#MAY 2022 BE BETTER THAN WHATEVER THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED

[motomam1]

MOTOMAMI | see you in formula one

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warnings: self-doubt, angst word count: 3.4k summary: it's the final race of the 2022 f2 championship, is valeria ready to give it her all to win the champion title and enter formula one?

FIDGETING WITH THE rings on her fingers, Valeria didn’t pay much attention to the race engineers debriefing after the qualifying that afternoon. She drowned out the conversations around her as the doubt and worry consumed her senses, her mind filling with endless thoughts about what could happen at the race tomorrow.

Her qualifying didn’t go bad per se; She earned herself P2 for the starting grid, one place right behind Felipe Drugovich who has been her biggest rival during the championship. He was always there, either a few points behind or ahead of her. Whatever happens at the race would break or make the other’s standing. 

“... Valeria?” Cecília gently shook the girl next to her, her face showing signs of worry as she looked at the young driver. “Is everything alright? We need you to pay attention, linda.” 

“Sorry, zoomed out for a second,” trying to shake off her intrusive thoughts, Valeria pulled herself together. “I’m all ears.” She smiled at the team, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

The debrief was over and before anyone could say anything, Valeria had bolted out the door to reach her driver’s room. She had to gather herself before facing the people outside the motorhome. Taking deep breaths, she pulled out her earphones and clicked onto her paddock playlist. The soothing voice of Kali filled her ears, instantly calming her a little as she thought of her friends. If Kali would be here right now, she’d know exactly how to lift Valeria’s mood. 

A text of Benny, her PR manager and childhood friend, ripped her out of her thoughts. 

We’ll leave soon, okay?Didn’t want to disturb you since I know you probably want to be alone right now

Smiling slightly, she appreciated how considered he can be at times like these. Valeria valued her friendship with Benny a lot, even more so now that he’s working with her and was there for her at every race because of that.

Shooting him a short reply, she sighed as she packed her necessities together. Ready to leave with the safety of her music blasting through her ears, Valeria decided it was best to find her team to drive back to the hotel.

Opening the door, she let out a gasp of shock as she saw Felipe in front of her, his fist raised to knock. “Oh fuck, you scared me!” It slipped out of her mouth faster than she could think. Pulling her earphones away, she looked at him in question. “What are you doing here?”

“Sorry,” the Brazilian sheepishly apologised, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I just wanted to wish you luck for your race tomorrow.” He held out his hand for her to shake. “No matter who wins. No bad blood, right?”

“Uh…” She looked at him, unsure how to process his appearance. She didn’t know whether to take his words seriously or not, Valeria opted to not be a total asshole, Valeria appreciated his gesture more than doubting his intentions.

So, she took his hand and shot him a genuine smile. “Thank you, likewise. May the better one win, I guess.”

“Oh I’ll make sure of that,” he smiled teasingly. Laughing, Valeria slightly hit his chest. “Yeah right. Good joke.” He laughed as well. 

“So… see you tomorrow?” They made their way out of the motorhome together, coming to a halt when their ways parted. “Or more like, you’ll see me since you’re behind me.”

Laughing again, Valeria slapped his arm. “What happened to the shy teammate I had in Formula 3? I think I liked that Felipe more.” She shook her head, still smiling at her former teammate. 

“I guess he grew up,” Felipe shrugged, growing more serious for a second. “I do hope for a good race tomorrow, no matter the outcome.”

“Me too.” They smiled at each other for a second before the moment was interrupted by Benny walking up to them. “Vale! Our ride’s here- Oh, hey Felipe.” He looked between the two drivers, trying to read the atmosphere. Sensing no stress, he sighed in relief. “Our ride is here, just wanted to inform you.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Valeria turned to Felipe. “Sleep well tonight before I beat your ass tomorrow.” 

Felipe grinned at her. “Whatever makes you sleep at night.” They chuckled before wishing each other a good night and parting their ways. 

“All good?” Benny asked Valeria as they turned to leave the paddock. He took one more look at Felipe behind them, shrugging it off. 

“Yeah, all good.” She bumped her shoulder into his, wrapping her arm around his shoulder as they left for the hotel. “Everything’s gonna be good.”

Everything wouldn’t be good. The guilt, the doubt and the worry came flooding all back when Valeria found herself alone in her hotel room at night. While the whole city was sound asleep at an hour like this, she was pacing around her room with her hands nervously combing through her hair. 

She went through every possible outcome of tomorrow’s race, but got ultimately stuck on the negative ones. She couldn’t bear the thought of getting out of the car and meeting all the disappointed faces of her team, of the Prema Racing team, of the Mercedes team and Toto. Valeria knew she had a shot at the free seat at Mercedes for the next Formula One season, it was just one race away from being hers. 

“We want to see how well she performs under real pressure.” Is what Toto had said to Victor, her manager, when discussing the terms of her possible contract. “If she wins the championship, she’s in. That’s our one condition.” 

Balling her hands into fists, Valeria could see her younger self staring back at her reflection through the bathroom mirror. She felt like back in the US when she drove her little rundown kart at various competitions, the laughs and teasing from her competitors ringing in her ears. 

“Who let her drive here?”

“I didn’t know they let charity cases like her into the karting competitions now.”

“It’s cute that she thinks she actually has a chance at winning.”

Splashing her face with water, she looked at her shaking hands as the water slipped through her fingers. She gritted her teeth in anger, sinking down on the bathroom floor. The tiles felt cool against her back, the temperature change calming her nerves for a little bit. 

Will the self-doubt ever end? She asked herself, knowing that deep down she knew the answer was ‘no’. Before the qualifying, Valeria had talked to Lewis for a brief minute. 

“Kick their asses, alright?” He had smiled at her, petting her head as if she was his little sister. “I want to see you next year on the podium next to me.” He had given her a little push, his significant laugh filling the air. She had answered him with a nod, a smile of her own facing him. But inside of her the turmoil hadn’t stopped.

Breathing through her nose, Valeria knew it made no sense to let the doubt plague her any further. She wished she could just mute her own head. Closing her eyes as she still laid on the bathroom floor, she envisioned what it would feel like to win. She would reach that one goal she only dreamed about; Becoming a champion and advancing to the top. 

Valeria knew she had to win. If not for the seat at Mercedes, then for little Vale who had done everything in her power to get her where she is now. 

THE NEXT MORNING came around faster than she had imagined. Not sleeping much that night, her drumming thoughts made the time pass quicker than she had anticipated. Groaning as her alarm went off to remind her to get ready soon, Valeria popped some Ibuprofen to get rid of the hammering headache. 

“Don’t you look like an angel,” Benny teased his friend as soon as Valeria stepped inside the breakfast room of the hotel. Shooting him a glare, he knew better than to push any more of her buttons. “Okay, not in the talking mood, I get it.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“I’m sorry for being an ass,” she sighed in defeat, rolling the food on her plate from one side to the other with her fork. “It’s just-” She stopped when Benny put his hand over hers, stopping her motion.

He looked her into the eyes, his smile genuine. “Vale, I know. I get it. It’s alright.”

Valeria knew he meant the best for her with his words, but something in her bubbled with anger. He did not get it. He had never found himself in her position, so how would he understand what she’s going through? 

Pulling her hand away, she nibbled on her lips as she decided it was better to just not say anything at all. He sent her a pressed smile before continuing to eat his foot. 

“How’s my little star doing?” Victor, her manager, came up behind her and put both his hands on her shoulders, slightly massaging her. “Oh, you’re tense.”

“What did you expect?” She snapped, mumbling a small sorry after realising she had come off as a little too harsh. “Ugh, I hate myself right now.” She held her head in her hands. “I’m awful.”

Victor and Benny exchanged looks with each other. Her manager turned to Valeria, “Well, it’s all going to be different in a few hours. We have faith in you, even if you don’t have it in yourself right now. The more you pressure yourself, the worse you’ll be able to focus.”

What was supposed to be encouraging made Valeria sigh even more. She was pressuring herself a lot right now and it’s not like she can just turn off those feelings, so does that mean she’ll lose it all in the race?

“Come on, eat up so we can go to the paddock.” Victor patted her shoulder, pointing towards the plate which had all the nutritions she’d needed for the race on it. “Benny, make sure she eats it up.” With that, he left as he picked up a phone call.

Forcing the food down her throat despite the nausea growing inside her, Valeria and Benny made their way towards the car where the rest of her team waited for her. Rio, her trainer, shot her a smile of encouragement as he opened the door for her. “Here you go, future champion.”

During the ride, everyone seemed to talk over Valeria’s head about the upcoming race while the girl had her headphones on to avoid any conversation. She already dreaded the celebrities who were at the paddock for the Formula One race which would take place after the Formula Two one. 

Of course the paddock was packed with people from all over the world. Drivers, their team, the media and celebrities crowded the entrance as Valeria got out of the car. In an instant, she found herself surrounded by various interviewers bombarding her with questions about the upcoming race. Before Valeria could even digest all the information thrown at her, Rio had stepped in and pushed the reporters away as gently as possible to avoid any drama.

“No questions right now.” She could hear Victor behind her as Rio shielded her from anyone further invading her space. Quickly pushing through the crowd, the team was able to avoid any more complications upon arriving at the motorhome. Valeria felt her shoulders tense even more when seeing her engineers and mechanics inside the garage, all of them putting their hopes for the win on her. 

Up until two hours before the race, Valeria felt as if the time was passing by slowly. Everything blurred into each other when sitting down to discuss the strategy for today’s race. They kept telling her what to do, but the only thing she could focus on was her racing heartbeat. 

When it was time to prepare mentally for the race, when she finally found some time to cool down, Valeria distanced herself from her team and the garage. “I just need a moment for myself.” She told the others, earning concerned looks from them before walking off.

How am I supposed to last in Formula One when I’m already so stressed out now? 

Sitting down in a more secluded era, she felt like she could finally breathe for a second without anyone looking down on her. She knew they all meant well, however, it just all felt overwhelming to the point where she could lash out and scream at everyone out of frustration. 

Looking down on her phone, she contemplated whether or not to call Tyler. As someone who understood the struggle of not wanting to disappoint his fans, she knew he’d find the right words to calm her nerves without the typical ‘you can do this!’ bullshit. 

“¿Oye hablas español?” 

Valeria got ripped out of her thoughts, the unfamiliar voice making her furrow her brows in confusion. Looking up, she saw a man walking up to her with a big smile painted on his face. Turning her head to her side, seeing if he was talking to her or not, she raised her brow at him in question. “¿Qué?”

“I know a Latina when I see one.” He laughed, sitting down next to her without asking for permission. Valeria’s mood soured a little, she wanted a moment alone and he just bursted in without a thought. However, there was something so soothing about his presence that she couldn’t describe in words.

“I’m sorry but, who are you?” She asked, the confusion clearly taking over her whole demeanour. 

“Filly,” He stretched out his hand towards her to shake. “Sorry for just coming up to you. You looked a bit grim and I figured you’d need some cheering up.” Scanning her outfit, noticing her driver's suit, his eyes widened for a second. “You a driver?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged, taking his hand before shaking it. “Valeria.”

“I’m really sorry, I’m kinda new to the Formula world. Didn’t know they had a girl.” Filly chuckled. “But that’s good, aye?”

“I’m not in Formula One.” She corrected him, smiling a little. “Formula Two, actually.”

“Oi, that’s impressive. Good thing I came earlier, so I can watch your race.”

“I mean, I don’t know if it’s going to be as spectacular as the Formula One one.” She shrugged, dropping her shoulders a bit. 

“You just gotta make it interesting, then.” He pushed his shoulder slightly against hers. “You nervous?” He made it sound like a question, but they both knew it was more of a statement. 

“There’s… I guess you could say a lot depends on how I do today.” Valeria wasn’t about to share the whole story, and thankfully, she felt as if Filly understood. “Lots of pressure, you know.”

“I figure, the more you stress, the more you’re setting yourself up to fail.” He just said. 

Letting his words sink in for a second, Valeria found herself agreeing with him. “But I just can’t make it stop. Otherwise, trust me, I would’ve done that already.”

“I’m not a racer, so correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe once you enter the car your worries will go away.” He sent a small, comforting smile her way. “And then, when you achieve what you set your mind up to, find me afterwards and the first round is on me.”

Giggling at his statement, she nodded. “Now I have to win, don’t I? For the shots, at least.” 

“I guess now there’s no other way to go.” He stood up, holding his hand out to help her up as well. Dusting her suit off, she looked up to him. “Is it weird if I hug you?” Bursting out in loud laughter, Filly wrapped his arms around her shoulders to embrace her in a hug. Valeria felt a little lighter, some of the worry falling off her chest. 

“I’ll be at the finishing line, yeah?” He winked at her before waving her goodbye. 

“I bet on it.”

FILLY WAS RIGHT. The moment Valeria had entered her car, her helmet secured on her head, her visor down, her hands gloved up and feeling the familiarity of her wheel under her fingers, she felt her worries and doubts zooming out. Her eyes were fixated on the red lights, a quick glance towards Felipe slightly in front of her, the roaming of the motors hammering through her helmet into her ears. 

It’s lights out and away we go!

Her reaction time was good, though so was Felipe’s. She couldn’t get in front of him, him quickly defending his place when she tried to push past him. Looking behind her, Valeria could see the chaos behind her. The start was always the most nerve wrecking in her opinion, everyone trying to gain as many positions as possible.

She figured it’d make more sense for her to try to overtake Felipe later on, focusing more on keeping her position as second place until everyone had spread throughout the track a little. Hopefully, she was making the right decision on it.

It wasn’t up until a couple laps left when she found a moment to overtake her rival. She had tried many times throughout the race, her mind filled with possibilities on how to get the win while simultaneously defending her current place. Valeria had waited for a moment of weakness of the Brazilian, a small mistake which could lead her to victory. 

She grew almost frustrated by his defending skills, her grip tightening around her wheel. Her focus was slipping away second by second as she kept trying without getting any closer to her goal. 

“The more you stress, the more you’re setting yourself up to fail.”

Taking a deep breath, Valeria detached herself from the nagging thoughts. Feeling herself becoming lighter and lighter, her eyes focused on the car in front of her. She felt like Felipe was taunting her a little.

“You just gotta make it interesting, then.”

“I’m going all in.” She unpressed the button which connected her to her team, drowning out their response before pressing the gas pedal even more. Iit was now or never. 

I will not lose this close to winning.

Valeria couldn’t remember what happened afterwards. 

The adrenaline was spiking high, the blood rushing faster than the cars on track through her veins and her nerves were skyrocketing through the roof. It felt as if someone else was taking over her body, her decisions and choices feeling surreal. 

The next moment she felt like she was back on earth was the moment she drove over the finishing line, the chequered flag waving at her. She couldn’t properly breathe, the screams of excitement filling her ears as her team principal shouted into his mic.

“YOU’RE A CHAMPION.”

I’m a champion.

Her legs were shaking as she stepped out of the car once she was parked. Immediately, her team ran up to her and smothered her in hugs, all of them knocking on her helmet while grinning from ear to ear. 

Valeria couldn’t even come up with any words, her mind completely blank as she pulled her helmet off. Breathless, she looked at her team, her engineers, her mechanics. They all waited for her to say something. 

“I’m a fucking champion.” She laughed as she held her helmet high up in the air. “¡Un maldito campeón!” She jumped up and down, the realisation kicking in and her emotions running absolutely wild. 

Felipe came up to her after getting out of his car. He held his hand out, a smile gracing his features. “You really didn’t make this race easy.” 

Looking down on his hand, Valeria shrugged before giving him a hug instead. “Never said I would.” 

“¡VIVA MÉXICO CABRONES!”

She was swept off her feet, her father holding her up as he yelled at the top of his lungs. A Mexican flag was tied around his shoulders. Laughing at his antics, she joined him as they chanted the national anthem of their country. 

When the official celebrations came around, Valeria was close to tearing up as she stood on the highest step of the podium. The flag, which was previously around her father’s shoulders, was now tightly tied around her. As the trophy was handed to her, she had the proudest smile on her face. 

In the crowd below her, she could spot Toto. He gave her a thumbs up, a smile matching hers on his lips. Grinning, she pointed towards the Mercedes logo which was stitched on her suit. 

See you in Formula One next year!

tag list: @tpwkstiles @dessxoxsworld @lorarri @elliegrey2803 @inejghafawifesblog @daaiissyyyyy @viennakarma @cha-hot @saintslewis @welovediaaxx @ncentic @mynameisangeloflife @roseseraj @goldenalbon ➫ comment or leave a message in my inbox if you'd like to be added

[zzoomacroom]

Hey guys, soooo I have never written fanfiction in my life, but this just fell out of my brain for some reason. I don't know what came over me, but here's a little crackfic drabble for ya. Just a thousand words of Matthew being a complete idiot. Enjoy! (Yes, I know this premise has been done to death, but I'm having fun so shhhh)

Edit: now on ao3!

.......

So there Matthew was, just minding his own business, catching up with Merv in the gardens outside the palace, when a goddamned nuclear bomb went off.

"JEEZUS FUCK!" Mervyn bellowed, his cigarette dropping from his open mouth and into the pile of leaves he'd been raking. Matthew squawked and catapulted himself ungracefully to the top of the nearest tree.

Oh, so not a bomb then, thought Matthew as he watched the stunning display of fireworks that had erupted above the palace, gold and crimson embers now drifting lazily towards the ground. Still, what the hell was that all about? He would have to ask the boss--if there was some kind of celebration happening in the Dreaming, he wanted to join the party! Hopefully he'd be off his feathery tits on dream champagne before the day was over.

Matthew launched himself from the tree branch, ears still ringing as he made his way up to the palace. He soared through an open window to the throne room. Hmm, empty. So where was the party? He made his way to the library--Lucienne would know what was up.

"Heya, Loosh," he called as he circled down to the table where Lucienne was occupied with cleaning up a puddle of ink that was spilled all over the yellowed scroll she had been writing on. "What was up with the fireworks?"

"Hmm?" she glanced over to him, preoccupied. "Ah. That sometimes happens when...actually, it's probably better if you don't know. For your own sake," she adds pointedly, peering over her glasses at him.

Uh, wow. Ouch. "What? Aw, come on, don't leave me out of the loop. Ravens aren't invited to the party? Wait, why aren't you at the party?"

Lucienne stared at the raven, confusion and irritation mingling on her face. "What party? Lord Morpheus is in his private chambers, there is no--"

But Matthew was already hopping off the table and flying towards the nearest window. So it was a private, VIP kinda thing, then. He was a little hurt that he wasn't invited, but no matter. He would slip in and infiltrate the event, just in case the boss needed protecting from a disgruntled fae or something. And if he managed to dip his beak into some unattended booze, he felt he was sneaky enough that no one would be the wiser.

"You really don't want to know!" Lucienne called out exasperatedly as he flitted away, not looking up from her work. "Don’t say I didn't warn you!"

Yeah, yeah, he'd been to parties full of snooty elites before. Whatever weird shit they were into couldn't be any worse than what he'd seen during his recent trip to Hell. He circled upwards towards the highest tower and perched on the balcony outside the boss's private chamber. There was definitely something happening in there, judging by the noises coming from inside. It sounded like things were getting crazy--a shout, glass breaking, a thud like a body hitting the ground, a screech that may or may not have been human. Shit, the boss man might be in trouble! Good thing Matthew was here to...well, he wasn't really sure how he could help, but he'd figure something out. And he just really, really wanted to know what was going on! Curiosity may kill the cat, but the raven should be fine, right?

He darted into the darkened room and blinked as his eyes adjusted. Oh. No party, then. The boss was standing in the middle of the room, looking even more like he'd just sucked on a lemon than usual. His robe flicked around him and drooped off one shoulder, like he'd just hastily pulled it on (was that...a tentacle peeking out from under the hem?). And was he sweating? He didn't normally sweat, did he? And hold on--did he have cat ears?? Matthew stared, and just as he noticed the ears they receded down into his disheveled mop of hair and disappeared.

"What is it, Matthew?" the Dreamlord demanded icily.

"Uh...sorry to interrupt whatever...this...is, but I thought maybe you were in trouble. And I was just wondering what was up with the fireworks. Scared the bejeesus outta me and Merv," Matthew explained.

The boss looked confused for a moment before answering. "Ah. My apologies for the disruption," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm even as Matthew failed to get the hint. "The matter has been handled. You need not come to my defense."

At that, a poorly-stifled chuckle sounded from behind a marble pillar. "Sorry," the pillar mumbled sheepishly. The boss shot a withering glare at it and the pillar instantly dissolved into a pile of sand, revealing...

Ohhhh. "Um...hi, Hob," Matthew said with an awkward wave of his wing, wishing very much that he could dissolve into sand right about now. Hell, that may very well be his fate soon enough, based on the way the boss was glaring at him.

"Hey Matt," Hob replied with a bashful smirk. He was mostly naked except for an Elizabethan ruff, white knee-high stockings and a pair of 18th century shoes with little bows on them. And he was wearing the boss's helm. But not on his head (cool, cool, not like Matthew had followed the boss to Hell to get it back or anything). Oh, and he also had cat ears. Wonderful.

"Ya know, I better get going, I think Merv may need some help with--oh, yep, he set the garden on fire." Matthew peered out the window down to where Mervyn was currently shouting at no one and flailing around a steadily growing conflagration. "So I should go deal with that. Just wanted to check in, glad everything's good here. Uhhh nice to see you Hob, Boss. Not that I, uh, saw anything. Okay bye!" Matthew zoomed out the window before either of them could say anything else. God, he really needed a drink now.

.......

Morpheus continued to glare at the spot where Matthew had been perched as Hob came up and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Right. So where were we?" asked Hob, apparently unphased by the whole incident.

"I think we should take this to the Waking if we wish to avoid any further interruptions," Dream replied through gritted teeth.

Hob chuckled and started to massage the knots out of his lover's shoulders. "Yeah, probably. Kids, right?" he sighed.

Morpheus raised an eyebrow at him. "Matthew is not my child."

"Isn't he, though?" Hob replied with a grin, peering over Dream's shoulder to watch Matthew and Mervyn frantically darting around the flaming pile of leaves, making no progress whatsoever in putting out the blaze. Morpheus merely sighed in exasperation.

[yeonjunszn]

so sick !

pairing: idol!lee heeseung x non-idol!f!reader

genres: fluff﹒crack﹒smallest amount of angst possible

warnings: mature language (nothing new), strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of cheating (its not from any of the mcs), unfunny jokes, the plot takes place during/starting with the release of dimension : dilemma and will end around dimension : answer era, uni!au bc reader is a uni student, reader is literally the sweetest person alive laurv her saur much, heeseung is borderline insane, but so is reader’s entire friend group so whatever, everyone except enhypen are uni students, the only idols are enha, also (for clarification since they are name dropped) — txt exists in this universe without gyu and tyun, more warnings per individual chapter!

feat: the rest of enhypen, ryujin from itzy, sumin from stayc, taehyun and beomgyu from txt, hyunjin and felix from skz

summary: when your boyfriend of almost eight years cheats on you your senior year of university, you decide that you’re done with anything and everything to do with love. that is, until you meet a guy who sings love songs for a living.

status: completed!

started: may 21, 2022

ended: september 13, 2022

— WOWWW CANT BELIEVE MIXED UP IS DONE 🙁🙁 i’m kinda sad but it’s okay!! bc we have this baby here now!! i got the inspiration for this from so sick by ne-yo and also that one song by lauv that heeseung sang on i-land LMFAO

— send an ask to join the taglist!!

profiles: sunshine y/n & friends | 7 overgrown children | the fake fan accounts

zero. happy anniversary, asshole (477)

one. self love >>

two. hypehouseification of lee heeseung

three. double homicide

four. australianized tamed-dashed

five. why is he kinda..

six. pneumonia

seven. partner project in english

eight. happy birthday heeseung

nine. AWOOOOO 🐺

ten. stuck together (1.3k)

eleven. congrats! or sorry that happened!

twelve. can this be us

thirteen. down baddery and stalking

fourteen. ayo hitman bang introduces

fifteen. s(he) be(lie)ve(d)

sixteen. sevendeez nuts

seventeen. #emo #different #notlikeothergirls

eighteen. jungwon my savior

nineteen. sexy starfish

twenty. bring it on the musical

twenty one. simpy mcsimpson

twenty two. peer pressure is a bitch

twenty three. Y/N.EXE HAS CRASHED

twenty four. they grow up so fast

twenty five. october 30th (3.9k)

twenty six. back off.

twenty seven. h-hyunjin being logical ??

twenty eight. coffee again

twenty nine. jongseonglations

thirty. illegal and banned in 27 countries

thirty one. questions

thirty two. *screams quietly*

thirty three. 11/11 11:11

thirty four. stfu glee boy

thirty five. everything is fine

thirty six. worth it (830)

thirty seven. heeseung hate club

thirty eight. seoul uni’s ms. sunshine condoning violence

thirty nine. rest in piece cookie 💔💔😔

forty. let me love you (until you learn to love yourself)

forty one. taylor swift

forty two. he’s insane

forty three. more than friends less than lovers

forty four. thankful for you

forty five. feels so right (1k)

forty six. a pick me boy :/

forty seven. touch some grass

forty eight. life update: it got worse

forty nine. can’t stay away

fifty. no longer bitchless (1.3k)

fifty one. engenes better sleep with one eye open

fifty two. merry christmas my beautiful swan

fifty three. IM GONNA STRANGLE YOU (affectionately)

fifty four. he is human too

fifty five. taehyun be fucking fr

fifty six. twt user enhatranslate

fifty seven. proud gf moment

end. polaroid love

BONUSES

one. anonymous source

two. date night

three. best thread ever

four. y/n outsold floplift

five. ban enhypen_members

six. that feeling when

© yeonjunszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[vaspider]

My apologies for being petty but I cannot allow you to tell nonsensical lies about me.ofcpurse its very demeaning to have to dedicate time towards this nonsense but I do have compulsions..First of all I AM A MINOR. IF YOU USE THE INFORMATION THAT I SUPPLIED FURTHER DOWN YOU CAN PROBABLY FIND PHOTOS OF ME AND INFORMATION ABOUT ME THAT WILL CONFIRM THIS,BUT THEN AGAIN YOURE HONESTLY KIND OF A SICKO IF YOU DO THAT. IT IS IN MY BIO ON ALMOST EVERY SINGLE ONE OF MY ACCOUNTS INCULDING AVANT LA LETTRE. IF YOU DIDNT KNOW THAT ALREADY YOURE REALLY STUPIDER THAN I THOUGHT.IN FACT THE NOTE I WROTE IN MY BIO ON MY FRENCH REVOLUTION BLOG WAS SUPPOSED TO PREVENT THIS KIND OF THING FROM HAPPENING.also one of my friends happened to notify me about that dumbass tiktok so I'd like to say,I'M NOT PROTESTANT. I LIVE IN AN OVERWHELMINGLY CATHOLIC COMMUNITY. AND BELEIVE IN "L'ESPRIT ÊTRE".Where the fuck did you even get that?? Also I wasnt trying to say thay humbert was transgender obviously. Even an idiot could see that. Even someone with a truly twisted mind,but you and your demonic followers are beyond that. Anyway that's beside the point. If you want to discover my adress and have me attacked by footpads and other such assasins or something of the like,here's a clue: Cameron park,California. As for my legal name,you can have an acronym: M. A. E.I am currently enrolled a community College whose name starts with "w" and attended a nearby high-school whose name starts with "c" in the 9th-grade level for the duration of 2022. You're definitely depraved enough to use this information and I can probably press charges against you if you ever try to use it to get some sort of pathetic vengeance on me for disagreeing with one of your Tumblr posts or anything yet more unspeakable considering your moral character. Also finally I'd like to say that I am both autistic and psychotic and you're honestly being more of a bitch to me about this than years and years worth of the edgy bigots that so often frequented my schools. If I ever see your yeasty face uncovered in the streets of Seattle or Portland I shall be compelled to seize a tool of some sort for example my axe or saber and destroy you with it. You shall be quite surprised by the appearance of the culprit,I being wise enough to keep such details out of the public eye,albeit this may be untrue if you use the information I have supplied you with. I'm really very pretty,so you'll probably have good material for whatever it is you do that clouds your mind with lust and evil such as is obvious. There will clearly be consequences for this action but I will probably plead insanity and due to my naturally charismatic nature and the favor of Sophia,Goddess of Wisdom whom has always aided me in such things I probably wont even get a life sentence. If I so choose. Then again I probably have better things to do with my time,since your meaningless life will end in like 20-25 years at my estimate. Anyway,I have many other things to do in general,so I shall cease my correspondence unless anything drastic happens.

Didn't read, don't care. Go away.

[tropes-and-tales]

If You Weren’t You

Day 12:  Hate/Angry Sex (Benny “Borracho” Magalon x F!Reader)

(For the 2022 Kinktober event offered by @the-purity-pen​​.  The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW:  Rude and insulting language; misogynistic language; smut (angry sex but only kinda because most of the anger is pre-sex so maybe this is a poor entry for kinktober, I dunno, your girl is struggling here; PiV, unprotected; car sex).  18+ only.

Word Count:  5513

It’s Big Nick’s fault.

He sets the tone between Major Crimes and the FBI.  He talks poorly about the federal agents, saves the worst of it for Lobbin’ Bob and his perfectly parted hair and perfectly pressed suits.  Bob and his veganism, Bob and his good, clean living.  

Big Nick sets the tone, and his detectives follow suit.  Lobbin’ Bob responds accordingly…as do the agents who work under him.  

Borracho’s thing with you actually starts because of Henderson.  It’s a string of bank robberies; the suspects are a crew out of Bakersfield working around Los Angeles.  The FBI is called in.  When Lobbin’ Bob and his field agents walk past them to get to the crime scene, Henderson elbows Borracho and snickers.

“Looks like they got an ice princess on the feds now,” he says, nodding in your direction.  You look like you’re cut from the same cloth as Bob:  neat clothing, neat ponytail, stick-in-the-ass way of walking.

You walk past, already have your back to them, but you catch Henderson’s remark.  You stop and turn, look at them.  Your eyes, for whatever reason, settle on Borracho:  matches Henderson’s words to him.

“Asshole,” you say, eyes narrowed, and you turn away.

“Got me in trouble, you dick,” Borracho snorts, shaking his head at his fellow detective.  But to your retreating back, he glares from behind his shades and thinks, what a bitch.

-----

It doesn’t get any better.

You’re the only woman on Bob’s team, and Big Nick has nearly as many comments for you as he does for your leader.  Which marks you as fair game to the rest of the guys in Major Crimes.

Borracho, for his part, has never been a complete follower—not the way Henderson and Z and Connors are—but it is easy to get swept up in the piling-on that happens when Big Nick starts on you.

You have two main approaches to the crude comments Nick lobs at you:  utter silence and snarky retorts.  You typically employ the former:  Nick may say something incredibly rude—imply that your pussy is filled with icicles, imply that a hard fuck would loosen you right up—and you only respond with an unblinking stare.  

You stare so long that it makes them squirm, makes the entire moment turn from funny to something heavy and uncomfortable.

But the latter approach, the snarky retorts?  You employ those sparingly, and to devastating effect.  And you use them mostly on the guys, Borracho included.

Most of Borracho’s insults for you hew close to Henderson’s original ice princess remark, with his own observations around you being uptight, robotic, and obsessive about proper police procedures.  Your answering insults to him seem to cast him as a drooling moron.

Borracho calls you a frosty bitch.

You call him an idiotic asshole.

He calls you an uptight cunt.

You call him tall, dark, and stupid.

He says that any guy who might try to fuck you would have his dick fall off from severe frostbite.

You snort mirthlessly, tell him that’s funny, coming from a walking STD like him.

He implies that you and Lobbin’ Bob have a thing going on, two asshole feds having bland vanilla sex together.

You reply, completely monotone, that you’d rather fuck Bob than be Nick O’Brien’s little lap dog.

He tells you to shut the fuck up.

You reply that he too should shut the fuck up.

It doesn’t get any better.  It only gets worse.

-----

It gets worse when Major Crimes and the FBI work a case together.  

It involves other departments—LAPD, ATF—but the bulk of the work is done by your respective teams.  Big Nick, unable to stand planning a multi-agency case, passes off much of the work to Borracho.

Lobbin’ Bob is juggling too many cases and hands off the FBI’s side to you.

If you weren’t…well, you…Borracho would be impressed.  All the things he and the guys from Major Case harass you about…your work ethic is the flip-side of those things.

Your frostiness could be construed as consummate professionalism.

Your uptight, robotic nature could be read as a desire to solve a case quickly and with airtight evidence.

But you’re you.  You’re the woman that called him a lap dog and a walking STD (though he’s called you things just as bad, a fact he tacitly ignores), so Borracho doesn’t let any admirable feelings for you take root, and he only does what he must to solve the case and never work with you so closely again.

*****

Despite all the new technology, sometimes things have to be old-school, which is why you find yourself setting up a listening post in an apartment building in Marina del Rey.  It’s a high-end building, full of wealthy people, but the one you are targeting is on a top floor condo.

You work with building management to take over a utility room one floor down, right under the condo in question.  It’s a cramped space, but there’s enough room for the audio equipment and recording devices.

And enough room for two chairs and two people.

You try to plan it any other possible way.  You try to pull in an LAPD detective, but they are running their own piece of this case.  Same with ATF.  

You try to get another FBI agent to sit with you on the overnight shift, but Big Nick manages to speak up long enough to throw a fit—he accuses you of icing out his team, trying to steal all the credit when the case is solved.

So you try to get any other detective from Major Crimes.  Literally any other guy.

It ends up being Tall, Dark, and Stupid.

You know his name is Magalon, just the way you know he knows your name.  But he never uses your name, not a single time, and you do him the same courtesy.

-----

You’ve run a few listening posts.  It is never as exciting as it looks in the movies, because usually there’s nothing to do but wait for that one, single clue.

Late on a Friday night, sitting in a cramped utility closet with Magalon, you wait.

And wait.  And wait.

Your partner for the evening sighs early on, slides his dark glasses over his face, then leans back in his chair.  You can’t tell if he’s asleep, but he’s silent, and that’s something.  For once he isn’t calling you a bitch or a cunt or any charming variation on the same misogynistic theme.

It doesn’t bother you when he does.  You’ve worked in law enforcement your whole adult life, and Magalon is exactly the same as the majority of men in the field.  

You’ve run listening posts before.  You know the drill.  You set the equipment high enough to hear, low enough to not be heard through the utility room door.  And then you pull your book out of your bag and start reading.

You swear you hear Magalon snort, very softly.  You can imagine what he’s thinking.  In his world, reading a book probably translates to stuck-up or boring or whatever other untrue things he thinks about you.

So you tilt your chin a little higher.  Let him think whatever he wants.

*****

Borracho is bored and moreover, the guys had a piss test earlier in the day, which means he’s missing their usual party.

They drew names to see who had to run the listening post with Queen Frostine.  Of course his name was pulled.

And of course you sit there completely composed, paging through a book, engrossed in whatever you are reading.

He watches you from behind his dark glasses.  If you weren’t you, he’d think you were okay.  Too well put-together for his tastes; Borracho prefers his women a little messy.  Women with an edge.  You’re too polished, perfectly rounded off.  No edge to you.

But you are good-looking.  He tries to picture you dressed down and finds he can’t do it.  Even now—you’re in jeans and a button-down shirt tucked in—you’re too neat.  Your eyeliner is perfect.  Your lipstick is just a shade darker than your natural color.

He can’t picture you roughed up.  He can’t picture you with eye makeup a little smeared, lipstick blurred at the edges of your lips.  Hair tousled, clothes rumpled.  

You’re probably the type of woman who sleeps in formal pajamas.  The thought makes him snort, and it pulls your eyes from your book, your cool gaze settling on him.

“Something wrong, detective?”

He doesn’t answer you.  “What are you reading?”

You look back to your page, turn it.  “A book.”

“Funny.”  A beat.  “What’s it called?”

You turn the book so he can see it, tap the cover with your forefinger.  The Devil in the White City, it says.

“What’s it about?” he asks.

“Crime.”

“Sounds fun.”

You glance at him again.  “It’s about H.H. Holmes.  Some consider him to be the first modern serial killer.”

“Sounds extra fun.”

You turn back to your book.  “About as much fun as manning a listening post with an ice princess, I imagine.”

He snorts again, this time bitter.  “Or with a walking STD.”

The smallest of smiles tugs at the corners of your lips before you school your expression.  You don’t reply to him.

-----

An hour passes.  No—it crawls by.

You read.  He scrolls through social media, and it’s punctuated from time to time with messages from the guys.

Z sends a simple Miss you, bro.

Connors says It’s only 10 and Nick is already FUKKED up.

Henderson asks how’s it going with the bitch queen?

Borracho chuckles and replies Quiet.  Listening post is dead and shes reading.

It’s Friday night and he already has that Friday night restless energy thing going on.  He sighs and counts down the time remaining until the two of you are relieved by another FBI agent and a technician from the Sheriff’s department.

Twenty minutes later, Nick sends a text.  Well, less a text than a series of pics:  the bevy of women Nick has hired for the night.  What Borracho is missing out on.  

He sighs again, and you glance at him.  You correctly guess at what’s bothering him.

“You can leave, if you want,” you say.  

He’s tempted.  He knows you can handle it, and further—he doubts you have plans on a Friday night.  He doubts you’re missing anything fun.  You’d probably be reading that same book at home.

“Big Nick wants one of us here,” he replies.  

“I’d cover for you.”

“Bullshit,” he retorts.  “You’d throw me under the bus.”

You shrug.  “Yeah, probably.”

“Then why would you even offer to cover for me?”

Another shrug.  “I like mind games.  Most bitches do.”

He huffs out a breath, crosses his arms across his chest.  He leans back in his chair and stares at you.  “I wasn’t even the one who called you an ice princess that first time, you know.  That was Henderson.”

“I thought you were Henderson.”

“Asshole.  You know my name.”

You turn another page, and he almost misses the faint smile.  If you weren’t you, he’d think you were teasing him.  

“Honestly, all of you Major Crimes detectives look the same to me,” you say.  

“All you agents look the same.  Same stick-up-the-ass.”

“Better to have a stick up the ass than to be a thug with a badge and a gun.”

“You think I’m a bad cop?”  He tightens his jaw, feels his molars grinding against each other.

“I think you’re all bad cops,” you clarify.  “I think you care more about your parties.  O’Brien certainly cares more about being the bad boy of the sheriff’s department, and the rest of you fall in line like his little ducklings.”

It stings to hear you say it out loud, though Borracho has long suspected that you’d thought that about them.  You have a way of looking at them when they are joking around, a subtle way of shaking your head like a disappointed mother.

“It’s just letting off steam,” he replies, defensive.  “How the fuck do you unwind?”

You look at him, tilt your head.  “Spoiler alert, detective, but I unwind the same way.  I drink, I fuck.  I just keep it separate from the work.  I don’t let it affect my job.”

That stings too, you obliquely saying that you’re better than him.  That you have it more together, which (in a calmer moment) he’d probably admit.  Right now, he stews—the guys are off having fun, Nick sent the pics of the honeys at the party, and Borracho is stuck sitting with you, being told that you’re better than him.

“Yeah, I can just picture it,” he snaps, his voice laced with sarcasm.  “Half a glass of white wine, then you fuck some lame asshole in missionary with the lights off.  What a fucking badass.”

You keep your head tilted, and now you pair it with an infuriating smile.

“I don’t need to prove to you if I’m cool,” you say.  A beat, and then you add, “at least I don’t have to pay for it.”

“I don’t pay for it!”  He hates how defensive he sounds, the way his voice cracks on the word pay like he’s a fucking child.

“Oh, sorry.  O’Brien pays for it.  That’s so much better.”

“I don’t…partake in that stuff.”  Not anymore, anyway.  He had a few times right after his divorce when he was in a bad way and wallowing, but he hasn’t since then.  It always left him feeling cheap and a little scummy…but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy going to the parties and looking.

“Okay.”  Your tone is clear that you don’t believe him, and you turn back to your book.

“I don’t.”

“Sure, Henderson.”

He huffs in frustration.  “Christ, you are a cunt.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“Isn’t it?  Cunts are a lot of fun.  Seems like a compliment, calling me one.”

It always goes like this.  Every single fucking time.  You always respond to his insults with these infuriating responses, deliver barbs and retorts back to him without being affected at all.  

And just like always, Borracho settles on his usual closing statement.

“Shut the fuck up,” he says.

“You first,” you reply.

*****

The bickering kills off the remaining time of your shift, and before you know it, there’s a knock on the door and your relief is there to spell you.

What surprises you is Magalon doesn’t stalk away the moment he can.  He keeps his steps measured to yours, falls in beside you as you go into the parking garage under the building.  

He doesn’t speak.  He just walks beside you, and you can feel the anger still radiating off of him.  Of all of them, Magalon falls on the quieter end of the spectrum.  O’Brien is Major Crimes’ chattiest asshole, and Magalon usually sits back and listens.  You think sometimes he talks the most to you, which is probably a shame since you constantly squabble.

In the parking garage, he grumbles, “this was a lot of fucking fun.  Great way to spend a Friday night.”

It stings, faintly.  You offered to cover.  He’s the one who stayed, in the end.  There wouldn’t have been any repercussions if he left, especially from his boss.  For fuck’s sake, O’Brien is the first to break the rules.  He’d never reprimand one of his detectives for leaving their post with an FBI agent.

“Hurry along then,” you retort.  “Maybe you can make it in time and get O’Brien’s sloppy seconds.”

You expect him to tell you to fuck off.  You expect him to call you a name.  You expect his usual weak finishing move of shut the fuck up.

Thing is, he does say shut the fuck up…he just says it as he turns and squares up to you, puffs his chest out and faces you, and you stupidly think he’s challenging you to a fight.  He’s only half a head taller than you, but he’s broad through the chest and arms, and you take a defensive step back…

“Don’t you ever shut the fuck up?” he repeats, and he shakes his head at his own question, frustration writ across his face.  “Why can’t you ever just…be fucking quiet?”

You open your mouth to answer (apparently you cannot ever shut the fuck up), but he takes another step to close the gap between you, and maybe Detective Magalon hates you, but something is driving him other than hatred at the moment.  He reaches out and wraps a hand around the back of your neck, holds you steady.  His eyes dip down to look at your mouth before they slide up and gaze into your own eyes.

Oh.  Oh, shit.

You only just grasp the situation when his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent, but not cruel.  His mouth slots over yours, his tongue pries your lips apart, and you hate that you open up to him so willingly.  You try to logic out the situation—Friday nights always key you up, and the guy you had a friends-with-benefits situation moved away months ago—but the cool, logical part of your brain is falling silent.

It’s giving over to the baser part of your brain that chases pleasure, that sparks up like fireworks at the feeling of Magalon’s rough kissing, the way his lips are just a bit chapped.  The way his facial hair tickles against your face.  The way he grips your neck—firm but not too hard, and the pad of his thumb strokes the side of your neck.

Well, shit.

*****

Borracho convinces himself that he’s just worked up.  He’s just confusing the nascent lust that bloomed from Big Nick’s pictures of the women with his ongoing irritation of you.  

That when you took the mean shot about sloppy seconds, he was going to place his hand over your mouth to shut you the fuck up…but you looked at him in surprise, your lips parting, and the motion drew his eyes, and his brain (tall, dark, and stupid after all) did the wrong thing.

What surprises him is that you still for a second, but then you kiss him back.  You open your mouth to him, allow him to sweep his tongue against yours.  You breathe out through your nose, and after a beat, you reach up to circle your fingers around his wrist, around the hand that has a firm hold on you.

You don’t pry his hand away.  You only hold him steady as he holds you steady.

It’s not love.  It’s not even lust.  It’s just months and months of irritation, finally bubbling over into this.

That’s what he tells himself.  As he walks you backwards, as he presses you against your SUV.  As he grinds against you, getting steadily harder against your thigh.  As you make these little noises, these quiet whimpers.  As you kiss him back, as your other hand hooks against his belt and holds him close to you.

This is just his irritation with you.  He’s letting off steam.  That is it.

He can’t fathom what you’re doing.  If he’s constantly angry with you, then you have to feel similarly.  

Maybe you’re unwinding too.  What did you say earlier?  You unwind the same way as him?  

I drink, I fuck, you said.

Your prospects for the latter must be bleak if you’re willing to fuck him, but he’s not going to complain.

You release your hold on his wrist, and you reach down into your pocket, fumble until you pull out your keys.  You hit the fob, and you unlock your SUV.  He steps away from you, releases you from where he has you trapped against the door.  You open the door to the back, and he starts to push you in, push you onto the back seat but you murmur, wait a second.  

You turn away from him, and it’s automatic how his hands go to your waist, hold you.  It’s like if he stops touching you, the insane spell will be broken, a current halted because of a break in the circuit.

There’s a protective cover on your backseat, and it takes you a moment to get it unhooked and tossed into the far back of the vehicle, and you turn back to him with a shrug.  “Dog hair,” you say simply, and Borracho lets the comment slide over him.  He is already pulling you back to him, kissing you again, pushing you into your SUV.

You hook your hands into his belt again and pull him in with you.

Car sex is always better in theory than reality.  It’s hot in the abstract but fraught in practice.  Borracho has a fair amount of experience—the sum total of his sexual history in high school was realized in the backseat of the shitty Acura Legend he inherited from his aunt.

At least your SUV is bigger.

It’s still awkward.  Difficult to get you out of your jeans and panties, difficult to get his own pants and boxers pushed down enough.  The backseat is too short for both of you, so it takes effort to arrange your legs.  You bend one, press it against the back of the seat, and the other plants on the floorboard.  Borracho kneels clumsily, shuffles to slot himself between your thighs.

It’s dim enough in the SUV that he can pretend you’re not you.  Because aside from you murmuring yes to answer his question is this okay with you?...you don’t talk.

The thought occurs to him that maybe you’re pretending he’s someone else too.

You are far touchier than he thought you would be.  You smooth your palms over his back, his shoulders, his arms.  It makes him feel a little big-headed; he thinks maybe you like his build, maybe you’ve been studying him on the sly and are finally getting to touch him.  You run your fingers through his hair, muss it up, and the strange intimacy of the gesture makes him shudder.

You still when he pushes into you.  He reaches down and lines himself up with you, then inches his hips forward.  He’s shocked to find you ready for him—wet and hot, and as he breeches your entrance, he can feel how your pussy is already twitching against him.

The first stupid thought that comes to his head is I’ll have to tell the guys that there’s no icicles in her pussy after all.

The second, better thought:  No, this is between me and her.  I’ll never say a word to the guys.

*****

Look:  Magalon and O’Brien and their merry band of assholes can say whatever they like about you.  They can call you a bitch or a cunt or whatever rude phrase they want, but you know you’re an ace at your job.  You are efficient.  You are smart.

Sometimes you aren’t quite as smart in your personal life.

Case in point, this moment.  Magalon half-naked, you half-naked underneath him.  In your SUV that smells faintly of salt water and wet dog from the weekend trip to the beach with your retriever.  You know this is a bad idea, your great big brain screams a million warnings, but sometimes you just do dumb things.

The dumb thing you are doing right now is Magalon.

You have no idea what is driving him.  He’ll probably go running straight to the dickhead brigade at Major Crimes and spill everything, but you don’t really care.  They already say terrible things about you.  This would just give them a new avenue to explore.

If he wasn’t Magalon, it’d be easier to fall into the fantasy.  The man is not repulsive looking.  He’s broad, and you run your hands over him, can feel how he’s built under his flannel shirt.  He’s a decent kisser too, not too rough, not too soft and precious about it.  An acceptable amount of tongue without trying to map the shape of your tonsils.  

His hands are nice too—you’ve noticed them before.  You can admit to yourself that you don’t hate the way they feel when they touch you, when they grip your waist or when they cup your hip as he settles against you.

When he pushes into you, it stuns you.  You freeze underneath him, breathe in deep and shut your eyes at the sensation.

The universe is often unfair, you’ve found.  Giving an asshole like Magalon that good dick, perfectly sized.  What a waste.

Not a complete waste, not now, at least.  Not when he’s sliding into you, and not when you give way to him.  It burns just a bit, the way he stretches you, but it’s that good pain that bumps up so close to pleasure that the two are undiscernible from each other.  He must feel his own version of it because he drops his head beside yours, breathes out a harsh fuck once his hips are flush against yours.

You know he hates you, but in this moment, he’s considerate.  Almost sweet, actually.  It’s awkward in your SUV; the door handle digs against the top of your head and he notices two thrusts in.  He mutters something you can’t make out, but then he reaches up and cups the back of your head, helps hold you steady.

And he deals you gentler thrusts to keep from hurting you.

You would have never guessed he could be nice.  Especially in a moment like this.  You know it won’t last.  It will end the minute this ends, but he’s being nice, so you’re nice too.  You wrap your arm around his neck.  You pull his face to yours and you kiss him, soft.  

It must surprise him because he huffs against your lips before he kisses you back.  Presses a second gentle peck to your mouth before he breaks away, drops his head beside yours again.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he mutters, and he sounds almost begrudging.  Like he thought you’d feel terrible and is mildly pissed to find himself wrong.

You have no witty retort.  You are stunned to near muteness as the feeling of him, the thick drag of his cock as he fucks you at a sedate pace.  You reply, lamely, “you too.”

“Your pussy is gripping me like crazy,” he adds, and his breath against the side of your neck makes you shiver underneath him.  “Fuck, what do you need?”

“Just keep going,” you say.  You raise your hips to meet his thrusts, plant one foot firmer on the floorboard and press up.  It changes the angle, changes the drag of him inside you.  He bumps against that spot inside you, and tilting your hips like makes the base of him settle against your clit each time he bottoms out.

“Close?”  He moves his head, whispers in your ear, and it shouldn’t be hot, him whispering in your goddamned ear.  As he fucks you.  In the backseat of your SUV.  

“I can feel it,” he continues.  “Feel you getting even wetter.  You like fighting with me?  It turn you on, being mean to me?”

You laugh—an actual, genuine laugh.  “Guess so.”

“S’okay.”  He’s getting out of breath; he starts to pant as he picks up the pace.  He lifts his head to gaze down at you, and he’s actually smiling.

You didn’t think he was capable of smiling.  It’s weird to see it on him.  Magalon has actual dimples, a winning smile, and you bite back the urge to tell him that he should smile more, that he should drop the tough-guy, stone-faced routine.  

“Guess it turns me on too,” he admits.  

You can feel yourself getting close, the licking flames of your orgasm growing in heat and intensity.  It shouldn’t be so fucking hot, but it is, and Magalon is too good and you kinda hate that you’re so close already.  That the feel of him, the sound of him, the heavy press of his cock as he splits you open over and over get you so close, so quickly.  

Even the smell of him—no obvious cologne, just the lingering scent of his soap or laundry detergent, the growing scent of his arousal paired with your own.  Your SUV reeks of sex, and you wonder how long it will take to dissipate.  Will it still be noticeable on Monday morning, when you drive into the office?

He drives into you faster, harder, but he keeps his hand on your head, shelters you from hurting yourself against the door.  You feel yourself cross that threshold, the point of no return, and the heat blooms outward, consumes you as you come.

“F-fuck, right there, Magalon,” you whimper.  “Don’t s-stop, oh fuck, don’t stop—”

“Jesus,” he breathes out, and he rears back to watch your face.  His own expression is tense, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and you realize that he’s trying to hold on, trying to delay his own pleasure….

He fails.  He deals you one, final punishing thrust, and then he pulls out with a curse.  Reaches down and pumps his length, and then you feel the hot ropes of his cum as he paints your belly with his release.

“Jesus,” he says again, this time a low mutter.  He drops his head on your shoulder, and you don’t know how to act now that the moment is over.  You reach out and pat him awkwardly on the back, and you stop yourself before you say, “great work, champ.”

It’s a long moment of silence, then he lifts himself off of you.  He doesn’t quite meet your gaze, but he asks, “do you have anything?”  Trails off uncomfortably, then gestures vaguely at the mess he made of you.

“Napkins in the center console.”  You sit up; he reaches past you and snags some napkins from between the front seats.  He hands them to you, and you clean yourself up as best you can.

Then he reaches down, hands you your discarded clothing.  You dress in silence except for the exasperated grunts as you each trying to shimmy back into clothing in the cramped back seat of a vehicle.

Then the two of you climb out of the backseat, and the moment gets so damned awkward and heavy, you try to break it with a joke.

“Now you can tell the guys that there’s no ice in my pussy,” you offer.  You keep your tone light.

He glances at you but doesn’t respond.

“Or tell O’Brien that you gave me a hard fucking, see if it loosened me up or not,” you try.

Magalon shakes his head.  He slides his phone out of his pocket, checks for new messages.  He slides it back into his pocket, then mutters, “wouldn’t do that.”

“You could.  I couldn’t stop you.”

Just like that, you’re back to bickering.  Only now there’s a new weight to it, since he just had his dick in you moments ago.  Since you just swabbed his cum off of you.

“I said I wouldn’t.  I’m not a complete asshole.”

“Since when?  Since five minutes ago?”

“I don’t kiss and tell.”  He crosses his arms and his face goes stony.  The smile, the dimples are long gone.

“Okay.”

He shakes his head.  “Don’t do that shit.”

“What shit?”

“Okay.”  He mimics you, meanly.  “Don’t agree with me in that tone that says you don’t believe me at all.”  

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t.  I don’t give a shit.”

“You sound like you do,” you observe.  “You still pissed you missed your party?”

“That I missed Big Nick’s sloppy seconds?”  He snorts.  “Nah, had you instead.”

“Poor guy,” you reply.  “Had to settle for an ice princess.”

“Yeah, desperate fucking times call for desperate fucking measures,” he snaps.

For some reason, that stings.  That’s a direct blow, and you don’t know why.  Of all the things he’s said to you, all the things he’s called you…this actually hurts.  Maybe because he had been nice in your interlude, that hand cradling your head, that kiss that had been gentle.  It must have been an act—a convincing one—and now he’s back to being the real him.  The him that was apparently desperate enough to fuck you as a last resort.

No wonder he won’t tell the guys.  He’s ashamed to have fucked you.  He’s embarrassed.

You’re a smart woman but you make stupid choices sometimes.

“Well, it’s over.  You survived.”  He can probably hear the hurt in your voice, but you don’t care.  

You tend to deal with the consequences of your stupid choices by fleeing.  Which is what you do now—you turn away, fumble your keys.  Open the driver’s side door, and you catch the startled expression on his face, the surprised “hey” he says, but you ignore both.  

You only climb into your SUV, turn the ignition, and then leave.  And you send up a fervent prayer that the listening post yields something useful over the weekend, because Monday morning already looms like a bank of storm clouds.

[spaceshipkat]

oh fuck. what happened this time?

the usual things (i’m tired of the selfpub to tradpub pipeline, but i’ll spare the rehash of why) (also it’d be great if trends didn’t make or break an author’s chances of 1. selling a book in the first place and 2. doing well enough to earn back an advance so an author can start to receive royalties) and a new thing i learned of today (some of tradpub has apparently begun making some of its authors print their own physical ARCs, since they’re more expensive than eARCs and unfortunately ARCs don’t have a great return rate—aka not enough people leave reviews or spread the word about a book they’ve read an ARC of. yet another problem is that publishers can’t distribute the author-printed ARCs for the author because the publisher didn’t print them itself)

but also what’s going on with Bethany Baptiste. if y’all haven’t seen, i’ll try to sum up what i know of the present situation: she sold her debut years ago and was supposed to also publish years ago (i think around 2022?). her editors fucked it. (from what i’ve heard over the years, sourcebooks is notorious for fucking it. this is not a new phenomenon where they’re concerned, but it’s double fucked because Bethany is Black and as we all know publishing caters first and foremost to white people.) then she was supposed to debut earlier this month (March 2024) but “printing issues” forced sourcebooks to push her release date back to the end of this month. this week, she tweeted that sourcebooks has continued to fuck it, and today (3/21/24) sourcebooks tweeted that her new pub date is this May, again citing the aforementioned “printing issues” (whatever the fuck that actually means with regard to Bethany’s specific situation is anyone’s guess)

it’s just…very, very disappointing for countless reasons: that tradpub is willingly fucking over an incredibly important voice in publishing overall, but especially YA SFF; that publishing continues to undervalue Black voices; that time and time again anyone who is not cishet and white (and, more often than not, a man) will get the shaft; that tradpub continues to prove it is literally falling apart at the seams and no one is actually sure how to fix it. for instance, apparently S&S sent out an email to agents apologizing for editors who are “unresponsive,” except whoever made the decision to send that email thinks “unresponsive” means three weeks, which is just absurd given how overworked editors are. by this, i take it to mean S&S is gonna try to push editors to reply to submissions within three weeks, which is fucked. (i hope i am misreading what this means, but i am pretty sure i’m not.) not only will that harm editors who are already overworked and underpaid, it’ll likely have detrimental effects on authors since it’s unlikely an editor will be able to make a sound decision in that timeframe and get their entire editorial staff (anyone who participates in acquisitions meetings, when editors bring a book they want to buy before their publisher on the whole) on board. i have watched this industry change so goddamn much over the last decade, to the point i barely recognize it anymore. i remember when the Big Five was the Big Six. i remember when an author could hit a bestseller list through quality rather than the volume of noise surrounding their book. i remember when publishers still did marketing for their authors (and even then it wasn’t great, but the fact that was better than it is now? dear fucking god authors are so fucked). i remember when an author’s advance was based on the quality of their book, rather than the number of followers an author has—i remember when the latter was the goddamn exception to the norm. i remember when an author could be sent on tour by their publisher rather than paying out of pocket if they wanted to meet readers. i remember when an author could dream of making a living through their writing. now that’s fucking laughable. now you’ll be lucky to make north of a nice deal ($1 - $49,000) and you’ll barely see a sniff of publisher-led marketing on that money—on any money. (remember, that’s why tradpub is snapping up selfpub successes and popular fanfic with the serial numbers filed off. those won’t require as much marketing because the author has already personally done the heavy-lifting.)

now to be fair, tradpub is a little better in some ways: representation is a bit more common now, for instance, even if still woefully sparse—on every side, from authors to agents to editors to publicists etc etc; john green isn’t topping the bestseller lists for years and years (though CoHo and sjm are)—and bestseller lists are a bit more fluid, even if they don’t seem to carry as much weight and still largely ignore anyone who isn’t cishet and white (and likely a man) (go look at Kennedy Ryan’s insta post from the past week when she hit the NYT list); and it’s good that most of editing is done virtually rather than by hand, since we need to save trees (however much i would have loved getting a physical copy of my book in the mail sprinkled with editorial notes). but overall? tradpub is on fire and im so fucking tired.

[lewis-winters]

Day 13: Fear

Part of my OC-tober 2022 (that will get fucking finished in 2024 so help me god)! Well. We're indulging this time around with some Baldur's Gate 3 on my Band of Brothers/HBO War Blog. I guess. Honestly, with how many OCs I have in other fandoms, I might just start playing around with them for this prompt list, too!

tw: If you're starting to notice a pattern in my writing with parenthood, in iterations of both problematic or good, uuuuuhhhh no you fucking don't.

They’ve been sitting by the fire in the Elfsong tavern for a whole of hour, in perfect silence, before Jaheira chooses to break it. “You will not return upstairs.”

It’s not a question. Still, Pasiphaë answers it as one. “Not until they’re all in bed. I’ve no patience right now,” she tells her with a deep sigh. “For anyone or myself. I… do not like who I was today.”

Belligerent. Jumpy. Too slow to react, too impulsive in her decisions. Near unrecognizable, as compared to her original cool and collected demeanor at the beginning of their journey. She expected better of herself, and her companions definitely deserved better than the kind of mess she’s become. But they’ve been running on near fumes for the past few days, having been tossed about here and there by Mystra, Shar, Lorroakan, cultists, Orin, and Cazador, all alike. On top of that, Serafina had decided to join in on their quest, despite Pasiphaë’s explicit orders for her to get out of the city while she still could—truly, there was a time when her sweet little girl would obey her with no question, but alas! she’s inherited her other mother’s bullheaded-ness. Pun intended. Not for the first time, Pasiphaë found herself wishing that Melisandre were still around to share in her pride over their daughter’s immense bravery. The abrupt reminder of what she no longer had—after several months of not thinking about Mel even once—had been enough to throw her off her rhythm completely. The day had already started being kind of shit.

Ulder Ravengard and his unfortunate decision to mouth off about his son’s new appearance was the last straw.

“I lost my temper.” The verbal dressing down was spectacular while it was happening. Invigorating, even. Pasiphaë doesn’t remember the last time she’s felt such catharsis. After the months of non-stop action, it was good to release it all.

It was the stunned silence afterward that felt particularly… damned. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Bah, he deserved it,” Jaheira scoffs, waving a dismissive hand. “He is better off for listening to your wisdom.”

“Calling whatever that was ‘wisdom’ is too generous.”

“But it is what it is: a mother’s wisdom.”

Pasiphaë snaps; “I’m not Wyll’s mother,” and Jaheira tilts her head back and lets out a hearty HA! loud enough to draw the attention of other patrons.

“You are not just his mother, that is for sure,” Jaheira says, wagging an admonishing finger at her. “All of them seem to have attached themselves to you like little suckling pups to a bitch’s teats.”

“Your metaphors leave much to be desired, Jaheira.”

“You were protecting your pup, is what I mean,” Jaheira shrugs. “Even if it is from his own blood. Wyll holds you under no contempt for such a display. I may even go so far as to say that he’s grateful for it.”

“Perhaps.” Oh, but Wyll loves his father so—even when the man has done nothing but abandon him. Pasiphaë knows it isn’t right to get between father and son, not as a simple party member, and most certainly not while one still holds out hope for reconciliation. She might’ve just ruined Wyll’s chances back there, with her vindictive nature and even sharper tongue. If she had, would he ever forgive her?

As if reading her thoughts, Jaheira tsks. “We mothers, we always want what is best for our children. Nobody can fault us for that.” There’s a small smile on her face; a tiny quirk of the corner of her lip that feels conspirative. Like they’re in on a joke together.

Technically, they are. Pasiphaë smiles back. Or tries to. “Whatever you say.”

Their conversation, once again, falls to silence. Patrons come and go, and the tavern keeper’s boy comes once and twice to stoke the fires until, finally, they fizzle out into glowing embers. The night grows even quieter soon after, with the patrons quickly disappearing out the door, or into other rooms, until, finally, it is just them, and the occasional drunkard outside.

“You can go. Rest,” Pasiphaë says, aware that it is late. Tomorrow (later?), they are to confront Gortash. “We’ll need all our strength come morning.”

“You are determined to keep vigil.”

“Someone has to.”

“If I were to climb up those stairs, I would not be surprised to see some of your pups waiting for you by their fire,” Jaheira chuckles, standing up with an exaggerated groan—her knees are not what they used to be. “No doubt, they will send me back down again—or even come down themselves—if I return empty handed. Come, now.”

She offers her hand.

Pasiphaë stares at it.

Something in her chest shudders with anxiety and—is it her imagination? The tadpole behind her eye, wriggling with a sordid kind of glee?

“I fear I cannot be to them what they need me to be, Jaheira.”

Jaheira frowns, confused. Still, she keeps her hand out. “And what is that?”

What, indeed? A leader? With the amount of times she’s failed them? Perish the thought. A caretaker? Barely. Her hands are not made for healing, anymore. Certainly not with the Triad’s silence and her simmering resentment over it. And what comfort she could give is quickly dwarfed by the enormity of all their suffering. What use is a lullaby, when she couldn’t even hold Karlach enough to soothe her tears? What use is her sword, when it can scarcely keep Lae’zel from the betrayal of her kin, queen, and god? Clearly, Pasiphaë couldn’t even call herself a protector—just two days ago, she’d failed to protect Astarion from his worst possible self, leaving the burden to Gale, instead; and just last tenday, Shar had taken from Shadowheart her last connection to her past, while all Pasiphaë could do was helplessly watch. Hells, she certainly couldn’t protect Wyll, who only ever looked to her for wisdom and guidance. Or even Gale, whose final decision haunts them all—Astarion, especially, who has begged her over and over again to make Gale see reason. But how could she, when all she could think about is his fate as both Faithless and Discarded? She understands too well the challenge that lays before him to possibly talk him out of his task in any way that matters. The blasted Wall remains a prominent phantom in Gale’s mind as much as hers; but while she’s resigned to her own fate, that doesn’t mean he should be, too.

Gods, but what will she tell Morena, then? Tara? Astarion? That she let their beloved boy die, simply because the folly of the gods and their selfish nature was too strong for her to fight? No. That would not do.

And yet. She hesitates.

“If I am their mother, as you say I am,” she tells Jaheira. “I am a shit mother. My Melisandre would be ashamed to see how poorly of a mother I am being.”

Jaheira knits her brows together. “Your partner?”

“Yes.” Her beloved. The mother of her children. The balm to her soul. The light in her darkness; Pasiphaë is never going to see her again. “She was always better at this than I—my children—I was never—”

“Serafina seems to adore you.”

“Now,” Pasiphaë entreats, feeling the blasted tadpole wriggle and squirm behind her stupid eyes the more distressed she becomes. “I have failed her before, terribly, and it was only time that allowed those wounds to heal. Time is not on my side, now. If I fail them—when I fail them—”

She stops. She cannot bear to think of it. But it is inevitable. “I fear that it is not a matter of if, but when I fail them, Jaheira. I am cursed to repeat my mistakes. And when I do… gods when I do…”

“You will not.”

“You are a fool to—”

“Ha!” Jaheira barks, snatching back her offered hand to reach out and shake Pasiphaë by the shoulders. Like she were a kitten being pulled back by her scruff. Gone is the amicable, conspiratorial smile, replaced thoroughly by a stern glare. “It is you who is the fool to let such thoughts paralyze you!” She lets her go, wags a finger in her face, “you have fallen out of practice in the art of seeing yourself as what you are. What you are truly capable of.”

“But I am capable of failure!”

“And you are capable of triumph!” Jaheira snaps, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration. “Why are you so determined to fail?”

Pasiphaë blinks. Blinks again. Something hot rolls down her cheeks and she scrubs at them with her hands. They come away wet.

“You said, once, that you are destined for the Wall of the Faithless. This is the truth. In many ways, you are,” Jaheira continues, kneeling on the ground so as to catch her eyes. “But you are not dead yet. Your pups are not dead yet. Pull it together; you must see this—if not for yourself, then for them.”

For them. Yes. For them. Children are only as resilient as their parents, Melisandre used to say. Whisper in her ear, when the worst of the grief had taken over as their baby girl cooled in her arms. Phaedra is gone, but Xenodius and Serafina yet live. For them, Pasiphaë had rallied. Taken up what strength she had left, and trudged forward.

Get up, she thinks Melisandre would say, now. Get up, my love. They are hurt, but they are yet living. Get up.

“I wish I had your wisdom,” Pasiphaë says, finally, after a long moment of silence. It comes out in a croak, barely a whisper, barely even words. Still, she manages a small smile. “True mother’s wisdom.”

Jaheira tsks. But slowly, she too returns a smile. “You have it. As I said: you are just… out of practice. Come, now,” again, she gets up on her creaky knees with an exaggerated groan.

And offers her hand. “Your pups might sleep better, knowing that their mother is nearby.”

This time, Pasiphaë takes it. “Their bitch of a mother?”

Jaheira laughs. Laughs and laughs, even as she pulls Pasiphaë toward the stairs and their camp. It’s loud and bawdy and definitely a great disturbance. But it does sound like music, and Pasiphaë likes hearing it. “Just so!”

--

Pasiphaë Elago is my Tav. She's a moon-elf, and a Paladin of Ilmater/the Triad turned Godless Paladin-- it's a long story. She's named Pasiphaë because her late wife, Melisandre, was a druid whose wild shape was a bull. I think I'm funny. Before the events of BG3, she was an adventurer in her own right, and is technically retired and is literally broaching 500 by the time she's kidnapped by the Ilithids. That being said, because she's so old and had just lost her wife a few years prior, she doesn't romance the BG3 characters but accidentally adopts them all during their whole tadpole ordeal. Oh make no mistake, Astarion, Shadowheart, Karlach, and Lae'zel tried to hit that, but she shut that down so fast-- "Some of you are as old as my eldest grandchild. It's awkward." Team Mom! Total GILF!! And also!! suffering. Help her, she thought she was done having to parent like this after watching 2 of her 3 children (the last died during the Spellplague) grow up, move out, and make families of their own. She's supposed to be RETIRED, damnit. She's trying so hard. She just wants a NAP.

Speaking of Greek Myths, isn't it funny that Astarion shares a name with the Minotaur? I swear, I didn't think of that before naming Pasiphaë. I did, however, think of it when naming Ariadne Ancunin, my other BG3 OC, who happens to also be Astarion's biological sister. The name's important. Ariadne gave Theseus the power to kill her Minotaur brother, after all. But that's for another day entirely.

None of this makes sense to any of you. That's fine. It's for ME.

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Fucking right!! Okay, I usually try to avoid talking about this, but fuck it, I have to say, I have heard this show, and it is absolutely amazing. One of the very best I’ve heard, from anyone, ever. No, I didn’t see every single show at the Fringe, but I cannot imagine this one did not deserve that award. Of almost 40 (it’s high 30s at the moment, anyway, and I’m still waiting for a couple more NextUp streams to happen) Edinburgh 2023 shows I have heard, and then given ratings in a spreadsheet, Ahir Shah’s was the only show that I gave a 9.75. And that’s only because I went into this rating thing by telling myself I won’t give any show a 10 unless it’s literally as good as the best comedy show I’ve ever heard by anyone. And, okay, it did not quite equal Daniel Kitson’s Where Once Was Wonder. But God, it was fucking good.

That’s why I was surprised to not have read more about it. Because I have been meticulously reading every post on a comedy message board about the 2023 Edinburgh Festival, and there was a lot of talk about a lot of shows, some of which I’ve familiar with and many of which I’m not, but almost no mention of Ahir Shah.

I couldn’t tell if this was a weird oversight on everyone else’s part, or if it’s a sign that I just don’t know enough about comedy. I mean, I haven’t heard a lot of the shows they were talking about, so I guess it’s possible, I thought, that all those were somehow even better than this, and I just think Ahir Shah’s is the best because I don’t know what’s really good. But I have seen and heard a lot of other stand-up comedy shows, by many people in many years (to be fair, I have actually seen in person only a few comedy shows, I mainly mean I’ve seen and heard recordings of a lot of them, and I realize that’s different from being in the room, so that may mitigate whether I can use the claim of “I’ve seen and heard a lot of comedy shows” to give me any cred in knowing about comedy), and Ahir Shah’s Ends is one of the best I’ve ever heard. Including being better than some shows I’ve heard that have previously won the main Edinburgh award, under whatever title it had at the time. So the point is… look, the comedy judges agree with me! They gave the award to the whole festival to the same person who won the top grade in my spreadsheet rankings! I do know what I’m talking about!

I realize it’s a bit hypocritical of me to accept this as a sign that I know what I’m talking about, when at other times I’ve disagreed with comedy award picks, and that makes me say, “Giving out awards for something as subjective as comedy is ridiculous, that one didn’t deserve that award, why do those few people get to say who’s the best?” But when the show that I thought was the best actually wins, I say, “See, this official panel has officially declared that I am correct.” I’ve written plenty before about how I got into comedy as a coping mechanism to deal with a reduction of sports in my life, and this is one instance where the parallel seems obvious, because right now, I feel a lot like my sports team just won. It’s fucking great.

Anyway, seriously, I really think Ahir Shah deserves this and I hope his career only gets better from here, though it’s been on a strong trajectory for a while anyway. I’ve only seen one previous stand-up show by him, which I thought was also brilliant, though not as good at the 2023 one. That one was Dots, his 2019 Edinburgh show that was filmed for HBO in 2021.

I saw that one at the very beginning of 2023, which was a good time for it, I think. I was in a really rough place at the end of 2022/beginning of 2023, not that things are going very well now, but I’ve been sort of steadily climbing out of that absolute breakdown since January. And in January, watching that Ahir Shah special did help. There a bit in there where he says he went off his anti-depressants – “And doing that,” he said, “it turns out is a pro-depressant” – and then he went back on them after having a mental health crisis, and that didn’t make everything better, but it helped. And that is pretty well exactly what I did – I went off antidepressants in 2021 because I thought they weren’t helping, and then in late 2022/early 2023, I was wondering why I couldn’t function and I broke up with my girlfriend because I was so miserable I thought I didn't deserve her, and that absolutely shattered me and I wanted to die for the first time in a few years.

I’d been thinking for a while anyway about going back on medication – I wrote a whole long post at the time about this, in which I repeatedly said “I’m going back on antidepressants because Ahir Shah told me to”, but then also repeatedly said that I’m reducing it to that to be kind of amusing, obviously that is not literally the main factor, no one should take medical advice from comedians. But also, it did kind of give me the push I needed, seeing someone else say there is a way back even if you’ve gotten this bad, just because you stopped them once doesn’t mean you can’t start them again, going off anti-depressants is a pro-depressant that can be undone. And that wasn’t the main factor in my decision to do it, but it was kind of the last factor, the thing that gave me the final push I needed and I did actually call my doctor the morning after I watched that show. If I hadn't seen that Ahir Shah show, I would still have gone back on medication, but not as soon as I did. It would have taken me longer to make that phone call, and I'm glad I didn't end up waiting.

I’m actually not back on anti-depressants. I met with my doctor and talked about what happened and she suggested that my main problem is the extreme anxiety, and if I could curb that I’d be better at functioning and less depressed, so I’m now on anti-anxiety pills. I started taking those very night, alongside like four different vitamins plus iron pills, and I can actually credit Ahir Shah with that too. Because in his show Dots, he talked about going back on anti-depressants and starting to feel better, and he complained that he has to take a whole stupid fucking cocktail of pills every night because his body doesn’t just produce the right stuff naturally and it turns out that you have to get enough iron and shit like that or your body doesn’t function and you’re miserable.

And I thought of my prescription for iron pills that had been sitting in my drawer for nearly 18 months, ever since I had blood work done that said I was severely anemic and should take iron about it, and I’d just never bothered to do so because, I don’t know, I dislike taking meds and I wasn’t functional enough to take care of that and it felt like it was stupid to think something like that would help. Like taking supplements is something happy functional people to who know how to take care of themselves properly, and that's not for me. That line in Ahir Shah’s show did help, hearing that it is normal for someone my age (he’s almost exactly my age, to within a couple of months) to have to take supplements for physical stuff as well as mental health meds, even if we're cynical about it, and if that’s what our bodies need then we should just do it even if it’s annoying, and if I want to then every night I can take my cocktail of pills while rolling my eyes about how annoying it is to take my stupid little pills for my stupid little physical and mental health, and I can think of Ahir Shah being annoyed about it too but doing it anyway. And I do that now. I started taking iron and some other vitamins where I'd been found deficient, as well as these anti-anxiety things. I’ve been doing it since January, and I do occasionally think of Ahir Shah when I take my cocktail of pills. But it helps. Like I said, not everything’s fine now. I still feel pretty fucking bad a lot. But I’m no longer absolutely exhausted all the time. And I no longer want to die.

Last week, I had blood work done for the first time since a couple years ago, when it said I was severely anemic, and then they prescribed me iron but I didn’t start taking it until nearly 18 months later. The previous four or five times that I’ve had blood work done before that, it’s also come back as low iron, once in the anemic range, but not in the severely anemic range until the most recent time. Well, the second most recent time. Because the most recent time was last week, and I got my results back yesterday, and for the first time since my early twenties, it did not say low iron at all! In fact, it was fine! They specifically said every test they did on my blood said it’s fine! My health anxiety has been abated! That’s something I’ll be able to think about for months when I lie in bed at night panicking that I have cancer. It’s fine, I started taking pills and now my blood is fine.

Okay, this post has veered wildly off topic, even by my standards. I know I tend to jump around in focus on these posts, but I don’t think I’m usually this bad. I just really wanted to explain why I have thought about Ahir Shah weirdly often in the last year. Because he often comes into my head at night, when I go to take pills, and the cynic in me immediately wants to think “this is stupid and annoying and won’t work and why am I bothering trying to do something stupid like this as though it will help anything?”, and I think of Ahir Shah saying he also finds it stupid, but he got over that and did it anyway.

The show Dots was about recovery from a mental health breakdown, about finding a way to be functional despite justified cynicism, to want to get out of bed in the morning even though everything is absolutely shit. It was also about family and culture and stars and the different life paths people choose and being the child of immigrants and the mysteries of the universe and religion and all kinds of beautiful things woven together. It’s a really lovely show and everyone should watch it. I can’t share his 2023 show, but if anyone wants to see Dots (his 2019 show filmed in 2021), send me a message and I’ll share a link with you.

So, knowing how much I’d loved Dots, I was really excited to hear his 2023 show, Ends. And it wasn’t just because of Dots. I’ve seen Ahir Shah on TV, more and more in the last couple of years, and I really like him. I first heard of him when I saw him on The Mash Report, where he was great. Lately, he’s been turning up on other stuff, and I feel like he’s been tailor-made to be everything I specifically like in a panel show guest. It’s this perfect blend of cynicism and competitiveness, sardonic detachment but also what seems like a genuine excitement to be there, and getting really into it whenever there’s something to prove or win. He’s been a central figure in my favourite episode of QI, and at least one of my favourite episodes of Catsdown, from the last couple of years. And God, I would love him to be on Taskmaster.

Basically, his 2023 show was all the best parts of Ahir Shah, all the things I specifically love and all the things that are objectively great as far as comedy can ever be objectively anything, and he chose some excellent themes and topics and wove material around it with beautiful care. He had stuff to say, stuff that really mattered, and he told it in a way that made sense and was funny and brilliant. The word “funny” is important there – I know I’m getting lost in some flowery words about it being beautiful and important, so I want to clarify that it was also fucking funny. Funnier than Dots, I think. Dots I remember for the themes and I know I laughed a bit; Ends I remember for the themes but I also think of for how it made me laugh out loud repeatedly. And it made me cry, I will say, at the end. And that's what you want in a comedy show, right? It's the only stand-up show from 2023 that’s made me cry, so well done on that, Ahir.

I just think he’s amazing, I love that he’s got this recognition, I hope he gets lots more opportunities (Taskmaster, Taskmaster, Taskmaster, please). Also, just wondering, why hasn’t Ahir Shah been on The Bugle yet? I realize that’s not exactly the sort of huge high-profile booking that he maybe wants or deserves (Taskmaster, Taskmaster, Taskmaster, I think Sam Campbell should be the start of a trend where the winner of this award automatically gets a spot on the next Taskmaster), but he doesn’t have a high enough profile yet to be too big for The Bugle, and he’d be fantastic on there. He was so good on The Mash Report, shooting the shit with Nish Kumar about current affairs, I’d love to hear him do that again but in a longer form than the five or so minutes his segments got on TV, and also with Andy Zaltzman there.

On the subject of The Mash Report, there’s a line in this show Ends where Ahir Shah says Hindu South Asians live in Britain in massive numbers, but a lot of people don’t realize just how many of them there are, “Because our entire cultural output consists of my mate Nish.” Ahir Shah’s Ends is one of my favourite stand-up comedy hours I’ve ever heard, and another one of my top favourites is Nish Kumar’s Your Power Your Control, which finally aired on TV for the first time yesterday (I haven’t found a recording of it yet, I’m expecting it to go up in one of my usual spots soon, but if anyone has already found it somewhere… if you could send me a link, I would give you in exchange my eternal gratitude and also any stand-up I have that you might want). So while there might not be a lot of British South Asians doing cultural output (to be clear, I am aware that there are more than literally two of them, and so is Ahir Shah, he was using hyperbole for comic effect), the ones who are out there are fucking killing it. Also, happy birthday, Nish Kumar! Happy award winning, Ahir Shah! And happy feeling like my sports team just won to me!

God, I needed this. Some comedians have been disappointing me lately, made me feel a bit cynical about comedy, I needed a win. You know when you find out your sports team is maybe not the sports team you thought they were, maybe your sports team actually kind of sucks, and then you get disheartened and lose faith in humanity? And then you need to counter that with something heartening, like one of your good sports teams getting a bit win? Am I stretching the metaphor too far? Can I make it more obvious if I say that when Ahir Shah talked in Ends about how he was about to get married... just, please, Ahir, I hope she's within a reasonable number of years close to your age, and please try to limit any cheating on her to at least less than three full years, okay? Please? Please be cool, I need my faith in humanity restored (disclaimer: do not take medical advice or faith in humanity from comedians, I know, I know, you're not supposed to do that, but still, surely "keep the affairs to under 3 years" isn't that high a bar).

[beautifulpersonpeach]

So many things has happened since your last ask on the Hybe Kakao SM love triangle BPP.Hybe’s tender offer failed, Kakao tendered there own and SMs stocks are as high as they could go. What are your thoughts on it now? Feels like Hybe should take the L and just keep the 20% they own now bcuz SM feels like a sinking ship tbh.I would not be surprised if their idols and employees leave sooner or later bcuz it seems like they were treated like dirt and not being paid fairly.Hybe taking all those loans just to win over Kakao makes me nervous tbh like I know those are common but failing at getting the goal for the loans kinds of stuff is common too.Kakao seem to really want a piece of the kpop industry too and idk why kpop stans doesn’t want to accept that both companies suck instead of being rabid about just hybe bcuz either way its gonna suck and kpop will not be the same ever again

***

Lol Anon,

My thoughts are the same, obviously. Given as everything you listed above was a possibility since the start. The only near certainty was that the injunction LSM filed at HYBE’s request would be upheld, which would’ve only added more impetus for Kakao to make a counter tender offer… and that’s what happened. All parties will still have to clear their transactions with the FTC, and as I’ve said, we’ll have a clearer view on what’s happened by the next Earnings season in late April to mid-May.

My views are unchanged because what else is this for me but entertainment? If I was in the room advising HYBE on this deal, I’d advise against a deal with SM because though SM is the furthest thing from a sinking ship (as I’ve said before, there’s a lot of raw potential in that company that has suffered under their current management to the point SM is the cheapest of the Big3 to acquire), the significant cultural differences between SM and HYBE would make any synergies challenging to execute. I mean just read all the news around the headlines you listed above Anon. Setting up a new governance framework could help with that if HYBE gained a controlling stake, but it’s difficult to change 20 years of company culture ran by a cult-like figurehead with even the most aggressive of company revamps. And to that point, if all that fucked up shit was happening in the company and there was no mass exodus of staff or artists, despite decades of lawsuits, government pardons, injunctions and fines, then I wouldn’t worry much about that happening now. Though given the beliefs LSM pushed into the company for years, perhaps HYBE holding whatever stake they own in SM, sold by none other than LSM, might be the betrayal too big to bear and many of them finally jump ship. We’ll see.

If HYBE is dead set on growth through acquisition, the better option would’ve been either JYPE or Avex, in my humble opinion. Despite the hefty premiums HYBE would have to pay.

As to the loans, again there’s nothing about them that’s concerning… If they remain on the books for six more years then maybe at that point it could be an issue. I’m not interested in speculating on what HYBE, SM, and Kakao will do next either. HYBE’s downside so far is limited and they walked away from bidding wars in 2022 over SM so unless there’s an opportunity here that makes it worth the risk, it’s possible they stick to their pattern of behaviour. With the stake they own now they’d be exposed to benefit from any further growth in SM’s share value. So even if Kakao’s tender holds, HYBE still benefits. They’d just have more limited management control in the company.

Either way, like I said in my first post on this topic, this is mostly entertainment and doesn’t concern me all that much, since HYBE isn’t pursuing a merger, and all that’s actually happened is a cosmetic transfer of fiduciary control.

A.k.a. we’ll all be alright in the end.

[wernher-von-brawny]

Bocci the Rock Reaction Videos

One of my favorite uses of YouTube is watching a big batch of different essayists spit about a single topic or piece of media.

Today's hyperfixation has been wallowing in vids about Best Anime of 2022 contender, Bocci the Rock.

I would have said Best Show of 2022 contender, but I'm aware that, aside from CGI fantasy, American tastes trend towards that gay murder club show, that troubled children having sex show, that MAGA-friendly western show, and that MAGA-friendly rich family fighting over money show (or is it shows?), so... safest call is to segregate it off into its own garden.

For the uninitiated, Bocci the Rock is a brilliantly and lovingly animated 2022 "slice of life" -- meaning a character-driven show rather than action-, plot-, or quest-driven -- comedy anime about a talented but catastrophically awkward and introverted young guitarist who joins an all-girl band. Hilarity, personal growth and rocking out ensue.

It's not at all like the old Monkees TV show, but it does share some of that same energetic and experimental love of humor, music, friendship and fun.

While searching YT for my usual topics of interest will return maybe a few vids, it seems that a lot of 'tubers (are they called that?) share my love for Bocci.

It's no wonder an anime about an online content creator with intense social anxiety has resonated with many in the the non-millionaire segment of that community.

And he fact that most of these reviews contain as much confessional therapy as critical analysis made me think of our beloved hellsite. It seems to me that one or two of my fellow Tumblr deplorables might also vibe with this show.

It inhabits the intersection of social anxiety and making art, made with incredibly craft and skill and -- reportedly -- a very high level of staff freedom, input, and personal expression.

Based on the content I see posted by the folks I follow on this site, and the six folks who follow me, I think it may resonate with many of them as well.

And since everyone is on vacation or phoning it in this week, and I'm bored, here's a roundup of all the commentary vids I watched today.

It was on Nuttflix, and then it suddenly wasn't. Whatevs, it's on Crunchyroll, and many of the best pirate sites.

Best to watch it before the commentaries, and then use these to satisfy your craving for more, but since it doesn't have a plot that can be spoiled, nothing anyone says in any of these vids steals anything from the enjoyment of watching the series.

Unlike, say, the last Star Wars or LOTR show, both of which are conveniently mooted by reading the recaps.

The Absurd Adaptation of Bocchi The Rock

What happens when you have a series whose identity is intrinsically tied to its production; the times when aesthetic and visuals and animation are so crucial and so integral to the series, that it becomes the primary thing that is elevating the content? Well that's when you get Bocci The Rock.

To call Bocci The Rock creative would be one of the largest understatements that I have ever uttered on this channel. This is a series that seemingly revels in any opportunity it gets to convey its comedy and convey its drama in the most unique, eye-opening ways that I guarantee you have never seen before in the medium of animation. And I can say that for a fact because there are gags in this series that don't even use animation.

Comedy is the lifeblood of this series and any chance Bocci has to surprise you or make you laugh through its excessively fun and creative uses of framing, timing, or just sheer animation power you better goddamn believe it's going to do it, to elevate the extensive commitment it has to its gags and to its character writing.

Why We Love Bocchi

Bocchi the Rock is a completely socially inept, lonely, loser; an asocial schizoid, cast out from society for being a fucking freak.

The only reason she started getting into guitar, was so that she could become rich and famous, and get over her fear of people.

And she seeks any and all validation from others.

She's... a.. honestly a bad person. Kind of. She's, she doesn't have that much conviction. She kind of just goes with whatever other people say. Um- she- she just- her only motivation is attention from other people.

So that begs the question: Why is she so fucking cool?

The Unique Genius of Bocchi the Rock!

Endlessly charming. Unquestionable an absolute gem. Always weird in the best possible way.

Bocchi Rocks Harder

Bocci the Rock was somehow able to get the attention of the anime community in a season with stacked entries, some of which have been building up towards this moment for years.

Looks like I can only link five videos in this post. If I’d known, I might have re-ordered this. In any case, the rest of these are links.

The Masterpiece That is Bocchi The Rock! - Honest Review

I think the best way for me to describe it is how the anime put it: "It might not connect with too many people, but those it does it'll hit deeply."

Explaining the Meaning Behind Guitar, Loneliness and Blue Planet (Bocchi the Rock Insert Song)

How Bocchi the Rock Captures Social Anxiety Perfectly

At first glance the show may seem like just another run-of-the-mill, "tee hee cute girls doing cute things" show, but there's so much love, passion and thought put into this anime that really gives it the extra push.

Bocchi the Rock is Anime of the Season

Bocci excels not only because it has absolutely stellar writing that dives down deep into an introvert's psyche, but because it also has a director that's willing to just let his staff go buck wild and do whatever the shit they want.

Bocchi The Rock is a Mirror into my SOUL 🎸

Making art -- whether it's drawing, music, video making -- is not the easiest thing to do and I feel like it's been a while since we've had an anime that attempted to showcase that without sugar coating it.

What I wasn't expecting was a critical hit to my current existence as a content creator and socially inept weirdo who doesn't like to talk to people and who isn't really comfortable without multiple layers of anonymity between myself and others.

If you want a currently airing anime about just how you can feel as an introvert watching a piece of media, Bocci the Rock has got you covered.

Bocchi The Rock is The Pinnacle of Slice of Life

...eight weeks of what has generally been some of the best anime I've seen for the better part of half a decade...

The Masterpiece You Just Missed | BOCCHI THE ROCK!

For the first time since 2020 I can finally say that I found another masterpiece within the Cute Girls Doing Cute Things genre.

A Better K-On (Bocchi the Rock!)

Narrative Therapist Reacts to Bocchi The Rock! - Episode 1

I have not yawned a single time during Bocci, an I won't! Yawn. Ever. Again! ...on stream.

The SURPRISE Anime of Fall 2022: Bocchi the Rock!

I Almost Skipped This Amazing Anime

Hidden Gem of the Season Bocci the Rock is a show about a girl who wants to be a rock star but instead gets hit by a truck and reincarnates as an actual rock.

Yeah, yeah, I was lying. I just kind of think that the English title reads funny, but you know in Japan it wouldn't surprise me if that ever became a show in the future.

And if you still want more, here's an extensive print interview with the production team:

Bocchi the Rock! Main Staff Interviews – Series Director Keiichiro Saito, Character Designer Kerorira, Animation Producer Shouta Umehara

[iwannawritelots]

Obey Me! Babes with MC Binding Unhealthily

Originally written June 2022

My brain is just so fucking full help. I can’t sit down and actually write well because I’m too upset from family shit so I’m making this headcanon just in case I can’t get anything done. (Also part of why I’ve been publishing so much old stuff that isn’t on here recently lmao.) Whenever I write headcanons there is a chance I’ll make them into fics so lol

Written for AFAB trans MC who binds! (I know some cis women bind too but MC is pretty trans coded here)

Please take care of yourself when you bind!

TW/CW: gender dysphoria, unhealthy binding

Lucifer💙

will lose his fucking mind if you bind too long or in a dangerous manner

Like what are you thinking!?

This is assuming he’s even aware, considering demons have different rules and he’s always working so he may not even notice.

he scolds you out of habit, but then feels a bit guilty after remembering that binding just helps you feel better about yourself

It takes a while for him to swallow his damn pride and apologize for how he addressed it, and reminds you it’s only because he cares that he got upset

If you are one to wear your partner’s/partners’ clothes, he’ll find something of his for you to wear if it’ll help comfort you when you need to stop binding

tries to be nicer when he addresses your unhealthy binding from now on

Mammon💛

He’s one of the ones I usually headcanon as transmasc so I imagine he can understand it lmao

tries to explain that he’s worried but also he’s a fuckin’ tsundere and doesn’t know how to properly express his concern

“It’s not like I care but ya shouldn’t bind so long! You’re a human and your body can’t handle that much bindin’!”

If you have a smaller build than him, he’ll let you borrow any of his clothes that are baggy on you

will definitely buy you whatever you need no matter what though. He will go bankrupt for you (please don’t encourage this)

You will not hear the end of it if he finds out you exercised in a binder (without sizing up)

Leviathan🧡

Another one I usually headcanon as transmasc lmao

he has so many hoodies, just take them when your binding time for the day is up. He will not understand why you’d want his hoodie though, he’s a yucky otaku! Another grim in the “self-deprecating comment” jar

He’s a bit too afraid to confront you about it because he doesn’t want it to somehow sound like he doesn’t like you binding in general??? He’s so anxious please

Ends up stammering about how he doesn’t want you to break your ribs by binding too long or accidentally falling asleep in it

He just cares a lot

Satan💚

I headcanon him as transmasc non-binary/demiboy so um

like Lucifer, he scolds you out of concern

reminds you that it will make complications in your health if you bind too long or without breaks!

reminds you to cough after binding to loosen any built up liquid in your lungs

he will offer any of his sweaters if you want to wear them for comfort/to mask your chest shape

Asmodeus💘

he really tries to be nice but your health is super important! Might get a little agitated if you repeatedly do unhealthy binding

assures you that you’re still very masculine when you need to stop binding for the day and he doesn’t see you as anything but the gender you are

will help you find the best sports bras and baggy clothes to help you feel better about things

(Also probably makes sure you have more than one binder because of all the sweat/grime buildup that will happen if you don’t wash them enough)

Frequently reminds you to take breaks and always makes sure you coughed after taking it off

don’t even think about unhealthy binding habits with Asmo around!

Beelzebub❤️

probably doesn’t even notice until the others mention it to him

Then he makes sure to watch out for it a lot more

he’ll notice without being tipped off if you exercise with him because??? Why are you struggling to breathe so much??

he’s very gentle about it

If you’re smaller than Beel, he definitely won’t mind you using his clothes that are baggy on you

Makes sure you take breaks and reminds you to cough after binding

Belphegor💜

He’s kind of indifferent about it until he finds out how much it can actually hurt you

if you’re getting ready to nap together he always makes sure your binder is off

will help you bundle up in a hoodie, sometimes even with a bunch of big blankets too if you want

Lord Diavolo❣️

he’s so clueless lol

probably has to be told by one of the brothers that you have a habit of binding unhealthily

he does his own research on how to properly ensure you’re careful, but most of the time he just asks how long you’ve been binding for since he doesn’t want to be mean

once he’s more comfortable he’ll be a bit more strict about you taking breaks and not exerting yourself while you’re binding

Barbatos🖤

like Asmo, just don’t even try

you’re a minute over the eight hour limit? here’s a sports bra, go change

you haven’t taken a break yet? Go take one

Did you remember to cough after taking your binder off? No? Cough right now. He wants to see you do it.

You’re sick and have a binder on!? Go take it off right now!

he’s strict about it but as soon as you ask if he has any clothes you could borrow he’s all pink in the face and muttering about “why would you want my clothes? I’m not all that interesting. If you insist.” You make him put a Grimm in his “self-deprecating comment” jar.

Simeon🤍

he just wants you to not break your ribs or hurt yourself somehow but he also doesn’t want to hurt your feelings

comes prepared with a hoodie before he tells you to change

will bury you in blankets if you want

if you’re particularly upset for whatever reason that day he’ll do his frickin best to help you mask your chest shape

reminds you to cough when you take it off

often asks about how your chest is feeling in case you need to take it off

Solomon🤎

yet another I headcanon as transmasc

he is a bit more lenient since he’s a human himself but he won’t let you get away with too much

reminds you to cough when taking it off, to take breaks, when your time will be up

he’s nice about it but if you fight him he will get a bit frustrated

He knows it’s only ‘cause you want to be comfortable with yourself a bit longer, so he manages to not be upset with you lol

[strawberrybyers]

I posted 2,734 times in 2022

That's 2,734 more posts than 2021!

350 posts created (13%)

2,384 posts reblogged (87%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@will80sbyers

@anotherbylerstan

@gregmarriage

@octobergrae

@kittykat940

I tagged 1,070 of my posts in 2022

#stranger things - 711 posts

#byler - 481 posts

#will byers - 241 posts

#mike wheeler - 208 posts

#house of the dragon - 53 posts

#strangerthingsedit - 43 posts

#st4 - 41 posts

#stranger things 4 - 40 posts

#stranger things season 4 - 40 posts

#stranger things volume 2 - 31 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#makes me think about my post that i posted right after vol 2 was released about how this show emphasizes the phrase ‘friends don’t lie’ but

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

foods that remind me of stranger things

See the full post

2,644 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

#4

i still can’t believe these tweets are real. it feels like a fever dream.

3,049 notes - Posted October 14, 2022

#3

the stranger things cast and crew the past month:

VS

stranger things fans literally deteriorating from stress while making silly little posts about ships and theories:

See the full post

3,602 notes - Posted June 25, 2022

#2

the entire stranger things fandom is in shambles 😭😭 eddie stans coming up with theories on how he could come back, byler stans collecting crumbs from volume 2 trying to cling onto hope, will stans demanding he deserves better, mike stans fighting for their lives right now, robin stans upset that they may never see her in a relationship, nancy stans hating she’s been reduced to trying to choose between two boys, steve stans wanting him to move on from nancy, max stans don’t even know if they should grieve or not, jonathan stans just wanting more for his character, lucas stans devastated over the trauma he’s been through and wanting him to have a better storyline, dustin stans upset he had to witness eddie’s death, erica stans wanting there to be more to her character than sassy one-liners, lumax stans grieving and clinging to hope, steddie stans grieving, ronance stans praying to a higher power for there to be a chance despite witnessing the hell everyone else has been through, elmax stans grieving and clinging to hope, mileven stans living their best life, eleven stans feeling bad for all the trauma she’s been through, vecna stans horny and grieving, argyle stans wishing he could’ve added more to the storyline than just being high, joyce stans living their best life, hopper stans living their best life, jopper stans living their best life, murray stans thanking god he made it out of russia alive, enzo stans horny and happy he didn’t get killed off, mindflayer stans questioning if the mindflayer is vecna or vecna just created it or both, duffer brothers stans nonexistent… the shift in the energy compared to 48 hours ago is insane 😭😭😭

3,608 notes - Posted July 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

yes my mental stability is dependent on whatever the fuck is about to happen in stranger things and what about it

6,654 notes - Posted June 29, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[witheringvoice]

Dream - (A Thank You To A Streamer...) A Poem

I hyperfixate a lot.

I don't decide what, I never know why.

It just happens.

Especially during a depressive episode.

Perhaps it's a life-long coping mechanism.

But I doubt it.

They get stronger when I need it though.

End of the school year in 2021, I gained a new one.

The longest lasting one beforehand was like---roughly a year.

If even, probably was only six months if I'm honest.

It's hard to tell.

That one, has lasted over a year now.

Impressive, I'd say.

But I'd also say, it's about time.

I came back to Minecraft content.

Fuck, it's not even about Minecraft, it's just the content.

It's not even the content.

It's the community, the good parts.

It's the fanmade shit.

It's---everything.

Within this hyperfixation, I'm stuck on one thing in particular.

Because even if this hyperfixation has lasted so long, my brain has to switch from thing to thing.

This long ass hyperfixation on the dream smp has helped me a lot.

But since it's been stuck on Dream mostly, it's helped a lot too.

Debatebly more, but I don't know.

I've been feeling worse, and then I clinged to specifically content revolving around him, or including him.

It's been like that since about March I believe.

Or perhaps February, I have a bad sense of time.

Regardless, I stumbled into a downward spiral.

Dream helped me laugh when I needed it.

He helped me let out my pent up chaotic energy within his content.

And I've felt a lot more like myself than I have in a long time.

Maybe, ever.

Scary, since I haven't been around that long but I never had a sense of self.

I need to feel that sense of community, care, and appreciation.

I don't feel it enough, or maybe I don't believe it.

I don't believe it's true.

But hearing it from a community of strangers, and one big stranger.

Is it bad that helps so much more than it should?

Probably.

But it's what I really need right now.

I need the motivation, I need the support.

I need the humor, the jokes, the chaos.

//

Everything before this was written September 16th, everything after, October 16th (2022)

//

...I don't know where I was going with this

It's been a draft since September 16th.

Coincidentally exactly a month.

I'm doing really bad.

I stumbled upon other hyperfixations...

But I still linger on this.

I may not be as active in the content any more...

But it still helps me.

I think I might fall back onto it, right now in particular.

And I don't know what I was trying to beat around the bush about saying thank you.

I guess that's just the way I am.

I like people to fully understand my thought process, that makes me ramble.

My thoughts are always going too fast, they're always so much.

But each thought is important.

So each blabber, each ramble, feels important.

Though I know it's mostly a word vomit.

I'm sorry for that.

There's some shit going on right now revolving, Dream.

But I don't involve myself in that.

I just; this is the only draft and I wanted to say thank you.

He may never see this, and that's fine with me!

Probably better off that way honestly.

This is a hot mess.

I trailed off topic so much that this isn't even one of my rambly poems any more and just me typing my thoughts.

You know, I gave Dream's content a chance because I heard he had a cat.

That was the main thing.

I don't like being pressured to do things, so I avoid popular things, popular content, that is being pushed onto me.

I stumbled into the community in May or June of 2021, and I still didn't dive in too deep.

Didn't really poke my head into Dream content much.

Then I saw cat.

And I gave it a chance.

And now I have merch.

And here we are.

None of this is important.

Little of this is on topic.

But Dream, my good man, that-- scratch that out.

But Dream, if you ever see this, 1. Why?

But Dream, thank you for making content?

I mean you did it for you and whatever reason you did it for.

But you've helped a lot of people and you probably know that a lot by now.

You've also gone through a lot of shit because some humans suck and the internet sucks sometimes

So thank you

Yet I can't help but thank you.

Not because I think you're some oh so amazing person.

Nah you're just some random funny person from Florida.

But thank you because, I don't know.

You helped me figure out some things.

Which in all honesty I can just see a cloud and be like- "I suddenly feel like I've learned so much" but we don't need to talk about that

I process things, and understand things oddly.

I figure those things out, just as oddly if not more oddly.

But along the way I found an entertaining way that helped me...

My words are failing me and I think I'm just repeating myself now.

So I will end this off by saying.

My eyes and freckles are better than yours

Your cat is better than you; Patches supremacy: Patches >>>>> Dream

You're cool for some random adult male from Florida?

Nah I don't fucking know.

Thank you for the chaotic content.

I hope your life is better and not worse because of it <;33

[fishfacedterror]

Wow, its been a really long time, huh?

Tumblr has kiiiiiiinda lifted their weird ban, which is. Kinda good, but thats not really what im focused on right now. At least not in this post. More than my feelings on that, i feel like i aught to communicate where ive been and whats been happening, to anyone who is still maybe interested in me/this blog. Just a general and relatively quick update bc I Control The Amount I Share and Dont Feel Like Repeating Stuff

TL;DR

been on a side blog for past 4 years w/ rp main. U can find the sideblog here. Probably gonna let this blog be a relic of a bygone era, but the username is still important to me so im gonna keep it with me going forward.

also went to cohost bc shits kinda fucked and they seem alright. We’ll see if it gains any traction or if it ends up in the flux pillowfort did

I have graduated from University now! Im a smart lad who (hopefully) will get to apply their studies soon, but for now is just doing The Grind. I also moved out on my own and proved to myself i can be independent. Also nice! Ive also had 2 (two) mental health crisis’s over the last four years and that really sucked! Luckily I’m okay now, and have good ppl around me if I ever get sick again, but hopefully not ever again. Or at least as bad.

As for my presence on this Webbed Site, I actually have been here consistently even after the ban, just not on this blog. Idk, thats what happens when you can only choose 1 main blog to be logged into at a time, and I chose my rp blog. Funnily enough i ended up making a side blog to reblog and post rp unrelated things to, and it has for better or for worse become the successor to this here blog. You can find it here if you’re interested! Again, its a side blog so im kinda limited on everything i can do there, but its still me!

As for this blog specifically, I’m not really inclined to Come Back to it; however the URL is still pretty important to me. I an STILL fishfacedterror, and have been on twitter up to this point, and plan to be into the future until I get run off by a bunch of pandas or whatever. I may turn this blog into an archive of my 2010s, changing the URL to reflect that, then reuse the URL as a places hub for all my stuff. Or maybe not! Who knows! If I do Come Back to this blog instead of making it into an archive of my ego im gonna have a lot LOT LOT of housekeeping to do. 2018 me and 2022 me are 4 years apart!

I also made a cohost for myself, if that interests you all too! Its kinda like tumblr 2, though not everyone is on there just yet fir better or for worse. Kinda reminds me of the days where everyone did a big exodus from deviantArt for tumblr.

agh, good ol days.

anyway, this update post has been long enough so I’ll put in a TL;DR at the top so you dont have to feel bad abt scrolling past. Or blocking me for suddenly making a long rambling post out of the blue. I Do Not Care

anyway, shits been real and it keeps on coming!

[trickiis]

september 10th, 2023.

hello.

everything has changed since we have last spoken.

dad died.

october 27th 2022 dad died in his sleep. alone at the house in new hampshire. i was in arizona with mom and had been since august 2022. he was planning a trip to come out for my 21st birthday in november 2022.

it's been impossible the handle. i cant lie and say i've been good. i'm literally on autopilot. it's like that was the final straw. i had already been bone tired, but the chaotic grief that was august2022-march2023 sent me into a spiral. i had countless breakdowns and the months were categorized by the notable (by others, multiple times) presence of a depressive episode. i was down to 112lbs again, not on purpose this time.

it broke at the end of may 2023 when mom's friend sandy took us to her timeshare in aruba. we stayed on eagle beach and i swam in the caribbean ocean every single day for two weeks. i felt like i shed my fucking skin and left it there. i was literally ecstatic when i came home & working felt great.

i've gained back a lot of weight and i haven't felt bad about it once. i actually have a completely different physique than i ever did before cuz i've worked 5 days a week since feeling better (feeling better=gaining weight). i've gotten strong. like really strong, and my muscle definition is pretty impressive. [impressive enough for others to comment on it, not my own words]

also, the Covid-19 pandemic is officially over. well, right now there's a little spike happening (seasonally expected - like the flu), but i think it was in may 2023 they announced it was no longer a pandemic. it was apparently not an epidemic either, so literally all of the precautions were dropped. and also, i had covid, again. for the third time. i had covid on my 21st birthday. which was insane because a couple weeks before my birthday i vividly remember say out loud to mom "the only thing that would make my birthday worse would be if i had covid,".

and then i had covid.

all i can do is laugh because i literally speak prophetic truth but it can only be right if the event is a fucking bad one. whatever.

21, so adult, right? yeaaahhh... cuz i bought a fucking house too.

like, actually. well, i guess not actually. mom bought the house for me. with money from the sale of the jericho house. my childhood home, sold!! fine by me. which is true, and not something i am compelled to lie about, yet still raises a red flag to half mast in the back of my head - i really don't care much that the house is gone. everyone made it sound like i should've been sad about so i'm kinda just hoping it hits in a little while. i haven't even accidentally tried to drive there instead of going to the new house though...not even once.

i love the new place. we just moved in on august 28th. it's in a trailer park, and i really hope i'll be able to make friends with the people in the houses around. i have no direct neighbors though, cuz the houses are being replaced. it's sooooo quiet.

anyway, just wanted to tell you all that.

oh, and i can't believe how much of this journal is about him. it's weird to read that much about someone you barely think about nowadays. but i guess it makes sense, as to why he's been so hard to undo. i guess i never realized how bad it was while it was happening. sad to think about. there's been more incidents with him since we last spoke as well, but i won't waste energy discussing them. he doesn't deserve it.

thanks for listening!! bye!

-TM

[yurhighnessmio]

✍You appear in an infinite white room with nothing but yourself and a piece of paper saying, "You have been banned from existence."

Short Story #5 - March 12, 2022; Saturday; 11:06pm

"You have been banned from existence"-says the only other thing banned from existence other than me...a sheet of paper.

"Okay? So now what, how do I exit?" He mumbled aloud before my body turns a full 360, only to be disappointed by nothing but white, "I don't. Great. Just, forget it."

A shoulder shrug lead to him standing in one leg as he glances around, not knowing what to hope for, or whether to get personally affected by the fact that a piece of paper has just told him that existence wasn't an option.

"This has got to be the most boring prank ever...Give this shit up already!" Now, at least, he's looking for a place to leave considering doing absolutely nothing for who knows how long in a place of total emptiness and isolation is basically a crime of boredome. He keeps looking around, still not seeing anything.

"Whatever, man." Another shrug and he's sitting down, not tired, just, waiting for something to happen. Although he doesn't know what that something may be. Possible a cry from someone yelling 'it's a prank' would not have been new. He's been pranked a whole too many times to be surprised at this point in his life. So he lookes at the paper that he still has gripped in his fingers. "Looks like it's just you and me now, Sheetie."

He nods and keeps nodding before this time, glaring around in anticipation for a surprise. This was going to be posted on youtube and he knew it, but he wasn't about to give this person the liberty of getting a reaction of an ignorant person. He wasn't about to be fooled.

So he whispered his evil plans to the paper, as quietly as he could, so no one else can hear, "I'm not gonna do anything. They're gonna get tired of this shit eventually just you wait and see..."

A smirk reveals itself on his face before his arms blew open, and his body laid on the ground, "Still though..." He thought with a sigh, "This is very convincing."

He leans up with his elbows and starts looking ariund again just to be sure. "How tf did they do this..." Then on again, shrugged his shoulders and plopped back down when the view he could get from all sides is nothing but an upcoming white space that seemed to have no end. "Let's just pass by time."

His eyes rear to the ceiling, which revealed, also, absolutely nothing, and sings a good song he remembered making up in his room out of boredome. It goes:

"Rain, rain, go away~ I just found out I am gay~ Though my family thinks no way~ They will surely pa-wait." He sat up quick, glares around, and screamed, "Jason!?" He got up in his shoes, "Jason, is this your doing? I told you many times bro: I'm sorry for fucking your dad on the Altar! It was my bad! I didn't know you guys were Christian, alright? I'm sorry!"

There was no answer, nor echo of his voice. Now the silcence is irritating him to the point that his hands fisted to his sides. "I get you're pissed! But dude, this is so petty! And for the record, your dad fucked me-if hearing that makes you feel any better!"

Still, there wasn't an answer. He shook his head, telling to himself how riled up he quickly became and decided to calm down. He squats downs, his elbows leaning on his knees as his body crouched and eyes wondering to his shoelaces. "Jason, if this is you, I'm so fucking your Aunt next...Asshole."

With arms spread of disappointment, he sighs. The silence enveloping him grew greater. It wasn't pleasant not hearing anything but yourself.

His body shuffled to the left like a crouched child on his bed. Then he shuffled to the right.

Before a sudden realization befell on him, he sat up, "Wait what if this is legit? Hold on, hold on, hold on..." Frantically, he stood then rotated once, "Am I alive..." with a hand to his chest he checked heartbeat, "Physically... I think so. Mentally... Uh, hold on, debatable."

But he had gotten tired of swirling in circled and looking around only to see white. Physically, yes, he was alright, but he had also begun to be nervous. "Hello?!," His heart raced in panic, he screamed some more, "Bullshit, Kevin, is this you!? You've got some guts to do this to me. It must take a very special kind of idiot to pull off this type of shit!"

There was no answer. The silence only procing itself to be another element that could trigger his anger. But he doesn't stop running.

"KEVIN!" He exclaimed, the pace of his legs slowing over the many minutes he ran to one direction. The ever-ending view of white nothingness, has begun to prove how much running seemed to be a terrible idea.

"Look..." he panted, "I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry! But you...you fucking deserved being tied to a tree you know? I mean...duct taped. That's...that's my bad, okay, I know, you hate that. I get it. I wont mention it again...promise. Okay? Dude? Come on!"

He ran and ran until eventually, running transitioned into walking. Then walking to stopping and standing in place, doing nothjng but panting his breath away. He roaned a loud one, punched the air—his frustraion kicking in—and fell forward, "You touched my damn cookies again...I told you I'd end you, you prick! Fuck you, Kevin! I... Fuck. This place just doesn't end...Kevin!"

He twirls with his bum as he sits. Now he's all panicky and confused. His arms that leaned on the non-existent ground. "There's gotta be some Undo bullshit here somewhere if I'm banned...how do I get out?"

"Maybe if you did a little less talking and a little more looking, you'd find out."

"There's literally nothing here! My god, it's completely empty! Looking my ass..." he paused, "...Wait a minute."

He jumps on his feet in one hope and practically swirls around. To the left, to the right, up, down, he's looked everywhere. Nothing but white.

"Kevin?" He called out to his left. There was no answer.

He looked at another direction, "Jason?" Still no answer.

He raised his eyes high. "God? Is that you?" Still, there wasn't an answer.

"Hold on, I don't even know where I am. Maybe..." he paused once again. This time, not to think, but because another idea haf polled into his head. He looks down un thought, not even realizing his non-existenc shadow.

"Satanas la puta." He muttered in hatred, "This is all your fault, huh? It's your fault that I'm stuck here! It's you! You! It's all you-!"

He beggins to stomp—as if stepping on the ground a little harder than usual was going to make a difference to Satan. Then he stops, exhausted, and puts a hand on his waist. At a moment like this, clicking one's tongue was inevitable, but ineffective. He glared away, "I hope."

🌟

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