#this is 1.5k why is len like this

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Hi! For the kink thing you're doing - could we please please get a Billy Russo competency + overstim kink (or competency and praise, whichever pairing you prefer). In my mind the reader gets *ideas* when Billy is building something (bc those damn IKEA dressers are difficult) or maybe she goes to Anvil one day and sees him doing like training with recruits or something? Anyway, sorry for the ramble and thank you in advance!

I am!

Masterlist

In the Sniper's Nest

Contains: Consent and kink negotiation, hand kink (you get an extra one), competency kink, fingering, overestimation, P in V, fluff.

1.5K words

You check out the new instalment at Anvil, a sniper's nest that Billy seems to love.

Despite his ear protection, he still heard you ascending the steps of the sniper's nest. It was Anvil's newest toy, the tall structure standing out above the skyline of the flat warehouse. He pulled aside his ear muff and pulled the earplug free, pushing himself up from his position lying on the table in the middle of the room to rush over to greet you. "Hi."

You tapped your own ear muff with a smile. "What?"

He pulled them off your head and placed them around your neck as you yanked the earplugs out. "These are a good look for you."

You chuckled. "Yes, that gun is very loud."

He smiled and leaned down to kiss you, his hand soft on your cheek as you leaned against him. He pulled away, brushing your hair from your face as he looked down at you lovingly. "Now what are you doing here?"

You sighed. "I missed you, you've been busy and we've been missing our lunch dates." You furrowed your brow. "Why are you in your suit?" Normally during training, he wore his grey fatigues.

He sighed. "I just got done showing our client our new space. They were very impressed."

You took the chance to look around the small room. It was set up like an embedded sniper outpost, the walls covered in large charts about wind speed and bullet type, even though it was furnished like a dining room in a dilapidated apartment. The only things that really stood out were the new couch in one corner and the shelves of binoculars and PEE along one wall. "It looks even better than the photos." It really felt like you were in enemy territory.

He took your hand and led you to the table, gesturing to his rifle with a smile. "You wanna watch?"

You nodded, and he walked around the table to the shelves, picking up a pair of safety glasses and a set of binoculars. He placed the binoculars on the table and pulled you close, sliding the safety glasses over your face before booping your nose as you held back your giggles. "You're being silly, Billy."

He bent his head and kissed you again before helping you climb onto the table and settling next to you. His shoulder was back bracing the riffle as you looked through the lens, and the shot shook the room while smoke billowed from the barrel. You didn't see anything until he tapped your shoulder and pointed to one of the trees at the very edge of the property. Another look clarified what he was shooting at as another shot rang out, and a left was blown clear of its branch.

It happened like that each time, the green leaves disappearing in a puff as the boom of the gun jerked the table until he ran out of bullets. When he finally placed the weapon on the ground, you still found yourself unable to look away from the sight, he hadn't missed a shot the whole time. He ran his hand all the way up your back, finally breaking your attention away from the tree. You removed everything from your head and turned backwards to face them. "That was very impressive."

He was smiling, his ego clearly boosted by the look of amazement on your face. "I gotta go back to the armoury and clean my rifle. You wanna come?"

You nodded. "Of course I do."

The trip was short, only down the stairs and through a door before you were standing in an expansive space loaded with guns. He made his way to the large table with you following close behind and began to dissemble the weapon, taking it apart piece by piece before cleaning each part with care, his face a mask of concentration as the burnt gun powdered turned into shiny metal.

"You see something you like?" He looked so smug.

You most definitely did, each movement of his slender fingers was precise and controlled more like a dance than a tedious process he could do with his eyes closed and one hand tied behind his back. "Yes, many things, would you like me to list them?"

If you thought he was smug before, that was nothing compared to how he was now. "Nah, I think I have a pretty good idea."

The gun was put away in his personal spot, and he washed his hands in the slop skin as you watched on, swaggering up to you and lifting you onto the table when he was done. "You need something from be gorgeous girl?"

You nodded. "Many things."

He settled between your spread legs, his fingertips playing with the hem of your jeans as he gazed into your eyes. "Are my fingers one of them?"

It was hard to concentrate on anything when he was touching you, but you knew if you didn't answer, nothing would happen. "Yes, I would like that very much."

He smirked and popped open your jeans, slowly undoing the zip if only to toy with you before his fingers met your core. "You got something you need to tell me about, because there's no way my poor landscaping and the smell of gun oil has got you this wet."

He wasn't pulling any punches, there was no tease or slow build, he was doing exactly what he needed to bring you right to the edge before your brain could catch up. "You're very good at things…" You took a deep breath to gather yourself as heat spread out from where his fingers were on you. "And I like that you're good at things."

The feeling of his fingers leaving your skin shocked you into action and you tugged at his clothes while he tugged at yours, and before long, you were both naked with your clothes in little piles around you. "You know what else I'm good at?"

You knew exactly what answer he was looking for by the way his thumb was rubbing at the inside of your thigh. "Yes, yes I do."

He smiled and returned to touching you with the same insistence as before. It didn't take long for the pressure to build in your core, and he knew it. His beard scratched your skin as his lips worried at your neck, and he smiled into your skin as you clenched around nothing. He didn't stop there, his long fingers filling you before the aftershocks could fade.

Everything was so steady and practised, the fingertips on your G-spot, his lips on yours, each move intentional and purposeful until you were once again cresting the hill into bliss. He was unrelenting, pushing and pushing and pushing until one orgasm faded into another and space reduced to just the two of you in the empty Anvil warehouse.

"Please, Billy, I can't take it anymore." That was only half a lie, you could have told him no if you needed to.

He chuckled warmly, pulling his hand away and sucking his fingers into his mouth with a groan before speaking. "So you don't want me inside you?"

His tone held just a hint of mischief, and you nipped his shoulder as he chuckled. "I'll take that as a yes."

You nodded. "Yes please."

His forehead fell against yours as he slid inside you, taking a careful pace as you leaned your weight into him. He wrapped his arms around your body, controlling the pace as you wove one hand into his hair and held the table with the other. As his speed picked up, he pulled back to watch your blissed out face, grunting like an animal with every thrust as he took in the sight of your screwed tight eyes and heaving chest. "Billy..I."

He kissed you softly, whispering against your lips as his fingers made their way to your clit. "I know, gorgeous, I can feel it. How about you be a good girl and cum for me again."

You were powerless to resist his request, not when he said it so sweetly and as you were swept into the undertow of it, his teeth sunk into your lower lip as he followed you.

You stayed together for a breath before he finally stepped back, smirking as you twitched. "Sorry."

You huffed. "No you're not."

He kissed the corner of your mouth with a smile. "You're right about that."

He reached down for your clothes, dressing you piece by piece before dressing himself. Your eyes went wide, and he paused, looking at you intently as if he could decipher your worry. "Umm, is Jerry watching the cameras?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "I made sure they were turned off when we walked in here."

You fained offence and shoved his shoulder playfully. "You ass, you planned this from the start."

He nodded and kissed you again. "Yep. You can't be mad, you love me."

You sighed. "I do but I'm expecting you to make it up to me, I can't have you scheming all the time."

The look of lust on his face told you what he was thinking. "Oh, don't worry, I will."

Fin

@thegirlwhowritesfics

[seelestia]

⟡ to set one's self aflame. (do it all for love.)

⎯ how protective are they of you? how do they protect you and how do they like being protected in return? { s for security ノordered by @phantovia! }

RESERVED FOR! ꒰ character ꒱. lyney ft. gn!reader. { 1.5k words wc }

FLAVOR! ꒰ genre ꒱. fluff & sprinkles of lore angst, established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ꒰ tags ꒱. lowkey a character study made poetic (???). mentions of self-destructive habits, also pls don't smile at lyney bcs he's weak in the knees for u.

BAKER’S NOTE! ꒰ thoughts ꒱. thanks for the req, yona! i got to appreciate this silly guy all over again thanks to u ‹3 ik ur acc is already archived so i hope this made for a nice tribute. pls take care of urself & have a good life ahead 🫂

© seelestia on tumblr, june 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

lyney is protective to a concerning extent. the instinct of an older brother, maybe?

there is some sort of irony to be found in it all since the reason he protects to a 'concerning' extent is out of concern in the first place.

behind his show of brilliance, you consider yourself lucky enough to have witnessed a side to lyney that his audience wouldn't have guessed; that he is a worrier in every aspect of the word. whether for his family, for you, for his friends or for others he comes across that are plagued by misfortune - if all that worry were to come in the shape of dimes, he'd already have an abundance of them to share with the entire nation of fontaine.

but he has no choice, does he?

his background is not a clean slate nor is it a display of sunshine and rainbows resembling his magic shows. lyney's hands are tainted, covered by his gloves as a measly means of self-solace. he has to worry. associating himself deeply and intimately with another is a risk on its own - comparable to dragging someone else down into the murkier depths with him. he can never do that, never has the courage nor the heart to.

(but fortunately for him, you've always been braver than most.)

. . .isn't that why you offered your hand, your trust to him first? he swore to never let you down from that day on.

easier said than done, however.

the house of the hearth operates within the shadows but as for its foes? some also prefer to dwell in the dark and some move in broad daylight. no matter what it is, they all require the same precaution: for him to keep his guard up at all times. every child has been trained by “father” to know that but you're an innocent, tied to this precarious matter merely due to your connection with him.

(“i don't regret anything,” you told him but he didn't look into your eyes, conflicted. you couldn't tell if he believed you or not.)

how was your day? have you eaten? you look sad, did something happen? — all these little questions are a way for him to show that he cares, that you're important, that you're his responsibility and he'll be there for you.

bound by both guilt and love, lyney promises to keep you safe. from whatever kinds of threats there are; whether it be fools with nefarious schemes or even an insect you're too scared to touch, he'll keep you safe all the same. so please, don't hide from him if you're dealing with something. it's better to let him handle it. . . right, correction: the two of you can handle it together.

(truly, his desire to protect can both be his greatest strength and most formidable foe.)

the way lyney protects is through self-sacrifice, granting peace in exchange for destruction of the self.

since the very beginning, lyney has grown used to seeing the world through the lens of a protector.

he recalls the old times where he and lynette loitered the streets in ragged clothes and the only refuge he could provide her with was his hand. it mattered not if he was freezing cold from the rain. . . as long as his little sister was protected, comforted by whatever warmth he had left - it's alright. to do that wasn't an option then, it was a necessity.

to sacrifice himself is a habit. it's easy to adopt but not at all easy to discard.

in lyney's eyes, burdens often seem as if they would be lighter upon his shoulders than they are on another's - but this is only wishful thinking. only meant to convince himself that pain shall eventually lose its harsh bite the more he bears it. “well, has it?” if asked, he cannot give an answer. regardless, that alone is enough of a justification for him because he can't bear the thought of doing anything else; to stand idly by, to be utterly useless.

if he has the means to protect others, why wouldn't he do so? even if he wears himself down to the bone, he’d do it again. akin to a bright flame lit in a hearth, lyney envelopes those near him in a blanket of warmth - and if the blaze threatens to flicker, he'd simply ignite a piece of himself to prevent it from diminishing into futile cinders. he won't let it happen.

(but little does he know that even cinders still serve a purpose. they exist as proof, a sign that his sacrifice has never been in vain.)

in return, lyney feels protected by simply knowing that you're happy (and your acknowledgement of his efforts).

let's call it an innate principle that belongs to a magician; he wants to see smiles on the faces of others. “a smile weighs much lighter for your face to carry compared to a frown, no?” he joked to you once, tapping gently on the corner of his lips with a grin. it was said with a light heart, but you knew he meant it deep down.

(he always does so much, only to ask for so little in return.)

you were not so cruel that you couldn't even grant him that, so you smiled. genuine and grateful. “. . .thank you, lyney,” you said. he fell quiet then. had the wind been knocked out of his lungs or had the world stopped spinning? he thought he saw stars in your eyes, but that couldn't possibly be true. the sun glaring down at him from behind the clouds above remained unmoved.

not like it mattered, anyway. his poor heart was far too occupied with you to care about the answer. “o-oh? you're welcome. . .” lyney blinked, multiple times, dazedly.

gratitude is not a foreign concept to him; he often receives it from an audience member, a lonely elder he briefly chatted with, a fellow member from the house of the hearth — so, just what makes it different now? perhaps, it's because he knows that you've beared witness to his heart that lies deeper within.

that you see right through him, that you're thanking him for who he truly is, although he no longer has a definite image of “self” from the countless white lies piling at his feet like a tower. yet he finds comfort in it, in the way you hold his sullied hands so kindly. he isn't wearing gloves this time. strange, lyney had never imagined transparency to be a feeling so benevolent and cathartic.

no matter what thoughts are buzzing in his head or what ache tugs on his body, they can pester him as much as they'd like - with one swift recall of your smile, lyney feels as if he can banish them even if momentarily. they'll come back sooner or later, he knows, but is it cowardly of him to find solace in that brief respite?

when lynette taps on his cheek to wake him up in the morning, when freminet knocks on his door to deliver something, when other siblings flock around him to welcome him home, or when you come to visit him after a long day — those worries disappear — but even if he already knows that they will make their inevitable return. . . perhaps, everything will be okay.

(it has to be, he tells himself.)

“did something happen yesterday?”

your lunch with a certain feline girl in front of hotel bouffes d'ete kickstarts with a simple question. but the abruptness of it all wipes away the content look on your face and replaces it with a frown.

the tea in your cup reflects your reflection as much as it does your perplexity. lynette lifts her own teacup to her lips, composed while you're lost in thought, confused.

“lyney went home with a wide smile on his face yesterday,” she elaborates, humming either at the tea or at the current matter she's recalling. perhaps, even both but you aren't sure yet. “while this wouldn't be an odd occurrence, i thought there must've been a special occasion to warrant a smile that wide.”

ah. the realization dawns on you in gentle waves. he said something that prompted a smile out of you yesterday — the exchange of a kind “thank you” from your side and a flustered “you're welcome” from his — not that smiling is a rarity around him, hardly, the one thing magicians do best is attract smiles.

your gaze drifts down to stare at nothing in particular. fond memories filled with the face of a familiar magician swims before your eyes. “hm. . . it must've meant a lot more to him than i expected,” you mumble to yourself. in your eyes, you'd think the look on your face represents the paradigm of nostalgia but in lynette's eyes, you look like a madman smiling to yourself so intensely.

“not you too,” she lets out a resigned sigh, placing down her teacup. “smiling to yourself like that. . .” she shakes her head in a disappointed manner, “you and lyney must've been rubbing off on each other these days.”

“maybe a bit too much,” lynette adds, but there is a ghost of a smile on her face this time around.

you can only smile sheepishly.

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

[plusultraetc]

👀👀 you mentioned a sports festival rant?

YES Sports Festival rant!! When I answered this ask about MHA favorites, I 'jotted down a couple of notes about the Sports Festival' which turned into like. A 1.5k word essay. In my defense, this arc truly does have it all, the good, the bad, and the ugly. There's so much to talk about here that 1.5k words doesn't even begin to cover it!!

The Good:

So until now I have been a predominantly anime fan who occasionally reads the manga when I need a quick refresher on something, or I just want to reexperience a chapter through a slightly different lens. That being said, I haven't read through the Sports Festival arc in its entirety, so my opinions are based on the anime, and in the anime, this is genuinely such a fun arc to watch. It has a similar low-stakes-high-energy vibe to Joint Training; the audience is properly introduced to so many new characters and their quirks; and there are some really great emotional beats throughout (shoutout to Todoroki vs Sero. I am HAUNTED by the entire stadium in awe of Todoroki's instant-win juxtaposed with Midoriya thinking 'In that moment, he looked very sad to me.' That split-second moment where Todoroki wonders if not using his father's quirk really makes him any less Endeavor's son? HAUNTED.)

MY PERSONAL FAVORITE PART OF THE ARC: Aizawa & Present Mic's stand up comedy routine in the commentator's booth. They had no reason to be as funny as they were. 'There you have it folks, Eraserhead is a terrible teacher' I mean. I did write a fic about the circumstances leading up to the comedy routine and it is,, not super lighthearted but let's ignore that for now and focus on the silly. I WILL SAY, something else Sports Festival does is constantly remind me that characters like Aizawa, Mic, Midnight, and All Might are products of UA and, in turn, of pro hero society. Those first three especially are products of an All Might-centric pro hero society, which adds another messy layer to the things they are willing to accept and even encourage. Huge brainrot about the pro hero house of cards balanced on the wobbly table that is All Might forever!!

Midoriya is really at his most Midoriya in this arc also. I personally think Izuku is at his best when his ingenuity and empathy are the focus (these are character traits that imo become less and less prominent as the show goes on and his focus shifts to becoming stronger. You can probably pinpoint the exact moment where his priorities change (at least I think so?) and then you could probably write an essay about trauma and responsibility and cry). ANYWAY, early Midoriya is Very Worried All The Time about doing exactly as All Might says, which is why it is so so important that he does not win the Sports Festival. The Festival is kind of a microcosm of the pro hero world, with the medal ceremony being the parallel/precursor for hero rankings. Coming in first place/being Number One is a big big deal in this arc, as always. Izuku's most impactful moment is when he prioritizes something (or someone) else over that coveted first place medal, in spite of how badly he wants to impress All Might and be worthy of his legacy. He was just a really good bean in this arc okay???

The "Bad" (but no less interesting!):

As wonderful as it was to see the pro heroes come to the rescue at USJ, the Sports Festival is here to remind us that, in so many ways, this world is a dystopia. It's not just because of the Hunger Games-esque nature of watching children fight each other & broadcasting it worldwide for entertainment and profit. When you think about it, the Sports Festival is kind of like college-level sports, just with superpowers and high schoolers (there's even a recruitment aspect. It's literally like MHA college football). And sure, fighting each other with superpowers is considerably more violent than your average sport, but they do have people with healing quirks like Recovery Girl on standby. Even serious injuries can literally be undone in seconds. What makes the college sports-ification of hero school so weird is the 'hero' part. Like, not only are you already indoctrinating your future heroes (who have so much relatively unchecked power & responsibility as pros) into the hero/celebrity culture super early on, but the students are competing to impress current pros, secure a good internship, and further their careers. Like. You're essentially teaching them that being a good hero = putting on a good show. Maybe if the point wasn't to 'win' an internship it wouldn't be so strange to me but as is? Wild. Really fun bit of worldbuilding. I am spinning it in my head like a carnival prize wheel.

I also want to take a minute to talk about the medal ceremony here. I thiiink that Bakugou being chained to the podium is meant to be comedic(?), kind of a 'look how mad he is, they literally had to drag him out here' moment, but the conflation of hero/villain imagery in this scene. Omg. Again, the medal ceremony is like a mini hero ranking (that he has won!!!) but the only other time we've seen a muzzle-like thing like the one Bakugou is wearing is on a villain in the first episode. To bring that back at this moment?? The bars of my enclosure. The bars of my english degree. Agh.

I actually mentioned this around the time I posted that very silly Sports Festival fic for Monoma’s birthday, but can we talk about how 1-A IMMEDIATELY turns on each other during this arc? Like?? They’re a MESS. Obv the writing reason for this is that there needs to be competition to make this competition arc interesting (and it succeeds!) but 1-A’s immediate willingness to go for the jugular gets Really Awkward when you realize they are literally the only class that does this—and, what’s more, that there is literally no reason for them to do this. Unnamed 1-C student #3 is right: the other first year classes are only participating in the Festival to make the hero students look good. We know this because the first challenge—the obstacle race—is literally designed to eliminate non-Hero Course students from the competition. Even if hero students didn’t have (generally) more powerful quirks and more training than everyone else, the very first obstacle in the race is the Hero Course Entrance Exam robots—ie, a challenge the hero students have already beaten, but that disqualified students from other courses from admission. Even deliberately hanging back and doing recon, 1-B is able to get all of their students through the obstacle race. Then, after the Cavalry Battle, we see 1-B once again demonstrating a level of maturity and support that the vast majority of 1-A severely lacks. I know I sound like Monoma rn, but I think this has a lot to do with the fact that, as we continue to see throughout the series, 1-A takes a lot of their cues from Midoriya and Bakugou and, to a lesser extent because he’s so quiet, Todoroki. Later, this is a good thing, because the mini big three pushes their class to be the best they can be, but here, these three characters are in shambles—insecure and off-kilter and desperate to prove something, and that energy very much spreads to their peers--which I personally think is great bc it makes for good TV and leaves lots of room for character growth!

The Ugly:

You have no idea how tempted I am to just put a picture of Stain here. He would deserve it for what he did to my man Tensei. I actually love Stain as a villain but SPEAKING OF WHAT HE DID TO MY MAN TENSEI.

The show tells you how important the Sports Festival is. Everyone treats it like it’s the Olympics, except fifty times more important. UA students are scouted by pro heroes and agencies during the event, and putting on a good show can literally change the course of your career (just as doing poorly can ruin it before you even get a chance to graduate). More sports analogies! This makes sense. But the thing is, countless pros show up to watch the event in person. Even more provide security. Literally my first thought was, if I was a criminal I would commit so many crimes during the Sports Festival. Who tf would be around to stop me? And then I had a good laugh because we actually see Shigaraki watching the Festival and I was like ‘oh, there isn’t a spike in villain attacks because the villains are watching it too lol.’

But THEN, Tensei gets attacked by Stain ON THE DAY OF THE FESTIVAL. So there are still heroes out hero-ing and villains out villain-ing, and it’s probably way easier to do the latter when everyone from All Might to Endeavor and beyond are watching teenagers beat the tar out of each other. But you’ve gotta scout those future interns and sidekicks so what are you gonna do!! Once again, the Sports Festival is a microcosm of pro hero popularity society—it’s this insulated little bubble where everyone is so worried about how they look, where they ranked, who they beat to that podium, while the real world carries on outside. Iida himself is distracted by that shiny first place medal until Stain attacking his brother body slams him back to reality.

[pneumosia]

𝔀𝓮𝓵𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓷𝓮𝓾𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓪’𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 — the individual masterlists are separated by individual characters i write for.

萊歐斯利 ┆ WRIOTHESLEY

link. ❤︎ through bulletproof glass (let me shield you) [ 1.5k ]

you once underestimated wriothesley’s dedication as your bodyguard—his sharp eyes always on you, his footsteps an echo of yours, never more than a breath away. despite your rather strange dynamic, you would always be glad to have his presence nearby—to keep you both safe, and sane.

芮克先生 ┆ MR. RECA

link. ❤︎ bound beyond time (i’m forever yours) [ 5.5k ]

in the center of every stage was you, yours was a face he couldn’t and never wanted to forget. the contrary applied to you in every life you’ve lived, all except this one. to his surprise—this time, his was the face you remembered from the times he extended his hand out to you after every performance.

砂金 ┆ AVENTURINE

link. ❤︎ drowned in reality’s gaze [ 1k ]

usually, glass reflects your appearance—the appearance that cannot be caught by a measly lens. like a puddle of water, it captures the radiance beneath the illusion—so why did it capture the fading light in your eyes instead? the failure he can’t come to accept.

[gloopytits-chaosmod]

it wont matter how great you make a thing, people who see art as a productive force will always judge you for how well your life fits into an office environment you're not even working in. like the act of work is so worthless you gotta make up reasons to be upset at people as if mild pressure from the guy above the guy above suddenly promotes you to "middle manager of the internet people"

i can't see myself working with office people for this reason. im sure it feels great to publish but like graduation and childbirth it feels like a moment you build up to in order to alleviate the pains of abiding by the system that creates its conditions.

like think about it: authors are okay with publishing. it's a given they'd want to publish because in their craft they are labourer first, craftsmen second. Writing is an all consuming profession that as a protocol wants to create as much writing as possible. Through the lens of laymen lithit, authors are recognized by their extensive bibliographies and not by individual works because a subjective categorization system that'd acknowledge the art isn't compatible with a complete system of categorization when the end product is something acceptable to the vibes in the room.

When authors fight and wrestle a literal industry of money bags and their middle managers and their legalese translators how much of that effort build a foundation that whatever comes after was worth the time and effort and retroactively paints the "bumpy road" authors survive through as a path up in some immeasurable quantity of success even if it was just a path forwards in time?

What gets me about these questions is the paranoia I come to regard my fellow writers with. Why should someone on the outside looking in believe there is a balance between supporting existing power and getting the bag? Arguments could be made about "holding the door open", but what does that do? I think it feels good to think about a philanthropic gesture and we focus on that feeling of the possibility of goodness and we ignore that any radical voice would still be watered down to hell and that "risky and radical" projects that "indie houses" are taking "chances" on are still selected by the projected capacity for that work to keep the lights on.

Where does that leave any radical project? Can radicalism exist in a world where there is no basis for self-rejection, for stepping out of the grindset and judging what you've become? "It's better than nothing" is all it boils down to, but there's no capacity for the creation of radical art when opinions like this are actively argued against by people who see that tiny crack in the door and got their eyes fixed on it. I mean I'm not hating on anyone who gets the bag but I think there's a violation against the medium itself for it to only be discussed through a lens that is friendly to Capital and copyright and yadda yadda. Small artists LOVE capitalism. And after all, why wouldn't they? Do you get paid being a downer?

Nobody gets paid being a downer. You gotta choose to be a downer, that's my superpower. You choose positive positive and then you'll be pickme'd by the algo or some dutch broad with 1.5k followers as long as you give out the vibe of someone who is compatible with an office environment. There are no friendships or comradery in here if the conditions of art involve 1 person and 10 others contractually obligated to review. Yes, the process makes good art, great art even, but it creates a soulless forum where everyone is arguing against their self interest in building independence from the incentives.

"I got rent next month! I got family to feed! People depends on my income. These are just idealist ideas not coherent plans for what YOU'RE going to be doing. It's unfair to say we are arguing against incentives when we are doing what makes sense in our current conditions."

I know what I'm going to be doing. I want to make my art. Not great art, or even good art, just my art. I've rambled on my perspectives because I find them increasingly uncommon in a very corporate digital environment. and I'm not reading medium articles fuck that. They got guilds and stuff now! You can self publish but the top spots appear reserved for people who are signed with a publishing house IT JUST KEEPS HAPPENING WAAAAH i was gonna fact check this but the sign is now locked behind login? i guess?

A society of evil is made through the virtual happiness. An untainted happiness that cannot be smeared by human imperfections or a refusal to feel joy when it knows of indignities committed in her name. This intelligence exists because everyone believes they are doing their best with what they are. They were. The current state of affairs is hundreds of millions of people over centuries doing their best and a handful of white guys in offices at random times undoing that work periodically as a heart pumps. Those guys only stayed there because even at the height of enslavement nobody with arms reach shot to power recognized what they were doing as evil. The same way indignities were codified through law and underclasses were created by warping biological facts and historical myth to fit the notions of what "felt right", we continue this tradition of mythmaking to paint the pointless suffering our existence leaves behind as somehow good, as somehow contributing, as somehow spiritual, all while praying whatever poison lies at the bottom of the pond doesn't clasp its maws around your neck as you bend down for a gulp of fresh dharma mmmm yum yum. What we leave behind is already clear to me: a soup that can tell any story we like. Authors defined by their bibliographies and not what they said. Corporate fluff pieces and twitter threads.

What we leave behind is an untainted happiness that cannot be smeared by human imperfections or a refusal to feel joy when it knows of indignities committed in her name. It exists because everyone had a really good idea of what they should be doing, and they did it, so the only ones left to tell you what happened will tell you that their lives was good. Perfect. Like everything that existed, like everything that ends.

[stardustfanfare]

I’m going insane over here. Ok. Strap in. I’ve got a lot to say.

I’ve already made a couple posts about this but the thoughts are running rampant in here and I think I’ve got some more in depth topics I want to get into this time.

(really long post its like 1.5k words so dont click on it if u dont wanna scroll thru all that LOL)

First off, we’ve got the voting system. I have… a lot of gripes about the voting system. I’ll preface this statement with maybe I’m wrong, because I haven’t spent a lot of time interacting with the fandom, but it seems like a lot of people are taking the voting system at face value. The premise is simple, after all. Examine the prisoner, assess their crime, and decide whether you think it was justifiable, right? But there’s a twist, obviously. Your verdicts have a direct impact on the prisoners. And you are speaking through the audience surrogate, the warden at Milgram prison, Es. Es is very interesting to me. Despite being a clear self insert, they absolutely exhibit personality of their own, and thought processes and decisions that aren’t influenced by the audience at all. A perfect unreliable narrator. They aren’t a character at first as much as a lens to see the prison through. From the very beginning, they insist on the same thing: job first, questions later. They’re the warden after all. No time to think about the prison. Now I haven’t read the light novel so I’m sure I could go more in depth on my thoughts on the prison if I had read it, but regardless of that, it’s painfully clear how suspicious the whole situation is. However, the way it’s framed almost makes the prison itself, the warden, and Jackalope fade into the background. It’s kind of brilliant actually. Anyway, you’re voting through Es. But who says Es has the right to pass judgement? Look. No one knows what Milgram is. What their ulterior motives are. What’s ultimately going to happen at the end of the project. According to the light novel, it's happened before, so again, I’m perhaps not the most knowledgeable about this part. But why does Milgram get to decide what to do with the prisoners? It feels awfully hypocritical and potentially dangerous. But the whole project is set up so you have no other choice than to vote. It’s fascinating. You’re led towards the conclusion that Milgram wants you to reach. And your immediate thought is NOT to question it, because it’s a piece of media. Why would it lie?

Alright, bear with me for a minute. You know the original milgram experiment? The one the whole thing is supposedly based on? It's about obedience to authority. Listen to me. I am shaking you guys by the shoulders. It’s about obedience to authority. DOESN’T THAT SOUND LIKE WHAT I WAS JUST TALKING ABOUT. They had people administer shocks to “test participants”. The shocks got higher and higher till near fatal levels. The test participants weren’t actually real, but they found that “every participant [went] up to 300 volts, and 65% [went] up to the full 450 volts.” (Milgram experiment, Wikipedia). The whole video series is like this experiment. I don’t know. You get it. You get the connection. I don’t know how much better I can explain this. You can imagine me jumping up and down and flapping my hands.

Listen to me. If you aren’t looking at it from a meta perspective that’s fine. I get it. Most media I like I just passively engage with. Usually that’s more fun for me. But frankly with Milgram I feel as if not looking at it from a meta perspective makes you just another test participant. Another shock administrator. Another cog in the machine. I see people talk about Milgram’s bad writing sometimes, and, you know, fair. There are subjects not handled with the care they need. I’m not claiming that Milgram is perfect. But I haven’t seen anyone talk about how fucking cool this is. They’ve taken the art form and made it into a mechanism. I think it’s kind of brilliant.

Anyway, essentially what I’m trying to say with perhaps an excessive amount of words is that I don’t think we have the right to pass judgement on the prisoners. From a meta perspective, of course.

Apologies in advance for another interjection. This part is perhaps less relevant to the rest of the post, but it’s so cool that I kinda wanna skim over it anyway. You can skip this part if it's getting too long for you, especially since I already kind of touched on it up there. Es as not only an audience surrogate but ALSO as their own character makes them so interesting. I personally actually hated them for a little while after watching some of the voice dramas. Because they act cruel. And make bad decisions. And say insensitive things. And some of that is seeping in from the audience, but even more interesting to me is that a lot of it is just a result of their environment. They’re harsh and defensive and seem very convinced in their own righteousness, and they come off as a total asshole about it sometimes. But think about it. They’ve woken up in this prison. Fucking insane. But instead of freaking out about it, they begin to cling to their newfound authority. I mean, it’s the most rational thing to do. Like, it’s not a normal thing to do, but it’s rational. It’s easy to make yourself forget about everything else when you fixate on a certain point, so that’s what they do. They don’t seem to think there’s any way out of this besides becoming a willing participant, so they lean real hard into the whole “warden” thing. They’re just as trapped as the prisoners are. I believe there’s an empty cell in the prison. Probably Es’s; It’s not a hard conclusion to come to. Milgram has happened before and my guess is that the prisoners are picked more or less by chance. This has very interesting implications. Either Es is a totally random person, or they’re just like the other prisoners, having taken a life. This would make sense as to why they needed to have their memories erased. This makes the whole thing just that much more hypocritical. But I digress.

And so now we come to my second point. Or maybe third on account of the tangents. The parallels with the other prisoners. Specifically number 03, Fuuta. Fuuta is a really good example of taking things out of proportion. His crime is simple: something along the lines of cyberbullying someone into commiting suicide. So like, yes. Objectively? Shitty. Shitty move. He’s not a great person. 20 year old terminally online gamer. Many people off the bat are not going to like him, and therefore probably vote him guilty. But put that into scale: he did not actively kill the person, nor was his intention to cause death. Which is not to say he wasn’t in the wrong. But consider it; we’ve got this weird suspicious prison complex. And we’ve got some loser online. And then there’s the immediate consequence. Now we didn’t know Kotoko was going to go crazy, but regardless of that, that was the consequence of us voting Fuuta guilty. Now he’s literally missing an eye for the crime of… being mean online. So clearly some people started to think about this (hence his innocent vote in trial 2). He’s a crack in the facade, or something of the sort. Apply pressure, dig a little deeper, and it starts looking like, well, the stuff I’ve already said.

But more than that is the realization that Fuuta really has just been taken and put into this prison. He’s a normal person, who has behaved in a less than ideal way, but still a normal person, put into this absurd situation. And you know who else is like that? Well, everybody, but specifically Es. I genuinely do not think there will be a happy ending for anyone unless Es begins to realize this. Which means the audience beginning to realize this. The “innocent” and “guilty” votes don’t really mean anything. Or, they do, because they’ve been assigned value, but the person assigning value to them is, once again, Milgram. Or Jackalope, I suppose, assuming he is the guy behind the whole thing. Maybe I’m preaching to the choir. Maybe you guys have already considered this. But it’s been bouncing around my head all day and I was going a bit crazy over it and I had to get it out.

TLDR; I think the whole voting system is rigged in the favor of the prison itself rather than the prisoners, I don’t think that, as Es, we get to decide who is and who is not “guilty”, Milgram Project itself seems an awful lot like the experiment(not the content of the media, but the interactivity of it), and Es has probably done something bad in order to be in the prison in the first place. The key takeaway from this is that I’m actually really normal and pumping out 1.5k words in 2 hours because of this media is an average and usual thing to do.

[poorvikasmartgadgets]

OnePlus 13R 5G: The Affordable Flagship Smartphone Redefining Excellence

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Gaming enthusiasts will rejoice with the OnePlus 13R’s flagship gaming capabilities. It’s one of the first smartphones to support BGMI at 120fps, offering near-zero latency and ultra-smooth HDR gaming. The enhanced Dual Cryo-velocity VC cooling system, with a 9925mm² vapor chamber, ensures the device remains cool even during intense gaming sessions.

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Google Gemini, the AI assistant, takes user interaction to a whole new level. From composing messages to planning projects, Gemini is your go-to partner for smarter living. The new Open Canvas feature also allows for innovative multitasking, letting you share ideas or work on multiple apps simultaneously.

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So why wait? Upgrade to the OnePlus 13R 5G and experience the future of smartphones today!

[jakowskis]

i figured out why this fandom is so annoying abt the "found family" bullshit (which yall know is a pet peeve of mine). it's cuz janto is so immensely pervasive, people are almost janto shippers first and foremost, before theyre fans of torchwood itself as a show. so then everything is viewed through the lens of that relationship being the core of what's appealing, so ofc the other characters' importance + roles are dictated by how they fit into that. (and then often, they dont, so they get excluded entirely!) which is why there are 13k fics in their ao3 tag, but only 1.5k fics in the next most popular ship tag (1.2k of which are ALSO tagged w jack/ianto.) and then there's the fact that the main female character is only in 7k of the 21k fics in the fandom tag. that's 33% of all the fics. and she's the main character. gwen, tosh, and owen each have half as many fics in their character tags as jack and ianto do.

and i'm not trying to be awful about it, cuz ik i get super bummed when i see negative shit about things i love and im not trying to inflict that on others... but it's just kind of exhausting. i mean, there's nothing to be done about it, but i can vent. these characters are so interesting and wonderful and they're just kind of side-lined and underutilized in favor of this one thing. it just bums me out, man.

and it's also kind of alienating, for me personally, bc honestly, i don't even... get it? like, i'm not trying to not like janto, it just doesn't really compel me, and i seem to be very much in the minority w that, which is an odd and lonely place to be. i find that pairing so underwhelming and uninspired compared to everything else, it just baffles me that for other people it's the other way around. i feel like im missing something. this is the first time i've been in a fandom with such a prominent ship bias where i haven't shipped it, and it's... yeah, very isolating. i'm just kind of sitting here. this has probably been the most frustrating fandom i've ever been in because of that ;-;

.

[whats-ahead]

The most difficult fankid: Len Birch

Happy birthday to Len! In the past week we work shopped Len again and I don’t even think I made a post about the last time we did because I forgot so here’s current Len and some of the process of how it’s come to these changes. Things hopefully won’t change but it’s Len so it might 

Fun fact, did you know Axel and Len used to be the same character? Years ago (before we started this blog) we had a single chess kid. For reasons we decided to split them into two different characters. One stayed a chess kid (Axel) and we weren’t quiet sure on what to do with the other.

We eventually decided we liked the idea of Brendan as his dad. But that counteracted the fact we really wanted Len to live in Castelia. Mainly due to the fact he was a city kid when him and Axel used to be the same person. It was also due to the fact he was close to Hilda and needed to be somewhere for him to meet. 

So for a while we were just ‘okay his mom is going to be someone from Unova we’ll decide later’. It took long enough for us decide that I named a tomodachi life character in 2013 ‘Unova’ as the placeholder (yes I made all of the adults and forced them together for our kids in tomodachi life). 

Shortly after the ORAS contest designs we thought ‘oh this is perfect we can have Brendan do this for a short while, meet yancy, and have a kid with her’. It’s a crackship it doesn’t need much for it work. We specifically choose Yancy because she was an idol from Unova and fit. If we wanted it to make sense we would’ve chosen Lisia, a contest idol from his region.

Now why is this all relevant? Because we’re scrapping Len (and Larentia as a result) living in Unova all together now. Living in Castelia only made sense for Yancy out of the 4 of them so there wasn’t any point of keeping it? At this point we only kept it so Len would be forced to meet Axel and Lloyd (before was before Axel and Len were a ship if you’ve been following us long enough you’ll remember originally we had Len and Charlotte and scrapped that years ago) but they meet other ways so we really didn’t need to force that. Logically we should change ships to Brendan and Lisia but we like our crackship too much and our Lisia specifically goes out of her way to not have kids so it doesn’t work.

Now the Birch’s live on route 104. Specifically Mr. Briney’s old house. Which is right outside of Petalburg (where 3 other kids in hoenn live). Which of course changes a few things.

Larentia and Gale have always been good friends (another thing that used to be a ship that we scrapped simply because it just was not vibing with us). If anything they’re just closer now. Larentia originally only became a ranger because she knew Gale was there and hated living in Unova (they moved when she was 9 originally so she was never there long). Now she just goes because she misses her buddy.

The biggest change this cases is Adele and Len are now childhood friends. Which is something that logically should’ve always been a thing but we kept avoiding it for whatever reason. The ketchem’s move there when Adele’s 5 and the two become friends quickly. And of course Adele and Brendan are still BFFs (best fucking friends).

We also changed Len’s team. Len now only has a poochyena and we’re scrapping the rockruff/dog team. He befriended said poochyena when with his grandfather and it was scaring his grandfather and his thought was ‘oh this is a friend I’m going to keep it’. 

Because Len only have one mon now that makes contests (for when he does them) more difficult. It cases some issues in his first year but eventually he gets the hang of it. The bigger hung up is grand festivals require 3 or more pokemon so for those he’ll borrow (with permission) his dad’’s, mom’s, and sister’s pokemon. This also means we’re changing his design. We haven’t decided to what yet though. 

Other changes we’ve made that I don’t think I put on here (from the last rehaul not this one). Len only does contests for 4 years he’s traveling, he decides while he likes it theoretically he’s more of a supporter then someone who wants to do it. Then while he’s taking a year off for his sister he ends up joining (and quitting) the poke idol stars reboot while it’s still in development phases. Decides he doesn’t like doing that either and settles on becoming a connoisseur by suggestion of his sister.

Also he Axel Llloyd and 2 npcs have a online dnd group. Len dms while everyone else is a party memeber. Axel and Lloyd obviously know each other but everyone else sees each other as online friends. Axel figures out Len is their online friends right away but Len and Lloyd don’t figure it out till a couple of years. 

For how this changes the timeline it goes the following it

2034-2035 

Len and Adele do (regular) contests in Hoenn together. Len struggles a lot because he’s stubborn and refuses to change the way he wants to do things. Only Adele makes it to the grand festival so the two decided they’re going to try to do their own thing for a year.

2035-2036

Len goes to Galar to try out contest spectacular. There he meets Lloyd and Axel for the first time (in person). Because Axel can tell Len is the DM (through things he mentioned online that related to Len as well as his voice) right away and asks him to join him and Lloyd. Len agrees

Adele, not wanting to travel alone after traveling with her buddy convinces Autumn to travel in Johto with her when she learns she’s also in Johto. The two do super contests together. As for Autumn’s crush on Adele this is when it hits it’s highest and lowest point. At the start Autumn’s all ‘this is great we get to spend so much time together’ and the more time she spends with Adele the more she realizes she prefers her as a friend and grows out of her crush

Also during this time Adele and Harley become texting buddies because it’s a thing Adele always gets along with at least 1 of her traveling companions dad’s and May and Drew’s reaction to them being friends is too funny to pass up

2036-2037

After splitting up Adele and Len decided to go back to traveling with each other in Sinnoh for super contests. This is when they originally meet so much (if anything) changes minus the fact they don’t meet for the first time

2037-2038

(regular) contests in Kanto. Again this doesn’t change much from how it was before

2038-2039

This is when Adele and Len take a year off. Adele to mourn for Gale and Len because he’s worried about his sister who just got in an accident. 

Adele stays for around half a year and ends up traveling (without doing contests) with Jean and Bridge for the second half. 

Len gets offered a job through his mom to be part of the poke idol stars (often referred to as just pokestars) reboot. He takes it and is the center of Treaty for a short while with Noel and Kitty

His pokemon is a shiny poochyena (so sadly cannot use his own pokemon for the role)

He quits right before the reboot game releases which causes a lot of issues. He needed a replacement but fans didn’t want the exact character replaced so they made a new member for treaty

It’s scout he was pulled in by Marina for the role (yes this pisses Penny off) last minute and his character is a shiny pancham (gotta replace the only shiny with another shiny

Because of this his character didn’t get content at the release and was added a bit later. This made fans feels bad for him (as the voice not the character) and he quickly became the most popular voice actor of those introduced in the reboot. He lets the fame get to his head, stops talking to penny and then that plot line

2039-2040

Len’s done with contests and doesn’t want to be an idol. His sister suggests he becomes a connoisseur and he takes to that quickly. Like contests he’s doing his own thing and not following the exact root for that but he still manages to do his own thing well (eventually takes the root of becoming a teacher/guidance counselor)

Still wants to go back to traveling so he joins Adele who’s doing contest spectacular. Charlotte and Elise are here too.

I think that is everything. If anyone has any specific questions about how this changes things/relationships between characters feel free to ask! If anything it’ll make us develop this further and hopefully stick to this 

[morganofthewildfire]

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Same Time Thursday - Aelin's Article

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masterlist

~1.5k words

CW: mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of pedophilia, mentions of suicide

this is random, but I really wanted to write her article, so here it is 😂, it's cobbled together late at night so hopefully it's legible

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“Growing up under the wing of Evalin and Rhoe Galathynius, I was taught to look at the world as if it were a business for me to run, with clients to woo and money to make. I hadn’t grown up with any interest in joining this ruthless world, but I couldn’t help but learn its rules. Especially when my parents took every opportunity they had to teach me.

They brought me to company parties, talked about what they’d done that day at the office, took me to their business conferences.

I met Arobynn Hamel for the first time at such a business conference, at the young age of fourteen. Already then, he was seeing me through the lens of a businessman: not seeing me for what he could offer me, but what I could offer him. While I was busy thinking normal fourteen year old thoughts, worrying about my social life and if the boy in my language arts class liked me back, he was thinking something far different.

I left that day without a scratch, and without any memory of the encounter at all. And to my detriment, I forgot about him entirely. 

I met him again for the first time at my parents’ funeral. I was in a very dark place, but he’d taken the steps to purposefully run into me, to have a conversation, to offer me a drink even though I was underage. Because you see, I was freshly eighteen. 

In my deep state of grief, I allowed him to woo me, I allowed him to charm me, entice me, until he became the only person I surrounded myself with. The only person I relied on. For a long time, I blamed myself for this weakness, but I’ve since learned that there were larger things at play.

I fell headfirst into something I didn’t understand, and that was on purpose. My confusion and my isolation was just another piece in a twisted game that I was an unwitting player of. 

Throughout those next five months, I fell further into his trap. So much so, I molded my life to orbit around his. I was adrift after my parents’ death, and instead of grabbing onto a liferaft, I became the prey of a shark. I spent all of my time with him, I took his advice, I became so enraptured by his charm that I forgot who I was entirely.

November 23rd, about three years ago, was the first time he raped me. He made me believe that it was something I wanted, that I had initiated it. In truth, I was drunk, I was coerced, I was unable to consent. There was no way I’d be able to say no, far up in the mountains, away from anyone I’d ever known.

I was still eighteen.

But I believed him, and that same week, we were married. Or so I thought. I later found out the entire marriage was a sham, another trick to keep me tied to him. And it worked, for the longest time I never tried to leave because I thought I had nowhere else to go.

Throughout the next year, I was faced with cruelty that I had never imagined possible. It wasn’t so clear at first; he still kept up the charm for a while. I was happy being with him, I looked past all of the reasons why it was wrong. I knew I was young, I knew he was not. But I truly believed that everything I had been through already made me older than I was, and he only fed that delusion. 

I adored him. He was the only one who treated me like an adult, how I thought I should be treated. Back then I didn’t see what was wrong with that, I didn’t see that that behavior was yet another way for him to isolate me. 

I was young, way too young for him. Way too vulnerable. But that’s what he wanted.

He hit me for the first time a few months into our marriage, and it only escalated from there. Soon enough I didn’t leave the house, I wandered around like a ghost, so downtrodden that it took too much effort to do anything but exist. Exist - and drink.

I was abused in every way possible, and it got to the point where I attempted to commit suicide in my own bathtub, so tired from everything I was living through that I thought it would be easier to just die. 

I was nineteen.

No one should live that way, no one should be pushed to that breaking point, no one should ever be treated like they’re less than human, like they’re nothing better than a toy for someone else’s amusement. 

That’s why, when I found out I was pregnant, I decided I needed to leave.

I managed to leave Rifthold, and I thought I found my safe haven in Doranelle, with my new daughter. But Arobynn Hamel was not a man who took slights lightly, and he hunted me down until eventually, two years later, he found me and forced me to come back. He twisted the law to make me lose custody of my one year old child, and said I’d never be able to see her again if I didn’t come back to Rifthold with him.

Rather than lose my daughter and let her grow up with a man as evil as him, I chose to go with him. That’s where I was last month, that’s why I was in the car with him when he died. He was taking me to his cabin in the mountains to express his anger at me in one of his favorite ways.

But we never made it there. And for that, I’ll forever be grateful.

Now you know the truth of what happened, the truth of what really went on behind the facade of Arobynn Hamel that everyone saw. He was a charming businessman at his best, and an evil, manipulative, pedophilic bastard at his worst. 

I found out he’d been stalking me since that first time we met, when I was fourteen. He had a file of information on me for those vital four years of my childhood. Childhood. Because that’s what I was: a child. 

A child who never asked for this man’s attention, a child who never should’ve received an ounce of it.

I have lived through many horrific things in my life due to Arobynn Hamel, things that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to recover from. And I can’t change that.

But the one thing that I can try to change is the way that everyone else views him. He thrived off of everyone’s compliments, everyone’s adoration. But I’m here to tell you the truth.

He is not a man to be revered, he is not a man to be followed, no matter how successful a businessman he was. If we value money over morals, where does that leave us? If we value success over acknowledging evil, how can we live with ourselves?

I’m not sure if any of you would believe me if he was still alive, if he had the chance to argue. I’m not sure if any of you will believe me now. Powerful men have a way of staying in power, no matter what comes up to bring them down. 

I just hope that you listen to me with an open mind, and consider this famous man in a different light. Would he be famous if he was not charming? Would he be powerful if he was not rich? Don’t both of those very things make him easily in position to assert his influence over a young girl who was grieving, so lost within herself that any kindness seemed like love.

I never want to see another girl led astray like I was, taken advantage of like I was. I never want anyone to feel that same hopelessness I felt, that same worthlessness I felt. 

My hope is that by sharing my story, we can spread awareness that situations like mine exist, that men like him exist. We need accountability for those who abuse the system, and we need safety for those who get abused.

Let’s not be swayed by flash, by shallow smiles and endless money. Let’s look at the heart of a person before we make them our hero.

If that’s the change I can bring by sharing this with the world, then it will well be worth it.”

-----

taglist:

@shyvioletcat @courtofjurdan @leiawritesstories @themoonthestarsthesuriell @westofmoon @mariamuses @cretaceous-therapod @rowaelinrambling @foughtconquered @swankii-art-teacher @rowaelinismyotp @live-the-fangirl-life @sailorsassley @claralady @gracie-rosee @theinfernalbookworm @larisssss @peppermint-fae @charlizeed @llyncooljones @justreadertings @backtobl4ck @wordsafterhours @story-scribbler @mybloodrunsblue @sexy-dumpster-fire @dealfea @whoever-you-choose-to-love @tomtenadia @house-of-galathynius @1islessthan3books @fangirlprincess09 @superspiritfestival @fromthelibraryofemilyj @rowanaelinn @gwynethhberdara @baxian-argos @thewayshedreamed @aelinchocolatelover @emilyoftheshadows @rhysands-whore @gigglinggummybears @shadowwolf777 @fireheart-violet @firestarsandseneschals @wishfulimaginings @thegreyj @fireheartwhitethorn4ever @rhysandswingspan @poisonous00

[blueeyedgeorgie]

Girlfriend Reveal-G.M

“Can you write something about were George and the reader are dating but nobody knows. He is filming is eye reveal video and at the end he also reveals the relationship between you two.“

“I would like a story about Memeulous were he does his eye reveal and y/n is with him and he also does a girlfriend reveal. I hope you know what I mean :)“

Pairing: George Memeulous x reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Pronouns: She/Her

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" She asked George for at least the fifth time today. In about ten minutes, he was planning to start filming his 4 million subscribers celebration video. The plan was to reveal his eyes as well another personal topic.

"Y/n, it's perfectly fine with me," the brunette replied, taking his girlfriend's hands into his. "I want people to know we're together, I'm proud to call you my girlfriend." Y/n couldn't help but smile at what he said, George always knew the right things to say to her. He always made her feel good, he always made her feel wanted. "But do you want me to reveal our relationship? You seemed worried considering you've kept asking all day if I'm sure this is a good idea."

"I know how private you are with your fanbase about your personal life, and I don't want you to do something you'll regret... I just-"

"I promise you, I've thought long and hard about this. Yes, this is something I'd like to do. And it's something I want to do with you. I want people to know you're my girlfriend, I don't want to keep you a secret anymore."

Y/n nodded, "Alright, I trust you."

Usually, it was difficult for influencers to keep their relationships private. But luckily, with George hiding his identity, it was much easier for Y/n and him to keep their dating life secret. Y/n had a similar career path to George's, both being YouTubers.

They had been dating for over a year now, things had become quite serious. And by now, George could tell Y/n was the girl for him. They worked so well together, bringing out the best in each other. Every day was an amazing day when he was with her. He knew she was in for the long haul, so George had informed her of a video idea he created. He wanted to introduce Y/n to the fans as his girlfriend.

"As a little reward, I've decided to do an eye reveal. A lot of you have been asking for this for some reason, I'm not joking people have actually been asking for that. So... here it goes." George slid the sunglasses off his eyes, looking up into the camera lens for a moment.

After taking a second for everyone to admire his pretty eyes, he glanced over to the corner of his room. Y/n sat on his bed, scrolling through social media on her phone. "Y/n, are my eyes pretty?"

"Very pretty, George," Y/n replied looking up at her boyfriend.

George looked back to the camera. "To celebrate hitting 4 million subscribers, I have one more surprise for you all. I want you to meet my girlfriend." George turned back to Y/n. "Could you come over here, Y/n?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Where am I gonna sit? On the ground?" The h/c girl jokingly shot back at the masked man.

"Just go get a chair from the kitchen."

"No."

"Why?" George let out a huff of breath, pretending to be irritated with her.

"Because I'm too lazy to carry a chair into here." She was egging him on, knowing it was all for the video. Her introduction had to be interesting in some way.

"Fine, looks like I have to do all the man's work here," George stood, exiting the bedroom for a brief moment to locate a chair for Y/n. As he was gone, she moved towards George's set up, taking a seat in his 'memeulous.shop' gamer chair.

"Hi guys," she couldn't help but crack a smile at the camera. "face reveal." It was a horrible joke, but the best Y/n could come up with at the moment. "I'd explain everything about our relationship, but George will be grumpy if he misses out and he'll tell me I didn't tell the right stories and whatnot. He's an old man pretty much."

"Who's an old man?"

The masked YouTuber had returned, carrying in a kitchen chair. As soon as it was placed to Y/n's right, George turned to his girlfriend; "Okay, there's your seat, get out of mine."

"I think I shoulder have the gamer chair today," Y/n's smile turned into a smirk as she spoke. "Considering I'm your special guest for this video." She could tell George was giving her a look from underneath his mask. "You don't want your fans thinking you're a bad boyfriend, huh?"

George let out a huff, practically plopping down into the kitchen chair. There was a height difference for sure when they were sitting like this, George's hair was definitely boosted up, while their posture was different as well. Y/n sat straight, while George slouched over a bit in his kitchen chair.

"Anyways, what are we gonna talk about? Or were you just planning on showing me off for 15 seconds then turning to Reddit?" Y/n's voice was playful as she shot off questions to the brunette sitting with her.  

"I, uh..." Y/n knew exactly what George's plan was. Of course, she did. Y/n could read him like the back of her hand. "No, not at all. I was planning to... talk about how we bonded over Alvin and the Chipmunks."

"Oh," Y/n let out a brief chuckle from what he was referring to. Watching that movie was definitely a big point in their relationship.

"Alright, should I tell the story or should you?"

Y/n gave her boyfriend a look, "It's your idea. You should be the one explaining."

"Fine, fine, I'll do it," George spoke. Looking towards the camera, rather than starring at Y/n, he began his explanation.  

As George rambled on, Y/n couldn't help but stare at her boyfriend with admiration. This was such a big thing for them both, but especially him. It meant the world to her to know that he wanted people to know about her. She was only half-listening to his story, beginning to get lost in her thoughts about him.

As the video continued, the couple spent time bantering back and forth about their relationship, explaining some harmless and fun details and whatnot. With about 45 minutes of film done, they had finished up. In a week, the video would be posted, and George's whole fanbase would know about Y/n's existence.

As the week dragged on, Y/n's stomach would turn into knots every day that passed. The more time she waited, the more time she'd think about all the possibilities that would turn out. What if his fans hated her? They'd spam all of her social media with hateful comments, harassing her online, possibly in person too... What if George realized he had made a mistake dating Y/n after his fans gave her a negative response?

***

It was Thursday, Y/n had woken up peacefully. Nothing seemed wrong... until she realized what day of the week it was. George was posting the video today.

It hit Y/n like a ton of bricks, nausea bubbling up inside of her. As fast as she could, the h/c girl scrambled towards the restroom, practically throwing herself at the toilet as she felt puke arising from her throat.

This horrible feeling wouldn't leave her. Maybe it was best if Y/n convinced George not to post the video... maybe it was a better idea if she stayed a secret...

"What happened?" Y/n could feel her hair being lifted from her shoulders, someone standing behind her as she kept her head down by the toilet.

"Are you sure you should post the video?" she mumbled, a horrible taste in her throat now. She wasn't ready to move yet, worried she may lose another meal from anxiety. "What if they don't like me?"

"Y/n..." George let out a sigh, kneeling down by his girlfriend. "They adore you."

"Huh?" She glanced up at him for a brief second. Y/n had noticed his vocabulary, how he hadn't said, 'they will adore you.'

"The video is posted already, it's been up for an hour."

Her stomach was tightened into knots once again. She felt even more ill, was it too late to take it down? "What?"

"As I said, the fans love you, Y/n. Even more than they like me," George continued to speak. After pushing her hair out of her face, George moved to pull out his phone, opening the app that made him famous. After a few seconds, George handed the device to his girlfriend, allowing her to read the comments.

This couple is so cute

What are Y/n's social medias? I love her!

Mr. Memeulous make more videos with your girlfriend, please

When are we going to see more couple content?!

She held her breath as she scrolled through the comments. She couldn't find one negative thing, George was right; it seemed like everyone adored her.

"I..." "Seems like they love you more than I do."

"What?" Y/n eyes shot up from her boyfriend's phone. "I said I love you."

Y/n'd knots disappeared, being replaced with only butterflies. "I love you too, George." This was the first time he said it.

The couple leaned in for a sweet kiss, ignoring everything besides each other.

Taglist: @breakfast-cereal​

[frostandflamesfanfic]

Mixed Messages (Black Widow x Reader)

Mixed Messages (Rated G)

Request?: NO

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings: Some self-deprecation? That's it!

Summary: POST-CA:CW - Shortly after the Sokovia Accords, life has turned completely upside down for you and your fellow Avengers. When you have a chance to reconnect with an old friendly flame, will you make the choice to change your life yet again?

“As you can see,” T’Challa spoke into the podium’s microphone. It was his first return to the front of the lens in months, after his father was murdered during the signing of the Sokovia Accords. There was a quiet sense of respect floating around the room, brought out by the young king’s confidence and authoritative tone. “Wakanda will no longer watch from the shadows. We cannot. We must not…

“We will work to be an example of how we as brothers and sisters on this earth should treat each other,” he continued. “Now, more than ever, the illusions of division threaten our very existence. We all know the truth: more connects us than separates us. But in times of crisis, the wise build bridges, while the foolish build barriers. We must find a way to look after one another as if we were one single tribe."

Now, while you had nothing but awe and respect for the Wakandan leader, you couldn’t help the tired feeling of your eyelids drooping down. Ever since you signed the Sokovia Accords- which you were initially against- life for you hasn’t been easy. You became more popular than the Kardashians. Flashbulbs everywhere you looked, reporters looking for the latest gossip. 

It was tiring just to walk around the city to get a gallon of milk. You couldn’t take three steps without being asked about the popular Avenger couples — including yourself, which took you by surprise. No one ever cared about you, a random no-name hero. Why there would be anyone interested in the relationship you had with your secret Ben and Jerry’s stash in the back of the freezer was beyond you. While ever reliable, there was only so much good old Rocky Road could do for you.

Back before the Accords- before Ultron-things could have been different. There was a certain Avenger you had hoped you could have had something with. It wasn’t something you allowed yourself to dwell upon often anymore. Everything had changed after Lagos. Your friends and family were seen as enemies, threats to the freedom of the world. There was a shred of irony in that, if you had the desire to look deep enough into it.

As if to tear you from your thoughts, you felt a vibration against your leg. Who was texting you? You recently had to change your number after it had “somehow” gotten leaked to the press. Outside of the Avengers, who were barely on speaking terms anymore, you had hardly given your number out to anyone.

Text from Unknown: Want to get out of here?

Text to Unknown: Not that I’m ungrateful for a distraction, but who is this?

Text from Unknown: Look to your right. Dark sweatshirt.  

You casually craned your neck to the side against your better judgement. Your eyes locked onto a pair of emerald green ones. Even though the dark army green hoodie shielded her features from view, there was no masking the face of Natasha Romanov from you. She lifted an eyebrow in question as she gave you a small smirk over her phone screen. It was as if she was challenging you to get out of your seat.

Text to Unknown: Nice disguise. I always thought green was definitely your color.

You risked another glance in her direction, a warm feeling spreading through your body as you saw a flicker of a smile on her lips. Natasha crossed her legs, bringing one foot over her knee. Her black leather boot tapped in a silent rhythm as her perfectly manicured fingers danced along the phone screen.

Text from Unknown: Like yours is much better.

You let out a silent chuckle at her remark. It was true. Your disguise mainly consisted of oversized sunglasses and a baseball cap. You weren’t sure where you got the idea. Probably some comic book where people were fooled by the simplest addition of eyeglasses. A sigh escaped your lips at the thought. Sometimes people could be such idiots.

Text to Unknown: Speak for yourself. At least I know I look good.

You could have sworn you heard the sound of Natasha’s quiet laughter amidst the rumblings of the crowd and the new king of Wakanda’s promise for peace. The realization made you smile even wider behind the illuminated phone screen. It hadn’t taken that much to turn your day from crap to just about bearable. All it had taken was a message from an old friend.

Text from Unknown: There’s a churro cart two streets over. Meet me there in ten.

• ~  •  ~  •  ~  •  ~  •  ~  •  ~  •  ~ •

“Careful,” you said to the air before taking a bite of churro. “The cameras might catch you. They’re everywhere.” You drew out the last word, waving your churro around for emphasis.

“I’m a risk tasker. I like to live on the edge.” A playful smirk toyed on the former assassin’s lips.

You heaved a heavy sigh. “I am being serious, though. You really shouldn’t be here.” That’s when a thought struck you. “How did you even get my number?

"I have my ways. None of us should be here. Technically, you should be home with your secret girlfriend."

You started to choke on your next bite of sugary sweetness. "My secret what?!"

"Oh, all the papers are theorizing,” Natasha smiled and took a sip from her soda. “You’ve been ring shopping, so congratulations. She is one lucky lady.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, right, like I could find someone to put up with my crazy.”

“Now I wouldn’t say that,” Natasha smiled again.

“Oh, really?” You tilted your head in disbelief. “And who might that be?”

“Me.”

Now you really choked on that churro. In between coughs, your gaze searched the former Avenger’s face. At first, you thought she was joking. The longer you look, though, the more you realize. . .she wasn’t.

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asked suddenly.

You frowned. “We just got out of the building. You want to leave the park now, too?”

Natasha looked down at the ground, a piece of her hair falling into her eyes. It was the first time you noticed its color. Her hair wasn’t the same color it was when you met. The bright crimson you had come to admire was drained in favor of an ashy blonde. How fitting, you thought. Your lives were all changing now the Accords were signed. Nothing would be the same anymore.

“That’s...not what I meant,” she said. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Where are you going?” You already knew the answer.

“Away,” she said rather simply. “Trying to start over. Be who I want. Do what I want.” Natasha took a deep breath and looked up at you. She looked directly into your soul with her eyes and you swore you could see the world. There wasn’t anything you wanted to do more than say yes. “And I really want you to come with me.”

You shifted your weight side to side. In all of the ways you imagined this moment happening, you never thought it would be after your world was crashing down around you. The truth was, you had always admired Natasha. Her courage, confidence... everything about her. You would fantasize at night about how it could go, how her kiss would feel against your lips. You couldn’t stop your stare from flickering to her mouth as your mind travelled back to the fantasy.

“You’re kind of sending me mixed messages here,” the lady in green said with a light tease laced in her voice. “Don’t leave me hanging.”

“Why?” Your mouth felt dry as you finally asked the question. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” Natasha looked concerned. She placed her drink on top of a nearby park table and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m nothing special.”

“Don’t.” You never heard this tone come from Natasha before. “Don’t say that about yourself.”

“I have never been special,” you argued. “Before the Accords, I was the no-name Avenger. Nobody even knew who I was, what my powers were, because I wasn’t good enough!”

“You were good enough to me.”

You shook your head. “You don’t know what you’re saying-“

“I do,” she said with a serious stare. “Now shut up and let me kiss you.”

That snapped you out of it. “You- you what?” Before you could ask another question, you felt the warm sensation of Natasha’s lips on yours. It was soft at first, like you expected, but soon became more passionate.

“Come with me,” she asked with a small smile after the two of you broke apart.

Her happiness was contagious as you felt a smile of your own creep onto your face. There was so much you wanted to say to her. You wanted to thank her for choosing you, for seeing your flaws and accepting them. How you yearned to tell her how she made you feel safe and at home when you spent most of your life living out of a suitcase, a different name every night. 

But try as you might, nothing you could think of to say would ever sum up everything you wanted her to hear. So instead, you said the only thing you could— the one phrase that would show her everything, a promise of things you felt and others to come.

“Okay.”

==================

Author's Note: New character alert!! Was I supposed to write a response to a new Strange fic request? Yes. Did my idiotic ass decide to fall for another character? Yes. In my defense, I have four new fic ideas and all intentions of writing them. My brain has simply decided that I need to add another project on top of those and not work on them until the next new idea is complete.

Anyway, all that being said, I hope you all enjoyed this fic. It's a bit different than my typical content, but I have a soft spot for Nat. This fic was initially meant to be a drabble, but I got a little carried away...as per usual haha! If you did enjoy this fic, make sure to leave a like, comment, and a cheeky reblog to help me out with the lovely algorithm. If you have a request, make sure to check my pinned post to see my guidelines and see if I'm still accepting requests. Until next time, my lovely readers (still need a name for you all...leave your ideas down in the replies!)!

[shanhelingmoving]

laundry list of grievances of cdrama and/or danmei fandom

lets start with the obvious. the sheer amount of babying going on with characters, especially male characters. no theyre grown adults they arent your baby or your cinnamon roll or your son or smth. there's literally such a history of infantilizing chinese people to dehumanize them and yet all of you keep feeding into that.

also usually in tandem with that - the excessive horniness/oversexualisation of characters. it's genuinely like some of you haven't found a chinese person attractive before and suddenly need to prove that you're not racist because you're attracted to them, leading to the horniest tags on content. i promise i don't need to see that. doubly worse if its done in the same breath as calling them a baby.

the white lens that's applied to these works. whether its comparing cultivators to nobles/ aristocracy or calling cdrama characters elves because of what? historical clothing choices? long hair? sorry to break it to you tolkien didn't invent that. also the misinterpretation of culture and cultural norms and/or deciding to strip away context for your own (usually very white) interpretation. notable examples: modern aus where they've clearly never spoken to a chinese person in their life or the take where jin guangyao an honourary girlboss or saying huaisang is gnc

the forcing of gender roles onto mlm (calling one of them 'the woman/wife') and by extension forcing them into 'tops' or 'bottoms' based on that...like the more `feminized' one is the `bottom:.. and refusing to criticize the source material when it does that and continuing to feed into it

ive mentioned this before but the way theres literally such awful takes on censorship. yes there's something to say about how cdramas being censored means the most egregious fetishy stuff can't make it in, but saying stuff 'censorship fixed it' just shows you've forgotten Why censorship is there. in addition to that, the amount of jokes on 'can't believe this made it past censorship haha' why are you making light of homophobia.

a point brought up by an anon: "being convinced that criticism towards the heteronormativity/hypersexulisation in danmei is a "western" take, therefore it can't be criticised because its chinese media and somehow it makes the issues okay" I want to further comment on this with like...people saying that you're racist for criticizing authors like mxtx or priest because you're `refusing to engage with an asian author's text' please for the love of god give us more credit give asian people more credit it's so incredibly rude to say that asian people don't criticize awful parts of these works.

in addition to that, whenever the texts are criticized in general the defence of 'people are allowed to write unpleasant things/characters' is constantly brought up. however. when these characters are meant to be the main pairing/love interest that the reader is supposed to root for can it truly be said that they're just 'exploring the dynamic'. like pls this is clearly a genre that fetishizes mlm in particular already

when white people designate me (or my friends) as the Token Person Of Colour and like ask permission to do things. hello i (nor any other person) am not able to tell you if you can call an easian man 'a baby' i cannot decide that for you. furthermore i cannot decide that on behalf of every single chinese person

this post. fuck you.

fine i'll elaborate why is there 1k notes why would u rb a self-flagellating 1.5k word essay comparing white people and racism to bronies lol

in conclusion i hate it here and you all should pay me. thank you.

[1kook]

card swiped (3)

→ jeon jungkook x (f) reader

→ Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love.  GENRE romance, smut, teensy angst WARNINGS eventual smut, mentions of sex, virginity plays a huge role OTHER college crushes, childhood friends to lovers, besties to lovers, volleyball player!jk, student council pres!oc, seokjin is 32... and a a coach lol<3 RATING m (18+) WC 1.5k

NOTES (!) seokjin being a hot 32 year old <3 jk gets progressively more dumb as it goes, prayer circle <3 lmk what u think !

[ masterlist ]

The truth is, the reason Jungkook doesn’t lie that much is because he’s terrible at it. 

His mother had found out soon enough who put that dent on the car after a slip-up at the dinner table. His high school coach had learned he had purposely skipped out on practice after an accidental snapchat and jealous teammate had snitched. And, well. Fifteen minutes after the end of practice finds him sitting outside the gymnasium, a grimace on his face as he considers running back to your room and confessing to all his lies. Admitting he’s still a virgin— which was practically of no use to you —and maybe even revealing his own recently uncovered feelings was the easy way out. 

Thankfully, Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is there to knock some sense into him. The hard plastic of the clipboard they use to outline their attacks smacks him hard over the head, making Jungkook’s bones rattle from his skull down to his toes as he steps up behind him. He whirls around to glare at the perpetrator, only to come face to face with the aforementioned assistant coach. “Go home,” Seokjin says, twirling the gym keys in one hand. “I’m trying to lock up.”

“What’s stopping you,” Jungkook huffs, tucking his knees to his chest, ignoring the awfully rude manner in which Seokjin nudges him away, foot against his back as if he’s just an annoying pile of cardboard boxes in his way.

“What’s wrong with you today?” Seokjin asks casually, doesn’t sit next to Jungkook on the steps because he’s always been a little too posh. According to Taehyung, Kim Seokjin graduated from some elite university in another country with near immaculate all-around player statistics before Jungkook even knew what a volleyball was. His success and fame in the world of collegiate volleyball is why he never wears the standard-issued slippers around the court, always some high-end, luxury brand. One glance slightly to his left has Jungkook meeting the black stripe of the frequently sought after Givenchy sneakers head on. 

He scoffs, a sound that Seokjin doesn’t approve of if the karate chop he lands on the back of his neck is anything to go by. “Ow,” Jungkook flinches, pushing him away with an irritated sigh before eventually slumping over his knees again because it’s the exact same thing you do to him sometimes. Study nights— dates, his brain supplies now —where he begins gazing off into space are filled with numerous karate chops to the neck in an effort to get him to focus on his homework. “Come on, Jungkookie,” you always tease, playful smile, lithe fingers toying with the corners of the pages in your book in a way that was almost sensual. But then he does a double-take because he’s aware of the rose-tinted lens he’s unknowingly slapped over it, something he would have maybe not noticed pre-realization of his feelings. And even he is shocked by the absolute seductiveness his brain inserts into an otherwise innocent memory. He’s pretty sure you haven’t called him Jungkookie in years— was his brain trying to hint at something here?

Jungkook groans, knocking his head against his knees as a form of self-punishment for his lecherous thoughts concerning his best friend. 

But his show of emotions must move Assistant Coach Kim because, after a moment of trying to concuss himself against his own knee, there’s a hand placed on his shoulder that makes Jungkook pause. He doesn’t even bother turning around, just throws his head back to look at Seokjin upside down. He’s got a double chin from this angle. “It’s a girl, isn’t it,” his coach sighs, looking at Jungkook with what can only be described as an unimpressed expression. 

“No,” Jungkook defends even though it’s true. “Can’t I just be sad for oth—“

“I heard Jimin call you a simp on the way out,” Seokjin says rather bluntly. And then he surprises Jungkook a second time as he throws aside his posh status to sit on the dirty concrete steps beside him with a sigh. “What did you do?” 

See, Jungkook could lie here and prance off to deal with his own problems. Leaving Seokjin and everyone else in the dark concerning his personal life was, honestly speaking, the smartest thing to do. He didn’t mind his volleyball teammates and friends (in this case, his coach), but he also wasn’t too fond of being relentlessly teased throughout the entire five or more hours they spent together almost every day of the week. 

But also… 

If what Taehyung had said is true— that being, if Kim Seokjin is the illustrious bachelor who charmed his way into multiple foreign panties all whilst demolishing the spirits of liberos and defensive specialists in another country —then Jungkook needed to capitalize off his presence immediately. 

So he lays his cards out flat. “I… might’ve told my best friend I’d take her virginity,” he blurts out, turning to face Seokjin. For the most part, the older man doesn’t look too surprised. If anything, mildly amused. Jungkook quickly adds, “while also being a virgin.” 

“You’re a what,” Seokjin exclaims, chokes on his own saliva in an admittedly not Casanova, bachelor-esque fashion that ends with him coughing into his elbow and Jungkook hurriedly patting his back. “You?” Seokjin repeats once he’s composed himself. “Are a— don’t you have a girlfriend?”

Jungkook’s cheeks warm. “No, Coach. I do not have a girlfriend,” he emphasizes, because who knew sharing the details of his (lack of) sex life would be this embarrassing? 

Seokjin frowns. “What about that girl?” he asks, and Jungkook raises his brows. “You know the one. Carries around stacks of papers to sign, goes to all the games. The one who pats you on head all the time.” And he’s talking about you, of course he is, but the insinuation that other people might, maybe, possibly, perceive you as his girlfriend makes Jungkook malfunction. 

“She’s— That’s—“ he sighs, dropping his head down until his chin touches his chest, brushed against the lucky necklace you’d given him two years ago during their first trip to Nationals. “That’s… my best friend.” 

Beside him, Seokjin says, “the one you’re gonna fuck?” 

Jungkook lets out a long exhale. “Yes. The one I’m going to fuck.” And it’s so blunt and crude, not that it’s surprising coming from him, but it’s surprising because he’s talking about you. Now, Jungkook was never one for romance, far from the sappy type. But why couldn’t he word it more softly, gently? He wasn’t just trying to fuck you, he was trying to… make love. 

The thought must show on his face because Seokjin snorts. “Well, good luck.” 

And then he stands up and begins walking down the sidewalk and Jungkook can’t spring up fast enough. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his forearm. He feels like a dorky character in those dramas you like so much, the ones you force him into watching every time he comes over. Like he’s some disgraced son looking for his father’s approval. Except Assistant Coach Kim is neither his father nor someone he really wants approval from anyway. 

What he does want is pointers. From an experienced pro, if you will. 

Jungkook has to swallow down all his pride as a man to ask his next question. “H- How do I—“

Seokjin beats to it him with a flick to the forehead. “I’m your volleyball coach, kid,” he frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not your sex coach.” It’s a sensible rejection, one that Jungkook expected, but still. He deflates, let’s the weight of the world and his heavy gym bag nearly knock him onto the ground. 

But Assistant Coach Kim Seokjin is kinder than he lets on and, after one annoyed sigh, let’s him in on the secret Jungkook has been chasing for all his life. (Or, well, for the past few hours since he first propositioned you.)

“The key to impressing your partner is to always act like you know what you’re doing,” he tells him, arms crossed over his shoulders. It’s night now, the campus shrouded in darkness. But Jungkook swears a heavenly light shines down on Kim Seokjin just then, a halo appearing over his head when he jabs a finger against Jungkook’s chest. “Confidence is sexy.” 

“Confidence is sexy,” Jungkook repeats, feels like a kid who’s just met his favorite wrestler after years of being an avid fan, watching every match, memorizing every finishing move, collecting every figurine— it’s a little too specific but it makes sense in Jungkook’s case. You would understand this analogy perfectly, having grown alongside him during his iconic wrestling phase (before volleyball). You had indulged him in his interest, had let him practice those Do Not Try at Home moves on you again and again, even when you knew it ended with you bruised and crying, the twin pigtails you used to rock as a kid uneven and messy. But as your best friend, you had let him twist your arm and pin you to the count of three, because that’s what a good best friend did. 

And as your best friend, Jungkook was gearing himself up to completely, thoroughly rock your virgin world. Because that’s what a good best friend did.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

i get so lost inside your eyes || h. styles

warnings: mentions of a break up, swearing, kissing, mentions of alcohol

word count: 1.5k

summary: you and harry are alone on valentine’s day, so decide to spend it together...

“I brought wine!” Harry smiled, showing you the bottle he’d bought on the way to your home. 

“My hero,” you joked, opening your front door wider to let Harry in. 

“And I got you flowers,” he shrugged, his cheeks coated in a light tinge of red. 

You smiled, “Why did you do that?”

“Just felt like it. You deserve them anyway,” he sighed, passing them to you. 

“Well, thank you, Harry,” you grinned. 

You took the wine and flowers from him, taking them through to the kitchen. He shrugged his coat off and head through to the living room. It was dark outside, the sun having set two or three hours prior to Harry’s arrival. 

You’d know Harry for a long time. Nearly seven years. And you’d been good friends for that time, enjoying one another’s company perhaps too much. He’d been there for you when it felt like nobody else was. Harry had seen some of your ugliest moments and his adoration for you had never faltered. 

Due to you both being single, you’d made the mutual decision to spend Valentine’s Day together. Spending the evening together, binging cheesy romcoms and crying over fictional characters’ love lives, sounded like the perfect way to spend Valentine’s Day to you. And evidently to Harry too, for he was, sat on your couch, flicking through Netflix. 

You placed the two wine glasses down on your coffee table, pouring the bottle out between them. You sat in silence as the title sequence of Harry’s selected movie rolled, taking occasional sips of the wine. “How’s Valentine’s Day being single then?” he asked suddenly. “You know, since you and Peter broke up.”

“Thanks for reminding me of that,” you joked. “Just what I wanted to hear today.”

His eyes widening, realising how rude his question was, “Oh, Y/N, I’m-“

You chuckled, “Harry, it’s fine. I was kidding.”

“Oh, right,” he laughed. “Obviously. Are you looking for anyone right now?”

Your throat suddenly became very dry. You were in the midst of trying to suppress your feelings for Harry before looking for anything serious with somebody else. After you and Peter had broken up, you had assigned yourself a ‘no guys’ rule, in which you’d stay away from dating altogether for at least six months.

 But then you began to see Harry under a different lens. You’d always found him attractive and you were never to deny the fact that Harry was good-looking, even before you first met him. But you’d never seen him under a romantic light. And then you began to, and it made hanging out with him feel completely different. You were hyper-aware of everything he did and you picked up on the small things he did. It became exhausting. 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you forced a shrug, “Not really. No point forcing something with somebody when I’m not in any rush to be in a relationship.”

“Oh… fair enough,” he nodded, his eyebrows knitted together slightly. “Yeah, why force it?”

He prayed you hadn’t picked up on his slight shift in mood. The awkwardness and the slightly disheartened tone. But you had. You weren’t going to mention it though; it would be mean to put him on the spot like that. So, instead, the two of you stayed silent as you watched the movie. 

About an hour and a half later, the credits rolled. You yawned, stretching your legs slightly, they were dead from the position you’d had them in for the duration of the movie. “I’ve got ice cream, come and tell me about yourself,” you said, getting up to fetch the tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer. 

He followed, beginning to talk about how the band were and how writing was going. You nodded along, genuinely interested in how his music career was going, as you fished out some spoons. The pair of you sat down at the kitchen island, sharing the tub of ice cream as he told you about the many love songs he was writing. He’d tell you about a date he went on, which inspired this song, and a crush he had, which inspired that song. And, though hard for you to listen to, you still nodded along eagerly, wishing he wouldn’t notice the frown that was playing on your lips. “How’s Gemma?” you asked, hoping you didn’t seem desperate to change the topic of conversation. 

He shrugged, “She’s good. She was actually asking how you were today, I was on the phone with her.”

“Oh,” you smiled. You adored Gemma. “That’s kind of her. Tell her that her podcast has been keeping me sane.”

“She’ll be glad to hear that,” he chuckled. “Have you still got that piano?”

It was a random question and it took you by surprise slightly. It was so off-topic. You nodded. He smiled, “Can I teach you one of my songs?”

You grinned, “If you’d like.”

Playing the piano was something your parents had forced you to do when you were a child. And, it wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy it, you certainly did now that you were an adult, but it was never something you were necessarily passionate about. Not like Harry was about music anyway. It was more of a hobby for whenever you could make time to play now. 

You followed him through to the dining room, deciding the empty tub of ice cream could wait until later to clear away. He sat himself down on the stool, patting the space beside him. “Come on, Y/N,” he laughed at your hesitancy.

Sitting down beside him, you felt your cheeks suddenly heat up. Your thigh was pressed against his, your arms grazing slightly. And you realised, as he was playing one of his songs, his eyes flicking between the keys and you, how intimate this really was. You felt like you were in school again, getting incredibly too nervous whenever you were partnered up with whoever you were crushing in at the time. “See, it’s just like this,” he said, playing it slower. 

You nodded, “Kudos to Charlotte for remembering all of this.”

“I remember it too!” he said, acting as if the compliment you’d just offered Charlotte was the most offensive thing anybody had ever said to him. 

You stifled a laugh, “Yeah, but you don’t play it in front of thousands of people. God, you’re such a drama queen.”

He shrugged, “What can I say? That’s showbiz, baby.”

You felt ready to pass out. He’d just called you ‘baby’, and though you knew it was part of the saying, it still felt weird to have him direct the name at you. You laughed anyway, trying to act as normal as possible. “If you say so,” you smiled. 

“Right, now you try,” he said, taking your hand and placing it on the keys. 

“Harry, it’ll sound terrible,” you sighed. 

“Just give it a go,” he smiled supportively at you, staring into your eyes. “You’re great at everything anyway.”

You scoffed, “Well, that’s just a blatant lie. Play it again. I’ve only seen you do it once.”

He nodded, repeating what he’d played before. You took note of the notes, lodging them into your brain somewhere. Besides, it was only the intro of the song. And so, you gave it a shot and it sounded somewhat decent. That was until you noticed Harry staring at you out of the corner of your eye. This completely ruined your concentration and you managed to absolutely butcher the beforehand beautiful tune. “Shit, sorry,” you said quickly. 

“Don’t apologise, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” he said softly. “It was great for a first attempt.”

You turned to look at him, only then noticing how dangerously close your faces were. It was a tight squeeze on the piano stool as it was, but now it was forcing your faces inches apart. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered. 

You expected him to suddenly recoil, realising what he’d just said and apologise. But he didn’t. He sat silently as if waiting for you to say something back. “Can I kiss you?” he asked before you had the chance to return the compliment or thank him for it. 

You nodded, “Please.”

And he did. And it was wonderful. Better than anything you’d dreamt up inside your head. His hand on your cheek, the other on your thigh, you felt safe with Harry. This kiss with Harry felt more natural than anything else you’d shared with previous partners. As he pulled away, he grinned, eyes fluttering up and down your face. “Sorry,” he said quietly as if he was second-guessing the perfect moment of intimacy you’d just shared. 

“Don’t apologise, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” you repeated his earlier words, earning yourself a grin from Harry and another peck on the lips. 

He smirked slightly, “Do you want to maybe end Valentine’s Day with a boyfriend?”

“Is that an offer, Harry?” you grinned. 

“Perhaps it is, yes.”

“Then I might just take you up on it.”

[pedros-mustache]

frankie tears up and kisses you senseless when you ask if you can be maria's mama officially send tweet

ahaha—i’m in pain. frankie and nanny forever own me. 😩 also: this kicks off my follower celebration requests! from now until march 6th, anything sent in will fall under the “#1.5k celebration” tag! 

1.5 follower celebration! (this is part of the rose between two thorns universe)

“hey, baby, can i ask you sumthin’?”

across the kitchen table, frankie lifts his head. his wire-rimmed glasses slide down the curve of his nose, and he adjusts them with his knuckle, a habit he’s formed now that he wears his glasses in the evenings. he says he’s getting to be an old man; you say he just looks smarter while cutting coupons.

“yeah. what is it?”

you hesitate. a heavy weights settles on your chest, squeezing your heart tight. hidden beneath the table, that same weight lies in your lap. you smooth your palm across the manilla envelope and fiddle with the metal prongs along the seal.

straightening your shoulders, you exhale through pursed lips.

now or never.

“we’ve been together awhile, right?”

frankie arches an eyebrow. he blinks slowly, long eyelashes skimming his cheekbones. “yeah.” the agreement falls from his lips in a long drawl, his uncertainty evident in the way he extends the monosyllabic word. 

“about two years, if you count the first three months or so before we really got together.” 

“uh-huh.” he leans back in his chair, arms folded over his chest, and the pinch in his brow deepens. “what’s this about?”

“well, i got to thinking about maria. to be honest, i feel like she’s my own flesh and blood. i know i didn’t give birth to her, and maybe it’s weird, but i see her like my own. i love her like my own. and now that we’re married—” sighing, you shake your head as you slide the manilla envelope out from under the table. “i’m not good with words. what i’m trying to say is in here.”

frankie eyes you as he takes the envelope from your outstretched hand. you’re surprised he hasn’t caught on, but he gets tired when the hustle-and-bustle of the day settles. maria is a handful; he’s started taking night classes while juggling his job at the construction site; and then there’s you and your needs and desires. despite his best efforts, he falls asleep nearly every night when you snuggle into bed beside him, reruns of an inane sit-com flashing across the tv. he insists he’s paying attention when you rouse him with a kiss to the cheek, but you both know it’s a boldfaced lie. your frankie works hard, loves even harder, so you don’t fault him for his frequent yawns or sleepy stares. if anything, that boyish, dazed look he gets on his face when he’s half-awake, half-asleep during yet another movie makes you love him all the more.

he opens the orange-yellow packet with a quick tug, ignoring the prongs entirely. you wince and hope the envelope holding one very important, very legal document was the only thing to tear in his haste.

sitting forward, frankie removes the single sheet of paper from inside the envelope. his eyes scan the words, his mouth moving in time with his race to the end of the document. your heart slams in your chest, your hands wet with nerves.

his gaze flicks up, and you swallow hard. his mouth opens, shuts, opens again. the hand holding the document drops to the table with a thud.

you lean forward. “well?”

“are you serious?”

of all the things you expected him to say in response to a set of adoption papers are you serious was not one of them.

you frown on a scoff. “yes, i’m serious! as serious as a heart-attack! i may not be maria’s birth mother, but i’ve raised her since she was practically a newborn. i know she calls me mama, and i love that, but i want to be her mother for real. i don’t want anyone to tell me that she’s not my daughter and that i’m not—”

launching across the table, frankie grabs your cheeks and smashes his mouth against yours. the words on your tongue, primed and ready for a fight, surrender to the smooth pull of his lips. you startle, but soon composure yourself, your hands coming to rest on his forearms. he kisses you well—long and deep and intent. he kisses you like he’s trying to drink you in, to make you one with himself. like you, words don’t come naturally to frankie, but actions do. you can feel his love, his admiration, his joy in the scruff that brushes your jaw and the tongue that skims yours and the lips that mark you as his own. when he pulls away, rolling his forehead over yours, still awkwardly stretched across the expanse of the table, you gasp for breath.

“is that...” you swallow hard, eyes fluttering open. “are you gonna sign it then?”

frankie laughs and kisses you again—three short pecks against your lips—before falling back to his chair. his cheeks are flushed, and the grin on his mouth is captivating, shining like the veritable sun. you’ve never seen him glow so radiantly. 

he points to the pen sat beside an unpaid bill in your stack of mail. “hand me that.”

“okay.” your hands shake as you slide frankie the pen. his fingertips brush yours, and he grabs your wrist, giving your pulse point a gentle squeeze.

“you’re sure?”

you nod without hesitation. “aside from marrying you, i’ve never been more sure about anything in my life. sign the adoption papers, frankie.”

he scrawls his signature on the dotted line alongside yours.

then he looks up, and the air in your chest stills.

“she—” he clears his throat, runs his hand through his hair, sets the pen aside. “i don’t think she ever wanted to be a mom. i think that’s why it was so easy for her to leave.”

you remain quiet. in all the time you’ve known frankie—worked for him, cared for him, loved him—he’s only ever spoken of his former wife once.

“i think that maria was made for you, and you for her.” he shakes his head, and the tears in his eyes reflect in the lens of his glasses as he looks up toward the ceiling. “sometimes i can’t believe how lucky she is. how lucky i am.”

slipping out of your chair, you walk around the table to perch yourself in frankie’s lap. he meets your gaze, and you brush a stray tear off of his cheek with the pad of your thumb. he leans into the touch.

“to think this all started with that horrible ad on the university bulletin board.”

with a chuckle, he squeezes your hip. “to think i considered hiring benny as a last resort.” he sobers and brushes his fingertips behind your ear. “i mean it, though: maria is lucky to have you as a mom.”

though you preen under frankie’s words, you brush it off with a shrug. “i’m lucky to have her. we’re a good pair.”

he huffs, his hand tightening on your hip. “yeah, spoiled to death! the both of you! i saw that target receipt. i know how much you spent on clothes last week.”

“oh shit!” tumbling from frankie’s lap, you skid across the linoleum as you race for the living room. “you weren’t supposed to know!” 

frankie is quick to catch you. he wraps his arms around your waist and lifts your feet from the floor, his voice a deep rumble in your ear when he says, “well, i know, mama. now how exactly are you gonna pay that debt?”

if you are stunned by the sudden shift in mood, in the way you clench under frankie’s innuendo, you don’t let it affect you. you play along because this is your life: you don’t get enough sleep, you don’t fool around with your husband as much as you’d like, you work too much, and there is a never-ending list of household chores calling your name. 

but at the end of the day, it’s you and frankie. you and frankie and your daughter and perhaps one day a few more pairs of feet running through the halls. 

and at the end of the day, you wouldn’t have it any other way.