#<- tag i will be using for these in particular

[dduane]

I like writing a lot…..

But when does it stop being soul sucking????

How can both be true??

(sigh) Easily. All the arts are full of apparent contradictions like this.

Re: writing, specifically: This work is a very particular kind of magic. And like all real magics, the use of it inevitably has a price.

"Soul-sucking" strikes me as a slightly harsh idiom for the payment of the Writing Price. But that's okay, because the idiom itself points at the remedy. And it's really simple! Just this:

Every time you sit down to write, you have to consciously work to do it well enough so that you grow some more soul.

(I mean, you don't think that souls run out when you use them, surely? Or can't regenerate over time? They can be surprisingly resilient... assuming you don't buy into the idea that they're limited to what you feel like you started out with, or what you've got at the moment.)

Repeatedly pouring your soul into your work is very much like bodybuilding. At first it hurts like hell. Then the body starts to adjust to the increased demands you're putting on it. After a while you look back and find you've blown way past the boundaries that you earlier thought were impassible.

When you start getting that soul-sucked feeling, it's just a sign that the workouts are having an effect. It's the equivalent of the lactic-acid ache after a session at the gym. But you still need to keep working at it to improve your results. If you find you need to take more rest time between writing bouts to replenish your reserves, fine: work out what your best refractory period seems to be, and adjust your workload to suit that as best you can. But at all costs, keep writing, at whatever interval works best. Over time, it does get easier.

Does it ever stop "sucking" / demanding that price?

Nope. Sorry! But you can learn over time to grow into those inevitable demands on your time, energy and commitment. Just keep reminding yourself: Nothing truly worth doing ever comes without a price tag. And the more you work at your craft, over time, the bigger the price tags you'll find you can afford without flinching.

...So get back in the gym. (And I hope this helps!)

[mekanikaltrifle]

I had this very experience with the infamous 'housecoat poll', where I used two UK English variant names for a particular garment worn within the house, often when feeling lazy or in pyjamas, or after a bath. It was meant for like at max 10 people, most of whom would be using UK English. And it blew up. Many non USAmericans responded with their own local version of the name, and that was cool! Canadians even responded pretty politely, which was nice. But the yanks. Most responses from them were anything from the smarmy warrior cats meme, to acting like anything other than 'robe' or 'bathrobe' was illiteracy, to outright mockery. One or two folks even (probably-jokingly) claimed they wanted to 'beat the British out of OP', i.e me. Now, if they had any idea, they'd know that calling a Scottish person British or English is very likely to be at least a faux-pas, if not generally offensive by itself, but the aggression and threatening attitudes genuinely got upsetting. Ended up getting hatemail over it, too. The worst bit about it all is that if you respond with a 'don't talk to me like this', you're likely to be met with the same aggression that they'd been dishing out for no good reason in the tags. It could have been avoided by simply googling the words 'dressing gown' or 'housecoat' and finding out they're just words from a different version of English than that of the majority.

im american and i knew that like in kindergarten so i think some of you are just stupid sorry

[firstkanaphans]

Hello! Sorry to jump on the train of asking you stuff about the couples😅 but i have to ask, you put earthmix and aouboom on the definitely dating list. Earthmix i have no questions about it😂, but i know next to nothing about aouboom, and id really like to know more of your thoughts on them, if that's ok with you😊💞

[Thank you to @doublel27 for helping me compile this list.]

The first thing you need to know is that AouBoom are like FK on steroids. Take the codependence of First and Khaotung, turn it up to 11, and you have AouBoom. They met on the set of Enchanté and have been inseparable ever since—so much so that they’ve talked about how some people at GMMTV don’t even know which of them is which. They just call them both AouBoom.

One of the main things I look for when trying to determine whether two actors are dating is whether they live together. I’m not sure if AouBoom have ever actually talked about their living arrangements, but if they aren’t living together, they’re certainly sleeping over at each other’s houses enough for it to be suspicious. 

Here’s a compilation video of them wishing each other happy birthday. The first is from 2022—way before they were ever paired. The second is from this year. Boom took the video at midnight as Aou was walking out of the bathroom in his pajamas, so clearly they were having a sleepover 😂

Aou also drives Boom to and from set every day and if you’ve been following Memoir of Rati at all, you'll know that they’ve had a bunch of late nights and early mornings. I'm talking filming until 3AM late. I just can't see any logical reason for him to do that unless they were living in the same place.

Another thing I look for when I'm trying to determine if two actors are dating is whether they take vacations alone together. AouBoom do. A lot. My favorite was their trip to the beach on Valentine's Day of this year when Boom posted this video which is still pinned at the top of his twitter page. 

They’re also just very attached to each other and frequently attend each other’s solo events even when they are hours away. In particular, LL showed me this video of Aou and his dad showing up to one of Boom's events several hours outside Bangkok.

Boom has also become Jasper’s de facto manager. He attends every single event they have and what I find most amusing is that no one teases him for it the way they do when Phuwin or Perth or Dunk show up. It's almost like it’s just a given that he's going to be there.

I don’t know, guys. There’s just something about them. It’s in the way GMMTV sent them to all of their marriage equality events even though they weren’t technically a branded pair at the time. It's in the way directors always give them the high heat roles in otherwise very tame shows. It's in the way Aou talks about being jealous of Boom's crush on "The Vet" as if it's a conversation they've actually had in real life and not just something they bust out for fan service.

Oh, and they have matching jewelry. Y'all know how much I love matching jewelry.

All in all, I'm less confident about them than I am about EarthMix, but I still think they're way more likely to actually be dating than any of the other CPs. I just think they're neat 🥹

I'm also going to tag @lazzarella, @elliebirdwrites, and @sherrymagic because they all know these two much better than me. Feel free to educate us if you have any additional lore you would like to share!

[the-pen-pot]

Your all time top ten favorite Merlin fanfics you have read.

Oh it took me too long to get to this ask anon, but here you go. These are all in no particular order, complete, ratings are various, Merthur, read the tags 😁:

My Significant Bother by Leandra (96k) - Modern Royalty AU, no magic

Merlin's job as PR junior on the royal account isn't as glamorous as people believe: Most nights, he's saving Arthur, Duke of York and black sheep of the family, from possibly committing monarchy-shattering shenanigans. When tragedy hits and Arthur is now second in line to the throne, the public doesn't react too favourably to the new Prince of Wales. A solution has to be found and Merlin's contribution is key to the problem: Roped into posing as Arthur's fake boyfriend, he's supposed to make Arthur's popularity levels rise with his steadfast and relatable presence and elevate him from scandalous rake to romantic figure...

Fools of Us All by Adelagia (11k) - Canon Era

Merlin accidentally makes everybody in Camelot fall in love with him. Everybody except Arthur, that is.

All Things Loved and Lovesick by Horsecrazy (90k) - Modern Vet AU, no magic

In which Arthur runs a horse breeding farm, and Merlin is a livestock vet. B's note: Having to choose just one of Horsecrazy's fics is practically a crime, but this one has a special place in my heart I can't deny. That said, all of their Merthur is 10/10 and I particularly love the Modern AUs.

In Want Of A Wife by Syllic (43k) - Canon Era

When Merlin first hears that Arthur has been betrothed, his ribs pull inwards with an odd little hitch, and he only allows himself a second—which he needs in order to coordinate spinning in place without falling on his face—before he’s running to Arthur’s chambers.

Favorite by Astolat (13k) - Canon Era

Arthur was tipped back against the wall, his mouth open for breath and staring at the small arrow-slit window over Merlin's head, trying to work out how it could possibly be that good with Merlin, of all people.

The History of Two Conversations (On Paper) by Takadainmate (11k) - Canon era

Books are defaced. But it's all for a good cause. Really. (Arthur finds merlin's magic book)

Gadarene by Unpossible (76k) - Canon era AU

“You’re the Prince?” Merlin says, eyeing him. He hesitates, then adds, defiant, “The Mad Prince of Camelot.” Arthur doesn’t move. There’s quiet for a long time, then he says it. “I am.” “You don’t seem mad,” he says. The smile wells up from somewhere deep, and very sad. “Well, Merlin,” he says, “give me time.”

Charting Stars on the Stained Glass Ceiling by Mornmeril (80k) - Modern AU WITH magic

Merlin leads a relatively content life - or as content as is possible under the rule of a magic-hating King. When the arrogant son of said magic-hating King starts becoming a regular at his coffee shop, Merlin is a little puzzled. When said Prince prat then proceeds to ingest a love potion on Merlin's watch that results in him having to move into the Royal Palace as Prince Arthur's (fake) boyfriend, Merlin wonders which deity he has angered. Things only get more complicated from there.

We Are All Diamonds by Footloose (130k) -Modern AU with some magic)

As the precocious heir of a diamond magnate and a famous designer, Arthur lived his entire life sheltered, protected, nurtured and spoiled. He always knew that he would have to step out from behind the scenes and into the limelight to run the family business some day, but he never expected that it would happen so soon or that he would encounter resistance from a board of directors who believe that his disability makes him unfit to lead. Merlin has stood on every stage in every city in the world, performing to critical acclaim, but after years of globetrotting, he's well and truly burnt out. He didn't quit -- he ran away from stardom, dropping to obscurity in the blink of an eye, forgotten, just another face in the crowd. He's aimless and without purpose until a friend asks him to fill in on a job. Neither Arthur nor Merlin are looking for salvation. They don't think there's any for them, that things are just too rotten, too far gone. But in the end, Arthur's quiet strength will be a balm to Merlin's broken soul, and it will be in Merlin's steadfast faith that Arthur finds courage. (B's Note: Loaded March by the same author gets a lot of love and is also a fave, but this particular fic is just breathtaking to me. Well worth it!)

Dower The Stars by RurouniHime (40k) - Canon AU. Court sorcerer Merlin and King Arthur.

During a time of great prosperity in Albion, the Druids offer Emrys a precious gift. Arthur is not amused. (aka, "The Great Conjunction is at Hand, Everyone Kiss Merlin!")

You can also check out my AO3 bookmarks for more 💖

[werezmastarbucks]

three hugs

idol!yoongi x f!reader oneshot

oneshot

oneshot!!!!

You will do well to remember that Yoongi is in love with his job first; he is married to his music and is merely cheating with you. There's no space or capacity in his life for commitment to a human; only, the way he cares for you betrays his inconvenient feelings.

warnings/tags: FWB, unreciprocated feelings, jealousy, emotionally cold lovers, dual pov, aerophobia, lovers to exes to ???, drunk sex, cursing, emotionally unavailable Yoongi, hiking in Japan, smut kind of hits you in the face a little, but it's not super graphic?

word count: 12652

music: on the low by justin park, i like it by skz, spring attitude by sunwoojunga

author's note: guys i am stuck in dramatic present. break me out pls

"Shit".

"What?"

You slide the chapstick over your lips.

"It's mint".

Yoongi makes the curious cat-face, raising his eyebrows and pressing his lips together.

"Let me try?"

He found you on the balcony at one of the corporate parties. Those same parties where there was always one particular asshole recording things from under the elbow, in secret, for "reassurance". Thankfully, that evening didn't leak. Yoongi found you on the balcony when you were standing with your hand outstretched, catching rain, and he thought, thank fuck. A normal person. Some piano music was playing, reminding him of Mount Tate. It made him think of low Japanese pines and the fresh morning up above the ground. The droplets were gathering in your palm. You recognized his silhouette although you hadn't spoken before that. You were in too deep from the very beginning.

Now he is kissing you in the corridor of your Hannam-dong apartment, tasting the chapstick and making a face.

"It's freezing".

He's leaving first. You leave fifteen minutes later after his car is half way out of the neighbourhood. You aren't seen together in the street or establishments, unless it's an idol-approved restaurant where mobile phone use is banned altogether, and all the staff is on a massive pile of various NDAs. You do not get to hold hands or speak sweetly to each other, but he gets to watch his dick slide in and out of you, your lips wrap around it, gets to squeeze your breast and twist it, slap your thigh as you bounce on his lap, gets to mess your hair in his fist, yanking your head back, and you get to hear him produce god-fearing moans as he is orgasming under you. You do not date, you are four times removed colleagues and fuck buddies, and for the longest time it works well and boosts productivity tenfold. Stressed? Fuck. Depressed? Fuck. Yoongi can growl at his soundboard, then fall backwards onto his chair and keep falling until he lands head first on your lap. You are careful not to linger with your hand in his hair for too long lest he gives you that look that you don't like. When the tint of pleasure and casuallness slips off his pupil and he starts looking inside of you.

The reason is has been working so well was because you were both too busy and aloof to think about it. Two consenting adults, surviving on coffee shots and IVs, just trying to cum once in a while, and have someone around, who doesn't piss you off. Who doesn't know the people you talk shit about, so they don't side with them.

The fallout happened for you when you noticed him wrinkle his whole face as he squeezed a silicone slime, anatomically correct heart, in a futile attempt to "release the stress". Producer laughed at his snoot. You thought, oh, he's cute.

Oh, shit, he's cute.

Then the whole wagon of romance bullshit started filling your head and it felt like from then on you had about twice as much work. The load that feelings put on you cannot be overestimated. It's the constant thinking, even when you need to be concentrated. It drains the fun out of the sexual arrangement because now, instead of laughing at his jokes, you feel the fire at your ears and awkwardly giggle.

As he brushes his open palm across your hip in a mindless gesture, all of a suden, your whole body jerks, reacts, like a car starting all over again, like you've been zipped.

"Whoa. Haven't had enough?" he asks in the deep, rumbling voice that always gives you one promise. If you want, he can fuck for hours. Ten minutes in between rounds, glass of water, and he's good to go again. Yoongi is never stingy with compliments about your body; he always lets you know when you look breathtaking, and how the angle is to die for, and how nice your curves are, and how he appreciates you.

What he isn't generous with, is the actual connection.

On the day when you simply hang out in the same space, you, with your laptop, getting the documents ready, you decide to annoy him under the guise of being mad at everybody else. You're glad you have established earlier that you're an easily irritable person, because now Yoongi isn't suspicious when you seek his company.

But when you step to him from behind, completely misreading the atmosphere, and put your hands around his shoulders, he flinches. Yoongi never yells, god forbid, or even grunts at you, but instead, he turns around quite coldly, and says,

"Don't make it weird, okay? There was no need for that".

He shows you your place. You are, to each other, instruments. Friends almost, he enjoys your sense of humour when you're cool, and, preferably, naked. He respects your space and expects you to do the same with him. You know he is somebody who needs a lot of alone time. You are the same. The elite type of people who know how to be alone. But you have miscalculated that, after all the sixty-nines, maybe, a hug wouldn't be too out of the line. It is though.

It hurts you because you had already lost. The day when he found you on the balcony catching the rain and made an adorably cautious conversation, you had recognized his frame before he stepped into the pool of light, and you should have known that the cup will overflow and you will fall in love with him.

Like, it's ridiculous, who wouldn't? He constantly makes these funny faces, shaking his oval head, and crunches his nose, and is so quiet that it draws you in. When he comes over for the first time, the fucking doesn't start for thirty minutes because he is fixing a closet door that caught his eye. He is this... an effortlessly lovable, rare person. Emotionally shut, which you interpret as manipulation instead of a fact. His gaze tells you, yes, it only takes two screws. What's the big deal?

You are deeply hurt by his rejection, then a little concerned when he doesn't text for a whole week; it's getting dangerous because you don't know where the line is, that you shouldn't cross. You practice with his brothers: Namjoon seems to like you, and you tend to work with him a lot, sampling his voice and sending him variants. You learn this about yourself: casual touch isn't a norm at all, so it's fair that Yoongi got alarmed at it. You avoid touching people even when you are very drunk: no matter how soft, attractive, squishy they look, you tend to keep your hands to yourself. His suspicion in quenched after a bit, he starts looking you in the eye again as you play annoyance. Yoongi is the type to quietly retreat from an argument, to give up if it takes too much effort to battle; to pretend not to notice rather than confront. When there's a quarrel breaking out, which happens relatively often considering how many different people he is surrounded with, and him, having his authentic, strong opinions; when there's a fight, he visibly shuts off, covers his stomach with his arms and slightly turns around, checks out. Especially when it doesn't concern him or his band. Especially with people he doesn't love.

And he doesn't love you. He likes you, respects you, finds you very attractive for some reason. But he shows love in a completely obvious, unmistakeable way. You know he loves Jimin because he never flinches when Jimin assaults him with hugs. He loves music because he spends all of his waking time with her; he speaks about music; he sees the world through her. He loves mountains, and it's simply easily readable in the way he looks around sometimes. He opens up rarely, and when it's about something that he wants to do, it's usually going to the mountains.

He doesn't love you because it's inconvenient, stressful and isn't booked in his schedule. In his daily life, almost every minute is dedicated to doing something. Even sleep is rationed; he knows what time he eats and what time he showers. There's very little space for improvisation, and at first you felt sorry for him. Because, even though you work in the same place, you are simply an office rat. You walk around the building teaching language models and giving them idol voices. You have days off, evenings off, lunch time and a circle outside work. You can walk the street without covering your head with a hood, a hat, glasses and a mask. You used to feel sorry for him because you thought Yoongi and his other boys were kind of victims to their jobs, but soon learnt that his insane schedule is his own doing. He made it. Training, gym, English, Japanese, guitar, vocals, piano, doctors, meetings, shooting, repeat. Asking him why he lives like that would be stupid. It's because he loves it.

You close up. Losers are left with feeling the sorrow and like the third wheel. That's what you get for catching feelings when you never wanted them in the first place. You're not star-struck: you see him in his least glamourous, in the mornings when he is so groggy that he looks like an old man, dragging his feet around the room, struggling to find his own pants. His hair is all but dead, dry, burnt, occasionally it gets softer when his hairdresser undertakes emergency treatments. You stop thinking of Yoongi as an idol three months into fucking him. That part of his life is constantly present, of course; you even get to see him in his public persona from time to time, but he feels like a different person then. Yoongi is just - surrounded by limits, often a physically unreachable lover, that you happened to get a crush on. You keep on living, having this affair, thinking that the feelings, undeveloped, tend to die sooner or later.

The only thing you can't forget is the look he has given you when he refused your hug. You're not enough to have the right to distract him from work. You aren't loved enough to nag on him or call him without a purpose. You should remember your place. He does good in not invading your space, so what's your excuse?

Otherwise, he's a good guy. Yoongi is generally kind and patient with everybody. If there's a choice, he chooses to do good.

─────────────────────────────────────

Like now.

You click your tongue and swipe the web page closed.

"Hm?"

Your favourite band is touring across Europe without thinking of dropping by your place, or at least somewhere in Asia.

"I can even get the tickets, but flights are too expensive because it's the season".

"Berlin?"

"Yeah", you reply absent-mindedly.

"I can take you. I can go there earlier".

"Don't you have the show in May?"

"They've asked me to choose the date, and I haven't decided yet", Yoongi stretches his arms, then falls on the side like a cat, pressing the top of his head to your ribs as his hand tickles them under your other arm. You shift. He knows you don't like tickling too much and does it when he wants a reaction. You clutch his hand shortly to tell him to stop, and his palm settles.

"But we have to go for three days then".

"I can't get time off work. On Monday I need to be back".

"Tell them you're sick".

You brush it off. It's not a big deal anyway. Yeah you haven't been to concerts in years, but you're not seventeen anymore. Life doesn't make it easy to constantly give in to all you desire. You don't have the power to move events like he does. Your hand instinctively touches his hair, and you manage to swipe through it once, before you catch yourself and let go. Yoongi isn't prickly at all, but that one time was more than enough. You don't need to be told twice.

"You know I can't just clear my schedule like that. They need me".

Even though your brain starts working immediately, weighing options, creating loopholes. Maybe you can say you have an emergency, or even leverage Yoongi himself telling them that since he is taking you out of the kindness of his heart, the management should give you a Friday and Monday off. He sighs without making it too sincere.

"You got time to think until tomorrow afternoon".

"Don't adapt for me".

"It's not a problem".

He leaves as usual, quickly and tidy, and you're thinking about the band. You haven't seen them in such a long time. If you get a free shot at going, you should probably take it. You shove all the other reasons deeper and out of the way because you know when Yoongi is working, he is all but absent.

By midnight, you send him a message saying you have dealt with it. He texts back a thumbs up. Asks if you need a ticket, too. Offers to go with you, and you don't take it as anything because when Yoongi is with you, he is actually nice. He is the kind of person who will offer help and then won't pout when it's accepted. You respond to him that you will go to the pit to thrash your head and slam people around, and he retracts the offer.

Then next time you meet, it's already on the private jet. You're taken to the plane fifteen minutes earlier by a security guy wearing flip-flops, while the airport is buzzing and waiting for Yoongi. You slither right through the crowd and to the gate, leaving them behind expecting the real star.

The star climbs up into the plane clutching his knitted hat in his hand and with a cup of iced coffee. Yoongi's eyes dart to the double seats on the other side where Mr Lee makes himself comfortable. You've chosen a single seat at the window, facing forward, so he crashes across the table from you, recalling vaguely that you are maybe afraid of flying. His memory is proven right when the take off begins, and he sees your face stuck to the window, hands clutching the armrests, mouth a lopsided smile like you're judging the gravity. He is sure there's something very loud going on in the airpods in your ears. He keeps observing, notifying with displeasure, that you're afraid for the most part of the flight, uneasy the whole way as the plane soars up, gaining speed and altitude, and then only mildly bothered for the other thirteen hours, only to get panicked again at the beginning of landing. As the runway approaches, he can see your chest freezing, like you are expecting to crash right into the ground, and he can't take it anymore: nudges your foot with his, pushing lightly, then leans over the table. You are too stressed to take an airpod out, so you just grab the hand that he puts out over the table, without taking your eyes off the land. The hold is so strong that Yoongi unwillingly imagines what it will be like at, say, childbirth. You will probably break his wrist.

"Why don't you drink before flight?" he asks, when the plane is firmly on the rest, as he stands up to get his bag from a nearby seat. Mr Lee leaves the plane with the manager and the stylists, to check if everything is ready.

"I get sick if there's turbulence. Once vomited all over a tiny Ryanair plane, it was horrible", you mumble. You feel positively exhausted after an excrutiatingly long flight. Yoongi had motioned towards the bed in the front segment of the plane, but you can never sleep while in the air: it's like the only thing keeping this thing going without nose diving is your pure terror.

"Jimin is coming, too. He wants to show up at the second performance", he remembers, "so you better fly back with us, too".

"Oh. The two us in one plane?"

He shrugs with a smile. Yoongi likes to note how you are a little similar to Jimin. He never clarifies in what ways; you don't work with his youngster a lot, so you have vague image of the guy. But you hear nice things about him, and like him by extention.

He hums instead of a goodbye, then leaves the plane as per Mr Lee's permission. You leave fifteen minutes later, when the arrivals hall is already clear, and the big SUV circles the terminal to pick you up on the corner. You feel happy after having survived yet another flight.

You attend your show and Yoongi attends his; only, while you're thrashing the life out of yourself in the pit to the favourite music, he is sitting like a good boy in the first row of a game, looking pretty. The next day, you would have left on your own to give everybody a surprise at work by showing up on time, but you weigh everything and realize that, if you were so terrified on a private flight, fifteen hours in commercial will be absolutely unbearable and result in some sticky mess. So you linger around Berlin, wander the city for the day after sleeping in, get cold in April weather, get caught up in the rain, eat some curry wurst and in the evening, go to see Yoongi's private performance for the lack of better things to do.

You hang around the dressing rooms before the performance, watching the stylists doll him up: it's always a pleasant sight. Brushes poking his button nose, he squeezes his eyes shut, moving the phone glued to his palm around. You know people are generally curious what the fuck he is constantly doing on his phone. Watches videos or plays mobile games. At the age of thirty-two, he already has several striking features of an old man, and the forecast doesn't look optimistic. Soon, he will start grumbling about the weather, too. His eyes dart to you as you start fidgeting with the coffee machine.

"Can I have one, too?"

"I am putting star anise in".

His stylist, a short quirky girl, turns around to give you a face full of disgust.

"Why?" Yoongo hoots. Like it's a crime.

"Experiment".

"You shouldn't have coffee now", his manager says.

"It tastes okay".

He is sent off to the tiny stage where he is going to entertain selected European fans and show off his average English. You wander around the place, expecting to see Jimin, who can't go on a week without his genius hyung's company. You heard he has a very packed month, promotions and too many rehearsals, all that while his knee injury isn't healed yet, but Jimin is always in a state of panic so he never wants to pedal back. Now he clawed three days out and darted from Seoul to Berlin to show support because he knows Yoongi doesn't feel too comfortable in Europe on his own. Even though he will never say. It's new information for you, and you have to constantly remind yourself you aren't entitled to it at all.

You find him in the smaller dressing room with monitors, observing Yoongi from a distance. There's a whole crew with the light and cameras swarming around him, while Jimin is hunched up on a chair, not even looking at the screens. His head is down, the lid of the cap hiding his face, hands in his pockets, one knee jerking up and down. You feel something like short-fused anger rise in you and don't think much before stepping in and getting into a shot.

"Hey", you look into the camera, then at the man trying to swerve around you, but you outpace him, making your way towards Jimin in little steps. You've seen this tiny guy at work often. Always running somewhere, his strong legs working. Always a smile on his face. You know much more about him from Yoongi who likes talking about his brothers. You know enough to want to protect him, which means, Yoongi always wants to protect him.

"Do you have to record him when he is like this?"

You can only see the tip of his chin, but then Jimin looks up at you, his eyes timid and glistening.

"He is upset. Is this content, too?"

You tilt your head, meeting their eyes. The crew starts grunting something quietly, cameras rolling.

"I am already in it, so I guess you'll have to delete it".

You sit down in front of him like he's a kid. Frankly, a lot of them look like kids. Most of them are only grown on paper, the age in their passports often doesn't respond to how they are. Many boys, stuck in the tender ages they have been traumatised in, by the company. Yoongi often acts like he is a mature twenty-year old which aligns with his debut age.

You put your hands on his knees and lower your voice.

"Who did this, Jiminie?"

The tone makes him chuckle immediately. He sighs like it's a relief. You're glad you have that sense of humour, coupled with your small size, that makes guys smile.

"I'm alright".

"Yeah? You just tell me who upset you, and I'll beat them up".

The recording crew retreats dissatisfied because you refuse to leave his side. Jimin throws them one cautious look and his face lights up just a little.

"Beat them up?"

"Yeah, I go to gym, bro, I punch the bag all the time".

His left knee shakes with his laughter. He adjusts the cap and takes the second hand out of the pocket of his hoodie.

"Thank you".

"No problem. I am a very angry person, I am always ready to protect pretty boys like you".

Yoongi returns to the dressing room a little sweaty, just a little agitated, his nervous system alarmed but satisfied with yet another linguistic adventure overcome without a catastrophe, and sees Jimin snicker at your words as your hands clutch his knees like he is the little princess and you're his suitor. He sees it from the door the handle of which he clutches, and he notices things instantly. How you smile, bowing to see his eyes, how Jimin's hand flies up to his neck, how his voice rumbles deeply to make him sound more manly. Yoongi also notices the tremor in his injured knee and walks over to join you.

As you see him, you stand up and give space.

Yoongi's hand caresses Jimin's head.

"Don't be upset about it".

"I let you down, hyung".

"You didn't. You're here, aren't you? I am happy you're here".

You step away quietly as Yoongi keeps comforting him, glowing in his white outfit, hair slicked back and with highlighter on his cheeks. Looks too much like a groom.

Back at the hotel, Yoongi keeps waddling in and out of the bathroom with a brush in his mouth, one hand in his hair.

"How was the concert?"

"You asked me yesterday and I told you everything", you reply, without taking your eyes off the phone.

"Right. You caught any confetti?"

"No".

"Why not? People gather them and stuff them in jars, you know. We always try to invent new shapes for confetti so that ours will have different jars with different confetti".

You look up at him. He looks like a guy you could spend the rest of your life with, and it hurts quite frankly. So cosy, handsome with his hair undone, plain white tee, one hand sawing something in his mouth with the toothbrush.

"You had coffee, didn't you?"

He shrugs.

"Why don't you ever babygirl me like you did with Jimin?"

A chuckle rumbles in your chest.

"You never show any weakness".

You see that makes him think, actually. Yoongi is probably too caught up in his life to notice such things, to pay attention to himself. He produces a short pondering hm and disappears back into bathroom. This chitchat pisses you off. He is usually way less talkative. Polite, friendly, but not very open. You don't like it when he acts like you have hope. The old grudge you have festers in you for too long, growing from a little childish sore into a sort of trauma. You avoid touching him for too long, talking to him about personal stuff. He usually doesn't respond anything, at best. Establishing limits in the beginning was kind of humiliating; he would take your hand off his shoulder softly, saying he will vacate you at once if you find someone serious. The same goes for him.

Now he gets into bed and his hand is on the top of your head, patting. His arm wraps around your waist as he pushes himself closer. These two days were too tiring and busy so you didn't have any sex, thus, it's even more intimate when he does this. You don't flinch, but instead tense your body up, bitterness a juice in your brain.

"Don't make it weird", you ask. Yoongi lifts himself up on an elbow to look you in the face.

"Huh?"

"I am uncomfortable when you hug me like this".

In the bluish darkness of the room, you can see his bewildered, surprised expression.

"Are you serious right now?"

And you know, you know his mind wanders back to that one time he flinched. Because you know he remembers.

You nod.

"I can't fall asleep with your arm on me anyway", you lie, "it's too heavy".

With a sigh in between his teeth, he removes his hand but doesn't turn away yet.

"What's gotten into you?" then pause, "is it because I told you to back off once?"

It's spectacular how for both of you, that one occasion is a sharp rock shining painful white of awkwardness and unspoken spite.

"Hey, I don't need you to repeat. But you have to respect the limits, too", you say calmly. You understand his shock, because nothing this evening indicated there were any problems. But the outburst is inevitable from time to time, simply because you react to his touch the way you wish you didn't. When it's not during sex, when it's not possessive, you have to ask yourself what's the reason for touching you at all. Yoongi sniffs through his nose.

"Isn't it a little too dramatic? You're really sore about that?"

"I am not".

"Then what's the problem? We sleep like this all the time".

"After we fuck".

"So let's fuck".

You fall back on your pillow and brush through your hair.

"Fine, Jesus", he closes up, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Yoongi does this very well, removes himself, it's not worth it. It's not worth being straightforward, and because he doesn't push, doesn't try to speak to you, you understand his touch, in fact, didn't mean anything. You're one of those soft, warm breathing pillows that help the sleeping. He simply turns around on the other side and purrs like he always does when relaxing his whole body. He doesn't snore and is quite proud of it.

In the morning things are back to normal. It was a slight glitch; in the dark, you can both bury it and pretend nothing happened. Yoongi is allergic to being direct with you, it's all subtle. You see he avoids brushing hands by accident as he takes your bag and pushes it in the trunk; then by the time you make it to the airport, and you go first, he is casual and light again, happy to go home. He gives you one concerned look then says nothing, pushing the mask up his face even though he stays in the car. You go fifteen minutes before him and pass through the waiting crowd, invisible, efficient, led by the security guy in flip-flops.

Mr Lee enters the plane first, and he motions to you, looking you in the eye with a kind smile:

"Take that seat, by the window".

Yoongi follows him and nods at the double seats as well and you understand he wants to make the flight a little better for you. So you plunge in the wide seat at the window, looking outside at the greyish Berlin sky, unassuming white keeping your night trick hidden away. Yoongi sits down next to you, quite ready to fence if you start acting up again, but you don't. The fear of death is much stronger now. Jimin arrives unexpectedly because you have completely forgotten he flies back with you: he lights up the space, happier than yesterday, ruffles his raspberry-lilac hair and eases the tension. Yoongi's gaze clicks onto him and you are grateful for that. You can suffer in silence and alone. Jimin notices how wide your eyes are, and how you clutch onto Yoongi's hand that reaches out as the plane starts moving. The rain makes it worse: you look at the trees bending in the distance, thinking about how a wind like this can knock a vehicle off the course easily.

"You're scared of flying?"

He also asks this because seeing Yoongi hold someone's hand - a girl's hand - is remarkably unusual for him. He studies this clutch of interlocked fingers with curiousity, like it's an animal he thought was extinct.

"That's to put it lightly", you coo back. The plane gains speed, and you are pressed against the back of your seat. Primal horror snatches your breath.

"You know planes crash very rarely? This one definitely isn't going to. Carrying South Korea's most important producer".

His rambling doesn't help. On the opposite, it exposes how naive Jimin's thinking is. You apprecite the movement of his plump, smiling lips, trying to distract you, but he only makes it worse. The plane doesn't care who it carries; if it crashes, it crashes, killing everyone.

"The only dangerous times of the flight are the take off and the landing", he continues, thinking he is setting your mind at peace. You are well aware of that. And for now, you just so happen to be in the middle of a take off.

"Jimin", Yoongi hoots, "you're not helping".

"Sorry", he smiles sweetly, like a little shit. You chuckle at that nasty grin and look away at the window again. Luckily Yoongi's hand actually helps. If you die, you die holding the person you love. The plane dips slightly as the gear kisses the ground goodbye, and you squeeze it, begging silently. For some reason, he thinks of child labour again, wondering why he gets this specific association. The grip is so strong it hurts his hand, and he gives in to the pain, takes it, without realizing what it means.

─────────────────────────────────────

The sex changes slightly, and it's a sign you're doing worse. You can't help it when he is close to you, with the body you have come to know well and love a lot, you start shoving your face close to his to catch his breathing, and Yoongi seems to enjoy that, feeding into your delusion. He is a needy, universal lover, always down for some tenderness, who likes to be handled with care. Always a giver, a helper in everyday life, he replenishes the affection from you by being caressed and held tightly, without asking. Only, it hurts you when he does this - allows you to pull him closer, share a kiss that's too gentle as you come undone, because for several seconds it feels like you love each other. But it's a position that he comes to like a lot: you on his lap, faces pressed together as he hunches his back a little to be on the same eye level, to then fall on the side like in water, clutching to each other.

"We okay?" he asks out of nowhere. You look at his soft profile. His upper lip trembling a little, the lower part of his stomach contracting. You push his thigh with your knee.

"Yes? Why wouldn't we be?"

He nods like he is getting ready to jump into a well full of sharks, or go on stage. Closing his eyes for a second, then heaves himself off the bed, like he usually does. He doesn't like to linger, sensory overload of your sweaty body pressed against his. He takes a quick shower and then leaves tidying after himself, ready to work. He never has you at his place like it's too sacred, or like he has some secrets there. It's always hotels or your apartment, a car, a locked office with no windows. He says something about his home being too far away, and how inconvenient it is. He knows it's bullshit, and you know it too. You live in the same neighbourhood.

─────────────────────────────────────

Jimin keeps smiling and it suddenly pisses him off. Yoongi folds a napkin and attempts to make a swan out of it, but all that comes out is a plane. He taps Jimin on the shoulder and hands him his little present.

Jungkook's eyes widen at the sight of it.

"And for me? Me, hyung?"

Yoongi rolls his eyes, catching a stare from Taehyung, too.

"Is it his birthday?" the second youngest demands.

"It's not Jimin's birthday", Jungkook confirms.

"What's that for?" Jimin asks, quite pleased.

He wants to jab him playfully, so naturally, it's a bribe: stop staring at my girl. It baffles him. His guts drop. Like when he realizes two meetings clash on his schedule. In that case, after a second of panic, he takes a deep breath and calls his manager. Now, he can't call his manager and say, hey, there's an inconvenience. I don't like the way Jimin can't seem to shut up about Y/N after she touched his leg and smiled at him in Berlin. This glitch is all his. And he closes up. Feelings, undeveloped, tend to die on their own. Whether he needs them is out of question: he doesn't. He's been doing that naturally; of course he'd developed an innocent crush on someone he has sex regularly with. Without it, he wouldn't be able to do that properly. He's a feeling, inspired human, artistic: he can't do it without trust. That's how his head works at least. This kind of light infatuation adds to the sex, it makes it truly relaxing and non-stressful without needing to act on it. Of course he feels something. It's a kind of a driving force in his work, as well.

The real problem arises when there's someone else in the equation.

─────────────────────────────────────

Namjoon is focused like a hawk as you fight for your life. You hate losing; perhaps something from childhood when your cousin constantly beat you and then gloated about it; there was a saying in your family, as a game was over, if you can't work your brains, work your hands. The loser shuffled the deck back in order. You hated being the loser. But against Namjoon it is impossible. He beats you every time, although thankfully, he isn't an asshole about it. But allowing himself to throw hands in the air victoriously. You smile about it, press your jaws together, crunch your nose to laugh it off.

You rarely play cards at all, maybe only in the breaks like these, while the laptop is working and you have to wait; and the foyer is realtively empty, and the disposition is relaxed. You have a coffee at your side on the low table, and the faint music creates a comfortable bubble to lose to your friends at a game of cards. You strike the table with the rest of yours, and Namjoon smiles with dimples, pacifying you.

Yoongi takes his place.

"Rematch".

He is surprisingly bad at it. To the point where his friend is at his side, pushing him with his thigh, so that Yoongi has to scoot over on the small couch to let the giant sit next to him.

"Yoongi hyung, but there's a..."

"Shh. I have a strategy".

You observe his eyes above the cards as he glances at you. The feral looks you give to each other are fun. Namjoon hums something when Yoongi has to scoop the cards and take them to himself, losing more and more.

"The strategy sucks", he muses.

"I know what I'm doing".

It makes you concerned but you beat him in the end with a little bit of wit, and at least it's not too humiliating. Namjoon gives him a look, then turns away, and there are dimples again. The banana palm on your side throws a shade on the table as the sun moves across the sky outside. You look at them both as your nostrils grow in size.

"Oh you let me win, didn't you?"

You lean over the table to get to him and see the cards, but Yoongi moves away, then takes the deck and starts mixing.

"I wish. Maybe I'm just bad at it".

Namjoon stands up with a swing, still with that shit-eating grin on his transparent face. Thing about him, he's not good at three things: acting, keeping secrets and lying. His eyebrows give him away every time.

─────────────────────────────────────

For you, it's like living. The feeling of love is a familiar thing to you, especially with him. He is a warm, unique human and as long as you meet from time to time, it's only half-way bad. You have things to distract you from it, and you postpone doing something about it, like breaking this arrangement. Maybe next month. Maybe next month again.

For Yoongi, it's like falling. Like his house of cards crashing down. Carefully curated existence spinning out of control. Control is very important to him: he likes to have control over his personal affairs. He likes to know what he is doing every minute of the day. He doesn't have obsessions; doesn't have urges that control him instead. Even though he is a feeling human, he isn't a victim to his desires. Now all of a sudden the peace is tilted, and he snaps. It's like a foot catching air instead of a step. He simply doesn't have time for this, it makes no sense. Feeling in love seems to him like someone demanding giving up his work and his freedom, and he will never do that. It actually makes him aggressive, feels like invasion of his space, and he doesn't like that. How dare you clutch the shirt on his chest in your fist, making those eyes he knows he isn't able to resist, saying "let's ruin it?" Will you buy him a new one? How dare you groan at your computer in a way that makes him so hard that he hits his dick on the desk, trying to stand up? How dare you have that laugh that sounds like gripping his hand, giving birht to his babies?

Love is a thing idols cannot afford. It's nonsense for others. He, he has a goal. A point to his existence, he has something to say and something to prove. It's below him to settle like the peak of his life has been reached, and all his ambition satisfied. Far from it. He gets angry with himself when he lets you beat him in a card game because he doesn't understand himself where the impulse came from. It's not that deep.

He breaks it off. Says he doesn't have time anymore. He memorizes your eyes when you size him up and say,

"I figured".

Although there was no indication before, because you were "okay". He lets it slide, the way you let go of him too easily, without questioning it, almost with a sense of relief. He tells himself it's not his burden anymore, and it should clear his head and lighten the load. After all, the affairs like these are often doomed from the start. One of you might fall in love, or meet someone else, or just grow tired. It's not supposed to be for life. He goes back inside his mind and assesses things left after you: memory of your elbow, twice smaller than his; hairs on his hoodie; the feeling of mountains; a new type of coffee: milk, cinnamon and star anise. He's sure there's more, but the feeling of frustration, like he was about to sneeze and never did, floods him and blocks his brains from thinking.

There's also mint. He remembers it when Jimin comes in one day smelling like it. Yoongi gives him a long look as his shoulders go cold.

"Hm?"

He shakes his head nothing.

─────────────────────────────────────

He also gets dreams. They aren't exactly dreams - rather, the lingering visions in his eyelids when on the brink of falling asleep. Pleasant pictures of something he regrets losing; if only there was a way to keep his emotions out of it, he'd watch your stomach contract under his hand forever. Gentle, careful knot of your belly button. The muscles in your sides flexing, soft birthmarks scattered on the skin, the tasty curve of your hip. He dreams again about that one evening when he paid a visit, but was in such a good mood that you ended up cuddling; he couldn't get enough of the sight of your ass in the underwear, squeezing, while you watched funny videos on his phone, and you laughed, thunderously, into his poor ear, snorted with laughter, your body shaking, until he suddenly started noticing the scent of your hair, too.

That's the adult way out: everybody has feelings. The choice is whether to act on them or not; you think, your feelings are only your business and nobody else's. If Yoongi asked, and you feel that at some point he was close to that, you'd tell him to fuck off and mind his affairs. You get to keep what you have inside your head.

Now, as he enters the studio with the hood on, you feel perfectly balanced and calm. Love hasn't hurt you as much as this man; he takes off the hood and you nod to the booth, and he casually follows your instructions. You step after him and hand him a sheet of paper. He's been to a facial recently, you can tell. His nose pores are clear and he's glowing, giving him a slightly pouty look. Smells like star anise. Imagining hugging him in his car as it's raining outside, hiding your face in his clean hoodie, his hair obedient under your palm, is so simple you could draw a picture if you had any talent for it.

"Read from here when you see the green light".

"I know how recording works", he chuckles, a little shy. You smile back and brush him off. He picks on the skin on his thumb and you shake his hands apart out of the habit you haven't smothered yet. However, he complies and puts them in the pockets, looking at the paper. You leave the booth and go to the laptop where you get ready.

"In Japan, women are considered superior divers", he begins reading, his voice unfiltered by his acting. Yoongi has many voices, you've heard most of them you think. The favourite of yours is the purring request he used to send straight into your ear canal, pressing his lips against the side of your head: turn to me, I want to see your face. His speaking voice betrays his origin, and you specifically asked that he drops the Seoul accent when recording. So it's authentic Min Suga, hands in pockets, hair on his eyes, head slightly moving with his own rhythm he weaves easily.

"...due to distribution of fat in their bodies and ability to hold their breaths underwater. Pearl fetching was a dangerous business and required light, swift, nimble women who could at the same time withstand the harsh underwater conditions. Very often they would swim up all blue, but pearls tucked neatly in the pouches on their waists. Gifts of the sea have never been easy to retrieve".

He is done in fifteen minutes, reading overall two pages of text. You can see he's not worried and stressed. Probably sleeps well; he unzips his hoodie and takes it off because it's a bit hot in the studio - you get cold sooner and easier than other people. As he pulls it off himself, the shoulder tugs on the hem of his T-shirt and exposes a bit of his skin, and you see a dark-blue bruise.

"Tsk".

He leaves the booth, turning his head like a mill, a little distracted.

"What?"

"That's such an asshole move".

When there's nothing to lose, as you've lost him already, you actually feel more liberated to speak your mind exactly as it feels. Yoongi is a bit lost, looking at you.

"Huh?"

"So big, as well. You told me you have no time for that business anymore?"

You actually pout, feeling shockingly indifferent. Your feelings have been, so to say, stomped upon, dull under all the cruelty.

His hand reaches for his shoulder as fingers send the impulse back into the brain, and he stretches,

"That- I'm a big boy, alright?"

You cock your eyebrow shortly.

"Could've just said you don't like me personally", you download the file containing his voice and begin renaming it according to the protocol.

"That's not it", he even puts the hoodie back on. "On the opposite, it was getting too personal".

"I agree. I am just surprised you found someone else so soon, that's all", you mutter, your eyes on your work. He hums. Retreats, it's what he does best. Slithers quietly through the door after making sure he is done here.

You tell him he is, hissing the words with a stretch, giving them double meaning.

Yoongi leaves, hands pulling on the sides of his zip-up hoodie, up and down, up and down, thinking about the idiocy of it. He's finished filming a Run BTS episode yesterday, where punishment was cupping. He's lucky he only lost once. Taehyung was roaring with pleasure as he vaccumed the fuck out of his shoulder. What would you say if you saw the back of Namjoon, who lost five times?

─────────────────────────────────────

Yoongi believes in karma and all that shit. Especially when he's drunk; he keeps thinking about that little misunderstanding and how your cheeks pouted as you stared into the laptop, accusing him of getting hickeys a week after he ended the arrangement. He's not feeling guilty or anything, but it's unnatural for him to not keep things straight. Although with you, he thinks, there's already so much shit tangled that he could as well just leave it be. First of all, never talked out that weird rejected hug incident; then again the breakup itself, like walking on the straight road and sudeenly falling into a manhole. He's not in the habit of leaving things piled up, but he just can't seem to learn to be direct with you. It's bad enough you make him horny like he is going through puberty again, you also tie his tongue down. He preferred to keep it deep inside of you to avoid talking at all. After all, that was the deal.

When he starts getting drunk at the Another Billion party, this awkwardness returns to him and he gathers all his might and good will to search you out and tell you what the bruise was about. He is ready to drag the other members with him so that they vouch for it; he finds he doesn't need to do so, because Namjoon and Jimin, of course, are already glued to you. Next to an ugly black-glass sculpture supposed to represent an idol throwing their arms up. Namjoon is swaying, he can't take his alcohol. Jimin is sturdier than him, but is also red in the neck; both listening to you with their mouths slightly ajar. When you talk, people around always listen, and Yoongi hates that, too. That this ability of yours, together with your body, your deafening screeching laughter, your iron grip, your moans, your fears, the mint of your lips, don't belong to him. He doesn't want any of it - but it sucks that other people get to experience it, too. He almost goes blind for a second, slapping his glasses back to his face, as the idea of Jimin knowing what the chapstick tastes like, crosses his mind.

"...that I was a huge black dragon. This is the best dream I've ever had in my life", you enunciate, making sure they are listening to you. Both Joon and Jiminie are so out of it, it makes you shake with the laughter you push down for the sake of the story.

"I was big, I felt big, I remember the feeling of absolute freedom" (Namjoon has exactly one hiccup) "as I was flying above the Aegean sea during black storm. Black dragon, black storm, the waves were gigantic".

"How did you know it was Aegean sea?" Jimin asks.

"I had this dream when I was staying in Greece. It's also my favourite sea".

"Yoongi really likes mountains", Namjoon mutters. You stare at him for a second.

"Okay?"

"Continue".

"And I was flying around, laughing out of happiness, I was so elated I actually laughed, and I was throwing these black pearls into the sea..."

"Sea and mountains", Namjoon continues, funnily, "nuah?"

"Are you sure it wasn't Black sea?" Jimin tries to ignore his hyung, putting his hand on Namjoon's chest as the leader starts to tilt forward.

"I mean you were black, storm was black, the pearls were black..."

You purse your lips because he makes a good point. In between their heads, you see Yoongi adjust his glasses and glaring at you three like you are dismembering a freshly caught deer with your bare hands.

"What's up with the nerd slut?" you nod at him, and the two turn around. The blood rushes back from Jimin's neck as his face lights up in a smile. His imperfect teeth make his smile infectious.

"Yoongi-ah", he coos softly as the cloud approaches.

"I need to talk to you", you can hear he's had a two or six, or sixteen. Yoongi is way too good at drinking, he can take a lot of it and then be drunk for a lot of time, hiding it, and only burst if someone really pushes him. His eyes are glossy behind the lenses of his glasses.

"You tired?" Namjoon becomes perceptive when he drinks. Yoongi nods and extends his hand on the waist level. You do not take it but follow him as he nods in the direction of a quieter corridor. Big hall is booming with music and it irritates you both; everybody reacts differently to alcohol: Taehyung is throwing his ass around on the dancefloor for example. It's his celebration and he is allowed. You, you get more yourself you'd say. All your impulses become sharper. Your loudness becomes louder and quieteness, quieter. Your insecurities shine, but so does your wit. Your laughter becomes irresistible, Yoongi would say, but you never asked him to know about it. His laughter is always irresistible to you, just like his word. So, even though you are sore, hate him a little, feel like aching next to him, insanely jealous, when he calls, you walk with him out of the room, plunging into the lukewarm shade of the corridor.

You sneak away like two schoolchildren trying to act tough. We need to talk. Sounds like giggling to you, and you do. His thick neck turns to you. He's been working out again lately. Of course.

"I need to make something very clear", he begins, harder than you expected him to, and your spine shivers, at the same time with your knees wobbling. You don't know if you're intimidated or upset. You must unintentionally give him a rabbit look, because he stops abruptly, looking you in the face.

"The... that? I was cranky, okay? It was one time".

You struggle to catch what he means exactly, having a moment of complete lack of clarity. All you see is his full lips letting a breath out.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what, why have you been punishing me for that this whole time?"

Your brows go up, brain struggling, because you just keep thinking about that hickey on his shoulder. And it makes you angry that he's irritated, and agitated after drinking. You can bet you have way more beef with him than he with you.

"Big deal, I brushed you off once, you need to get over your pride some time. Like it's cracking me that that's what you've been hung up on. Becasue I told you to back off, you've been refusing to hug me for six months?"

You bang the back of your head on the window glass as you throw it up. The last thing you need right now is lectures and complaints, but it's refreshing that Yoongi would speak in such long sentences.

"You replaced me already", you hum, like it's an unbeatable argument that is made of gold.

You hope he shuts up and decides to douse the tension in one last hookup. You're down for it. Arguments are tiresome and feel unnatural with him, the guy who prefers to tuck everything in and walk away before it spills out. You realize he isn't actually talking anymore, but his eyes are studying the window behind you as if he's considering breaking it.

"And you replaced me?"

It sounds like a half question, like he's not sure. The intonation going up. Suddenly you think of whales and their gentle, lonely calls, but also, about the wind, whistling in between the crooked branches. The 'fuck it' is announced without being uttered, as your hands reach in the half-dark for his pants. He isn't wearing a belt so your fingers crush into the hem of the jeans and go straight to the button. Yoongi's palm covers them, squeezes your fingers almost with rage, stopping you roughly, but he steps closer, and the last thing you see is the frame of his glasses. He kisses you, at the same time as you kiss him, mumbling something about the last time, just to be sure, your mouth opens simultaneously with your legs. Yoongi's hand slides off yours and grabs your side aggressively, hungrily; a month was the longest you'd gone on without jumping each other's bones, so it's not the withdrawal. It's something else. You tug on his jeans, unsure to unbutton them because you've read his gesture clearly. There's people behind the door. He lifts you up with one arm and sits you on the window sill and your arm snakes around him, touching the back, fingers clinging to every inch of his thick, white, moving body. Kisses slurp in bites, his tongue makes you dizzy. He has never kissed you like that before; not when he was needy, not when he was very horny, not when he was vulnerable which didn't happen often. Guess it's one of the bright colours of making out with a human; they surprise you. The love rises from the depths of your guts, making its painful way up, and you bend and lean against him, trying to feel his body pressed to yours. Yoongi's hand clutches on the top you're wearing like he's trying to tear it off you.

"Do they know it was once covered all over in my cum?" he grunts against your cheek, and your spine shakes like he's done a spell on it. Tiny shivers under his fingers. You grab his neck.

"I don't casually go around telling that to people".

His warm, hard hand sneaks under the fabric, fingers count the ribs, then pinch them, and his mouth slides lower, across your cheek and to your throat. You wish you could stay there forever. The blue and green in your inner mind, darkness around, and Yoongi clinging on you like he's turning during the full moon. You hear his glasses click against the plastic as he takes them off, then his hand returns to the small of your back and presses. He smells so familiar already that it feels like it's going to be your doom; you know all his scents, you're afraid. Eros by Versace, white vanilla detergent on his clothes, blueberry chewing gum, the leather of his car, cloudberry conditioner in his hair, and the skin smell, the clean smell that he has, the perfume no one can replicate and you can't explain. Unfortunately you love all of them, really love in the most genuine way, and it makes you sob all of a sudden, but you mask it as a moan. Yoongi hisses, letting go of your neck, and his hand makes its way up to cover your mouth. In the dark you see his eyes as he kisses the back of his palm. Can he even love you the way you have come to love him. Is he capable of that, with his fixation on his work. Constantly caught up in thinking about how to round up the beat, and how a bridge will come out, his head poking out above the chair, is he even capable of loving someone. He pulls you, your legs made of wool, deeper, looking for an empty room with a lock, and, preferably, optionally, without a cctv hidden somewhere in the foot of a desk.

You barely pay attention to the room; the dark eats away at it. You two, connected at the mouths, hands on each other's ribs, in each other's hair, stumble backwards, like a limping monster, trying to find a place to land. The space around spins; there's nothing but Yoongi, and if he pulled you after himself into a chasm, you'd only clutch his hand tightly. He kicks something behind you, and your calves feel the soft of a couch, and it's the signal to turn. Yoongi crashes onto it, making the vision you've had a fraction of a second ago, reality: you fall, fall into the darkness, guided by his well-studied hands, tracing the veins on the backs of his big palms, a little dry. The shape of them holding you tightly is something you want your mind, drunk or sober, to never forget. You might not have him after this, tomorrow, but now you land on his lap, knees spread, his hand on your back under the crop top, scratching lightly with his short-cut nails. His fingertips are the best - slightly rough from guitar, but sensitive; Yoongi has memorized all the spots on your body, dividing it into "yes-no-maybe" zones for scratching. He knows the "yes-yes" zone just around your spine, it makes you arch your back as you grind your hips against him. You like him for not being too chatty during moments like these; his breathing lets you know. The hardening of his cock is obvious through two pairs of jeans. Falling apart, you think about the mess of it all: you don't have any spare clothes, no extra underwear, and this one is already no good, soaked through. Your hands grab the back of his head again and hold on for dear life as Yoongi guides your hips against his, forehead pressed to your collarbone, your gentle mid-sized giant with dry, soft hair and prominent neck muscles. His shoulders, lean, strong, work under your hands, wet mouth grabbing at your breast through the top. He can't see shit without his glasses or lenses, and especially so in the relative dark, where the only light comes through the windows from the nearby buildings; so sensory study is all that's left to him. When Yoongi is ready to undress, he usually produces a sort of a tired sigh-groan, and then his fingers start pinching at your flesh. But now he doesn't. The alcohol is spinning your head, the heat in your core pooling, and you sort of forget where what is. The only thing that matters is to find his puffy lips again, bearing the taste of mint and whiskey. You raise yourself to deepen the kiss, and Yoongi pushes you back hard, lifting his own hips to connect. The breath is caught somewhere in the ribs, shiver crunching the body, but his hand steadies you in comforting strokes. You are trying to breathe, you really do, but it comes out in gushes, sometimes audibly, as your fingers trace his beautiful face. Yoongi is so good at making you come undone; you barely control your own body, he becomes the puppeteer at the thunderous wave of your feeling. The arousal at this point is animalistic, coming up to your throat, making you mumble. Not talk - talking is banned in between you, but the unconnected shreds of words dripping off your lips, that he catches with his teeth, are okay.

"I want you".

"No, I want you more".

You feel his shoulder flex as he lifts your hips, depriving you of the pressure of his groin, and you immediately whine.

"Oh no, I spoiled you", he whispers, Daegu words blurring with each other, his voice a soft purr. He turns you, pushing on the stomach, and you lie down, and his hands start working immediately, mouth at its favourite activitiy: tracing the lines of your shuddering stomach. Yoongi undoes the jeans and pulls them down together with the underwear. His fingers plunge immediately into you, without a warning, and you produce a silent shriek. Hands searching for him, nails digging into the massive of his shoulders. Yoongi likes the way his own words sounded: I spoiled you. Likes the absolute mess that you are, squirming at his touch, he feels appreciated, wanted, needed. He never managed to make anyone like this before; he has made a quiet unspoken promise long time ago to never tell anyone about it. About how you seem to lose your sentience when his lips are below the solar plexus. He is in love with this sensation. He wants to keep it going, but can't; he can't think; he pulls down his jeans because he wants to fuck you senseless, fuck you into amnesia, and himself; so that tomorrow the things are easier and clearer; you're a blurry silhouette for him, moving against the sea of darkness, the buoy he's swimming towards, and the tighter you cling onto him, the better. He feels cradled, he feels loved. It feels hot inside of you, incredibly tight, you always wrap your legs around his waist like a monkey, trying to push him deeper even when it starts hurting the hips. The best thing - you both cannot come easily because you're drunk, so it just goes on and on, the swimming, the touching, your sounds blooming like flowers on fruit trees. He thinks of sampling them, putting them within the underbeat, masking them, but using them; he has been trying to figure out the beat that would describe the way he feels with you: sharp hip bone in his hand, the heel of your foot on his leg, the tasty chemical of your peach fragrance that he licked clean off your throat. It's the frustration of never finding the right melody, because making music requires love, and he is too busy to allow it to himself, so he just fucks like there's no tomorrow, apologizing through his embrace, dripping feelings off the tips of his hair.

─────────────────────────────────────

A whole month away is good. For Yoongi. He gets to travel across all Asia and do some hiking, turn his phone off and just be completely alone. Not to think, he doesn't want to think, he wants to have his brains blank and just see pines, and the slope of the mountain, the birds soaring above, and the flowers fluttering in the wind. But the thoughts come by themselves; he realizes it's a trap that he had set for himself. Because mountains remind him of you, and he finally starts understanding what exactly makes the connection. It's the feeling of freedom, good loneliness and realness that they provide.

Relationships are promises, ruined plans, unplanned arguments, ridiculous commitments and distractions. Yoongi knows himself very well: he is not a multitasking person, and when he is in love, which thankfully doesn't happen often, he is beside himself with the feeling, and it affects work. Sometimes positively, sometimes negatively. It's been so comfortable, so well-organized - living in his independence bubble - that he is pushing the ghost away, because the ghost is whispering scary things to him. Coffee dates; he imagines sitting with you in a place in Yongsan-gu and watching your face and your beaded necklace not matching your band tee. He imagines you in his hoodies; you have stolen none of them, you always abstained from going through his things, touching him too much, and now he realizes it was because he had pushed you away that one time. He imagines you'll be trouble, headache, high maintenance. If you had been sore, had held on that grudge for almost a year, over a thing he had almost forgotten. He imagines these fights will make him feel so alive. You riding in his car, on your phone; cooking; lying in bed with one knee across his belly - all those things have already happened, but from sensual they are now turning warm. Yoongi understands he is losing, he is already taking this weight upon himself, little by little, because in the mountains he refuses to wear his earbuds and listen to music, and the silence is the ghost that follows him around, hammering the truth he's been avoiding into his brain. He imagines your hand gripping his palm, so hard that he yelps in pain, as you turn your face away, and the line of your jaw exposes the little birthmark you have on your neck. He's been kissing that birthmark in secret for months, pleased that you will never guess why he's choosing that very spot specifically.

You brew a coffee. Every time you're bored, the recipes become more and more complex, you keep adding ingredients until the coffee either sends you to heaven or is undrinkable. By now, there's cinnamon, star anise, almond syrup, and now... you're eyeing mint like it's about to jump you. Yolo, you think, and add a little mint, and it's still a success. You're becoming a coffee extraordinaire, you think; even if no one else appreciates your inventive mixing skills.

Jimin is there, of course; cruising around you like an albatross, appreciating every little thing about you. But his presence is breezy, light: he is a natural flirt and it doesn't set off any of your alarms. It seems he simply likes being around you. You see glasses case that he puts in another hand as he takes the coffee from you.

"Never seen you wearing glasses for real?" you're surprised.

"These are not for me, I picked them up from the store for hyung. He doesn't leave his little evil studio these days, got back to the 7AM schedule".

He shrugs. 7AM schedule with Yoongi means he works all night and goes to sleep at 7AM for about three hours, then gets up and goes back to working.

"He never found his glasses?"

"No".

"Somebody must have stolen them", you muse, recalling how they were left lying on the window sill.

"It's weird, normally he only loses things if they cost more than a thousand bucks", he snickers. You're expecting a feedback. Jimin's tastebuds have proven to be professionally sensitive: he is picky with food and always gives an honest opinion of the coffee. He frowns first, his huge eyes focused on the cup, full lips moving like he's chewing. Jimin is charismatic while doing nothing, and he definitely wouldn't have a problem with you, so you wonder why you can't just unlove Yoongi and fall for him instead. Or better, for nobody at all. Even in his brother's face, you're searching for his familiar features, but there aren't any. Jimin looks like a genie who will grant your wishes in the most perverted way so that you'll feel sorry after.

"It's... good?" he is, himself, shocked. "It makes me want to go to Morocco".

"That's an unorthodox review".

"You should get a patent. Name it Faux Morocco Latte and you'll be rich".

"I already have a rich inner world".

He chuckles ironically at that, keeping the cup close to his lips. His phone rings.

"Oh, there he is. I think he needs his glasses", Jimin ignores the call from Yoongi, putting his phone on the desk. "Let him wait a little, right?"

He pats you lightly on the shoulder, like he is siding with you on something. Like that one friend who is ready to smother your ex with her bare hands without needing to know the details. You are slightly bothered by it.

Yoongi lifts his arm and puts his hand into his hair, his eyes fixated on a spot on the desk. The underside of his shoulder is tense, he freezes in this position, thinking, and you can't avoid looking at him even though your eyes move. Your spot is never next to him, it's always a little away, in the back, not at the table. You do not see it as derogatory: without your work, they can't do it, and the hierarchy is there for a reason. When idols are present during the meetings with usual staff like you, everybody feels sorry for them. There go the scapegoats, the puppets, the clowns. Everybody is nice to them because they all have two features: beauty and lack of autono-

"I don't give a shit", Yoongi says calmly.

You doodle in your pad; these meetings are a must, and most often not a word is spoken about your area of work, so you just kill your time looking at Yoongi; at least something. Now everybody is looking at him.

The manager raises his eyebrows. He looks tired all the time.

"Sorry?"

Yoongi leaves his hair alone and places his hand on the desk, wrist caught in a hair tie.

"I said I don't give a shit about the deadline".

Namjoon purses his lips producing dimples. His silence indicates that he agrees with Yoongi. One by one, Bangtan Boys usually stand behind each other, but it always takes a first brave mouth to say something outrageous. Taehyung is rubbing his lower lip absent-mindedly. Yoongi's eyes are puffy, he gives the manager an unaffected shark-like stare that masters openness and simultaneously, stubbornness of a rock.

"It's there for a reason".

"We had discussed the update, and Taehyung hasn't slept in three days".

Taehyung doesn't even hear him.

"What about you?" manager asks softly, trying to lead Yoongi away from his deadly determination.

"I'm working. I'm fine".

His eyes start searching the room, landing everywhere except you. You cross your legs and go back to your pad.

"A week is fine", Namjoon adds, to defuse the tension. After a little back and forth the manager gives up. He always does; he's not the real boss here. Everybody gets up, the important people first: manager leaves the room pacing, hurrying to implement the schedule corrections, J-Hope leaves darker than a storm cloud, which is unusual for him; you gather your things from the floor: you're in a habit of just putting your bag and phone next to the chair since you're sitting at the glass wall. The line at the door gradually disperses and you walk to exit the meeting room but Yoongi turns his head, still sitting, and looks straight at you with a completely different stare. He doesn't say anything, so you just look at him and move on, but Taehyung closes the door in front of you like he didn't notice, and walks away. You see his back through the grey-transparent glass.

"Y/N", Yoongi sounds tired, more tired than he did a minute ago. His back hunched, he is softer, more undone.

"Huh, CEO?"

In spite of himself, he gives out a smile, and his teeth scrape over his lower lip, which makes you wince.

"What do you want?" you say quickly, colder, trying to wrap yourself up, zip up, close up. His hand reaches out but you're too far away, ready at the door, wondering what kind of games he is playing. The fatigue is obvious on his face but thankfully it's not your burden anymore. It does pull on your strings though, so in an attempt to keep up the strength, you frown.

"You win", he says. His words are round, it's the best shape. "I lose".

He stands up, and you want to roll your eyes, not with annoyance, but with an overwhelming feeling of unwillingness. The labour of trying to get over him is draining you like there's a huge gash somewhere that's dripping blood. Every time he is in close vicinity of you, the stream becomes only bigger, it's mentally tiring. Fighting feelings is exhausting. Yoongi is reaching for you, his face an impression of quiet need, and you try to avert his arm, a crusty cut on his elbow, gently. He goes for a timid hug with one hand and you grow stiff, putting up your shoulder. You end up straining your neck, chin up while Yoongi performs the softest forced hug. He needs to press his forehead into you, because he hasn't eaten in twelve hours, and he is so frustrated and a little terrified, and you are the smell of home.

The man of few words. His actions speak much louder.

What's even louder is the music that's on the USB he shoves into your hand. You listen to it at home, sitting away from the laptop like it can see your embarrassed face going through motions. The beats are clean, the rawest you've heard. Yoongi has his own way of polishing music that always makes it crisp like the air in January. They have no words, because it's Yoongi. But the beats, the melodies, talk to you. They sound like the night you met, when you caught rain on your hand to soothe it. Sound like his voice filling the space of his car, and like the hiss of the coffee machine, like the shuffling of your sheets, and like the streets, muffled by the windows, hooting outside. His melodies sound like the wind and the voices of pine trees, their ancient blood singing inside the hard bark. Sound like the sea. The music he has written and named after you sounds like he is diving for pearls and swimming up, panting, like he has given up to something. It's the crack of your hip getting back into place, and the click of his phone, the purr he produces when falling asleep. It's his flowers. The dark circles under his eyes mean he has gotten over the block, and two days after giving the USB to you he calls, and there's an audible strain in his voice, because he is learning to speak:

"I can't give you all those things that are normal, you know".

"Like what?" you are spiteful, although you understand his regret. He doesn't even go grocery shopping. All food is delivered to his house. Last time he got to walk around the city, he got ecstatic and wouldn't stop talking about it for weeks. He was like a child, describing the feeling of the asphalt in Gangseo-gu next to the botanic garden under his foot; you felt deeply sorry for him. Right until the point he mentioned having to borrow the jet again, because he wants to go visit a friend in America.

"Like walking home from a bar at night together, like, holding hands".

"Sounds like it's your fantasies".

"That's all I have".

You tell him you don't want to be the glaring vortex hole in his schedule, sucking in meetings, messing up sleep, putting a strain on the well-spinning parts of the mechanism. He replies it's too late for that. And for once, he actually sounds happy.

─────────────────────────────────────

He points his finger:

"The line where the red roofs end? That's the Osaka Bay".

"If I get a really good start", you muse, "and have like a very big umbrella, can I jump and glide all the way there?"

He thinks about it seriously. Squirms his face in the sun like a sleepy cat. His black eyes blink.

"You'll fly for around seven seconds".

His hand touches the side of your head and then slides down to your shoulder, then moving your closer, pressing you into his side. The air is so fresh that it's putting you to sleep, and the tears in your eyes, provoked by the wind, make everything around seem blurry. Like you're in a cartoon. Like it's a dream. The sea far in the distance shines in separate flashes of sunlight.

"There was no need for that", you mutter, cosying up next to him, clutching on his big arm. His neck smells like aftershave and raspberries. The curse hisses in between his teeth, fingers pinch your cheek lightly. Then go back to your shoulder and start drumming a rhythm; writing music off the closeness of you. You leave the slope of the mountain together, at the same time.

[meallaaoi]

Not @prismatic-bell here, but as someone who's worked in a grocery store for, uh... *counts* A Long Time (including as a cashier/cashier supervisor, and in Scan File, the department responsible for all the price tags in the store): The main problem, as I understand it, is that the OVERWHELMING majority of grocery stores in the US are part of large, multi-state chains/corporations. For example:

The store I work at is part of a corporation that includes 3 major grocery store chains, with locations that cover the entire East Coast, from Maine down to Florida. The particular chain I work at is in the north of that area.

All of the price tags in the store are sent to us from the corporation's Central Office. They arrive on the Saturday night truck, and then (VERY) early Sunday morning (usually the shift is 3am-10:30am, but this part has to be done by store opening at 7am), Scan File staff (usually 2 people) puts them out on the shelves for any product which is changing price that week.

The price on the shelf tags has to be the base, pre-sales-tax price of the item, for a number of reasons:

Each individual store is going to have to deal with a different final amount of sales tax, based on the state/county/city the store is in - two stores less than 5 miles from each other could theoretically have different sales tax laws applied if they're in different jurisdictions (note: if this was the only consideration, it might theoretically be reasonable to expect each store to receive shelf tags with the after-tax cost based on local tax law. However.)

The final calculation of how much a given order is charged in sales tax (because yes, the calculation is done based on the taxable dollar amount of the order/transaction amount, not piecemeal for each individual item) is done by the store's Point of Sale system, which makes those calculations based on the specific location of the store, with several other considerations, such as:

Some items are subject to sales tax in one jurisdiction, but not in another

Some items are subject to sales tax in some transactions, but not in others (such as when food items that are normally taxed, like candy or soda, are paid for with SNAP/food stamps (obligatory reminder not to judge the purchases a person makes with their SNAP card), meaning no sales tax can be applied, *except* if certain types of coupons were used during the transaction)

Some states have 5 cent deposits on things like disposable beverage containers, or fees for single-use grocery bags, and those amounts may be subject to sales tax, but would not be reflected in the price tag for an item on the shelf

Some purchases made by/for charitable/non-profit organizations are wholly tax-exempt

I'm sure there are other factors that could play into the final sales tax cost for a given item/transaction/location, but honestly I had moderate-major surgery less than a week ago and my brain is still rather fuzzy, so, uh... miscellaneous?

Remember: all of a given store's shelf tags are printed and distributed from their central office. There's no way that all of the different factors which influence the total, after-tax amount paid for an item in a specific store can be accounted for in a shelf tag that's about 2 square inches, and needs to be easily readable/legible at a glance as a customer walks down an aisle.

So. The price on the shelf tag is the base, pre-tax price of the item, and it's expected that a shopper knows enough about the sales tax laws in their jurisdiction (along with any other potentially-complicating factors about their individual status/transaction) to be able to guesstimate/keep track of the final cost of their order, which is calculated precisely at point-of-sale.

(Sorry for the wall-of-text, this is just something that's pretty decently In My Wheelhouse, also distraction from post-surgery discomfort, so, uh... yeah. Hope it helps!)

The US vs the World

[millzinterlude]

MORE AUTISTIC SIMON MORE AUTISTIC SIMON MORE AUTISTIC SIMON

thank u:3

- 😜

Hi 😜!! More Autistic!Simon for my enthusiasts 😭🫶🏽

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Autistic!Simon whose been spending the last couple of nights staying up and looking for the perfect ring. It has to be perfect. An engagement and wedding ring that embodies you to the T. Your past conversations had made it clear that you didn’t care about the rings, it was about the fact that you two were getting married, but he cared. He’s too particular to NOT care. He even goes inside of jewelry stores to pick out rings despite his immense distaste for going out in public. But see, some rings are too big and it annoys him how they slip off his fingers, some are too small and hug his finger in a weird way that makes him immensely uncomfortable. It’s not until he comes across two beautiful diamond rings, one is 1.0 carats and the other is 1.5 carats and sculpted beautifully. It reminds him of you so much. Only downside is that he isn’t a fan of the mens matching ring, he’s not a ring guy anyways and if he were to wear one he wants a simple silver band. But this one was encrusted with diamonds, and the band was too rough for his liking, it made his face twist up. But the ring for you was perfect, and it was bundled so he couldn’t even switch it out. He sighed as he glanced between both rings, his face scowling even more before he sighed. It was just a texture thing, he doesn’t understand why it makes him feel so uncomfortable but it just does. He supposes it’s the same reason he prefers 100% cotton shirts with the back tag cut out instead of a cotton poly blend. (Trust he can definitely tell the difference.) He doesn’t prefer jeans either but he’s grown used to wearing them and he can ignore the discomfort for the most part. “It’s jus’ a ring. Don’ be a wuss.” He tells himself. So he buys the rings, sighing and frowning all the way home, one hand on the steering wheel as he fiddles with his pocket knife over and over. Now he’s got to plan the perfect engagement too.

(This one was very short and anticlimactic but I plan on making at least 4 more blurbs for this sweet lil guy! :3)

Taggies: @sharpaysbestfriend @sordayciega @xmonsterxenergyx

[theoreticalfemdom]

Hear me out.

Bodyguard trope with one of the COD men, but I steady of a bratty 20-something princess, it's a middle-aged, independent career woman with trust issues and strong morals who is struggling to accept she cannot fight through this particular threat alone.

What do we think? (Feel free to use the idea, just tag me so I can read it pls :] ).

[ohnoproblems]

Would you be so kind as to recommend a few power metal albums by trans women? Seeing as Bandcamp Friday is coming up and it would be good to see what sorts of tracks I'm going to have to produce.

there is a hole in the cultural tapestry that the Encouraging Trans Women's Power Metal Concept Albums Metric (ETWPMCAM) seeks to address. my prior investigations haven't come up with much, unfortunately, but there is something out there. allow me to point you towards the artists Alicia Cordisco, Leona Hayward, and Melissa Moore (okay melissa doesn't strictly do power metal but she's cool). if you look at their current and prior bands you'll see a whole lot to dig into (with particular nods towards Judicator and Skelator and with the caveat that Absu is a complicated one because when moore came out as trans, the other member was a shithead about it so she left and took the bulk of musical talent with her).

moore's current band is Sonja, with one album released: Loud Arriver. i'm listening to it right now and lemme tell you: it fucking rips. bandcamp tags suggest she categorizes her stylings as more on the heavy/trad end of metal with a frisson of goth and post-punk. between this and the fact that the album's lyrics do not mention a single named princess, it is sadly exempt from counting towards a positive ETWPMCAM hit. she's still on the hook. but listen to it anyway, it fucking rips.

cordisco and hayward have collaborated quite a bit in several bands spanning several genres (i'm currently savoring the chance to dig into Wraithstorm once i finish listening to all this power metal), but most relevant to the metric are Justicar and the now-defunct Project: Roenwolfe. i'm cranking P:R's Edge of Saturn for the first time as we speak. it's pretty cool. across three albums, they included three parts (one apiece) of an overarching "Saturn Saga", totaling 16:55 of runtime.

if Project: Roenwolfe had continued that pace of inclusion, then in another 3-4 albums they would have reached the 40 minute minimum runtime bound for concept albums as necessitated by the ETWPMCAM. though maybe that strategy would only count if they had then put out some sort of Saturn Saga Compilation that combined all extant and hypothetical tracks into one continuous narrative. much to consider.

justicar's debut album promises to be an adaptational retelling of timothy zahn's trilogy of novels about grand admiral thrawn for the star wars extended universe. this is excellent news for the metric, but it's not out yet - though they do have an EP out about a different timothy zahn novel. i'm listening now. it's killer. adaptations count as concepts for the purposes of the ETWPMCAM imho as long as they're dedicating at least, again, 40 minutes of album runtime towards laying it out.

now leona hayward, she's got a band called Owlbear. i'm listening to it right now, as we speak. it's blowing my tits clean off. i'm looking at the lyrical content and i'm seeing songs about D&D (including the Dark Sun setting), i'm seeing record of lodoss war, i'm seeing fire emblem - there's a broad net here and they're casting it to fill two albums with absolutely rippin' miscellany. if they tighten the lens of focus to a single concept, then we at the ETWPMCAM tabulation office will have ourselves a HIT.

this was just from what i already knew bolstered with several hours' digging on bandcamp and metal archives. doubtless there's more trans women out there in metal - and the louder we are then the more out there in the metal scene and beyond can hear that and realize they can be loud like us!

but for the purposes of the ETWPMCAM - that is, determining if there is a power metal album out there exploring a single cohesive narrative concept for the majority of its runtime (à la Rhapsody of Fire's Emerald Sword Saga, Dragonland's Under the Grey Banner, Galloglass's Legends from Now and Nevermore, Unleash the Archers' Apex & Abyss duology, to give a few examples) which would not have existed without at least one trans woman's dedicated and direct creative input? i have got nothing. we have a long way to go.

anyway, to anyone in a power metal band with already-released concept albums reading this: it's never too late and don't die wondering. would LOVE to retroactively increase the metric.

[distort-opia]

I’m begging, pleading if you will for some longer batjokes fic recommendations that are less mainstream (as I’ve read most of the popular ones) because I just finished your timeloop fic and OH MY GOD IT WAS SO GOOD IM GONNA CRY WOWOW YOU CAN WRITE THEM SO WELL.

so now I guess I thought who better to find more fics from that my fav batjokes fic writer!

First of all, thank you for the kind words! I'm really glad you enjoyed REMS, and I'm flattered you think of me as your favorite writer. I hope I can recommend some multi-chaptered, longer fics you don't already know of... but bear in mind, I haven't been able to keep up with recent fanfic a lot-- real life and a PhD are kicking my ass.

Maybe you already know of the #48 verse, The Eternal Batman Universe, City Goblins, matchjokes, Two sided blade soul mate theory, Enemies With Benefits and the jaxverse series? I assume fics over 1k kudos might be considered mainstream... So I tried to go for stories with a lower number of kudos that are relatively recent, or older fics that might not be well known by newer fans. Either way, they're a mix of Universes, with a bias for comicverse because that's my jam. Some of these I haven't managed to read fully, but I am reccing either because I liked what I did read or I heard very good things from friends.

Needless to say, check the tags carefully before reading! I am only including some short summaries and word counts. Do leave the authors some love if you like the story, and check out their other stuff. The list got pretty long, so I'm putting the recs (in no particular order) under the cut.

Ghosts of a Future Lost by messageredacted (15k+, complete)

Wayne Manor has been rebuilt, but things just aren’t the same as they used to be. Something is stirring old memories, and not just Bruce’s…

Strange Comradery in Arkham by Vampowerment (series, 45k+ words)

Bruce Wayne checks himself into Arkham because he considers himself a danger to himself and others, but only Joker seems to understand why.

Blood of the Covenant by batjokesinlove (28k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce is attacked by a horrifying monster, he finds himself turned into a creature of the night with a thirst for human blood. Although he retains his humanity, he wrestles with his need for blood and his desire to maintain his code. That is until an unlikely person offers up himself up to Batman as his own personal blood bank.

Inside the Music Box by MargueritePoretesDefenseAttorney (series, 116k+ words)

A dark comedy where the Batkids are very suspicious of Bruce's new boyfriend, a strange man who looks oddly familiar . . .

Bygone Boy by Masterofceremonies (25k+ words, WIP)

Bruce is millionaire in the public eye. His husband, Jack, is a widely known, largely mysterious artist, famous for his borderline illegal exhibitions. Their marriage has been a happy one. Mostly. Until Jack goes missing, and Bruce becomes suspect #1.

Induced Labor by fractualized (29k+ words, WIP)

After a fight in an illegal magic shop results in Bruce impregnating Joker, at least things can't get any more bizarre— except of course they can.

A Rule for A Rule by Severus_divides_into_H (34k+ words, WIP)

When Bruce walks into his new elementary school classroom, the first thing he sees is green. Green hair, green eyes, green sweater with a clown on it, green pants that look way too big. A decade later, he looks at the Joker, and all he sees is a person he once loved.

This Strange Effect by battybrownboo (19k+ words, WIP)

Batman and the Justice League are forced to harbor Joker when he accidentally gets beamed up to the Watchtower. But a clown in space will be the least of their problems.

Life is so much better when you're dead by toluenesister (167k+ words, complete)

During the two years following the Joker's escape from Arkham, Gotham gradually becomes rid of its criminal element in a particularly ghastly way. The appearances of Batman and the Joker become more and more scarce as well to the point of vanishing from the public eye, leaving the city's crime rate at an all time low. At the same time, Carmine's daughter, Sofia Falcone, decides to rebuild her father's organization, but in the course of gathering resources she accidentally finds out what both Batman and the Joker have been preoccupied with while they were away from the streets.

Dissolve & Absolve by toluenesister (63k+ words, complete)

One day the Joker decides to lay his mark on what is his, but he doesn't anticipate the magnitude of what is about to unravel.

through a glass, darkly by itallstartedwithdefenestration (series, 156k+ words)

Three months after Batman effectively disappears from society, Bruce Wayne goes to work for the Joker.

Blank Canvas by Vampowerment (21k+ words, WIP)

When Eric Border, an orderly at Arkham and an ally to Batman, tries to build a life outside of his work, he somehow keeps running into Gotham's darling, Bruce Wayne.

Hope We Can Again by blackbatsx (22k+ words, WIP)

Their original counterparts are long gone but what do you do when the universe (or multiverse for that matter) presents you with another opportunity to try again?

a world with love by railroadman, slaapkat (48k+ words, series)

A canon-divergent universe where Bruce and Joker really do love each other.

In the claws of the Owl by orphan_account (27k+ words, complete)

The Owlman, the Great bird of Sorrows, White King of Gotham, is barely human any more. There is something terrifying about the secret tyrant of Gotham who is watching all the time. The Red Hood wishes he didn't love him. The Owl had tried to drown him in chemicals, murdered his family, broken him again and again with torture, but this time Owlman has something worse in mind for his favorite pet enemy.

Kintsugi Elseworld by a_stands_for (20k+ words, complete)

A suspiciously insistent Zatanna reads Bruce's fortune, which somehow leads to an adventure in a parallel universe--one where the Joker wears a mask and cape and fights at Batman's side.

The Heart by slire (20k+ words, complete)

The Joker, sick and heartbroken, plans to recreate himself. Another scheme is in motion; one that'll shake his darling to the core and break the Bat like no one else can.

I'll Tell You No Lies by TheMidnightOwl (29k+ words, complete)

Earth-22. One mistake was all it took. In the months that pass after Bruce accidentally kills a hired gun, he must reevaluate his life, his methods, and his mission. He remembers everything the Joker has ever said to him, every taunt he ever made, every similarity they share, and this time he's listening. This time he gets the joke.

Acts of Agression by vojavodun (series, 30k+ words)

Batman confronts the Joker in a skyscraper and the night's events get physical.

Bring Down The House by ArgentNoelle (53k+ words, complete)

The Joker is the greatest performance of Jack’s life.

Madness, Domesticated by thatsnotfunny (56k+, WIP)

Bruce Wayne offers to rehabilitate Joker at the manor for the holidays. But which of them needed socialization the most?

Love isn't brains, it's blood by cutting_capers (27k+ words, complete)

He was speaking before even choosing to. “But, so many lives. If you care about Gotham, how can you end so many lives?” Bruce shook his head but was then startled out of his own daze by the raised voice of Joker across from him. “I don’t care about their lives. I care about yours!” Joker stabbed a finger in his direction, his other hand balled in a fist and his entire body rigid. After just a few moments, though, the tension broke, a high pitch of laughter bubbling out of Joker. His eyes drifted about. “They do say I’m crazy. I must be.”

Arkham by AnonGrimm (74k+ words, complete)

The Joker has landed in Arkham again with a long sentence ahead of him in solitary. While plotting his next escape, he gets a visit from the Batman. Two-Face has been wreaking havoc and Batman wants Joker to divulge clues in how to stop him or cure his madness. Joker pretends to listen as a new game begins to bloom in his fractured mind. Can he crack that cold strength and find a weakness, find a way to warp the Bat?

The Bliss of Ignorance by Crashingthisbane (Sitarsitar) (34k+ words, complete)

After getting a concussion, Bruce loses his memory. Joker crafts a new past for him. He tells Bruce that the two of them are crime-fighting partners, weaving a tangled web of half-truths and plain lies. Complex feelings ensue, for both Joker and Bruce.

Yes And by limeta (41k+ words, complete)

The Joker "yes ands" his way into having a mental breakdown. Kidnapping Tim Drake and a bunch of Rogues isn't helping. Especially because he isn't the Joker, of course, but Bruce Wayne's newest secretary. Cut him some slack, he's just trying to run some errands!

[admiralicepop]

@yukalovestopgungays Thanks for the tag!!!

So I here are my side quests I wanna do in no particular order:

1. I’m thinking of going to college (side quest cuz it have nothing to do with my profession)

2. Start to run and actually complete at least a half-marathon

3. I wanna take flight lessons but we don’t have many options here so that might take a while

4. Making an atelier in my old garage that no one uses anymore (my mom and I do all kinds of art and crafts so we need the space for supplies)

5. Always wanted to learn how to dance (all kinds, Zumba, rumba, tango, Croatian traditional dances)

6. Going back to singing, trying out the solo singing, maybe taking some lessons to get even better

7. Doing a big American road trip

8. Have my personal library (apparently if you have a thousand books it automatically becomes a library so all I need is 950 books)

9. Start to write

10. Try kick boxing

Tagging: @cars-go-neeooom

Inventing a tag game-

What are some side quests you want to do? They can be completely unserious, maybe hobbies you want to pursue sonetime or something utterly outlandish?

I have quite a few. In no particular order-

1. Figure skating. Don't want to compete or anything. Just casually want to be able to do this.

2. Contemporary dance.

3. Being in the orchestra as a background vocalist of atleast 1 Sufjan Stevens song.

4. Leaning how to play the piano, how to crochet and pottery

5. Publishing a poetry collection, a novel and releasing an album in the same year, getting famous enough that I earn enough money to pick up a painting hobby.

6. Major in English Literature with a psychology minor (for context, I'm preparing for med school)

7. Having collections (of fossils, coins etc etc)

8. Giving a ted talk.

9. Owning obsure clothing and jewellery (fish tie, odd graphic tees, knife earrings etc etc)

10. Having a room where every square cenitmeter (METRIC USERS UNITE) has posters or vinyls or plants. Maximalist wet dream.

Tagging my mutuals -

@glitteredbubbles @youraveragestreetlamp @xxcherryberriezxx @florenceandthejellybean @wilsons-three-legged-siamese

@lc-27 @la-luna-del-lupo @yourfavvgal @scrunchybugzzz @clodyghost @nicoandthepoets

@sillyhyperfixator @sensationalstardust @lv3buzzz @ace-misplaced

[shaddork]

Fic Recs - Masterlist

These are in no particular order, but descriptions, pairings, and links will all be included. For more detail on tags etc you will have to go look through them yourself, this is not meant to be exhaustive. More or less a list of fics that I really like and recommend. I like a lot of angst and darker content (not that all of these are like that!) so make sure it's a fic that you're able to handle.

Main Masterlist Updated: 4/30/2025

04:19 by deedoodaadee - Jason Todd/Reader & Dick Grayson/reader

A phone call from Dick reminds you that you can run all you want but all the problems you try to leave behind will catch up to you eventually. What will you do then?

Dear Daddy Long Legs by AthenaGC94 - Jason Todd/Reader

“I’m looking for an application for a scholarship.” “You didn’t have to hack our systems to apply for a scholarship,” Tim deadpanned, “I wasn’t aware you could go to college if you’re legally dead.” His eye twitched. “I’m looking for an applicant,” he amended, “She already applied.” Tim finally looked at him. “She?”

Devoted Little Thing by teklarn - Jason Todd/Reader

After the death of your boyfriend, Jason Todd, your life has never been the same. You abandon everything you've ever known: your job working for Batman as a detective, your home, your friends. That is until three years after his death, your life is saved by a mysterious vigilante calling himself the Red Hood. You assume it was a one-off; that the infamous anti-hero just happened to be in the right place at the right time. But you're finding his calling card everywhere. He's around every single corner―you can't seem to get rid of him. The mystery of his identity brings you back to Bruce in hopes of finding out who he is. But as intimidating as the Red Hood is, with his blurry morals and all, you can't help but find yourself falling for him. Maybe he's the answer to your loneliness.

Josie and the Pussycat by insert_cooler_username - Jason Todd/Reader

“Got your letter,” he grumbles, coming closer, looming over your supine form. A mass of muscle and leather and anger. “Is that what you really want?” “What?” you snap out. “A divorce?” You scoff, shaking your head at him. “No, what I want is a husband that will actually come home and raise his kid like he promised. But instead I have someone who follows us around on rooftops and lurks in the shadows thinking he’s some silent protector and not a fucking deadbeat. So yeah, I’ll settle for a divorce. It’s the next best thing I have.” - Your husband left you before he could fuck things up. Too bad he still is when he appears in your life several years later, on the advent of your move from Gotham, and asks to meet his daughter. The past is a hard pill to swallow, but Josie deserves a dad. You just have to make sure you don't pussy out of seeing Jason again. Or, at least, that you don't kill each other.

My Beloved Lazarus by MrsJasonTodd - Jason Todd/OC

“When he had said these things, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out.” The man who had died came out, his hands and feet bound with linen strips, and his face wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”” ‭‭ Jason Todd has known his best friend since the 3rd grade, when she took the chance to befriend the strange kid that only ever played by himself on the playground. And though the two were quite the odd pair, they were inseparable. As they matured, their bond deepened, never growing apart even as everything around them changed. But as a sudden tragedy strikes, it shatters their idyllic world and tears them apart. The aftermath is cruel and unforgiving, the deep scars forever lingering. But despite the distance and the passage of time, their hearts never truly let go of the tender love they once knew. Each tried to move on, but memories of their childhood and the bond they shared lingered. Eventually, the red string of fate in its clever, clever ways, will find a way to draw them back together by the very stitching of their wounds.

What if I Do it Anyway by Midnightdragon07 - Jason Todd/Reader

Jason returned after three months of endless missions with the outlaws, to his favorite safe-house. No neighbors, The perfect entrance and exit to the building with no nosy onlookers. Did he mention no neighbors to hear him clumping around with his heavy uncomfortable boots at odd hours of the night? Because that feels like the most important part. Except, something was off, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It set off all paranoia that’s been ingrained in every last cell on his body for the past 20 years of his life. It took him some thorough searching of his apartment, the alleyway and hall. But he finally figured it out. He had a neighbor.

Invisible String by thelastpeasant - Dick Grayson/Reader

Working as Dick Grayson’s personal assistant, was somehow the most anticlimactic and bizarre thing that had ever happened in her life. Mainly, because she had only seen the man a handful of times at best. Let’s backtrack a little, shall we?

The Crow and The Hood by s_porter306 - Jason Todd/OC

"’Cause I have nothing left to lose; See me bare my teeth for you; Who, who are you?" -- Rebecca Monet donned the mantle of the Silver Crow, another one of Gotham's knights in shining armor, five years prior. It felt like a life ago, having what was left of him-Robin-taken from her. Jason Todd has been dead for six years, and this has been the truth she's held on to ever since. That simple fact-the words she forced herself to say walking out of that hospital in Bosnia: Jason is dead. Now, a new vigilante shows up in Gotham, disrupting the gentle balance Gotham had experienced the past few months. Drug trade hits the skies, which means that leaders will begin to fight for control of the money in no time, and the new vigilante, Red Hood, becomes a problem. Even more of a problem when the giant red helmet comes off, and the face beneath it belongs to none other than the second Robin. Bruce Wayne's dead son and Rebecca's old flame. Jason Todd.

The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City by Morveren - Jason Todd/Reader

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn. People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving. Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank? Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread? Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Pay the Piper (Leitmotif 3)

mdni

Chapter summary: You've left an impression, and pirates' greed isn't only for gold.

Master list <--- All chapters in order

Chapter warnings: none. (Holy shit)

Unconventional Use of Haki: I'm playing with haki by introducing D&D flavored bardic talents. I'll explain further as the story grows, but I thought fair warning was needed. Always happy to answer queries in my inbox!

A/N: I alternate "verses" (main story arc chapters) with "leitmotifs" (critical flashback chapters with contextual adventures). It's a play on One Piece's own style and a way to keep things fresh.

I do not curate tag lists, but I do reply to comments when the next chapter goes live!

Shanks hid behind the brim of his straw hat, kicking the side of the bar with his dangling feet, stewing.

A man played guitar in the corner, leading shanties the Roger Pirates joined with gusto, and the space pulsed with stomping feet and laughing voices while a watered-down ale grew warm between his hands.

It just didn’t feel right.

Pirates were all about action, but his thoughts trapped him like quicksand, locking him in a frustrating spiral where he tried to figure out what he should have done differently, or what he should say to make his captain change his mind. He was stuck. Had been since the last port when Gaban rowed the girl and her guitar to shore.

The music in the bar just made it worse. It didn’t sound like her playing at all. But she did more than perform. He’d felt it. Lower, sweeter, and subtler than any haki he’d felt before – even from her, considering the way she’d demanded her necklace back. It was like the music had touched his heart and pulled. He hadn’t imagined it, either. He saw the looks the grown-ups gave each other, Rayleigh and Captain Roger in particular.

She was special, and small, and alone – and they just left her behind like it was nothing.

He grit his teeth. Clenched his fists around his tankard.

He hadn’t told anyone about the nightmare she’d had as she’d slept, too deep in her exhaustion to surface from the horror. He didn’t tell anyone how he’d scrambled to the floor, trying to shake her awake, staining his sleeves with her tears in the process. She hadn’t called for anyone. Not her parents. Not a friend. Even unconscious, she’d bitten her lip and pulled into a ball like she could hide from her own memories.

Shaking, she’d whispered into the dark, “I don’t want to be brave anymore.”

He sat next to her, out of his depth, but determined to… stand guard? Keep her safe, maybe. Prove she didn’t have to brave if she didn’t want to. Buggy snored above, and she slowly moved from sobs to deep, even breaths. She was still asleep when he was called to help prepare breakfast.

The next thing he knew, Rayleigh was escorting her on deck, and the tender was prepped and lowered for her departure. He couldn’t contradict his captain, no matter how much he wanted to.

Waving and shouting – listening to her shout back – was the most he could do. It was a promise and a tether. He wanted to stay with her as she fought her way to her fancy music school, a spark kept banked in the back of her mind.

Now he wondered every time he laid down in his bunk, cleaned the deck, or heard the pluck of a string. What was she doing? Had she picked a fight with someone dangerous? Was she safe?

With a groan and creak of the barstool, Rayleigh plopped down beside him. He tapped the bar for a refill, and as his cup was refilled, he glanced down at the sullen apprentice. Shanks didn’t have to look up to know. He could feel it. Even when Rayleigh wasn’t using observation haki, Shanks felt like he was – peeling back time and intention and embarrassing things that could make a grown man squirm. But he refused to cringe away, holding his stoic silence and posture as he braced for a jab.

The first mate scoffed. “Hells.”

Rayleigh threw back half his drink.

“Your fruits haven’t even dropped yet and you’re hung up on a girl.”

Shanks flushed. He dropped his head even lower, hoping his hat’s brim would hide the worst of it as he tried to flip the humiliation back into the festering anger he couldn’t vent. What did Rayleigh not about it, anyway?

“No ordinary girl, I grant you,” Rayleigh said, leaning on his elbows. Settling in for a Real Talk. Shit. “A prodigy for sure. Never seen – or guess heard – haki used like that before. But that doesn’t change the fact that she’s moved on. And so should you.”

Without looking up, without showing the first mate any level of respect, Shanks grumbled, “It doesn’t feel right. She would’ve made a great pirate. And she was alone.”

Rayleigh grunted, the only acknowledgement he’d give Shank’s point. “You can’t keep every stray. Remember that cat Buggy wanted to keep? Could’ve been a good mouser. Would’ve fit on a ship. Not a bad idea. The cat had other ideas, though, and when he tried hauling it off the dock it scratched the shit out of him.”

“She wasn’t a cat.”

“No.” Rayleigh’s voice turned harder. Colder. “She may be a young person, but she’s still a person, and she gets to make her own choices. A school is hardly the worst place she could go. You grew up in this life, so your perspective’s skewed. Just because she can fight doesn’t mean that’s what she wants to do for the rest of her life. Take my advice: never get between someone you like and their dreams. It won’t end well.”

Every word weighed Shanks’ spirit down a little lower, letter by letter until he felt he could lick the spilled sake and peanut shells from the floor. Rayleigh was right. If she didn’t become a pirate by choice, she wasn’t really free, and that was the point. Mostly.

None of that changed what he wanted, though, and a hint of selfish greed that had nothing to do with piracy chafed, stuck in his throat.

He wouldn’t get her name. He wouldn’t get to show her how to string up a hammock so it looked steady until Buggy jumped in. He wouldn’t get to see how she played his favorite shanties. He wouldn’t get anything.

He sighed, letting his shoulders rise and fall with the force of it. And then he got busy burying those feelings. Rayleigh really wasn’t joking. She was really gone. And even if he could do something about it, he shouldn’t.

Putting together a smile, he finally looked up at the first mate. “Just miss her, I guess. She was fun.”

Rayleigh dropped a hand on his head, relaxing in turn. His own wicked smirk cracked his face, and he offered an answering shrug. “You never know with these things. As the captain likes to say, some connections are just meant to be. If you’re destined to see her again, you’ll cross paths somewhere out there.”

His smile stretched. The weight lifted. A new road to adventure opened where he thought he’d run into the Red Line.

“You think so?”

“Oh,” Rayleigh took up his tankard again, “if she’s half as much trouble as I think she is, I’d bet on it. Troublemakers tend to run into each other. Sooner or later.”

“Heh.” Fully grinning, Shanks chugged his own drink, heels kicking the barstool as fresh energy surged from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Rayleigh was never wrong.

Of course they’d meet again.

And maybe next time she’d join the crew.

Every great crew needed a musician.

[mahi-wayy]

hyperspecific thoughts i have about ben!!!

I do not take responsibility for the emotional damage you suffer 🫡🫡

¹Ben the strongest supe with no fears and defeat ever but also the Ben who panicked the moment his nose picked up that gas.

²Ben who fought tooth and nail with whatever strength that was left in him after that blast but ultimately scumbed to that damn gas.

³Ben who's weirdly used to tight dark spaces where breathing is a little tough because he used hide in closest when his father was in particular bad moods.

⁴Ben who was internally conflicted about finding out his son, who wanted to take time with the decision but couldn't bcz he had a promise to keep.

⁵Ben who has nightmares running on loop when he's "put away for good"

⁶Ben who gets triggered when someone gets too close, tensing and ready to attack bcz he's still a little boy scared of his father.

⁷Ben who was overwhelmed when his ears started hearing everything clearer and louder after compound V but didn't say a word.

⁸Ben who has panic attack in his room after his father gave him a lecture on easy way out, who covered his mouth with one hand bcz his dad hated a man crying.

⁹Ben who had a narcissistic mother who made him felt guilty about feeling resentment for his father.

¹⁰Ben who doesn't remember who he wanted to be before his father wanted a "man" as his son.

tags : @bluemerakis @deansbeer @daylighted @soldiersgirl @h8aaz @titsout4jackles @bejeweledinterludes @littlesoulshine @mostlymarvelgirl @jmoonk @yawnzshit @bruisedfig me know if I forgot you or you want to be added or removed!!

[yunazxxx]

just let the lights bleed, all over me —

in which you found yourself in a rather strange position, one you were used to but not with the same woman. — she was something you had never experienced before.

(📓) drug usage , smut , club setting , g!p reader , baby trapping , unprotected sex , marking / biting , oral (r and avantika receiving) , manhandling , sex worker!avantika (kind of?) , etc?

(🌹) i’ve officially been avantika pilled and i’m going insane. — i might be missing some tags but oh well. song used for reference is gibson girl by ethel cain. — not fully proofread so ignore mistakes

(wc) 1.3k — prev works

—

the red lights stung inside of this place, the sloppy drunk people were in every corner of the club. — honestly, everyone was a mess. either high or drunk. you were practically high out of your mind too, high off of whatever drug your friend had given you just thirty minutes before you got here.

look in one corner, you could see a group of men sitting around a stage, while a woman danced for their amusement — but you had your mind set on one thing.

you were there for something, no, someone. you had been in contact with this, person, let’s say, about this girl who worked here.

you had an appointment, it wasn’t like it was your first time doing this, but seeing this particular woman, it was. she was a favorite amongst a lot of people, so it peaked your interest.

upon entering the room, the humidity caught you off guard, heavy clouds of smoke making the room look like it had a steaming machine inside of it. — you looked to your right and saw the guy who you’ve been speaking to, then you looked over to your left and saw the woman you had been waiting for.

she looked kind of, high? — from what you could assume at least. he snapped his fingers and she looked up at you, her puppy browns eyes and pouty lips caught your attention — there was something about her that made you crazy, it made you crave her more than you ever wanted to admit.

the guy left you two for privacy, and while you poured your drink she began kissing on you, she pulled your back against the seat and began swaying her hips on your lap.

the booming of the music could be heard and felt throughout the walls of the building, but all your attention was pulled to the woman in front of you. she sat on your lap, straddling you before kissing you.

you pulled her closer to your body to your own, biting at her body lip making her whimper, giving you the access you needed. your hands grabbed at her small waist, gripping it hard enough that she would bruise up a little.

she began whining her hips on your crotch, upon feeling your bulge, she began grinding harder, knowing she’d easily get you hard. you groaned as she did so, she held your face, forcing you to look at her while she teasingly pulled at her top, showing off her bra.

your hands dug deeper into her hips, making her throw her head back and moan, loving how you were man handling her — you pulled off the woman’s top, exposing the white lace bra she wore, honestly it’s hilarious you could see the color given the complete room was either blue or red.

the lights were riding like a wave, they would fade from a deep red into blue, but your focus wasn’t there. you were removing the girl’s bra, while her hands rested on your chest. once you successfully removed her bra, you quickly began sucking on one nipple.

her fingers automatically went to your hair, moaning while she grinned against your erection. you broke off for a bit, going to kiss her other, marking her with hickeys.

avantika got off you, dropping down to her knees. her pretty brown eyes looking into yours, you both couldn’t deny the absolute lust you had for one another. she began to undo your belt, removing it while having you lift your waist so she could slide your pants down.

she grasped at your cock through your boxer, making your hips move on their own. you threw your head back, allowing her to do whatever it was that she wanted. — she pulled your cock from your boxers, her hands rested moving along your shaft in a slow pace, then you felt her warm mouth over you.

she began to deep throat you, pulling you out of her mouth then kissing your tip, with a mischievous smile on her face, giggling at the way your body reacted to how she touched you. — it felt like she was a fucking tease.

you grabbed her by her throat, “don’t fucking play with me. you know what i like” you gritted through your teeth while she stared into your burning eyes. — you let the brown woman go and she took a while to get her breathing back regulated before continuing her usual.

she began to remove the rest of her clothes, you watched with burning lust inside of your eyes. this was oddly different for avantika, normally her clients wouldn’t give a shit to watch her undress and would be focused on their own pleasure.

once she was undressed you stood up and grabbed her hips, laying her on the seat you were just on, you began biting at her soft skin, your fingers sliding down her body directly to her hole.

you pushed two fingers in, slowly retracting them before pushing them back in with that brutally slow pace. — you kissed down her body, soon going to her clit and planted soft kisses.

you began eating her out, her nails digging into hour hair, she moaned as her back arched. “m-more please.. ah..” her whines slowly growing louder and getting needier. you sped up your pace, her hips began to buck into your movements until she came, but you didn't just leave it there.

you stood up straight, completely removing your boxers, avantika was still getting over her orgasm, still so sensitive when she felt your tip at her entrance. — she tried protesting, saying she was still to sensitive but you pushed yourself inside of her completly.

you groaned feeling her walls begin to suffocate you, avantika just whimpering as her cum dripped down your shaft. "how about you show me why you're so popular amongst everyone here?" you said, and it almost snapped something inside of the brown woman.

she sat up straight, your hands already on her hips holding the woman up while you removed her from the couch. she slightly grinded, bringing friction to your cock and making you groan. she held your face, making you look at her while she began to bounce on your cock.

you found your way to the seat behind you, sitting down while watching her bounce on you, her breasts were bouncing along with her, directly in your face — you moved one hand up to her breast, fondling it. — her head was thrown back while your cock twitched inside of her.

"fuck you ride me so good" you chuckled against the crook of her neck, before biting her shoulder. your hand that was on her waist began to have a tigher grip, indicating you were close to finishing. she sped up, your own hips began matching the pace of hers.

you flipped you both over, now putting avantika under you while your hips took off. they slammed into the woman under you, while she grabbed at you, pulling you into a much deeper kiss than before. it only took a few more thrusts before you were filling her up with your hot seed, while your hips slowed down, you were moaning into the kiss.

soon you pulled out, avantika panting while you watched your seed dripping out of her cunt, a mix of both of your cum. you kissed her one last time, before pulling out your wallet and leaving her some money on the table, along with a note that said, “call me" with your number.

you got dressed before walking out of the room, almost blinded by the now blue and purple-ish lights that were outside the place now.

[hellaverseposting]

i... i think reddit continues to be consistently bad for brain cells.

Reddit is the main gathering place for the very small but vocal part of the Hellaverse fanbase comprised of edgy straight guys who are continuously flabbergasted that their funny demon show has gay people in it. This guy in particular isn’t straight but his internalized biphobia lumps him in with those dudes because he’s functionally indistinguishable from them.

And oh fucking boy. There’s so much to unpack here. The biphobic belief that a bi person has to have an equal amount of male and female partners to be considered “actually bi”. The homophobic idea that being non-straight has to somehow affect the plot, reinforcing the belief that us queers need to constantly justify our own existence. A misunderstanding of what being pansexual means. The random Radioapple hate???? God, Radioapple shippers live rent free in some people’s minds holy shit.

I’m just glad fans like him are a minority in the fandom. This place can already be miserable with all the antis running around and invading our tags, we wouldn’t want old school edgy 4chan fanboy homophobia thrown in the mix too.