#why do i sound prepubescent

[polaritydisturbed]

Ok no, I have to get it out of my system, Conrad is bad at podcasting. And just recording anything in general.

The sound padding is doing absolutely nothing. Sure, they’ve got it slapped on the walls, but it’s off to the side. Not behind them. Not in front of them. Just... chilling. Which is useless. You want that padding facing the source of the sound so it can catch the waves before they start bouncing all over the place.

Since both Ruby and Conrad are facing forward with the padding off to the side, her voice is bouncing off the wall behind him and hitting his mic again a split second later. That would be making the audio sound muddy and hollow. Having the foam off to the side like that is like putting a bandage next to your cut and wondering why you’re still bleeding.

Right now, the foam is just there for vibes. Bad vibes.

And who told this man to record in a glass box? Glass is terrible for audio. Everything bounces. Nothing gets absorbed. It turns your voice into a pinball machine. You could have a thousand-dollar mic and it would still sound like you’re talking inside a fishbowl. Plus, that room looks like it’s in the middle of an office space? Why, Conrad, you amoeba-brained sycophant, would you record anything there ever?? The background noise alone would be hell on Earth to try to edit out.

Pop filter and foam windscreen (mic cover)??? Both are designed to reduce plosive sounds—like "p" and "b"—by dispersing the air before it hits the microphone diaphragm. While it’s not wrong to use both, it’s redundant unless you're outdoors or in a particularly plosive-heavy environment. Stacking them can even dull the audio a bit.

Your mic doesn’t need two hats. Calm down.

Not an audio note but a soft box light in the shot?? No. Just no. They should be behind the camera, pointing at you. Or at least off to the side, not pointing directly down the middle. And what really gets me? There are windows. Real, working windows with actual sunlight. And what did Conrad do? He covered them with that useless sound padding. So now it’s badly lit and echoey.

He blocked out free, natural light to keep in the bad sound.

"But what if the sun’s there right when he’s trying to record?" some might say. That’s why curtains exist. And the soft box would still be in a bad spot.

Also, his camera audio is peaking like crazy. Even if he's not using the camera mic for the final cut, it’s still useless to record it like this. You know that Xbox early Halo/COD mic sound? That’s what this would sound like.

This happens when the input gain is too high, causing the audio to clip. Basically, the mic can’t handle it and the sound gets distorted. Ideally, you want your audio levels to peak in the yellow zone, around -12 dB to -6 dB. Not constantly slamming into the red at 0 dB. That’s reserved for 13-year-old prepubescents cursing you out for ruining their kill streak. And that’s it.

On top of that, both the left and right channels on the camera audio look identical, meaning the audio’s been merged into a single mono track. Which isn’t wrong for speech, but it kills any sense of space or direction. For dynamic audio, especially in a two-person setup, you don’t want everything crammed into one lane. (OR they’re both just peaking at the same time continuously, even when they’re not talking, which means it’s picking up background noise at a level so loud it’s pushing the mic into clipping.)

And to make things worse, the little "LIVE" tag in the bottom corner implies this is a livestream. But there doesn’t seem to be any livestream software open on his laptop, so I’m assuming there’s either a second offscreen computer handling the stream, or it’s hooked up to broadcast natively.

Either way, unless those mics are also connected to the camera or that other computer, that peaky, crunchy camera audio is what people are actually hearing.

Finally... it really helps if you hit the record button. He’s just playing back audio. I think that’s more of a “show” thing, but still.

(look I got a fancy degree in this stuff and I have to use it somehow)

[b3ach-bunn7]

SWEET BOY

Shinsou Hitoshi gets the practise room on odd days, and you the even ones. You’ve never met him, but the notes he leaves on the music stand keeps you interested.

Noquirk!au, band au, guitarist Shinsou

—————————————————————————-

There’s only two practice rooms in UA.

It’s no surprise. UA is a sports school. That means about ninety percent of their extracurricular funding goes to new basketballs and volleyball nets, and not to the suffering music department. You're not too fussed by it. You suppose two rooms are better than nothing. The only reason you use them is because you and your slightly overzealous friend, Hana, are both auditioning for some prestigious music school in the summer. You need as much practice as you can get, and luckily being a senior means that you can kick out the younger students if you need to use them.

Only this year, there's a new stupid sign up sheet. Apparently now, instead of the usual first come first serve system, you have to sign up for a room and get allocated them in advance. Your friend Hana grumbles beside you, and you adjust the violin case that’s wearing heavy on your shoulder. 

“This is so stupid. These should be first come first serve. Why do I need to sign up?” Hana snaps.

You smile slightly, quickly scribbling in your name under hers. “Look, nobody has even signed up apart from us. And… Shinsou? Who’s that?”

Hana peers at the sheet over your shoulder. She shrugs. “God knows. Probably some loser first year who thinks he can play piano.”

“Hana.”

“What?”

You nudge her shoulder. “Don’t be rude. If we’re lucky we’ll only have him to share rooms with.”

“Whatever. Let’s go get food, I'm hungry.”

.

You try not to cringe at Hana’s very over dramatic reaction to the schedule two days later. She doesn’t really have any shame in yelling in the middle of the corridor, and you tap her shoulder impatiently at the looks you start receiving from around you.

“Hana. Please, chill out! It’s not that serious.” You urge, trying to push her away from the notice board she is very angrily staring at.

“No! He put us on seperate days!”

You look back at the sheet, in the scrawny handwriting of Mr Hamada.

UA Practise room timetables:

Odd days of the month: Hana Ushijima in 3A and Shinsou Hitoshi in 3B

Even days of the month: Sato Akiro in 3A and Y/N L/N in 3B

“It’s not so bad. You're sharing a room with Sato, he’s nice!” You try to smile encouragingly but Hana is not impressed.

She grips your shoulders and shakes a little. “Let’s ask Hamada if we can move days. So we can practise together.”

As horrible as it sounds, you don’t really want to move days. Hana is your best friend but she’s also a lot, especially when it comes to your music. You can only practise with complete and utter calm and silence, and she prefers to chat the whole time and comment on every piece you play.

“I’ll talk to him later.”

You’re not actually going to do that. But what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

.

Your first day in the music room is spent considerably annoyed. 

You said your goodbyes to Hana, after assuring her you were definitely going to talk to Hamada today, and welcome the silence as you click the door to room 3B shut. You can hear the distant sound of chatter and commotion pouring in from the open windows, and you make quick work of shutting them all. You only have half an hour before you have to get to English, and the sound of prepubescent teens fighting over a football outside is not going to make that time any slower. 

The room isn’t anything special. It’s not that big and only consists of an old piano that’s always out of tune, and a guitar hidden in a fabric black case that’s falling apart a little. The furthest wall from the door is covered in drawing and notes from students, and you won’t sit and lie that a thirteen year old you hadn’t scribbled her own messages on the wall.

And then you see it.

The wrapper of what you recognise as the schools way too overpriced sandwiches thrown on the stand for sheet music, and a tissue. Irritation immediately spikes in you, and you frown.

You know it’s that Shinsou kid. Who else? The teachers never come in these rooms, and clearly the cleaners don’t either. It’s just rude, frankly. It’s common courtesy to not litter, especially in a room shared by top people. It’s literally one of the rules in these rooms. You think about throwing it away for a second, because there is a trash can literally outside the door, but you decide against it. This Shinsou kid can clean his own mess.

But you can’t stop thinking about it.

When you take your violin out of its case and pick off the hair that’s sticking to the top. When you wax your bow, place the cool wood on your shoulder. You have to balance your sheet music on the windowsill because of your righteous decision to leave his rubbish on the stand. The piece is one of Bruch’s, and you try your hardest to run over it as best as you can, but you just can’t. His stupid mess rings in the back of your mind like an incessant fly. You’re annoyed he left his stuff there and you’re even more annoyed you’re so annoyed about it. A vicious cycle.

After twenty pretty unproductive minutes, you pull out your own lunch. You sit in the rickety chair in the corner of the room and stew as you eat the bento your mother made you. It’s then you decide that you can be petty too. You rip a paper out of your maths notebook and leave a note, balancing it against the stand alongside his rubbish.

Dear Odd day musician,

It’d be nice if you didn’t leave your rubbish on the music stands. You’re not the only one using the music rooms, and you can clean up after yourself.

Sincerely, Even day musician

.

Dear Even day musician,

Thank you so much for the little note, but that was not rubbish. I had a riff written down on that tissue. Also, please kindly do not leave your negative Even day vibes all over this room. You’re not the only one using the music rooms, and you can clean up after yourself.

Sincerely, Odd day musician.

You have half a mind to go and find this Shinsou guy and shove this note up his ass. He’s thrown the wrapper away, but you see now that the tissue, that he still hasn’t moved, has messy scribbles on it he’s considering notation.

You decide that after you practise your violin you’ll write a reply. It feels stupid and a little childish passing notes back and forth like this but you don’t think you’ll be finding yourself coming back on odd days to yell at him for his mess. The sound of your music leaks out under the door and vibrates in your chest. It’s loud and grating and you put your violin down faster than you should’ve.

You love music. And the violin. You just don’t think you see yourself dedicating your whole life to it, contrary to the beliefs of just about everyone you know. It just feels like you have to do it. You get perfect grades, and the teachers love you, and you’re known around school. You don’t really know how or why, but it’s just who you are. And the next step is some prestigious music school that your mother can brag about to all your aunties.

It’s fine. You like the violin. It will be fun.

You grab a pen and more paper from your bag. You sit in the same rickety chair and scribble another note.

Dear Odd day musician,

Apologies for my mistake. Did the wrapper of your panini also have a riff on it, or was that in fact just your trash? I think my even day vibes are quite positive, and I don’t see how I can stop leaving them all over the room.

P.S: If you clean up after yourself, you won’t have to read any more of my ‘little notes’.

Sincerely, Even day musician.

.

“We’ll be in there in like, ten.”

Hana’s voice sounds tinny out of your phone speaker. You’re laying down on your bed, violin and school bag beside you. The collar of your shirt itches your neck and you tug at it.

“Did you braid your hair like I told you to?” Hana asks and you hum in reply.

“Yes. Took forever.” You mumbled, hands twirling around one of them.

“Yes, well. It’s worth it. You look cute.” 

You don’t want to look cute, you want to look sophisticated. You tell Hana that and she laughs. 

“Sophisticated is overrated. And TestsuTestsu will like it. He’s got a crush on you, you know.”

You frown. You sit up, fixing the back of your hair. “No, he doesn’t.”

“He so does. He’s always looking at you in chem.”

You stand up as you hear the rev of an engine outside. You hoist the violin case on your shoulder and the hard case digs into your back. Your brain thinks of a tissue on a music stand and angry notes.

“I don’t care. He’s too loud.”

“Whatever. We’re outside.”

.

You wait anxiously for the lunch bell to ring. Today you’ve got a egg sandwich that sits heavily in the back of your backpack. You’ve got about an hour until lunch and until your small peace in the practise room. You have orchestra first, though, and everyone waves hello when you walk in, and Mr Hamada grins loud and bright.

“Y/N! I’ve been meaning to ask you. We’re having a school open evening, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to perform a piece?” He asks, bounding over to stand in front of you.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” You smile brightly and you hope he believes it.

It’s the last thing you need to have another performance to practise for. Your mind flits to your audition, the English essay you haven’t completed and the notes on the music stand.

“Great! It’s this Friday. Is that enough time for you to practise?”

This Friday is three days away, you want to yell. But you just nod, hands itching around the neck of your violin. “Yes. That should be good.”

Mr Hamada gives you two thumbs up and makes his way to the front of the room. Hana pokes your shoulder.

“Lucky. You always get the performances.”

You sigh, rubbing at your eyes. “I don’t even want it. I just can’t say no to people.”

Hana rolls her eyes. “Sure, sure. You know you love the attention.”

You wish you could tell her you really really don’t but Hamada’s voice rings across the room to silence you all and you raise your violin.

Orchestra can’t end quickly enough. You wave your goodbyes and rush your way over to the practise room. You place your stuff on the floor and you sit, sighing. You look down at your violin and curse. You can’t be bothered today. Especially not after the hour you just spent with Hana whispering too-mean jokes in your ear every time the girl on clarinet messed up. You pull out your phone and find a recording of you playing and let it ring across the room. At least this way anybody walking past will think you’re actually using this room for good.

You breathe a little lighter. Your eyes dart to the guitar in the corner and then your latest note to Shinsou. This is weird, but you stopped caring a while ago. It’s sort of fun, if you’re being entirely honest with yourself.

Dear Mrs Even,

I’m struggling to understand why you are so bugged by my wrapper. Surely the time it would’ve taken to throw it away would have been much shorter than writing me another angry note? I know you are well known at UA for your perfect grades and perfect attitude and perfect violin plucking, but instead of being mad, get inspired! Maybe write a violin number called “Mr Odd Day’s trash.”

Sincerely, Mr Odd.

You read the note twice to make sure you're not seeing things. You ball it up in your hands and lunge it at the wall. You watch it skid across the tiled floor and, after a few choice words, pick it up and throw it in the bin. You take it back. This isn’t very fun. What does Shinsou know about anything? You’ve never even heard of him before this whole music room problem. You whip out your own notebook and start furiously writing.

Dear Mr Odd,

I apologise that my annoying and perfect vibes have ruined the serenity of your music room. Please enjoy the remains of my egg sandwich. Maybe write a song about that.

Sincerely, Mrs Even

You feel better when you drop the crusts of your sandwich on the music stand. A little voice in the back of your head warns you that Hamada might see them and you’ll get in trouble, but your revenge feels more important than that.

Your leg jogs up and down and the chair creaks below you. Your eyes flit to the guitar in the corner of the room. Without thinking, you reach over and grab it. The case is worn out and old, the fabric peeling, and you unzip the case. The guitar is used and worn out. The strings are not cut at the top and it’s heavier than your violin. It sits across your lap, and you strum. 

You mess around with the strings until you find the E major scale and you pluck the notes gingerly. The sound is deeper and louder than your violin, and you waste away the rest of your lunch break playing the guitar instead.

.

Dear Mrs Even,

Have you been playing the guitar?

Sincerely, Mr Odd

.

Dear Mr Odd,

No. I play violin, not guitar.

Sincerely, Mrs Even.

.

Dear Mrs Even,

This is sad. The guitar is crushed and so am I. My band could’ve used another.

Sincerely, Mr Odd

.

The next day you and Hana check out Shinsou’s instagram page.

You’re not interested in him. If anything he’s annoying, with his stupid notes and surprising intuition that you’d been playing the guitar. You’re just… curious. You feel like you know him, even though you’ve never seen his face before. Until now, of course.

You’re both laying down on Hana’s bed, stomachs down on the mattress. Her covers are soft and there’s a lavender candle burning on her bedside table. You tug her laptop closer so you can see properly. 

“Do you have a crush on him?” She asks.

“No! I’m just. I’m just curious who he is.”

Hana hums suspiciously. You watch her click around on different profiles, searching for his. You lean your head on her shoulder. 

“I spoke to him, you know. I saw him walking into 3B and I asked him if you could swap days and he said no. That he liked the ‘odd days of the week’.” She rolled her eyes but you smiled slightly.

“Yeah. Sounds like him.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t know him.” 

“Shut up and open his profile.”

She clicks it, shin_sou.h04, and you both lean in. 

He’s cute. He’s got that rugged, nerdy sort of look you find unfairly attractive. He also looks sleep-deprived and a little emo, so it’s a perfect combination. The fact this is the guy you’ve been leaving notes to leaves a little tingle in your stomach. Hana hums beside you as she scrolls through his page.

“Hm. He’s okay. He’s in a band. He plays-”

“Guitar, yeah.”

Hana looks at you suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

You falter, face heating. “You know. His guitar, he always leaves it in the music room.”

She doesn’t say anything. The silence makes your skin hot, so you snatch the laptop out of her grasp. “He’s in a band. That’s cool. I want to be in a band.”

“No, you want to be in an orchestra. Our auditions are literally so soon.”

“They are in three months.”

“That’s very soon.”

You pause on one post in particular. He’s standing next to a boy with bright blonde hair, teeth shining as he grins widely into the camera. It’s clearly been shot on an old camera and the quality faded the edges, but they still look good. He looks good.

Hana drags her laptop back. “You so have a crush on him.”

“I do not!”

.

Dear Mrs Even,

I’m no fool, you know. Once again I sense your even day vibes lingering all over my guitar. So I may or may not have done the stalkery thing of coming to room 3B on your day, and there I hear it. Under the sound of your (recorded?) violin playing, the up and down scales of my guitar. So that begs the question: has my influence made you turn from a life of violing? That band position offer still stands, you know.

Sincerely, Mr Odd.

.

Dear Mr Odd,

Fine. I am playing the guitar. It’s a nice breath of fresh air after all this sucky violin playing. Don’t get me wrong, I love it and all, but. I’m sort of sick of it. I’ve been playing ever since I was four, and even though I have no idea how to play it, the guitar is fun. Just don’t mention it to anyone. I’m supposed to be performing tomorrow at the open evening assembly and I should be practising for that but. That’s neither here nor there.

Also, thank you for the band position offer. However, I am in the school’s orchestra and I already have my work cut out for me as is.

Sincerely, Mrs Even.

.

The auditorium is noisy with the sound of a few dozen people chattering. Your eyes scan over the new prospective students and their parents, your violin sitting heavy on your lap.

You don’t mind performing. Contrary to your recent aversion to violin, you love music. You love everything about it, especially the complicated melody of the song you’d picked for tonight. It felt like your responsibility, as someone who played music, to share it with the world, and you were glad you could at least do that much. 

You listen as Principal Nezu rambles about the upcoming tours and whatever else principals talk about, before he turns to you.

“And now, a piece played by our own Y/N L/N.”

You smile. The audience breaks out into applause and you swallow. You know Hana is sitting there somewhere, promising to wait for you after so you can get boba, still a little jealous she didn’t get the part. Your eyes flit to the audience for just one more second to look for a purple-haired guitarist. You don’t see one, though, so you raise your violin. Your eyes shut. You lift your bow and begin.

.

The next note is not left on the music stand. Instead, it slips out of the bottom of your locker, and you scramble to hide it before Hana can see. Unfortunately though, the world is quite against you, and she sees it just before you slip it into your backpack.

“What’s that?”

“It’s nothing.” You say, quickly zipping up your bag.

Hana reaches forward and tries to grab it. “Come on, show me!”

“No, Hana-“

“Just give! Is it a love letter? From your big fat lover Shi-“

You shove her and she laughs. Your little back and forth is catching the eyes of a few people nearby and you think you’d die if this somehow got back to Shinsou. You shush her, quickly shutting the door to your locker.

“Okay! Shut up, people are going to hear!” You hiss, shoving her shoulder again.

“Alright, alright! What is it, though? Another performance offer?” She drawls and you roll your eyes.

“Shut up.”

You slip the note out of your bag. You open it, and just like you suspected, it’s from Shinsou.

Dear Mrs Even,

Your letter makes me sad. Nobody should ever hate their instrument. Music is beautiful, and it should always be played and loved. Which is why I was wondering... if you’re sick of violin, I could teach you how to play guitar? You can come to the music room on one of my days and I’d be glad to show you the ropes. If you think that isn’t weird or anything. I’ll leave my number at the bottom, so just text me if you’re interested.

Sincerely, Mr Odd. 

Your face heats as you read the note. He wants to teach you guitar? He wants to meet you in the music rooms? He gave you his number? 

You don’t care. You don’t. It’s not like you have a crush on him, regardless of what Hana seems to think. You just think he’s kind of annoying. But in a funny way. And he’s attractive, but that’s pretty much it. You don’t care.

Hana gasps at the look in your face. “Wait, is it actually a love letter?”

“Not a love letter. Just a letter.” You shove it into your pocket before she can read it.

Hana huns under her breath. “From who?”

“Nobody.”

“You lie. Just tell me!” You start walking towards class and she dashes after you, linking your arm in hers. “I promise I won’t make fun. As long as he’s not ugly.”

You huff. “Shinsou isn’t ugly, he-“ 

You curse under your breath. Hana gasps for what might be the hundredth time today. 

“I knew it!”

“It’s not like that!” You whine and she laughs.

“Sure, sure. Did all our instagram stalking make you fall in love?”

“I hate you.” 

.

The note burns a hole in your pocket as you sit in maths class. You think about what to text him. If you even should text him, instead of working out the difficult looking quadratic formulas on the board in front of you. Your teacher drones on, his voice low and monotone. Your legs jogs under your table, and against your better judgement, you’re pulling your phone out of your bag and hiding it behind your water bottle.

You feel a little rebellious. You're not really supposed to be on your phone in class, and the thought rings in your head as you copy the number from the letter. It takes you another two minutes of convincing to send a message.

You: Hello

You: Is this Shinsou?

Was that too much? The grammar probably is. Hana always says that your texting is too formal. Maybe you should’ve mixed in an emoji.

Shinsou: gasp

Shinsou: y/n texting in class???

Shinsou: is my favourite goody-two shoes rebelling once again??

You: Unfortunately 

You: This is your bad influence

Shinsou: aw shucks x

Shinsou: im flattered im so influential

You: Don’t get too ahead of yourself

Shinsou: you always text this fancy?

You: Yes

You: Is that a problem?

Shinsou: nah its cute

Shinsou: does this mean u want a guitar lesson

You: Yes

Shinsou: YIPPEE

Shinsou: today is my day so u can come on down

Shinsou: and ill teach you a lesson

You: It sounds like you're going to beat me up

Shinsou: LMAO

Shinsou: i never hit women…

You: Wow… U are so woke

Shinsou: thank u I LOVE WOMEN!

.

You end up telling Hana, because you're not really sure how you’ll explain yourself if she sees you walking into the practice rooms with Shinsou. She drinks thoughtfully out of her apple juice as you both walk slowly to the music rooms. The corridors are basically empty, and you smile at a teacher who catches your eyes as she enters her classroom. Nobody questions why you and Hana are inside during lunch. You’re not supposed to be, but you guess it’s one of the perks of being a ‘goody two shoes’, as Shinsou calls it. The thought of him fills your stomach with another bout of nerves, and you swallow.

“I’m nervous. Should I be nervous?” You ask, and Hana shrugs.

“No.” She pauses. “Well, maybe. I think he likes you, so. This could be considered a first date.” She ponders and you groan.

“I look like shit! This can’t be a first date.” You say, gesturing down at your clothes.

Hana rolls her eyes. You arrive sooner than you’d like and Hana pulls you back before the two of you can walk in. She fixes your jumper, wipes off the mascara from beneath your eyes. She fishes around in her pocket and holds out her lipgloss and you dutifully put it on.

“Just chillax. You overthink too much. And you look cute.” She raises her eyebrows. “And I’m sure Shinsou will think so, too.”

You sigh. “Thanks, Hana.”

She gives you a reassuring smile. “Remember I’m next door.”

“Aw, thanks, but I don’t think I’ll need anything.”

She takes the lipgloss out your hand. “No, not for help. I mean if you two start fucking in there, don’t get too loud. I need to practise.” Your face burns red and Hana laughs, walking off. 

“You- Shut up.” You hiss, shoving her as she walks into her own practise room.

You look at room 3B. It’s on the end of the corridor and luckily far away enough that not only does Hamada never come check on them, but also nobody would see the fact there were two people in the one-person-only rooms. 

You take a deep breath and walk up to the door. Should you knock? Or maybe just walk in. That could be rude, though. Technically, this is someone else’s room, considering the fact today is Shinsou’s day. But he invited you so that probably means he doesn’t care if you walk in. Knocking feels too formal, anyway.

Luckily, your questions are answered for you when the door swings open, and Shinsou is there. 

He’s tall. Taller than he looks on Instagram, at least. He looks a little more sleep deprived in person, but the way he grins down at you makes his whole face look wholly more attractive than you feel is fair. He’s wearing an old band shirt and your eyes dart down to the chain that sits against his collarbones.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs Even in the flesh.” 

You smile slightly and walk in. The room feels smaller with the two of you in it, and the door clicks shut.

You hum. “I’m only here to make sure you aren’t littering again.”

Shinsou’s voice is deep, and he runs a hand through his hair. “You wound me, Even. And here I thought you were here to learn.” His fingers drum against the neck of the guitar.

You drop your back on the floor and lean against the wall. Shinsou sits on the chair. The guitar looks better in his hands then it does yours, like it belongs. He strums it once.

“No, I’m here for that, too. Can’t turn down free lessons.”

He huffs a laugh. “You gold digger. You’re just using me for my incredible guitar skills.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I’m literally in a band. That’s like all the proof you need.”

“So show me.”

Shinsou sighs, rolling his eyes playfully. “So bossy. Didn’t expect this from timid Mrs Even.”

You frown. “I’m not timid.”

Shinsou tilts his head. “You’re a little timid.”

“No. I- Okay, just play.”

And he does. It’s nothing long but it’s also nothing simple. You learn quickly enough that he’s a rhythm guitarist, and the practised way his hands fly across the guitar is incredible. And he loves it. You can tell by the way he plays, the ease on his face. It fills you with a little jealousy, but. You love the music too much to focus on that.

He finishes and you clap. “Alright. I’ll admit it. You’re good.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’m here all night.” He holds up his hands and you glance at his hands. There’s way too many bracelets that clink against the guitar.

“I like your bracelets.”

“Thanks. You want one?”

You laugh slightly. “What? No I wasn’t-“

“Have one. I’ve got hundreds of these.” He shrugs and tosses you a beaded bracelet you just about catch.

You pull it onto your wrist, and pull up the sleeves of your jumper. It’s dark green and streaky and cool against your skin. “Thank you.”

He stands, holding out the guitar to you. “You ready?”

You nod. You walk forward and when you grab the guitar your fingers brush against his.

“Should I be nervous?”

“Nah. Your fancy violin fingers should be trained enough to play guitar easily.” 

You sit down in the chair, and place the guitar in your lap. Shinsou pulls over the cajon drum in the corner of the room and sits across from you. He’s close enough that you can smell a woodsy cologne and the smell of fresh laundry on him. 

“Alright. Lesson one: lighten up.”

You give him a pointed glare and he laughs. “See? So much tension in those shoulders. Relax, sweetheart.”

You swallow roughly. “I thought I was timid. Not tense.”

He grins, all white teeth and dimples. “You can be both. Cute, too.”

Your cheeks flush. “Shut up and teach me. You’re so unprofessional.”

“Apologies, apologies. Okay, so you look less tense. I can work with this.” 

He taps the long end of the guitar. “This is called the neck. And these lines separate different frets.”

You nod. It’s kind of like a violin, except your instrument isn’t separated by frets and lines. You just have to remember where the notes are. You tell Shinsou and he nods.

“Us guitar players aren’t as clever.”

“That I can agree with.”

“Shut it. Okay, so chords are simple. You press your fingers on the right strings really hard and you strum.”

You nod again. He nods too, hair bouncing.

“Okay, so. Press your middle finger here, pointer there and index at the bottom string.” 

You follow his instructions. “Like this?”

“Kind of. Just.” His hands inch forward but he stops. He look up from your hands to your eyes. “Can I?”

“Yeah.” 

His hands are long and slender and soft when he pulls your thumb lower on the neck of the guitar. You feel the rough edges of his callouses as he presses over your own fingers, his other hand strumming the guitar once.

“Look at you. Fast learner.”

You smile. “Thanks.” He strums it again, other hand leaving yours.

“That’s a G chord.” You say, and he hums.

“Impressive.”

“Hm. I’m much more musically inclined than you, I bet.” You tease and he huffs.

“Show off. Come on, let’s keep going.”

You play three more chords, and with all four in total, Shinsou tells you you’ve learnt a song. It’s only after three runthroughs and his humming that you realise what he’s taught you.

“Is this Creep by Radiohead, you emo?”

“Bingo!” He cheers. “You know good music.”

“Everyone knows that song. Though I do like Radiohead.” You say, balancing the guitar against the wall.

You aren’t playing and Shinsou isn’t teaching anymore, but he doesn’t move any further away. Your knees brush against his and you smooth your skirt over your thighs. 

“You do? I assumed you only listened to classical music.”

“No. Well, I do. But I listen to other stuff, too.” 

The mention of classical music has you glancing at your violin. You’ve started just leaving it in the music room. You wonder if Shinsou has ever picked it up. His eyes follow the trail of your own.

“Ah. The dreaded violin.”

“Stop. I like it. I do.” 

Shinsou looks at you curiously. You feel a little watched. Like he’s looking right inside of you.

“I don’t know. I love music. Really. I live and breathe it, but recently violin just feels like a job. I don’t get to love it anymore. It’s play this, learn that. Whatever to impress the people at the audition, the parents at open evening.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Sorry. I don’t mean to ramble.”

“Nah, you’re fine. I get it. Well, not completely. My mum doesn’t love my passion for music so I think that makes me love it a little more.” 

You huff a laugh and Shinsou smiles a little. 

“But you’re very good. At violin playing.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “When have you seen me play?”

“At the open evening.”

You think back to the night, the quick piece you’d played and the fact you’d looked for him and found nothing.

“Really? I didn’t see you there.”

He leans forward closer. “Aw. Were you looking for me, sweetheart?”

“No. Though I’m sure the bright purple hair would’ve been hard to miss.”

Shinsou cracks his knuckles and you wince at the sound. “I messed up the times, but I caught you at the end. You’re amazing. Really.”

You stir a little at the compliments. With the most grace possible, you get them a lot. But it sounds a little better coming from Shinsou, especially when he’s looking at you so intently.

“Yeah, well. I have been playing since I was four.”

“Stop doing that. Making excuses. You’re good because you’re good. Even if it’s getting annoying it’s obvious you love to play.”

You flick his leg. “Alright. Fine. I’m good. At violin and guitar.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves now.”

Your finger lingers on his knee a little. You’re about to say something, and so is he by the way he sits up a little. But the door to the music room opens suddenly, and Hana pops her head in.

You stand up suddenly. Shinsou waves at Hana while you try to look like you’re not doing something you shouldn’t be.

“If you two are done.. whatever you’re doing in here, me and Y/N have got Math.” 

“Hey, neighbour.” Shinsou says and she nods curtly, stepping out to wait for you.

“She’s a pleasure.” Shinsou raises his brows and you smile.

You pick up your backpack and pull it over one shoulder. “She just needs to warm up to you a little. She’ll like you if I like you.” You walk over to the door.

Shinsou stands too. “So. Do you like me then?”

You look back at him, hand still on the doorknob. “Hm. Still deciding. Might need a few more guitar lessons before I can know.”

He grins. “Good. I’m free every odd day of the week.”

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

This fic was very confusing to write.. lots of different media forms.. I was trying something new and I hope u like it!

I was tryna go for nerdy ochestra girl x emo band guy cause Shinsou is lowkey giving that if I’m being really honest with myself and I want SHINSOU if I’m being honest with myself

I hope u all enjoyed.. I will deffo be writing a part two, but it’s currently Ramadan so my posting schedule will probably be very sporadic..

LOVE U ALLL

[bruhstories]

Muse II

p.1 && p.3

summary: a knock on your door, an envelope and a dress pairing: viktor x painter!reader && jayce x mel warnings: swearing, angst, descriptions of anxiety and depression, quite a lot of dialogue, veeeery slow burn, jayce being a good friend, canon divergent w/c: 3.7k

a/n: this part is a little more reader-centric, but i will fix that in the third (and potentially the last) part. liking and reblogging is encouraged and appreciated!

"May I leave now?" The bright lights of the infirmary forced Viktor to squeeze his eyes shut.

The doctor nodded, but the nurse gasped, then shook her head. She seemed to want to see him all the time, always finding a reason to stall, to buy time. Viktor never understood why, but then again, he never understood why you wanted him to be your model. 

"I think it would be prudent to run a few more tests." The nurse suggested.

Her name was Sky, and she had been nothing but kind to him. But weren't all nurses supposed to be humane? To care for the sick? Unfortunately for her, the doctor was adamant on dismissing Viktor.

"I'm afraid not, Sky. Viktor's condition isn't improving, but it isn't advancing either. It's as though his condition simply stopped. You're free to go, but please come back if you notice any changes, positive or otherwise."

"Thank you, doctor." Viktor gripped the handle of his cane and left the infirmary, strolling down the streets of Piltover. 

He had been thinking about you, about how the rune you inscribed in his portrait changed him, but his ego brought out the worst in him, and he refused to search for you, to apologise for misjudging you. Besides, you were probably busy with commissions anyway. You wouldn't make time for him after he stupidly, arrogantly tore down your pride.

You weren't busy. 

It had been days since you left your apartment, weeks since you last touched a paintbrush, months since you saw Viktor. Not having a muse incapacitated you, turned off your creativity, destroyed your imagination. You stared at the blank canvas in front of you — empty, just like your mind and your heart.

Abandoning the attempt to paint, you tried to draw instead. Fiddling with the pencil in your hand, you took a look at your previous sketches, desperate to do something, anything. But nothing came out of you. Not a single line, or dot, or sliver of hope. The sudden knock on your door had you recoil and drop your pencil. Expecting your landlord, you swung open the door. 

Jayce stared at you, at your dishevelled hair and the state of your clothes, before he peeked behind your shoulder to see the mess in your apartment. Papers tossed on the floor, clothes piled up on your bed, spoiled food on your table. He hadn't seen anyone so... pitiful. 

"Can I help you?" Your monotonous voice sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard.

"I just wanted to check on you. Y/N, what happened?"

"Ask your partner." Venom dripped down your tongue as you closed the door, only for Jayce to stop it with his foot.

"Please, let's just talk."

"Why?" 

"That's what friends do!" His warm smile was supposed to offer you comfort, but it only offered you hate.

"We're not friends, Mr. Talis." You tried to close the door again, catching his fingers in the doorframe. The sudden shriek of pain made you violently open it, eyes wide at Jayce who was on the verge of tears. "I am so sorry, I didn't think you'd put your bloody fingers in the way!"

Ushering him inside your apartment, you kicked away the piles of clothes from the chair and sat him down. He winced, watching his fingers slowly turn purple and swollen.

"It's alright, it's nothing." His voice cracked like some prepubescent teenager, and you ran a handkerchief under cold water then gave it to him.

"I'm really sorry, Jayce."

"Aha! You used my name! Ow, shit."

You tried to stifle the chuckle that erupted from your throat, but to no avail. He managed to make you laugh, but the sweetness turned sour.

"Why are you really here?" You asked, avoiding his gaze.

"I told you, I wanted to check on you. And to ask you something."

There it was, the true reason.

"How did you do it?"

"Dunno what you're talking about." You shrugged. 

"That portrait, it somehow stopped Viktor's affliction from advancing. It's not regressing by any means, but it's keeping him in a stable condition, and I can't explain why. No one can." His forehead creased, unable to find a scientific reason.

"Maybe he got lucky." You simply said.

"Don't be modest, he told me you put some kind of magical rune in it." Jayce scoffed. 

"He spoke about me?" Was all you could think about.

"Yes, but you need to tell me how you did it."

You sighed. His scientific brain could never comprehend the intricacies of magic, the elegant enchantments, or the intuitive spellwork, but you tried your best.

"The Academy of Arts in Ionia trains artists to incorporate spells, runes and sigils into their work. Some can bring their paintings to life, others can use them to deal damage." You looked behind Jayce at the blank canvas. "I can heal. Sort of."

"That's fascinating!" He beamed at you like a child who just got a new toy. "So why didn't you fully heal Viktor?

"Ah, but what would life be if all our problems disappeared? We're all the product of our experiences, aren't we?" You mused. "I can't heal illnesses if people were born with them, I can merely hinder them, stop them from advancing, because even ailments serve a purpose. Would Viktor had become the scientist that he is without his condition?" You quirked a brow, and Jayce frowned, not in anger but in contemplation. 

"So, you could heal my fingers, then, yes?" He nodded, but you sighed again. It was something you found yourself doing quite often.

"I haven't touched a pencil in weeks. I'm useless, as you can probably tell from the state of my apartment."

"Why? Because you don't have a muse?" Jayce asked, and you nodded. "That's bullshit."

"Excuse you?" Your words came out a lot more condescending than you wanted.

"I said it's bullshit. You're a damn artist, you find beauty where others don't. You don't need a muse for that." He scoffed.

"It's not that simple-"

"It is! Science and art are not that different, Y/N! They're both attempts to comprehend the world around us. They require research, analytical processes, resilience. Not a muse." Jayce picked up a sheet of paper and a piece of coal and slammed them on the table. "Draw my hand."

You stared at him, dumbfounded by the sheer willpower that this man had. No wonder he was an innovator. You could've kicked him out of your house, shut the door and never look back, but you didn't. Picking up the coal, you studied his hand first — the length of his fingers, width of his palm, the swirls of his fingerprints. Then, you let the coal glide down the paper, tracing lines, smudging them with your index finger and thumb. Your own fingers were sore from the lack of practice, but you sketched his hand nonetheless, and just as you did with Viktor's portrait, you scribbled a rune in the corner of the paper.

Showing Jayce the sketch, he could feel his numb fingers return to their normal size, the black and blue disappearing by the minute. He knew you could do it, you just needed a little push.

"See, that wasn't so hard." Jayce grinned, but you stared daggers at him. "Oh, before I go, Mel wanted you to have this." He reached into the inner pocket of his cream jacket and handed you an envelope. 

"What's this?"

"An invitation. I hope to see you soon." 

You locked the door after he was gone and studied the wax sigil on the envelope. Red and golden, with the head of a wolf embedded in it. It was too beautiful to tear it open, but curiosity got the better of you, and you used a knife to cut open the envelope, not wanting to ruin the sigil.

Just as Jayce said, it was an invitation to a fundraiser. All of Piltover's finest would be there, and you were asked to attend as a guest of honour, to be appointed the Master of Arts, the head of Piltover's Guild of Artists. Disbelief settled in your mind, despite rereading the same words, over and over again. Every councillor agreed to that, you could tell from their signatures. But you haven't painted in weeks, so how could you represent all the artists in the city? You were a hypocrite at best, a failure at worst. 

And yet, you were chosen for that. Not your colleagues, not someone from the Academy — you. Did you need to prepare a speech? Bloody hell, you did. No one went up that stage without delivering one. But there was time, the fundraiser was only in a few weeks, right? Wrong. Your eyes scanned the words once more — it was three days away. Panic seeped into your veins. You had no dress, no shoes, no speech, no muse.

No, fuck the muse. Fuck Viktor. 

You were still bitter about the last conversation you exchanged with him, but you couldn't throw away such an opportunity, such an honour, for some guy. A very handsome, very clever guy, but still a guy nonetheless. No, Jayce was right — you didn't need a muse. You didn't have one in Ionia, didn't have one when you taught yourself how to draw and paint. You were your own muse. And you needed a damn good dress to impress. 

Forcing yourself to clean the mess in your apartment was easy. But showering and going out wasn't, not when the probability of bumping into Viktor was there. A slim chance, but not impossible, and you couldn’t afford to get distracted. You wrecked your brain trying to remember his schedule, because he never deviated from it. Thursday — he would have a doctor's appointment in the morning, then he would have lunch, and go to the lab. Or was it the other way around?

"Ugh!" You kicked the foot of your bed in anger and disgust. You were disgusted with yourself for even sparing him a single thought — the man who insulted you and your work.

So what if you bumped into him? He wasn't going to talk you, anyway, he made that quite clear when he didn't even say goodbye to you. Ungrateful fucking prick. No more. No more wallowing in self-pity, no more victimisation, no more emotion. How foolish of you to even think he'd see you as more than some dumb painter, that you were his equal in any way, shape or form. It was a facade, a mask, playing the innocent sick man when behind that mask was a god complex.

You found a dress, purple and golden. It reminded you of Viktor, but how else were you supposed to get over him if not by proudly wearing the colours of the enemy? Were you overreacting? Perhaps. Too dramatic? Definitely, but it helped process the pain attached to those stupid colours. Spending time to write a speech also helped take your mind off of him. It gave you a purpose, something you thought was lost.

There was one thing you didn't like about the dress — it was too modest. And while it wasn't a gathering of prudes, you wanted to find the perfect mix of elegance and vulgarity. Studying the dress that was hanging on an iron hook on the back of your bathroom door, you grabbed a pair of scissors and cut a slit up its side. You wanted to stop at knee's length, but something possessed you to cut higher, stopping well above the knee. Was it too much? Maybe, but you were about to become leader of an entire guild, and you needed to look your best. Besides, the thought of hooking up with someone at the fundraiser didn't sound so bad. You had needs after all, and you were going to satisfy them.

"There she is!" Jayce spotted you through the crowd of people, with Mel's arm looped around his.

You were glad that they were officially together. Too long they played pretend. You greeted them, deciding to be their third wheel since you didn't know that many people there. The life of an artist was quite lonely.

"I'm so glad you accepted my invitation." Councillor Medarda smiled. She seemed happier, and you wondered what it was like to have someone who made you laugh, who supported you and your work.

"It's an honour, Councillor. An unexpected one, I'll be honest." You quickly snatched a glass of champagne from a waiter. "But I've had something on my mind since I received your invitation. What exactly is the fundraiser about? The letter didn't mention anything."

"Ah, I must have forgotten to write that down." She scoffed. "The University of Piltover has decided to create a new department of arts and science combined."

"Oh, that is intriguing." You pondered the innovative idea. "How will that work?"

"Well, Jayce has been inspired by your talent. He believes that there are plenty of future students with the potential of incorporating both arts and science in their work." Mel said. "He'll explain more in the following days, but for now, enjoy the event."

"Thank you, Councillor." You nodded with a smile. "Are you alright, Jayce? You look impatient."

"Yeah, I'm just keeping an eye on the entrance. Viktor should be here soon." He nonchalantly said.

"Sorry? Viktor?" The smile disappeared from your lips as quickly as it appeared. 

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Jayce avoided looking into your eyes, fearing for his life. He could feel you seething at the mere mention of Viktor's name.

"No. No, you didn't fucking tell me." You whispered the obscene word, not wanting to draw any attention. "What else haven't you told me?"

"Well, um-" He fumbled for words, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. 

"Spit it out, Talis."

"You'll be working together."

"What? We'll be what?" You couldn't believe the words that came out of his mouth. And it didn't help that you heard his familiar voice and thick accent creeping behind your back.

"Good evening, Jayce. Councillor." Viktor greeted them, but you couldn't turn around. You couldn't face him.

So much for being tough. Your heart was beating against your ribcage, desperately trying to crawl out of your chest and run away from him. The pit in your stomach made you sick — you could actually taste bile on your tongue, and the champagne glass slowly slipped from your fingers as your palms became clammy with sweat. Not even the exams in Ionia made you feel as panicked as he did. But you were a grown woman. You couldn't let him put you down like that.

"Viktor." You articulated his name without an ounce of anxiety in your voice, then turned around to look at him.

You were pleased to see he was just as shocked to see you there as you were to see him — even more shocked to see you dressed so differently than how he remembered. Good. The bastard needed a reminder that you weren't a coward, nor a prude. And it made you consider that he also didn't know you two would be working together. How convenient for you.

"Miss Painter." Venom dripped down his tongue. How dare he be affected by your presence? "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He didn't know. You thanked your stars for that. A shit-eating grin crept on your lips, and just as Jayce was about to open his mouth, you said it.

"Oh, you didn't know? We'll be working together. I'm absolutely thrilled!" You lied through your teeth and Jayce slowly turned his head to glare at you. A minute ago, you looked like you were about to have a heart attack, now you were thrilled to work with him?

"How utterly... terrific." Viktor forced a smile. "No, I didn't know. Jayce, a word?"

"No need, I'll leave you to it. Gentlemen, Councillor." You nodded and stepped away, blending with the crowd, eyes set on some poor man who was about to be your distraction for the night.

His name was Alfred, or Arthur. Something with an A. It didn't matter. He was good looking, with broad shoulders and much taller than you. But he talked. A lot. You politely nodded at everything he said, trying to keep up with the conversation, but anything he said fell on deaf ears. You weren't interested in him, not after seeing Viktor, who looked much better than last time, healthier. He went so far as to adjust his cane to look similar to the one in your portrait — the fucking hypocrite. And even the suit he was wearing was purple. You matched, and your stomach churned at that epiphany. What if people thought you were together?

You rolled your eyes when Arthur, or Alfred, spoke about how ridiculous the idea of combining science and arts was. The desire to pour your champagne in his lap was great, but your self-restraint was greater. Somehow. Paying him no mind, you dissociated, daydreaming of being in your atelier and working on a new painting, of buying new materials, new canvases. Yes, that was much better than listening to Alfred, or Arthur, yap about something his small brain couldn't comprehend. 

Even amongst hundreds of people, Viktor only saw you, and the thousand-yard stare on your face. You were quite obviously bored, and there was an impulse, an instinct to go and save you from the dull conversation that you weren't even a part of. But he couldn't. Deep down, Viktor knew he might have overreacted when he last saw you, but you made it quite clear that you wanted nothing to do with him, and he respected that. It pained him, because he grew used to your presence in the lab, but what could he do? 

He found it comforting that you wore the colours of his suit — of his portrait. It gave him hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a minuscule possibility that you weren't upset with him anymore. But Viktor wasn't an idiot. He knew all too well that the wrath of a woman scorned wasn't something that passed so easily. And he felt the spite in your voice when you blatantly lied about being thrilled to work with him. Oh, right, he forgot about that when he got lost in your eyes, even from across the ballroom. 

How were you going to work together when neither of you wanted that? Surely you could set aside any grudges, he thought. But could he? While the portrait did hinder his illness, Viktor still assumed that you weren't serious about him being your model. Your muse, even. How could someone like him be the object of your artistic desire? No, that was improbable. Impossible. 

"And that's when I said what do you call a woman who has lost 95% of her intelligence? Divorced!" Arthur, or Alfred, slapped his knee, laughing at his own sexist joke, and that was enough for you to regret your decision of approaching him.

"Excuse me, I'm going for some fresh air." You walked away from him as fast as you could.

Stepping out on the balcony, you shivered when the cool air kissed your skin. A coat would've been smarter than a slit in your dress, but freezing to death was better than hearing one more fucking joke about women. You just hoped Alfred, or Arthur, or whatever the fuck his name was, wasn't going to come looking for you. Leaning on the handrail, you sighed. What were you going to do? How were you going to work with Viktor for an indefinite amount of time? There was so much uncertainty about the future, and it scared you. The responsibilities of leading a guild scared you. The changes in your routine scared you. The idea of working with someone who hated you scared you.

The speech! You forgot about the blasted speech, and you ran back inside at the right time. Councillor Shoola invited you on the stage just as you entered the ballroom, and with a fake smile and complaisant nods, you walked up the few steps, blinded by the lights directed on you. Shoola shook your hand, and awarded you with a silver pin — a symbol of your new status as Guild Leader. The amount of people staring at you was overwhelming, but you took a deep breath in and adjusted microphone on the stand. When you looked down at your hands, you were surprised to find them empty. Where were the cards you had prepared? Where was your speech?

Then you remembered the balcony. You had forgotten the cards outside. Shit. Fuck. No matter, you could improvise. Even if your throat was dry, and your legs were numb, you could improvise. You did that before, plenty of times. But the hundreds of eyes that stared into your soul made it impossible to think, to breathe, to exist.

Um, good evening, everyone." You started, eyes narrowed down on Mel, who nodded in encouragement. Licking your chapped lips, you continued. "It brings me great honour to stand here in front of you..." Cringing at the crack in your voice, you found Jayce, who beamed at you, like he always did. That gave you a bit more hope. "...as the new Master of Arts."

You couldn't do this. 

They weren't looking at you, they were looking inside of you. They could see every fibre of your body, every imperfection, every weakness. You tried closing your eyes and pretending they weren't there, but when you opened them, it was worse. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tried to steady your breathing, to stop yourself from hyperventilating. 

A pair of soft amber eyes found yours, and you couldn’t believe how calming they were. Even after the fiasco that was your meeting with Viktor, you still found inspiration in him, and that offended you. 

"We are here to celebrate a marriage." You spoke with newfound confidence stemming from sheer anger. "A marriage between science and art. A sacred union that some find ridiculous, others impossible. I find it a splendid symbiosis of reason and emotion. Too long art and science have mutually excluded each other, and while they both individually progressed immeasurably, their union has the potential to break boundaries, to make new discoveries, to bring people together. I will proudly represent the Guild of Artists in this new and fascinating adventure. Thank you, Councillors, for the distinction bestowed upon me. Thank you to Professor Heimerdinger for allowing this journey to happen. And thank you to everyone who believes in this pursuit of knowledge."

[blue-sadie]

Sun Bathing

Neteyam, Lo'ak x Neteyams Best Friend Reader x Aonung, Rotxo

Summary: the boys can get quite annoying hopefully this would keep them away for some time

Warning: the boys are perverts, jerking off, only male pleasure, aged up characters

It wasn't everyday I just got to breathe and relax, but here I am sun bathing in my sport bra and shorts chatting away with tsireya and kiri.

"Don't look now but there's creeps in the bush" kiri stated glancing over her shoulder towards the boys who were kneeling a few meters away whispering away with eachother.

"Should we move" tsireya asked sitting up to look at us, I sighed in disapproval "why should we their the ones being pervs" I muttered only glancing towards the boys who jerk away from sight when they saw that they were caught.

I rolled my eyes 'freaks' I layed my arm over my eyes sheltering them from the burning sun "you might be ok with them watching you but I think me and tsireya are gonna go" kiri said and they both said their goodbyes before leaving.

I let out a relaxed sigh quickly rolling my shoulders and getting comfortable on the warmed sand "look what we have here" aonung laughed bashfully as he and the rest of the boys surrounded me.

I only lifted my arm to look at neteyam "I didn't know you were apart of the common pervs nete" I murmured making him blush and shy away "im not a pervert" he tried sounding confident but his words ended in a slight squeak.

"Well I mean have you seen what you look like" lo'ak clapped and he stared down at me with hungry eyes "now now boys I'm relaxing go jerk off some place else" I shooed them away only making them laugh.

"But your just so sexy sitting here in the sun" aonung bit his lip as he folded his arms over his chest "and you like a prepubescent teen now shoo" I muttered getting annoyed at them disturbing me.

"You can do something for us first sweetcheeks" lo'ak groaned as he grabbed his crotch making aonung and rotxo laugh, I exhaled forcefully and slowly rose to my cheeks.

"Fine but you guys owe my 5 months without chores" I said making the boys howl out in excitement "come on" lo'ak muttered and grabbed my hand pulling me into the forest the others following very closely.

When we came into a clearing far from the village did he finally let me go "are you sure about this yn" neteyam whispered to me his voice full of concern.

"If it gets you guys to leave me alone" I giggled and pulled my top off making his eyes bulge "f-fuck" he stuttered.

Aonung pulled me to a rock and pushed me down on it and they crowed around me, Lo'ak reached out his hand and caressed my cheek.

"Will you guys leave me alone after this" I asked and gasped as aonung grabbed my breasts "well it was a deal wasn't it" he groaned and pitched my nibbles making me moan in pain.

They pulled off my clothes leaving me bare and the gaped at my body and started touching themselves as they said all the things they wanted to do to me.

I started caressing myself teasing them slowly making themselves jerk off faster and groan at my teasing, I dragged my fingertips up and down my body leaving goosebumps along my body.

"C-cuming" "fuck" they cussed as the cam spraying their cum on me, making me gasp, they calmed down and helped me clean up and walk back to the beach.

Let's just say they didn't keep to their end of the deal

[horoscope1078]

:)

Lando was buzzing with excitement. Not because of an upcoming race. Not because McLaren had finally given him a decent car upgrade. Not even because he’d beaten Max Verstappen in an online sim race last night. No. Lando was excited because you had said yes.

You, his best friend, the girl he had been not-so-secretly in love with for years, had agreed to be his plus-one for McLaren’s fancy end-of-season event. And now? He was standing outside your place, practically vibrating with energy as he waited for you to come out.

"Calm down, mate." Oscar's voice crackled through Lando’s phone. "You're acting like this is a date."

"Shut up." Lando hissed. "It's not a date."

Oscar hummed. "Then why do you sound like a lovesick teenager?"

Lando groaned, running a hand through his already-messy curls. "I just... I want her to have fun, ok?"

"Right, because fun definitely requires you checking your reflection in your car window for the fifth time." Oscar teased.

"I hate you."

"I know." Oscar said cheerfully. "Have fun on your not-date."

Lando ended the call with an eye roll, just as the door finally opened. And there you were. Wearing a simple but elegant outfit, hair perfectly styled, and smiling right at him. Lando’s brain was gone, melted, completely useless.

"Wow..." he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Your smile widened. "Good wow or bad wow?"

Lando opened his mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again.

"You look..." his voice cracked.

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. "I look?" you prompted.

Lando cleared his throat aggressively, determined to not sound like a prepubescent boy. "You look, uh... great! Amazing! Like... wow."

You chuckled. "Well, you clean up nice too, Mr. Norris."

Lando beamed. "Really?"

You reached out and playfully flicked the collar of his McLaren-branded suit jacket. "Yea. The orange is very… on brand."

Lando gasped dramatically. "Are you mocking McLaren orange?"

You grinned. "I'm lightly teasing McLaren orange."

Lando clutched his chest. "Betrayal."

You laughed, looping your arm through his. "C'mon, Drama Queen. Let’s go."

Lando couldn't stop grinning. He was driving, but he kept sneaking glances at you.

"So..." he said, tapping the steering wheel. "Excited to hang out with a bunch of f1 nerds tonight?"

You smirked. "Oh, absolutely. Can't wait to hear you all argue about tire strategies over tiny sandwiches."

Lando laughed. "Oi! We don’t only talk about tires!"

"I dare you to go the entire night without saying the words ‘tyre degradation.’"

Lando narrowed his eyes. "That’s impossible and you know it."

You giggled. "You f1 guys are predictable."

Lando gasped. "I am full of surprises, actually."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." Lando flashed you a cocky grin. "For example... I bet you didn’t expect me to bring snacks for the drive."

He dramatically reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a pack of gummy bears.

Your eyes lit up. "Ok, I’ll admit, that was unexpected."

Lando wiggled his eyebrows. "See? I am a man of mystery."

You laughed and grabbed a handful of gummy bears. "Fine, fine. You win this round, Norris."

Lando smirked to himself. Best decision ever to bring you tonight. From the moment you arrived, Lando was glued to your side. He introduced you to everyone, Zak Brown, Andrea Stella, his engineers, and even some of the other drivers. But he also got distracted, by you. The way you smiled at people. The way you laughed at his dumb jokes. The way you casually fixed his slightly askew tie without even thinking about it.

Oscar, standing nearby, definitely noticed. Lando ignored his smirk. Everything was going great until it was time for pictures.

"Lando, over here!" the photographers called.

Lando turned to you. "You coming in the photos?"

You laughed. "I’m not part of the team, Lando."

"You are tonight." he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you in before you could protest.

The cameras flashed as you stumbled slightly, landing right against his side. Lando, without thinking, instinctively wrapped an arm around your waist, cue brain explosion. You looked up at him, surprised, and he definitely turned red.

"Uh..." he stammered, suddenly realising what he’d done. But before he could panic, you just smiled and leaned into him slightly. Lando’s brain was gone again.

The photos continued, but all Lando could focus on was the way you felt pressed against him, how perfectly you fit there, and he was so in love with you.

As you left the event, you sighed contently. "That was fun."

Lando smiled. "Told you."

You turned to him, smirking. "Also, I definitely caught you saying ‘tyre degradation’ at least twice."

Lando groaned. "Damn it."

You giggled. "But I’ll let it slide… if you admit something."

Lando raised an eyebrow. "What?"

You grinned. "You had the best night ever because I was there."

Lando scoffed. "Obviously."

You blinked, clearly not expecting him to admit it so fast. "Wait, really?"

Lando nodded. "Yea. I mean… it’s always better when you’re around."

Silence, a beat too long. Then, you smiled. A soft, genuine smile that made Lando’s heart flip.

"Well..." you murmured. "Maybe I should come to more events then."

Lando swallowed. "I wouldn’t mind that."

You giggled and leaned your head against his shoulder. Lando tried very hard not to combust on the spot.

[celestialprincesse]

police officer!Simon x detective!reader perhaps..? reader is higher ranked than him

I love love love this dynamic💕 @alwaysshallow writes Ghost and Higher ranked!reader perfectly too! I'd highly recommend reading their stuff on them!

The wind is nothing short of biting as you stand outside the forensics tent, pulling your coat tighter around your shoulders with a huff. Your watch reads 04:17AM, Thursday the 14th of November. Cold and tired. Homicides always come at the worst times. Sirens and blindingly bright blue and red lights only serve to worsen the migraine you can feel clawing up the back of your neck, trying to find purchase within the walls of your skull, already swimming with ugly ideas and images.

"-ed a perimeter." The gruff rumble of Simon 'Ghost' Riley's voice snaps you from your self pitying reverie, his eyes crinkling at the sides in a small, secret smile when you look up at him with bleary, confused eyes, envying the balaclava which covers his face from the nose down. "What?" A wince crinkles your stinging, cold face as your voice cracks like broken radio static. Simon's face softens at your obvious weariness. "You need to stop staying up so late." He chides you like a parent would a child, concern melting his brown eyes into molten brass. It's easy for him to forget that not everyone shares the same military background as him, that most can't go for days with only a few hours of sleep and stay sharp. "I was working on the Makarov case." You huff, running your hands down your face in an attempt to wipe away the lingering tiredness settled there. "I know it's eating at you, but you're no use to anyone when you can barely keep your eyes open." Simon's voice takes on that chastising tone that reminds you of his former military prowess - pre honourable discharge. The thought still makes you sad, fills your chest with warm, sticky pity, choking you up with a lump in your throat.

You stuff your hands into your pockets in a futile attempt to stave off the cold, rumbling out complaints and drawing instinctively closer to your colleague as he parts the crowd of forensic scientists and officers with his presence alone. The officer doesn't hesitate to lay his coat across your shoulders, forever looking out for you, if not just to see the way you relax under the warm weight of his jacket. "Can we go for breakfast after this?" A gentle smile flickers across Simon's face as you plead with him. The strength of your stomach never fails to surprise him, your ability to think about food in the middle of a crime scene eternally entertaining. Truly a person after his own heart. "Course we can."

You're not really sure why you're here, seeing as you only seem to get in the way of forensics gathering evidence as Simon walks you around the scene, detailing what the team knows so far about the crime, leaving you and your tired mind to decipher the rest. Unfortunately, with the lack of caffeine and bacon in your system, all you can do is nod dumbly and try to hide the way you keep yawning. Simon, as always, is ever present at your back, your side, letting you lean into him or mutter about how hungry you are under the pretence of talking about information relating to the crime. He's known you for long enough now to know that trying to get your brain firing at this time in the morning is futile. You work better at night.

Before Simon is given the opportunity to usher you away from the impending crushing of some poor kids' hopes and dreams, one of Graves' wide eyed, freakishly excited mentees is making a beeline your way - not that you notice when you've got your head in your hands and no will to live. The prepubescent sounding screech of their voice makes you wince, drilling a hole in your skull just big enough for the migraine to slip through. "You worked under Laswell right?" They chirp, far too energised for this obscene hour in the morning, and for someone play investigating the scene of a double homicide. "Yup." The dull, tired drone of your voice should be enough indication that you're not feeling talkative, and the look Simon angles them is unwavering enough to make a grown man weep. Not that they seem to notice. Or care. "Isn't this so cool? like a real life, actual homicide? Did you see the bodies? They were so gross."

Simon notices the way you bristle, shoulders at your ears. Despite your grumbling, you have the decency to respect the dead, something that Kate taught you long ago. "One of them had this like-" is enough to send you over the edge, shooting the kid a cruel look as you stand from where you'd been hunched in the back of the police van. "Enough." You growl, and Simon reaches out to place a grounding hand on the small of your back, trying his best to soothe your anger. "Don't be so fucking immature." The sound of your hiss is enough for the trainee to take a nervous step back. "Those are dead people. Those are dead people that were brutally murdered, in their beds at shit o'clock in the morning. Have some respect." You snap before pointing back at Graves with a furious blaze in your tired eyes. "Now go back to your shitty mentor and rifle through some bins."

"I'm impressed." Simon perks up from behind you, waiting with open arms for you to inevitably stumble into, emotionally and physically exhausted. "Breakfast?" You plead again into the plain fabric of his jumper. "Breakfast."

[snakeoilpictures]

The problem with pro-shippers: NSFW child content

Silence is golden but that only pertains to certain cases. The subject of pro-ship vs anti-ship has been a huge manner of debate in fandoms, primarily A03 and A03's subreddit and tumblr community. If you admit to being anti-ship, you're suddenly exiled and considered a pariah to the community and a promoter of cancel culture.

"Let people enjoy things!" "It's not real, it's fictional!" "These characters and actors are our toys to play with" "Disregard all haters, they're the monsters"

Only goes so far in some subjects. There is a fine line drawn when the content involves CSEA that's not told with a negative connotation.

However, pro-shippers do not like being told the difference.

The difference between a negative narrative and a romanticizing narrative. (ie: we as readers and the author know that pedophilia and child pornography is bad. Versus: we as readers and the author enjoy fictional pornography when it involves children and we enjoy writing 10 year olds having sex with other 10 year olds or a 10 year old calling a 40 year old man "daddy" during NSFW acts).

That the characters being fictionalized completely disregards all notions that the author and readers enjoy reading about children in NSFW content. Because it's "fictional".

That if you like watching a cannibal on TV and the fact that you may enjoy a show about a cannibal, it doesn't make you a cannibal because it's fiction. This argument is used on the daily for pro-shippers.

4. Because no children are actually harmed. That may be, but the reader and author are still enjoying content that involves the images of children in NSFW scenarios.

The fact of the matter is that it doesn't matter if the children are fictionalized or not, but no pro-shipper is going to agree because the characters in themselves are considered "toys" they can play with. (Don't get me started on how wrong the term of "toy" sounds in regards to children, fictional or not.)

The true facts here are that the reader and author are still putting a child's face onto a character involved in NSFW content. That's all it is. Picturing a child's prepubescent body parts as a character and finding that attractive enough to write about in an NSFW fashion. Again, pro-ship will disagree and become hostile.

But why is NSFW fictional child pornography morally wrong when writing fictionalized incest pornography is not?

Because the fictionalized incest pornography does not involve actual siblings or family members. One may just like the characters together regardless of blood. It doesn't mean that the author or reader is attracted to their real life sibling or wishes to put two real life siblings together in NSFW scenarios like Liam and Chris Hemsworth and because child pornography is CSEA. A child cannot consent. Even fantasizing about a fictional child in rape scenarios is beyond levels of fucked up.

"But fictionalized incest isn't real so fictionalized child pornography isn't real"

The biggest difference is that the reader and writer aren't finding the real life prospect of incest attractive, but they are finding CSEA content an attractive scenario.

But god forbid you raise your voice against this, and you'll be crucified.

It. Doesn't. Matter. That. They're. Not. Real.

You are still attracted to the images of child characters.

But wait, no actual children were harmed?! "It's just an instrusive thought" "I can safely look at CSEA in a safe environment where I don't hurt anyone" No. Get help. Get therapy. Harm reduction is not thr same when it comes to non consenting minors and when it comes to a user getting off on the idea of children. Get help. There is no lesser evil here. These thoughts are not okay.

Come @ me. I'm not scared. Not as scared as some pro-shippers should be once their search history is discovered. (For the record, I pray you do not have this kind of content on your person. However if you truly believe CSEA is okay if no one is physically harmed by you then by all means, tell your therapist about it)

#end rant

[caffedrine]

Nokto Klein - Beyond the Connection Between the Past and the Present – Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

When Emma pokes her head out of the blankets one morning, she blearily sees familiar gray hair and red eyes. Oh, was Nokto watching her sleep again? How embarrassing.

Her voice full of sleep, Emma calls out to Nokto and asks if there’s something wrong. When he doesn’t reply, Emma surmises that he must want to be pampered today. Reaching a hand out from under the blankets, Emma combs his hair back.

Nokto giggles, telling her that she’s ticking him. Weirdly, he also calls her ‘big sister’.

. . .

Huh?

Was Nokto’s head always so little? And was his voice always so prepubescent? Emma looks closer at Nokto, but he was standing instead of kneeling next to the bed. Was Nokto always so short?

Suddenly Nokto, in all his adult glory walks into the room, breezily wishing Emma a good morning and asking if she’s awake yet.

He stops when he sees the kid and there’s a long silence. Nokto breaks it, asking Emma to explain the situation to him.

After the explanations are over, and Nokto has taken a nice long look at the kid, he guesses that this himself as a child.

(This, but a smaller head)

Lil’Nokto asks if this is what he’s like as an adult, and Nokto admits that, unfortunately, he is.

Lil’Nokto asks what he means by ‘unfortunately’ and Nokto admits that he’s bad with children.

Emma muses that Nokto’s past self really is here with them, and Nokto wonders if this is some sort of dream. Experimentally, Emma pinches her cheek.

Lil’Nokto is aghast - doesn’t she know that if she does that, her face will freeze and never return?

How cute!

Emma assures Lil’Nokto that she’s fine, see?

Oh, okay, that is true. Still, Lil’Nokto urges her to take better care of herself, he doesn’t want anything to happen to her beautiful face.

Emma asks Nokto how she can endure this . . . This unfiltered cuteness. Nokto grumbles that she never reacts like that when he says sweet stuff too.

Of course, just in case she’s wondering, Nokto also thinks she’s beautiful.

Her face going red, Emma thanks him. Wow, there really is something different when the adult calls her beautiful.

Well, as much fun as it is competing with some kid for Emma’s affections, they do need to figure some things out. He asks Lil’Nokto what he was doing before he arrived in the future.

Lil’Nokto has an easy answer - he was with his brother Licht, have they seen him?

As Nokto replies that he hasn’t seen Licht, Emma imagines running into adult!Licht, who would be as confused as the rest of them.

Lil’Nokto is worried, he needs to find Licht in order to return home. If he can’t find Licht, and is alone with his mother . . .

. . .

Thinking fast, Nokto ‘remembers’ seeing Licht. It looked like he had found adult!Licht and last he saw, they were riding a horse together. They’ll probably be back after dark.

An adult version of Licht!? Lil’Nokto sounds excited.

Well, there’s no point in worrying about it until after dark, so why don’t they do whatever they want? It looks like Emma over there is dying to feed them some sweets!

Turning to her, Lil’Nokto asks if it’s true, which it is. Emma promises to make him anything he likes, and he promises that he loves everything.

Okay, Emma will just have to make a variety.

Suddenly Lil’Nokto gasps and points - Emma has an injury! That red oval mark, right on her neck.

As Lil’Nokto panics, adult!Nokto has to turn away to laugh. He assures Lil’Nokto that while it may be red, Emma doesn’t find it painful at all.

Huh?

Oh-ooooh. The hickey Nokto left last night.

Her cheeks growing red with embarrassment, Emma assures him that she’s fine and thanks him for being worried for her.

Anyways, while she’s cooking, Nokto will take care of Lil’Nokto. He has so many things he wants to teach him while Emma is away . . .

When Emma returns with tea and snacks, they begin playing a card game. A card game that Emma immediately loses. Weird, she used to be pretty decent at cards.

It’s down to Nokto and Lil’Nokto, with Nokto pronouncing the sweets go to the winners. Lil’Nokto cheers at this, and dives in. When they had started, Lil’Nokto had been hesitant about eating, but with Nokto’s idea to use sweets as the reward, any hesitation Lil’Nokto had is gone.

Lil’Nokto begins to ask to play again- this time with a different reward but falls silent.

While he stuffs himself with more sweets, Emma leans into Nokto and asks what he was talking about while she was in the kitchen.

Oh, not much. He just wanted to give Lil’Nokto some advice that would come in handy.

Huh, maybe he was giving him card game tips?

Emma pronounces that for the next card game, she’s not going to go easy on Lil’Nokto just because he’s a child. From now on, she’ll go all out.

Lil’Nokto is surprised - Emma wasn’t being serious?

(She was, she had gone all out)

In that case, Lil’Nokto agrees not to go easy on her either, he won’t hold back anymore.

What a challenge! Nokto pronounces the winner gets to ask the loser for anything. Anything at all.

This is a little more interesting than gambling for sweets, right?

Emma braces herself; she can’t lose.

One loss later . . .

Emma sits with her head down. She is the loser, and depending on who wins the next round, she’ll have to reward either Nokto or Lil’Nokto with anything they want.

They both play their last cards, and the winner is . . . Lil’Nokto. Emma can’t help but catch the glimpse of a card in Nokto’s sleeve, he had been cheating on his younger self’s behalf.

A win is a win. Nokto reminds Lil’Nokto that he can claim his victory from Emma, but what will he request?

Lil’Nokto barely has to think - does she remember earlier that morning when she stroked his head? He wants her to do that again.

Emma complies, gently stroking Lik’Nokto’s hair. It’s so soft and fluffy. Lil’Nokto murmurs that her hand is so warm and nice, he could stay like this for ever.

To her surprise, Nokto has a sad and lonely expression. Emma asks if something is wrong, and Nokto admits that there was a time that he was like this.

Okay then.

Emma beckons Nokto to join them. He does, telling Emma that she doesn’t have to do this.

Okay, but she wants to.

Well, fine. If it’s what she wants, he’ll indulge her.

Though there is no guarantee this will last beyond this moment, Emma wants both Nokto and Lil’Nokto to feel happy.

Both are important to her.

[acetonelungz]

Jaws

pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4

Simon Riley was a whisper in the wind.

Rumors and wise tells of the infamous “Ghost” haunted every soldier, even those not on the opposing team.

He was scary. And not the little kid monster type of scary, scary as in he stood in the corner and watched you like prey. Scary in the way that everyone thought of him as a ticking time bomb. Expect for John Price.

“So are you in, Simon?”

“Ghost is in, Simon is gone.”

“Ah, right. My bad mate.”

And now he was here, in enemy territory aiding in the rescue of some soldier.

Simon was the type to not question missions and just simply get the job done.

This one was different though.

Why make a big fuss over some low grade soldier? Quite a bit of trouble over a nobody. His questions remained mere thoughts, as he wouldn’t question out loud his authoritative figures. Ghost also quite literally couldn’t give two fucks.

Following Price, he scoured the hallways, making sure to take down everything threat and security camera. Soon enough, they arrived at a heavily locked door.

“This outta be it.” Price whispered back towards Ghost. “Plantin’ a lil package.” He placed an IUD on the door and quickly found cover before an explosion sounded off.

Deciding to do double kill, he threw a flash bomb to curb any possible threats.

Upon running into the space, he discovered exactly what they had been looking for.

A little feisty brunette who attempted to kick him in the balls.

“I’m Captain Price and we’re here to rescue you.”

“Took ya fucking long enough.” Ghost chuckled.

“Whats funny fuckface?” He did not chuckle this time.

Price huffed a half-assed laugh while lifting her up by the arms, “Easy there, we’re just here to help and we need to leave asap.” With that he turned and headed towards the now torn up door.

She followed wordlessly behind him, as well as Ghost.

As they walked towards around the base, the bodies of soldiers could be seen all along the corridors and hallways. One in particular, was the guard from earlier. It took everything within her not to spit on his dead body, but rather she lightly kicked it. In return Price gave her a unsatisfied look.

“I think after what I’ve been through I can at least do that.”

He nodded without saying a word.

Soon enough they reached the massive tan military trucks just outside the base, only two were present which sparked confusion within the woman.

“How many of there were you?”

“What’d you expect a bloody army private?” Ghost huffed from underneath his mask.

This royally pissed her off.

She quickly got into his face, sneering “Actually it’s lieutenant, and for how many bodies there were I assumed there were more of you. Not an unintelligent question but rather an unintelligent response.”

“You have five seconds to get the fuck out of my face-“

“Okay you two.” Price quickly separated the two, focused on the woman while saying, “We need to be cordial if we’re going to figure this entire thing out. Once we get back to base there are many questions we need to find the answer to. The sooner we get back the sooner you can be done with this all. So knock it off and get the in the bloody truck.”

“Yes Captain.” They said in unison, the woman glared at Ghost while he remained unbothered. Realizing it wasn’t worth it, she dropped it and got in the truck.

‘My first interaction with people in six months and this is what I’m dealing with. One dressed up asshole who is awkward as a prepubescent boy and an old man who thinks he’s my father.’ She thought while riding in the back while Ghost rode passenger with Price driving.

“I forgot to ask earlier,” Price started, breaking the girl out of her thoughts. “Can you confirm your name and status?”

“Lieutenant Collette Swanson also known as Jaws.”

[burst-of-iridescent]

How do you feel about the “zutara can’t happen because it would break aang”?

you know what this "argument" always reminds me of?

forgive me if aang's feelings aren't exactly a vital factor to take into account when it comes to a relationship that has absolutely zip zilch nada to do with him. he's literally twelve. he'll grow up. he'll get over it. he'll be perfectly fine. i promise he's not gonna spend his life mooning over some girl he liked as a prepubescent child, and if he does - well, that sounds like it's time to head to therapy.

and why is it exactly that it's perfectly fine for katara to have to sacrifice her own happiness to mollycoddle aang all her life, but asking aang to go through a little preteen heartbreak is a crime against humanity? why on earth should aang's happiness take precedence over katara's?

but of course, when the show itself spends so much time focusing on aang's feelings, it's only natural that katara's would seem utterly irrelevant and unimportant in comparison. it's no surprise that this is exactly the kind of argument a ship as misogynistic and one-sided as kat.aang would produce.

[nikonladyz4]

I actually think differently to the other anon

These men have an opportunity to create change in the industry. Their status meaning they can pave the way. Who else is going to do it? Serious question. Do people think change just magically happens? That human rights movements happens without a fight? Without someone standing up. Maybe I’m too old and have seen people being brave enough to stand up. Nobody else is ever going to replicate the success BTS has worldwide, they have a real opportunity to effect change. Starting with how they deal with Yoongi’s incident when they come back, because let’s face it, the whole thing is ridiculous and the industry needs to be taken down a million pegs or two.

If some of the members are queer like many think. Including RM who the fandom at large seem to accept had an emoji for a boyfriend, and Yoongi who most think is pan or bi and accept it. Otherwise how do we honestly think we are going to live their lives? Celibate? Without love? Denying who they are? Who they love? I sound idealistic but again, change needs to happen and they really do have the platform to do something.

There is also something to be said about being true to oneself and Authentic. People think these men tell us the truth but they obviously don’t. Jimin singing about setting himself free, but has he? Jungkook saying he lives the most freely out of all the members, yes to an extent, but not fully. Hobi singing about girls like some prepubescent regressive teenager ain’t going to cut it for long. RM said he has things he wanted to say but couldn’t before. Jimin said similar things too before enlisting. Tae tried to debut Jennie. Jin is married with two kids I’m sure of it. They have the chance to change things. I believe that with my whole being. Also, it does matter that the girl from Katseye is speaking up. Don’t anyone dare take away from her bravery.

Hi Anon,

I love your post and you also make some excellent points. BTS is in a position to impact change and pave the way, but are they willing to take that step? Jimin has basically come out through his music, videos and photo folio, if people pay attention to what he is saying and showing. Most of the fandom ignores what he is telling us. Other members in their own way have exposed themselves. But, how far are they willing to go, are they willing to risk their career, risk Hybe profits, who knows? As Hybe expands to other countries, maybe it is no longer an issue for them as they did not stop Lara from Katseye.

I agree with you that Lara coming out was very brave and we should not dismiss it as more acceptable then men. The K-pop Spy YouTuber, in her video today, said the following and I agree with her:

"Several global groups are gimmicks but Katseye is different. They are K-pop adjacent, but they are the blueprint for how to evolve the genre without selling your soul to its worse habits using K-pop's obsessive fandom and training to launch a group that actually feels like they're from this decade. These women aren't shackled to the industry's infantilizing rules. They talk about sexuality, dating in real life without flinching, which isn't just bold, its a neon sign screaming idol culture is outdated. Yes, they are piggybacking on K-pop's promo machine, but why wouldn't they? The system is built to turn out loyalty. Katseye is just redirecting that energy toward a group that's allowed to breathe. People calling them a gimmick miss the point that their global branding isn't just a a label, it's a shakeup to the industry's suffocating control over artists personas and personal lives. Katseye is not here to replace idols, they're here to expose how unnecessary the industry's purity theatre has always been. Lara coming out is a prime example!"

With that being said, the culture in Korea is different than the United States. I think for it to change, the young people and non-homophobic people will have to push for that change. Members of the K-pop and K-drama industry need to make a stand. Is BTS big enough to impact that change? Most likely they are. Are they willing to be a catalyst for change? Maybe at some point. As you mentioned, both RM and JM said they had things to share post military. Maybe their sexuality is one of the things. I have felt that JK has been ready, then he got his big push as a global artist. Is he still willing? If Jikook is real, are they willing to expose their relationship beyond not hiding...but actually coming out? That is the million dollar question. Unfortunately, we saw how the media dragged Suga for his DUI incident...something that would not have seen the time of day here in the states, but was a huge deal in S. Korea. Coming out will get the same scrutiny in Korea. Are the members and the company ready to address and deal with the fallout and other issues? Time will tell.

Again, I appreciate such a detailed answer and your willingness to share your thoughts and an opposing view.

[victorckk]

Would og no heart have ever been able to reformed like unleash?

As someone who’s been in love with him since I was 4-6, I have very mixed feelings. I think.

RAMBLING AHEAD.

Yippee!!

On one hand, a part of me doesn’t think so, because a lot of cartoon villains in the 80s (to my knowledge) weren’t really fleshed out, and only existed to be evil and nothing more or less.

But the other part of me hangs on to that small bit of copium.

I am a HUGE sucker for fleshed out and developed villains, and I really would have loved to see what made him evil in the first place and why he hates positive feelings so much. Even though he technically doesn’t, as we’ve seen how much he cares for Shreeky in a few episodes (and would never dare to get rid of Beastly as seen in another one).

Makes me wonder if it’s a facade and he only acts uncaring and heartless to be quirky, or if he’s just the type of guy who has no idea how to handle his feelings if he does have some sort of care left over still.

I would have loved to see the OG No Heart reform, but I also would have loved to see him suffer while being reminded why he doesn’t care anymore. Make that man suffer

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Now, of course, UTM couldn’t exactly make him too dark and violent of a villain like the original. Considering the show is targeted towards younger audiences, and a lot of laws and rules regarding cartoons for children have changed since the 80s, especially in certain regions.

Although, I am still upset about the prepubescent sounding voice change (they didn’t even try) and turning him into an idiot routes that the studio went with. He isn’t that dumb, I mean.. come on.

I can still see why they reformed him though, even if I don’t agree with it.

As a (I think?) preschool show that’s based on helping others and spreading love and caring, yeah. I could have seen it coming from a mile away.

However… I still think they should have fleshed him out a lot more before doing it. Maybe a two or three parter special where they go into detail about his backstory, why he became the way he was, and make him work on fixing the problems he caused instead of automatically making everyone forgive him (my biggest cartoon pet peeve).

• • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Augh I rambled too far from the topic at hand, but- I think if they would’ve kept the Nelvana series going at the time, it could’ve gone two ways.

They either could’ve gone the same route as most shows in the 80s and kept him evil with no other personality or backstory whatsoever. Or they could’ve pulled a Uno Reverse on us and give him a traumatic backstory for the heck of it.

I’m really hoping they do end up bringing him back, but not in UTM. I want to see a new series revolving around him, or a series where he’s the main villain again. Something like MOTU Revelation/Revolution (only example I can come up with) where he gets an actual backstory AND has a reason for being the way he is.

[carma-bis]

I think the one thing that always kept me peaked was playing video games with my older brother since I've been 7. I was safe when people thought I was male. Voice comms, team chats, online forms for the games, didn't matter. If I was male, I was safe. Sure people were mean, rude, downright disgusting, but even by the time I hit 12, and I started seeing how "grown" girls/women couldnt hide behind prepubescent innocence anymore (mainly do you sound young enough to be a boy before voice cracking) and just how night and day the behaviors males exhibeted towards them were, in a bad way. They stop responding to your callouts, then act like someone could have stopped their shitty decision (and then they dont talk to you for the rest of the game), they shout over you almost excessively, you're forced into support roles, "bitch" always ALWAYS has more vitriol, your opinion means nothing when the group is asked what they want to do, or you're put on a pedestal and all the men complain the entire time so you do it for 5 minutes then cave. Then you start getting groomed, older men start complimenting you more and more. they start questioning you when you push back. Every man you run into asks you out, no matter if youre friends or not or how long you've known each other, once you hit 16, it's like there's a fucking tag put on you. And its not immediate, one day you just start getting treated like that. Its gradual (except once they find out your 16, wild shit there). But I never understood why it could be so insulting for someone to think youre a man. It's literally the safest way to exist. And ya, because it has nothing to do with being safe, its about controlling a narrative. I never FORCED other men to call me a man, but I never corrected them when they called me one. And that's the difference, I think. And it's why i never fully went under lol. Cause literally no man wants to hear me talk about my experiences about it and thats peak material in and of itself. Why do I have to listen to you all the time but you refuse to listen to me?

[lexosaurus]

The Phantom Martian: Chapter 15

Existential crisis for Danno time wooooo!

This fic is a crossover between Danny Phantom x The Martian. I found out today that Perseverance recently captured footage of a dust devil that was five times the height of the Empire State building. This is unrelated to this fic but I just thought it was a cool little thing and wanted to share.

xxxx

Summary: When Astronaut Mark Watney went to Mars, he knew there was a chance he'd never come home. Now, though, he's determined to last long enough for NASA to save him because this whole dying for science thing is not as fun as it sounds.

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton is just trying to keep his identity a secret amidst a potential crisis with his powers. Seriously, what's up with that weird current under his skin? Why is he having so much trouble controlling it? And why does it feel so familiar...?

In a fit of determination (and possible stupidity), Danny goes to Mars to save Watney, only to add to both their crises when he arrives and can't get home. Will NASA save them? Will Danny have a home to return to if they do?

Chapter WC: 5195

Fic Tags: Danny Fenton & Mark Watney, Canon Divergence, Ecton AU

Chapter excerpt under the cut

xxxx

“Mark, and yes I'm being serious, but you aren't actually trying to kill yourself here, are you?” Danny asked.

“No. If I was, I'd just switch the oxygenator off and flood the Hab with nitrogen. And I'd take a Vicodin. Or several.”

Now Danny really didn't know whether he should be confused or concerned.

Mark continued on anyway. “Listen, a new probe will never work. They’re rushing it! They won't be able to build half of the stuff needed in time. The probe would be lucky to make it off the ground, much less be able to transport all the food to Mars intact. And that's why we're not going to go with this plan.”

“We're not?” Danny asked, his voice rising to an embarrassing pitch. “Um, no offense, but aren't we sitting ducks here? It's not like we can build a rocket to take us home.”

“Aha! I thought you might say that!” Mark pointed to Danny, and from an angle, he looked less like an astronaut and more like the Mad Hatter minus the hat. “See, the thing is, Daniel James Fenton Phantom, is that I've been thinking. A lot.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. And I've decided something.”

Danny was almost afraid to ask. “What have you decided?”

“I want you to buckle up, my dear little overpowered alien child. My lost, damned ecto-contaminated soul. My little prepubescent ecton-fusion filled halfa.” 

“I've hit puberty, actually! I’m seventeen! You literally gave me a cake-shaped potato and tried to use Martinez’s cross as a candle on my birthday!”

Mark ignored him, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees and tucking his steepled hands into his chin. “You and I are going to solve this problem using ghost powers.”

[every-single-day]

What if ponyboy was like super hangry and when he's hungry he sees red...

Once upon a time in 1900s sweaty Oklahoma there was a house full of hungry boys and one particular hangry prepubescent boy.

"Ugh," Zero Sugar Shirley Temple 7-UP groaned. "I'm, like, so hungry!"

Mr Clean Curtis rolled his eyes at the middle child's dramatics. "All of us are. We ran out of food 2 days ago."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and who's fault is that?"

They all turned to stare at Two-Bit.

Dallas "Tulsa" Winston threw a beer can at Two-BIT before sinking to the floor. "I'm so hungry I could eat a horse." He sighed.

Ponyboy froze in place, slowly turning his head in Dally's direction. "You could eat a what..?" He had the expression of this emoji: 😰.

They all laughed.

"Why are you laughing at me?" Pony asked, "This isn't funny."

Johnny hit his knee, "That was the bees knees!" He buzzed before flying away to find pollen.

Pony started to see red, and he wanted everyone to know. "I'm starting to see red!"

Zero Sugar Shirley Temple 7-UP shook his head, still smiling. "It's called dark humor, snowflake!"

Pony started shaking. His legs and arms turned into hooves and his skin started to turn purple.

They kept laughing.

"RAWWWTRHHHHH" pony growled, showing his Fangs. "You're laughing at me, not with me!" He yelled as he trotted over to the kitchen, grabbing a knife.

They stopped laughing and looked at him in worry, exchanging concerned looks.

"What are you- what're ya doing with that knife pone?" The beefiest Curtis asked.

"Its time for a," pony paused for dramatic effect.

"Freak off."

They all screamed like AHHH and EEEK and UH OH.

He grabbed the knife, stabbing the two closest to him, who just so happened to be Steve and Sodapop. He grabbed Steve, stabbing him in the chest. Pony slid a leg out, tripping sodapop to his death

"Eeeek!" Johnny exclaimed! He died from pony pulling his stinger off.

Ponyboy soon then galloped over to Dallas, cornering him. In a corner. Pony held his weapon up. "How...mysterious"

Dallas gulped. He then dropped to the ground. Cause of death: Toxic shock from never pulling his tampon out.

Pony turned to the last remaining member of the gang, aside from himself, of course.

Darrel Shayne Curtis Jr. Tried to crawl away, to no avail. "Please" He begged, hoping for a sliver of mercy from his baby brother. "I have knee surgery tmr!"

Pony growled at him, wiggling his pointer finger in the other's face, winking. "Shawty with you."

Darrels face contorted in confusion. "Wha-" He stopped. And died.

"Womp womp."

Pony walked over, dragging all the corpses into one pile. He pulled out 6 furry suits from his closet. One for each (former) member of the gang. He then spent the rest of Christmas eve stuffing them into suits. Steve got the tiger, soda got the soda can, two bit got the monkey, Johnny got the pig, darry got the fox, and dally didn't get one cause he's a finger.

Pony walked out, but got swarmed as he stepped outside.

"Mr president!" "President Afton, what's your next course of action?" "Omg purple President!"

Taken aback by all the questions and paparazzi, he shrieked and galloped back inside.

Ponyboy sighed out in relief. "Thank goodness I didn't open a pizza parlor."

A shrill sound broke through the silence of the empty house.

"It's TIMEEEE!!" the ice around ponyboy melted as he hit the whistle note. "Shawty wit you.."

Ponyboy started levitating as he full transformed into a horse. "Hamilhorse to the rescue!!!!"

Ponyboy never did get to ease his hunger.

Heard the saying "Im so hungry i could eat a horse" and thought of this. Merry Christmas if you celebrate!!!! This was js a thought 😁🎀

You… you heard the phrase “I’m so hungry I could eat a horse” and thought of THIS?!

President afton :((

[eversincezourry]

snippy snippy 🫧

“Lou!! Hi!!” Harry yells, voice echoing through the house. It makes Louis flinch at the sudden noise. “Or is it Louis? I think I like Lou better, it flows better off my tongue.”

He sticks his tongue out as a demonstration, hopping on each foot to take off his soiled adidas sneakers. Louis just stands there, body stiffening and he feels like a stranger in his own home with the way Harry is making himself comfortable. He has a million and one questions in his mind but he doesn’t know what to ask first. Harry has his shirt off now, and gets ready to take off his pants when Louis, reluctantly, clears his throat. Finally, Harry pauses and looks up at Louis, like a deer in headlights.

“Either or is fine,” Louis whispers, trying hard to keep his eyes anywhere besides the almost naked man in front of him. Like a cheeky minx, Harry grins, and resumes taking off his clothes. Once the intruder is in nothing but a pair of black socks and briefs, Harry takes it upon himself to walk to the kitchen.

Fortunately, Louis is quick on his tail, and enters when Harry opens a water bottle and starts downing it like he’s hasn’t had any in a while. Louis bites his lip as he watches his Adam's apple bob, and he has to lean his body against the marble counter to ground himself. Harry’s brown locks are still wet, tiny droplets running down the sides of his neck and smoothing over his sparrows, flawlessly falling onto his pecs.

Don’t get distracted, Tommo, ask him why he’s here.

“How do y-”

Harry interrupts him. “This is my first time in a Brownstone. I live in Long Island, we don’t have those out there.” That must be how he knows Niall, and that makes Louis wonder why they were in the boroughs instead of on the island. Louis lets out a frustrated sigh when Harry leaves the kitchen and starts walking down the hallway full of his embarrassing family pictures.

It’s not that Louis doesn’t want Harry here-that would be a total and utter lie-but, he doesn’t want him snooping around when he has questions that need to be answered. Why is he at Louis’ place on Valentine’s day, and not somewhere else? It also doesn’t help that his ass looks indecently plump in his briefs right now and Louis forces himself to look away when Harry stops dead in his tracks, moving closer to one of the picture frames on the wall.

It’s a family picture of thirteen year old Louis and his parents when they traveled to Disney World. That was his dream vacation and had been a reward for getting good grades that semester. While Louis stares at his prepubescent smiling face, wistfulness clenches in his chest. That’s one of the few times that Louis can remember being content. He had not a single care in the world, everything felt right, and he was happy. All the time.

“I’ve never been to Disney World…,” Harry whispers, breaking the silence before trailing off dreamily.

Louis lets out a quick breath to collect his emotions. “Really?”

Harry shakes his head as he runs a finger down a part of the old photograph, particularly Louis’ face, and moves an inch closer, studying it. “My parents never took me anywhere. After they got divorced, things became, I don’t know, weird?” He sounds almost like he’s asking himself and trying to figure out if that’s the right word he should use. Louis nods, assuming Harry catches the movement when he continues, voice barely above a whisper.