#just fucking vibe its not that hard to block people

[authormeat]

TLDR; Having fun is the only requirement to finding the right material in the fandom. Find what you're looking for or make what you're looking for even if it sounds like a pain in the ass.

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I mean shout out to the people who say you dont need to gatekeep in the fandom but also like... if you really want to find what you're looking for go search for it? Not trying to sound rude but I'm always in the newest post of creepypasta because some people say great shit!!! People who just create silly quotes or random one off headcannons 👁👁 I see you.

Also I create Gore, Extreme Horror, and Overall Creepy Shit for the creepypasta fandom. I am that person. I do try and inject a much darker view of the beloved characters. But I also make dumb shit because it's fun. (My Tobias smothers anything he eats in maple syrup like come on). Like literally just have fun with your material. Everyone talks about this and that and romanticism and authoritative gatekeeping like bro....

Just have fun. Literally if you just have fun I PROMISE you you'll find who you're looking for. As long as you don't hurt others, as long as you keep a grip on reality and understand that they are ficition! You can basically do whatever the fuck you want.

Want to create Sally Williams into a ghost girl who likes tea parties and making teen killers dress up in frilly pink tutus? Done. Want to instead make her a vengeful, furious, and mischievous spirit who drags and viciously murders adults who try to pray on children? Fucking check bro.

MAY I REMIND EVERYONE HERE!!!!!! I have ocs. I have an oc who is IMMORTAL. She is a powerhouse of a killer and is a whole convicted criminal who is evil and a cannibal. A southern woman who won't hesitate to take down anyone of any size, shape, or age (and CAN do so) and immortal. But if you categorized her she falls RIGHT under the mary sue list.

I have an oc whos central theme is the shunning of expression and being gay for traditional values and normalcy. He murders his entire family both older and younger siblings and parents. He burns down his family home. He made a contract with a being that took interest in his sob story of a life. He is a proxy and collects the debts of those who can not fullfill the bill of an old Eldridge creature who allows boones. As people must always pay due.

Seriousness is just as easy as Sillyness and I think people forget that. This fandom is fucking great because you can basically mold the canon into what you want and it'd be fun. The characters literally grow. People have vastly different ideas compared to another and it can create such different views its GREAT. Be creative and get your hands dirty, but do it safely. Don't harm others or be shitty.

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

slowly, i'm going down

access full masterlist here!

pairing: song mingi x reader (no pronouns mentioned, reader has female anatomy)

au/genre: college!au, tutor!reader, mingi does not give a shit about studying, smut

word count: 4816 words

warnings: voice kink (AHHHHH), oral and fingering (reader receiving), reader is a little mean, kitchen sex, anime references, cringe, a joke about adhd, dirty talk... um..., oh right Mingi has a big dick (wbk), everyone's a little silly, unprotected sex (boo ‼️👎🏻), premature ejaculation almost, creampie, cum eating... (not reader...), i think that's it. NOT PROOF READ YET!!

synopsis: mingi hates studying, but what he hates way more than that is being perceived as stupid. what mingi loves on the other hand, are pretty people getting flustered about his voice

or

mingi shows you exactly what he hates and loves.

a/n: i was almost ready when i saw this tiktok and it completely blocked my mind because it's SO FUNNY, but at the same time, it's men being dudes, dudes being bros, and that kind of made it hard for me to continue. i apologize for the 24h delay 😞

taglist: @byuntrash101 @goquokka @ashwoodforest @choisansnotsolegalwife

Mingi is not one to sit there and look at books. Or papers. Or anything that doesn't move and feed his brain with bright colors and his ears with noises, really. He prefers to vibe, and studying is definitely not the vibe. Sadly, studying is a part of his life as a university student. Yes, he chose this path for himself and yes, he was aware that it would involve studying. Still, now that it's really happening and is not just an obstacle to overcome in the far, far future, Mingi kind of wishes he'd chosen something else to do with his life. It's just exhausting, why would he waste the precious time he has left on planet earth on something that doesn't get the serotonin floating? He's pretty sure he has some undiagnosed ADHD simmering up there, but who is he to judge that? He's certainly not studying to become a doctor or whatever.

Anyway, given the fact that Mingi doesn't like to study, he's not had much experience with it in the first place. He's barely gotten his way through school, but uni is a different level. Hence, he needs someone to 1) teach him how to study and 2) make him study, or rather: have a judging eye on him while he is supposed to study, so the fear of being called out on it may light a fire under his ass and force him to bury his nose between the stinky pages of an old library book (on that note: he also needed someone to show him how to check out books from the library).

And that's why you are here, every Thursday afternoon, sitting at the sad excuse of a kitchen counter slash dining table in Mingi's scandalously expensive apartment given its size, growling next to him every time you catch him analyzing the bumps on his wallpapers instead of the letters on the pages.

Mingi generally likes you, even though you are a bit scary, he has to admit, or maybe that's the appeal. You are polite, but you have a way of looking at him that makes him feel like he's getting mansplained by your eyes. Your taunting gaze on him makes him feel small, and he doesn't like that at all. It makes him feel like all these years of drinking milk to make him stand at the 1.84m he is at today were in vain. You always have that one expression on your face, and maybe that's just Mingi's subconsciousness telling him to STUDY HARD FOR GOD'S SAKE, but in the way your eyebrows would scrunch together just the tiniest bit, he reads: God, he is fucking stupid.

He doesn't know which (since he did not pay attention in biology class, nor is he even sure they teach that in biology class) chemical in his brain suffers an allergic reaction every time you look at him like that, but there has to be one. There is nothing that Mingi hates more than being called stupid. Well, except for studying, maybe.

Call him lazy, call him a scalawag, call him witty for being able to get through all of school without reading a single one of the set books if you must, but do not call him stupid.

The only problem is that you haven't, well, called him stupid per se. It's just how Mingi interprets your stares. Also, he desperately needs you because he doubts there will be many other contestants that are okay with getting paid as little as you are (which is all Mingi has left by the end of a month full of Pokémon trading cards). So Mingi just has to sit back and relax and simply take it because, apparently, that's what he gets for not studying his entire life.

A loud ringing wakes Mingi from his peaceful afternoon nap - one that he has really earned this time around, he managed to look through his study notes for a full 20 minutes during his lunch break!

Disoriented, Mingi raises his head to make out his location and what year he is in. It rings again. Slowly, Mingi recognizes the shrill sound as his door bell. He slowly gets up, a quick glance in the mirror tells him that his hair is an absolute mess (which is really a crowning achievement given his buzz cut length) and he has imprint marks from his blanket all over his right cheek, but his sleepy mind doesn't even take it in. Mingi furrows his brows and shakes his head. Who would dare to disturb his peaceful slumber at this ungodly hour (4pm)?

The answer, of course, stands right in front of his door. With your arms crossed and the tip of your shoe drumming a dent into Mingi's "come in if you're a silly baka"-door mat, you raise an unimpressed brow at the sleepy shell of Mingi that blinks one eye after the other.

A few seconds pass until Mingi finally realizes who you are, and his mouth forms an 'o'-shape. Immediately after, he furrows his brows once again, his body slumping forward a bit because: why on God's green earth are you here? Then, it hits him like a truck, the aftermath of the collision blowing the remaining sleep out of his eyes: it's Thursday afternoon!

"Sorry," he says and sheepishly scratches the back of his head, then steps aside to let you enter.

"It's fine, it's only freezing cold outside," you stare at him before stepping in, shudder as you kick your shoes off, slip into Mingi's guest slippers and hurry inside. Mingi's brain does not register the sarcasm drenching your words.

"Let's get to it, shall we?" You ask as Mingi finally manages to follow you into the kitchen. You sit, take out a few sheets of paper from your backpack, then look over questioningly as Mingi has not even moved a millimeter, but instead started yawning like his life depends on it. Your eyes drift down his body. "Or maybe after you've put on some pants?"

Mingi freezes, looks down to confirm that, indeed, he's not wearing pants, but Naruto boxer shorts, then covers his crotch with his hands and buzzes off into his room.

Minutes later, Mingi reenters the kitchen, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips that, yes, he checked twice if he's wearing them the right way around. As mentioned, he is generally unable to properly focus on his studies, but today, it's exceptionally bad. Of course, you'd notice.

"Mingi, are you okay?" There's worry in your eyes – a sight Mingi has not seen. Ever.

"I'm fine, just tired," he mumbles, eyes unfocusing as he stares ahead.

"Yeah, you are? Why?" Mingi's tired mind cannot question why you suddenly seem so interested in his well-being. He also doesn't put any meaning into why you're scooting closer to him, your forearm accidentally touching his.

"I studied during my lunch break," Mingi informs you, a little, proud smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Something tingles inside his chest as you carefully place your hand on his arm. As he looks over at you, you smile at him, and he notices your gaze flickering down to his lips for a second.

Hold on. Mingi's mind suddenly snaps out of its hazy state and works on overdrive. He might be the type to vibe, the type to just let things play out, but he'd be damned if he didn't notice when someone likes him like that. He suddenly notices the way you started creating skin-on-skin contact with him, the way you want to be closer to him, eyeing him even more than you ever did before. Just... why? Is it because you saw him in his Anime panties?

A few moments pass, and you sit back, then pat your pencil against the book to remind him of the reason why you're actually here. Mingi groans, admittedly a little dramatically and unreasonably erotic, brushing a hand through his hair to flex his biceps right in front of your face. You seem unimpressed.

"Well, fuck me," he chuckles deeply, the rasp in his voice more evident than usual due to his nap. It's then when you tense, he notices from the corner of his eye. Oh. Okay. So it's the voice?

"I'm really glad you're tutoring me, you know?" He purrs, throwing in a little praise to get you extra bothered, and you simply breathe out nervously.

"Heh, no worries," you brush him off. Mingi decides that, for now, he's made you suffer enough and keeps quiet. Instead, he focusses on his studies, although he's already planning his next step to terrorize you with the sultry rasp his vocal cords are gifted with.

"Mingi, focus-"

"No, I get what I have to do, the contents just won't stay in my head." Mingi reasons, his voice unusually, but not by chance, high pitched, eyebrows scrunched as to why the hell he has to do this before doing that only to do whatever next when it wasn't like this for the other exercise he had to do minutes prior. He is not stupid (!), he does understand how this works. It's just that it doesn't make sense, and that is surely not his fault.

"Are you stup-" you start, but shut your mouth before you're even able to call him the dumbest fucker you've ever crossed paths with. Mingi inhales sharply. Oh, oh, you're lucky he is patient, and you're lucky he knows that as soon as he growled a few dirty words into your ear, you'd slam your upper body on the counter without regards of caution, pushing your panties down under your skirt and begging him to take you right there - or at least, that's what he imagines.

Yes, Mingi is super patient, that's just what comes with the entire vibe-personality package, so he does not dump your cute sorry ass on his baka-door mat, but simply closes his pen, lays it on the table and looks at you. A fabulous idea plops into his mind.

"God," he groans as deeply as he can, stretching his arms over his head, "I guess I'm just a little" - he throws in a little moany sigh - "a little distracted today."

"A-are you?" You nod, biting your lip subconsciously. Mingi looks at you without moving his head. "Why?"

"Well, just stuff, you know?" Mingi enjoys how the rumble in his voice makes his throat and - obviously - you feel. "There's just a lot, going on. Like big... big stuff. Stuff that just keeps coming and coming, in and out, just like that. Ugh, I wish I could just let all this frustration out you know, all this pent up stuff." He watches for your reaction.

Unmistakably, your hand holding your own pen in a relaxed manner mere seconds ago now desperately grasps the poor objects until your knuckles turn white, your breathing is uneven and loud as if you'd just ran the entire way from Mingi's place to the next convenience store (seriously, why the fuck is he paying so much for this godforsaken apartment?). And - Mingi's favorite reaction to him ever: you're pressing your thighs together.

Oh, how Mingi loves himself a good reaction like this.

"Big stuff, huh?" Your voice trembles as your nervous eyes search for his. "H-how big?"

"Oh, really big. Just really fucking big," Mingi confirms with a slight smirk. He loves how you just fold easily like that. One second, you're over there feeling superior on your little throne of knowledge that Mingi lacks, and the next, you're making a little mess in your panties just because Mingi so much as spoke. Absolutely incredible. People should start calling him "the rizzler".

"I think-" you clear your throat, "I think I should head home then?"

Mingi smiles to himself as soon as you turn away to pack your stuff into your backpack. His hands automatically reach out to play with his pen, his long, slender fingers toying with the object, inevitably drawing your attention to the movements. "Already?"

"Mhm." You stare a second too long, gulp, then hastily stuff your belongings into the big compartment of the backpack, Mingi listens to the sweet melody of stressed breathing and papers crunching.

As amused as he is, he decides that it is time for the big reveal.

"Keep it in your pants, baby" he looks over, his eyebrow halfway raised, and stops rocking back and forth and fiddling with the pencil as you freeze in your tracks and stop packing. "What?"

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him. "So you know?" You manage to squeak.

Mingi smugly pushes his tongue into his cheek. He loves how you're basically vibrating out of nervousness. "Oh, I know."

You sigh, hands finally letting go of your stuff and motioning defeat. He wonders what's going on in your mind right now. Are you afraid he's going to call you out? That he's going to make fun of you? That he's going to call you a needy slut and send you home? Or are you wondering if he's going to give you what you want? Mingi loves this game.

That's why he decides to make your situation a little more miserable.

"I also know that you think I'm stupid," he explains calmly, trying his best to no longer show any excitement, smugness, or any emotion whatsoever on his sharp facial features to really confuse you. Well, that's what you're getting for (almost) calling The Song Mingi stupid. Just a little payback, is all. He's not going to go so far and make you cry. No, no, Mingi can't handle when people cry, much less so if it's because of him.

Nevertheless, your breath hitches. Oh, you're fully aware that he didn't like you calling him that at all. Oh, how the gears are turning behind your forehead as you're trying to figure out what's going on, and what's going to go on in the next minutes.

"Thought so," Mingi deadpans. Yeah, that's right. Look how smart he is now! Super smart! He's got you all figured out. He knows exactly what to say and how to act to make you feel - and, fuck, does this feel like redemption - stupid.

"I'm sorry-" you start, back facing Mingi's form, but Mingi is not here for it. Mingi has gotten what Mingi wants. Mingi feels as powerful as he imagines a lion to feel, like, every day.

"Dumb fucks good," he simply states, just putting it out there, throwing it into the room for you to do with that statement whatever you like. Mingi's mind is already satisfied, his ego stroked because he's just proven that he isn't dumb. Although... he wouldn't mind a little diddling because, if he's being honest, you're hot as fuck and seeing you react to him in this way- well, he's also just a man!

"What?" You probably think you must've terribly misheard him as you whip your head around to face the confident Mingi smugly leaned back in his chair. Your eyes meet his, and he is sure that you now realize that, no, you definitely did not mishear him. That was exactly what he said.

In the blink of an eye, Mingi feels your presence on his lap, a last final look into his eyes before he feels your lips against his, desperately chewing away the remaining air separating his spit from yours. It's messy, lips colliding, too much teeth and tongue, but it's all raw and desperate. Mingi gets the vibes that you may have had some pent up want for him, but that's honestly the last clear thought he can muster before you grind your hips against his.

A deep groan escapes Mingi's lips, inevitably echoing against your own quiet gasps that just turn louder with every movement of your hips, your hands frantically trying to touch him everywhere at once to the point where he has to grab your arms and pull you back. Your eyes, wide. And confused, but somehow lidded and hazy at the same time struggle to take in Mingi in front of you. Yes, Mingi is aware of the effect of his siren eyes.

For another moment, he simply enjoys seeing how destroyed you look already, but honestly, there is just one thing on his mind.

"I'm gonna eat you out," he informs, waiting for you to nod frantically, whine and scramble off his lap for him to keep his promise. And you do, allowing Mingi to grab your waist with his large hands and lift you onto the counter. Of course, he can't resist getting another taste of your lips, almost losing himself in the soft pillows that frame your pretty mouth, but the hardness creating a tent in his sweatpants reminds him that he should possible attend a little lower.

Hence, he kisses his way over your cheek towards your jaw, then over your neck and down your collarbones. Mingi is not sure what your opinions on love bites are, so he just hopes you can remember him being right here and here and here even without visual proof, he can save that for next time.

Okay, Mingi admittedly was not able to hold himself back completely, his teeth only gently nipping at your skin on his way down. He simply hopes for the best, but your sounds seem to imply that you do not mind him one bit. Instead, you sound as if you wouldn't mind him taking a few bites more.

Impatient as you are, you assist Mingi in pushing your shirt out of the way, the straps of your bra automatically falling down your shoulders to reveal more of you to his hungry eyes.

And as much as Mingi would like to spend hours playing with your chest, he keeps it down to a minimum, kissing the soft flesh while gently pushing the remaining material out of the way for better access. His lips wrap around a nipple, his hands meanwhile busy with massaging the other and carefully holding your waist. God, Mingi loves boobs. But he might love the way your fingers comb through his hair and gently pull on it a bit more even.

Finally, the time has come, and Mingi kneels down on the floor. Pushing your skirt up, hands caressing your thighs, he creates eye contact with your eyes glazed over by lust and want. It doesn't even faze him that he hasn't cleaned these floors in weeks, honestly, he is in so deep he probably wouldn't even realize if the stove was on, lighting his study notes on fire.

He wants to tease you more, make you wait, maybe make you beg even, but he just feels too hungry to keep waiting. His fingers hook into the hem of your panties, pulling them down your legs as quickly as possible before spreading your legs and groaning in anticipation.

Throwing your thighs over his shoulders, he pulls you forward a little further, chuckling as you almost lose balance and smile at him. Okay, maybe Mingi feels a little tingle, and maybe that is not a horny tingle, but that's something to worry about later, if ever. Right now, he has a mission: dive in.

So that's what he does, obviously, planting a careful kiss right on your clit to wait for your reaction. And you do not disappoint, gasping slightly at the first sensation before getting louder and bolder the more Mingi tastes you.

His tongue gently parts your folds, getting a first taste of your juices. You basically cry out as his tongue prods at your hole, carefully easing its way inside to caress your walls.

Automatically, your hands fly to his hair, gently pulling at the roots to find a way to ground yourself, the feeling assumingely overwhelming, Mingi thinks, not to brag, but-

Mingi's eyes roll back at a particularly hard tug at his hair, paired with the way your hips grind closer until you're basically riding his face. Fuck, how are you so hot? Mingi's fingers grab hard at your thighs, loving the way the soft flesh feels in his hands.

To experiment a little more and, first and foremost, to get more rewarding reactions out of you, Mingi lets his mouth wander back up to your clit, gently sucking the nub between his lips, his tongue carefully flicking as not to overwhelm you. At the same time, a fingers sneaks its way over to circle your entrance.

Your throat coughs out a broken moan at this, your eyes switching between looking at Mingi's eyes and his mouth, and closing completely. Mingi loves taking in the pleasure written all over your face. He might not admit it, but he loves this kind of praise much more than verbal praise because your body really can't lie. He can literally taste how good he is at this.

He finally pushes his finger inside, loving how the wetness and muscle contractions are basically pulling him deeper and deeper until past his second knuckle. He feels around a little, trying to find the spots that seem to appeal to you the most, watching carefully how you react to each and every flick of his wrist.

Although, he feels that one finger is not enough to prepare you for the rest of him, so he adds another, massaging them into the spot that seems to be making you see stars with the way you grip his hair even tighter and mutter something he interprets as a warning that you're about to cum.

Keeping his pace, he successfully sends you over the edge, letting you ride out your high on his tongue before removing his lips, only getting his fingers massage the last clenches out of you.

Looking up he realizes you look, respectfully, wrecked, with your chest heaving, your hair a little messy and your eyes hazy and glossy, parted lips asking for his. And who is he to deny them, as he leans in to allow you to taste yourself. You seem to like it.

Pulling back after a while, he looks at you. You look so happy and relaxed like he's never seen before. For some reason, it reminds him of the weight in his pants that he suddenly feels the need to inform you about.

"You make me so hard," Mingi says lowly, carefully taking your hand to prove it to you, "feel." It's more your hand guiding his with how fast you reach down to feel him, eager to touch the outline of him through the sweatpants. And as if you're getting paid to stroke Mingi's ego even more, you gasp at his size.

Mingi can't help but smirk, of course, who wouldn't?

"Big stuff, huh?" You repeat your words from earlier, but this time no longer nervous, but cheeky as you bite your lip playfully. Oh, how Mingi would love to make you choke on his dick right now, just a little, and in a loving matter, but he's honestly waited long enough and he really just needs to be in you right now. And besides, Mingi is more in his giving > receiving era.

Instead, he grins. And he feels like there is something more.

Impatiently, you tug at his pants, successfully moving them a millimeter. Mingi helps you push his pants further down until it pools around his ankles. You giggle.

Damnit, Mingi. Why couldn't you've changed your underwear? Mingi mentally scolds himself, a good amount of his previously earned smugness flying out the window. Instead, he gives you kind of a sheepish look.

"I don't mind," you assure, tugging at his anime boxers next, "it's actually relieving to be reminded that you're still the cute, dorky Mingi and are not possessed by a sex demon."

"Incubus," Mingi points out.

"I don't fucking care. Just get this hideous thing off and have sex with me!"

Mingi does not need to be told twice, although he makes a mental note to scold you later for calling the one and only Naruto printed on a piece of fabric shielding his balls from the outside world hideous.

"God, fuck," you let out, and Mingi chuckles at your reaction to his naked lower half, "come here. Please."

You pull him closer, wrap your legs around him and beg him with your eyes. Mingi wastes not another second, aligning himself with your hole and slowly pushing forwards. Your eyes roll back as he enters you, causing you to hold onto him for dear life as he inches inside, filling you completely.

God, must your walls hug him so perfectly? Must you be so unbelievably wet just for him? Must you make these sounds? Mingi feels like he doesn't want to be inside anyone else ever again.

"I feel like I don't want to inside anything else ever again."

How did that get out there?

You chuckle, and have the nerve to pinch his cheek, as if he wasn't balls deep buried inside you right now. "You're so cute."

Cute?!

Mingi will show you cute. He grabs your jaw, admittedly still gently, and makes you look at him as he pulls almost all the way out until his tip catches at your entrance. "Cute?" And he pushes in all the way all at once. You moan, the feeling too much, too intense for you to still keep your eyes open. Helplessly, you cling to Mingi's body as he repeats the action 4 more times before setting a steady rhythm, angling his hips in a way that should stimulate the spot you liked so much earlier.

With your mouth hanging open and your eyebrows scrunched, you look like the prettiest thing Mingi's ever seen. He wants to see you drool, watch you completely lose your mind over nothing else but his cock. At the same time, he is surprised how good it feels. Well, not surprised that it feels good, but that it feels abnormally good, like he's about to nut in the next minute or so. Hopefully, he's able to coax another high out of you before that.

"What was it that riled you up so much earlier? My voice?" He growls, and you as much as whimper in return. "Yeah, like it that my voice is so deep?" You nod pathetically. "Cute."

"Mingi- 's so good."

"Yeah, am I fucking you good?" Mingi grins and you nod weakly, struggling to keep your eyes open. Mingi really shouldn't be the one talking big because honestly, he feels like if u moan one more time, if ur walls clench around him one more time, he is going to lose it. Something about this entire situation is just super surreal to him, or maybe it's simply you that is the reason for his premature high that is coming for him with fast steps.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, kissing your cheek before whispering, "can I please cum inside?"

"Shit, y-yes," you confirm, nodding quickly as you fight your hardest battle to keep your eyes open, focused and on the man that's currently grinding his tip into your sweet spot. Mingi feels like he loves you.

Mingi also feels like he's loosing his grip on reality, which is why he grabs your hips harder than before, using his strength to really slam his hips into yours with force, drowning his thoughts with the sounds of your moans. There is nothing on his mind except for you, you, you, and the primal need to make you his.

"Please," he groans, not quite sure what he's begging for, but it doesn't really matter in the end, does it? All that matters is that Mingi's ears catch the way you're begging him to cum for you, to fill you up, to please, please finish inside. He is not going to deny you that wish.

His hips stutter, his mind goes numb as he feels his muscles tighten and contract, releasing deep inside you. The feeling spreads in his body, feeling high and happy with such a forceful orgasm like this one.

Everything after is just a blur in his mind, he just remembers realizing that you didn't cum a second time, and he wouldn't be Mingi if he kept it that way. That's why he found himself back on his knees seconds after pulling out, sucking your clit back into his mouth, tasting his own release that's threatening to drip out if it wasn't for his fast fingers pumping in and out of you to push you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until you do, orgasm fueled by the lewd action of Mingi eating his own cum out of you, he assumes. Somehow, you two end up in his bed after, mostly because Mingi is a cuddler, partly because Mingi is not able to let you go yet. Or ever. Who knows.

© 2023 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[whyse7vn]

FUCK MARRY KILL -

[ot7 x reader]

GOLDEN OUT SOON

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

jin: just googled what champagne confetti means and wtf????

jimin: the fact that you had to google that 💀

namjoon: it’s been how long since the song came out?

y/n: wow jin ur really old as hell

💀💀💀💀💀

jin: IM NOT

hobi: bro had to google champagne confetti 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

jin: A LOT of people don’t know what that means

tae: a lot of old people 💀💀💀

jin: can you stop with the skulls

jimin: 💀💀💀💀

jin: i bet jungkook doesn’t even know what that means

jk: i do

why would i say it if i didn’t know it stupid

hobi: jungkook just called u stupid 💀

jin: bye

y/n: i’m turning evil

hobi: yesss feminism 💞💞

jin: how?

y/n: i just am

stay out of women’s business

jk: no guys it’s true she didn’t make me breakfast today 😰😰😰😰😰

yoongi: are you 5? why does she make u breakfast

jk: love

you wouldn’t get it

tae: i love an evil woman

they get me going

if you know what i mean

wink wink

y/n tell them what me you and namjoon did yesterday lol

namjoon: shut up

y/n: if you keep talking i’m going to block

you

tae: baby 💔

she doesn’t mean that guys

jimin: what did you guys do?

y/n: nothing important

hobi: i’ve decided that enhypen are my biggest enemies in life

I HATE THEM

jk: i love jikjin ❤️

namjoon: that was treasure

jk: no

namjoon: ok

jimin: what did enhypen do to you

hobi: exist

i’m not fucking with them

the vibes are off

and there are too many australians

y/n: isn’t it jake the only australian one?

yoongi: why do you know his name

y/n: because i’m nice and remember people’s names

hobi: i’ll literally kill jake like wdym oh naur??? like only i can say that

fucking bitch

UGH

i hate him

jimin: wow ok

namjoon: hoseok be the bigger person here they are kids

hobi: i’m skinny

bigger person?? absolutely not!

jimin: he kinda real for that idk

y/n: LMAO

jin: i’m saying fuck enhypen AND newjeans

hobi: literally

y/n: haters

jimin: NO FUCK NEWJEANS FOR REAL HAD ME DANCING TO ETA

LIKE I’M A MAN

jin: ha

jimin: what’s funny?

jin: 😚

jimin: i literally agreed with you idk why ur trying to fight me rn

jin: i didn’t even say anything

jimin: you didn’t have to

namjoon: ok both of you stop

jk: what if i was a giant meatball

yoongi: that’s nasty

tae: no cuz i get it

are you the meatball or is the meatball you

if you know what i mean

jk: i know

tae: no bro

we know

yoongi: ur sick

both of you are extremely sick

hobi: wish enhypen was sick

with the plague or something

y/n: that’s not nice :(

hobi: i would say i’m sorry

but i’m not

and i don’t lie

i just don’t

jk: guys can we cook rocks

y/n: no

jk: why not

y/n: they are rocks

jk: ok but have you tried

y/n: shut up

jk: yes

hobi: i could so play alexander hamilton

jimin: isn’t that the guy who drives the fast car?

jk: the fast and furious man?

tae: vin diesel????

yoongi: lewis hamilton you fucking idiots

hobi: i’m talking about the founding father

jk: what did ur father find???

namjoon: isn’t that an american thing?

jimin: finding fathers?

y/n: i can find mine

jin: so can i

and last time i’m checked i’m not american

tae: does america think koreans are fatherless?

yoongi: you act like u are don’t blame them tbh

hobi: no guys don’t you know the musical??

jin: about fatherless koreans?

jk: or the car man?

i thought that was a normal movie

did i miss the singing part???

y/n: omg didn’t jimin do a song for fast and furious??

jimin: OMG I DID

namjoon: wait i’m confused

hobi: lin-manuel miranda???

tae: wtf is that

jin: a sauce?

y/n: is that not the lip bite guy

hobi: YES

yoongi: give up hoseok

hobi: i have faith in them

yoongi: don’t

hobi: ur right…

jimin: anyways

tae: thinking hard rn

namjoon: i’m impressed

tae: thank you its the first time i’ve ever done this

i’m fucking with it lowkey

yoongi: go away

tae: can someone ask me what i’m thinking about

jimin: no

tae: since you asked i’ve got a really important question

jk: i’ll answer

tae: no you won’t

hobi: y/n do you want cookies?

y/n: PLEASE

jin: can i have some

hobi: no

jin: :/

tae: y/n

y/n: what

jk: 😍

tae: fuck marry kill

like out of us

rn

this shouldn’t be hard

y/n: ur right it’s not

fuck jin marry hobi kill jimin

tae: just fell to my knees

jimin: kinkyyyy

hobi: 🥺

jin: real!!!!!!!

jk: wait what

yoongi: lol

tae: clutching my chest

namjoon: would you all get a grip

tae: i have a grip on my heart

i’m having a heart attack

ohmygod

it’s fading to black

help me

beep beep beeeeeeeeeeeppp

(i’m dead)

yoongi: thank god

jk: y/n you can kill me yk?

won’t even be mad i swear

like fr

as long as ur thinking of me ha

idm!!!

y/n: but i picked jimin to kill

jk: oh lmao yeah!

you picked jimin

silly me lol

yeah

ur right lol

ha

jimin

yeah

jin: you wanna fuck rn lol?

yoongi: shut up

jin: ur mad

yoongi: i’m not

it’s just a stupid game 😂

jin: EWWW YOONGI JUST USED “😂”

i could throw up

someone kick him

jimin: when you kill me can you do it by strangling me

i feel like that would be the best way to go

namjoon: gross?

hobi: i think we should have a spring wedding that would be SAURRRR cute

y/n: NAURRRR ur so right

jk: ha ha

hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

jimin: wow he’s insane

jk: i could die better than you

i would die instantly

i wouldn’t fight back

i wouldn’t struggle

i would just die

jimin: the struggling is the best part

namjoon: stop

yoongi: fucking freaks

tae: she’s in love with me i know it

y/n: did you not just have a heart attack?

tae: can you kiss me like yesterday

y/n: absolutely not!

tae: wow u want me so fucking bad

jin: yesterday?

jimin: let’s a have threesome

hobi: bro can’t count

jimin: no

i just don’t vibe with jin fr

jin: ur such a hater it’s crazy this is why she’s killing you

and fucking ME

jk: LOL

LOOOOOOOOOOLLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLLLLLLLLLLL

y/n: guys can we talk about rn gojo pls I’m feeling sentimental

namjoon: who is that?

y/n: sighs looks out window

yoongi: don’t let her start

y/n: gojo was a hero to many a enemy to some a teacher to a few but to me

to me gojo was everything

jin: already don’t care can you come over lol

y/n: you want an in person gojo explanation???

jin: if that is what people are calling head now absolutely!!!!!!!!!!!!

y/n: jin i could cry

i’ll be there 😭🙏🏽

tae: me and joon are here

well like more me than joon but he can come if you want

i’m here babe

pls

don’t go to jin

jimin: wtf are you talking about 💀

jk: she didn’t even kill me guys

wow

like

wow

she didn’t even kill me….

hobi: she married me

jimin: ur clearly not on her mind bro

jk: no ur right

why would i even be on her mind anyways

i’m just a stupid idiot that no one loves

or wants to kill

y/n: get a grip

jk: grip gotten

yoongi: ur all dumb as hell

y/n: don’t be mad i didn’t pick you

yoongi: i’m not

jimin: iM nOt

yoongi: she literally killed you stfu

jimin: so?? at least i was on her mind

jk: WHY DIDNT YOU PICK ME OHMYGODDDDDIDJDJJDJJz nxbsjsh

tae: ok but be fr did you forget how to spell my name y/n be honest

tae: my name is tae

y/n: i know!

jk: i thought it was taehyung?

tae: CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP RN WE HAVE BIGGER ISSUES

jk: i’m sorry ur right

no one loves me

hit me in the head with a shovel

tae: ok LOOOOLLL but out of the remaining people who would you fuck?

y/n: joonie 🙏🏽

yoongi: u think ur so funny

y/n: ?

sorry for speaking my truth

jin: literally

tae: NAMJOON FR????

AFTER ALL I DID

and you pick the man that basically sat behind you the whole time

jin: wait

namjoon: taehyung

tae: WHATEVER

jin: waittttttttttttttttttttt

y/n: let’s not wait actually

jk: y/n are you sure you don’t want to kill me

jimin: shut the hell up

tae: AHHHHHHHZHSHSHSUDUDH

UGHHHHSYSZHSSBDBDN

YOU WANT ME

i hate life

you want me so bad

i know it

FUCK YOU

tae left “GOLDEN OUT SOON”

yoongi: wtf

jimin: wow

hobi: didn’t know it was that srs

jin: i have a theory

namjoon: you don’t

jin: no i definitely do

y/n: shut the fuck up

jin: wow u guys are nasty

yoongi: ????

jk: y/n did you change ur mind?

jimin kicked jk from “ GOLDEN OUT SOON”

—

tags: @piw6n @jvmisvu @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @indigobsessed @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @yojaschill @k4ngelz @junghoseokshusband

[sailoryooons]

Carmen | pjm x kth (m)

☾ Pairing: Vampire!Jimin x Human!Taehyung

☾ Summary: Taehyung gets lured to an exclusive club by a strange, enchanting woman. What finds him there is much more intoxicating and dangerous. 

☾ Word Count: 10,277

☾ Genre: Supernatural, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Hypnotized/compelled decisions and thoughts, implied manipulation, Taehyung is influenced a lot by the natural power/allure of vampires and it scatters his thoughts/makes him do things he normally wouldn’t, depictions of blood, intimidation, The Vibes Are Off, light depictions of anxiety, vampires showing off humans like pets sort of, biting/marking/bruising, explicit language, explicit sexual content, not using lube, spit play/using spit as lube, light degradation, blood play/drinking, rough sex, overstimulation, oral (m. receiving), hand jobs, ass play, a lot of feelings and sensations, mentions of fear during sex, references to subspace, feeling overwhelmed during sex, crying, power dynamics but not explicitly dom/sub, blood lust, feeding frenzy, feelings of terror, Jimin calls Taehyung ‘Carmen’ sometimes - it makes sense in context, Taehyung is lured to the vampire den, implied obsessive themes (no stalking or anything), hair pulling, voyeurism, scenes of carnage and like a feed frenzy, terror at the end of fucking, idk its a vampire coven and Taehyung realizes whats happening at the very end so. 

☾ Published: October 27, 2023

☾ A/N: Happy Halloween to my baby bat @gimmethatagustd. I love you eternally, and I hope that we live a long and immortal life together. Please accept this as my love for you and I hope I am actually with you when this drops so that you can start screaming at me for hiding the fact that this fic was for you the entire time sofidjfogidjf. Also, Happy Early Birthday. I love you so much it’s actually disgusting and I need to be institutionalized. LARGELY UNEDITED SORRY. 

☾ A/N 2: If mem x mem isn't your thing - literally just don't read it. It is that easy. This is not me being a shipper - it is fiction and I do not believe in shipping people in a real-life setting. Thanks.

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Masterlist | Ask | Tag List | Song Inspiration | BTS Fantasy and Fangs Halloween Collab

The boys, the girls They all like Carmen -Carmen, Lana Del Ray

Taehyung knows the woman at the back of the lounge wants to take him home before his first song is over. He’s become better at picking them out early. Of course, most of the men and women want to take Taehyung home, especially when starts singing the slower, romantic ballads. He can see the way they sigh, melting in their seats a little, eyes wide and mouth open. 

It’s hard to pinpoint what makes his eyes keep straying back to her. She is beautiful, to be sure, but something is pressing in Taehyung’s mind as he starts his set, drawing his eyes back to her. Like an invisible hand guiding him each time, reminding him that she is there and watching. 

She stares at him with a pinpoint focus, her dark eyes tracking Taehyung on the stage as he walks slowly, mic in hand and singing the notes softly. His eyes keep drifting back to her, trying to make out her features. All he can garner is that her eyes are alluring and even from a distance, she emanates something. Huger. Power.

It makes his stomach flip. Taehyung likes those who want him, but he loves those who crave him. Usually, it’s the men who are hungry enough for Taehyung to chase him. To go after what they want. To whisper pretty compliments until Taehyung is so lavished in attention that he goes home with them. 

The woman at the back of the room looks like she can charm him - will charm him. It makes his lips turn upward as he croons softly into the mic, feeling the music of the band behind him swell, jazzy notes drifting. 

He loves this. His mother told him that he was born to sing. Her little songbird. His mother is dead now, but he lives on through each velvet note, warm voice pouring over the patrons who watch him with dazed expressions. 

Taehyung feels powerful this way. He could lead them all around the room, he’s sure of it. He could get them up, one by one, and lead them straight into destruction. He’s sure of it. 

Except for that woman at the back of the room, whose presence scrambles Taehyung’s thoughts. He finds it hard to perform, her presence like a weighted stone on his thoughts at all times. He nearly messes up the words to a few songs he is so enchanted. 

Still, he does well. La Vie is one of Taehyung’s favorite places to perform. The clientele is high-end, the staff likes to give him free food and drink along with a decent amount of cash for his performances, and he’s growing a steady income here. 

The only problem with La Vie is that its clientele are often repeat customers, and Taehyung has grown weary of seeing the same faces he’s taken to bed already. The faces who think they own him now, who think that just because they’ve had a taste, they can have a fit whenever his eyes stray in another direction.

And his eyes do stray. 

In the middle of his set, Taehyung takes a cool sip of water while the band plays a fast tune. He nods his head, feeling the rhythm and snapping his fingers. The stage lights are low but he feels the heat through his long-sleeved shirt and slacks, sweat dripping down the back of his neck slowly like a phantom finger. 

From the corner of his eye, Taehyung can see Constantine staring. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but he feels the sudden flash of irritation, the urge to curl his lip in annoyance. Constantine is the exact problem that Taheyung has with La Vie, except that he’s the one who got Taehyung the gig - and the manager. 

Taehyung’s throat tightens as he walks back to the stage to finish the last half of the set. The last of the songs are slower, dreamy romantic songs meant to soften the crowd before they dismiss from the lounge for the evening. The sooner he ends the show, the sooner he’ll have to field Constantine’s seeking questions and fawning. 

It presents a problem if Taehyung wants to talk to the woman at the back of the room. 

He decides not to think about it too much. Instead, he closes his eyes and sings his way through the rest of the song, voice carrying old jazz classics and his own written music. Some people would call his smooth voice haunting. Others call it hypnotizing. Taehyung doesn’t know where he stands on the subject, and he doesn’t care so much. He just likes to sing and he likes people who watch him sing. Who listen. 

There are those who come to his performances at high-end restaurants and lounges to watch him, and those who come to hear him. He prefers those who like to hear him, but any will do at the end of the night when he wants to roll around satin sheets and drink rich wine that he doesn’t have the pallet for. 

When he sings the final note of the night, it hangs in the air. This is one of Taehyung’s favorite moments of each night. It’s the last breath before his spell is broken, a moment frozen in time where all eyes are on him, the crowd so entranced that it takes a long pause for them to realize he’s finished.

The brief silence is chased with thunderous applause and people standing. He grins, feeling his chest swell with pride, blood sizzling in his veins as he bows low at the waist. He’s one of the few artists who can get this stiff, rich crowd to stand and cheer, and he knows it. 

He steps to the side and gestures to his band, the applause continuing as they each stand and bow. Though most people might feel tired after a performance, Taehyung is buzzing. He feels the adrenaline pumping through him, and after he steps down from the stage and polishes off ice-cold water, he immediately wants something harder to keep the buzz going. 

Drinks wait for him on the bar top. It’s crowded at La Vie but people make room for him at the bar. An original speakeasy from the prohibition era, it’s low-ceiling and dimly lit, offering a romantic and mysterious air hanging in the room. Taehyung places a folded wad of bills into a glass tip jar, saluting Yoongi behind the bar. The bartender nods, gracious for the tip and a confirmation that the glasses of neat are on the house. 

Taehyung knocks back the first glass. The whiskey burns down his throat. He hisses as it goes, feeling the sting in his nasal passage. He blows out a slow breath and grins to himself, pausing before he sips the next drink to shake hands with a string of patrons complimenting him. 

None of them catch his eye the way the woman at the back of the room has, though. Taehyung sees lingering looks from husbands and wives and smirks at a group of giggling women who are shy and blushing and biting their lips as they compliment him, and he feels a slight spike of irritation when Constantine takes the stool next to him.

Instead of speaking to him, Taehyung focuses on sipping the drink. It’s smooth and perfect, with a hint of orange rind that Yoongi probably burned and waved around the glass. Taehyung looks up to see the bartender cast Constantine a pitying glance before making another drink. 

“You sang well tonight,” Constantine prods. “You have such a way with the crowd.”

“Well, I supposed that’s my job.” Taehyung’s comment comes out flat. He glances at Constantine from the corner of his eye to see that he’s frowning. 

Taehyung is full of mistakes, but letting the manager of La Vie fuck him is by far one of his biggest. He usually has a rule that he doesn’t fuck the people who can interfere with his work, but he made an exception. 

Constantine is beautiful, but a bit of a fool. He inherited La Vie from a long line of family members who have kept it running, and it’s through long-term patronage and reputation alone that it’s lasted this long. Well, that and his two only successful ventures in hiring Yoongi as his main bartender who doubles as his piano player on weeknights, and Taehyung as the late-night performances most evenings. 

People don’t come to La Vie because it’s well-kept or because of Constantine’s good business acumen. They come because they want to hear Yoongi play and then watch him behind a bar all night, sweat running down his neck, dark eyes always filled with a potential promise of more. They don’t get it, of course. Yoongi doesn’t sleep around as Taehyung does, but still, the bartender and pianist is loved and lusted after by most of the patrons. 

Then there’s Taehyung. The warm opposite of Yoongi’s distant, unattainable beauty. Taehyung is full of life, accepting praise greedily, willing to flirt his way through free drinks and extra tips, especially if it lands him in the bed of someone he has been eyeing all night.

Until he broke his rule for Constantine. Pretty Constantine, who said that he was on the same page and that sleeping with Taehyung would be a casual thing. Perhaps it’s Taehyung’s fault for not seeing how mystified the lounge manager was after that first night tangled in sweaty sheets followed by a hot shower the next morning. 

Now, he’s between a rock in a hard place. Offend Constantine and risk being ousted. Keep letting him take Taehyung to bed, and he’ll never escape. 

“Your eyes are beautiful tonight,” Constantine murmurs, dipping his head to catch Taehyung’s attention. “I’d bet they’d look even better rolling in-”

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” a dark, feminine voice cuts in. “But I couldn’t resist introducing myself.”

The hair stands up on the back of Taehyung’s neck. He knows it’s the woman who watched him from the back of the room before he even turns around. When he does, he is mystified. Her eyes are lined heavily in kohl and her eyes are dark as a storm sea, pinning him to his place with their intensity. Her skin is umber and smooth, her face so flawless it leaves Taehyung reeling.

There is something uncanny about her. Taehyung can’t put his finger on it. Her eyes are narrow and sharp, her lips plump and breaking into a slow, knowing smile. She looks like the cat who ate the canary, tilting her head to the side as she continues to examine Taehyung with a feline-like gaze. 

“My name is Evangeline.” She reaches out a small, smooth hand. Her nails are filed into a point and painted a wine red. For a moment, Taehyung has the silliest thought that they look like the color of blood as he shakes her hand. He’s surprised at how cold they are, his palms tingling when she lets go. “I have not heard someone sing Ella Fitzgerald like that since… well, perhaps Ella Fitzgerald.”

Taehyung cocks his head to the side, a little confused. “Do you have Ella hidden somewhere that you can listen to her sing whenever you desire?”

“Would that I could. But that’s what… oh what is that spot app, again?”

“Spotify?”

Evangeline grins, revealing wicked, blindingly white teeth. “Spotify, yes. That little intricacy does quite a good job at catching the sound of old artists, but there is nothing like it live.”

Evangeline’s voice is like velvet. Even Constantine goes silent next to Taehyung, staring up at the woman as she slides next to Taehyung. She leans against the bar close enough that he gets the barest hint of scent like jasmine and amber. 

A shiver slides through him as she sips a glass of the darkest wine Taehyung’s ever seen. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth when he says, “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. I know most of the patrons by heart.”

“You wouldn’t have. I have not been to La Vie in a long time.” 

Taehyung realizes that she speaks with a specific articulation that hints at an accent. He can’t place it, but it’s like the sweetest music to his ears. “You’ll have to come more often, perhaps.”

“That eager to see me again?”

“I like to pride myself on repeat customers coming to hear me. It would be a shame to know you didn’t find my performance compelling enough to see another.”

“Hmm. Pride isn’t very becoming.”

Taehyung bites his lower lip, trying to hide the smile. “Spoken like a woman who can relate.” 

Evangeline is quick-witted. The rest of the world seems to fade as Taehyung talks to her. It’s strange - he cannot remember what the conversation is about, and he can’t remember Constantine leaving. He doesn’t even recall the patrons leaving the bar until it’s just Yoongi wiping down the counters, eyeing Taehyung wearily as he says goodbye, following the woman out of the door.

Blood rushes through Taehyung’s veins. It’s cold outside, winter fogging his breath. His skin tingles with the sudden temperature change, muted by the soft glow of alcohol in his system. He looks up at the sky, hot breath fogging as he inhales deeply, filling his lungs with that sharp air. 

Something about being drunk in the middle of the night during winter is magical. He can’t explain it, feeling himself smile as he drops his gaze back down to the woman next to him. For a second, he swears her face is sharper than he remembers, a look so hungry in his eyes that it makes his pulse skip.

When he blinks, she’s smirking at him, tilting her head. Taehyung realizes he is drunk, but he craves Evangeline. Wants to hear the way that dark voice of her pants against him, wants to feel her sharp nails on his skin, raking down-

“Have you ever been to the opera house on ninth?”

Taehyung pauses at her question. He feels his brows furrow as his drunk thoughts turn from thoughts of kissing Evangeline to puzzling out her question. “That exclusive club that was made out of the old opera house? What’s it called again…”

“Sanguine.”

He snaps his fingers and points at her. “Sanguine. No, I haven’t. It’s by invitation only and it’s the most exclusive club in the city. I hear it’s open all hours, though.”

“It is.”

“Wait, are you a member?” 

Evangeline sticks her hand out. Taehyung meets her gaze and it feels like he falls forward into it. All thoughts fade from his mind. There is no sound, save that of a high-pitched ringing. Everything but the glowing, otherworldly woman has faded to the back. He only sees her. 

Taehyung lifts his hand, but he doesn’t remember thinking about doing it. He places it in hers, and she laces their fingers. Her hands are bitterly cold, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t either, skin tingling, gaze heavy on her as she tugs him along.

“Want to see it?”

He can’t form words. Suddenly feels like he can’t remember how. He nods his head instead, following her. His first few steps feel heavy and he stumbles like he has had far more to drink than he remembers. Normally, it might be cause for alarm, but Taehyung is unbothered as they walk, Evangeline’s eyes pulling him along as she walks backward. 

The world passes by but Taehyung doesn’t remember it. He is somewhat aware that his cheeks and nose are sticking with cold and that his eyes are watering from the temperature. He tilts his head upward, a little dazed and confused about where he is until he sees the golden glow of the opera house.

Sanguine. It is a massive building of white stone and ornate pillars. The architecture confuses him, a blend of Greco-Roman pillars and gargoyles he’d expect to find in a gothic church. The building is a wonderous feat of dark windows, ornate carvings in the stonework, and height. 

“The gargoyles are a bit terrifying,” Taehyung announces, staring at them fixated on top of the portico over the entryway. “Why the gargoyles?” 

“Some lessons are hard to learn.” 

Suddenly, Taehyung can’t take his eyes off of them. The two snarling beasts seem to be a bad omen and he finds himself frozen to the spot, forgetting all about the woman next to him or the invitation to see the exclusive inside of the most prestigious clubs in the city. All he knows is that suddenly, a feeling like doom has tiptoed up his back to rest on his shoulder. 

Taehyung takes a step back. The gargoyles look so much more like people when he stares at them. Twisted humanoids, crouched while screaming at the sky, showing fangs. His heart beats so hard that he feels his pulse in his throat, panic welling up inside of him, ready to spill out and overflow.

“I’m drunk,” he blurts. “I should go home. I-”

Evangeline’s cold hands grab Taehyung’s face and pull him down to her. Her lips are pressed against his and he doesn’t remember what he was worried about. His heart speeds up for different reasons now, eyes fluttering shut as he melts into her kiss, his hands going to her hips to pull her in closer. 

She tastes like dark wine and something else - a bit like iron and salt. The kiss is slow and dizzying and when she pulls away, Taehyung is eager to follow her into the dark halls of the opera house.

The lobby is dark inside. No light comes through the windows, leaving Taehyung in a complete abyss as Evangeline shuts and bolts the door behind him. A tingle slithers up Taehyung’s spine when she bolts the door and he suddenly feels like he’s never going to leave the opera house again. 

A soft din of voices and music trails to him from the doors leading to the main theater. Evangeline takes his hand and leads up toward the door. He still feels dizzy from the kiss, willing to follow her wherever she goes. 

For now, that’s the main seating area of the theater. She pulls open the heavy door, the rush of gentle voices and piano hitting him. Leading him through the door, Taehyung blinks as his eyes adjust from complete darkness to low light. It’s so dim that it takes him a moment to make out anything at all, eyes drifting up toward a massive chandelier with flickering, gold bulbs. 

The inside of the theater is like nothing Taehyung has ever seen. It has been transformed into a massive lounge with a wooden bar on the far right, manned by two bartenders. Velvet couches, chaise lounges and chairs are placed around the main floor, groups of people dressed in formal wear and dripping with jewels draping themselves over the furniture. 

Everything screams opulence. The interior still has the same baroque, elegant beauty that seems like the original design, mixed with the new additions like the bar and furniture. On the stage is a piano, a young woman playing with her eyes closed, and a cluster of people around her, gazing at her with what Taehyung can only describe as hunger. 

Evangeline leads him into the room. He feels the eyes on them as they go, glancing around nervously to realize that there is an odd mix of people in the room. There are those dressed formally in draping gowns and tuxedos, all of whom are unnaturally beautiful. Taehyung finds that his brain buzzes when he looks at them, each individual otherworldly and… cold. 

The other groups of people look like Taehyung. Starry-eyed and dressed in varying degrees of plain clothes. He wonders if they are guests as well, people brought into the fold by elegant patrons like Evangeline. 

Trepidation settles deep in Taehyung’s gut as Evangeline takes him to the bar and orders him a drink. He is tired, eyes heavy and worn at the edges. The momentary surge of adrenaline after she kissed him is wearing off, and Taehyung feels the layer of dizziness slipping off, replaced by anxiety. 

In an attempt to take the edge off, he sips his drink. Evangeline begins introducing him to groups of people, linking her arms with his and pulling him around the room. Taehyung gives her friends a dazzling smile, though he is overwhelmed by the dark eyes that meet his. The cold handshakes. The almost predatory way that the others smile at him. 

He cannot pinpoint what about the crowd is making him nervous, but as Evangeline tells someone about his singing ability, Taehyung realizes that she’s bragging. Showing him off. Pulling him around the room and gesturing to him with words like look what I found and isn’t he just darling? 

Normally, Taehyung preens with pride under the compliments and the pretty words. He loves it when people are enthralled by him, swept away by his talents. Now, something about it feels off. They don’t look at him with wonder on their faces and awe in their eyes- they coo at him. Look at him like they want to eat him whole. Like he is something they can possess. 

Only one person introduces himself and looks at Taehyung curiously instead of with lecherous intent. “Hoseok,” he says, shaking Taehyung’s hand. It’s firm and cold. “What do you like to sing?”

It’s the only time he’s been asked a question tonight. Hoseok is hauntingly beautiful, with dark eyes, a slim nose, and cheekbones that seem carved by Strazza. He is dazzling to look at, and Taehyung’s tongue feels heavy in his mouth as he says, “Jazz, mostly. Sometimes classical, but that was mostly in my younger days in school.” 

“Divine.” Hoseok’s gaze slides to Evangeline. “You know he’s… his type.”

“Well, he didn’t find him.” 

Taehyung doesn’t know who he is and he doesn’t get the chance to ask. The pianist on stage stops playing and Evangeline takes Taehyung’s hand, pulling him toward the stage. “Come on,” she gushes. “Let them hear you.”

He lets himself be pulled. Taehyung feels a coil of nerves in his stomach as she yanks him on stage and pushes him to the middle. The room quiets when they see them and Evangeline claps her hands, drawing the full attention of the lounge.

There’s no spotlight, but Taehyung feels hot under the weighted gaze. Again, his instinct tingles, trying to make him aware of something. He just doesn’t know what. He shoves down the feeling and tucks his hands into his pockets, giving a shy grin as Evangeline talks about his voice. 

The crowd of patrons lean in a little when she steps off the stage. Their gazes are sharp as razors and he can’t help but feel like a shy lamb among a pack of wolves. 

Licking his dry lips, he clears his throat and laughs awkwardly, unsure of where to look. Evangeline stands near the side of the stage, not a great point of attention as he sweeps his gaze out into the room. He fixes his eyes on the glowing red exit sign above the door and opens his mouth, taking in a deep breath before he starts a slow Sinatra number. 

His voice carries over the hushed silence, deep and swelling. He smiles a little as he sings, watching the face go from hungry to mystified. The whole room seems to lean in, people from the back moving toward the stage, drawn in by him. 

Taehyung goes right into the next song, feeling his anxiety melt away. His audience is wrapped around his finger, their eyes following him as he trails around the stage, more engaged. He makes eye contact with some of them, still flinching internally at the sheer darkness of their eyes, but still singing nonetheless. 

When Taehyung finishes, the room erupts into gentle clapping and whispered praise. He feels pride well up inside of him, flushing with pleasure as he bows at the waist, grinning under the sweet applause. He stands up and starts walking toward Evangeline, who looks at him with a smile like the sun. His heart beats a little faster, grinning widely as she claps for him excitedly and-

“Sing another.”

Taehyung realizes the room is silent. The hairs on his arms stand on end and it feels like the air gets sucked out of the room suddenly. Evangeline’s eyes flash silver for a moment, but when Taehyung recoils and blinks, they’re back to normal, though she looks put out as she steps back from Taehyung. 

Slowly, Taehyung turns to look at the edge of the stage at the owner of the soft voice and his world stops. Whoever this man puts the rest of the beauty in the room to shame. Taehyung feels his pulse race, meeting the dark, sultry gaze of the man who spoke to him. 

Something calls to Taehyung. He steps toward the man, dazed and confused, staring, staring, staring. The man has the most beautiful face Taehyung has ever seen. Round cheekbones with a chiseled jaw, plush lips tinted rose, and siren eyes that glitter as he drinks Taehyung in. This is the son of a god or a god himself, Taehyung thinks. A creature of myth and legend.

“What do you want me to sing?” Taehyung asks, barely recognizing his own voice. His ears are ringing and his thoughts are syrup-slow. 

The man smiles and Taehyung feels his stomach flutter. The man is not dressed in formal attire like the rest of the patrons. He’s dressed simply in black jeans with tears in the knee, a black turtleneck tucked into the waistband to show off his tapered waist, and a necklace that looks to be made of thorns. 

Even dressed casually, he outshines every person in the room. 

“What’s your favorite?” he asks, cocking his head to the side and regarding Taehyung. 

A flush works up Taehyung’s neck. He feels a tingle slide down his spine and a lick of pleasure curl in his stomach at the man’s gaze. His fingers twitch and his mouth feels dry. He licks his lips, trying to think of the man’s question and what his answer should be. 

“Can’t Help Falling In Love, I think.” 

The man grins and Taehyung sees stars. “You think? Or you know?”

“I know?”

“Are you asking me?” 

Taehyung shifts back and forth, shame coloring his cheeks as he looks at the floor. Effortlessly, the man jumps up on the stage. He lands silent and lithe as a cat. Taehyung’s eyes widen as he approaches, his gait smooth, footfalls unheard. “I’m only teasing, sweetling. What’s your name?”

“Taehyung.” 

The man stops right in front of Taehyung. He’s shorter, but somehow Taehyung feels small and delicate in his presence, wavering as the smell of orange blossom and something darker washes over him. Taehyung’s eyelids flutter and he fights the urge to lean in closer to the man, to brush his fingers across his skin. 

“I’m Jimin.” Jimin reaches out and brushes his fingers across Taehyung’s cheekbone. His touch leaves a trail of tingling cold. Taehyung closes his eyes, breath catching. Whatever this spell he’s under, he can’t shake it, gone with just a touch. “I want you to sing for me, Taehyung.” 

“Okay.” 

Jimin steps away and Taehyung makes a sound, protesting. His mind is warring between confusion at his reaction and the need to be near Jimin. The duller part of his thoughts is careening, telling him to pull it together, to stop and leave. But the desire shaken awake by Jimin is so much louder, commanding Taehyung’s thoughts.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin murmurs, gesturing to where Evangeline is standing. “I’ll be right there.” 

Taehyung watches as Jimin glides over to the edge of the stage. He whispers something to Evangeline that Taehyung cannot hear but he watches the change in the woman. She ripples with anger, her lip curling up in a snarl. Jimin says something else to her and in the blink of an eye, her head is bowed, her shoulders coming up as she steps back, cowering. 

When Jimin turns around, he gives Taehyung an encouraging smile. The effect is instantaneous. Taehyung feels giddy inside, joy bubbling up as he returns the smile shyly. Gone is the anxiety, gone is the strange feeling of being paraded around. Now, all he can think about is Jimin’s dark eyes, the way they track him as he moves to the middle of the stage again. 

As Taehyung starts the song, he wonders if this is what Elvis was singing about. If wise men were right and that only fools fall in love. Can love at first sight be a thing? As Taehyung sings the song softly, looking at Jimin every so often, his eyes drawn to him like a magnet, he thinks perhaps this song was written about Jimin. 

It isn’t rational. Taehyung knows this and yet barely acknowledges it, watching Jimin’s eyes shine with something as Taehyung finishes the song. For a moment, no one claps. Taehyung looks nervously around the theater, watching as the eyes of the crowd look at Jimin. Once he applauds, the rest follow. 

Taehyung lets out a relieved breath, smiling and bowing shallowly. Jimin approaches him again. It occurs to Taehyung that Jimin walks like a jungle cat, smooth and somehow lethal. 

“You have the most exquisite voice,” Jimin says gently, shaking his head. “You are a rare treasure, Taehyung.” He holds out a hand. “Join me?” 

Taehyung starts to reach for Jimin before he hesitates, eyes glancing up over Jimin’s head at Evangeline, who looks murderous. “You are far too precious for her,” Jimin growls. “It is insulting that she thinks she could ever have you.”

Instead of answering, Taehyung just nods. His eyelids feel heavy, his heady swimming like he’s buzzing off a fresh glass of liquor. Jimin links their hands together and tugs Taehyung along. As they pass Evangeline, she doesn’t dare look at them, her eyes fixed on the floor. 

At the foot of the stairs, Hoseok is standing, arms crossed over his chest and smirking. He shakes his head when he sees Jimin, falling into step with him. “I told her.” 

“Thank you for alerting me,” Jimin tells Hoseok. Jimin turns over his shoulder where Taehyung is trailing a footstep behind. “I would have missed out on him.” 

Hoseok breaks off from them, walking toward the bar. Someone takes up the piano again as Jimin leads Taehyung out of the main theater and to a stairwell. He says nothing, following Jimin’s lead in silence, steps heavy. It feels like he’s underwater, everything dull around him. 

Except Jimin, who is sharp and bright and alive in his mind. 

Jimin leads Taehyung down a hall and through a door. It opens up into a balcony suite. What was once a private box for watching the opera has been turned into a luxurious room of sorts, making Taehyung raise his eyebrows. 

A lounge area is in the middle of the suite, and there is a single bed tucked into the corner. A wet bar is placed at the back, along with a doorway that leads into a refurbished bathroom. Taehyung pauses as Jimin drops his hand, looking around to appreciate the velvet drapery on the wall and the ornate decor in the room. 

It feels like he has stepped back in time, a mix of modern and Victorian meshing in a way that Taehyung finds wonderfully elegant. Jimin goes to the wet bar and retrieves two glasses, pouring them a finger of whiskey each. Taehyung walks toward him, looking out at the lounge beneath. 

“It’s designed like a bedroom?” Taehyung inquires, eyes drifting back to Jimin, who smiles as he brings the glass up to his lips. His sharp eyes pin Taehyung to the spot as he sips. “Do you… live here?”

Jimin shrugs. “Sometimes.” 

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

Instead of answering the question, Jimin gestures for Taehyung to walk with him, leading him to a rich, crushed velvet couch that overlooks the lounge. Taehyung takes a sip of the whiskey but it’s Jimin who makes him feel drunk and cottony.

He sits next to Jimin, limbs stiff. Jimin giggles at Taehyung’s awkwardness, tsking at him as he leans over and pulls Taehyung toward him, pressing their thighs and sides together as they watch the party unfold below. Butterflies flutter in Taehyung’s smile as he looks at Jimin, who is watching Taehyung with rapt attention. 

Being so near Jimin is difficult. This close, he’s even more beautiful than before. Taehyung doesn’t know how it’s possible. Jimin’s lashes are long, framing his beautiful eyes. His dark hair looks silky and soft, tucked behind his ears as he regards Taehyung with a fond expression. 

Heat climbs up Taehyung’s neck and between his legs, a heady feeling sinking deep in his stomach under Jimin’s gaze.

“What?” Taehyung asks, looking down at his lap and chewing the inside of his cheek. He’s never felt so bashful under someone’s gaze before. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re beautiful, of course.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t be shy now,” Jimin tuts. “You were quite confident on stage earlier. I believe the entire room fell in love with you.” Taehyung shrugs his shoulders and Jimin laughs loudly. “Now you’re humble? You are a delightful creature, Taehyung. Tell me, have you ever been to the opera?” 

“No, but I’m familiar with some.”

“What about Carmen?” Jimin asks. He reaches forward and drags a finger across Taehyung’s thigh. Taehyung holds back a groan as Jimin starts tracing patterns on Taehyung’s thigh. “Have you heard of that one?” 

“I’m familiar with the Habanera.” 

“Ah yes. It’s about a woman named Carmen who everyone is in love with. She entrances men with her vitality and sensuality. A man named José falls madly in love with her at first sight, abandoning the army, his wife, and his children for her.” 

Taehyung finds it hard to listen. Even through the fabric of his pants, Jimin’s touch is tantalizing. Taehyung’s legs widen a fraction, his spine tingling. He leans his head back, feeling breathless as Jimin’s tracing gets higher and higher, teasing Taehyung before his touch moves toward Taehyung’s knee again. 

“José, of course, is not the only one in love with Carmen. She is infectious, tempting everyone she comes into contact with.” Jimin leans toward Taehyung, so close that his breath ghosts across Taehyung’s throat. He feels his heart speed up as Jimin lowers his voice and continues, “You remind me so much of Carmen. Charming everyone around you with a simple look, with the sound of your voice. So addicting without even a taste.” 

“O-oh.” 

Jimin presses his face into the crook of Taehyung’s neck. Taehyung nearly drops the glass in his hand, placing it next to him on the couch as his breathing hitches. Jimin runs his nose up Jimin’s too-hot skin, making Taehyung squirm. 

“I fear I have the same weakness as José and you have hypnotized me like Carmen.” 

“Me?”

Jimin nips Taehyung’s ear and Taehyung lets out a throaty, moan. Jimin’s breath across his skin is maddening, colors swimming behind squeezed-shut eyes. His dick hardens in his pants, blood pumping through him, arousal unfolding like the slow-blooming petals of a flower. 

“Don’t sound so surprised. You know the effect you have on people.”

“I do,” Taheyung admits. 

“Look at me.” 

It is a command. Taehyung obeys, turning his face to look up at Jimin. Jimin’s pupils are blown wide, hypnotizing, and alluring as he looks down his nose at Taehyung. Desire stirs so strongly in Taehyung that he parts his lips open, making a small noise as Jimin’s touch on Taehyung’s thigh turns to a solid grip, fingers digging in. 

“Do you want me, my Carmen? Do you desire me?”

“Yes,” Taehyung breathes. “Please.” 

“Ask, then.” 

Jimin’s eyes are so hungry that Taehyung is lost in them. Jimin is on his knees on the couch now, pressed against Taehyung. It feels more intimate than anything Taehyungh has ever felt and they’re barely touching, Jimin gripping Taehyung’s thigh, his mouth hovering inches above Taehyung’s.

“Ask,” Jimin growls, the sound rumbling from somewhere in Taehyung’s chest. Jimin might be smaller than Taehyung but the power that emanates from him is intoxicating and sweeping, making Taehyung shudder.

“Please,” Taehyung says again. “I want you. Will you have me? Please.”

Jimin’s grip is iron. “Of course I will. You’re mine.” 

Taehyung feels like Jimin’s as Jimin steals a searing kiss from him. Taehyung gasps into the kiss, melting into the couch as Jimin licks into the wet heat of Taehyung’s mouth. Jimin is all-consuming, his lips sliding against Taehyung’s hungrily, his tongue brushing against the ridges of Taehyung’s mouth.

It’s just a kiss and yet Taehyung loses himself in it. It’s needy and torrid, their teeth clicking together, lips sliding. Taehyung grabs the front of Jimin’s shirt, uncaring if he wrinkles it as Jimin presses Taehyung into the back of the couch, straddling him. Jimin’s fingers tangle in Taehyung’s hair, pulling harshly. 

The pleasure-pain makes Taehyung moan. Jimin hums, his devilish mouth moving from Taehyung’s lips to his jaw, biting and sucking harshly at the skin. It feels so good. Taehyung just lies there and takes it, hissing as Jimin’s teeth pinch and pull his skin, followed by Jimin’s soothing tongue, rough and wet.

The ache in his dick grows, especially as Jimin puts weight on it, sitting in his lap and leaning and rolling his hips forward, pressing into Taehyung’s cock and driving him wild. He feels out of control, like the room is spinning and Jimin’s kisses are going straight to Taehyung’s veins. 

“Fuck,” he gasps as Jimin licks hungrily at Taehyung’s neck. Jimin drags his blunt nails along Taehyung’s scalp, sending sparks down his neck and spine. “Please.”

“Please what,” Jimin pants, mouthing at Taehyung’s collarbones. “Tell me what you need, my wonderful Carmen.” 

It should be strange to be called by another name and yet, Taehyung shivers at the rasp in Jimin’s voice. Every single part of him is suddenly alive like his nerves are exposed to Jimin’s hands and mouth. Taehyung can’t remember the last time he felt like this with such simple touches. 

Perhaps never. 

“Fuck me,” Taehyung breathes. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Jimin smiles against Taehyung’s mouth. “Oh, I’ll fuck you.” 

A thrill goes through Taehyung as Jimin grabs him and slams him against the couch. His world spins and he’s suddenly facing the ceiling of the suite, panting and delirious as Jimin pins him down, littering his skin with bites and sloppy kisses.

Some of Jimin’s nipping hurts but it adds to the pleasure, Taehyung barreling straight into a slow, pleasured haze as Jimin pulls Taehyung’s shirt off roughly. Cool air kisses his flushed skin. Taehyung claws at the jacket on Jimin’s shoulders, pushing it off of him until he’s free of it, Taehyung’s hands seeking the flexing muscle of Jimin’s arms. 

Jimin’s hand goes to Taehyung’s throat. His hand is small but it squeezes pleasantly as Jimin kisses down Taehyung’s chest. Taehyung grinds up against Jimin, trying to relieve the pressure aching in his cock, a whine leaving his mouth. He feels Jimin’s breath across his skin as he laughs before fixing his mouth on a nipple, making Taehyung keen.

The stimulation is too much and not enough. It feels like Taehyung is ripping at the seams - burst at the seams from the pressure mounting inside of him. What has Jimin done to him to command his body? 

“Everyone can hear you,” Jimin teases, flicking his long, wicked tongue out to tease Taehyung’s already abused nipple. He drags his tongue across Taehyung’s chest, leaving a wet trail of spit as he goes. “Can hear you whining like a little whore. Is that what you want?”

Taehyung squeezes his eyes shut as he feels Jimin’s teeth scrape against his other nipple. He nods his head, unable to form a verbal answer to Jimin’s question. 

“Hmm,” Jimin hums, tongue lashing. “Good boy. Let them know you’re mine. They’ll wait for us to have our fun before they start.”

Taehyung has no idea what that means. He doesn’t ask. Instead, his hands slip down Jimin’s stomach and under his shirt, touching his skin. Jimin is cool to the touch, his stomach muscles flexing under Taehyung’s inquisitive fingers. He grabs at Jimin’s hips, but his fingers slip away as Jimin sinks lower down Taehyung’s body, nipping and sucking as he goes. 

Opening his eyes, Taehyung watches with heavy lids as Jimin settles between Taehyung’s legs, looking up at him. His hair hangs in his eyes, which glint wickedly as his nimble fingers work the zipper on Taehyung’s pants. He can’t look away from Jimin, hypnotized by the movement, but the way Jimin grins and pulls open Taehyung’s pants, leaning forward to lick at the damp spot on Taehyung’s briefs. 

Taehyung’s head drops back and he moans loudly, feeling the pressure of Jimin’s wet tongue through the thin fabric. Jimin mouths at the crown of Taehuyng’s cock, sending jolts of pleasure straight to him. He grabs the back of the couch with one and presses his first to the mouth with the other, biting as he bucks his hips.

“So sensitive,” Jimin coos. His hands grab the top of Taehyung’s pants and the elastic band of his briefs and pull hard, making Taehyung yelp as Jimin unclothes him in one fell swoop. “Think you can take it?”

Taehyung nods quickly, making himself dizzy with the force. Jimin laughs and reaches out, gripping Taehyung’s shaft and pumping him slowly. Jimin’s touch is electrifying, Taehyung’s hips canting upwards to fuck himself into Jimin’s palm, head lolling to the side. 

Jimin spits loudly, coating Taehyung’s cock with spit, his hand gliding firmly to the base of Taehuyng’s shaft. “Just like that,” Jimin whispers. “Fuck yourself into my hand.” 

Taehyung doesn’t need to be told twice. He does so vigorously, chasing the feel of Jimin’s tight, wet fist and the cool feel of his skin. When Taehyung feels Jimin’s tongue kitten lick the tip of his cock, he clenches his teeth, slowly his wild thrusting to allow Jimin’s mouth to explore. 

It’s hard not to bust immediately. He feels his orgasm looming from the barest stimulation. Suddenly it’s like Taehyung is back in high school having his dick sucked for the first time, trembling and trying not to come as Jimin suckles the head of Taehyung’s dick, mouthing at it greedily. 

The room feels like it’s spinning. Taehyung cannot hear beyond the balcony. All he can hear are the wet sounds of Jimin taking Taehyung into his mouth, sucking generously, tongue brushing on the underside of Taehyung’s shaft. 

Jimin pulls off of Taehyung with a wet pop. “You taste so sweet,” he groans, tongue flicking against Taehyung’s frenulum. Taehyung feels wrecked already, sagging and boneless, unable to do anything against the onslaught of Jimin’s mouth. “Sounds so sweet, just like you sing.”

Slowly, Jimin drags his tongue south. He strokes Taehyung lazily with his hand, mouthing at Taehyung’s balls. Taehyung’s fingers feel like they’ll break as he grips the couch, overwhelmed by the stimulation, crying out, muscles squeezing, head spinning, blood roaring. 

“Such pretty sounds,” Jimin murmurs again, dragging his tongue upward. “Sing for me, my Carmen.”

A broken sob sound leaves Taehyung’s mouth as Jimin takes Taehyung to the back of his throat. The wet heat of Jimin’s mouth is an inferno, his throat tight and soft and oh god he’s swallowing. Taehyung lashes against the couch, hands shooting to Jimin’s hair as his throat constricts tightly around Taehyung. 

He feels the spit sliding down his shaft, his stomach so tight and his dick so hard he knows he’s about to come any second, every atom buzzing. 

“I’m gonna-” he can’t finish the sentence, shaking his head back and forth. His heart beats so hard in his chest he thinks he might die before he hits his peak. “Fuck, Jimin. Fuck fuck fuck.” 

Jimin redoubles his efforts. Squeezes Taehyung’s balls with his hand, letting Taehyung shove his hips forward, Jimin’s throat squeezing Taehyung until he’s coming hard. Jimin takes it in stride, swallowing down Taehyung’s cum. 

And he doesn’t stop. 

Taehyung’s hands start to push at Jimin. Tries to pull him off Taehyung’s cock, tries to scoot away. The pleasure morphs into overstimulation. It hurts so good that Taehyung is collapsing into the couch, kicking and bucking and crying as Jimin keeps going, his hand pumping, mouth sucking. 

If there is a god, there must be a devil. And if there is a devil, Taehyung knows that he is between Taehyung’s legs, working him to another orgasm somehow, driving Taehyung to madness as he goes. Jimin pulls off Taehyung’s dick with a sticky sound, moaning sweetly at the mess Taehyung has become. 

“You can take it,” Jimin coos. “I know you can. You said you can.” 

Taehyung nods. Tears sting his eyes and he tries to take a deep breath. He blinks his eyes open, watching as the ceiling swims into picture, a little blurry from the tears. He takes deep, shuttering inhales, his lungs rattling as he does. When he looks down at Jimin, he wishes he didn’t open his eyes. 

He almost doesn’t recognize whatever it is that is laving at his weeping cock. Jimin’s face is crueler somehow. More beautiful, but terrifying. Taehyung swears the veins around his eyes are darker and the scrape of his teeth is sharper. 

The orgasm must have made him delirious. It’s the only explanation, especially as Jimin works him hard again, Taehyung aching to explode once more. 

Jimin pulls off of Taehyung and crawls upward. Taehyung thinks Jimin looks like an apex predator for a single, terrifying moment. And then Jimin is kissing him, making Taehuyng’s thoughts turn to white noise as Taehyung presses his tongue into Jimin’s mouth, tasting spit and cum and something like iron and salt.  

Something pricks Taehyung’s mouth. He lets out a surprised sound, his mouth filling with a warm, metallic substance. Jimin’s kiss becomes frenzied. The force of it startles Taehyung, fear wiggling its way into his mind as Jimin presses down on him. 

Jimin becomes overwhelmed. A force that Taehyung cannot escape, completely trapped and helpless, still dizzy and uncoordinated from the overstimulation. It excites him. Taehyung realizes with mild terror that he likes this feeling, likes being overpowered and pushed to the edge. 

He lets Jimin suck greedily on his bleeding lip. He’s too focused on the ache between his legs and the mind-melting way Jimin makes him feel to realize that Jimin is hyper-fixated on his bleeding mouth. He kisses Jimin back as best as he can, though it’s more of a slide of lips and tongue than an intentional kiss. 

“Turn over for me,” Jimin grumbles. He’s already gripping Taehuyng and trying to turn him over. Taehyung struggles to make his limbs work but manages to flip, mostly due to Jimin lifting him and turning him, once again showing how strong he is. “Gonna work you open for my cock.”

A pathetic sound escapes Taehyung’s mouth. His cheek hits the soft velvet. It’s grounding, feeling the gentle scrape of it against his sensitive skin. His cock is pressed tight between his stomach and the cushions, but it’s less invasive than Jimin’s hungry mouth, a brief respite. 

Wet lips trail Taehyung’s spine as Jimin descends. Taehyung’s breathing is ragged and heavy, gulping down cool air as he trembles under Jimin’s rough mouth. He likes that Jimin doesn’t handle him with kid gloves. That Jimin keeps Taehyung to his word, driving him into a manic state. 

Taehyung still feels like he’s on the edge of that mania when he feels Jimin’s fingers slip between his ass, seeking. He flinches when Jimin brushes against his tight rim, the muscles clenching, afraid. Jimin laughs but doesn’t push it, instead peeling Taehyung apart to spit noisily. 

A gentle sigh drips from Taehyung’s mouth. He feels the spit slide, the sensation heightened. Jimin’s finger traces after it, circling Taehyung’s asshole lightly. His toes curl at the light stimulation. It feels good, but it’s hard to control the muscle's instinct to reject and contract. 

Jimin doesn’t seem to mind. He leans forward, his fingers pressed firmly in the seam of Taehyung’s ass, his mouth pressing butterfly-soft kisses to Taehyung’s spine. 

Taehyung feels like Jimin’s instrument. Jimin works him open slowly and gently, at ends with how he was driving Taehyung to madness minutes prior. The swing to gentle and soothing has Taehyung confused and reeling, his brain trying to keep up with the sensations tingling through his body. 

When Jimin slowly breaches Taehyung’s tight ring of muscles, he lets out a pathetic keen. Taehyung is too loose-limbed and fuzzy-brained to do anything but take it. The intrusion burns for a second, but levels out to be pleasurable. 

Cold liquid slides down Jimin’s fingers, easing the slide. Taehyung sighs, relief unfurling slowly as the burn goes quiet and all that’s left is the stretch and the pressure of Jimin working Taehyung’s walls open. Toe-curling pleasure sweeps through Taehyung. He bites his bottom lip, lifting his ass in small, half-hearted twitches to meet the push and pull of Jimin’s fingers.

“Mhmm,” Jimin encourages, teeth scraping Taehyung’s shoulder blade. His breath is cool on Taehyung’s warm skin. “Take what you want, sweetling. Open yourself up for me.”

It smells like sweat and orange blossoms, Taehyung’s skin covered in their mixed scents. His sensitive cock drags against the fabric of the couch, sparking pleasure and pain as he fucks himself into the palm of Jimin’s hand. Jimin’s fingers are small but do the job, pressing against the most sensitive parts of Taehyung, making his breath ragged. 

Everything feels like it’s on fire as Jimin pushes in another finger. Taehyung feels the wet schlick of lube or whatever Jimin has used to make the slide easier. He feels fuller, moaning like a whore as he chases the electric feeling under his skin, coming alive under the careful press of Jimin’s fingers. 

“So good for me,” Jimin whispers, biting Taeyung’s ear. His breath is hot against the side of Taehyung’s face. “Gonna take my cock so well, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fuck,” Jimin swears. “I can’t wait. This is what you do to me.”

Jimin pulls his fingers out. Taehyung complains, feeling the empty gape. Jimin shushes him and presses his clothed cock against Taehyung’s ass, letting him feel how hard Jimin is. Taehyung grinds his ass against Jimin’s crotch, making the other moan. 

A shirt flys past Taehyung. He realizes that it must be Jimin’s turning and angling his head to see the man in question. He is utterly divine, his compact body graceful and deadly, lined with muscle and delicate lines. Jimin undoes the belt of his jeans and pulls them down, palming himself over his briefs as he kicks out of his pants. 

Taehyung can’t help but stare, lips parted. Jimin is a vision, his face still masked in something lethal and terrifying that makes Taehyung excited and afraid all at the same time. The mixture is intoxicating, sending his thoughts somewhere distant and fuzzy where all he can do is watch Jimin pull his briefs down to reveal a thick, leaking cock. 

On instinct, Taehyung scoots toward Jimin. The other laughs, giving Taehyung a quick, harsh smack on the ass. His skin stings where Jimin’s hand connects, earning a whimper. Jimin tuts at Taehyung, fisting his cock leisurely as he does. 

“So needy,” he grumbles. “So hungry for cock. You’re just like Carmen, you know? Addicting, needy, breaking down my will to give you whatever you want. This must be how Jose felt, ready to give her everything. Pliable. So willing.” 

“And you? How do you feel?”

Jimin’s gaze is dark and heavy. Taehyung holds his breath, pinned to the spot. He feels Jimin’s cockhead nudge the tight rim of his ass as Jimin settles behind him, looking at Taehyung so intensely that Taehyung feels as though he will wither away. Ashes to ashes. 

“Like I want to give you the world.” 

“Please.”

“You have to give it back. You have to be mine.” 

Taehyung is nodding before Jimin even finishes his sentence. Taehyung will give him anything he wants, as long as it means Jimin will push forward and relieve the aching weight of Taehyung’s needs. He is filled with so much carnal desire he thinks he would do anything Jimin asks of him. 

“Yours,” Taehyung agrees. He tries to push back and spear himself on Jimin’s cock, but Jimin’s grip is iron, holding him in place. “Yours.” 

That’s all it takes for Jimin to sigh, pleased. He pushes in slowly, Taehyung gasping and grabbing the couch at the intrusion. His walls flutter around Jimin’s cock. It’s a tight fit, a slow, pleasure-filled agony that ripples through him. 

Taehyung is hyper aware of how full he feels. It is perfect, his mind turning to static as he lays his face down on the couch, breathing strained and heart hammering. Jimin praises him gently, coaxing Taehyung to calm down with gentle kisses on the back of his neck, shoulders, and head. Jimin is fully seated, his hips pressed to Taehyung’s ass. It feels good, the pain retreating and leaving nothing but bliss in its wake. 

Jimin pulls out, the rough drag of his cock sending Taehyung into a spiral before Jimin snaps his hips forward again. Taehyung lets out a desperate sound, feeling his eyes roll back into his head as Jimin starts to fuck him slowly. 

It feels hot. Jimin cages Taehyung in, his chest pressed to Taehyung’s back, humid air trapped between their bodies. Jimin’s skin is cool to the touch, such a contrast to the warmth radiating from Taehyung. The mix of hot and cold only heightens the sensations, everything feeling sharp and powerful. 

Jimin’s teeth scrape Taehyung’s shoulder. Taehyung doesn’t know why, but he leans his head to the side, giving Jimin free access to litter his throat with sloppy kisses. Taehyung feels broken under the weight of Jimin’s thrusts, the wet sound of his cock pushing deeper into Taehyung until it’s pressing against the deepest part of him, making Taehyung kick his feet as the pleasure builds.

It’s so good it hurts. Taehyung is reeling, having never felt like this when being fucked. Jimin chuckles darkly against his ear, tongue licking the shell of Taehyung’s ear before whispering, “You take it so well.” Taehyung whines in response, pushing his ass back to meet Jimin’s hips as best as he can. “Such an eager little slut. Everyone can hear you getting fucked - do you like that?”

Taehyung nods his head. Jimin grabs him by the hair, pulling Taehyung upward so that Jimin’s chin is slotted on Taehyung’s shoulder. Taehyung’s neck cranes painfully and he opens his eyes, looking at Jimin’s side profile. 

“I said do you like that?” 

“Yes!”

“Come here, let’s show them.” 

Everything goes off balance. Jimin picks Taehyung up off of the couch like he’s a ragdoll, spinning him so that his feet hit the ground and he’s pushed up against the balcony railing. He barely has the coordination to plant his feet on the ground and grab the railing before Jimin is pressing back in, splitting him apart for everyone to see. 

Taehyung casts his head back, eyes closed. He doesn’t want to look down, doesn’t want to see the faces of the onlookers as he moans loudly, feeling flushed and breathy as Jimin fucks him hard. Taehyung sees stars behind his eyelid, laying his head back on Jimin’s shoulders, his hands gripping the railing as Jimin hammers into Taehyung’s prostate. 

It feels like Taehyung’s blood is on fire. Something like glee unfurls in him at the thought of everyone below seeing how perfect he is for Jimin. That Jimin chose Taehyung and no one else. That Taehyung is the perfect, pliant partner for Jimin. He doesn’t want to see their faces - he’s too shy for now - but he silently revels in the fact that they’ll know from this moment forward that Taehyung is Jimin’s in some capacity. 

His mind hasn’t caught up to what exactly that capacity is, blinded by the way he teeters on the edge of coming again. 

“This is going to hurt at first,” Jimin whispers against Taehyung’s throat. 

There’s a brief moment of confusion. Taehyung is unable to think beyond the thick, heady haze clouding his mind, but then searing pain rips through his neck. His eyes fly open and he gasps, too shocked to scream properly where he feels blinding pain throbbing from the side of his throat. 

Taehyung’s hand shoots up to Jimin’s face, digging in his hair. Jimin’s mouth is pressed against Taehyung’s throat and it takes a moment for Taehyung to realize Jimin is biting him clean through the skin. 

Panic shoots through him. He clutches at Jimin’s hair, pulling tight at the strands to pull him off. Jimin doesn’t budge, his mouth fixed to the tender flesh of Taehyung’s throat. Then Taehyung feels Jimin’s tongue. The subtle pull of his mouth, the drag of his blood. 

The pain fades into something else. His neck tingles, fire replaced with numbness. Taehyung’s eyes flutter shut as a high unlike anything else hits him. Jimin is still fucking him, his pace picking up, his thrusts becoming savage as he takes deep swallows at Taehyung’s neck.

Taehyung is vaguely aware that Jimin is drinking his blood. He can’t process beyond that acknowledgement, too caught up in the euphoria glittering through his veins, turning his blood to molten lava. His head falls forward, too heavy for him to hold up, eyes closed and sinking into the feeling. 

His orgasm comes swift and hard. Every muscle in Taehyung’s body squeezes tight with a force he’s never felt. It feels like he might collapse in on himself, a star going supernova before it implodes, sucking everything inward. 

Jimin lets go of Taehyung's neck, gasping as he feels Taehyung squeezes his cock. The wet gurgle of a moan from Jimin’s mouth makes Taehyung turn and look at him. Taehyung is bent over the railing now, sweaty chest sliding back and forth as Jimin’s hips jostle him. Jimin is standing straight, his hands gripping Taehyung’s hips to hold him in place as he fucks him viciously, chasing his high. 

But what freezes Taehyung in place isn’t the powerful body driving him into overstimulation. It isn’t the beautiful, lithe lines of Jimin’s chest and arms or the beautiful way his eyes drink Taehyung in. It’s the blood running down Jimin’s neck and chest that startles him. The crimson smear across Jimin’s mouth, which is parted as Jimin tilts his head upward, tongue coming out to run across his bottom lip. 

A glint of white catches Taehyung’s eyes and his heart stops. Two fangs, stark against the wine-red mouth filled with blood - Taehyung’s blood. His heart skyrockets for a whole new reason and he tries to think but his mind is too slow. Sluggish. Still crawling through the high that Jimin’s bite injected him with. 

“Jimin?” it comes out slurred and terrified as Taehyung watches Jimin lower his face, eyes finding Taehyung. He still looks beautiful with the lower half of his face colored in blood, but he is terrifying, and destructive. Taehyung thinks he might die of fright even as his stomach flips with arousal again. “What…?”

“Look at them,” Jimin grins, mouth a red gash. He grabs Taehyung's hair and forces the boy to turn toward the scene below. “Look how they waited so patiently for me to start. To fuck, to feed. They waited for you - to come and bleed. They don’t indulge until you’re done, my sweet Carmen.” 

It takes several moments for Taehyung to piece together the tableau unfolding beneath him. What appears to be a mess of blurry images and sounds morphs into something else, the edges of his clarity sharpening as Taehyung blinks through the fog of pleasure. What he thought was going to be patrons looking up at the balcony as he’s ravaged is not at all the case. 

Below is unleashed carnal energy. He sees bodies writhing. Scarlet ribbons of blood flowing down necks, in between thighs, down shoulders. His eyes sweep the landscape of bodies fucking and thrusting and bending, of screaming of pinning down, of biting. 

Vampires. 

The word suddenly comes to Taehyung in a moment of clarity, the word ringing out so clearly in his mind that he jerks upward underneath Jimin’s grip. The vampires below chase the humans in the room. Taehyung realizes that all of the patrons dressed in finery are slamming people dressed in plain clothes to the ground and onto furniture, fixing their mouths on them, and ripping their shirts open. 

“Oh my god,” Taehyung breathes, finally breaking free of the murky mist of lust. “What are you?” 

Jimin presses against Taehyung, slamming his hips in deep one more time as he comes with a feral growl. His hands are tight in Taehyung’s hair and his mouth is rough against his ear. “I’m yours,” Jimin answers, voice low. “I’m José and you are my Carmen.” 

Dizziness sweeps over Taehyung, feeling like darkness is racing up to greet him. “Yours,” Taehyung agrees, slow blinking as Jimin’s teeth sink into his shoulder again. “Your Carmen.” 

-

PERMANENT TAG LIST: 

@wobblewobble822 @idkjustlovingbts @teddytaee @jknoah @veronawrites @bts-ruu @tumeperds @ashtonkeller @ivyrosewater @secfir @hoseokshobagi

Please note: typically I would reblog with my tag list, but this drop is scheduled while I am traveling and I am unable to reblog and tag, so I’ve just done it as part of the main body. 

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟒 (𝟏/𝟐)   ❛ 𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 ❜   |   THE DEN, AUGUST 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  Leonor relished the daytime emptiness of The Den almost as much as the bustling nights she spent within it. Unlike most of Nakawe’s bars, it didn’t open until the sun went down, and it didn’t close as long as someone with the keys was willing to stick around. The first time Renzo asked her to stop by in the middle of the day, Leonor expected to find the place occupied but robbed of its liveliness. If not catering to the needs of drunks, daytime bars in her imagination were for desperate lunchtime breaks and closing business deals, neither of which Renzo’s private hideaway seemed to welcome. She was surprised to find him lingering on the sidewalk, waiting for her with a cigarette in one hand and a set of keys in the other. He pushed the door open and revealed The Den as she had yet to imagine it: empty, silent, still. 

❧ goes without saying but, if you're not reading the prose, you're missing half the story !!! part two soon ... (i am also proud bc i made many poses, pls clap)

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

Renzo laughed at her, breaking the quiet. “One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind,” he said, mimicking a voice in perfectly unaccented Simerican that Leonor didn’t recognize. She had been standing, unmoving, while she soaked in the surreality. 

He was going behind the bar, hitting lights as he went, but knew to clarify, “You look like you’re in outer space. New planet. New dimension.” 

That was, in a way, how it felt. The soundproofing was impeccable. She couldn’t hear the boulevard just outside the door. Renzo began messing with bottles and humming to himself, but the few seconds after the door had shut were enough to make an impression. She liked being there during the day. She liked this version of the place, one that looked like a true escape from the world, where she could feel the residual good vibes of the previous night with the perfect clarity of a new day. She liked fanning her work out across the bar or on a couch. She liked pretending to be occupied with it while Renzo sat on the stage with a pencil behind his ear or colored block letters on handmade posters or laid, completely unmoving, on the dirty floor. Sometimes he worked, too. Leonor liked those instances best, and she allowed herself to be distracted by his miming of scenes and murmuring dialogue and tuning guitars across the room. 

“Why is no one else here?” she asked him one day, once this had become something of a once-a-week routine. 

They were curled up together like cats but were each engrossed in their own work. Renzo was reading a script, muttering words silently to himself. Leonor had a stack of policy briefs and a red pen. He took the pen from her after she spoke and began scribbling it against the flesh of her palm, gentle at first but then hard enough to draw out the ink in streaked lines.  

“You keep coming,” he said, enunciating each word. On her palm’s heel, he drew the glyph of his name. It was faint, so he traced and retraced the details. “I keep asking.” Then, looking up, he posed his own question. “Who else do you want here?” 

She shrugged, and he nodded. 

“If you’re worried this means something,” Here, he paused and angled the pen with purpose, tilting one end toward himself before pointing it toward her. “It doesn’t.” 

Renzo continued, sitting up, “Besides, I don’t wanna be around everyone all the time.” He said it as if the mere thought was an affront unable to be stomached. “God. Some of the people who come in here sometimes? Fuck.” 

“Why do you let them?”

Renzo reacted as if it were a question he had never pondered, and Leonor quirked an eyebrow as he sat there considering it. How foolish, she thought, if he hadn’t. She decided it was possible he was a fool, but she also decided that she should wait for his answer to really know—and, even if he was, that she would probably think it was endearing. He was the kind of famous that meant he had to be talented, not wise. Although he preferred providing a stage on which others might perform, she had seen enough to know he had talent. He made use of it. She already knew, too, that he wasn’t wise. She’d seen that when he’d said rude things to cameramen outside the bar or, on a different night, when he’d shoved another so hard he dropped his camera. That was inadvisable. It was even more inadvisable than Leonor having been there, at his side, walking slow to avoid stumbling, when it happened. At the time, she laughed. She could practically hear herself in the memory, giggling while a scuffle threatened to break out. 

Enough time passed for her to wince at the recollection before Renzo spoke. When he did, it was definitive. “I’m cool,” he explained. “I’m a cool guy. I have to be cool. You can’t be yourself if you aren’t cool, you know?”

She did know. That was one of the key distinctions between royalty and celebrity. 

Renzo elaborated further, “I start policing the door, that’s not cool. People make it into a problem. It’s just not the kind of problem you can have—not with people who are, as it were, your peers.” He sneered that word, and Leonor could picture who he meant. If she had come through that door with Kore during any other year of her life, she would have been one of them. “The more famous you are, the more you’re in rooms with fucking assholes. It’s just,” He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes the assholes want to come into your room.” 

He gestured around with a grand flourish, and Leonor snickered. “Gotta let ‘em,” he sighed. 

She nodded, quipping, “You let me.” Immediately, she regretted voicing the thought, but Renzo found it amusing. 

“Not the same,” he responded, shaking his head.

With some success, she played an earnest question off as a tease. “Why not?” 

He shrugged, “You’re not a problem, Leonor. Nice girl, that’s what everyone said. I was, uh, excited you were here.”

“Were you?”

“Yeah.” He grinned, adding, “Squeaky clean and incorruptible—they said that, too. Excitement, anticipation, same thing.” 

“Sure, okay,” Leonor chuckled. “I’m a real good-time girl now, aren’t I?” 

Renzo regarded her thoughtfully, and Leonor resisted the urge to squirm away. Their conversations always teetered on the edge of confessional, whether because Renzo spoke with such bluntness or because his openness encouraged her to respond in kind. Leonor never allowed herself to speak so freely as to admit everything, but she made honest admissions that Renzo accepted without judgment. He wasn’t wise, but he had, in some ways, lived more lives than she had. Usually, he just knew what to say. She took that as solid in some essential way, as a support to lean against. 

“You’re happier that way,” was his ultimate reply. 

Leonor sat with that thesis for a moment, debating whether it was true—or, for that matter, if the veracity of it mattered at all. She wanted it to be true. That had to be enough and, in that moment, it was. 

Now it was August. Months had passed since that conversation, but Leonor still felt the same way. She felt the same way, too, about the quiet of The Den on a weekday afternoon, which is how she found it now. She let herself in through the unlocked front door, knowing she would find Renzo somewhere inside. There were big plans looming. He might be stringing lights, or testing microphones, or standing with his legs wide apart and a hand pensively cupping his chin. On the phone earlier, he had sounded busy. He was instead at the bar, hunched over with a pen in his hand. Whatever he was working on demanded great concentration. Leonor allowed the big, heavy door to close slowly and gave herself a few extra moments. Partly, she wanted to delay the conversation. Another reason was to observe him. If he’d heard her enter, which she doubted, he made no indication. Through the dim lighting, she could see him chewing his lip. He tapped his fingers in a simple rhythm against his thigh.

“Writing?” she called, emerging from the shadowy entryway. The last sliver of sunlight disappeared as the door finally closed, hard but muffled, behind her.

Renzo didn’t look up as he replied, “Wrote. Done now.” 

“Is it for the reading tonight?”

“Did you write anything?”

Leonor wasn’t feeling light enough to laugh, so she made an approximate noise instead. “Why would you ask that?” 

Now, he eyed her with a look of provocation. “You’re an artist, Nora,” he said. “Everyone has their medium, sure—I’ve seen yours, very nice—but I think you should take the written word more seriously. It doesn’t have to be an endpoint, really. Maybe a translation.”

At this bit of persuasion, Leonor scoffed. “I can be creative; I am not an artist. Besides,” She paused, settling in on a stool beside him. “Everything for everyone is not the kind of world I want to live in.”

Renzo scoffed now, but he was smirking as he said, “Well, fuck, if that isn’t the most hereditary monarchist thing I’ve ever heard. Alright, my princess, if you say so.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she protested, but he waved her off. 

Solemn, he admitted, “It’s true. I’m jobless in that world.” Renzo held up his paper and inspected it. “Can’t host private poetry readings with free booze for my friends if I’m as poor as I was in ‘87, that’s for sure.” 

“Wouldn’t know me,” she said, lowering her head. It was meant as a gesture of mock sadness but, in this moment, she did find the notion disquieting. 

“You don’t know any poor people?”

Leonor’s rueful smile faltered as she considered that. “I don’t think so?”

Instead of laughing, Renzo looked at her with an expression that was neither quite amused nor fully bemused. She waited for a joke that never came. Instead, he turned back to looking at his paper. Tension mounted within while he sat there looking focused once more but otherwise relaxed. Finally, as if remembering they were in the middle of a conversation, he said simply, “I’m glad I know you, yeah.”

Leonor shifted on her stool. It was a motion of discomfort, something she could do while she thought of something else to say. In the process, she caught a good look at the words on the page. Her lips parted to pose the question—‘Will you read it to me?’—but she stopped herself. Renzo had gotten caught up in this occupation, it seemed. He must have forgotten why she called. She had half-expected him to be waiting, face toward the door, for her arrival. Usually, he was curious when she indicated she had something to share, not nosy or greedy for insight but possessed with sincere interest. He was a listener. He enjoyed it as much as whatever conversation ensued. Once, she decided to imitate his way of jabbing people with questions—incisive and direct, not pointed. His questions flowed without pretense. They were bare inquiries, genuine as his interest. Her question was just so: did he think himself trustworthy—did he want to be a confidante? 

His answer surprised her, and she had felt a kind of awe as he’d replied, ‘Honestly, no, that would be a bad idea. I know myself, so I don’t stop others from knowing me. User beware.’

Now, she leaned against the bar and heaved a sigh. Renzo looked over at her and let the paper slide unceremoniously back onto the surface. 

“What is it?”

Leonor snapped back to earlier that day. No longer sitting on a barstool beside Renzo, she found herself at a table that abruptly felt too small. Her father sat across from her, his hands folded on top, the thick band of his favorite watch visible under his sleeve’s cuff. It matched his wedding band. It was almost afternoon, and he arrived late to the early lunch he had requested of her. For twenty minutes, she sat at the table with her bare arm pressed against the warm glass window. She could have left at any point. It wouldn’t have been rude; better still, she could have imagined no reason to regret it. Yet, she didn’t. She sat and waited, staring out of the window or across the restaurant’s bustling dining area with an expression so forlorn that it compelled the server to stop by for a check-in several more times than was necessary. Each time, Leonor glanced up at her with a forced smile. ‘No, thank you,’ she would say. ‘It’s fine. I’m waiting.’

“Do you remember, I told you I was meeting with my father today?”

Renzo thought for a moment, then nodded. “Right, yeah, breakfast.”

“Lunch,” she corrected, before laying her head on the bar. It was cool, if sticky, and the embrace of her forearms easily blacked out the low light. “It went awfully.” 

“You said it was going to be weird,” Renzo responded. “Did he tell you what you wanted to hear—I mean, what he said he needed to talk about, was it worth it?”

Leonor closed her eyes. For a moment, she wished she could just drift off into a deep, unbreakable slumber, right then and there. She imagined herself slumped over on the bar as evening began, a curiosity rudely ignoring the raw, vulnerable poetry that a string of performers offered. Someone would try to shake her awake when the night’s end came. ‘Leave her,’ Renzo would say. ‘She’ll be okay here.’ And, she would be. Night after night, day after day, she would rest there. She would become more than just a fixture—she would be a unique decoration, a conversation-starter, really and truly part of the bar’s collection of interesting things. Becoming a thing wouldn’t be so bad. People would tell stories about her even after she had rotted away and crumbled to dust. ‘A sleeping princess sat here,’ they would say. ‘Her prince never came along, I guess.’

That didn’t happen, and Leonor lifted her head. “It was kind of hard to follow, honestly,” she said. “He was late, and he kept trying to rehash—well, he wanted to tell me about it again, you know, what happened?” Leonor sighed. “I wanted to cry. It was so embarrassing. It wasn’t even new information.”

“None of it?” Renzo asked. He had angled himself toward her, leaning against the bar while he gazed at her perturbed face.

Leonor, feeling pitiful, shrugged. “I didn’t really want to listen,” she admitted. “I kept thinking about Mother Beatriz the whole time.” 

Renzo’s heavy-lidded eyes ordinarily conveyed one of two sharply contrasting states. At times, he looked bored out of his mind—entirely removed from whatever was happening, on another planet even when his pupils weren’t giving away a convenient reason why. He had an almost unsettling kind of attentiveness other times. When they first met, Leonor found the way he had looked at her from beneath long, dark eyelashes alluring. She felt looked upon or looked through most of the time; with his heady stare, Renzo looked at her. She hadn’t fully appreciated the distinction until their regular conversations. Now, as she waited for him to respond to her admission, she appreciated it more. 

Finally, Renzo posed another question. “Do you think he was responsible?”

TRANSCRIPT:

LEONOR | Writing? RENZO | Wrote. Done now.

LEONOR | Is it for the reading tonight? RENZO | Did you write anything? LEONOR | Why would you ask that?

RENZO | You're an artist, Nora. Everyone has their medium, sure—I've seen yours, very nice—but I think you shoudl take the written word more seriously. It doesnt' have to be an endpoint, really. Maybe a translation.

LEONOR | I can be creative; I am not an artist.

LEONOR | Besides, everything for everyone is not the kind of world I want to live in. RENZO | Well, fuck, if that isn't the most hereditary monarchist thing I've ever heard. Alright, my princess, if you say so.

LEONOR | I didn't mean it that way. RENZO | It's true. I'm jobless in that world.

RENZO | Can't host private poetry readings with free booze for my friends if I'm as poor as I was in '87, that's for sure. LEONOR | Wouldn't know me … RENZO | You don't know any poor people?

LEONOR | I don't think so?

RENZO | I'm glad I know you, yeah.

[Leonor sighs] RENZO | What is it?

LEONOR | Do you remember, I told you I was meeting with my father today?

RENZO | Right, yeah, breakfast. LEONOR | Lunch. It went awfully. RENZO | You said it was going to be weird. Did he tell you what you wanted to hear—I mean, what he said he needed to talk about, was it worth it?

LEONOR | It was kind of hard to follow, honestly. He was late, and he kept trying to rehash—well, he wanted to tell me about it again, you know, what happened [sighs] I wanted to cry. It was so embarrassing. It wasn't even new information.

RENZO | None of it? LEONOR | I didn't really want to listen. I kept thinking about Mother Beatriz the whole time. RENZO | Do you think he was responsible?

[saintsenara]

I don't know if you are still doing the ship game. What do you think about Drarry? I apologise if you have already answered it- I tried to see if someone else has asked but I may have missed your response. It's a very popular ship and there are lots of well written fics by incredibly talented authors that I have enjoyed. But when I take that aside and look at the pairing just on its own, I struggle to articulate my thoughts on what I actually think about the pairing.

thank you for the ask @sarafina-sincerity!

i do read drarry, but i think it’s probably fair to say that i don’t read drarry because i expect it to make sense.

i like it fluffy and stupid, to be enjoyed after a hard day at work when i want something which is crammed full of fuck-buddies-to-oh-wait-this-is-serious tropes which doesn’t require too much effort to engage with.

and so the fics i tend to read aren’t drarry which really grapples with exactly how difficult it can be to make harry and draco work as a stable couple while still feeling true to their canon characters. [they’re not fics which dive into how they would be as an unstable couple either, which is - frankly - because i prefer to see harry in toxic messes with other people.] i like a bit of of out-of-character nonsense - i love to tune into a fic in which draco is assertive and witty and sophisticated (even though in the books he’s an insecure little bitch whose jokes always flop) or in which harry is passive, preternaturally adoring, and speaks like a therapist (even though in the books he’s a reckless feral cat with the emotional awareness of cardboard) or in which ron and hermione come around to it really quickly. i think they’re fun!

but arguing that drarry could make sense as a happy relationship when the characters are as they are in canon is difficult. indeed, i think that it’s even more difficult than making many of the completely implausible-sounding harry-centric pairings work (and, indeed, draco-centric pairings, taco nation rise up). and i think it’s worth dissecting why.

the first reason is that, much as umbridge is often the villain that readers have the most visceral reaction to (and much as the thing about snape which seems to most upset readers is when he’s a bad teacher), the fact that draco is just some guy at school actually makes the pairing harder. unlike something like snarry, in which a semi-mystical connection between the two is set up by the narrative, or tomarry, in which an overtly mystical connection is, drarry is just two lads who don’t really get on.

indeed, despite a tendency to explain their vibe in the books as sexual tension, harry gives no indication of particularly caring either way about draco while they’re at school. he thinks he’s annoying, pretentious, rude, and cowardly, but - outside of half-blood prince - he is not ever actually shown to escalate those feelings into being particularly obsessed with him. harry doesn’t watch draco constantly or follow him around or devote a huge amount of time to thinking about him when they’re not together of his own accord; and when he does do any of these things, it’s usually because draco has provoked him into it by seeking him out and/or being explicitly bigoted. even in half-blood prince, harry’s obsession with draco is external to the man himself - it’s rooted in his attempts to block out his grief over sirius, his anger at the death eaters who killed his godfather (lucius malfoy among them), his suspicion of snape, and the things he is learning about tom riddle.

draco, though, is obsessed with him. harry spends seven years living rent free in his head; he tracks his movements, he can barely make it through the day without seeking him out to try and get some attention from him, he clearly talks about him all the time (he needs no prompting from ‘crabbe’ and ‘goyle’ to bring him up during the polyjuice scene in chamber of secrets). he also obviously does have some level of respect for harry - he acknowledges, even if it’s through complaining to his father, that he’s a good quidditch player, for example - and, by the end of the series, he clearly does regard harry as brave. whereas, when it comes to more positive emotions, harry pities draco, but he never seems to like or admire him.

as a result, i always prefer drarry in which draco is the more feral one, but the default dynamic seems to have harry chasing him, rather than the other way round. i would also like to see more authors work with how likely draco would be to put up for long with having such an obvious interest in a man who is only ever likely to be ambivalent towards him in return

[and also a man who is quite likely to expect to become his partner’s priority, rather than the other way round. one issue with a lot of harry’s relationships, whether his canonical one with ginny or a fanon alternative, is that the role he occupies in the story means that he tends to relate to people he knows not as equals but either as people he needs to protect or people he needs to protect others from. in a relationship with draco, he is likely to pivot from the latter to the former, and i can’t imagine that draco - who thinks of himself as a protector as well, especially in his relationship with his mother - is going to particularly enjoy this. this is why i like middle-aged, have had decades to calm down, widowed or divorced drarry - it feels like it has more chance of being equal than the school-age or immediately post-war stuff.]

harry’s indifference-bordering-on-dislike towards draco does stand in contrast to how he thinks about other male characters that he’s frequently paired with. to return to snarry and tomarry - harry is shown to admire snape at numerous points prior to the end of half-blood prince, his interest in the prince’s textbook reveals that he and snape have a shared intellectual compatibility, and - above all - harry understands and empathises with snape’s background and experiences. similarly, harry is shown to admire voldemort at numerous points, the narrative sets them up as being very similar, and - above all - harry understands and empathises with voldemort’s background and experiences.

[harry is also obviously physically attracted to tom riddle, while draco is not - although this is, of course, not an insurmountable issue - obviously his type. the men harry finds attractive in canon are all tall, thin, and dark-haired, and draco is always described by the narrative in terms which suggest that harry thinks he’s ugly. the same is true for lucius malfoy.]

and i think that one explanation for the above is that a lack of shared background is one of the major stumbling blocks to drarry which doesn’t exist in the other two pairings. i love an auror partners trope-fic as much as any other girl, but - in reality - draco never needs to work and never gives the impression of being career-minded or finding career ambition valuable. harry is certainly rich enough not to need to work - and the fact that he has a pureblood name and resembles his pureblood father gives him an amount of class protection in the wizarding world which means that drarry is nowhere near as socially unequal as something like dramione - but he evidently finds the idea of working valuable, not least because he wants to achieve recognition for something other than being the boy-who-lived.

but draco - who likes being thought special on the basis of unearned things like his family name - would struggle to understand this. and, in return, harry would struggle to understand how draco’s adult life - something i suspect he would see as one of tedious luxury - is driven by a sense of duty to his family and his peers. after all, harry believes in the value of found family and earned loyalty, and loathes any expectation that he should be deferential to people just because of who they are.

of course, i don’t think this would prevent them being together. it would just cause a tension which would either see everything crash and burn (hot) or which would require growth from both characters which takes a certain lightness of touch to pull off. there are lots of drarry authors who do one or both of these in their works, of course. but those authors are very rarely trying to portray harry and draco as (to begin with, at least) a good or healthy couple…

but with this said, i also think that some common criticisms of drarry wouldn’t actually be a big deal to either harry or draco.

the most significant of these is the fact that harry is morally righteous - yes - but that this manifests itself in an expectation of loyalty from other people, but not an expectation of purity. in post-war drarry, i think it’s entirely reasonable to say that harry’s belief that the malfoys turned against voldemort because of loyalty to each other (something he finds valuable, and clearly considers to be the appropriate way for a family unit to behave - look at what he thinks of percy weasley, for example), as well as lucius malfoy’s extra-canonical willingness to help harry and the ministry by informing on all his former associates (which, according to jkr, results in him being spared azkaban and harry thinking that’s fine) enables him to let go of draco’s past, and to have a relationship without the weight of that history hanging over them. i don’t think he ever becomes fond of lucius - although i think he is likely to feel slightly more warmth towards narcissa - but i also don’t think he would expect draco to estrange himself from his family or completely change as a person in order to consider him worthy of his affection.

[this is, for what it’s worth, something which makes dramione an impossibility for me - even if draco is capable of redemption (which, like everyone, he is), i don’t think she’s ever forgiving him or considering him changed enough to be worthy of her, and i don’t think she should have to.]

draco may not, however, consider this acceptance as much of a gift as harry might. above all because i believe sincerely that harry would never feel bad about the sectumsempra incident. draco is clearly someone who holds grudges, and i think that this would always be in quite profound tension with harry’s remarkable (but also entirely self-interested) ability to decide he’s going to let things go.

i also think that harry is going to be able to handle draco’s more negative characteristics better than he’s sometimes given credit for, since all of them - especially his tendency towards jealousy, self-aggrandisement, and moping - are things he shares with ron. and, like ron, i think draco is going to be surprisingly good at dealing with harry’s impulsivity, his tendency to brood, and tendency to form knee-jerk judgements. these seemingly opposing personality traits are actually quite nicely balanced.

and, of course, the big one: love is strange and unpredictable; forgiveness can be easy just as often as it can be difficult; everyone is capable of redemption; people can choose to be together despite significant odds against them; choice is much more interesting than fate; and fluffy drarry is unbelievably entertaining.

my final statement, though? people are sleeping on dron. ron and draco have all the right ingredients - above all, the fact that they’re narrative mirrors - which makes things like snack bang. the potential for drama and intrigue and destabilising love is right there. harry simply cannot compete.

[i-am-fucking-desperate]

lmao I did not expect this blog to get any traction at all, let alone gain 15 followers in 9 days, so I guess I'm making a pinned post now that it might actually be useful.

DNI / I will fucking block you

sissy blogs

porn blogs. I'm here to interact with people, not collections of porn gifs.

cis men

the usual laundry list of bigots - transphobes, racists, homophobes, fascists, TERFs, SWERFs, radfems, etc. Not that any of you will care about it but you've been warned, the block button awaits you if I see you here

you break the rules below

No horny comments about or towards me if:

you're way outside my rough age range. Sorry, no specific limits because I would forget to update them and its somewhat vibes-based anyway.

You're a minor. I know y'all are gonna look at nsfw content anyway because you're curious, which is normal, and quite frankly I'd rather you hang around here where you might actually learn something about consent and doing kink responsibly than watching whatever latest unethical horror one could unearth on PornHub. But don't make it about me personally. I will block you.

Right now that I'm done yelling at people, time for the things I'd like this post to be about instead.

Please interact if:

cute/pretty transfemme

cute/pretty transmasc

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you're the person I shamelessly stole this from :p

Please send me any sort of (horny) ask or DM you want, I made this blog in part for attention after all. Just ask before sending nudes (I'll probably say yes just ask beforehand)

hard kink sideblog is @desperate-is-fucking-me

Kink-wise I do adore the power exchange itself, but thats woven into almost all kinky sex to some degree, so lets get more specific. Bondage, tentacles, oviposition, painplay, collars & leashes, piss, horns, sharp teeth, claws, tails, edging, and probably more things that I forgot about are all stuff I'm into to various degrees.

If you want something to call me, (good) girl or pet, or ma'am, depending on how you're feeling ;)

oh also I'm from Germany

[writing-ca-ira]

BLACK AND WHITE

Akito Shinonome x Reader

Sometimes, when the very thing that was your escape starts feeling like a chore, you have to find new outlets to jumpstart your creativity. Akito finds his in an unconventional form of art.

Reader is gender neutral.

Contains: graffiti art, vandalism (if you don’t vibe with that), mentions of scars (can be translated as from Ena, but may not canonically make sense in terms of the timeline), brief self-depreciating thoughts, can be romantic if you squint, reader is Akito’s graffiti mentor, they both wear face masks cuz breathing in VOC fumes is dangerous as fuck.

“Nasty scars you got there.”

Akito felt his pointer press down harder on the spray can’s nozzle. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

“Didn’t ask,” you replied with no sort of menace, shaking up your own can to mix its components together. Then, sparing a quick glance at Akito’s handiwork, you added, “let up on the pressure. Short bursts, remember?”

A curse slipped out from under the ginger’s breath when he realized his “i” was running from too much propellant buildup. Immediately, he relieved the nozzle from further abuse of his finger, staring disapprovingly at his semi-ruined tag. “Right,” he mumbled. A rookie mistake.

As if sensing his thoughts, you let out a breathy chuckle. “Don’t worry. Finding the balance between enough coverage and heavy-handiness is hard.” A short pchit from your can interluded your words. “You’ll get used to it. Just takes practice.”

He felt his furrowed brows relax a bit. Ah, that’s right… he’s still new to this. Considering that only a few weeks ago was the first time he even touched a spray can for the very first time, it was a ridiculous expectation to be a natural at this. Practice, he echoed in his brain. Just takes practice. That’s all.

And not the kind of practice that makes his voice hoarse and limbs feel like led.

Admittedly, he never thought he would be doing something like this. Sure, he always found himself admiring the graffiti in alleyways and old venues, but his father made it clear to him that this was no form of art. He recalls being a young primary schooler in the local art and supply store, his father ranting to himself about the spray cans being on full display and on sale. “Just making it easier for talentless fools to vandalize everything.”

Welp… god only knows what his old man would think about what he’s doing now.

“Saw that you updated your old tag in Vivid Street,” Akito commented, shaking up his can to start on a new letter. “I like the new style.”

You didn’t provide an immediate response, instead opting to scan over your progress as you adjusted your face mask. “Did it just last night. Not sure how I feel about the colors.”

“I think they’re fine.” The ginger finished his “r” much faster than he anticipated, pleased that there was less dripping than his previous letter. It was a bit wonky, but he found a bit of charm in the way it turned out. “A gradient was a good choice. Shows off your skill real well.”

“I’m just worried people are gonna laugh at the irony of KURO being colorful,” you chortled.

He thought about it for a moment, then let out an amused hum. Yeah, it was a bit ironic, but he found the technical aspect of the graffiti overriding that detail. Besides, it was a big improvement from the simple thin black letters that barely popped out from the wall. The color made it more than just a normal meaningless piece of vandalism; it was now art.

Now on the “o,” he offered a shrug. “I don’t think it matters that much. Still looked cool.” After grimacing at the weird overlap his circle had, he stepped back and observed the final product. It was an obviously amateur tag: the coverage was blotchy, a few of his letters dripped from over-spraying, and the block letters had inconsistent thicknesses. A friend tugged at his lips as he studied every glaring imperfection in his work.

Compared to yours…

“Hey, that looks good.”

His head snapped in your direction at breakneck speed. “Hah?”

“I said it looks good,” you repeated. You had just finished outlining your own “o,” a can of orange now being shook in your hand to assumingely begin a gradient. “Considering it’s only your third tag, and your first trying out block letters, I’m super impressed.”

All he could do was dumbly blink at you for a few seconds. You were… impressed? At his hotchpotch of a graffiti? Surely, you had to just be saying that to make him feel better. There’s no way a pro like you thought it looked anything above subpar. Hell, it barely even looked like he took it seriously, half-assing it like some punk who only wants to spray paint a train just to look like a cool kid. Nothing about his tag resembled anything close to art.

“I could definitely do better,” he huffed, looking back at his finished product with distaste.

You hummed. “Yeah. You definitely could.” Before he could even begin to wonder if that was supposed to be a snide remark or not, you continued. “But so can I. There’s a lot of stuff about my own graffiti works that I wish I could improve on.” You shook up the orange, your eyes trained on the your work. “S’why I go back and update my old tags. Like the one I did in Vivid Street. It was one of my first.”

He tried his best to remember the details of the old KURO in Vivid Street. The letters had a unique style, but were too thin to be easily readable. He had initially mistaken the “r” for a “b” for how runny it was. Looking back, he probably shouldn’t of been surprised that it was your first tag, especially compared to what you can do now. Throwing you a curious glance, he stuffed his freehand in his pocket. “Do you update all of your old tags like that?”

“Nah.” You didn’t elaborate for a couple of seconds, your can hissing as you began filling in the negative space of your letters. “Only the ones that get passed by a lot. Wanna have my art look presentable to people, y’know?”

He thought about your response. It made sense; any artist would want their most seen work to reflect their best work. Plus, there was the added bonus of making the environment feel more lively. Before the style update, the KURO in Vivid Street admittedly looked boring, and even distasteful. Just any other graffiti you would barely even spare a glance towards as you go on your merry way. After you went back to do a much-needed revamp, however, he found himself admiring every detail for a solid 10 minutes. The blue to pink was very eye-catching, white highlights boldly contrasting the black outline. Bubble letters replaced simple stick characters. He felt himself becoming inspired the more he took in every meticulous detail. It was amazing how one graffiti update could completely change the vibe of an alleyway.

Shifting his weight from one leg to the other, he fiddled with the nozzle of the spray can in his grip. “So, what about the tags you don’t redo?”

“I leave them like that.”

“How come?”

A fond shimmer sparked in your eyes. It held a sense of nostalgia to it; the kind that comes with reflecting on good times. “Tells my story as an artist. Might not be an exclusive interview or anything, and KURO’s sure as hell not famous outside of the local street art space but those who see my novice KURO tags get to see a journey.” You reached down to grab a can of yellow. “Besides, I like to go back and look at them, so I can see how far I’ve come.”

Huh… Akito wasn’t expecting that response. Sure, he was a fellow artist (admittedly, he was too much of a rookie graffiti artist to consider himself as such, but he was still a performing artist), but he never thought that way about his own art. The whole point of wanting to improve was, not only to one day make an event bigger than RAD WEEKEND, but to also distance himself from his old shitty skill level. He wanted nothing to do with his old singing and dancing, and just looking at recordings of his old performances made him feel sick. They only serve as a reminder to get better, or else he’ll be stuck in the same box for the rest of his life as an artist.

But… when you put it like that…

“So,” he awkwardly began, trying to dispel his thoughts about Vivid BAD SQUAD. “You ever gonna come back and update this one?”

There wasn’t an immediate answer. You seemed to engrossed in probably blending the orange and yellow to even think of one, so he patiently waited. This gave him a perfect opportunity to examine your technique, watching how you angled your extremely light sprays upwards to mingle the colors together (huh, he’ll have to keep that in mind). It was at this point that he took notice of the paint fumes, but rather than finding it disgusting like he initially did, there was an odd sense of comfort that came with it this time… of course, it probably helped that he came prepared with a face mask. During his initial chance encounter with you, you had warned him to stand a good distance away as to not breathe in the toxic VOC fumes.

The clacking noise of your spray can snapped him out of his thoughts, your eyes still staring intently at the still wet tag. You still had the “r” and the “o” to finish blending, but he knew it wouldn’t take long for you to do. Instead of continuing to work, however, you straightened your up posture, turning to fully face him. “You kidding me? Definitely am.”

… Huh—?

Your declarative delivery threw him for a loop. Were you not satisfied with the way this KURO turned out? His brows furrowed at the thought, eyes studying every detail of the tag. It looked amazing; and while he’s definitely no stranger to the concept of being your own worst critic, this felt ridiculous. Especially when it’s side by side with his own frumpier work. It reminded him too much of the growing gap between him and his fellow Vivid BAD SQUAD members, the familiar weight of self-doubt and envy pressing against his chest… ah, yeah… of course he had to be reminded of his own shortcomings every day. Such is the life of a talentless, worthless—

Your voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “After all, you gotta come back later and update your very first box-letter tag, right?”

… Oh.

Suddenly, all of those self-deprecating mantras fell upon deaf ears. His chest felt lighter than before, and he couldn’t fight the radiant warmth that filled his heart. Something about your implied promise of progress was… oddly freeing. It recognized his current novice status, but again, this was only his first time doing box letters. As long as he kept practicing, he could only get better. Along with that, your promise also held a deeper meaning; that you two would be working alongside each other for a while longer. Though he was too stubborn to say it out loud, your presence was calming, and he appreciated how he didn’t have to be hard on himself when it came to graffiti.

By pure chance, you helped him discover a new outlet.

He was grateful for the mask, because trying to keep the big smile off his face was damn near impossible. He tried to play it off cool by offering a humorous huff and shaking his head. “Sounds like a plan. If you think you can stand me for that long, anyway.”

“Well, you’re not the worst person out there,” you mused, getting to work on your last two letters. “Now pick up the black paint, will you?”

Quirking a brow, he couldn’t help but skeptically posing, “what for?”

Your answer came after a good shake to your can. “Gonna teach you how to properly outline. The white pops on a darker surface like this, but in most alleyways, white tags get a bit lost on the brick. Plus, it can look pretty bland.”

Ah, a lesson. He could definitely use those. Sure, he’s picked up a lot of good tips from you over the past few weeks, but if he ever wants to get better at this, he’s always down to learn some more. Graffiti took his life by storm, activating his creativity in ways he didn’t even imagine before, and the thought of being able to create it with his own hands gave him the same high that events did.

He looked at your KURO, and then his SHIRO.

Yeah, there may have been an obvious gap in skill, but with your guiding advice, this is one he was sure he could catch up on.

[sometimes-love-is-enough]

Let’s talk about 16th century Italian theatre.

No wait come back I promise this is actually related to Sanders Sides

So, last night I was talking with some friends about an AU I’m currently working on. I’ve been away from the Sanders Sides fandom for a good while now, but recently my hyperfixation reactivated and now my brain is so ready to write a ridiculously long longfic with a convoluted premise and horrifying implications. (I’m like 25k in. Having the time of my life. No doubt I’ll talk about it more later. This isn’t about that.)

Since I’m not the sort of person who usually writes AUs - I prefer to stick to canonverse, and canonverse-adjacent fics - I eventually brought up how worried I always am about characterization of the Sides in AUs. Because although I do adore an AU; I devour Love and Other Fairytales like candy and think about Lavender For Luck all the time and don’t even get me started on WIBAR, when it comes to my own writing, I secondguess myself a lot. I don’t like to stray too far from canon concepts and characterization. I get worried when I don’t draw enough connections to things that happen in the series, because it feels like a betrayal of the source material - if I change a character dynamic from how it’s usually portrayed, I spend entirely too long thinking about how to make it work. 

And someone else said, well, I don’t usually worry about that sort of thing very much anymore. 

And I said, why not?

And they said, well, I haven’t watched the actual show for ages. I mainly treat the Sides as stock characters for the stories I write, and my brain fucking exploded.

...Exploded in a good way. I have to stress this so, so hard. My personal opinions on writing characterization and AUs apply just to my writing. I judge my own work entirely too harshly and work too hard at Getting Characterization right, and that doesn’t apply to other people’s work or AUs at all, I enjoy them all without a problem. This meta isn’t about OOC being a bad thing, or AUs that are completely removed from their source material being a bad thing, because they aren’t, not at all, they’re a form of creative expression just like any fanwork. And if someone starts getting on your case about that sort of thing, just... just block them.

Anyway, where was I. Exploding brain? Ah yes.

So a few other people chimed into the conversation at this point, agreeing that in a lot of cases, the Sides for them were stock characters with fun names, established personalities and tropes to play around with, and part of the fun for them at this point came less from interaction with canon and more about interactions with friends and fellow writers. Which is very different to how I do things.  I was fascinated, and my brain had one big delighted thought, oh shit! You’re treating the Sides like Commedia Dell’arte characters! I get it now!

(Disclaimer: I haven’t done drama or theatre for a good while now. If I make a factual mistake, either patiently bear with me or gently correct me.)

Commedia Dell’arte was a form of Italian improv theatre that was first popular in the 16-18th centuries through Europe, and didn’t have any proper established plots or scripts. The actors were almost never the same from performance to performacne, the comedy was over-the-top and often satirical and absurd in its physicality, it focused on plots about romance and jealousy and love.  Emphasis on an ensemble cast. Very stylized, very distinctive. Here’s one beng performed in Venice, for the Vibes.

[image description: a photo shot of two masked people in period costume conversing on a small wooden stage, taken over the heads of a crowd in Venice.]

The key, the thing that ties all Commedia Dell’arte together? The stock characters. There’s a list of all of these character archetypes, all with specific names and associated masks assigned to them, and when you’re performing this sort of theatre, all the actors pick one of the archetypes and put on a mask and work out what the situation is, and bam, you’re on the stage and off to the races. You’ve got the servant of two masters, the stuttering statesmen, the Sad Clown (relatable), the utterly obsessed lovers who won’t stop making doe eyes at each other on stage from behind those masks of theirs. 

Pretty freaky-looking masks, admittedly. Look at that nose on Naso Turco, the sly servant!

[image description: eight blue-and-black stylized Commedia Dell’arte masks, all labelled with their roles]

And the thing is, audiences would recognize these archetypes upon seeing them - it wasn’t so much about having characters that were perfectly ported from one story to another, like you might have in adaptations of fairy tales, it’s more about the archetypes. The personalities. Their status, and the way they interact with one another. Apparently all of the original cast of stock characters (you can find a list of them on Wikipedia, or maybe elsewhere) were "originally intended as a kind of characteristic representative of some particular Italian district or town." They’re representations of archetypes. You might even say that they’re conceptual representations. 

Sound familiar? Yeah, it’s not hard to see where I’m going with this.

In Commedia, stock characters are almost never played by the same actors because the cast is always different, and might be an entirely different theatre troupe - so the way of recognizing certain archetypes is by their clothing style, or other symbolic context clues. 

And that’s exactly how you recognize the Sides in fanworks when the AU is too far divorced from canon to understand them otherwise. If you’ve changed their ethnicity, or genderbent them, or given then a different species, you look for the context clues because at this point you’ve learned to read them like a language. 

If it’s just fanart, or the names haven’t been brought up yet, how do you tell it’s Roman? Well, Roman’s costume is pretty distinctive, even when modified - and failing that, even if he’s just in jeans and a t-shirt, or even if he’s an indistinct jello-y blob floating in the distant reaches of space - he’s going to be the red blob. They’re color-coded for our convinience. Virgil’s stormclouds and spiders, Janus has his snakes and almost always has something going on with one side of his face. 

Do you find this delightful? I hope you do. Because I do. I find it really, really delightful, and I’d never put conscious thought into this before last night. The Sides aren’t quite as flat and archetypal as the colorful cast of Commedia Dell’arte - they’re more fleshed out, for one thing, and even if writers don’t always pull on it, there’s canon backstory and plotlines to draw from. But they’re still archetypes, deliberately so in the context of canon. Someone in the server I was discussing this in summed it up really nicely - [..] we have Roman the artist, we have Janus for all the drama and deception, we have clever Logan to represent the science spirit. We have Patton for the morale lessons. We have Virgil for the memento mori style, and we have Remus for all the gore and dark comedic relief. 

Which is such a great updating of all of the classic theatrical archetypes. Because (although Italian improv theatre is still performed! People still use these old roles and costumes, but it’s definitely more historical than modern) the idea of servants and masters and cunning peasants and all the complicated dynamics between these roles, well... it isn’t super relevant to modern storytelling. When Commedia Dell’arte is performed nowadays, it’s almost never hashtag-relatable in the way it used to be. You know what’s more relatable? Archetypes of the nerd who doesn’t acknowledge his emotions, the grumpy loner with a heart of gold, the theatre kid who won’t stop singing. You can take those and all of the rest and shove them into all manner of situations, and you can make some really cool stories out of that. 

(National Theatre has a really nice video breaking down this theatre form a lot better than I can, with details I didn’t include here. Check it out here if you’re interested. It also includes details about the various archetypes’ physicalities and movements, which I think is kind of interesting, because in canon Sanders Sides the character’s physicalities are terrifyingly recognizable. That’s not really relevant to the idea of AU Improv Theatre, though, so I won’t poke any further at that thought. ANYWAY.)

I’ll level with you: some of the things people write in this fandom, I just don’t vibe with and I don’t get, and I’m okay with that. It’s the maxim of Mind Your Own Business, I just don’t interact and I keep on moving in my own lane. But, like... maybe I don’t need to get it. I’m pretty sure there were people in 1600s Europe who showed up to a Commedia Dell’arte performance and went ‘no, this one isn’t for me, did you see how they absolutely butchered the characterization of the Innamorati? Disgraceful’. But for many other people, maybe that particular performance just hit the spot, because they’d always wanted to see an interpretation just like that, that diverged from the norm just a little bit. And even if nobody in the audience at all liked it, maybe the performers were having enough of a blast that it more than made up for it.

And if not any of that - well, there’s always the next show!

[image description: four masked Commedia Dell’arte performers crowded around a prop cafe table, exclaiming dramatically over a menu that they’re all bent over.]

I don’t know if my brain will ever be chill enough to let me write something completely separated from canon. (Although... now that I’m typing that, I recognize that the chessboxing AU is not so much separated from canon as a tragic widower of a dinosaur-related apocalyptic divorce. Okay. Nevermind. Still, you probably get where I’m coming from.) And I’m probably not going to stop treating characterization like I’m going to be sentenced by a vicious panel of judges to a cruel and untimely death if I get the slightest bit of it wrong, but... I don’t know. The realization that it’s all comes back to this makes me happy, somehow. Just generally joyful about the state of the fandom, and the things that people create, and the community that’s been built up around it. 

Commedia is all about exploring stuff in improv like love and romance and dynamics, and isn't that exactly what we're doing as writers? Throwing character archetypes together and making them kiss and talk to see what will happen? It's not really improv, but it's not like we have any stage to act on except the AO3 posting page.

We didn't set out to make the characters from a web series into stock archetypes that so many people pick up and play with to Work Out Our Issues With. (Writing is free therapy. We all knew that already.) That was definitely not the original intention of Sanders Sides - or any similar fandom, actually. (I know TSS isn’t the only one this happens in, not even close.)

But, hey, we're humans, and it always comes back to us wanting to play. And there's nothing new under the sun, not really. Of course given an infinite internet sandbox and a goofy web series about some guy’s identity crisis, we would accidentally reinvent the original Italian comedy theatre. That’s kind of brilliant. 

You know what, I think 16th century Italians would enjoy Sanders Sides AUs a lot. I bet they’d make some pretty banger masks for the boys to wear. 

God, I wish I had a time machine.

[plantsjustwannahavefun]

It's just occurred to me that I've never been in a dying fandom before while I was at the peak of hyperfixating on said fandom. And nothing has prepared me for that peculiar kind of grief it brings.

Because I still remember the height of OFMD two years ago. I remember all of the internet going crazy about it. There was a good 3-4 months when everyone who's even remotely chronically online in geek or queer spaces had heard of it. And the thing is, geek and queer spaces don't always intersect this much. Well they do to a degree, but I mean, I first heard about OFMD on Reddit. It's a lot more of a geek space than it is a queer one. The OFMD subreddit has a... pretty different vibe than OFMD fandom on Twitter or Tumblr or AO3. And yet, still, it seemed like for a few short, glorious months, OFMD has been The Thing on the internet, even on Reddit. Despite being so relatively tiny and niche and decidedly Not Mainstream™. I still remember that Comic Con with Con and Nathan in August 2022. I remember exactly where I was when I watched it. I'd blocked off time to watch it live. I'd actually bought a fucking ticket instead of just waiting for someone to upload it to YouTube, which is what I was used to doing with comic cons that featured David Tennant or some of my other favourite actors (well it did help that they let us by digital tickets for streamed panels this time, but still). I still remember how insanely excited I was, sitting down for that panel like it was this major Event. Like Eurovision or smth. And then several other comic cons. It was all so fresh. The fanbase was rabid (in the best way possible). And the cast was so in for it. The fan fiction had been flowing with abandon. The era of Hell or High Water. I'd never been part of an ongoing fic with such a massive readership, either. It was one of the cult fics in the fandom. The sheer excitement of getting a notification of a new chapter and making an event out of reading it, savoring it until the weekend, even. And then discussing it on Discord. That was what being part of a fandom was supposed to feel like.

And now it's dying. Slowly, but it is. It's never going to get a barrage of headlines again. It's never going to pull tens of thousands of Tumblr reblogs again. Sure, we're still getting bts (bless Samba Schute). There's still some engagement, more than most other fandoms would have retained by now, and that's incredible in its own right. But it's still a shadow of its former self. And it's never going to be the same again.

And it's fine. That's just how it is. Nothing lasts forever. People always move on, and it's not a bad thing. That's just life. I know I'm going to move on some day, too. Just not quite yet. I'm not ready yet. And it feels heartbreaking. Because the fandom's life was cut short. We should have had one more glorious cycle with S3. But we didn't. And that's the worst part. It wouldn't have been so hard to move on if we'd actually got closure. And now we never will. OFMD will never really have concluded, it will just slowly trickle out and fade away. A whimper, not a bang. And that's what's killing me.

[thottybrucewayne]

idk about the nsfw blog cause niggas on here acting funny style AGAIN...Like why can't yall just enjoy the titties and vibe???

It really does make me feel fucked up that, in order to make money off of my content or just make content at all I'm gonna have to see all the shit that fucks with my mental no matter what. I literally can't escape from it. It's fuckin everywhere. The second I get comfortable here comes people acting like I'm the bad guy for not fuckin with this shit. None of yall have any idea how hard it is to exist in nsfw content creation spaces when you don't want to interact with people who get off to your trauma. And if you say anything then here comes the flood of excuses and reasons why you're the villain actually. Fuck me if I get tired of blocking rape fetishists and incest fetishists. Tough if I want to be able to move about the space as freely as yall do without having to worry that someone will waltz into my dms with all that sexual paraphilia shit and act like I'm the fuckin villain for blocking them. I'm tired. I'm sick of it. I just wish there was a space where that shit just wasn't present at all but that's impossible because even irl kink spaces have niggas who act like you're the bad guy and a prude and a puritan for being traumatized the wrong way. Sorry I'm not a fun kinda victim who gets off to their trauma and acts like its a healthy coping mechanism. Sorry my presence in the space reminds yall that there are people who are actually harmed by this shit and its not just fun and games. Man I can't do this shit anymore...

[queer-here-and-in-fear]

hey. pspspsps if you see this stop what you're doing and go watch diminish. now. here are the pros:

not a pro but a quick note: this is written. some people believe its real but this is like. a story.

story about grieving guy playing a video game that was a last gift for him. its a rage game. chaos ensues.

unfiction type style without jumpscares. theres still horror but you never are like. shaking/crying about it its just creepy.

as somebody with MAJOR watching block you never get it with this series cause it does just feel like any lets play.

as said its formatted like a lets play and gets the vibe good.

you will get attached to the characters. its unavoidable. yes even the dead ones.

as somebody still in very deep in grief after my dad died, this is a series about grief that gets grief RIGHT. i understood this main character on a personal level it was intense.

there are so many moments that are permanently ingrained in my brain for how fucking insane they are. i have not watched this series in months.

you will be in tears when shit gets sad or intense, yes, but you will also be uncontrollably cackling with glee when things go good.

furry. main character is a grey wolf. his name is apollo

also ten million greek mythology references

quotes under the cut bc this is long

"ooh look menu.. oh! soup of the day, its a.. oh. its literally a soup of the day :D"

"i am going zen mode. *makes jump* mm zen. my name is. zen? z and uh.. *struggling on new jump* two othter letters.. *fails* OH MY G-"

"oh goddamnit its a carrot. of course this is a carrot."

"*trying so hard not to curse.* BULLS. IN MY SOCKS.. ANKLES PERHAPS"

"no dont look at me like that im trying im trying so hard im sorry ok? *man says to character he is piloting in platformer*"

"ive done it to short.. ive done it too far... goldilocks."

"so logically.. it should seem.. the next course of action is to get that gun."

[amazingmsme]

Dude I love your stuff but I think you have got to stop putting your stuff in the main fandom tags people are being major assholes and honestly I’ve seen enough people just the past few days attacking the whole community and while I’ve been blocking them I do not need people harassing the account I’ve sent asks on here, yknow? But remember there are people out here you support you, god forbid others realize we aren’t some sorta sexual freaks and just enjoy niche fanfic.

It fucking sucks because like, I want to be able to keep my blog sorted by fandom, but there’s been such a spike in hate & negativity, & it just makes me feel super shitty & insecure, & I hate feeling like that about something I want to enjoy because this is literally my single outlet for it, but Jesus am I starting to feel bogged down & just tired

Don’t be surprised if you start seeing me post less & less, I’m still here, it’s just burnout starting to take its toll I’m not dumb enough to think it wasn’t made worse by all this shit

I’ll still be chipping away at my asks, & I am gonna get back to those sentence prompts, I just gotta let myself marinate & take some time to stop thinking

I appreciate your concern, thanks for checking in. I just wish those people would just leave us the fuck alone if they don’t vibe with it, like please for the love of God just ignore or block us, it’s not that hard & I promise literally everyone will be happier

[violenthunted]

if anyone is struggling on dumblr rp right now i think i found the secret ingredients.

first, you gotta force yourself to block the people you dislike, the ones you follow out of obligation because they're "popular" / the friends of your friends who are not and don't want to be your friends / the ones who don't spark joy or have iffy vibes. your dash is your responsibility. it's like a garden & you have to take care of it. dumblr will not be your happy place if it's filled with people you dislike / don't care about / people who ignore you on the daily. believe me, you'll be so much happier with them out of the way, even if at first you feel like your corner is small.

second, you have to take the first step. go like people's posts. comment stupid shit. follow first. barge in their dms. who cares. pretend it's facebook, we're in 2010, and everyone is still publishing "i just ate an avocado" as it happens. dumblr isn't just about writing. regardless of how shitty the interface is, it still is a social medium. cause yeah sometimes life kicks your ass and you don't have time to write. and that's okay!! that's why we have plotting and pinterest and discord and spotify. but to do all that you have to establish contact, and sadly everyone's a scared potato who doesn't know how to do it and / or doesn't know how not to be awkward while doing it. so just try!! see how it goes. whoever's on the other side of the screen will either cry from happiness or reveal themselves to not b worthy of ur time. no matter the option, its a win on ur part.

and lil third, unofficial advice : internet friends aren't always real friends. idc that they told you "ILYYYYYY <3333" a thousand times. people say shit they don't mean and don't care how it might influence you. protect yourself. internet drama is fake and doesn't matter. if u feel like u can't take a step away to go touch some grass for a lil while because you're addicted to reloading the dash, you need to force yourself to do it until its easy as breathing. cause internet "friends" will drop you the second you are not needed anymore, and u need to b strong enough to endure that. u can't rely entirely on dumblr to provide for ur social happiness. its not sustainable and it's gonna fuck you up bc. well. relationships on the internet are not as solid as they seem, no matter what we believe. its already hard having irl friends you can see face to face.

if someone on the internet shows you who they are by not doing right by you : trust them. it's not irl. people arent saying shit without thinking. yes internet relationships can be as strong and fulfilling and incredible as irl relationships but they're also more prone to fakeness, fragility and other shortcomings. with dumblr, other people have the opportunity to type on their little keyboards. to wait. to erase. they're choosing to spend time with you, or choosing not to, in a way that is much more evident than irl. (cause the effort to reply to a discord message is tiny compared to the effort of having to meet somewhere, for instance. and internet friendships solely rely on that act of communication) they're choosing to prioritise you, or not. they don't have to face you whenever they do something shitty. whatever anguish & sadness they bring you, they're not worth it.

just look out for yourself out there, okay? be kind, be nice, be patient, and take a step away once in a while to remind yourself out of all the people on the internet, the most important is always gonna b you. cause you're the one who'll have to face your real life once the screen gets shut

[minheeskitten]

Why do you not like detrans people?

They’re just people living their lives like you who mistakenly thought they were trans at one point there are plenty who aren’t anti trans and still believe being transgender is a real thing.

This ask is referencing my 'Anti-trans/detrans DNI' boundary.

Why do I not want detrans on my blog?

Thank you for asking. I am hoping you asked this in a good faith. If you didn't. Then get off my page and block me.

Simply put; I do not want fetishizers or conservatives on my page. This is a safe space for me. They are unsafe.

That's your TLDR. Please do read everything.

Tws for below cut: Suicide mentions. Self Harm Mentions. Detrans fetish/kink mentions.

See, I've also mentioned in the same post you found this info out in, that this blog is my safe space.

I am Trans. I am transitioning. I do not want to detransition and anyone who would fetishize it or try to force me into it, would make this space not safe for me.

And i made this blog to be my safe space. My space to be myself. So I set the rules of who i want interacting or not.

I never said i didn't like the kind ones who don't really bring it up. The ones who quietly turned back on their transition. Or the ones who were trans but didn't do anything more than test out a name before deciding it wasn't right.

However. I do dislike the ones who are pushy about it. Or fetishize it.

My stance on them is: 'Do Not Fetishize Forcing Me To Be Something I Am Not' and 'Do Not Try To Force Me To Stop Being Trans'

I am all for gender experimentation. Fuck yeah, find out who you are! Experiment with that gender.

Since this is a space for me; I do not want anyone to come talk to me about detransitioning. I am not a safe space for those who are detrans to talk about their experiences.

I am glad there are ones who aren't anti-trans. Because there are far too many who detransition and then become anti-trans.

Not all of them are anti trans. But there is significant enough overlap that i am uncomfortable with them near me, since it can be hard to know who is and who isn't right off the bat.

Now, i recognize they are human. They could have figured out they disliked identifying the way they thought they wanted to. However.

Don't say transitioning is a mistake. Do not come onto my blog and say this to me again. Ever. I will block because of that sort of ask.

Wanna know why i take offense to this? Read the next few sentences. Carefully.

Transitioning has literally saved my life.

If i was not trans. I would be dead. By my own hand.

If i see someone trying to force detrans onto me. I may partake in harmful behavior for my physical and mental health.

I already suffer enough as it is, thank you.

I have nothing against the ones who transitioned and went 'oh this isn't me' and went back.

I strongly dislike those who fetishize detransitioning or try to force others to detransition.

Because that ideology would be my death

I don't want people bringing detrans ideas into my asks/notes. For my own mental health and well-being.

If they aren't one of the ones who would force it on me, they're chill. If they do not reblog or post detrans content, they can vibe with me.

But, as a preventative measure, i will block anyone who posts detrans content.

So that tumblr doesn't try to recommend me those tags. So that i don't have to worry about followers of mine being rude about me being Trans. So i do not have to see content that i do not enjoy seeing.

If i excluded only those who fetishize and force it on others, they would get very rude about me wanting them to not interact.

And then they would send threats and be all sorts of toxic. And i cannot handle that. This is a measure to keep myself safe.

It is simply safer to have them all avoid interacting, than to have to try and block every single one of them who pops up.

Every time i see 'detrans kink' i die a little inside. Because half the time. Its non fucking consensual.

Yes i do enjoy a little non-con. But not when it comes to my gender. Not when they force me to be something i am not.

Yeah i can block the tag. But that means i have to block every iteration of said tag.

Which is not feasible for me, or anyone.

Kindly respect my wishes. Because it literally keeps me alive, to avoid them.

It is a personal choice, that i made, to keep myself safe.

A choice i made to curate my experience on the internet. Which i suggest you do as well. After all, that is how it was meant to be used.

Hopefully you understand what i mean. As well as why i do not want them interacting.

If you have any follow up questions. Ask nicely, and in good faith. Any asks i receive that i believe are not made in good faith, i will block and delete.

Thank you for reading this post.

[fandomanimatic-tournament]

Fandom song animatic tournament: Bracket 2 Side B

Pad Thai - Jack Stauber

"Maddening, it's a regular bad thing! Pad Thai, I'm a normal guy! Saddening, nothing's really happening! That's right, take a big bite!"

How Far We've Come - Matchbox 20

"But I believe the world is burning to the ground Oh well, I guess we're gonna find out Let's see how far we've come Let's see how far we've come"

Remember that we're voting on how Iconic they are for ANIMATICS, not for the song itself. In order to make things fair, the tone and mood of the song should not affect how iconic it is (for example, a serious song should not be considered more iconic than a joke song just because it's serious)

Propaganda and animatic links of the songs under the cut:

Pad Thai - Jack Stauber

Propaganda:

No Written Propaganda Submitted

Animatics with the song:

Helluva Boss

OMORI

Toilet-Bound Hanako-kun mitsukou

TGCF

DSMP

How Far We've Come - Matchbox 20

Propaganda:

Aside from two of my favourite ever animatics being to this (Homestuck and Hermitcraft 8) it’s such a fandom song (genuinely up there with soldier poet king in the “oh my god it’s just like my d&d party” vibe). So many stories are about averting an apocalypse or some other looming threat “I’m waking up at the start of the end of the world” and the whole song is about reflecting back on your life and that of the world around you. It’s perfect for a climatic buildup to the end of a campaign or series finale, or a summary of an entire work. “Say your goodbyes if you’ve got someone you can say goodbye to” is perfect for drawing ships or friends or siblings to, with maybe one solitary person at the end. The percussion and guitar also make it very suited to animatics - there’s perfect parts in the music to switch between frames or scenes. It’s been around since 2007 so it’s nostalgic and from the peak of amvs and animatics. Please this song fucks so hard look at all the lyrics listen to it on loop it’s so quintessential to me

the DRAMA. the STORY. the EMOTIONS. this is a song for an animatic that covers character growth and major plot points, and it does it so well! if i am invested in the fandom and watch a how far we've come animatic i already know it will change me as a person

Dude. It makes the heart swell with emotion and pride at wow these characters sure have come far

It's the OG. I don't even know if homestuck started its popularity in the animatic scene but it was huge and it remains huge. From TAZ to (apparently, from a quick youtube search) hermitcraft, this song will tear at people's heartstrings as they think about blorbos the band has can't even imagine.

this song makes me so emotional ok? i know lots of fandoms use it but the ones that stuck with me are warrior cats, hermitcraft and of course homestuck. sorry for the cringe but im glad to be free. anyways this is THE song for anything that has either ended or had a large amount of time pass and also its just a really fucking good song on its own.

Animatics with the song:

Hermitcraft

The Adventure Zone

DSMP

Last Life SMP

Homestuck

Please be cautious and read the title, description and warning cards on the animatic videos if you decide to watch them. If you've got specific triggers I'd recommend even more caution when watching animatics of fandoms you don't know, since sometimes canon-typical themes don't get warnings.

Please keep in mind that I don't know all the media and fandoms of the animatics provided as examples and I don't have the time (nor the will) to research them all. Don't come into my notes or my ask box complaining about them being included, I will simply block you. If a ship animatic included is about an adult and a minor, do tell me and I'll take it out of the post

ALSO keep in mind that I don't know all the artists submitted; in fact, even if I do know them I do not know absolutely nothing about them as people (I do not have twitter nor tiktok) and I could not POSSIBLY have the time to research ALL of the artists' controversies and what came of them so PLEASE don't flood my inbox with the artists' entire crime list.