and not hitting all of the right sounds, but her speech has only been improving. The two of you speak to her like she’s a human being, saving the baby voices for when she’s feeling silly, which can attest to her strong vocabulary and understanding of conversation.

You’re beginning to think she is a genius like her father.

“Mama, up,” she cooed, reaching out her arms that were finally starting to get a little chubby. Her cheeks had caught up to her as well, they were finally perfectly pinchable.

Freeing her from the car seats restraints, your daughter aids you in her escape, launching herself forward and up into your arms with a shout.

“Oh!” she giggles once her arms are around your neck and her face is buried in your hair. 

“Oh!” you and Yoongi copy her, to which she responds with another shout.

Her attentive eyes point out the window when she sits herself up, tapping on your shoulder a couple of times with her palm. Lifting a hand, she tries to point at the crowds of people.

“Where?” she asked curiously, looking to either of her parents for an answer. Her voice turned you into a complete puddle, the sound coming out as ‘Wheh?’, the middle syllable is even more pronounced when she questions the two of you again.

Yoongi brings a hand to her forehead, brushing away a few dark hairs that fell into her eyes. The girl hated bows, you stopped trying.

 “We’re at the airport,” he told her, and she listened with all of her might. “We’re going on a plane, isn’t that fun? You like flying.” Her eyes blink a few times, taking her time to process the words. 

Sighing aloud, dramatically of course, she glances out the window and mumbles a jumble of sounds. Following her gaze, you gulp. 

Eager eyes of bystanders attempted to shatter the glass of the tinted windows.

“Mama,” your daughter said, looking at you. “Go, Mama,” she bounced once. “Go,” she bounced twice. You knew the moment you stepped out into the noise and the flashing lights that she would have a meltdown, but you admired her desire to get out of the car. Yoongi was right, she loved flying, it was her second favorite thing right now. Securely at number one was Jungkook, for a year and seven months. That spot was unattainable for anyone else.

“Shall we?” Yoongi offered, watching you fiercely, letting you take the lead. He waited patiently for your answer, heaving a sigh of relief when you finally gave him a tentative nod of your head.

“Dada, go,” your daughter babbled. “Mama, go. Dada, go. Mama, go.”

Sharing a laugh with Yoongi, you take a long deep breath and tighten your grip around her back, holding her in front of your chest. Smiling at you, your baby touched a hand to your cheek.

“I love you,” you whispered to her. She leans her head toward you and puts her nose on yours.

“Ah-luh-oo,” she tried her best to repeat. Stealing a kiss from her, you let Yoongi press a thousand to her cheek to make her giggle, and then it’s time.

Everything seems to move in slow motion, your vision tunneling as your husband opens the car door. Pulling a mask over his face, he sends you a reassuring wink before he rounds the vehicle.

Screams erupt from every corner of the space, and shouting from the team can already be heard. Strict shouting, like things were getting crazy already. Your daughter’s eyes are wide as she looks out the windows and up at you. Her curiosity has been swapped for a little bit of fear. 

You couldn’t let her see you panic.

Sliding off of the leather seat and onto the concrete of the airport lot, you pull a mask over your own face and instantly slip a hand to the back of your baby's head. Her legs were wrapped around your torso, and the moment you stepped outside her arms clung around your neck for safety. You already had a suspicion that you weren’t going to have to actively try to hide her face, she would want to do that herself.

Your bags were already taken care of, there wasn’t anything else you needed to grab from the car other than your child and yourself. Everything else would be taken care of for you.

With another deep, dramatic breath, you hold your daughter close, allowing her to bury her face into your neck, and you circle the car like Yoongi had. Upon rounding the back, cameras that were already flashing began to flash faster, quicker. Wide eyed and stunned by the greeting of screams, you barely have time to process anything before Branson grabs your arm. 

It’s a gentle tug, one to help keep you on track. He pulls you close to him, staying one step ahead of you as you wait for a couple of seconds in front of the car. Glancing amongst the crowd, it’s mainly full of paparazzi and probably some journalists. Behind the tall men and their cameras you can see the fans, the ones holding up their phones and jumping up and down trying to catch a glimpse at the commotion.

Airport security guards held some people back, though no one seemed to be trying to push through excessively, which was your main fear. 

“Another minute here,” Branson said to you, leaning into your ear. “They need photos, then we go.” Nodding, you peek down at your girl who was content clinging to her mother and hiding from the chaos. A sound of admiration rips through the crowd as you stroke her back, one that surprises you.

Up ahead, close to the doors, Yoongi was walking backward slowly, watching you. His fans twisted their heads side to side, from him, to you, and back again. To spice things up a bit, he gives you a wave, and everyone goes nuts.

You can’t help but laugh at him, eyes crinkling at the sides. For some reason you had thought he’d treat you differently when you were outside, but aside from following the rules, he was still your husband. He points to the baby on your chest and questions you with a thumbs up. Another giant ‘Awh!’ rolls through the chattering crowd.

Sending a thumbs up back, the fans laugh, and cheer. Then, your heart plummets to your stomach.

From somewhere within the crowd your name is shouted. And then again. Before you knew it, the entire crowd wanted your attention. Overwhelmed, feeling utterly insane, your eyes well up with tears. You're unable to make out anything else they’re saying though, there were too many people talking at once, and to you, that was a good thing.

God forbid anybody had anything bad to say. You’ve heard it before, but you don’t need to live it in real time.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled. Branson leans into you again, questioning what you’ve said. Turning to him, you smile and repeat, “Holy shit!” 

“You’re okay?” he asked, gently putting a hand over your shoulder blade. 

“I- I think so?” you said to him, raising your voice over the crowd that was only getting louder. Glancing down to your daughter who’s little fists were attempting to rip holes in your sweater, you send a look to Yoongi, and he stops walking all together. Bundled up in the safety of her mothers arms wasn’t enough for the baby, she needed to be out of this situation immediately. “Branson we have to go.”

“I don’t have the signal yet, we need Yoongi inside before we move forward,” he said. Frowning, you knew the man was just doing his job, but a cry from your daughter flipped a switch within you.

“We need to go,” you insisted, shooting him a glare. Cradling the back of her head, you press your masked lips to her hair and take a deep breath, hoping she’d feel as much of your love as possible. 

“Go! Get him inside,” Branson spoke into the tiny walkie he carried on his chest, gesturing toward the door with persistence. 

The crowd, now roaring, and growing larger, began to push. The barriers that were blocked by guards were spilling over the edge.

Branson placed a hand to the top of your shoulder and held onto you tight. Grabbing the little speaker, he spoke clearer. “We need to move forward, and we cannot do that if you cannot get him indoors.”

Up ahead your husband was watching you with a heated gaze. His attention didn’t deter from you once. His heart twisted when you cradled your daughter, when he saw Branson begin to get defensive. The hand that was placed protectively on your shoulder could make him scream, and the team behind him, calling after him to get him to step inside the airport made his thoughts fuzzy.

What the hell was he doing? Why would he ever allow the two of you, the most important people in his life, why would he allow you to do it alone? This was the very first time you’ve done this, and he’s realized now that he’s made the biggest mistake.

Forgetting everything he was told, everything he’s learned, Yoongi bounds toward you, using the fast paced walk that his fans clown him for. They absolutely lose their minds, the people around you. 

Wide eyed and shocked, you’d never think he’d break the rules on this one, you sigh in relief when he reaches your side. An arm wraps around your shoulder, Yoongi closing you in front of his chest.

“What are you doing?” you asked, giving your head a small shake.

Your husband smiles, reaching up to pull his mask off of his face, removing yours as well.

“Not letting you do it alone,” he said to you, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. As you could’ve guessed, the collective lost their minds. 

“You’re gonna get in trouble,” you smiled up at him, laughing as he dramatically rolled his eyes.

“You two are always worth it,” he said. “Now, c’mon,” he stepped aside to hold you behind your back, keeping you tucked beneath his arm. Using his other hand he rubbed the baby’s back and gave her cheek a quick kiss, happy to find that once he joined you two she had calmed down. “Let’s go see Kookie.”

Her head shot right up with enormous dark eyes full of stars. “Koo-hee?!”

“Koo-hee!” Both you and Yoongi copy her tiny voice, making her giggle with the silly smiles you flash at her.

The world around you seemed to melt away the second you were in your husband's arms, like all of a sudden you had the strength to handle anything the world would have thrown at you. His grip around your body as he walked with you into the airport was enough to silence the crowd, and power your legs to get through the doors without an incident.

A mere twenty minutes later, the three of you were seated on the plane, your daughter snoozing soundly on her fathers chest while you scrolled through your phone, curious to see what the internet has had to say of your appearance already. Resting his head on your shoulder, Yoongi followed along, making a sweet comment at every single photo of you.

“Oh, that one is the best,” he said quietly, your Twitter scroll stopping on a picture of the three of you before you walked off. The big, genuine, happy smiles you and Yoongi wore were priceless as you grinned at your baby girl, one whose face didn’t make it into any photos- thank the good Lord that somebody believes in. “You should post that one.”

Giving him a sideways glance, you huff a gentle laugh. “To my Instagram? It’s just gone public, you want me to blow it up even more?”

Yoongi tips his chin up, flashing you pouty puppy dog eyes. “I just want them all to know you’re mine. Both of you. I want everyone to know I’m yours, and I always have been.” You gave his forehead a kiss.

“Okay,” you nodded, “I’ll post it. Her face isn’t in any of these, so I can post as many as I want.”

Settling comfortably on your shoulder once again, Yoongi gave you caption advice for the post- an emoji that seemingly had nothing to do with the photo… But, you used it anyway. The angel emoji, with a halo and little wings.

“That one’s perfect,” he whispered, tapping on it for you.

“If you say so,” you smiled. Yoongi sat up a bit, carefully to not disturb his sleeping daughter. “You always pick the random ones.”

“Every single one I use means something,” Yoongi gazed at you fiercely. “That little guy,” he pointed to the angel, “That makes four of us.”

Your lips parted in surprise, unsure of what to say. That week in December devastated you both. Your stomach flips while you watch him study your face. The whirlwind life you live hasn’t given either of you proper time to process, or grieve.

“Baby,” he whispered, closing the space between you to touch his forehead to yours. “You don’t have to post it if you don’t want to.”

Sucking in a deep breath, your eyes welling with tears, you furrow your brows. “What did I do wrong,” escaped you in an exasperated gust of air. Yoongi shifted, wrapping an arm around your back. 

“No,” he said, putting on his strong facade. “We don’t do that, we’ve talked about this. You know there wasn’t anything you did wrong. There wasn’t anything I did wrong. You heard the doctor say it, baby, multiple times. You gave him the perfect home, you’re healthy.” Yoongi paused to gauge where you were, praying that you were listening to him.

You respond after a few seconds, bobbing your head. Taking a deep breath, Yoongi swallows down the lump in his throat.

“It just wasn’t his time,” he whispered. “He wasn’t ready.”

“Yeah,” you whispered fast. Yoongi’s thumb found your cheek, wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“And, you remember the last time we were there, they said we could try again whenever we were ready,” he said. The end of last month you had a check-up with your doctor, just to make sure things were back to normal, and that your body was holding up alright. Your second pregnancy was a surprise, much like the first, you and Yoongi haven’t seemed to learn your lesson. However, losing your son before you had even gotten the chance to hold him in your arms put a lot of things into perspective for the two of you.

There were routine check-ups, you were eating better- both of you! This second child was something that you and your husband both wanted, and though each of your emotions have been through the wringer… You would be willing to try again when you felt like you could handle it.

“I want to,” you whispered. Yoongi smiled, but you could see his own worries within it. “I know, I feel the same way.”

“Together,” he cuts off the nervousness quickly. “We’ll do it together.”

“Uh, we kinda have to,” you giggled, making him laugh.

“I can’t wait,” he sing-songed through clenched teeth with a grin, stealing a kiss from you. Yoongi backs away from you to check on your sleeping daughter who hasn’t made a peep. He was surprised she had let her eyes shut while she was beside the window, normally she’d be gazing out at the clouds passing by.

Picking your phone up off of your lap, you smile at the angel emoji and click post, letting the notifications flood in like wildfire. This was all brand new. You were allowed to make your Instagram public about a week ago, and since then you’ve reached four million followers, while you used to have forty-six. Silencing the notifications from the app, every photo you’ve ever posted amassed an incredible amount of likes. Your feed was a feast, and the public was hungry. 

Four million followers and counting. The number was only going to get bigger.

Watching the photo gain twenty thousand likes whenever you refreshed the page, you nudged Yoongi’s shoulder to show him what was happening, and when he turned his head to look, an unknown number you’ve never seen before popped onto your screen, calling you.

“What the…” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes.

Yoongi snatched the phone from your hand and quickly snapped a photo of the screen with his own, then he silenced yours and went into it, blocking the number who tried to reach you. He called Branson over and showed him the photo, letting the head of security take his phone with him.

“Trace this, or, do something. Tell me who's number this is,” his voice is stern, on alert.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you said, laying your head down on his shoulder. “People get scam calls all the time.”

“Not us,” he said, tone flat.

Not even ten minutes passed before Branson came back, kneeling on the row of chairs in front of your family. He placed his elbows on the head rests and took a deep breath, darting his eyes back and forth from Yoongi to yours.

“Well?” Yoongi asked. Branson handed him his phone and frowned.

“Uh,” he stumbled over a few words, unsure of how to say what he needed to say. “We, um… The phone number belongs to your mother.” His voice is hushed, quiet, like he was afraid to tell you, when in actuality he was afraid to tell Yoongi. Touchy subject. Especially now.

There had been a restraining order set in place since the day after your daughter's first birthday. Yoongi held the meetings and took care of everything, all you had to do was sign. 

Neither one of your parents were allowed to contact you, speak to you or your daughter, or try to see you in person. They were not allowed to mail anything to you, send anyone to see you in place of themselves, nor were they allowed to be in touch with anyone close to you. Sunny included. You had to make a list.

Expecting him to jump out of his seat, you stretch a hand over his lap and grab his other hand, the one on your daughter's back. Sitting up, you turn toward him ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of his expression. It had not faltered. He was stone faced, and you were sick to your stomach.

“Sue her,” he said. Turning to you, he sighed. “We’re changing your number again.”

“D, come on, it’s not like-”

“I don’t care,” he said, peering down to admire his daughter. “She clearly hasn’t gotten the message that you don’t want anything to do with her.” He pointed his focus back to Branson. “Fight it. Do what you can.”

“Got it,” the guard said, and whisked himself away.

It’s quiet for a moment before Yoongi said, “Why are you defending her?”

“I’m not defending her,” you said, and he raised a brow, giving you a funny look. “It’s just… Super annoying to give everyone a new phone number for the third time.” Both your lips turn up into a smile. “Sue the bitch, I don’t care, D.” Yoongi laughs. “Just don’t make me change my number again, I beg of you.”

“Alright,” he said. “No new number. BUT!” His raised volume made your daughter stir. “One more thing happens, you’re changing it.” The little one lifted her head, blinking a few times before she grinned at her father.

“Fine,” you whispered, not that he was paying attention anymore anyway. Your daughter took his full focus, and all of his kisses. 

It seemed silly to just now realize that today was something of a confirmation of the last eight years. Living your life, being a secret to millions of others, while you and the people you cared most about knew, was nice, and secure, and peaceful. But, now… Now that everyone knew, the peace grew. It swallowed you whole, engulfing you and your family with stability and ease.

No more accidental reveals. No more false stories. No more rumors the company had to shut down. No more hiding.

You were absolutely free, and for now, that was everything.

thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece! 

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[whoslaurapalmer]

twin peaks but it happens in 2010. laura palmer have iphone etc etc

this ask has been haunting me since i saw it last night oh my god okay okay so

i wanted to lead with laura being an influencer but no one was quite influencing in 2010 yet. but the point here being that i think she posts a lot online and cultivates her online image very carefully (very soft, carefree, excited teenager) and has a LOT of followers on everything and always gets a ton of likes. bc it's laura, she's so beautiful and special and popular, of course everyone is following her, of course everyone is liking all her posts to get a piece of her

she has a twitter (laurapalmer93) where she posts a lot of pictures with little captions like.......'morning donuts at the diner!!' with a picture of the donuts and a milkshake or a Coffee To Be An Adult, 'can you believe this guy? <3' with a picture of bobby making a face (or even.........dare i say it...........doing the dougie), a picture of donna and james with '<33333333' (modern emojis were just getting really big then but i myself was not a big emoji user in 2010 yet, so neither is laura), 'don't tell ;)' with a picture of her holding a cigarette (of course everyone still smokes in the high school bathrooms).

one time she gets away with posting the lyrics to if i die young by the band perry (IF I DIE YOUNG! BURY ME IN SATIN! LAY ME DOWN ON A BED OF ROSES!) (FUNNY WHEN YOU'RE DEAD HOW PEOPLE START LISTENING!) bc it's a popular song. it raises a few eyebrows but it's a song and it's laura. how seriously do you take teen angst, even among your friends? that's just what laura does. what's there to really worry about, huh? (the song was released in may 2010 but let's say the lead up to her death is in 2010)

on facebook she posts a lot of volunteer stuff. school dance photos, which she helps organize. buy some cookies to support the french club!! she's very involved with student council, and she organizes the group halloween costume. her facebook is filled with photos of her with other people, but not really any of just her. she doesn't post a lot of statuses, but they're usually about homework or tests or 'feels like summer!' towards the end of the school year. she's friends with her parents. she definitely takes ap classes.

she has a private vent twitter (lostinthewoods) with zero followers that she uses as a diary bc she thinks it'll be safer than having it physically written down. her childhood lisa frank diary with the tiny lock and glitter gel pens that she kept in her bed post went missing, after all. her vent twitter is filled with sooooooo many tweets bc this was still the 160 character limit days and she would just post and post and post especially late at night. (she definitely has string lights in her room.) she is a MASTER of using her phone with no one seeing -- she has the layout absolutely memorized. she was only caught texting in class once and of course the teacher let it go.

bob/leland finds her passwords and breaks into the vent twitter and leaves her horrifying tweets she sees later, instead of the back and forth they have in the diary and leland ripping the pages out.

i think she has a third twitter, for sex, but i'm not sure if that tracks for the time period? (snapchat wasn't a thing until fall 2011.) or like a forum sort of thing? i think it's still super easy for laura to sneak out, even in an increased security camera world. there's still a lot of stress on the, yknow, ~secret unexposed underbelly of the world especially in a time of more eyes on everything~ in the 2010s.

meanwhile, james posts music a lot on facebook, and also acoustic covers of songs. like. yknow. HEY SOUL SISTER. donna loves the original pusheen stickers. they record the picnic video on her flip video camera. mike loves icanhascheezburger, and he jailbreaks his phone. audrey gets really into audrey hepburn quote posting, Aesthetic France, black and white photos, berets, has a photography phase and carries and actual camera bc it's Vintage. she's an early tumblr user. no one else in school has a tumblr yet, so she feels very cool but also very lonely about it.

harry has very little understanding of social media, however cooper is very into all social media, he finds it delightful. he enjoys a good cat video. he looks through all of laura's photos, her tweets, facebook videos, and i think there's, honestly even more of a feeling of tragedy bc of how much more physical evidence there is available of laura's life, lingering fingerprints, last tweets, last posts, passwords to put in and information to see, cold blue computer light, the even worse voyeurism in people expecting so much of your life to be online, in watching it play out online, in the image laura created for herself online to be the person people expected

donna rereads laura's twitter in the dead of night, just over and over again. goes back through their texts. so much of grief has become so much more public with social media and using it as a teenager, and there's this back and forth in donna of not posting anything and then posting the most miserable statuses about losing her best friend.

i know i should get deeper into the investigation but i keep thinking instead of how laura definitely gets a 20/20 special. it's probably definitely called 'the secret life of the american teenager.' (bc there was that show on at the time with the same name) elizabeth vargas visits twin peaks, is appropriately grim, there's a lot of b roll of the town and the woods but without the grace of twin peaks' cinematography. they play up the creation of a narrative big, as they always do on 20/20. the revelation of her 'double life' is at the halfway mark and simultaneously not discussed enough and overestimated. 'laura palmer was your average, everyday teenager -- she liked horses. cats. she got good grades, was homecoming queen, had a boyfriend on the football team. she volunteered on weekends. she had her whole life ahead of her. or was there more to the story than anyone knew? was there a dark side to the all-american girl?' oh, it's agonizing. the trailers play up a lot of potential spooky woods stuff that isn't followed through on in the actual episode.

now 20/20 prides itself on getting the story right, so i feel like it's.........i feel like they have to say it's leland at the end (and they definitely never get into anything about bob). but i also think, for some reason, it could easily have a 'we never found the killer' ending. especially re: s3........the thing is, i feel like laura's death particularly is the kind of thing that shows up on 20/20, but the rest of the circumstances would've ended up on like the unsolved mysteries website (the last revival ended in 2010, before the netflix reboot in 2019) (especially with WELL OUR FBI AGENT WENT MISSING). and there's so much online to put together in a website about it, there's so much for people online to dig into who have never even been to twin peaks, to think they know a town and the people in it and the girl who died even if it's just literally THE MOST DISGUSTING VOYEURISM IN THE WHOLE WORLD i just think there's such a. horror in that. people have the most, just, enraging takes when they get involved in a Murder That Happened Somewhere Else. people thinking they alone can figure out a mystery they've never seen, they can of course see something no one else has. and it's different than the people in the town ignoring it -- i think a lot of the secrets in twin peaks stay the same, no matter the time period, so of course it's still, a terrible dying town killing the people in it, maybe even quieter than it is in the original, some new infrastructure but old buildings, not all of them occupied anymore, ANYWAY -- like of course yes people in the town ignore the same amount they did in the original, all small towns bury things. but just bc the town itself isn't paying attention doesn't mean that some rando online is going to know more, no matter how much they think they will. there's like an entitlement to details of a murder, an I Must Be The Hero, The Savior, bc i'm on a fucking reddit thread about it

now i have zero (0) idea of how medical science and forensics work, but i have to assume there have been some advancements in the field between 1989/1990 and 2010/2011. the town still rushes the funeral, but would albert have been able to find anything else sooner? what is it he would have found to point to leland sooner? oh........dna testing, maybe? would he be able to find out about leland right away? there's more of a sense of urgency, maybe less of a slowness between events, even more of a shattering horror. maybe leland goes missing in an attempt to cover things up. hmmmmmm.

final note -- cooper gets called mulder as a nickname bc the x files happened as a show in this universe.

[peachsayshi]

actually going crazy over your last post like i wish i could use better words but it’s actually reduced me to soup for brains rn.

OK BUT imagine all that and include….. forced proximity.

like i have this hc ab having him asigned to you during his transition into the jj world, maybe bc ur technique counters his well somehow? (irrelevant to my horny brain, but i also like to imagine a technique similar to the avatar from atla very ambitious ik, which would include blood bending) and the elders want to be really sure he’s not a threat. so here you are the first few months (im ignoring everything bad going on in the manga lmao) with Choso following you around everywhere bc you’re not allowed to have him out of your sight. can you imagine the first few times he caught on to your “heat” and didn’t know what to do with himself? he can barely get away from you long enough to clear his head and it drives him crazy.

anyways, i could go on forever ESPECIALLY ab Choso, but yeah love your writing and i wanted to share what it made me think of <3

(cw: voyeurism; primal/prey (ish?) )

nonnie, please, let's talk about this some more. choso isn't leaving my head today and I feel like I'm about to go insane.

(ps. the details of your technique countering/balancing choso's is such an amazing idea!! I love that!!)

oh, our poor baby boy. he would be positively frazzled in the beginning - he'd struggle to cope, and look visibly distraught. at first you just think it's an inherent strangeness that he has because he's half cursed spirit. but then you start realizing that this reaction doesn't always happen because there are times when he's completely normal and not like he's been plagued with visceral discomfort.

you like choso. you think he's sweet, a little innocent and naive, but kind overall. he never gave you any reason to doubt that but even you can't deny the dark glimmer in his eye when he looks at you. it's a gaze that he shares with no one else. and the expression on his face, cheeks red with a friendly smile, simply counter the danger that swirls in his irises.

it's a look that makes you want to hide like a bunny scampering away from a lone predator.

of course, you have to tell yourself that you're being foolish. shrugging off your ridiculous nerves when you remind yourself that this is choso you're worrying about.

the man can barely hold it together when yuji shows him one of those adorable cat videos that he finds online. there's no reason for you to be so unnerved by him.

and yet, you're you're hyper aware of how small the space is whenever you're forced to share a room together while away on a mission. you notice that choso, is in fact, quite large and takes up plenty of the space. he's all broad shoulders and ripped muscle; obsidian details contrasting against his smooth, pale canvas. you can't turn without him being in your line of sight.

trapped in a cage of four walls.

it's when you're alone with him that you pay attention to how those eyes deepen, sinking further into the depths of peculiar mystery, revealing a puzzle that you can't seem to decipher. it's when you're alone with them where you realize that sometimes his attention will drop to your lips, or to your breasts. it's when you're alone with him when you feel the pulse of adrenaline reverberate across your skin, goosebumps rising with your heart beating wildly as you ponder whether or not to let your guard down.

he slips up once when you're both away. you swear you felt him breathe in the scent of your perfume against your neck, but choso reacted like nothing was out of the ordinary as you spun on your heel to confront him. his discipline strikes with a twitch of his jaw and a clench of his fist, and he simply fibs that he was looking over your shoulder to observe the mission documents on the table.

his cheeks are blushing furiously now, and it twists your stomach into knots.

he can't possibly...

you shake your head, refusing to reduce his behavior to something so simple as a silly crush.

yes, you both spend a lot of time together, but choso is a death painting womb. he isn't even human. there is no way that he could be feeling those kind of feelings. and especially not with you.

but the thought sits in your head until later that evening, when you're standing in the hotel bathroom. there's an ache in your chest that's spreading down between your legs. you've never actually thought about choso in this capacity, and you don't understand why it's making every nerve tingle.

it's bold of you to make the decision and open the shared bathroom door until it was ajar. to then step into the steamy shower, the silhouette of your enticing, captivating curves a print for the wolf to track. and you can't help but wonder as warm droplets trickle over your soft, delicate skin...if he's standing there right now, and observing you patiently from the shadows.

[uhgood-girl]

why jikook?

i've been asking myself this a lot recently bc well, why them? why not tkook? or ynmin? hell, jihope even, they're underrated as hell honestly, have you seen that hot tub video? hobi was ready to unhinge his jaw to swallow jimin whole (and who (jk) could blame him.)

but jikook, in a not joking way, hits different. they always have. it's been years at this point that i've been deep in this rabbit hole (within the larger bts rabbit hole, my god, how deep does it go) but i don't recall making the conscious decision to fall in.

maybe a little background?

i'm a fake love army. actually, if we're getting technical, i'm an outro tear army bc it was in the comments of the freshly released fake love music video that i saw someone recommend outro tear if i enjoyed fake love and then it was over for me. extremely not fake love at first listen, who's voice is second on this track? i NEED to know. i'm a yoongi/rapline bias to this day. fake love still fucks though, don't get me wrong, it's a never skip for me.

for that first year and then some, i consumed backlogged content like it was my day job. i am a prone to hyper-fixations hermit, basically, who was going to stop me? my therapist? nah, she picks her battles.

i watched everything i could get my grubby little hands on like someone would be testing me on it later. (shoutout qdeoks, you were so real) i didn't open stan twitter for the first time till probably the end of 2018, really just in time to be slapped in the face full force with the shitshow that was a hate campaign against these boys i was deeply invested in by then, the likes of which i had never experienced in an online space up to that point. it was a truly, truly wild era, don't ever let anyone tell you differently.

all that to say, i've been here for a hot minute and i developed my own first impressions on bts and the members as individuals in a vacuum. no one had to point jikook out to me, they stuck out on their own.

potentially relevant disclaimer before we continue: i am really really queer. i grew up in the united states conservative deep south and had to change high schools my sophomore year bc i was outed and then violently ostracized for being in a relationship with my same sex best friend at the time. it is safe to say i have a lot of feelings about and experience even when it comes to having to be low key (understatement lol) about who you love. i am not here just to make my barbies kiss.

actually, on that note, jikook wouldnt even be my chosen barbies out of bts. if we're in true fantasy delulu hours here, i would want yoonjin to be real. god, that would be the stuff, they're so old married as it is. peak romance.

i think the first place jikook ever truly caught my attention were the memories dvds. jimin has always been a sweet, bby angel taking care of all his members but i remember thinking that he seemed to pay a little extra, special attention to jungkook. and of course, why not, jk's the maknae after all. all of them have always been doting on him and deservedly so. but in those briefly shown really serious, quiet moments, jimin was often first in line. a spot very easy for him to obtain tbh as jk never seemed to be very far from him anyway. maybe if you've never in real time lived the satellite jeon accusations (hi pandemic army, bless you, i hope you make it to 2025 when we have them all back without restrictions) you might find them easier to dismiss but it was so consistent back then in all of the content being released. and once noticed, i don't know how anyone ever un-notices it. but i was in deep before i even realized the water was boiling.

should i talk about why not tkook? or ynmin, for me? i'm just pulling those as examples bc i know they're the popular contenders here but all joking in the beginning of this post aside, none of the other members interpersonal relationships, in any configuration (sadly, RIP yoonjin romance), have ever struck me as anything other than puppy crush/deep friendship/family. and that's not bc i don't think over half of those men aren't queer in some form or fashion because WHEW, that is an entirely different post and we simply do not have the time to unpack rn but it's not for lack of looking.

i started in a vacuum, but i have by no means stayed there, i walked in all of those front doors and sat down and said "convince me." i've got the time and lack of life, i am ready to be won over. what have i missed?

to this day i still regularly try and check my own confirmation bias, i'm obviously looking for jikook at this stage but i'm still ready on my toes if any of the others want to get crazy. (yoonjin i am rooting for you, we're all rooting for you)

and i'm not here to really persuade or sway anyone one way or another either. there are a 1000 other blogs on this site that can probably offer you better explanations, specific clips, and detailed break downs of moments throughout the years and even then people are going to see what they want to see. i just wanted to write some of my own thoughts down finally.

though...i guess if i had to point to any one single piece of "evidence" it would definitely be tried and true gcf tokyo? but if watching that the first time didn't ring through you like a gunshot, i def don't think there's anything i could say beyond that.

honestly, i think so much of "why jikook" for me boils down to the pit in the bottom of my stomach that i used to get when i first began to notice them. when i got past the initial warm fuzzies inspired by the sincerity of their interactions, my immediate second emotion was concern.

i remember the first time i heard some of the other boys make an offhand joke about them being a couple and i got anxious, fast. i thought hide, hide better, please be safe. i began to pay extra attention to the other members in general too when jikook would do things and felt like i could sometimes see a similar anxiety to my own in their expressions. for a long time, i just worried about them and where i saw other people rejoice in their more obvious moments, i was slow to celebrate.

despite my initial hesitation, it's now been about 5 years since the first time they ever made me double take. they're a few years younger than me but i feel like we've been growing up together. (parasocial? idk her.) they're less conspicuous these days, and for lots of obvious reasons, but i feel like overall, their confidence in themselves and each other is quite high. i know that's probably a funny thing to say in light of this last week especially, but i stand by it. i've seen this song and dance before. i have managed my own expectations in the past, taken full steps back only to be beaten anew over the head so many times with enough "coincidences" i felt borderline foolish to try and deny anything. jikook are truly some sort of neuro-spicy pattern recognition drug, i swear.

and i've never really gotten to talk about any of this with anyone before! i'm shy irl, and shy online apparently bc i have just been lurking around the outer lines of this circle this whole time like some creepy creep but i've decided i'm over it. fuck it. growth.gif. idk that i have anything important or new to contribute to the conversation but my god, no one else seems to let that stop them so i might as well take my turn on the soapbox, no?

so 📢 JIKOOK REAL (?) jikook sus. jikook make bandaged queer little heart go boom boom.

[siconetribal]

Put it on My Tab (19)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Warning: Frustration, Online Gaming, and Revelations

A/N:

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know! I’d also greatly appreciate it if rebloggers remember to add the tags (or some at least).

As always, a huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

All occupants of Wayne manor knew Jason was in a sour mood. To what extent or why was not clear, but it was obvious in his lack of snippy banter and increased silence, and when he did respond, it was sharper than usual. It was as if he was regressing back to the days when he was still finding his footing amongst them. He and Bruce never had an outwardly discussion clarifying everything, but there was something that was done to help build a new foundation, regardless oh how shaky that was.

They tried to approach the second Robin in a variety of ways, trying to unearth the reason for the sudden slip into anger. Some thought Bruce and him had an argument, while others thought there may be trouble in the Outlaws. Neither was able to confirm their suspicions, and any attempt to do so was met with aggression and deflection.

Annoyed by all their brown nosing, Jason left the manor and spent the next couple of nights at his own apartment. Of course, I’d have no privacy in a house full of detective vigilantes. He rolled his eyes as he rolled out of bed and made his way over to his computer. Plopping onto the chair, he let it wheel backwards before pulling himself forward by the desk. He stared at the game icon on his desktop for what felt like the umpteenth time today. His fingers drummed just below his keyboard as he eyed his mouse, which rested only a couple inches away. I can’t just log on and act like I haven’t been gone in forever. She’s probably pissed that her online buddy has been MIA for so long. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back, the chair reclining with his weight. This is my only way to even speak to her, though. I cleared up the bill crap, maybe I can meet her again through here? Fake that I didn’t know who she was? Not like she’d ever know that I knew anyway. Pursing his lips to one side, he intensely stared at his ceiling, as if it held some sort of secret that would aid him in his decision to long on or not. 

“Fuck it, I’m logging on!” The seat swung forward with him as he sat up and logged onto the game.

Arkam_Knight has logged in. The italicized text popped up on the screen, much to Y/N’s surprise. Her character was currently standing in the town square looking at the request board for something that was easy enough for a solo hunt. Seeing the name of her dearly miss comrade was an answer to her desperate pleas for some miracle because there was no mission that allowed solo entry. She eagerly opened the chat box and began to type.

<Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Where have you been?! I would’ve called the police for a wellness check, but I don’t have a clue on where you live.>  She watched the ellipses bounce then vanish repeatedly for a couple of minutes. The longer he took to reply, the more concerned she was becoming. An unknown weight slowly creeped onto her shoulders. Anxious thoughts spun around in her mind. The distant ding of his response was able to rip her from the thoughts.

<Yeeeaaah, my bad. Work was crazy and shit had me all over the fucking place trying to clean up. I can’t go into detail, a lot of confidential crap.>

<Yeah, I figured. So, I know you can’t tell me what you do for a living, but I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re working as a high level officer of some kind. I won’t ask you what branch, but sounds like you do work city wide, which I have no clue how you handle that.>

<Someone’s gotta do the dirty work, right? It ain’t for everyone. It just so happens that I’ve got a knack for it.> He added a little proud sticker. <You’ve been MIA yourself, I’ve logged in a few times and saw you hadn’t been on in a while.>

<Where do I even begin? Life has been kicking both of us in the asses, it seems.> She sent an exhausted sticker. She paused for a few minutes, staring at her blinking cursor. How was she going to explain it all to him? Would it even be believable? She, herself, also found it hard to swallow was true. From dealing with Waynes to meeting two of Batman’s partners to being part of a claim investigation because of the collateral damage to the building.

I thought dealing with snobby rich kids and wild Karens was as crazy as my life was going to be. Who knew I’d be entangled with crime fighters and a Trust Fund kid. She slumped in her seat, slowly tapping at the space bar to let him know she was still there. Erasing the long gap of emptiness, she sat up once more.

<Give me a sec, gotta organize my thoughts on this.>

<Damn, that much? Take your time, I’m here.>

<Thanks.> She smiled at the animated thumbs up sticker was sent. At least I still hot my friends.

Jason sank back into his computer chair, rocking back and forth and swinging side to side as he awaited for her response. Watching the symbol of her typing appear and disappear multiple times was far more torturous than he anticipated. He knew what she was going to tell him, he was there with her. She did not know that, and he did not know how she took any of it. The only thing he could rely on were the facts, but that did nothing for his nerves.

If someone told him that he would wake up one morning in a hotel room next to a stranger, who knew how to get under his skin and take over his thoughts, he would have laughed at them. If they told him she was his online gaming buddy as well, he would have scoffed the added detail and never spoken to the person for being out of their mind. And yet, here he was, months later, talking to that very strange woman, battling between keeping in touch and cutting all ties. 

If things could just go back to when we didn’t know each other, it could just be simpler. I can’t even game with her without feeling some sort of way. He rubbed his chest as that uncomfortable weight sank onto his heart. I should’ve just paid the bill and let it be. Why did it matter if she knew me or not? I knew she got screwed over because of me, I should’ve just ended it as soon as I found her. His irrational actions bothered him. He was a cold and calculating vigilante that played by his own rules. He even ran the crime world for a time when he was completely at odds with Batman and was blinded by his heightened rage. He survived death and a beating from the Joker. Handling a hotel bill for a girl should not be this difficult, and yet here he was stuck in quicksand. He glanced at his computer monitor and his eye twitched at the site of the dots vanishing again. “What is she doing, right a novel?!” He threw his hands up and heaved a heavy sigh.

He swung his chair straight at the ding and leaned in close to the monitor, skimming the paragraph before forcing himself to read from the start.

<Ok, Dickens, you didn’t tell me you were publishing a novel! Lol, give me a sec to read all this.>

 It started off as he expected, she mentioned their first few meetings and how she fumbled with trying to hide herself. He could not help the snicker that came at her admission of being angry at him, but a grin quickly took over when she confessed that she found him good-looking. 

“Damn right, you did! I’m fucking handsome!” He boasted, puffing his chest with pride before diving back into the text. I came that night and those pricks were there, ok, Nightwing and Red Robin came crashing through the window, fine, so then-wait, what the fuck! His gaze snapped back to the two mentioned vigilantes and the incident he was not aware of at all. “When the fuck did this happen? Did Dickhead do this on purpose?! I’m going to enjoy getting answers out of him later.” He cracked his knuckles as a wicked smirk took over. He carefully read through the incident and soon realized that this was in fact a coincidence, but his ‘darling’ older brother failed to mention it to him. At least they left her a tip.

Pushing forward, he read about the following insurance claim filing that was on going to prove that this was not something staged. Then there were her concerns about a particular caffeine addicted young teen who was another Wayne with another name. His mind instantly flashed to the memory of Tim’s coffee cup.

Don’t tell me he’s in on it too! Nosy assholes, Jason was ready to flip his computer table but kept his composure. No, he can’t be. He hasn’t been asking me shit or tailing me in any way. That means this is just his need for coffee, and she makes damn good coffee. He reasoned himself back into a state of calm to read onwards. The name of the detective in charge of the claim has him seeing red. He paced the length of his bedroom to avoid breaking his only means of communication with her. “Oh, I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him the next time I see him! That was on purpose, he chose to take the lead on this because I told him her name. Dickhead is in for a world of pain.” His voice rumbled in anger as he expended the rage through physical activity. 

He sat back in his seat when he felt he was calm enough to, and continued to read the rest of what she had to say. She finally got to their last evening together. He made her brownies and she was really touched by it.

<I was purely joking about the brownies, but he actually went through with it! I don’t think I’ve ever dated a guy who made me brownies, and he’s a stranger! It’s insufferable just how perfect he is for dropping such a huge bill on my head!> She punctuated with angry stickers. <I didn’t want to eat them, though. I wanted to keep them forever, like a memento since-well, I’m getting a head of myself.> She dove into the details of their diner date. He remembered that night, they talked for hours, but it felt like hardly any time had even gone by. <I hated asking him to pay, but I had to. It was getting to be too much for me and my roomie. He was great about it, a real gentleman. I said to just help with what was left, but he paid me the whole thing! I really had him wrong in my head. We ended up staying out late, talking. I don’t think I’ve ever had such an easy conversation with a guy before. When the diner had to close, he took me home and even waisted until I got through the front door. But now I don’t have any reason to talk to him, and he hasn’t made any effort to reach out to me either. Which loops back to the brownies. I wanted to keep them as a memento because it looks like that chapter is closed. But all of his efforts would’ve gone to waste. They were really good, which sucks. Now he’s even more of a jerk wad because it’s not fair! My roomie has plans to celebrate my freedom, but I’m not so sure. I want to, but it involves the tip from Nightwing and Red Robin. Would that be considered evidence or something I should hand over to the detective at my formal interview?>

The infamous Red Hood sat there, speechless, with his head swimming from his and her emotions. She clearly wanted to keep up their friendship, and he did too, but it was not safe. She was already linked to two of them, which was bad enough. He knew he was the worst of them to ever be associated with, and that made this more irritating for him. He muttered profanities as he slammed his fist on the desk. If only he could untangle himself from all this, everything would be fine.

<Shit, you really were busy. Glad to hear he paid his dues like a man. But if he’s so hot, why not just ask him out yourself?> He suggested. He needed to act like any other citizen. He needed to distance himself from himself in her mind. <Did you really serve Nightwing and Red Robin while they were on a mission? I definitely wouldn’t have thought about giving them coffee in the middle of all that. Though, he sounds like a weirdo saying your name so many times. I doubt he was threatening you, maybe he’s got some weirdo fetish? I’d say keep away from him. As great as he is, a masked guy flipping through the Gotham night in spandex must have some sorta thing.> He insisted. That’s what you get, Dick-wing. He smirked. <The tip is yours to keep, you served them, and they gave you a tip. Unless it had some secret message or some sort of flash drive, cash isn’t going to be a dig deal. Plus, they didn’t ask you about the tip though they saw it on camera, you’re good. It’s yours, use it.>

<Yeah, she said the same thing. Said it was a gift from the heavens and I shouldn’t be so paranoid. Also, no way in hell am I asking him out! He’ll think I’m some gold digging hussy! The guy paid for dinner and the hotel bill, I think I’m the last person he wants to see again!>

<Listen to me, I’m a guy, trust me. If he thought you were a gold digger, he would’ve ended shit right away or left you at the diner. The guy made you brownies! I think you can give him some slack and think that maybe, just maybe, he likes your company too?>

<If he liked it so much, why hasn’t he texted me?>

<Because he’s a bigger dumbass and overthinks like you? Thinks you hate him or that you don’t want anything to do with him because he landed you in shit?> He countered. <You don’t have to do anything, I’m just saying thinking about it. Whatever you choose, just don’t abandon me again! Solo raiding was horrible!> He added a few tearful stickers to gain sympathy.

<You think? Alright, alright, I get it! Sheesh, I just told you, I didn’t vanish on purpose! I promise, I’ll keep in touch as best I can! I don’t have to OT anymore, so that’s promising. Thanks for listening. Now, let’s go kick some monster tail!>

<LOL, anytime! I thought you’d never ask!>

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