#very excited to dissect the rest of these thoughts in time

[delirious-donna]

Chapter 1: The Flawless Performance

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

tw: professor/student dynamic, reader is 21, riled emotions, distrust towards reader, mentions of female masturbation, fantasising about her sexy professor, explicit content in all subsequent chapters

summary: You had been his favourite. It should have stayed that way, and Professor Nanami would realise the error of his ways one way or another.

Masterlist | Chapter 2

“I think you’ll find, Sir…”

The rest of the sentence was obscured behind the wild pound of his pulse. Every nerve set ablaze by the sugary sweet voice that was the bane of his very existence. Strong fingers gripped the pen in his hold with renewed strength, feeling the give of the flimsy plastic as he crushed the life out of it. Splintering shards flooded his palm, and he had to fight every urge not to show the evidence of his ire.

A sea of faces stared down at him, a range of expressions from over-eager interest to downright blatant boredom, and among them–you stood out. It was impossible for his eyes not to swivel straight to where you sat, the same seat you always took. The one dead centre, ensuring that he would give you the majority of his attention–you demanded it after all.

Professor Nanami stared down his charges; long had he become disillusioned with the life of a teacher. It felt like an age had passed since he had considered himself eager to share his knowledge, now finding solace as the clock above the door ticked towards clocking off time more than anything else. There had been a time when he was fresh-faced and excited to encourage the next generation, but as everything else had in his life, the shine had worn off remarkably fast.

A haunted silence rang through his mind despite his awareness that you were still talking, not a word of it did he hear. His elbow braced upon the lectern he stood at, one foot crossed over his opposite ankle as if he were bored stiff. The ability to mask his emotions came in handy at moments such as this, although it was becoming increasingly difficult and he knew exactly what the reason was. 

Kento’s gaze wandered somewhat aimlessly around the slightly raised platform that he stood upon, searching for something to focus his attention, and it fell on his meticulously clean desk on the far side.

A desk that suddenly seemed wrong; his brow lowered in concentration as he focused on the cherrywood desk. He scrutinised every inch with his sweeping gaze, something was out of place and not being able to spot the oddity was only causing his wrath to grow. It wouldn’t be long until it consumed him, that ugly feeling spreading like a sickness throughout his body until it succeeded in darkening every corner.

There it was.

A vibrant pink pen with an unsightly fluffy pompom at the end lay across his open planner. He glared at it. He wished for nothing more than to set it ablaze with his eyes alone. This was not the first time he had seen this particular pen, it had a strange habit of appearing on random parts of his desk despite the numerous times he had disposed of it, and the wild thought of who this pen likely belonged to struck him right between the eyes.

The phoney cutesy voice was still going strong as he attempted to tune back in, your words dissecting every point he had made within the last forty-five minutes of his lecture. You wielded your words like a surgeon wields a scalpel. Nanami walked to his desk, each step of his feet sounded like an ominous thunderclap on the polished wood.

There was no other noise within the auditorium other than his footfalls and the incessant crucifixion of today’s lesson, he could sense the brewing storm that pressed heavily upon everyone present. It was evident from the way he watched students shuffle in their seats, that uncomfortable squirm that spoke of their wish to be able to escape the impending doom.

He reached the desk in a mere six paces and picked up the offending pen with his finger and thumb, holding it like it was something he’d rather not touch at all.

Wait, was that a falter in the diatribe being spouted?

Nanami rounded the desk until he could lock eyes with you, amused at how you had rushed to continue your speech. Hazel eyes stared directly into yours, he held your gaze as his fingers released the pen to fall to its death within his trash can, the clatter of the plastic meeting metal sounding far louder than it should.

At long last, you had come to the end of your admonishments, and a slow smile spread across his face. You didn’t need to know that he was literally biting the inside of his cheek to keep himself in line, very aware that if he were to act upon the wishes he had at this moment, he would lose his job in a heartbeat. The shocked expression that graced your pretty face was victory enough.

Whatever you had expected from him, it surely wasn’t this and he was filled with momentary satisfaction that was far too fleeting for his liking. It was not nearly enough to douse the flames of irritation, but enough to allow him to find his voice once more. Walking with considered steps he stood centre stage and brushed a hand through his slightly ruffled hair.

“And with that, ladies and gentlemen, my character assassination as a Professor is complete.”

Kento pressed his arm tightly against his front, bowing as if he were an actor in a play and the curtain had finally fallen. Tinkling awkward laughter rang through the room, and he took the opportunity to spread his arm towards where you sat. Your eyes widened in surprise, your mouth popped into a small ‘o’ that looked so damn appealing to him at that moment, and such a tight hold on the pen in your grasp that your fingers were visibly trembling.

“Why don’t you stand and take a bow? Such a wonderful performance as my assassin. Clearly, you know more about the subject than I, the Professor do.”

Silence.

All laughter died in the throats of the students as they twisted in every direction to get a look at the girl in question. It would be a lie to say that he didn’t feel sorry for you, but it was so insignificant in comparison to the months of harassment he had suffered through that it was easy to squash the feeling under his heel.

Some may think that his lacking compassion made him cruel. How wicked to toy with his students in this way, he must have no feelings or empathy, but this was far from the truth. He did care, despite his waning enthusiasm for his profession, he still wanted the best for the students that walked through his door. The only crime that Kento was guilty of was being consumed by his thoughts–thoughts that were far from pure and just.

His annoyance for the mental and emotional torture he had been put through by you was more than evident, but more importantly, it was his annoyance for letting himself get this riled up in the first place that bothered him the most. For allowing it to get this far without putting a stop to it–he held the authority to do so, and he worried for a second that a part of him might have sickeningly enjoyed it. Who in their right mind would be so depraved to have enjoyed what he had experienced?

Speaking of his tormentor, you slammed your open notebook closed with an echoing thud. The reverberation rattled at his nerves, and he ground down on his molars as you got to your feet to give a cute curtsey. Ever the brilliant actress, no one would ever suspect the evil mind that was housed within your angelic-looking head.

Damn you…

~

Professor Nanami, why do you snub me so? 

What changed, and why do I care more than I’d like?

It was always a challenge to interject into one of his lectures, despite the alarming regularity with which you did so. Everything about him was imposing; from his stature to his authoritative voice. It would be a lie to say you hadn’t found yourself staring at the broad frame of your business ethics professor on more than one occasion. Getting woefully lost in your mind at just how wide his shoulders were beneath the crisp button-ups that he always wore.

You remembered well the day at the beginning of the summer months, the one when the weather seemed intent on cooking everyone to a sizzling crisp. Reliving the memory of the mesmerising way he had rolled his sleeves to the elbows. Not only had it exposed his muscled forearms, the thick tendons pulled taut whilst his equally thick fingers worked the stiff fabric, but also the tawny complexion of his skin. 

How amusing that he should teach business ethics when you had long strayed into very unethical territory, but it wasn’t enough to stop you in your endeavours–not nearly enough. He deserved it after all, stringing you along only to cast you aside for seemingly no reason at all. Could you really call it stringing you along? 

If you thought about it rationally for even a second, you would likely conclude the insanity of the emotions that ruled your head but it was difficult when you manifested hearts in your eyes every time you walked through the hallowed doors of Professor Nanami’s lecture hall.

You weren’t some silly sixteen-year-old girl anymore, so why did it seem your emotional maturity regressed within his presence? From the very first moment you met him, you were hooked. Down so sickeningly bad that you went out of your way to impress him time and time.

Shrugging off the whispered sneers of “teacher’s pet”  and becoming top of the class with a lot of hard work and dedication to the subject matter. Weren’t you the perfect cliche; lusting after your handsome professor like some lovesick puppy? 

You tried to forget about your attraction, tried valiantly to socialise with your peers and find a man of your own age to fantasise about in the dead of night when your thighs tightened against the pillow shoved between them and your spine bowed off your lonely, single mattress.

It was always eyes of warming sun-kissed brown that pierced through the veil of your arousal. Hair the shade of harvest-ready wheat that you imagined buried at the apex of your thighs and the tick of his expensive timepiece that marched steadily onwards whilst the hand attached curled around your waist.

Kento…

You had learned his given name quite by accident, hearing another Professor address him by it when they both assumed they were alone and since then you had longed to whisper it in his ear. How perfectly it rolled off your tongue, the syllables melding together beautifully in the breathless way you exhaled it as you fell apart on your fingers, wishing they were his.

So, yes it was petty, and yes you knew it was wrong to torment him as you had been, but you weren’t going to stop. Not unless he forced you to, and that very thought was exhilarating. The battle of wits and resolve would continue until he saw the error of his ways, you were special and he should admit that to himself instead of shutting you out.

[missywritesfor7]

❤️‍🩹Lifeline | MYG❤️‍🩹

Synopsis: It’s long been controversial for idols to date, but idols dating each other can be really beautiful or a complete nightmare. When Yoongi's relationship with another idol is discovered, he decides maybe it’s time to break the taboo and show people it’s ok for idols to date. Instead, they find themselves caught in the midst of one media frenzy after another and struggle to keep their relationship as strong as it had been the past 2 years. Yoongi finds a self destructive way to cope, and it causes even more problems than it solves. As they fight for their relationship and their careers, they discover that sometimes, the only way to truly be free is to let go.

Pairing: idol!Yoongi x idol!OC

Warnings: nsfw, alcoholism, cheating, depression, anxiety, Yoongi goes through a bisexy ho phase, Yoongi is also in his alcoholic phase, post-military BTS

Previous chapter | Next chapter | Masterlist

Ch. 26: Clout

It was only a matter of time before Yoongi would face his first obstacle post-sobriety. He worried what the triggering moment would be and when it would hit him. What would push him back towards the bottle and test his restraint? Now that he’s facing that obstacle, he’s afraid he may not be as strong as he thought he was.

Minho arrives at Yoongi’s apartment to find him looking anxious and distressed. The texts he received from Yoongi along with the frantic phone call that followed had Minho making it to Yoongi in record time. At first glance Yoongi looks physically fine, but the moment he opens his mouth he can only babble nervously about how he wants a drink and he’s not able to make that craving stop. It takes a bit of time, but Minho is finally able to calm Yoongi enough to get him to explain what happened.

Those trending tags Yoongi saw about himself told a story that only further sent him into a deep dive of self hatred and regret. It’s not just about him being one of Chelsea’s victims, it’s about why he’s one of her victims. Internet sleuths and so called “investigative journalists” were able to put together a theory that seemed very possible to the public. The theory that Yoongi had or still has a drug addiction.

Being an alcoholic is nothing compared to the stigma of being a drug addict. And even many people are more forgiving of marijuana these days, though no one knows about the edible Chelsea gave him. No, right now people are discussing Yoongi being addicted to hard drugs, and that carries a stigma that could result in a public execution of a person and their entire career.

People began collecting photos and videos of Yoongi from the time they were in LA, and people claiming to know the signs of the use of certain drugs have managed to convince others that his drug of choice was either cocaine or heroin. His appearance had been dissected all the way down to the appearance of his fingernails. Videos by YouTubers and TikTokers are being uploaded by the minute with everyone wanting to give their opinion.

Seeing all of that made Yoongi feel sick to his stomach. He’s frustrated because of all things, people chose to think he’s a drug addict. He’d much rather they just know the truth that he’s a recovering alcoholic. He’s sad because he knows none of this will get past Hyeri and she’ll have to hear all of this and likely feel all of that hurt again. He’s disappointed because in the end he’s the one who set himself up like this. Every drink he hid, every stranger he gave himself to, every night he snuck out of his hotel, he did it all to himself. He’s regretful because what is he supposed to say to the rest of the guys? They’re in the middle of working on their new album and shit like this could bring it all to a screeching halt. They were all so excited about this next comeback and now Yoongi feels like he’s ruined it for them all. For that he feels such deep guilt. No matter how many angles he looks at this from, the one certainty to him is that it’s all his fault and he’s once again causing hurt to the ones he loves the most. Now he wants to run to the bottle, an urge that seems much too strong for him to handle.

Minho tries his best to bring Yoongi out of his overwhelming feeling of panic. He gets him a glass of water and gives him time to ground himself and return to the present moment. His first priority is to help quell Yoongi’s urge to drink, then he can delve deeper into the public massacre happening.

Just as Yoongi’s manager said, a statement was put out asking that Yoongi’s privacy be respected during this time. The statement was short and simple and only confirmed that Yoongi was a victim of theft and they are thankful for those who were involved in the capture and conviction of the perpetrator. To some, this statement was enough and they begin pleading for people to be more respectful towards Yoongi since he is a victim and it isn’t fair to scrutinize him when Chelsea is the criminal. However some others are more focused on the lack of response to the drug allegations. They feel the company should be aware of the rumors by now and issuing a statement that doesn’t address them makes people feel like the company is hiding something.

Hyeri has a bit of a light schedule today. She’s able to take it a little easy between scenes since she has more downtime than usual. During one of those breaks in the late afternoon, she receives a text from her mother asking what’s happening with Yoongi and if he’s ok. Hyeri has no idea what her mom is talking about, but as soon as she opens Twitter she sees it all. The statement from Big Hit, the news reports of Chelsea’s conviction, the rumors of Yoongi’s drug abuse, and someone claiming to know for a fact Yoongi wasn’t on drugs but in the same post alluded to being intimate with Yoongi. There goes another wound ripped wide open.

Hyeri’s heart sinks. She wants to check in with Yoongi, but at the same time she can’t bring herself to contact him. Instead she doom scrolls through the trends finding post after post that twists the knife in her even more. Specifically, she’s doom scrolling through posts discussing Yoongi being intimate with the person who posted about “spending a few hours” with him. She hates how much it hurts and she hates even more that she can’t stop reading on.

The person claiming to have been with Yoongi one night in Vegas claims they had no idea who he was and that he used a different name, though they couldn’t remember what it was. They said he didn’t have signs of heroin usage because there were no track marks on his arms, or anywhere else on his body. When asked by another commenter to be more specific, the person cheekily answered by saying Yoongi was “big and clean” and throwing three eggplant emojis at the end for good measure.

Hyeri throws her phone to the floor with a huff. She’s pissed, frustrated, sad, angry, and heartbroken. She isn’t sure what to do now, but she has no time to think about it as she has to straighten herself up and go back out to shoot her next scene. It’s difficult to walk back out on set and pretend like her heart isn’t sitting on the floor of her trailer bruised and battered. Still she puts on a brave face and takes her position.

Lucky for her, the scene she’s shooting requires her to break down in tears in her room at the thought of her on screen love interest choosing to date someone else over her. As soon as the cameras roll she lets it all out. The hurt rumbling within her is unleashed in a pained wail followed by heavy tears leaving trails of mascara down her face giving the added effect producers wanted when they had her makeup artist use cheap mascara that wasn’t waterproof. Not only is she supposed to cry, but the scene requires her to completely lose it. Writers want her to bang on tables, throw things, practically oversell the heartbreak in the most dramatic fashion.

So she did.

There was no easing into the tears, they just fell. They fell hard and she reached out and threw the first thing she could get her hands on, which was an alarm clock next to the bed where she sat to start the scene. She screamed into the pillow. She got up and tossed everything off of the computer desk. She turned towards the closet and pulled every piece of clothing off of the hangers while screaming incoherently. Tears, snot, and spit spray around as she moves from the closet to the shelf to continue her destruction. Figurines, books, journals, plushies, everything on that shelf was unsafe from her wrath. She let everything go in that scene unleashing the suffocating pain that no one realizes she’s truly feeling deep within her veins. In one final act of blazing despair, she grabs the chair sitting at the desk in the room and lifts it over her head and slams it down like a guitarist smashing a guitar at the end of a rage filled show.

“Why am I not good enough?!” Her unscripted cry as she falls to her knees and cries into her hands sends shockwaves through everyone present. Everyone is frozen in silence before the director finally realizes they’re still shooting and yells cut to end the scene.

Hyeri wipes her face then rises to her feet. The entire crew remains stunned silent. No one knows what to say or how to even carry on after such a scene. Everyone looks at each other while Hyeri stands there awkwardly waiting for her next instruction.

“Hyeri,” the director says stepping towards her. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” she lies.

“Ok…well we scheduled more time for this scene but I don’t think we need to do another take. That was incredible, Hyeri!”

“Oh,” she says surprised. She thought she had probably ruined the scene. She did way more than the script called for and her ad-libbed cry wasn’t something they had discussed previously.

“We could all feel your pain,” the director continues. “It was stunning, Hyeri. You can go to your trailer and get out of character, you’ve earned yourself an early release today.”

Hyeri shyly nods thanking the directors and the rest of the crew then retreats for her trailer. She changes into her normal clothes and washes the mascara stains off her face. She takes a moment to take a breath and decide what she wants to do now. She wants to go home, but she doesn’t. She shares her home with Yoongi and right now she isn’t sure she wants to see him. After 20 minutes of contemplating she finally decides to just go home anyway.

As if she weren’t already having a hard time, she arrives home to see a crowd of people near the main entrance hoping to catch a glimpse of Yoongi entering or exiting the building. The fact that these people even know where he lives is unsettling to Hyeri since she lives here too and fears for her own privacy and protection. Thankfully she’s able to drive through the security gate to the parking garage without being noticed. When she parks she sits in the car a moment trying to determine if she should back out and go somewhere else. It’s a long moment. A long 20 minutes of frustration and contemplation. Leaving now would be a nightmare considering how much she had to duck to remain unseen getting in. She curses and sighs then pulls herself out of her car.

She’s not surprised to see Yoongi on the couch with his nose deep in a book when she enters. She figured he would have stayed home if he already knew what was waiting for him outside. Seeing him makes her burn up inside but she decides to act normal and see if he’ll mention the shit show surrounding him.

“You’re home early,” Yoongi says putting his book aside. He notices the redness in her eyes and there’s no doubt in his mind that she knows what’s going on. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Hyeri nods sitting on the other end of the couch.

“Are you sure?” He notices the distance she’s put between them and the guilt begins swelling within him again. Minho helped him ease his urge to have a drink and suggested he do something to occupy himself. He’d been reading ever since and now that Hyeri is home and clearly bothered, that urge is starting to creep back up.

“Yeah,” she repeats. “I had to shoot a crying scene. We got done early so I got the rest of the day off.”

Her response is cold and she hasn’t even glanced at him for a second. He watches as she pulls out her phone and begins tapping away. She says nothing else and he’s unsure what to say himself. He wants his liquid courage, but that wouldn’t make things any better. It’s because of that she’s getting up with a sigh and retreating to the bedroom. He hates this. He hates himself. He rises from the couch to slowly follow her to the bedroom. He doesn’t know what to say, but he has to say something.

“Hyeri,” he says stepping into the bathroom where she’s getting undressed.

“Hm?” She mumbles pulling her hair out of its messy ponytail. She only glances at him through the mirror then quickly turns her attention back to herself.

“I know you’re upset about all of this shit coming back up. I just want to tell you again how sorry I am. I wish I could take it all back, but-“

“But you can’t!” She snaps. “You can’t un-drink those drinks. You can’t un-steal your things. You can’t un-fuck those people!”

“I swear I will do everything to make it up to you. Anything you want, babe, you deserve it all and more. I know everything being brought up again isn’t helping anything between us right now, but I still meant everything I’ve said. I want to start over and make up for all of my bullshit. I know I can’t undo any of it, but I’ll try my damndest for you. For us.”

“Us?” She huffs throwing her shirt off. She’s not currently in the mood to think about us when there are people out there praising some random stranger for getting a few hours with Yoongi. Her Yoongi.

“I know it’s going to take time but-“

Hyeri quickly turns towards the shower and turns the water on to cut him off mid sentence. She doesn’t want to hear anything else from him right now. She wishes she had backed out and drove somewhere else. Every time she thinks she’s forgiven him and can move on trying to repair their relationship, she’s reminded that she hasn’t forgiven him completely. At least not for the cheating. His drinking? Sure she’s forgiven him. He’s been clean and looks almost healthier than he was before he fell down the hole of addiction. But cheating? Even if it’s just blowjobs, it still hurts her all the same and it’s not an easy hurt to mend. She’s starting to realize that. The two months he was gone she thought she would overcome it, but perhaps that time wasn’t long enough.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now.” She removes the rest of her clothing and steps into the shower without giving Yoongi another glance.

Yoongi sighs and exits the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands trying to figure out what he’s supposed to do now. What he would give for maybe a small sip of whiskey to numb the pain.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. “Fuck!”

Hyeri stays in the shower longer than she normally would. She cycles through feelings as she stands motionless under the stream of water. Forgiveness is fucking hard, but she doesn’t think it’s going to happen here or now. She needed more time away. More time to focus on forgiving him and not so much on his health.

When she finally drags herself out of the shower she can hear Yoongi in the kitchen. He’s likely cooking her a meal as a way of apologizing. As he usually does. It’s always the same. She takes her time drying off and slipping into her pjs. She then quietly pulls a large duffel bag out of the closet and begins throwing a few things into it. Clothes to last at least a week, toiletries, underwear, and a small jewelry box she takes with her when traveling that can hold a few pieces of jewelry. When she’s done she leaves the bag on the closet floor and walks out to the kitchen where Yoongi is at the stove.

“I know you don’t usually eat much when you’re on set, but I thought you would like a full meal since you’re home early,” Yoongi says shyly.

“Hmph,” Hyeri huffs.

“Here,” he says placing a plate on the bar counter.

Hyeri sits down with a sigh and begins picking at her food. She doesn’t even really have an appetite right now, even if she is staring down at one of her favorite cheat meals, rabokki (ramen + tteokbokki) with a soft boiled egg, a slice of cheese, topped with a little kimchi and green onions. A typical Yoongi apology. His stupid apology that always works. She sighs and begrudgingly takes a bite. It’s good as it always is, but she remains stoic while refusing to look in Yoongi’s direction.

“Do you want anything to drink?” He asks.

Hyeri grunts.

“Water? Or maybe tea?” He’s trying to get something out of her. Anything to ease the sharp pain shooting through his stomach as she gives him just the treatment he knows he deserves.

Hyeri growls and shoves another bite in her mouth.

“Ok,” he sighs in defeat, then retreats to the couch to give her space. He isn’t sure what to do to make things right, but he knows it needs to be good. Very very good.

While Hyeri spends the remainder of the evening closed up in the bedroom ignoring him, he’s lost in his phone trying to brainstorm ideas to fix the shit he created. Nothing seems good enough. He could lasso Saturn and bring it to her and it wouldn’t be enough. He stays up late searching, thinking, reading, and writing until he finally decides to head to bed.

Hyeri has long since cried herself to sleep in preparation for another early morning. Sleep was the only other thing she could do besides cry. She didn’t even want to step out of the room for any reason because she really did not want to see Yoongi’s face. She made sure to lock the door before falling asleep because she was certain her day would start off bad if she woke up next to Yoongi in the morning. She hopes he’ll get the hint whenever he tries to enter.

He definitely got the hint. The door didn’t budge when he tried to enter and he doesn’t have to be a genius to figure it out. He takes his book and retreats to the guest bedroom where he can only lay in bed and stare into the darkness of the unlit room. He knew the moment he saw the trends that she wouldn’t be happy. He knows she said she had forgiven him and wanted to start fresh, and he thought they were doing that, but now this seems to have sent them 10 steps backwards. He somehow manages to fall asleep after a while thinking of how much he absolutely hates himself and may truly never be able to forgive himself if he loses Hyeri for good.

The next morning he wakes up extra early to prepare Hyeri a quick and portable breakfast to start her day. He knows she’s beyond upset with him so he chooses to go back into the guest room after leaving her a breakfast gimbap roll. He laid in bed waiting to hear her emerge from the bedroom but he ended up falling back to sleep before he could.

Yoongi wakes up 2 hours later to texts from his manager to stay home again today. Not only are people still camped outside of his building, but it seems one caught a glimpse of Hyeri leaving for work. Thankfully they haven’t connected the dots that the two of them are together, but instead now people know that she lives in the same building as Yoongi. That doesn’t really make things better and Yoongi can’t imagine how upset Hyeri may have been when she left, but he still hopes she enjoys her breakfast.

He gets out of bed and goes to their bedroom. She locked him out which meant he couldn’t get to his phone charger so he’s hoping to give it some juice before it dies. He gets it plugged in then goes into the bathroom to wash up. He doesn’t even make it 2 steps in the door before he notices far less items on the bathroom counter than before. Hyeri didn’t take everything, but she took a lot of her things. Her face washes, moisturizers, pimple patches, and hair products are gone. Yoongi is quickly overcome with panic as he searches all of the drawers and cabinets only to find more of Hyeri’s things gone. He goes into the closet and sees the many empty hangers left behind, the handful of empty spaces where some of her shoes used to sit, and one big empty spot where her duffel bag used to be.

“Fuck!” He squeaks past the enormous knot in his throat.

Yoongi runs out to the living room where nothing has changed, but when he gets to the kitchen he sees the nicely made gimbap roll sitting untouched on the counter with a note next to it. Whatever the note says, he doesn’t want to read it. He knows it’s only going to break him, but he picks it up anyway and almost instantly falls to his knees in agony.

Yoongi,

I can’t do this right now. I need to focus on my work and this has become too much of a distraction. Don’t try to find me.

Hyeri

[marie-miele]

Four

-Master List-

words:3413

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

"Get yourselves suited up and meet me at Training Ground Beta!"

"Yes, sir!"

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

Everyone was raving about their costumes as they all walked around you in the locker room as you stood there staring at yourself in the full-length mirror; dissecting everything about your suit. You had forgotten what you'd even requested in your quirk registration form, and welp, this is what you got;

A black long-sleeved bodysuit with openings in the sleeves that stopped at your crotch and showed off way too much hip for your liking, black thigh highs with cut-outs along the sides, a black shawl, and of course some nice thick combat boots. It could be better; could also be worse. Either way, you were satisfied with how it looked and were excited to test out its mobility.

With one final glance at yourself, you made your way down to Ground Beta.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

"They say that clothes make the pros, young ladies and gentlemen and, behold, you are the proof!" All Might spoke with a booming voice. 

All of class 1-A walked out of the tunneled hallway in their new and shiny costumes as All Might continued with a smile plastered across his face; "Take this to heart. From now on you're all heroes in training."

Your eyes were observing all of your classmate's costumes, you thought most of the suits fit them very well and how others stood out; like some green gauntlets, how flashy you grinned. But to your obliviousness, the boy wearing them was glancing back at you. His crimson eyes were locked on you in a soft gaze. He tried to look away but every time you fixed your stance his eyes would dart back to you.

With his hands placed on his hips, the pro hero asked; "Shall we get started you bunch of newbies?"

And with that, you began.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

All Might started with discussing combat training and how it would work going on to tell us that we would be fighting indoors against each other in groups of good guys and bad guys.

"Isn't this a little advanced?" Tsu interjected. Which caused a domino effect.

Momo was quick to ask if the pro would be deciding who won the matches.

"How much can we hurt the other team?" Everyone standing near blankly stared at Bakugo as soon as the words left his mouth.

A few more students voiced their concerns when All Might growled about not finishing what he was saying. 

"Listen up!" He commanded. He explained the rules of the upcoming matches; The 'heroes' have to stop the 'villains' from setting off a nuclear bomb by either catching the bad guys are recovering their weapon and vice versa. 

After his brief commentary, he began drawing two cards at a time from a box of all the student's names. Pulling out the pairs; we were then placed in lettered teams. Finally pulling your card you were team E and your teammate was Mina, thankfully you liked her enough. Once All Might was done announcing the pairs, he reached into two more boxes putting one hand into each box to pull out lettered balls to show who would be starting the training. 

"I declare that the first teams to fight will be...THESE GUYS!" He shouts while holding the black and white balls above his head. D and A; Bakugo and Iida were the 'villains' while Ochako and...Midoryia were the 'heroes'.

"The perfect match" you mumbled to yourself. You could imagine exactly how this would play out. The thought made you rather nervous.

You and the rest of the students were instructed to go to the monitor room to watch the match, doing as you were told you made your way there reasoning to yourself that Midoryia would be fine and Bakugo definitely wouldn't go overboard, right? As you walked you couldn't help but look back; only to see the two boys having a stair off, Midoryia looked timid as Bakugo snarled at him. 

Kirishima noticed your tensed face as he walked next to you. Even though the two of you never spoke to one another he tried his best to reassure you everything would be fine.

Right.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

Your eyes made their way to the dark monitors as you entered the room. Quickly you found a good place to stand until the match started.

...

As all the monitors lit up showing off the training grounds All Might called the beginning of the match through an intercom system.

Not even three minutes into the match Bakugo went straight for Midoryia with a sneak attack. Thankfully Midoryia dodged him and was even managing to fight back, tossing the blonde over his shoulder. Unfortunately, his mask was partially destroyed during the small explosion Bakugo caused. 

Carefully inspecting the screens you watched as Bakugo was getting angrier by the second. Bakugo had sent off a large explosion after the five-minute mark causing Midoryia to go flying backwards. 

"Sir, isn't this getting out of hand? That Bakugo is acting real crazy. He's gonna kill him!" Kirishima petitioned. But All Might disagreed with the red-haired boy standing next to you. 

As the fight went on students began commenting on how hard it was to watch, and they were right. It was tough, but Midoryia wasn't giving up-

"He's running away!" Mina said gravely

"Not very manly," Kirishima had countered making you give him a side glance, but he also acknowledged "but he doesn't have a choice. He's outgunned."

"Unless he has a plan." you retorted, feeling confident. You've known him since childhood, and you know that he always has something up his sleeve. It's just a matter of time before he unveils it. Your eyes followed him across the screen when- the building was shaking

Midoryia punched a burst of air up toward the ceiling causing more damage to the building than Bakugo had caused previously.

In the end, the 'heroes' won the match.

With everyone back in a group All Might began reviewing the match, but you weren't listening; instead, you watched Bakugos rising shoulders tremor each time he took a breath. His head was low so you couldn't see his face, but you knew what it would look like right now.

Your attention was brought back when All Might announced the start of the next match.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

The next match was between teams B and I; The 'hero' team included Shoji and Todoroki meanwhile the other team; Hagahure and Ojro were the 'villains'. Unfortunately for the 'villains' the match was over in seconds as Todoroki had frozen the entire building. 

In the monitor room, most of your classmates were huddled close to the pro hero; his large size distributed a large amount of body heat, but you stood away from everyone as did Bakugo; he looked so unnerved. You wanted to check on him but now wasn't the time you thought; he would have an outburst from being embarrassed in front of future heroes. So instead, you paced around while rubbing your arms attempting to stay warm. You figured now would be the best time to strategize a good plan for your match.

At the end of the match, All Might announced that the heroes had once again. Mostly due to Todorokis quirk; he was one of the kids who had been recommended to UA like you had been. You knew what his quirk was like, but you didn't know he had two of them. He didn't use his heat side during the entrance exams.

As the students complimented Todoroki on being so good, Bakugo became even more irritated. 

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

After a few more matches had passed it was finally your turn.

"The next round up is~" All Might announced drawing out his word. " Team F the 'villains'; Kods and Sato, and Team E the 'heroes'; Mina and Y/N! You have fifteen minutes to complete the 'mission'."

And with that; the match started.

You and Mina were instantly on the move, keeping quiet in case Sato or Koda were in the halls you began going over a plan with your teammate.

She then brought up how it was unfair that both of you were going up against guys who were much bigger than you. her whining had caused you to laugh.

"Y/N were gonna have to fight a guy who can't even tie his shoes" She wailed sarcastically.

"Well, at least he won't capture us. Can't tie a rope either.

Continuing on you began going over the plan once again and adding some new ideas here and there.

"Distract them?" The pink girl questioned.

"Yeah," You clarified while peeking around a corner. "I'll get their attention so you can sneak around and get the weapon."

As the two of you ventured up a flight of stairs Mina asked "Awhh but why can't we just stick together and take them out?!" 

"If we did that then you'd be affected by my quirk" You explained

As you said that Mina had stopped on the step above you "Y/N? What even is your quirk? You never showed it off during the quirk assessment..."

"It's...complicated" You stated quickly brushing past her.

"Hm.." The girl followed suit.

It had now hit the ten-minute mark once you had figured out what floor the 'villains' were on.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

Bakugos perspective: 

The blonde boy was still moping over his loss to Deku; weak useless Deku who he could beat any day. Just not today, he was so in his head that he never realized you had left for your match until Mineta had shouted out, Bakugo wasn't dealing with this so as he opened his mouth to yell at the small boy Kaminari jumped in; 

"What is she doing!?"

Bakugos eyes shot to the monitor; squinting at the screen he then realized it was you he was watching now. Gas was pooling out of you in think waves, watching you brought him back to the day you had disappeared. He didn't quite understand your quirk, but he was certain he was gonna figure it out.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

Prior: Your perspective. 

You were once again going over the plan with Mina, with only four minutes left you knew you had to rush this.

"Ready?" You prompted

"You bet." 

"Don't forget to cover your mouse and nose, okay? Don't inhale unless you have to." You said picking up a bucket and sneaking up to the corner before the open room where the two boys stood guard.

With one last nod to each other, the plan was in motion with only a few minutes remaining. Mina quickly made her way to the other side of the room, using her quirk to melt the walls and sneak by unnoticed. Deliberately you dropped the bucket causing a loud bang to echo through the halls; simultaneously you activated your quirk after taking a deep breath. 

You could hear heavy footsteps approaching, hoping for it to be Koda; you knew he'd be much easier to take out than Sato. They were both bigger than you but Sato's quirk was strength, which you didn't have an upper hand or advantage compared to him.

And you were right, a quick broad hand grabbed your arm and flung you around the corner and into the open space. The force of the impact made you wheeze as you lost your breath, which ultimately led you to do something you planned on not doing. You took a breath in. 

"Got you." Sato said with a smug grin pulling out the capture ropes each group was given.

With an appalling grin shot back at the boy you abruptly brought your free hand and covered his mouth and nose realising gas right as he took a breath in from panicked reflexes. He retracted his face from your soft palm to let out a reverberating cough and in doing so he closed his grip on your restrained hand. Taking your chance you escaped his grip. People like him were hard to frighten with only a small amount of gas, unlike Koda who was already frozen with fear Sato kept strong trying to keep you down. So your only choice was to rapidly release gas from all the openings your hero costume had as you made your way towards the middle of the room only to be tripped by Sato grabbing your ankle. You tried to kick him off but he kept regaining his grip. Falling back down into your gas wasn't good at all, you tried to hold your breath after getting the wind knocked out of you but it wasn't working, you had to breathe again.

He was yelling out in fear "I can't make it stop! I need to get out of here, I need help, please help me!" Trying to fight him off was exhausting.

You were beginning to inhale a hefty amount of gas, you were begging to panic like the boy attached to you led. Kicking him one last time you called for Mina. She managed to create a hold in the wall close to the weapon while you were busy on the floor. In one swift motion, she jumped out of the wall and slid toward the weapon using her acid. Kota's eyes trailed after her but he didn't even budge. 

Close...Closer! Her fingers were so-

Berrr!

As Mina approached the weapon, we could feel the adrenaline pumping through our veins. We had worked tirelessly for this. We were determined to succeed, and victory was within Mina's grasp. We could see the weapon, glinting in the dim light, just a few feet away. 

Our hearts were pounding as she lunged forward to grab it, but suddenly, we heard the sound of the timer ringing. Time had run out, and we had failed. The disappointment and frustration hit us like a ton of bricks. We were so close to achieving our goal, yet it had slipped away from us in a matter of seconds. 

She stood there, stunned and deflated, trying to process what had just happened with her hands still on the weapon. We knew we had given it our all, but it wasn't enough. She looked at me lying on the floor, when panic crossed her face. She forgot to cover her face. 

Then, chaos ensued.

 All Might was aware of your situation with your quirk and Aizawa, in preparation they had a plan set up for cases like this. All Might was quick to turn off the monitors and notified the nurse robots that they were needed.

You were being escorted out on gurneys along with your three other classmates when you spotted Aizawa waiting outside the building wearing a facemask. He deactivated your quirk as you were still releasing some gas from your body. Staring at his covered face you could feel the lightbulb in your head turn on.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

Bakugos perspective:

"That's a wrap! Super work. You really stepped up to the plate. And, we didn't have any major injuries, except for Midoriya." All Might said  "You should be proud! Excellent first day of training!" The pro hero was grinning at us that we were his kids. 

Bakugo couldn't care less, he wasn't proud at all. And seeing you covered in bruises didn't help his mood either. He wasn't worried about you of course, why would he be?; except he was, you weren't the little girl who followed him around and relied on him to protect you anymore.  No, you were grown, and strong. 

"It's nice to hear some encouraging words after our homeroom class. Mr.Aizawa was kind of a buzzkill" Tsu said.

Still, seeing you wince in pain just from laughing made his stomach churn; he hated this feeling.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

Your perspective:

After all of the training matches, we were excused to go to our afternoon classes. Once those were finished we all went back to our homeroom and everyone began chatting.

The first thing you did was go to your seat and pull out your notebook and a pen. You started to jot down ideas for costume improvements when Mina came up to you. You moved from topic to topic, she was an easy girl to talk to.

"Hey Mina, when you slid on your acid earlier, how did you get it under your feet so fast?" You asked with pure curiosity.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as she lifted her leg to show the soles of her shoes.  "They have holes in the bottom of them so when I activate my quirk it just goes right through." She was smiling so brightly telling you about them until you both turned your heads to the sound of  Mineta oogling over the pink girl. Thankfully Jiro jabbed the small boy with her earjacks. Thirty minutes had gone by and you had successfully met everyone in your class and were properly able to apologize to Sato and Koda. 

You had decided it was time to leave as it was getting late but on your way out you passed Midoriya. "Hey, I'm glad to see you doing okay." You smiled softly at the battered and bruised boy as you continued on. 

Yet just a few moments later the boy was now passing you sprinting down the hallway.

As you stepped outside the first thing you heard was shouting and knew exactly who it was.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Enjoy that win, Deku. You won't get another!"

You watched as Bakugo stomped past the school gates, he's was crying...Shifting your gaze to Midoriya and moving to the other side of the bush you were hiding behind. Then as soon as you were about to come out of hiding All Might came dashing out of nowhere. 

You were gonna be stuck here forever you sighed.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

You were leisurely walking down the sidewalk, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling city. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the urban landscape. As you strolled along, you found yourself drawn to a small park nestled in the heart of the city. The park was a serene oasis amidst the chaos of the city, with tall trees providing shade and rows of swings lining the far end of the park. You couldn't help but feel a sense of childlike joy at the sight of the swings. And then you saw him in the middle of it all: Bakugo. He sat slouched on a swing.

As you approached the swings, you moved with care, taking soft and gentle steps. You didn't want to startle the blonde who was lost in thought. You placed your bag on the ground and walked over to him, your heart reaching out to him. You sat down on the swing next to him, feeling the cool metal chains of the swing against your palms. 

"There are eight other swings and choose the one next to me?!" He growled without even acknowledging who you were.

You watched him for a few moments, trying to gauge his mood, before speaking to him softly.

"Suki..." You spoke softly to him.

The gentleness of your familiar voice made him raise his gaze to yours; the whites on his crimson eyes were a light red and his mouth was ajar. Which had confirmed the fact he was crying. You'd never seen him upset before, not even when you were small children.

You lifted your hand towards Bakugos face to wipe away his tear-stained eyes, but he abruptly swatted your hand away, insisting he didn't need your help. 

His pride and independence were palpable as he struggled to maintain his tough exterior, pushing you away despite the vulnerability that seeped through his tough facade. It was a stark reminder of his reluctance to show weakness and accept help, even in moments of emotional turmoil.

Standing up with a sigh you slung your bag over your shoulder. You stood in front of the sitting boy causing him to look up at you. 

Reminding him carefully you stated that "You don't always need to be the strongest, y'know?"

He was so enamored with how you looked right now he didnt have time to process you whipping away the rest of your tears with the soft, gently swips of your finger pads. You were assuring him he wouldn't melt if he'd just let her help in the first place.

But he knows that's not true, he could feel himself slowly melting for the girl in front of him.

He hated this feeling.

- ┈┈┈┈┈┈ - -- - ┈┈┈┈┈┈ -

Authors note:

ouuu were getting things started!!!! 

hope you enjoyed this one!

@confused-smol-fan @reads-stuff-quietly

[upslapmeal]

Notes from the Taskmaster S15E04 recording

I got to see this episode filmed back in September (if you were there hello from the person Mark Olver kept quizzing lol, and important question: do you have an airing cupboard?) and thought I'd make a post with some Bonus Content from the recording. Last time I did this I realised I'd forgotten loads so this time I got home, sat down, diligently made notes for until the end of the prize task, and decided to do the rest the next day. I did not do the rest. So we'll just have to see how well my memory holds up 😅

The version of Greg's aeroplane-themed intro was an alternative version filmed at the end - the original had the reveal that THEY'RE ALL DEAD!! and the second one was filmed "in case anyone dies in a plane"

Alex had three """""jokes"""" about his Italy trip, each one increasingly terrible. The one I made a note of was "I saw Stevie Wonder" turning into "I saw a wonder of the word". Needless to say, Greg was unimpressed.

When Greg went to Mae to introduce their prize task, their opening comment was "I’m excited to continue to explore our….dynamic"

The strength of the dynamic was then questioned when Greg was dismissive of their prize

Whatever your opinion of how Mae was scored for a later task, when Greg saw their prize on the stage at the end of the episode he said it had been underscored and it actually looked like a lot of fun

“Kiell you’ve been doing badly…it’s not your turn yet though. Frankie?"

"Jenny has always given a sob story just after presenting her prize, last episode leant heavily on her dead father" - we were told this after Jenny said she couldn't knit the hat because she had nerve damage in her hands

"I forgot to be funny then, sorry that was just sad" - Jenny

The ad buffers we saw in studio were filmed in Gatwick, and since this was before S14 aired there was a discussion about what airport it was based on the presence of an upstairs Jamie Oliver restaurant in one of them

[here ends the comprehensive notes]

I cannot stress this enough, but ANY angle or thought that you may have about Mae's throw(s) (or lack thereof) came up in the studio

I can't remember what ended up swinging (heh) it in their favour but it truly felt as though it was going to go on forever

Man I wish I could remember any specifics because there was So Much, genuinely every single possible take on that attempt was thoroughly and gleefully dissected

Hearing during this episode that Ivo had won the last two was much like when I saw that Bridget was in first place during the record for S13E04 lol

Right. Banana.

I think the logic ended up being that the task said to get the 'BANANA'

And they did, in fact, get the 'BANANA'

They got the word not the object

And there was definitely a debate about what it is to be a noun, which Mae weighed in on and I think almost made Ivo explode that they had no right to after what they did with a verb

I feel like this may have been cut bc Ivo used 'she' and I imagine the editors are going for consistency, but it's a shame bc it was amazing

But it was still 'BANANA'. As stated in the task. The word it said to get was the word they got.

Do with this what you will.

During the live task, Ivo kept pouring his sand, very very slowly, after everyone else had finished and after he was told his stream had broken, until the bottle was empty.

Tragically Jenny did not wear the turkey on her head at the end, despite everyone agreeing earlier that the winner would have to.

There we go then. And the moral of the story is to actually make notes on what happened before you forget everything. And by 'you' I mean me. I swear I'll have better notes about the S16 finale.

[arc-angel-o]

I wanna put all my current thoughts about Dissection in one post for my readers. (warning for discussion and mentions of suicidal ideation and eating disorders... also this is very sappy)

Let me give some context to Dissection. It was gonna be a one shot...

And I write a bunch of angst, hurt, whump, and it so rarely puts me in a bad headspace. Often the opposite, I'll write when I'm upset, and feel better after. But with Dissection, every time I sat down to write that first chapter, I wanted to try it at home, it was really bad.

What Toad was doing was so alluring. I thought about it so much that I'd fall asleep with a pocket knife on my bed, tucked in with my stuffed animals.

The rest of Dissection is me just trying to move Toad and I away from that place, bit by bit, making it up as we go.

And I've realized that one reason I'm stuck on Dissection is I'm not desperately trying to get away from the beginning anymore, it's no longer why I want to continue Dissection. It's not a matter of protecting myself from myself anymore, I don't need to do that right now. I wanna keep updating Dissection cause there's more of it to tell and I'm pretty sure others wanna see what happens too.

So, what does that mean for the fic? I broke my monthly updates streak, and updates will come to you whenever they come to me. I'll try to pick up the pace, but monthly updates probably aren't happening again, because I don't need them.

This is a good place for this to happen. The next chapter is a longer one for the logistics of getting Toad out of the hospital. And then he'll leave it and readjust to life outside it.

In a way I'm scared to write this, because while I'm doing better than Toad in a lot of ways, y'know, at least he's employed. By the mafia, but still. Idk what I'm talking about, writing about someone getting their shit together.

But I'm also really excited. I have so much outlined and written already. He still has a long way to go. His eating disorder will come back into play. That area of my mental health seems pretty immovable. But there's also a lot more fluff coming up, slice of life. Warm drinks.

I'm so grateful to Dissection and all its readers, @atlasisntdead , @dr-harleen-quinzell , @malt-o-meat , anyone else in the kudos, for helping me pull myself out of there.

This fic means so much to me, not just in the contents, my part in it, so much of it is everyone's reactions to it. Dissection's my most popular Rabbit fic and that makes my heart melt.

As Toad's defense lawyer, I'm happy so many people are interested in this kind of story, it makes me so excited for S2, how awesome his redemption arc will be when written by people who know what they're doing.

You've all been so sweet about Dissection, so good to me, words cannot express my gratitude ❤️

Sorry this so long lol

[letterstoear]

Missing you today~

Notes: Rook Hunt x reader, fluff, a letter to you, gn reader, romantic relationship, reader is a part of the Mountain Lover's club, short letter.

Please Check out my Rook Hunt inspired Chocker as well!

Check out my shop here: Shop — Letters to Ear (squarespace.com)

My lovely Snuggle Duck,

My memories of you are resting neatly in my photo album of you. Each page is adorned with your gorgeous face. Photos of us together grace the pages as well, but still, it’s not enough to ease my heart. For some reason my heart has been beating loudly in my chest. It’s not from the flutters of butterflies I get each time I think of you, no it's much different this time around.

This feeling in my heart must be from the pain of being without you. I want to see you this very moment and smother you in my love. Alas, I cannot fathom any support to bring me over to where you are at this very moment. For the two of us are miles apart. You must stay strong as you carry out your club trip. Mountain climbing with Monsieur Mastermind is no easy task, I must applaud you for your beautiful efforts to follow Jade’s persistence through the woods.

Why, it’s the adventure of ________ and Monsieur Mastermind! What a marvelous event! I shall cheer you on. In the meantime, I’ll continue to miss you as I follow my day-to-day activities. Despite my heart hurting from the loss of you I must remember to stay strong just as you are. One shouldn’t live life solely for their lover and as much as I do love to admire you, I cannot allow myself to get so lost in one thing.

Suppose during our time apart I’ll gather research for the science club. Our very own member, Trey, has accidentally bred a new strawberry. Perhaps I’ll dissect the beauty in such an unexpected birth. Considering even Chevalier des Roses himself wasn’t aware of this event happening it’s best to investigate. Together with Chevalier des Roses I shall discover the beauty of newly born life!

Soon we’ll have an enormous number of stories to go through together. When that fateful day arrives let us not hold back from any details. I want to know everything there is to know about your adventure. Once we’re finished with exploring each other’s stories, how about we take a day to relax. I imagine you’re going to be tired after hiking such rough terrain. On that very day I’ll massage your body and take care of your hair. Don’t worry _____, I’ll be sure to take care of you well.

What exciting plans I’ve thought of! Do tell me your response to everything in a timely manner _____. How marvelous! I’ve spotted a sight that cannot be dismissed. Why, Roi des Dragons is with Monsieur Dandelion!!!

With that I bid you adieu~

Rook Hunt

[f0point5]

Just skimmed through your posts about wags and the amount of hate they receive and omfg it is so refreshing to see someone with similar views!! Wag culture is so insane and I am a Harry Styles fan like I thought it couldn’t get more toxic than that and holy shit formula one is on another level

Im sorry in advance but I need to describe this in full detail to someone else bc no one irl is a formula one fan like me so I have no one to talk to this about😭😭 but I think it’s so interesting the way stan culture moves and how my tiktok algorithm showed me just how bad it is for the wags

I’m new to F1 so my tiktok algorithm started with showing me Charles Leclerc to Taylor swift music edits (thought he was really pretty but didn’t make me a f1 fan) to Max Verstappen to TS music edits (made me a huge Max fan and why I’m into formula one now lol) to Max interview clips to drive to survive (watched it —I know it’s dramatized but I love the way it’s filmed) to more tiktoks about max and his childhood and then I started getting really pretty girls on my fyp (now I know it’s Alexandra and Kika but didn’t at the time so I would like the videos and move on) but then I became a bigger fan of f1 so I would recognize them and then my tiktok fyp went to edits of the wags which was whatever bc I love pretty girls so I didn’t think too much of it but then very quickly my fyp turned dark (very dramatic lmaoo). I started getting hate edits of the wags and at this point I didn’t really have too much of an opinion on the wags and I still don’t except I do side eye Kelly —i know it’s none of my business and I know bare bones about their relationship but age gaps especially when one met the other when they were a teen always makes me uncomfortable🥴 Anyways so once my tiktok went weird, I started going through the hate comments these people would leave about these women and I feel so bad for the girlfriends. Yes they live incredibly privileged lives but being dissected the way they do on tiktok is absolutely insane. They get hate for literally every single thing they do. I remember there was a video of Charles and Alexandra at a race and she stopped smiling for one second and they were literally calling her two faced and fake for just having a resting face that isn’t smiling. There was another of Kelly and they had a video of her not catching the bouquet at a wedding and clipped a video of max laughing so it looked like he had laughed at her and then followed it by a video of Kelly getting annoyed or something and the amount of nasty comments was insane. I think Kelly then said something about it on Instagram and instead of feeling bad for spreading a false video to hate on her, the same page started to make fun of her for trying to say it was edited WHEN IT WAS!?? I still don’t get it honestly. I get being jealous of their lifestyle bc wow it must be amazing to be able to travel and experience the world the way they get to but not even when I was at my most parasocial relationship with one direction as a 12 year old, did I ever feel the need to send hate to the people my faves dated. I know stan culture has always been bad but I do wonder what it was like following formula one when tiktok did not exist. I’m not sure how long you’ve been a fan but was it always this toxic towards the wags?? Or is the increase in fans formula one has recently gotten the cause of all this?? This is my first time being a sports fan and I really do love it, it’s exciting watching races and learning all the lore of teams and older racers but I honestly didn’t think there was this amount of parasocial attitudes in racing when I was first became a fan like it’s insane

I just reread this and omfg sorry for the essay and probably a shit ton of errors bc I’m tired as hell rn

Formula 1 is the perfect storm for toxic fans because it is so constant. Racing happens for most of the year and in between the off track drama keeps going. Whereas singers are only visible while touring and not often in between. Drivers are constantly giving content.

I’m not gonna rehash it because it was so wild but that Kelly video at the wedding was one of a lottt of edits flying around about her at that time and some of them actually had some pretty personal information/rumours so when she comments about the editing videos she wasn’t referring to the one from the wedding I’m pretty sure. There was one particular tiktok account dedicated to collecting screenshots of messages “from Kelly” that apparently were edited, and just spreading rumours about her personal life from years ago.

But yeah it’s insane what these women have to put up with. To a certain extent they do sign up for it, since a lot of them use the platform to build an influencer career so they are inviting the public into their life in a sense but there’s no excuse for the way people talk about them and harass them it’s unhinged.

And yeah, I do blame the new fan base. Sorry to say but back when it was just old men watching the sport it was not like this. People used to laugh at the antics of James Hunt or talk about the partying but it wasn’t like…this venomous vitriol (obviously men and their hooliganism has its own issues no one likes football fans and they’re all men but I’d argue that kind of fan is part of the new wave of fans as well). And part of it is social media because now people can just post hate indiscriminately and with no consequences but it’s the younger demographic by and large using social media.

Parasocials in F1 absolutely seem to be the consequence of increased media presence (drive to survive, more promotion of races/race weekends as “partying” events, more races in cities/tourist locations). Thank you Liberty Media (RIP Moto GP). And personally I think it’s making the sport a bit ridiculous but it’s bringing in money. Parasocials are the people who buy merch and go to the f1 arcade and pretty much keep the cafes on Casino square solvent so…yeah. Good for the investors. Good for the teams.

And even good for the wags in a way like I don’t doubt that despite the hate they’ve all materially profited from the attention.

It’s just sad that people have to act like that. Like are they raised in a barn? Did no one teach them to mind their own business? Is the jealousy so real that they can’t help themselves? Idk how posting about how much you hate Alexandra’s body makes you feel cuter or better about the fact that Charles Leclerc won’t date you. I can’t relate.

Don’t worry about the essay you’re welcome to come and rant every time we love that here 💕

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Trimax Thoughts Vol. 2 Pt. 1

Miscellaneous stupid little thoughts for this volume again! Yippee!

...dude kills people with a saxophone. Okay then. Sure. I will incorporate this into my belief system.

This guy actually tried to warn them... the Gung-Ho Guns are actually really interesting. I hope to see some expansion on their individual motives.

LEGATO WTF. WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT.

I swear he gets cuter in every volume. Look at him.

I would love to know where the GHG get their outfits from... are they like. Coordinating? Is leather in style? Ok, really though, I'm fascinated by the way Knives has... well... knives (or maybe spears?) that almost look like they are piercing his neck, and a big one that looks like it runs straight through his chest. Pointy bits to keep people away from his vulnerable throat and heart, I suppose? A mask to cover his face? Idk. His outfit is certainly a look.

"I just can't catch a break," Midvalley says, in what is a very normal reaction to being forcibly contorted in half on the floor.

They are such idiots together. Bless.

You walk up to someone, he tries to kill you with a sword then tells you he and his beleaguered assassin coworkers are there to cause you eternal suffering. Wdyd?

Hm. That's called sunk cost fallacy, my dude. (Also probably has a bit to do with maintaining honour or pride associated with sword technique... maybe.) Hey have you noticed that the assassins here tend to have one technique they've spent a lifetime mastering and then as soon as Vash manages to counter it that's... just kind of it for them? Monev spent 20 years training and then was nearly killed and just... stopped. EG Mine got his weird hamster ball destroyed and was basically useless after that. Dominique's trick was discovered and she chose to die by jumping rather than wait to be killed. And here, Rai-Dei sees his technique has been bested and immediately abandons his honour to try and stab Vash in the back. I need to take a closer look at this as I'm reading about the rest of them.

Yayyy girls! I love them.

I really appreciate Jessie btw. She sees that Meryl and Milly consider Vash a friend, and despite the fact that all she would've heard of him are the July and Fifth Moon incidents and rumours about his dangerousness, she decides purely based on how much the girls are excited to see him again that he's probably not a bad guy at all and she wouldn't mind meeting him. It's just nice to see random people in this world (that we've been shown over and over again is extremely inhospitable) giving people the benefit of the doubt.

Wolfwood's nightmare sequence. painpainpainpainpain

Vash concussion arc. Lol. (Also I have a lot of thoughts about the theme of protecting one's home that's coming up here... but more on that later)

AUGH???

"The models were dissected while alive" HOLY FUCK. WHAT. EVEN THE BABY? WHAT THE FUCK

The fact that Rai-Dei couldn't feel a single trace of death when challenging Vash but now both Leonof and Wolfwood are terrified because Vash is literally radiating death and pain at the loss of these people. Something something suppressing the force and overwhelm of his loss, which he's carried around inside him for such an inhumanly long time that it is literally overpowering and incomprehensibly terrifying. Something something he cares so much about his family and so very little for himself. Ha. I feel so normal about this.

Well, this was cheery.

If you're wondering why I said hardly anything about Wolfwood here... stay tuned. There will be a part two. :)

[sweettjrose]

Hey i was reading your last writing, and i wanted to say i really enjoyed that one, it quite remember another story of Blot (Macchia Nera e il buon vicinato) but totally makes that as a sequel and totally of his own for real. Idk if the plan of Blot was correct or not (and sadly i cannot help you if there's a plot hole), but the writing was very fluid and some of the comedy/humor was really good and i was a bit nervous about the romance but it was really interesting. (and i'm someone who played a lot of otome games eheheh eve).

Tbh, it's quite of the best fanfic of Blot i've readed. ( i did not checked all of your previous fanfic so i'm gonna be wrong. ) i'm just so excited to read the next part if you wanna finish of course. The tension was just aaaaah! ><

Anyway thank you to put all your efforts for this fanfic. ^7^/<3

Thank you so much!!! 💕

I am so happy that you are enjoying my story 🥰 I really appreciate all of your compliments. I worked really hard on this fanfiction and I am glad that it is coming out well. It's honestly hard to judge by yourself on whether you are doing something right, so I greatly appreciate hearing your thoughts and seeing what you guys like and think.

I don't think I read that story you're talking about (I would love a link). But this story is actually a follow up (or rather a prequel) to my other fanfiction Detective Mickey Pilot and based on my interpretation of the Phantom Blot and this world. I've been daydreaming and thinking about this story for a very long time and am so glad I finally found the energy to write it down and share it with you all. Plus as I write I end up finding new angles and stuff to add, making the story a bit more complete.

But I am honestly really glad you are finding the romance elements interesting. To be honest, I am very nervous writing them. Love stories can be tough to write as there is a thin line between cheesy and romantic. Plus it can be challenging with the Phantom Blot, because while he does have a "romantic" element to him, he's not exactly a "loving" guy, so trying to imagine how he would act and react in a love story requires a lot of thinking, but is honestly a lot of fun and a great way to dissect more into the character.

Honestly the Phantom Blot has been a blast to write and I can't wait for you guys to see what I've got planned for him, Penelope, and the rest of the story. I'm definitely intrigued by what you guys react to future chapters as I don't want to spoil anything, but I've got a lot of interesting things planned.

Again thank you so much and I hope to share the next chapter soon...

After I finish the next chapter of my Detective Mickey Pilot. Let's hope that doesn't take forever.

[actualbird]

[ToTch 9 spoilers] Is it wrong of me to say that this chapter felt a bit disjointed from the rest? Everyone felt more hostile towards each other. The pacing was also a bit off in my eyes. I wasn't really satisfied with this episode, I don't know how to put it into words.

// spoilers for tot main story 9

it's not wrong, anon!! everyone's got the right to feel how they wanna feel over the story!! i really liked the hostility (im a slut for escalating conflict, HAHA) but that doesnt mean Everyone will like it

i do very agree with you on having some qualms with the pacing. i found that the emotional/personal relationship between luke and mc in main story 9 was quite rushed and cldve been done better, and i talk more about that in this previous ask response. like in summary....i find chapter 9 to be a FANTASTIC Main Story Plot chapter, but a bit lacking as a Luke Focus chapter.

as for the disjointedness & hostility, i was also INCREDIBLY JARRED but after realizing the Contexts and Timeline of when the story was occurring (heres a post where galena surely-galena gives her very interesting ch9 thoughts and i come in to wordbarf abt luke's hostility and timelines), it made more sense to me and made me more excited for more than unsatisfied. like, ch9 happens Some Amount Of After the pluto cruise thing, and during that portion of time a rather large shift in the structure of the team had happened. additionally, this main story kinda confirmed that the main stories happen in a timeline where personal stories dont happen, so everybody has Not had their emotional growth and character arc KJHAVFAJHFASLF. still, that being said, there were a bunch of ways that they cldve eased the story into this portion of time for a smoother effect.

(i actually added the odd pacing in my twitter livereact thread and i stand by this. main story 8 rlly spoiled me for god tier story pacing kJHVAKFJHAS)

something i also realized and wanna point out is that...mc is heavily alienated from the boys in this chapter

i say that not as a criticism but as a mere observation. luke is pushing her away, vyn was off SOMEWHERE, marius was the most like his usual self to her but he left quite quickly, and HOO BOY ARTEM....i feel like im gonna need someone with a phd in artem wing to dissect artem (directing u to sam samsspambox, if ever ur looking for an artem expert :D). but yeah like....the Change in the case that's happened has made the team wary about each other in varying degrees, and while theres no outright hostility against mc, she is also included in who to be wary of. this fits in narratively with everything else going on but it also means that like

this is just the beginning

like how mc walked into that meeting room and was like "?????? WHATS GOIN ON", since we see the story from her eyes And since the team is now in this state of being divided, there is less information that we get on the spot and more has to be found By her. so in a way, the team has become another thing mc (and the players) will have to investigate and pick apart

sORRY I THINK I WENT OFF ON A RAMBLE HERE PAST THE SCOPE OF THIS ASK ALSHFJVALSFH BUT MY POINT IS, whatever feelings or interpretation you have of the story is valid and it's not wrong to not be satisfied w it!!

[arcanepactguile]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 - 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒

ᴀɴᴏɴʏᴍᴏᴜꜱ ꜱᴜɢɢᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ — ɢʀᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ/ꜱʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ʀɪᴛᴇꜱ.

AO3 CHAPTER 3

It was time for a bath.

It was going to be awkward. It was going to be unconditionally uncomfortable. And the hypnotised Radio Demon had no will power left to put up a good fight — punishment when punishment’s due, the tentacle monster hadn't forgotten how it's prisoner had made attempts to fight, the powerful Overlord's magick repertoire confounded by dungeon’s unorthodox branch of magic.

The occult spellbook was left open, on the edge of the bed. Circumspectly trying to roll at the very least, his upper torso in order to crane his neck back and snatch a glimpse of what the open book’s pages were — whilst he had been lost in the haze of bubbling arousal, the tentacles circling his legs had begun professionally undressing him without warning.

Alastor's attempt to steal a preview of the incoming spell swiftly earned him a stinging slap across his engorged udders.

The fwip slicing through the air, the slim tendril's body whipped along the full udders diagonally in his state of partial undress —one tentacle holding the looped belt of his trousers’ waistband high, tugged midway past one asscheek, the other tentacle paused it's descent on the opposite hip to deliver that sobering slap. Bucking up, Alastor’s shriek rang out in the gloom. A stark red line swelled up on the deceptively strong skin, the welt scarlet compared to the dusky pink of the expansive twin-organ. The downy fur covering the full udders now lay invisible on his skin, slick with cold sweat, an unforeseen development. Progress towards the bath to clean him up was going slow.

If only the clever Radio Demon had thought things through, rather than insist on trying to escape this cryptic imprisonment.

Severely in debt, the penalties had to be paid. The outstanding dues were decided to come together enacted as a conglomerate of degradation, correction, and despairingly — adulteration. Alastor was not going to (perhaps in time) gain any clemency over the next hour.

The tentacles don't care about compassion.

Sucking in deep lungfuls of air, drawing in as much oxygen he could steal in an effort to rid the pounding headache dulling his thoughts, the tentacles started the laborious task of prepping him for the bath.

The guard-tentacles coiling tighter, their sinuous forms pinned Alastor's wrists to the bed, in unison with the larger pair at his legs slipping up to snag the loops of his waistband, shimmying the pants off in a few rough, jerky motions to clear his hooves without further unnecessary delay. The team worked very quickly, in haste to prolong the Overlord's suffering — no time to study their frantic, excited movements. The rest of his attire shed similarly, discarded over the bed, the tentacles drifted over the anchor points to relay the first disciplinary lesson he had acquired in his desperation to escape.

Four tentacles nimbly yanked Alastor down to the edge of the bed frame, hurriedly flipping him over onto his stomach without a care for the crushing weight his pelvis pushed into his throbbing udders squashed onto hard mattress. Ignoring the demon's shrill bleat of pain, flinging out his hands to claw at the bedding to pull himself up, the thespian’s body wriggling to redistribute the weight off his crushed cock and tackle and subsequently his bladder and prostate — the four tentacles held him face down firmly, a fifth tentacle manifested from under the bed’s skirt. 

This limb resembled a cat ‘o nine tails; and it put it to good use, in the meantime a second tentacle monster had been equipping the adjacent antechamber for the ritual.

This distinctive tentacle at the bed took aim for a mere split second, pelted the Radio Demon's exposed rear with relentless, heavy licks of it's multiple-dissected tip. Each sharp lash had Alastor heaving out great gasps, his ass recoiling upwards and shuddering from the loud smacks. The flogger took no notice of the buck’s doe anatomy; whenever the tendrils struck the pink flesh of the bloated udder peeking squeezed between his clenched thighs, the spongy balloon jiggled, stripes of reddened lines crisscrossed his overstimulated organ. Alastor's ballsac had been part of the magick, reabsorbed into his taint to present a generous area to play with and stimulate.

After thirteen minutes exactly, the flogger suddenly stopped; Alastor's sit-spots and upper cheeks were by now glowing with heat, reddened and tighter. His udders fared better; although the oxycotin flooding his quickened pulse, coupled with the constant pressure pushing his udders into his stomach and the bed had squirted some milk into the sheets. A puddle of bluish milk trickled down one leg, the translucent fluid joining the sweat pebbling his skin everywhere.

Breathing raggedly, tears blurring, Alastor did not struggle once the team had finished examining his listless body for any open cuts or haemorrhaging. The two ankle-tendrils affectionately releasing his legs, slithering up to explore the heavy sac that throbbed between his thighs. One tip curiously squirmed under the left quad bulge, wriggling in to nose about and eventually latch onto a teat. Giving it a tug, Alastor’s back bowed, crying out weakly when a spurt of milk was stroked out, the intense pressure inside the hardened appendage was relieved if only momentarily. Stroking the wet patch, the other tentacle meanwhile weaved itself around the Radio Demon's waist, lifting him up to slump forward amongst the other tentacles. In this carry, the monster hauled his empathic form to the stall waiting for him, all prepared.

Whilst the flogger had been spanking Alastor as a lesson against rebellion, the second monster had finished the stall.

Tiled, a round chamber, the centre of the en suite sported a tie-up system — ankle spreaders, wrist cuffs, a basin at groin height, various implements, gear, and a drain.

It was finally beginning.

Tentacles expertly strung up Alastor's wrists to cuffs suspended from the celiing crossbar, each ankle shacklef inside separate cuffs at shoulder-width apart — all on the toe of his hooves, the stag demon stretched up and held perfectly in place while an extra tentacle, the thinnest, crept up the inside of one leg to pluck at his tight hole; finding still resistance, the silky tentacle balled up it's tip to rub at the rosebud, massaging the nerves hidden there to spread Alastor's hole open. Jerking forward in a spasm, tongue lolling out in pleasure, a twin tentacle deceitfully forced the knotted plug of an anal hook deep into his relaxed hole. Letting go, the hook pulled Alastor's ass higher, tilting his pelvis down and lower back curved in.

Eyes waterin, blinking hard to clear his vision better, the Radio Demon was incapable of looking down to watch the ritual — leaving his arms bound high, the two tentacles there coiled around his throat to tip his jaw up, the other rubbing soothing circular motions in one limp ear respectively. The chokehold tendril raisef it's tip to lovingly thumb tears from Alastor's eye, gently kneading his cheek, to repair his hurt pride as the team down below set to work.

The Radio Demon wasn't technically dirty or unhygienic — far from it. The stag was fastidious. However, tonight's misadventure had spoiled his body. It needed to be remedied.

Before the prep, the remaining pair inspected Alastor's groin, studying the differences without a sac. A pair of doe's udders hung in front on his groin, the bulging flesh a darker pink and covered with milky white fuzz. Thicker veins pulsed at this point, the hardened teats at the front of each quadrant thrust out, the tips blushed cerise. The skin felt clammy to the touch, perspiration beaded here and there in pockets of taut flesh. Nestled in the junction between the left and right quadrants rested his hardening cock; bobbing as he breathed heavily, awaiting the relief-cum-embarassment of a spongebath, the member was seen to by simply getting picked up and held defiantly against his own stomach. Precvm welling up in the slit, the last free tentacle saw to cleaning him by itself.

Desperate to stand completely still, trying to not bury the thick plug in deeper nor knead his own hole, Alastor's low moans of pleasure echoed in the small stall. A glob of cleansing oil had just been squirted on to a very warm cloth, and this the tentacle good-naturedly massaged it onto his full udders. Rubbing faster in concentric circles, the tentacle rubbing firmly with rapt attention — sliding under the heavy skin holding the organ to the cleft in his ass, gliding up and down to lather the oil into the warming up flesh.

Opening up the pores to encourage better success at shaving the organ naked; moving on from the thorough kneading, pulling the skin outwards to sweep the rag over every section; it decided a random reward for the Overlor being such a good boy. Rolling a teat inside a fresh slab of flexible sponge as a wrap, the tentacle sneakily gave his teats a wicked tug one by one — squeezing the base of the cistern to furiously strip the teat down in three rough pumps, Alastor's yelp coincided with his knees buckling in pure arousal. The warmth moistness of the sponge's texture imitated the soft heat of a suckling mouth; this triggered the aphrodisiac seeds that the monster had forcibly impregnated his udders to quicken the build up of milk, droplets blooming on the teats' gaping sphincters, longing to be nursed.

Sliding under between his thighs again to sluice more oil into the folds, the tentacle eventually replaced the sodden rag with the ultimate tool: the razor.

The Radio Demon's startled BLEAT invited the first warning tap to the hook that stuffed his ass; after nudging the base to tease his sensitive ring, the tentacle resumed very carefully, in slow and scrutinised strokes, shaving the downy fur covering his groin. Cradling the pounding sac had the buck bite his bottom lip in wretched uneasiness, shallow breaths indicating his spiked anxiety. Ears pinned back, the touch of a fresh warm cloth to his bursting udder elicited another strangled sob; in jerking away from the cloth rubbing down the residual oil before the final rinse, the butt plug had tweaked and in return spurred Alastor rolling his hips forward, the watchful tentacle at his rear smacked the sweet-spot reproachfully, the demon's reddened skin blushing darker red. The extra spank stung, his cheeks flexing uncontrollably, thus the cycle renewed pleasuring his own stretched hole around the knotted plug bearing a good deal of his weight.

Shaved white fur clinging, both tentacles took it in turns rinsing Alastor's groin and legs clean of fur and lotion. The udders had undergone a dramatic transition furless; now they were wholly naked, a vivid lipstick pink, and... even more so tender.

Soft towelling rubbing and patting him dry, the Radio Demon's only choice was to continue dangling half-suspended, licking his lips in trepidation as he tried not to give the monsters any new ideas.

[shadowedresolve]

Zenkichi doesn't understand why the Metaverse has appeared again, when he thought it was meant to be gone for good. Why here, why now? The questions that have been running through his mind seem to be never-ending, but truth be told...

He knows that whatever the reason, it can't be good news. If someone is using the metaverse for bad again, people might get hurt - they might be getting hurt already. The thought of Akane being in danger is more than enough to make his blood run cold and have him taking the possibility very seriously.

And yet- when he realized where he'd ended up, he couldn't help but feel almost... excited, too. Or maybe rejuvenated would be a better term? It's selfish, he's knows. And he doesn't particularly want to examine himself to dissect that feeling, but even then, he thinks he already has an idea of the reason... as much as it's painful to admit.

But for now, figuring out what's going on - and how to go back - takes precedent. There'll be time for self-deprecating thoughts and emotional breakthroughs later, right?

"Joker...?" Zenkichi questions, recognizing Akira quickly, though he seems to be on his own without the rest of the Thieves there with him. Even so, Zenkichi finds himself cracking a smile anyway.

"You have no idea how much of a relief it is to see you here. You alright? Where are the others?"

@fantomevoleur ( starter! )

[milfygerard]

Kelly! Tysm for adding ur thoughts!

i think this line about how "a lot of people are only comfortable engaging with Taylor’s work within the very tight framework of heterosexuality." is not just extremely true, but is true on just about every level. Swiftieism, it can feel sometimes, is aggressively self policed on a broad level. It seems that swifties as a generalized group are only comfortable engaging with taylors work within a very tight framework of conformity, even if it isn't something believed to be problematic or negative on a personal level. Queerness, mental health and neurodiversity, addiction, racism and white normativity, expectations for women, gender in general, class, the complications of interpersonal relationships ESPECIALLY regarding marriage , the difficulties of culpability, social isolation, childhood and adult traumas and how they echo forward, the living nightmare it is to have even (especially) a loving audience, the necessity of lying and obfuscation if you want to maintain that audience, theyre all topics that could be touched on and dissected in TTPD-TA alone, nevermind the rest of taylors extremely broad catalogue. If you try to discuss most if not all of these topics and your blog has an audience of more than 3 people, however, you are liable to start getting angry or aggressive or trolling anons pushing against you even trying to discuss these things in too much detail. This, from my view at least, built a sort of panopticon style self policing if you want to exist in the actual swiftie fandom on any sort of broader level outside of yourself or a very small group of friends/mutuals both online and in a physical space.

This honestly massively limits just how much analysis can even be done on a broader scale! For how huge and ubiquitous taylor is, it feels like popular critical discussion and interaction has only been ramping up recently (SO excited for that taylor poetry book) and part of that is just because of how difficult it is to talk about taylors music at all without facing major backlash and scrutiny either from people who love her or people who hate her. Combine that w the reactionary requirements of reviews and journalism ESPECIALLY music journalism really restricts album reviews from diving past the surface level.

Im gonna use this as an excuse to once again shill for my favorite music reviewer spectrum pulse, who really does apporach taylors art as a piece of artistic work to be analyzed. I dont agree with him nearly all the time but honestly I think thats a good thing. Posting his reviews on midnights and TTPD below bc theyre some of my favorites of each respective album.

also on a final note as i run out of steam: it is kind of funny how this sort of makes swifties broadly miss pretty obvious, easy to assume or observe aspects of taylors life (alcoholism, her rs w joe dissolving, her worsening mental health) and get totally blindsided when she started stating these things about herself directly and still on some level seem to be in denial (ive seen ppl get hate for talking about taylor having depression? its the third word in the third line of the lead single for midnights girl cmon) about these things being real

I have been thinking a lot about the discussion on @milfygerard ‘s blog about the lack of Taylor Swift rpf but how a lot of the same mechanisms of rpf is actually a really big part of the content on here focused on Taylor

but instead of openly talking about Taylor Swift the fictional character we think we know via her music and career, so much of Swiftism focuses on deriving the ‘true meaning’ of her lyrics/her art

There is a think a lot of reward in this fandom particularly when engaging with the idea that we somehow know Taylor Swift the person through engaging with her art. I’ve talked about this before but it’s clear to me as a queer fan seeing how gaylor is treated on here that a lot of people are only comfortable engaging with Taylor’s work within the very tight framework of heterosexuality.

Now I wonder if that comes from fans that believe they would somehow ‘know’ if their idol was a queer a woman, that they are so so attached to the specific image of her they have in her head that even someone else thinking she could be queer or her music could be queer feels like violence, like ripping at the threads of the reality they think is true

I don’t really know what I’m saying with all this other than I’d like it on record I am engaging with Taylor Swift the fictional character and not Taylor Swift the real human being because I do not know her and will never know her!!!! But I know the version of her I have in my head from the decade plus of engaging with her music/art and that for me is much more fun than trying to guess the reality of a woman I do not know

[autolovecraft]

An eye for an eye!

Clutching the edges of the aperture.

You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. I'd hate to have it aimed at me! He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul. Birch? Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them.

Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. Several of the coffins began to split under the stress of handling, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. But it would be well to say as little as could be said, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds.

Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight. There was evidently, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it.

I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live. He always remained lame, for the great tendons had been severed; but I think the greatest lameness was in his soul.

In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer.

His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about.

Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley Cemetery, escaping only by crude and disastrous mechanical means; but while this much was undoubtedly true, there were other and blacker things which the man used to whisper to me in his drunken delirium toward the last. Birch.

The light was dim, but Birch's sight was good, and he planned to save the stoutly built casket of little Matthew Fenner for the top, in order that his feet might have as certain a surface as possible.

In this twilight too, he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before.

Whether he had imagination enough to wish they were empty, is strongly to be doubted. The afflicted man was fully conscious, but would say nothing of any consequence; merely muttering such things as Oh, my ankles!

You kicked hard, for Asaph's coffin was on the floor. It was Asaph's coffin, Birch, just as I thought! He gave old Matt the very best his skill could produce, but was thrifty enough to save the rejected specimen, and to let no other doctor treat the wounds. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. When Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. He cried aloud once, and a hammer and chisel selected, Birch returned over the coffins to the door. The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to realize the truth and to shout loudly as if his horse outside could do more than neigh an unsympathetic reply. Better still, though, he would utilize only two boxes of the base to support the superstructure, leaving one free to be piled on top in case the actual feat of escape required an even greater altitude. Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. Undisturbed by oppressive reflections on the time, the place, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the enlarged transom; but he could do better with four. Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. He could not walk, it appeared, and the source of a task whose performance deserved every possible stimulus. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door.

He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had been certain of it as the Fenner coffin in the dusk, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been fear mixed with a queer belated sort of remorse for bygone crudities. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. Clutching the edges of the aperture. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass.

And so the prisoner toiled in the twilight, heaving the unresponsive remnants of mortality with little ceremony as his miniature Tower of Babel rose course by course. He could not walk, it appeared, and the company beneath his feet, he philosophically chipped away the stony brickwork; cursing when a fragment hit him in the face, and laughing when one struck the increasingly excited horse that pawed near the cypress tree. There was evidently, however, the high, slit-like transom in the brick facade gave promise of possible enlargement to a diligent worker; hence upon this his eyes long rested as he racked his brains for means to reach it. I've seen sights before, but there was one thing too much here.

Would the firm Fenner casket have caved in so readily? The tower at length finished, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom box to gather strength for the final wriggle and leap to the ground outside.

When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation.

Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. The air had begun to be exceedingly unwholesome; but to this detail he paid no attention as he toiled, half by feeling, at the heavy and corroded metal of the latch. Steeled by old ordeals in dissecting rooms, the doctor entered and looked about, stifling the nausea of mind and body that everything in sight and smell induced. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass.

He was just dizzy and careless enough to annoy his sensitive horse, which as he drew it viciously up at the tomb neighed and pawed and tossed its head, much as on that former occasion when the rain had vexed it.

As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. At any rate he kicked and squirmed frantically and automatically whilst his consciousness was almost eclipsed in a half-swoon. When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. Birch. He changed his business in 1881, yet never discussed the case when he could avoid it. Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket.

[brwnicons]

Yoooo there. Fancy meeting you here. Remember that shape shifter fic with Asa, could you do a fic only for him where he spend his day pestering his so with so much transformation,that even the day after reader is stuck repeating the information they learned? Please?

☆ I can't describe how much I love writing for reader with powers. Sorry for this being so late, I hope you like it! ☆

Asa x Shapeshifter GN!reader

-> Summary: Reader's gender is not specified, One-Shot, Fluff. He's not the Collector here, only Asa Emory best nerd Fluff (slash -> - <- means timeskip!) This is silly and I was writing mostly for fun

-> Warnings: Spiders and Butterflies!

-> Words: 7k

Please tell me if you find any mistake

"I need these done for my research"

A stack of paper was left with a loud thump on your desk, just in front of the work you were doing. You rose your sight and you met with Asa. He looked serious, his arms crossed and the pen he used to write the lists rested on his hand.

"What...? This is a lot" you mumbled as you quickly passed the paged and dived through the names. You could start feeling lightheaded just by reading all the specimens he wanted.

"Most of them are rare individuals and almost impossible to find, legally or not.", his sight went to a frame he had hung, full of colorful dissect butterflies, every one gently pined to the cork behind as their scientific name was written below with an elegant handwriting. His sight then returned to your eyes as he continued, "You don't need to do them all, but it would be very helpful. Think about it." And with that, he left your workspace and returned to his office to continue to recopy some researching notes in a clean notebook.

You thought about it for a moment, it wouldn't really hurt to develop your shape-shifting a little, right? Maybe it could even be helpful for you too to practice some new bodies.

-

And so, after a few minutes of meditating it, Asa found himself staring at a blue morpho butterfly that casually landed in front of him. As soon as he saw it, he recognized you and appreciated your favor.

He rised his hand gently, careful not to hurt you, and set you on a clean and illuminated counter full of different sizes lenses, grippers and other tools.

He examined the butterfly's wings, colours and everything he could think of and noted it all on a little notebook, along with little drawings.

When he finished, you transformed into another suggestion. And then, into another and, then, into another one. You went through insects, arachnids, mammals, reptiles and even a few birds until you finished the list.

And so, you spent the whole day posing in different shapes for an excited Asa that took his long time analyzing every specimen and taking little notes about each one of them.

You had only paused a couple of times, just for eating something and drinking some water, but Asa was so focused that didn't seemed to even care.

When you finalized the list and Asa let you rest you were completely exhausted, the thought of not even being capable of returning to your usual human form alarming you.

Of course, your efforts were thanked and Asa promised you not to bother you with shape-shifting the next day so you could rest and he even offered himself to help you with the work you were doing previously in exchange of all the time he made you lose.

When you finally headed to your shared room you fell deep asleep as soon as the bed touched your body, and your mind greeted the well deserved relax.

-

The morning after you were woken up because of an unusual feeling of smallness. The moment you opened your eyes the sight of your "hands" confirmed your theory, you accidentally adopted the form of a small animal while sleeping, being it casually one of the animals Asa asked you to transform into.

Confused but too tired to care or even try to return to your usual form, you headed to the kitchen, where Asa was brewing some coffee. When he turned his sight to the little scaly mammal he couldn't help but to quirk an eyebrow at you with a confused grin.

"Didn't expect you to like so much being a pangolin." He spoke as he crossed his arms and leant on the kitchen counter, curiously peeking how you tried to climb on a chair and gave little taps with your paws on the table surface, reclaiming being hungry and asking for some food.

"Don't tell me you got stuck in that?" He asked as he opened the fridge and grabbed some ham "I don't serve termites today so I'm afraid you'll have to shift into something else that can digest this" He told you as he placed a little plate with the ham before you.

You gave a little annoyed grunt in response and clenched your eyes, focusing into your human form, but you could hear Asa chuckling as soon as you managed to transform and the moment you opened your eyes you understood his reaction. Everything got bigger and you could feel the strong smell of food around. You accidentally were now not a human but a- "What a beautiful Poecilotheria metallica, dear, but I don't think it's what you were thinking on, is it?", you heard Asa say. Frustrated but most of all hungry, you ate how you could your breakfast, earning a lot more chuckles from Asa.

You were mad at Asa for forcing you too much, it was all his fault for not letting you rest so, when you finished your breakfast, you jumped off the table and headed to Asa.

Maybe you were not capable to talking to him but he would indeed understand your irritation.

Asa looked your tiny form approaching him quickly but his blank expression told you that you weren't just physically able to intimidate him.

"Uh? Where are you going?" He asked curiously as your eight-legged form crept up his leg. You stopped at his shoulders, where you were picked up by his gentle hand.

"Instead of being angry at me because you're too tired to properly shape-shift," He started, his thumb gently caressing your head while you laid on his palm, "You could consider this a day-off from humanhood."

You moved your legs quickly as a form of offense by his excuse but his caressing soon calmed you again but as he was feeling your discomfort, an idea occurred to him. He moved his hand to his shoulder again for you rest there and made you a proposal as a way to apologize.

"How about you accompany me the entire day? You always say you are curious about my work. Besides, a so gorgeous tarantula is the best companion an entomologist could wish for.", he pauses for a moment before caressing your head again, "Although you're not precisely an insect I'm sure every student and professor would love to see such a rare specimen. Needless to say that you're completly allowed to bite them."

You expressed your affection to him by nuzzling your head and body on his neck, since you were not able to talk, and his grin showed you that he understood your action.

-

You stood on his shoulders all while he was getting ready for work, only climbing to his head the moment he had to put on his jacket. He grabbed the house keys and took his work briefcase before giving you a few gently pats and opening the door.

"Hold on tight and be careful to don't fall. It's going to be a long day and we don't want you to get lost in such a valuable shape."

You entered his jacket pocket and took your head a bit outside so you could curiously peek the outside world.

And with that, you both headed to the University, where you would sure be really appreciated and greeted with pets and compliments from anyone you would meet.

[ari-bearinson]

Courting you is like charming a snake. You are cunning, poised, seemingly always coiled for some kind of strike. It makes my heart race, makes me feel like I should wear gloves to handle you. Your eyes cut me through, your words dissecting me deeper, and I’ve never been so excited to be so exposed. I have half the mind to show you every pointed fang in my skull. You agree to dinner, those sharp canines threatening at that moment to intrude into my smile. I still feel the sidelong glances of every poor schmuck pointed in your direction and I’ve won, I have to stifle the smug satisfaction from seeping from my very pores. 

The briefing ends and I shake a few hands, rainchecks made for drinks at some point during our investigation. Sector 7 is seen as something like a frat, because no one really knows what we  handle, the monsters we really keep from devouring them. (Our specialty is domestic cryptids, foreign is all FBI. Aliens belong to the bozos that run that shit show out in Arizona.)  

I catch up to you right when you get out of the door, my arm wrapping around your middle to keep you from going too far. That familiar plush turns my bones to marshmallow, my knees threatening to buckle and pull you down with me. You exclaim my name and a jolt of a memory from not even twenty four hours ago thumps below my belt line. I truly have to coax fangs back into their assigned skeletal seats when we trade information, the hotel room I booked to get a decent night's rest on something other than the lumpy couch at Pietro’s only a few floors below your own. “Awful serendipitous, Miss Matney.” 

We part ways and I walk backwards for as long as I can watching you walk away, nearly busting my ass on the brick. You make me messy, tunnel my vision into nothing more than a window to view those curves as they move, that serpentine swivel of hips back and forth. I don’t think you even realize the monster you invite close. 

I visit the crime scene, my badge flashed at the guard and nods exchanged. It reeks of iron and viscera and fear, makes my stomach sour and my mouth water. It's a confusing betrayal of human emotion and animalistic urge. I can smell whatever was here, that familiar dirt and dog of my kind mixed with something that sets the hair on the back of my neck on end. I don't feel fear often; maybe once or twice since I was born the second time. This makes me fear for myself and everyone I know; makes me feel like the small mutt I thought I was when I was younger. 

I take pictures of things I think will be useful later, careful not to touch or tread on anything. I have to stuff my concerns back down, maybe I’ll run it out later. I head back to the hotel, wash the stink of death off. I dress in something my poor mother would approve of and make sure my beard looks kept, my hair and teeth brushed. I catch a kiosk outside of the hotel selling carnations and pick out a dozen, a mixture of white and red. I find your hotel room, rapping on the door a few times before stepping back. 

I feel the spark of amber at the edges of my irises when the door swings open, the choke chain pulled taut around the neck of the animal as he froths and snaps. The dark hair that usually sits in a tight bun fanning out around your face and blowing sweet ambrosia into my nostrils. I swallow, the flowers I hold out give me a solid second to regain control of my motor functions. When I do  “Too bad there isn’t an airplane bathroom for you to corner me in.”

You’re surprised that I’m here, your gaze falling from my face to my badge. I told you that I was CIA on the plane, so if anyone has the right to be surprised by someone’s presence, really it should be me. I know what it’s like not to be able to talk about these things though, so I don’t take it personally. You ask me what I’m doing here and the smile curls in the corners of my mouth when I tell you it’s likely the same thing you’re doing here. I wink at you, not really liking that your smile is forced, but there’s a lot going on. Again, I get it.

The meeting starts and you’re identified as the consultant from the Vatican. I wonder if you’re Catholic, if you had to attend a confessional for the sin we partook in on that plane. I feel all the eyes in the room snap to you and I have to shove down the jealousy that rises in my throat, have to restrain myself from stepping in front of you and shielding you. My instincts throw me, your voice breaking through my thoughts and reigning me back in. 

What are they? No one needs to know that, tell them it’s gibberish. You don’t. You float closer to the screen, explaining their origins and history, explaining that they’re older than the Vatican itself. 

What do they say? They don’t need to know that either. You try to dodge it as much as you can, but with this much pressure from a room full of suit clad men, I understand why it’s easier to just give them what they want. You pronounce it perfectly, this language that I spent years training myself to recognize. My expression sours, how much of this do you know? Even an expert would have difficulty with this but it slips from your tongue like a mother language. 

The sounds of pens scratching with notes taken fills the room, my nerves frayed thin. The more they know, the more difficult my job is going to be, but they don’t let me sit back in silence for long, another suit with an ego bigger than the body he possesses piping up.

“And what is CIA’s Sector 7 interest in this case?” Eyes snap from you to me, my expression cool. 

“Aw, you know us; mention a dead language and the Vatican and we’re geared up and ready to go. I’m lookin’ for Dr. Bigfoot in the catacombs after this.” 

That earns laughter from my colleagues, their attentions turned back towards their paperwork as they dismiss my presence. I work better that way, no one taking me seriously enough to care that I always seem to be there. When you return to your place on the wall next to me I lean into your ear, whispering so no one else can hear. “You speak Draugr like you’re fluent. It took me two Master’s degrees and four dissertations to understand all of that. What else are you hiding from me, duchess?” 

You give me a severe look, and my grin answers it. “Why don’t I take you out to dinner and we see what else I can pry from that beautiful mind of yours?”

@viridescent-steph