#taylor swift loading screen

[plumbaleena]

so long, london.

grab them here on early access until 5.20

[fruitysimsy]

TAYLOR SWIFT LOADING SCREEN

I made a loading screen for all the Swifties, first photo is without GShade, the second has the preset I use on it.

download: patreon (always free)

[mylittlesimcorner]

actually IN LOVE with my loading screen by @fruitysimsy 🥲🥹💖

[goldfades]

weee need Luka dad! x reader!!!!🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

Your daughter is dramatic. Luka swears she gets it from you, but you know better—she gets it from him. It’s in the way she stomps through the house in her light-up sneakers like she’s got somewhere urgent to be, the way she argues with her father like a seasoned lawyer, her little brows furrowed in defiance, hands on her hips.

Most of all, it’s in the way she throws herself onto the couch now, spine melting into the cushions like she’s just been dealt the worst hand life has to offer.

“We have to go,” she says, voice lined with desperation. “Mama, we have to.”

She looks at you with those wide blue eyes, Luka’s copy-and-paste, but softer, rounder—more dangerous. She knows how to use them, too, lashes fluttering with the kind of precision that makes Luka grumble under his breath about how unfair the world is.

You humor her, pushing her curls away from her face. “Go where, baby?”

She gasps, appalled that you don’t already know. “To see Sabrina Carpenter!”

Your lips twitch, but you hold back the laugh, nodding along like this is Very Serious Business. “Right. Of course.”

This is her thing right now. A month ago, she wanted to be an astronaut. Two weeks ago, she was practicing her model walk in the hallway mirror, demanding that you and Luka call her Gigi Hadid. And now? Now, it’s Sabrina Carpenter. She’s been watching music videos on repeat, humming melodies under her breath, twirling around the kitchen like she’s waiting for someone to roll out a red carpet.

You turn to Luka, who’s sitting at the kitchen island, scrolling through his phone, blissfully unaware of what’s about to hit him.

“Baby,” you say sweetly, watching him glance up with suspicion. “Wanna take your girls to a concert?”

Luka squints. “What concert?”

Your daughter, already exasperated, huffs loudly. “Sabrina Carpenter!”

Luka blinks, expression blank. You swear you can see the loading symbol in real time. “…Who?”

Your daughter’s jaw drops. “Daddy,” she whispers, horrified. “How do you not know?”

He shifts uncomfortably, looking between the two of you like he’s just realized he’s outnumbered. “I—what? I don’t know her! What she do?”

Your daughter gasps again, clutching her chest like he’s just struck her down. “She sings Feather!”

“That’s supposed to mean something?”

Your daughter turns to you, pleading. Luka looks at you, helpless. And you? You’re just enjoying the show.

You let the silence stretch for a moment, just to watch Luka suffer. He looks between you and your daughter like he’s missed a crucial piece of information, like maybe he should know who Sabrina Carpenter is but has somehow failed a test he didn’t know he was taking.

“She’s a singer,” you finally say, taking pity on him.

“Uh-huh,” Luka nods, still clearly confused. “Like…Taylor Swift?”

Your daughter lights up at the name drop. “Yes! She opened for Taylor! But she’s also her own person, Daddy.”

Luka scratches his jaw. “So she’s like…baby Taylor Swift?”

Your daughter makes a sound so offended, so deeply wounded, you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Daddy, no! She’s Sabrina! You have to know who she is!”

Luka looks at you for help, and you shrug, enjoying this way too much. He mutters something in Slovenian under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face like this is somehow harder than an NBA game. “Okay, okay,” he sighs. “You like her, you want to go to her show. When is it?”

Your daughter is already scrambling for the iPad on the counter, fingers flying across the screen as she pulls up the concert dates with the urgency of a stockbroker watching the market crash.

“She’s coming here next month!” she announces proudly. “And we need to go.”

You expect Luka to hesitate, to ask more questions, to try and find a way out of this. But he just looks at her—his little girl, the light of his life, the tiny human who has him wrapped around her tiny little finger—and sighs in defeat.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “We go.”

Your daughter shrieks in delight, launching herself at him, her little arms barely making it around his broad chest. Luka catches her with ease, lifting her up like she weighs nothing, pressing a loud kiss to her cheek.

“You’re the best, Daddy!” she beams.

Luka groans dramatically. “I know, I know.”

But you? You know this is just the beginning. Because Luka might have agreed, but he still has no idea what he’s signed up for.

That night, after your daughter is asleep, you find Luka on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a deep frown.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” you ask, plopping down beside him.

“I look her up,” he says, turning his phone to you. Sure enough, Sabrina Carpenter’s Spotify page is open, her discography in full display. “I don’t know a single song.”

You press your lips together to keep from laughing. “You could’ve just asked me, you know.”

“I try to learn!” he says, exasperated. “So I don’t look stupid at the concert. But all these songs…‘Feather’? ‘Espresso’? What is this?”

“They’re hits, baby.”

Luka narrows his eyes. “She sings about coffee?”

You snatch the phone from his hands and press play. Instantly, the opening beats of Espresso fill the room, bright and bubbly, and Luka’s face twists like you just gave him a pop quiz in a language he doesn’t speak.

“This?” he points at the phone. “This is what she loves?”

You snort. “Luka, she’s six. She thinks Bluey is the height of emotional storytelling.”

Luka exhales loudly, dropping his head against the back of the couch. “I’m not ready for this.”

You hum, settling against him. “You weren’t ready for Barbie either, but you ended up loving it.”

“That was different,” he argues. “That was a movie. This is a concert. A bunch of screaming kids. Loud music. And you know what’s worst?”

You raise a brow. “What’s worst?”

Luka gestures vaguely. “She’s gonna want merch.”

You bark out a laugh. “You mean like the five different Luka Dončić jerseys she owns?”

He glares at you. “That is different.”

“Is it?”

Luka groans, rubbing his temples like he’s already exhausted. “I just—why can’t she be into something normal?”

You tilt your head. “Like basketball?”

“Yes!”

You smile. “Luka, she already loves basketball. But she also loves pop music, and Barbies, and dressing up, and changing her mind every two weeks. That’s the fun of being a kid.”

Luka sighs, but you can tell he’s softening.

“And,” you add, nudging him. “You love making her happy.”

That gets him. He grumbles something under his breath, but you see the fond smile tugging at his lips.

“So,” you tease, “wanna hear Feather next?”

Luka groans, but he doesn’t stop you from playing it.

And as much as he pretends to suffer, you don’t miss the way his foot starts tapping along to the beat.

[kathlare]

sneaking glances

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: During a post-race debrief, Lando struggles to focus as a live stream of Amelie's final performance on the Eras Tour captures his attention.

Wordcount: 1.1 k

Warnings: just fluff

full masterlist // request over here!

March 9th, 2024 - Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

The post-race debrief felt like it had been dragging on for hours. Lando sat in the dimly lit McLaren meeting room, surrounded by engineers and strategists dissecting every second of his race in Saudi Arabia. P6 in qualifying had felt promising, but slipping down to P8 during the race was frustrating.

As the head engineer clicked through lap data on the screen, Lando leaned back in his chair, his leg bouncing restlessly under the table. His phone, strategically tucked in his hoodie pocket, vibrated softly—a notification from Instagram Live. His heart jumped.

He didn’t need to check to know what it was. Amelie’s last night opening for Taylor Swift on the Eras Tour was happening in Singapore.

Lando had known how much this tour meant to her, how thrilled she was to perform on some of the biggest stages in the world. And tonight was special—her final show. She’d been glowing over FaceTime earlier in the week, buzzing with both excitement and a tinge of sadness that it was coming to an end.

He shifted in his chair, pretending to adjust the waistband of his hoodie as he slid his phone out. Keeping it low and angled away from the team, he unlocked it with a swipe.

The live stream loaded almost immediately, and his chest tightened as Amelie’s voice filled his ears.

Her silhouette was bathed in soft purple light, the crowd roaring as she belted out the final notes of her song. She was dressed in a sparkling outfit that shimmered with every movement, her hair flowing as she twirled across the stage with her signature energy.

She looked breathtaking.

—Lando?— Andrea, his performance coach, nudged him gently, bringing him back to the room.

—Yeah, yeah, I’m listening,— Lando replied quickly, his eyes darting to the screen and back. He adjusted his posture, tapping on the table as if he were fully engaged in the conversation.

But his mind was anywhere but there.

Amelie laughed into the mic, her voice warm and effervescent as she addressed the crowd. —This is my last night opening for Taylor, and I just want to thank every single one of you for making this journey so unforgettable.— The audience erupted in cheers, and Lando couldn’t help but smile. She always knew how to command a room.

He angled the phone closer, careful not to make it obvious, but the subtle glow of the screen caught the attention of Oscar, who was seated beside him.

—What’s that?— Oscar whispered, leaning slightly over to peek.

Lando flinched, quickly tilting the screen away. —Nothing. Just checking... stuff.—

Oscar raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. —Is that… a concert?—

Lando sighed, realizing he wasn’t getting out of this one. He lowered his voice. —It’s Amelie. She’s performing in Singapore.—

Oscar’s eyes widened in recognition. —Wait, Amelie? Like, your Amelie?—

—Shut up,— Lando hissed, his cheeks flushing.

But it was too late. The exchange had drawn the attention of one of the engineers, who leaned over curiously. —What are you watching?—

Lando groaned, sinking lower into his chair as the small crowd around the table grew more intrigued. —It’s nothing, guys. Just focus on the debrief.—

Andrea’s sharp gaze narrowed. —Lando.—

—Fine!— he relented, holding up the phone. The live stream displayed Amelie mid-performance, her voice soaring through the room.

There was a beat of silence before someone muttered, —Damn, she’s good.—

One by one, the team leaned in, captivated. Even Andrea, who had been ready to scold Lando, seemed impressed.

—Isn’t she friends with you?— one of the engineers asked.

Lando shrugged, trying to play it cool. —Yeah. We’re... close.—

Oscar snorted. —Close? Mate, you’re grinning like an idiot. You’re in love.—

—Shut it, Piastri,— Lando muttered, but his smile betrayed him.

The debrief quickly devolved into a makeshift watch party. The engineers abandoned their laptops, the strategists leaned against the table, and even Zak Brown appeared in the doorway, raising an eyebrow at the scene.

—What’s going on here?— Zak asked, his tone amused.

Andrea gestured to the phone. —Lando’s watching his... friend’s concert.—

Zak crossed his arms, clearly entertained. —Friend, huh?—

Lando groaned, burying his face in his hands. —Can we just finish the meeting?—

But no one was listening anymore. Someone connected the phone to the meeting room’s projector, and within seconds, Amelie’s live stream was on the big screen.

She was mid-song, the crowd swaying to the rhythm as she poured her heart into every note. Lando couldn’t take his eyes off her, his chest swelling with pride.

—You know, you could’ve just told us you’re dating her,— Oscar said, nudging him playfully.

—We’re not...!— Lando started, but the room erupted in laughter.

Zak clapped a hand on his shoulder. —It’s okay, kid. We’re rooting for you.—

As Amelie finished her set with her traditional Nonsense outro, Lando’s phone buzzed again, a text from her.

Ames💛: You better not be ignoring your meeting to watch me.

He grinned, typing back quickly.

Lan🧡: Busted. The whole team’s watching now. You were incredible.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Ames💛: Told you you’d fall for me all over again ;)

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he pocketed the phone.

—Alright, alright, back to work,— Zak called, though his tone was far from serious.

As the team reluctantly turned their attention back to the race debrief, Lando couldn’t help but feel a warmth settle in his chest.

Amelie had always been his biggest distraction—and his greatest joy. And as he glanced at the projector one last time, watching her blow a kiss to the crowd, he realized he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[sgiandubh]

Games people play

An ephemeral (and now quickly deactivated) account went rogue and sent a prominent shipper blog a whole load of conversations between that person, who played friendly to the Other Side, and Caitony. You know, the staunch stalwart of the Remarkable Week-end Saga, who consistently insulted shippers in the most revolting fashion one can imagine. 'Crazy' and 'stupid' being almost terms of endearment, of course.

I shall not repost the six conversations that have been meticulously screen capped and posted. You can read them here, starting with this post, where the Rogue Operator explains her choice of releasing them: https://www.tumblr.com/auburncurlslass/781073024919207936/hello-shipper-this-message-is-not-about-me-sam?source=share

But a couple of lines from that scrambled dialogue of sorts gave me pause, and I have thoughts and questions, as always.

'Beijos em tenda'/'Kisses in the tent'. I know what I saw, that night, while dissecting that Taylor Swift concert episode frame by frame. Many shippers were doubtful, perhaps because almost twelve years of brutality made many wary of the consequences of being too open or too readily accepting. A culture of paranoia and permanent second-guessing was the necessarily logical consequence of collective bullying. Now one of the most revolting people on the other side confesses she saw exactly the same thing and that it annoyed the shit out of her. Understandable: Those Two Kissed. Not on the cheek.

So, here you have it: Caitony knows that very well. Is she the only one? Doubtful: many, if not all of them, know the same thing, for you can be sure conversations happened in those DM boxes, too,

Shipper Mom just confirmed: in the above context, a 'beijo' is virtually never on the cheek. Otherwise, it would have been an 'abraço' - just a hug, so to speak, which wouldn't have scandalized Caitony. Yet, this one seems to have traumatized her so much, that she felt the urge to remind her 'friend', in a different conversation, one of the arguments used by Mordor to explain C's questionable behavior, including (but not only) that night. Albeit, on a more ominous tone:

C is, according to Caitony, 'doida'/crazy and 'bebe muito'/drinks a lot'. Yes, this is in the context Caitony finally spills the tea about her very seriously shipping C and Tobias Menzies, which is amusing, to say the least. Later on, she even speculates on Blonde Bambino being Tobias' son: ugh, nobody seems to like McGill, or what?

I have always known the entire Greek Chorus of sopranos, minions and clones were always spinning the same two arguments in a gradual miscellanea of insults and fighting words because what I post often made them feel uneasy (a #silly understatement). But now, here is evidence:

You know, they love and respect her so much, that they are readily throwing her under the bus the very moment she does not conform to their scenario. It's 'exclusivamente culpa dela'/'exclusively her fault', because you are just a sad and lonely woman, who has a parasocial relationship with a perfect, lionized stranger. And wow, how hard must reality sometimes bite, to make you veer dangerously close to our shores: 'tem horas que acho Tony um verdadeiro fantoche'/'at times, I think Tony is a real puppet'. You don't say, darling...

Of course, S is (according to Caitony) a gay man whose partner is Norouzi, which doesn't really come as a surprise, since this is what the Screeching Banshees have been insinuating for years, now. I have debunked enough of it, even showing how they tinkered with Wikipedia, to insist on this nonsense.

What is really interesting, though, is this very recent convo with Caitony, where she touches a very sensitive issue, all the while telling her 'friend' she was disillusioned and quitting this toxic madness:

Fucking fun, too, to read her defining C's marriage as a 'farca necessaria'/a necessary sham (but is this the same woman seeing McGill in Dublin, recently? Oh...) and openly mentioning 'divorcio'/divorce. Not once, but at least twice:

She even expects it to happen (really?), but thinks it's not the case, yet. How peculiar, really!

And, perhaps the most telling of everything, here is what she really, honestly wants for C's new movie, just because she thinks C needs the money and this is why she lies to her true fans:

'Quero que ela flope esse filme'/I want her film to be a flop'.

Not a fucking ounce of fucking shame. A cara nem treme.

I am not sorry for the length. Credits given accordingly, with the amendment the informer deactivated her blog, supposedly because she was afraid of Caitony going after her. I can also tell you that this informer followed my page for an hour, before changing her mind and choosing to post elsewhere. I am glad she did spill the tea.

'No boundaries. No respect. No class.'

In the meanwhile, we are preparing our trip to Paris, where we will make sure to tell C how good she is at what she does. I am not going for her. I am going because I want to hug and talk to all the people who will join our merry company. Because this is what a fandom is for: a facilitator for like-minded people to meet and become friends, not a cesspool of madness. I'll give Caitony that involuntary honesty.

[etherealrin]

HI TIFF!!! CONGRATULATIONS FOR 500 FOLLOWERS!!! IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU💖💖

I wanted to make an order for your Cloud 9 cafe! Could you do a double chocolate chip cookie (Rin Itoshi) with an Ube Latte?

(If its alright could you make the brother Isagi?)

Also I'm not very sure but if we're allowed multiple drinks could you also add a blue orangeade? If its not allowed then just make mine an ube latte please!

And i'd like it to be for here.

Thank you for reading and really congratulations!!😋🙏💕

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. shh!

your brother's best friend is frequenting your place a bit too much recently... slightly suggestive! // wc: 546

you don’t feel safe in your own house anymore. every corner you turn, he’s there. every morning, he’s ringing your doorbell and your older brother yoichi always forces you to let him in. 

even though itoshi rin is clearly and has always been yoichi’s best friend, you’re still an awkward, blushing mess around him. it doesn’t help that he invites himself over without warning, and he’s getting far too comfortable with your family. 

because what the hell is he doing walking around shirtless, hair dripping wet with water? you have to stifle a scream when you walk in on him, lounging on your sofa, abs on full display. 

“hey,” rin offers you, attention focused on the tv screen in front of him. 

“hi,” you squeak out, trying and failing not to stare at him. you settle for looking at his arms instead, which was a mistake. his biceps should not look that good simply holding a nintendo switch controller.

“it’s super smash bros. wanna play?” he asks, pausing his game to look up at you. his azure eyes aren’t giving you much of a choice, all you can do is nod wordlessly. you’ve always had this sort of quiet friendship with him. there’s not much to be said between you two, just the company of one another—except rin’s making it really difficult today. 

“you’re staring.” he notes. it’s only been a few minutes since you sat down next to him. 

“you’re shirtless,” you shoot back. “and just so you know, yoichi’s not home until another hour.”

“no shit, sherlock,” he mutters, sneaking a glance at you. you freeze under his attention, suddenly self conscious in your tiny shorts and oversized t-shirt. “what, you think i came over just to use your shower and wait for your brother?”

“um, yeah?” your voice quakes. please please please let yoichi stay away from the house right now.

rin scoffs, shaking his head. 

“y’know, you can be quite dense sometimes. i guess it runs in the family,” he whispers voice low and leaning into your left ear. you feel his bangs, still damp, grazing your face. “we’re not kids anymore. if you want me, just say it.” his hands ghost across your face, delicately, like he’s asking for your permission.

and yeah, yoichi has told you a couple thousand times not to mess with his best friend.

but he never said anything about rin being the one to make the first move. 

so you fold, letting rin slot his lips against yours. his hands find your hair and you tug him closer...

you’re not sure how much time has passed when you both jump at the creaking sound of your front door. 

“shit,” you mumble. “that’s yoi.”

“shhh!” rin shushes you, one finger to your lips, which are now slightly swollen from before. “he’ll never know.” he untangles his hands from you, straightening his hair and thrusting the video game controller back in your hands—just as your brother walks by. 

“rin! you’re early,” yoichi exclaims, oblivious. 

“yeah, my match ended faster than expected," rin replies indifferently, loading up the game again. 

“well, sorry to keep you waiting with my boring sibling. i’ll be right back down,” your brother says, heading up the stairs to his room. but the second he’s out of earshot, rin’s whispering to you again.

“round two, my place? don’t tell yoichi.”

ılılılılılılı now playing: shhh by kiss of life, i can see you by taylor swift

a/n: hello! thank you so much for the sweet wishes, i'm sorry it's taking me a while to write! thank you for waiting, and i love this request LOL <3

cafe orders. cloud 9 cafe! regular masterlist.

[ladsrants]

ROLES REVERSED

Caleb X Non MC reader, fluff, insinuated smutty stuff. From Calebs POV.

•••••••🍎🍜✈️🖤 ••••••••

Believe it or not, when Caleb comes back to his home from a long, taxing day of being cold, commanding, and firm, to the smell of food cooking and your soft hum in the kitchen, his first instinct isn’t to take over.

He loosens his tie around his neck, his back and shoulders aching slightly from the uptight posture he held throughout the day. He swiftly kicked off his boots at the door, not even bothering to remove his jacket as he slowly stepped to the wall bordering the open kitchen. Leaning against the foundation and allowing his eyes to fall on you.

Your headphones were in, the soft hum of what he could only assume to be Taylor Swift buzzing out of the airpods. Your hair was pulled back by a claw clip, a few strands bordering your face perfectly.

He was on the fence between making his presence known and simply enjoying the view for a moment longer. Your feet sliding around the hard wood floorboards with ease in your socks, a pair of his sweatpants (you’re lucky he loves you otherwise he would call out your thievery) and one of his favorite black t shirt bras of yours.

He listened to your soft humming, silently wishing you’d be a little louder, unapologetic about it. He loved your voice. His eyes flickering down to the way your hips swayed slightly, making his gut churn with a familiar warmth you never failed to stir up by simply existing.

After a moment more he sighed, smiling lazily as he made his way further into the kitchen, effortlessly leaning on the counter, tapping your shoulder gently.

Naturally, you jumped slightly, hesitating before grinning unabashedly at him, your cheeks tinted a soft pink from the heat of the stove as you cooked. You removed your earbuds.

“Hey you, I hope you don’t mind that I cook-“

He cut you off swiftly when he reached out to push some hair behind your ear, his eyes scanning your face as if you were one of his piloting books from when you were kids.

“I’ll let it slide today…” His words came out gruff, but not without his typical warmth he directed towards you. You blinked, your mind taking a moment to catch up.

“Hard day..?”

He tensed slightly, his gaze never moving away as he shrugged loosely.

“Long..Just glad I’m home…with you here pips.”

He reached over, away from your face after a beat to stir the steaming skillet of zucchini, squash and chicken. Humming softly as the smell flooded his senses.

“Shocked you didn’t burn the place down…” He spoke the teasing words with a small grin, his playful nature dulled down slightly by the clear exhaustion he was carrying. Trying to be tough again.

“Yeah yeah you’re the chef blah blah…Why don’t you go change while I finish up in here? It’s almost ready.”

He almost seemed to hesitate for a second before grunting softly, gently flicking your cheek before turning on his heels and walking down the hall to his room.

Once he came back into the living area he was greeted by you, seated on the couch, with two plates prepared and sat on the coffee table in front of you. The TV hummed softly with the loading screen of an old rom com he loved.

He smiled, slightly incredulously before walking to the couch and flopping down lazily next to you.

“Smells great Pips…”

Within the hour he was laid out on the couch, holding you close to his chest. You were in and out of sleep, and so was he. His hand gently swiping up and down your spine in a comforting manner. His fingers occasionally running through your hair. His eyes fluttering closed as he listened to the way your breathing slowed. You almost sounded like a content cat, purring softly against his chest as he pet you. You were asleep.

“I don’t mind…reversing the roles every once in a while…I know…It’s a little bold to say…but maybe some day I can come home from work to see you, as my wife…cooking dinner…holding our baby on your hip…” As he spoke his words started to slur slightly, his confession melting into content silence as he drifted off with ease. The warmth of your body on his own soothing him to sleep.

Little did he know you heard every word, and despite the boundaries it crossed, your heart fluttered with a welcoming warmth at the idea of being more than just his childhood friend. The final thought on your mind fell with a smile.

You were hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Caleb. And he you.

A/N : short story type beat. i got lazy and cut it a little short but the concept was cute anyways and it got the itch out of my brain :) hope you enjoyed

[seeingivy]

bad blood

actor!ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my dream girl fic

songs mentioned: bad blood by taylor swift and obsessed by olivia rodrigo

--

--

“are you of the opinion that all PR is good PR?” 

sukuna can tell that it’s not the time for jokes. that much is obvious to him from the exasperated looks on everyone’s faces at his ill-timed comment – at nanami pinching the bridge of nose, yuuji shooting him an irritated look (with a whisper of a smile on his face), and his manager shoyo’s eyes pinched shut in frustration. 

“i would be inclined to think that, but sukuna is over party trending for the past three hours is giving me a run for my money here.” shoyo responds. 

sukuna diverts his eyes back to the television, shoyo’s computer projecting the trending hashtag onto the screen, and his fingers darting to refresh every few seconds with another set of irritating tweet about him. sukuna’s gotten the hint from the first three, but he has a sneaking inkling that shoyo’s doing this part just to rub it in his face – that it’s his way of saying i told you so without explicitly doing so. 

shoyo was interesting in that way. managers were interesting in that way. 

sukuna wondered to himself how many other careers had these types of dynamics, with “mentors” who served as stand-in parents. telling someone what to do, what not to do – in attempts to guide them from right or wrong – that almost never worked in his case. 

his gut instinct tells him that almost every single profession does. but it also tells him that the other managers can’t be half as annoying as the special spot that entertainment managers take up. 

at the very least, he can appreciate the take that shoyo has on his position. like a firm, strict father figure. he spares no warmth for him – just the way sukuna likes it. 

“so what are we going to do? can we just ignore it?” sukuna asks. 

it’s a loaded question. 

what can you do when you might have possibly tanked every attempt at an entertainment career before it even starts? 

sukuna’s first manager, starla, taught him three simple facts about the entertainment industry. among other things.

in particular, that the warmth was something that sukuna needed to run far, far away from. 

first – attention is hard to attain. anyone can audition to act in a show, but only one person gets picked. you can be the best in the game but it doesn’t matter unless someone looks at you. 

second – once you have it, attention is hard to maintain. if someone takes the time to watch, who’s to say that they’re ever going to watch you again? anyone can be a one hit wonder, but it takes greater skill to stay relevant, to keep people interested in what you’re putting out. 

and third. reputation is everything. it’s best practice to avoid becoming a contrarian. it’s social suicide to your career. 

it seems that sukuna might have nipped the first two in the bud, by accidentally becoming a contrarian. again. after so narrowly missing it the first time. 

that’s the thing that’s the most frustrating in his opinion. that sukuna did almost nothing out of the sorts, that he had followed every single prim and proper rule he could have after his first few tumbles – and that this time, he very simply became a contrarian for dumping the wrong girl at the wrong time. 

sukuna had made his own additions to the facts as time went on. especially after he was dropped by his old manager, promptly when he turned twenty-three. 

lessons that he learned on his own. this situation alone added three to his list. 

first – do not date the daughter of an industry titan. who has a loving fanbase that will attack you if the two of you break up. 

second – do not crack jokes about good and bad PR when you’ve inadvertently created a mess for almost everyone around you. 

and third – tread lightly the week before the biggest break of your career. things move so fast that they’re in absolute shambles before you know it. 

“there’s nothing you can do besides follow the script that the PR team gave you. keep questions about aimee to a minimum at the event tonight. deflect to the show and only the show.” 

sukuna gives shoyo a mock salute. he still doesn’t find it funny. 

in fact, sukuna can tell that he’s had exactly enough for this meeting, marked by the almost immediate exodus he makes from the room, with nanami following in tow. nanami shoots him an apologetic smile over his shoulder as he exits and it’s one that sukuna can appreciate. 

“you know, i really do question your taste in women.” yuuji states. 

sukuna rolls his eyes. 

“you question everyone’s taste in women.” sukuna deadpans. 

yuuji gives him a laugh – the one that he had been holding in from earlier – and smacks him hard against the shoulder. sukuna can feel the pressure that he was trying to ignore compounding in his head, as he sinks down into the couch. 

“i’m being serious though. i just don’t understand what you see in these girls. none of these relationships really have a fighting chance, which at this point, you almost have to be doing on purpose. i know you’re not that dumb.” 

sukuna shrugs. he can tell that he’s being baited into having a conversation, a conversation that he doesn’t want to have, and makes a mental note to yuuji later that he shouldn’t lay it on so thick. 

“your point is?” sukuna mutters. 

“i’m not trying to make a point. i’m trying to understand why you’re so…so keen on pursing things you know won’t work out. it’s almost like you don’t want it to work out for you.” 

“i don’t know what you’re talking about. you sound like an idiot.” 

yuuji shakes his head, almost like he’s giving him a sentencing. trying to tell him, making it a point that he’s been caught red handed, that he has to give into the conversation.

“don’t tell me you’re really not trying in earnest because of what happened?” 

sukuna can feel his frustration coming to a head, right in the center of his forehead. it always felt like feelings were concentrated there, right in that sensitive part of his head that made him rush to anger. 

“it’s not about that.” 

yuuji takes the hint. he jumps over the line as often as he can, but won’t push any farther. 

“i just think that you should give things a real, earnest try. i know that none of us can really understand what happened, but…but that doesn’t mean that it’s going to happen every time. you…you shouldn’t be happy that you’re not trying to find love for real.” 

sukuna clicks his tongue in his cheek. 

“and who said i was doing that?” 

yuuji sighs. 

“you’re always the same you know. you never try for real because you’re scared you’re going to strike out. you….you still…you’re still afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think…” 

yuuji doesn’t finish the sentence. but sukuna knows the answer, because he’s said it before. 

you’re afraid to pursue someone you actually like because you think they’ll realize there’s nothing to like about you. 

--

--

“do you ever think about pushing yourself creatively?” 

you wonder how many times someone can ask the same question, worded differently. 

in mimi’s case, you’ve reached a whopping count of six. categorically organized – three times while you were out doing your morning coffee, twice over dinner, and today marked a new first,  while writing music at the piano. 

each question exactly the same, every response exactly the same. 

“no. i want to stay exactly the same for the rest of my life.” you deadpan. 

your dry humor earns you a laugh from mimi. in all fairness, it almost always does, because it’s very easy to make her laugh. because she’s a person who is easily pleased, very outgoing, who very simply put, enjoys most things. 

“i wouldn’t even be shocked if you said that to me. your google calendar is my very worst nightmare, you know that?” 

“my google calendar is perfectly organized. just as it should be.” 

“i mean. very organized. i am very appreciative that you’re on time to all of our meetings, which is very rare with your generation.” 

“you’re in the same generation as us. you’re not even that much older than me.” you deadpan. 

“okay, but being a mother has aged me like ten years. all of my friends do pilates in their free time, make brunch plans for fun.” 

“i’m your friend. i don’t do pilates in my free time. and i eat at five in the morning on the dot everyday.” 

“yeah. you’ve just take up different odd hobbies, but it’s basically the same thing.” 

you scoff, as you flip the page on the stand of the piano. 

you wonder how often mimi thinks about that type of thing. the life that she used to live. the fact that you could be doing all the things that she couldn’t necessarily do anymore. it makes you wonder if that’s why she’s so adamant. 

“i could be doing drugs you know.” 

“you should be doing drugs!” 

well, that answers your question. 

“i can’t wait to see what your child does in the future. you’ve set such high expectations!” 

mimi rolls her eyes. she’s very easily pleased, very outgoing, and filled with an overwhelming well of patience to counteract your stubbornness. 

it’s granted that she almost never wins, that your firmness in your decision always stands at the end of the day, but it doesn’t mitigate her efforts to try. you’re betting that she’s going to give her very stubborn daughter a run for her money in a few years when she’s older. 

“i don’t mean that you should actually do drugs. or maybe i do. some of my other writers love to drink or smoke weed to get through writer’s block. it just a little shift to push you to some new limits.” 

“perfect. i’ll just try to do some ketamine before my next song so that it sounds better.” 

mimi sighs. 

“i’m not telling you to go do horse tranquilizers. i’m stating a very simple fact, that you tend to gravitate towards what is comfortable for you. in your personal life, in your friends, in your songwriting. you’ve found a sound that you work great with, themes that resonate with people. but you’ve been stuck there, right where you know people want you. it wouldn’t hurt to try pushing the limits here and there.” 

you scoff. 

“you sound like a shitty inspirational quote.” 

mimi shakes her head. 

“i often find that stubbornness to approach new things at the end of the day creates a sort of resentment towards anything that stimulates new growth. and keeps you stuck exactly where you are currently. stagnant.” 

you don’t like the evaluation. the sentencing that she’s given you, that she’s been giving you for the past few months. 

that you aren’t going anywhere. 

you not liking it doesn’t make it any less true. but her saying it over and over again doesn’t propel you into doing anything about it either. 

“and what if i fail to do this whole moving thing you’re talking about?” you jest. 

mimi pinches her lips in a line. 

“then it proves to me that you’re just approaching this entire thing wrong. you’re not winning an award, you’re writing a song. it’s not an examination that you’re completing, it’s just something you’re trying to say.” 

you give her a dry smile. 

“and what if no one wants to hear what i have to say?” 

“that’s where you and i will disagree. i fear people are on the edge of their seats waiting for it.” 

you snort. 

“are you not a fan of me sticking it to idiots like jake nicholson and aimee lynch?” 

mimi gives you a smug grin. 

“a huge fan. but i can tell that you’ve got something else under the surface that’s dying to be let out.” 

“i suppose that’ll just have to wait for today.” you respond. 

mimi shrugs. 

“i’ll try again tomorrow.” she affirms. 

you’re not sure why she tries. you’re still going to say no. 

--

sukuna’s manager’s strategy was very simple. all he had to do was save face for a week – a week until the show came out. tell people to watch the premiere on the red carpet, throw in an anecdote about filming here and there, and that was that. 

granted, his job wasn’t exactly hard. the ensemble cast did most of the work, satoru’s loud voice combined with how energetic yuuji is, allowed him to slip through the cracks and make it inside the venue without any unsavory questions about aimee. 

sukuna looks across the room to where the two of them are standing near the bar, glasses of ice in their hand, satoru no doubt flicking his charm and stupid pickup lines at everyone. he understood the strategy – that sukuna having the opportunity to talk created a greater risk for him to say something he shouldn’t – but it just made the event boring for him. 

sukuna hated being on the sidelines. 

quite literally the sidelines, because the table he was currently occupying was pushed against the wall. he would retreat back to the main table in the center when the two of them returned, but judging by how loud they were laughing, it didn’t seem like it was going to be any time soon. 

“excuse me.” 

sukuna’s thrown out of his train of thought by the voice, only to find he’s accompanied by two girls at his side. sukuna inches his glass of soda closer to him, noting the sparky stars gleaming on their eyelids, accompanied with layers of beaded bracelets on their wrists. 

fans. sukuna’s found his in. 

“can i help you?” sukuna asks. 

the two girls look at each other, a nervous laugh escaping their lips, as they squeeze their intertwined hands together. he prays to god they’re not here for aimee. 

“are you ryomen sukuna?” 

sukuna smiles, looping his elbow across the back of the chair, and smiling. there’s no distaste in their voice – so they most likely aren’t. he’s won. 

“sure am. who might you be?” sukuna asks. 

“we’re addison and abigail.” they respond. 

sukuna uses his free hand, gesturing for them to take the free chairs across from him. he watches as they both widen their eyes, stumbling knees hitting the bottom of the table as he readjusts and leans back. 

interviews and networking he wasn’t allowed to do. that much was clear. but talking to fans caused no trouble, and it wasn’t explicitly off limits.

it gave him time to do what he did best. charm people. 

“addison and abigail. to what do i owe the pleasure?” sukuna asks. 

“we don’t want to take up any of your time.” abigail starts. 

“really, we’re sure you’re quite busy. this is a big event and all and you probably have to do interviews and all that.” addison adds. 

sukuna grins. 

“i’ll always make time for you.” 

he watches as their eyes widen, abigail’s lips pinched shut together by the bluntness in his statement, as he lifts his glass and presses it to his lips. 

“i have a question.” sukuna states.

“anything!” addison replies. 

her response is too fast. so fast that sukuna can almost clock that she’s realized that it’s too fast – that she’s embarrassed at how eager she was to respond. he shoots her a kind smile in response, before leaning forward and bracing his forearms against the table. 

“how did the two of you sneak in here? secret boyfriend let you in?” sukuna asks. 

the two of them offer him an awkward laugh, slightly releasing their shoulders, as they lift their hands and very adamantly gesture the opposite. 

“not at all. we got selected to attend the event through the fan program.” abigail responds. 

sukuna smirks. 

“here for me?” sukuna asks. 

the two of them widen their eyes, almost like they’ve been caught in an awkward situation. because they’re very obviously not here for him. 

the fan invites were given for the singers and affiliated studios. and he’d be caught dead before singing live in front of an audience. 

“i’m so sorry. i don’t mean to…” 

sukuna immediately retreats. 

“you do realize that i’m not a singer, right?” sukuna asks. 

“what?” abigail asks. 

“i don’t sing. there’s no way that you could be here for me.” sukuna clarifies. 

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief, abigail giving him a jokingly irritated glare as he shoots the two of them a smile. 

“relax. i’m just pulling your leg. it’s all in good fun. we can take a picture and everything, whatever you want.” sukuna responds. 

the two of them breathe a sigh of relief. 

“really?” she asks. 

sukuna nods. 

“that’s so sweet, thank you so much. we have a friend who’s a really big fan, so we were trying to get her a signed shirt.” 

“a signed shirt it is.” sukuna responds, noting that they reach into their bag with the shirt and marker prepared. 

“oh my god. i thought you were….you were going to be a diva or something.” abigail responds. 

“me? a diva?” sukuna jokes. 

“you wouldn’t believe it. god, some people can be so rude. one time, aimee lynch got us…” 

addison’s quick to respond, shoving her elbow into her side to gesture for her to be quiet. sukuna narrow their eyes at the two of them, before rolling her eyes. 

sukuna, in the split second, debates if he should respond. if it would go against the deal he made – to be quiet, to not cause any noise – because they could go running and post about it on twitter.

he decides against his better judgment, only because it’s potently clear they’ve been terrorized by aimee before. 

“got you kicked out of an event?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah…” addison mumbles. 

“she does that often. it’s a whole load of shit. i’m glad you’re here.” sukuna responds. 

“yeah. we were just really upset because we were actually supposed to meet y/n that day. we had tweeted to her that we got kicked out before we made it to the meet and greet and her team organized a whole like facetime call and sent us merch, but it was super annoying.” abigail responds. 

sukuna nods, only because he knows all too well, that it’s exactly in her character to kick fans out of events. their “desperation” always got on her nerves. 

“well, i hope you get to meet her tonight. she is here, right?” sukuna asks. 

“yeah. she invited us personally since we missed out last time.”

sukuna smiles. 

“that’s sweet. i hope you get to meet her later.” sukuna responds. 

--

--

there’s a patterned knock on the door of your dressing room. two fast, two slow, two fast. it’s accompanied by the door swinging open and the reflection of megumi standing in the mirror with a cup of iced coffee in his hand. 

you shoot him an excited smile, apologetically shooing away your hair and makeup team from the chair, to get up and greet him. 

“coffee? for moi?” you ask, exaggerating every syllable. 

megumi rolls his eyes, placing the cold cup into the palm of your hand, as you shoot him a smile.

megumi hates when you exaggerate the syllables – which is precisely the reason that you do it. you have an inkling that he secretly loves it, because he’s a secret fan of your antics. 

“figured you needed it. you look like a hag.” megumi responses. 

you snort down a laugh, as you take a sip from the overly sweet coffee. 

“hag is a new one. you’ve always had such a way with words, my love.” you joke. 

you return back to your chair, gesturing for him to take the free one at your side, as you reach for your phone and read through the last texts you got from mimi. all confirmations – that your guitar and band have arrived, that you’re all good to go at the end of the hour. 

“is romeo here?” you ask. 

you can see megumi’s irritated expression out of the corner of your eye, accompanied with a pink flush that creeps up his neck. 

“what’s his name again? yuki?” you joke. 

“yuuji.” megumi corrects, his voice almost stern. 

“okay, relax. pipe it down three notches, juliet.” 

megumi lifts his hand, awkwardly rubbing it against the back of his neck, as you drop your phone in your lap and narrow your eyes at him. 

“what did he do today?”

“you don’t care.” megumi mumbles. 

“and that hasn’t stopped you from telling me in the past.” 

everyday, for the past eight months, you received a barrage of texts from megumi. ranging across every emotion in the human bandwidth, but always about the same thing. 

his new co-star. how great his hair look, what text he sent him that morning, how his skin looked perfect in the light. you would nip that type of dialogue from anyone else in the bud. but megumi wasn’t anyone else. 

“but you’re asking. which means you can’t complain, because you basically warranted it out of me.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“yeah, yeah.” 

“he got us matching pins for press this week. they’re like little cartoon versions of us. but he also got one for our other co-star nobara, so it doesn’t really count.” 

you shrug. 

“but he still got you one. so it does count. that’s cute.” you respond.

“but she has one too.” 

“but did he give it to you as a group or individually?” you ask. 

“individually.” megumi responds. 

you smile. 

“exactly. it means something different when it’s individually.” you respond. 

“you’re delusional.” megumi responds. 

you roll your eyes. 

“you could benefit from being a little delusional, drama queen.”  

“and then when we were coming here, i was telling him that you were going to be here and he got super excited. he remembered that i always used to get you coffee before your first show so he actually stopped our car and made sure that i was able to get some from you since you’re performing tonight.” 

you grin. 

“not technically my first show, but i appreciate the effort. I love him already. especially if he’s so passionate about my caffeine addiction.” 

“it’s from his coffee shop that he works at with his brother. they used to work there together when they were younger and like…he was telling me all about it. how the two of them used to work there after school and that the owners were like their second parents. they almost went down under a few years ago but they both had enough acting money so they invested. he was even introducing me to them and shit. like fully introducing me to people he views as family.” 

you nod. 

“wow, juliet. when’s the wedding?” you ask. 

“shut up.” megumi responds. 

“but really, that’s actually very sweet. he seems like a great guy.” 

“he is a great guy. he wants to meet you too, you know?” megumi responds. 

“that would be against your better judgment. i’m going to tell him all about your little crush. and propose marriage on your behalf like you’re my property in the 18th century or something.” you respond. 

“your jokes never get funnier.” megumi deadpans. 

“and yet you’re still here.” 

“his brother is here too. the one who used to date aimee.” 

you widen your eyes. 

“poor guy. it’s probably a blood bath out there for him.” 

“he made it through press unscathed, but they’re telling him to keep a low profile. but yuuji’s all worried because he tends to get erratic and take things into his own hands sometimes.” 

“what are they saying again?” you ask. 

“fans are mad because the report that went out said sukuna dumped her or something.” 

you snort. 

“is that even bad when she was like basically cheating on him the whole time?” you ask. 

“don’t think he knows that.” 

you shake your head. 

“really?” 

megumi shrugs. 

“i get the impression he didn’t care about the relationship too much.” 

you nod. 

“well, then my song won’t hurt his feelings too bad when he finds out they used to date.” 

you push up out of the chair, gesturing to your outfit as megumi gives you an approving nod. you link your arms together, pushing out of the door onto the floor of the venue, and continue your conversation in lowered voices. 

“do you want me to punch jake?” megumi asks.

“and ruin your pretty little baby hands? i would never.” 

megumi rolls his eyes, as the lights dim, and the two of you direct your eyes to the stage. it’s a long introduction, all of the producers and affiliates taking the time to thank everyone for attending. you’re performing at the end of the hour, which gives you enough time to zone this out and focus on the song. 

“our very first performance is from one of our affiliates at dancing lady studios – aimee lynch with guest star jake nicholson.” 

you and megumi widen your eyes as you turn to look at each other, as you all but crush megumi’s arm in your grasp. the two of them walk out onto the stage – and you note that her sparkly silver is almost identical to the outfit you had been wearing on tour for the past few months.

and that jake’s using the guitar that you gifted him on his birthday. 

you know she’s doing it on purpose. that she knows that about you – that you’ll connect dots and draw conclusions – to exactly what she’s trying to do. 

piss you off. 

Did you think we'd be fine? Still got scars on my back from your knife So don't think it's in the past These kind of wounds they last and they last Now did you think it all through? All these things will catch up to you And time can heal, but this won't So if you come in my way, just don't

Oh, it's so sad to think about the good times You and I

megumi leans down, voice quiet as he whispers in your ear. 

“this is going to do rounds on kids bop.” 

you snort. 

“they would be so lucky.” you respond back. 

'Cause baby, now we got bad blood You know it used to be mad love So take a look what you've done 'Cause baby, now we got bad blood (hey!) Now we got problems And I don't think we can solve 'em You made a really deep cut And baby, now we got bad blood (hey!)

“did you know they were going to do this?” megumi asks. 

you shake your head. 

“there’s no need to worry. i’m always prepared.” 

--

“unless i’m not mistaken, you didn’t catch any strays tonight. how can one be so lucky?” shoko jokes. 

“we can’t all be the chosen ones.” sukuna responds back. 

“the night is still young. a girl can only dream.” shoko responds. 

sukuna rolls his eyes before smiling at her and trying to shake shoko’s grasp off of him, as he turns his attention back to the stage. with the event in full swing, he was allowed to return to the central table, only because the group of them around him to keep track of him. 

shoyo’s doing, he was sure. 

but he’s sure that shoyo was somewhere fast asleep in his bed right now, having the most restful nap he’s taken in months. sukuna’s inclined that he’ll feel the same way tonight when he goes to bed, with the promise of no scolding from his team since he did, in fact, not catch aimee’s wrath tonight. 

it was attributed to someone else tonight. he’s not exactly sure who, but at this point, all he can do is be thankful that it wasn't him. 

“who were you talking to earlier?” shoko asks. 

“fans who got invited to the event.” sukuna responds. 

“poor girls. they got assaulted by the smell of your cologne and had to lose brain cells by talking to you?” shoko jokes. 

sukuna scoffs. 

“that already happened when you walked into the room. don’t kid yourself, ieiri.” 

“you should learn some manners. is that any way to talk to a woman?” shoko asks. 

“can you guys shut the fuck up?” 

shoko and sukuna turn their heads to the left to find satoru standing there, eyes razor focused and glued to the stage. 

“what stick is up your ass?” shoko asks. 

“it’s y/n’s turn to perform.” satoru seethes. 

shoko snorts. 

“don’t tell me that your dream girl is in attendance? how are you even standing straight right now?” shoko asks. 

“pure adrenaline, bitch.” satoru responds. 

sukuna and shoko widen their eyes as they share a look – a quiet communication that satoru’s being more erratic than normal and to leave him be – as they turn their attention back to the stage. 

the bright lights shine red on the stage as the visuals go up, a twisting and turning illusion against the back screen. there’s a rising platform in the center and all he gets a glimpse of are sparkly star tights. 

La-da-da-da, da-da-da, la-da-da-da-da La-da-da-da, da-da-da

If I told you how much I think about her You'd think I was in love And if you knew how much I looked at her pictures You would think we're best friends

'Cause I know her star sign, I know her blood type I've seen every movie she's been in and, oh god, she's beautiful And I know you loved her, and I know I'm butthurt But I can't help it, no, I can't help it

I'm so obsessed with your ex (uh-huh) I know she's been asleep on my side of your bed And I can feel it I'm starin' at her like I wanna get hurt And I remember every detail you have ever told me So be careful, baby

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) Yeah, I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) La-da-da-da, da-da-da

sukuna can feel his heart pounding in his throat. he grabs yuuji by the shoulder, yanking him close from the fabric of his shirt, and whispers. 

“who is that?” 

“were you born under a rock? that’s y/n.” 

sukuna watches as you skip around the stage, bathed in the dark red lights surrounding the stage and the visuals with you in the background. 

maybe sukuna was born under a rock. he was one thousand percent sure that he would remember something like this. 

“the guy that was up with aimee earlier. she’s jake’s ex-girlfriend. they were singing about her.” yuuji whispers. 

“is she singing about aimee?” sukuna asks. 

yuuji nods. 

“they have some weird twisted history. especially with jake, i think. him and aimee have had eyes for each other since like…forever.” 

he watches as you walk over to the left side of the stage, crouching down into the view of the camera and right across from where jake and aimee are sitting, irritated looks painted on their faces. 

sukuna notes that you're looking right at them. full blown, direct eye contact.

Is she friends with your friends? Does she give great head?  Do you think about her? No, I'm fine, it doesn't matter, tell me Is she easy-going? Never controlling? Well-traveled? Well-read? Oh god, she makes me so upset

I'm so obsessed with your ex (ah) She's been asleep on my side in your bed (ah, whoa) I'm so obsessed with your ex (god, she makes me so upset, ah) I'm so obsessed with your, with your ex

sukuna’s frustration compounds again. 

because he can’t simply understand how he’s the one getting publicly punished, when aimee’s been in love with some other guy the entire time. and that knowing her, she most definitely leaked the news about how she was blindsided on purpose, just to ruin his career. 

“if i was y/n, i’d just punch them both in the face. then start dating one of her boyfriends or something.” shoko states.

the idea comes to sukuna almost instantly. and he makes a mental note to apologize to shoyo later.  

--

when you get off the stage and retreat back to your table near the wall, you quickly scan through your texts from mimi. 

[mimi]: Three versions slated for release. Could potentially block you getting the #1 spot. 

[mimi]: Fingers crossed, but things are faring over well. People love the song.  

[mimi]: Obviously. 

you set the phone face down at the table and sink down into your chair. you don’t even get a second to think because before you know it, someone’s slid into the chair right across from you, hunched forward into your space over the small chair. 

pink hair, arms littered with tattoos. there was something oddly familiar about him. 

“you’re just the girl i wanted to see.” he states. 

you narrow your eyes at him. you’re unsure which one he is. producers trying to poach for their studio, people looking to network, or the perverts that somehow get let into events like this. 

“is that right?” you ask, tone dry. 

the guy offers you an over-eager nod, accompanied with a glimmering smirk. 

he’s attractive and you can tell from the look on his face that he knows it. for some reason, you’re almost positive that he makes sure of it. toned muscles, hair so perfect that it has to be styled. to the point where it feels calculated.

you lean forward, placing your cheek in the palm of your hand as you smile right back at him. he leans forward almost immediately. it was almost too easy. 

“i don’t think we’ve ever met before. i’d think i’d remember that.” you respond. 

“only in my dreams.” 

you fight the urge to scoff. you’re sure that one worked out well for him in the past. It's the only reason someone would say something so corny and mean it.

you hold your hand out to him, noting that he extends the handshake for far too long. 

“y/n.”

“ryomen sukuna.” 

that’s where you knew him from. this was megumi’s co-star. romeo’s brother. 

“from jujutsu kaisen, right?” you ask. 

sukuna gives you a glimmering grin. you note that he has a dimple on the left side. 

“know everything about me, don’t you?” 

you snort. 

“sure do. you’ve got me all figured out, sweetheart.” you deadpan. 

sukuna leans back, narrowing his eyes at the comment. you can tell that he’s rethinking what to say next. 

“i know about the show because of megumi.” you clarify. 

“we go way back.” sukuna responds. 

you lean back against the chair and cross your arms over your chest. you've got him right where you want him.

“really?” you ask. 

sukuna nods. 

“when did you meet him?” 

“elementary school. he was always the quiet type.” 

sukuna pauses. 

“speaking of types, what’s yours?” 

you fight the urge to laugh. there was no way he could truly be this forward. but then again, you figure his deep urge to get back at aimee right now was probably inhibiting his good judgement at the current moment. 

“why do you ask?” 

“you’re a smart girl. i know you can figure it out.” 

you take the bait. 

“i’ll give it a shot.” you respond. 

“that’s my girl.” 

you smile before leaning forward to make sure that he hears you properly. 

“your name is ryomen sukuna. indie actor for the most part, but you recently got signed on as part of the lead ensemble for mappa’s new show, jujutsu kaisen. you’ve gotten pretty far considering all things, which i’m sure comes as a byproduct of the whole charm bit that you do and from what i’ve heard, some pretty decent acting. and while you’ve done mostly well, you made the brutal mistake of becoming a social pariah by dancing with the tabloid devil, aimee lynch. you’ve ended up on their bad side and now, in some weird type of way – i’ll admit, i’m not exactly sure how – are trying to elicit my help to get you back in people’s good graces. by lying, of course.” 

you watch as sukuna’s eyes widen, before he leans back, his cheeks the slightest shade of pink as he swallows hard. and you give him your sincerest smile before pulling out your phone and digging for the photo in your favorites. 

of you and megumi in grade school, standing hand in hand. 

“i think i’d remember if the human version of pinkie pie from my little pony was running around my elementary school, sukuna.” you state. 

and shockingly enough, he only gives you a smile in response – like he’s almost delighted by the fact that what you've just read caught him in a lie– as he sticks his tongue in the side of his cheek and makes a clicking sound. 

“got me all figured out, don’t you dollface?” 

“you’re painfully obvious, like most men. i’ll see you around, sukuna.” you respond, as you turn on your heel to walk away. 

but he’s almost too fast with it, slithering his hand down from your elbow to your wrist, pulling slightly to beckon you to turn back. and he gives you an…a more earnest smile this time as he raises your knuckles to his lips, and leaves a kiss in between the pointer in the middle. 

“that’s a promise, sweetheart.” 

--

--

next part linked here

an: hi!!!! welcome back to the dream girl universe - I thank you for your patience <3 i'll be using the old dream girl taglist, but let me know if you would like to be taken off!!!

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[evermoredeluxe]

How Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour Took Over the Entire World

By Chris Willman

By Alissa Gao for Variety

On the morning that Taylor Swift’s “Eras Tour” is about to begin a three-night stand in Dublin, the older gentleman taking charge of my passport at airport customs has clearly had his fill of Swifties, probably processing them by the hundreds already today. When I reveal myself to be one too — despite being arguably the wrong gender, inarguably old and lacking a telltale “Lover” mascara star over my right eye — his disdain is palpable. Suddenly, I’m getting way more screening questions than anyone not on a watch list should. “What do you like about her?” he sneers, peering up over specs.

This is probably the wrong time for me to point out Swift’s Irish heritage, or to assert that she is this generation’s James Joyce. (The original king of the Easter eggs, right?) I wouldn’t really go that far — I’m only on record as doing my best to certify her as this century’s Beatles. Trying to figure out how to answer him, the past 18 years of extolling Swift in print flash before my eyes. I end up murmuring the bare minimum: “Um, her songwriting.” This seems to disturb him further. He snaps back: “Aren’t they all the same song” — a slight pause, and I know what’s coming next — “about her breakups?” Then, abruptly, he stamps me through, sparing me a detour to Interpol for more grilling.

In the cab into town, the driver is blasting a local talk-radio personality sharing his dismay about the fans of an awful superstar taking over his country. The host reads an email sent in from a hater who says, “A year ago, when tickets went on sale, my partner and I made a reservation to take our kids out of the country this Friday morning. … Thank you for creating a safe space with your show.” I start to wonder if Swift might have met her match at the Cliffs of Moher.

But from my drop-off forward, the next three days are like living in a Swift-topia. The mile and a half to Aviva Stadium each night is like Disneyland when it shuts its doors early for an affinity group. Whether stopping in the pubs or walking through the charming neighborhood of Victorian brick homes adjoining the fancy new stadium, there’s that warm feeling of people who are united by one quality: They are all super in touch with their feelings — or else they wouldn’t be Swift fans. And they all are happy to stop on the street or over pints to talk about poetical expression. (Well, except for the occasional taciturn, invariably straight young male who has signified his supportive-plus-one status by wearing a jersey bearing the name of Swift’s Super Bowl beau, Travis Kelce.)

So it is that I end up chatting with a middle-aged gay man in a sequin-covered shirt whose female companion whispers to me, while he steps away to trade friendship bracelets with a 10-year-old girl and her mum, that Swift’s music just helped him through a difficult breakup. The girl then runs off to trade her homemade bracelets with a pair of high-helmeted Dublin policemen loaded up to their own elbows with friendship swag — unexpected accessories for long arms of the law.

All the stories about American Swifties swarming overseas to catch “The Eras Tour” turn out to be true: You couldn’t swing a neon golf club around here without hitting a Yank. Approximately one out of every five fans I approach is visiting from the States — and the jubilation they’re feeling about the night’s impending concert is compounded by the fact that nearly all of them financed a European vacation and a concert ticket for roughly the same amount they would have paid on a secondary ticketing site for a typical four-figure ticket to one of last year’s predatorily repriced U.S. shows.

Remember the venerable stereotype of the Ugly Americans, brusquely trampling over refined Europeans in their travels? Thanks to Taylor Swift, who has a gift for laying out global welcome mats, this is the summer of the Spangly American.

At the stadium on night one, just down the row from me are a group of millennials from New Jersey, several in glam unitards inspired by the “Lover” or “1989” portions of the career-spanning show and looking like they were costumed by Swift’s own designer, with fake jewel-encrusted microphones to match. I ask how many hours went into perfecting these nearly pro-grade outfits.

“About 80 hours for mine,” says Megan McLaughlin. “Hers probably longer,” she adds, nodding toward one of her sisters, Margo Steinberg. “She knows all the glues and the best gems.” Indeed, confirms Steinberg, “I was working on mine since January. And, yes, I did quit my job to finish it!” She adds, when I ask if she cares to share any secrets to a particularly good look, “You have to use the B-7000 glue.” (A third sister, Amelia McLaughlin, admits she resorted to buying her spangly dress off Etsy — “I was doing a PhD, but I had to match these girls’ enthusiasm” — while a fourth, Carolyn McLaughlin, skipped the glitter and went for a red dress that matches Swift’s from the “I Bet You Think About Me” video.)

Certainly, there is an element of cosplay to many of the fans’ outfits. Some have seen footage of the new segment Swift added to the tour beginning in April 2024 — devoted to her most recent album, the 31-song “Tortured Poets Department” — and have managed to manufacture gowns that look like they’re made of paper and feature lyric excerpts printed on them in script, à la Swift’s custom-made Vivienne Westwood dress. I meet a group of American women who became friends as literature majors in college who have “Tortured Poets”-themed outfits, one duplicating the Westwood dress and the other with handmade printouts of the latest album’s lyrics pinned all over her black dress, as if she were literally pulling pages out of Swift’s playbook.

It’s the devotion to lyrics, even more than glitter, that is most impressive about the bespoke outfits fans have concocted for the occasion. There are scores and scores of Swifties wearing homemade T-shirts — sometimes singular, sometimes matching with a friend, like walking Burma-Shave signs. Some of the messages are obvious, like the dozens of laddies wearing “It’s me, hi, I’m the husband/boyfriend/father, it’s me” shirts. (Bet that seemed really original at one time.) But a lot of them refer to more obscure songs or stanzas, as if every nearby street or stadium loge section is full of human Easter eggs, begging to be unpacked. It’s hard to think of any other superstar in the history of stadium tours who could have inspired as much fan-crafted clothing rooted in the power of words.

Combos of middle-aged mothers and their teen or 20-something daughters abound; some of them have seized on Swift’s mentions of her own mother, Andrea, to come up with their T-shirt ideas. On Lansdowne Road, I talk to a mum whose red-on-black shirt says, “Had to listen to all this drama,” accompanied by a daughter bearing the legend, “And here’s to my mama.” (This is a reference to Swift’s song “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things.”)

Later, in a stadium Guinness line, I chat up a pair of thirsty locals, the daughter’s shirt reading “I call my mom, she said …,” with the mom’s shirt completing the thought: “It was for the best.” (Damn it, I had to Google to recall that’s from a “1989” Vault track that came out last year.) I ask the daughter if she had to explain to her mom what she was wearing. “She’s 52,” she replies. “I don’t think she knows.”

Age is really no guarantor of not getting it — the popular #SwiftieOver50 hashtag on X proves that. Although outnumbered, plenty of older people are unaccompanied by a minor, or by anyone who has been a minor in the past 20 years. I approach a middle-aged couple, Jean Sebastian Conley and Natasha Gagne, again bidden by their matching shirts — “Who’s Taylor Swift?” and “Who’s Travis Kelce?” They turn out to be French Canadians who found their 206-euro SRO tickets to be a steal compared with the extravagant resale prices they briefly considered back home after being shut out of the initial on-sale. I ask what attracted them to Swift since, unlike so many others here, they didn’t grow up with her.

“I really fell in love with her with the ‘Folklore’ album,” Conley says, referring to her low-key Grammy-winning album recorded during the early months of the pandemic. “I think different audiences and older audiences found her through that and ‘Evermore’ because they were more singer-songwriter, a little bit rougher indie music, and that’s what we like most. So that’s how I got hooked.” For her part, Gagne says, “I like everything she represents. And when she redid all her masters, that’s where I thought she was a lady boss.”

It’s a reminder that, for however many mini-narratives Swift packs into the three hours and 20 minutes of an “Eras” show, there are really four or five years of backstory that feed into the audience’s shared awareness. When she sings the ominous ballad “My Tears Ricochet,” accompanied by a coven of stone-faced dancers, at least some fans will understand it as a distant reflection of her very public feelings about the men she considers her business bêtes noires, Scooter Braun and Scott Borchetta, who bought and sold (respectively) the rights to her first six albums, spawning much vitriol as well as four “Taylor’s Version” rerecorded albums to date.

When the dancers put their grins back on, Swift plays an ebullient excerpt of a very recent “Poets” bonus track, “So High School,” which every person in the crowd will know is inspired by Kelce. There are some breakup songs of recent vintage too — yes, Mr. Customs Man! — like “The Smallest Man in the World,” which may or may not have cost Matty Healy, the 1975 frontman and former Swift paramour, a night of sleep.

The whole tour is themed around not just the newer records but the rerecordings that have made every older album in her catalog feel improbably fresh. It was, quite possibly, the single most baller move in the history of the record industry … and led to the career-retrospective concept for what is already unquestionably the biggest tour in the history of popular music.

Any discussion of the charms of fandom isn’t meant to forestall discussion of “The Eras Tour” as big business. The numbers are fuzzy because Swift’s camp does not release grosses from her shows, unlike nearly every other artist at the stadium or arena level. Even when the tour wraps after 20 months on Dec. 8 in Vancouver, it seems likely those numbers will continue to be guarded with a zeal on par with the government of North Korea’s. Many industry experts believe the gross will approach or even surpass $2 billion.

What is known for certain — even without a confirmation from Swift World — is that she broke the all-time tour-gross figure when she hit the $1 billion mark, whenever exactly that might have been. The two trade publications that specialize in the touring industry have slightly differing estimates: Billboard calculated a cumulative gross of approximately $900 million when she took a break at the end of 2023, figuring that she would crack $1 billion shortly into the tour’s resumption in April, while Pollstar estimated that she had passed $1 billion by the conclusion of last year. Any way you guesstimate it, Swift took less than a year to break the previous record of $939.1 million, which Elton John grossed with his “Farewell Yellow Brick Road” tour across nearly three years of shows.

One source close to the production said early in the “Eras Tour” era that her average gross each night is $14 million. Others believe that is a highly conservative estimate, with a possible total that on at least some nights edges closer to $17 million. One remarkable aspect is that this does not include the revenue from any inflated resale tickets — which, as anyone who has tried to get tickets through Vivid Seats or StubHub knows, mostly have gone for several times their face value. It was little publicized, but Swift had “dynamic pricing” turned off for her ticket sales, possibly to avoid the controversies Bruce Springsteen encountered when the face value on some of his tickets leaped to the four-figure range upon their first sale. Swift left money on the table by not participating in the scalping of her own tickets, which had an average price of around $230 and topped out at $499, excepting VIP packages, which zenithed at $899 — all well short of what some other superstars ask nowadays. Of course, neither Argentina nor anyone at Wembley Stadium ahead of Swift’s opening night performance in June will be crying for her when she’s in reach of $2 billion without the resale inflation … not to mention the hundreds of millions of dollars in merch.

(This is extraordinary also because Swift hasn’t done any press to promote the tour, except for when she was selected as Time Magazine’s Person of the Year in December. But she doesn’t need to — the tour is constantly being celebrated on social media with every outfit change. And it’s also become so huge, it’s featured more A-list sightings than the Oscars, from Julia Roberts to Tom Cruise to Stevie Nicks, who had the surprise song “You’re on Your Own, Kid” dedicated to her in Dublin.)

Benson Boone, whose “Beautiful Things” is the most-streamed song of 2024 in the U.S. and the world, says he felt dwarfed when performing as the opening act at one of Swift’s seven shows at London’s Wembley Stadium. He has forever committed to memory the exact attendance figure he was given for the night: “89,497,” he says. “Just her stage alone is bigger than anything I’ve ever seen — 300 feet of it!” he says. “I took in every moment. It was cool for me to experience another artist’s world and learn from it. I want to work that hard and be the captain of my ship.”

Although it’s maddening to a media that likes official box office reports and can’t get them, it’s easy to see the wisdom in not flaunting those figures if you’re a superstar artist who counts on being seen as relatable. Swift certainly is proud of breaking records — she posted a tweet when “The Tortured Poets Department” spent its first 12 weeks at No. 1 on the album chart, one of only three albums in history to do so. But she’d rather count fan impressions than dollars. By the same token, she doesn’t publicize or confirm acts of generosity that leak out, like the sizable food-bank donations she makes in every city she tours, or the $100,000 bonuses that the tour’s 50 truck drivers reportedly got for Christmas.

An addendum to all this is how the “Eras Tour” film — released last fall, less than halfway through the actual tour — grossed just over $180 million domestically and $261 million globally, beating the records set by Justin Bieber’s concert film in the U.S. and Michael Jackson’s globally. Massive big-screen spoilers only heightened, rather than diminished, resale demand for the shows yet to come on the 152-date tour and helped precipitate the movement among Americans to head overseas, to make up for the supply found sorely lacking at home.

“She is the torchbearer for the live industry,” says Andy Gensler, editor of Pollstar. “It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before, and it’ll be a long time before we see it again. Her timing was exquisite: The pandemic created this yearning and hunger for live entertainment like nothing else in our history, so she couldn’t have picked a better time to go out.” Pollstar called last year a “historic golden age” for touring, as the top 100 global tours collectively surpassed $9 billion — up 46% from 2022 — with Swift obviously contributing a significant chunk of that total. (This year, the trade reports that overall tour attendance is down, with flat grosses, representing a slight reckoning for the live industry that, obviously, isn’t impacting “Eras.”)

“What my partners and I talk a lot about is how it’s one thing to have a big tour in North America. It’s another thing to have an equally big tour wherever you are in the world and to do doubles and triples in these markets,” says Bernie Cahill, an Activist founding partner and manager of acts including the Grateful Dead and the Lumineers. “It’s an anomaly. It’s not normal. And don’t forget, you’re going into what I call asymmetric venues, which are venues that are not really built for music; these are venues that are built for football games or soccer games and can be very challenging to do music. And they get it right every time — Louis Messina [Swift’s tour promoter since her earliest days] and his team are world-class.” But for all that globe-trotting, he notes, “there are some artists that you see do a show and you know they don’t even know what city they’re in. I always feel like Taylor knows exactly where she is. She has a relationship with that city or that market and those fans and she’s connected to them in ways that are very authentic, that you can’t fake.”

The one big snafu in the rollout of “The Eras Tour” occurred in November 2022 when the Ticketmaster system melted down after too many North American dates went on sale at once, causing thousands of fans to experience long delays. The on-sale broke the all-time record for tickets sold in a single day at 2 million, but it also nearly broke the world’s largest ticketing platform. Swift herself was Teflon in this situation, as the blame fell on a ticketing system not capable of handling so much of the Swift-loving world at once. And although most of the problems people have with Ticketmaster are different from what fans faced in the “Eras Tour” debacle — mainly, hidden fees and monopolistic practices — it could have big legislative consequences anyway. Dean Budnick, co-author of “Ticket Masters: The Rise of the Concert Industry and How the Public Got Scalped,” believes that the Swift hullabaloo was the main catalyst for Congress enacting reform. “There’s no question that perhaps there’s gonna be some meaningful change in ticketing as a result of what people experienced with that on-sale.”

That sense Cahill spoke about of the singer making it clear to an audience she knows exactly where she’s at is in full force in Dublin. Swift introduces the “Folklore”/”Evermore” segment by suggesting that she had a spiritual locale in mind when she started writing that more intimate material, locked in during the first part of the pandemic. “It keeps me up at night all year long: Which era is the most Irish?” she half-jokes to the crowd. “I’m gonna make a case for it being ‘Folklore’ … This album’s imaginary world had a whole aesthetic — like I lived in this cabin in a really green, nature-y, moss-covered landscape. You see where I’m going?… Another thing that I think makes it more Irish than the other eras is, ‘Folklore’ was all about storytelling. And I know you hear this a lot, but you guys are naturally gifted storytellers, right?”

Later on, Swift will cement the local connection by playing, as a “secret” surprise acoustic song, “Sweet Nothing.” She doesn’t have to give the crowd any explanation for that: From the first notes, Irish Swifties will immediately recall that the lyrics reference to the coastal town of Wicklow. The real cherry on top of the show for locals at any international Eras Tour stop, though, comes with a customized moment each night during “We Are Never Getting Back Together” when the spotlight is put on backing dancer Kameron Saunders for a couple of seconds, as he blurts out something locally appropriate, and cheeky. One night in Dublin, it’s the Irish catchphrase “the neck of ye!”; on another, he yells out “pog mo thoin,” meaning “kiss my ass!”; the massive, knowing laugh that inside joke gets makes it clear this isn’t entirely an audience of American tourists after all.

But the basic theatrics and emotional currents remain consistent from show to show. If Swift is surprisingly reticent to make her “Eras Tour” numbers public, that may be, in part, her desire to keep the focus primarily on a personal fan connection. Music industry veterans are taken aback by Swift’s ability to be giant and intimate onstage. “She’s a master marketer of herself — and she is not afraid to be vulnerable to her fans,” says Michele Bernstein, who runs a consultancy that works with stars like Drake. Bernstein could almost be quoting the lyrics of “Mastermind,” where Swift describes herself in almost comically omniscient terms, then dives into a bridge about how no one would play with her as a little girl.

People like my guardian of the customs gate may complain about Swift’s songs centering on her romantic splits, but that subject matter magnifies her own insecurities and weaknesses, expressed in genuinely eccentric wordplay, in ways that keep the audience in thrall to someone they perceive as a humble underdog as well as a veritable cage fighter. She could do a $10 billion tour someday and still keep the crowd enraptured by how she measures up to, or rallies to exceed, the smallest man — or men, or Kardashians — in the world.

This plays out in the “Eras” show in all sorts of symbolic ways, like the new segment in the “Tortured Poets” section where she seems to have fainted from the vapors of failed romance. Dancers in tuxedos try to revive her while a swing version of “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart” plays over the PA. A pair of women dressed as nurses fit her with what looks like a majorette’s uniform — or, with all its off-white stripes, is it really meant to resemble a straitjacket? The resemblance is probably not coincidental. Swift fans know there’s nothing like a mad woman.

The most exhilarating moment that has been added to the show this year has her gliding down the ramp on a platform, appearing to anyone at floor level like she is levitating like the witch she makes herself out to be in “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” Taylor Swift: She was Agatha all along!

Yes, there is much to unpack. But in Dublin and in every other city where “Eras” has alighted, there is also pure inspiration for those who maybe haven’t always felt like they’ve had a voice, whether it’s her LGBTQ+ fan base or, well, women. It’s a modern transmutation of Beatlemania in which Swift manages to be all four Fabs, and a mirror, as well as object, of that gaze. You don’t have to be a woman to experience the explosion of pure female joy that takes place on a mass scale at an “Eras” gig, but for men, it doesn’t hurt to have a healthy sense of where you might sit on the female spectrum.

Outside Aviva Stadium, two young Londoners have formed their own two-woman straight-gay alliance: One is wearing a shirt with the hand- drawn words “You’re obsessive and crazy,” and the other’s shirt has the phrase “You’re gay,” each with an arrow pointing to the other. This echoes the original lyrics to Swift’s 2006 oldie “Picture to Burn,” which was rerecorded after some were offended by “gay” as a possible teen epithet. “I am obsessive and crazy, and she is gay,” laughs Zoe Gibson, pointing to her friend, India Day. “We want to bring back the original lyrics. We never found them homophobic — we want to reclaim it.” Day adds, “We’ve listened to her since we were 4 years old, so obviously there’s the nostalgia factor. But for me, she speaks on quite a lot of issues like gay rights and feminism, and all of her songs perfectly sum up the experience of being a woman.”

Some of the shirts are apropos for Pride Month. Seeing a boy of no older than 15 or 16 wearing a homemade “But Daddy I Love Him” shirt (the title of a “Tortured Poets” fan favorite), it’s easy to imagine some courage was required to don that apparel. Along the same lines, I spot any number of women making their own statement in shirts with the modified exclamation “But Daddy I Love Her.”

Gay or straight, 6 years old or 60-something, female or just female-allied, the crowd inside gets its sway on early in the show, with the arrival of the gentle, waltz-time “Lover.” It’s not one of the big set-pieces of this nonstop Broadway-style production — the spotlight is just on Swift and her acoustic guitar — but it might be the one where the entire audience feels like it’s at a four-minute campfire. No wicked witchiness here, just winsomeness.

Down on the floor, I’m seeing what amounts to a Taylor Swift mosh pit: gangs of two or three or five young women, ignoring the fact that Swift herself is just yards away from them on the ramp. They’re singing and acting out every last line to each other, as if the superstar isn’t even towering right over them. A waste of their euros? Hardly. Swift will capture their full attention again as the show proceeds, but in the moment, she isn’t just a superstar — she might be the world’s greatest community organizer.

[pshbites]

the word zionist / zionism. 

To preface, these are my own thoughts and beliefs. I am not making this post to bash any writers on this platform because I believe enough of that is already happening. This post is rather being made to spread awareness of what I believe is going on.

The word Zionism in my own terms, if I were asked to describe it in front of people, would be the belief of the ethnic cleansing of Palestine and ridding Palestinians of their own home. If i were asked as a muslim to describe it, my answer would be different. The answer I would give would be the ethnic cleansing of palestine and ridding palestinians of their own home because they are muslims. In short, killing muslims in the benefit to ethnic cleansing. Now that the term has been defined I think most can agree why this term is so loaded, the term in itself has connotations to islamophobia and many muslim mutuals of mine agree that this term is heavy and loaded.

To accuse someone of being a zionist (someone who follows zionism) is a hefty statement and can be plausible if the correct evidence has been provided. That isn't the case from what I’ve seen though. Two of my close mutuals have been accused of being as such by other writers. Seeing as I am muslim and I believe, muslims more than anyone have more reason to believe who is and who is not a zionist, I decided to message them myself. 

This conversation ended rather quickly because I blocked the person, okwonyo, involved. To accuse a muslim of being a zionist is one thing, but to claim that “being muslim has nothing to do with this” is another. Calling people zionists is not something that can be brushed past so easily and the only evidence being that the person involved had a Lana Del Rey song as her fic title? To put it simply, it shows where your real activism lies and that is to villainize others for no reason.

I agree, supporting zionism is bad, I agree with that more than anyone. But to focus on such a miniscule detail when you claim to want better for palestine, well that defeats the whole purpose. If this writer and their mutuals claim that this is an act of zionism then let's open up a case. If having your fic title as a lana del rey song is equated to being a zionist, then writing for enhypen or any other kpop group makes you one as well.

According to this writer's logic, if writing any sort of fic related to a song by a zionist makes you one, then writing for kpop idols under zionist companies makes you just as bad. You cannot have your cake and eat it too. You cannot stream enhypen or other kpop groups if you claim that you can't separate art from the artist, well then your genre of kpop is gone as a whole along with other musicians you like such as ariana grande, taylor swift, the weekend, and billie eilish, to name some. 

My point here is that if you claim that you can't separate art from the artist, then hold that same candle to your own favs, kpop or otherwise. This was never about the lana del rey fic title but rather about the fact that your activism will only matter to you when you want to villainize someone for something. I have seen performative activism and this is a call out to ALL writers and not just one.

If you want to sit behind your screen and accuse zionism on someone, then go and use a genocide to paint them as a villain to your band of supporters, you are wasting time. Time is being wasted every second you do this to someone (surprisingly enough it didn't happen once) and instead if you claim that you care so much about Palestine then go out and do something about it. Like I said previously, go donate, attend rallies and protests, support your local mosques, boycott things that REALLY matter. If you would do these things rather than blindly attacking someone for no reason and accusing them of being part of such a disgusting group of people, you would be doing a lot more for palestine. 

If I were to be honest, all I see from fellow writers on this app is performative activism. I have grown up knowing the genocide occurring in palestine and I have always attended protests and donated funds for as long as I can remember. I am not saying that you are lacking if you don’t do these things, but to only bring up this genocide when you want to attack someone, that is the real issue. You cannot just add a link in your bio or pinned for the sake of your followers. If you are not constantly talking about or spreading awareness for this terrible genocide that’s been occurring since the 1940s then you are a part of the problem. 

This genocide does not only exist on your phones. To sit behind a screen and only talk about it then, it diminishes all the activism you have and liquifies you to what you are and that is a performative activist. Once again, performative activism has never been cute and if this genocide only exists in the bounds of trying to villainize others, then you are just as bad as the group you claim to be so far against. 

tagging some mutuals for exposure. @cupidhoons @ourhees @elysianiki @kairoot @suneng @hyuckworld @lqfiles @jayparked @selleprotection @fatalhoon @enhastars @coqhee @leeechin

[baddestbittyontheblock]

yu jimin (karina) fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

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my favs= ❁

ᥫ᭡ the model and the muse ❁ by @constantinerkives model! karina x non-celeb fem reader | established relationship, secret relationship - well, not anymore IG, jealousy haha, Karina is FERAL for you in a soft way, territorial Rina, soft ending, I think that's pretty much it

-when you care for someone - love someone, sacrifices are made. 

ᥫ᭡ home by @chaepu idol!yoo jimin x idol!reader | fluff

-karina stares at her phone while she waits for your video to load in and after a few seconds, your face appears on her screen, but very pixelated.

ᥫ᭡ behind closed doors by @laurentpark karina x aespa! eader | fluff

-you and your girlfriend managed to keep your relationship a secret and away from the public eye, but that doesn't mean people are convinced you two aren't inlove.

ᥫ᭡ moving along by @phamminji non-idol!yu jimin x fem!reader | 2.3k

-"what's your problem?!"

"you're the problem, y/n."

ᥫ᭡ karina drabble by @kimsohn karina x fem!reader | fluff, reader shorter than karina

-“you're really adorable, you know?”

“you're so obsessed with me, love”

ᥫ᭡ keep going by @deong ceo!g!p karina x fem!reader | dom karina, sub reader, smut, dry humping, riding, fingering, cursing, 1.08k

-a loud sigh can be heard from one of the offices in yu enterprises’

ᥫ᭡ through the night by @1104-am idol!karina x idol!gnreader | fluff, angst, 7k+

-the cold night breeze slaps your face the second you step out of your apartment building, sending your hair flying back as you made sure no one was around to see you out.

ᥫ᭡ back to december by ^ karina x gn!reader | based on taylor swift’s back to december, so highly recommend listening to it while reading!

-you fidgeted with your silverware, stealing glances at the entrance with each passing moment.

ᥫ᭡ 너랑 나 by @jiihu karina x reader | age difference (reader is 18, jimin is 27), slight power imbalance, doctor!jimin, slight angst, 2.6k

-meeting jimin at your birthday party your mom threw for you, you found yourself instantly infatuated with the older woman.

ᥫ᭡ smut fic by @rinafucks yoo jimin x female!reader | spitting, tribbing, toe sucking, oral (reader receiving)

-karina went to your dorms to visit her sister but ended up in your room instead.

ᥫ᭡ the only one i want (part 1) by @fayeforrosie karina x fem!reader

-karina knew she was pretty. she knew she had a chance with everyone, however, she was forever against any romantic relationships ever since she became an idol. why would she want anyone when all they ever do is love her for her fame and looks? she knew she could never find anyone perfect for her, so she gave up on romance... until she met you

ᥫ᭡ and so we meet (part:3) by ^ karina x fem!reader | 2.4k

-finally getting the chance to meet you, karina can’t help the butterflies swarming her stomach. Finding herself lost in your eyes, unaware of her members (un)patiently waiting at home for her arrival, anticipating how it went. part 3 to The Only One I Want

ᥫ᭡ karina drabble by @luvyeni sistersbestfriend!karina x fem!reader | smut, 18+ , usage of a vibrator , fingering, a little boob play , dirty talk

ᥫ᭡ to you by @ddoxhan karina x reader | fluff

-there's not a day I don't think of you, jimin showed you what love feels like

ᥫ᭡ roommate fic by @wintersera g!p jiminjeong x f!reader | overworking, threesome (reader receiving) , oral (giving), cockwarming at the end, praise, soft dom rina, um sorta dom winter?, subby reader, rina cums everywhere, 2.1k

-in the next two weeks you had an exam. and hell, you were stressing the fuck out.

ᥫ᭡ forever mine by @wintersera alpha!karina x omega!reader | OMEGAVERSE, maybe rina is a little possessive, smut (use of toys, biting, scratching, g!p rina, creampie, breeding kink)

-your alpha girlfriend was so sweet and caring, the best alpha you could ever wish for. unlike other alphas, she was never too aggressive with you, rather, she was too careful with you- biologically she should’ve been treating you like you were her toy for breeding, but i guess not. nonetheless she was still a great alpha girlfriend.

ᥫ᭡ karina teasing y/n by @jihyoruri yu jimin x 5th!member reader

-yn brought her knees to her chest as her and her leader sat on the floor, jimin’s arm rest over yn’s knees as she talks to the live, there’s more fans than usual since it’s not everyday that you see yn and jimin together alone.

[fangweaver2099]

𝐅 𝐀 𝐖 𝐍 𝐓 𝐄 𝐄 𝐓 𝐇 - CH 3 - KIDNAPPED BY ONE DIRECTION

MINORS DNI 18+ FIC

You’ve always liked the idea of having a dominant partner - BDSM was something you’ve read about, watched videos about.

Something you made Pinterest boards and aesthetic tumblr posts about when you were 18 and curious, the idea always sounded nice, but you’ve never done it in practice, not really. Sure you bought fuzzy handcuffs at a gag gift store once, but that didn’t really count.

You’re still a virgin.

You’ve always had that chronically awkward, workaholic type of vibe that made typical dating near impossible at worst and frustrating at best. Normal dating apps have proven fruitless and agitating. So poor curious little you talked yourself into making a fetlife account. You weren’t looking for true love, but at least you could get laid.

DM Request from: 10:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hello, Fawn.”

College was for new experiences after all.

CW: BDSM heavy/centric fic. Safe, Sane & Consensual. Miguel is your professor, but you both don't know that. Age Gap (Y/N is 23, Miguel is mid 30's)

TAG: @slut4oscarissac23 @iamtheprincess227 @haveclayeveryday @junehasnotbeenfound @thedevaxer @bunnibitez @kodzuminx @neteyamslovrr @cl3stevu @miguels-cock-piercings @dumn-little-bunny

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2

8/19/24 7:05 AM - WebRigger2099 - “Look at you, little Fawn; so delicious. You make me want to hunt you down like a wolf and tear that cute outfit off of you.”

You didn’t really hear what Aurora mentioned despite your reaction - did she know Dr. O’Hara? She did have a tendency for weird nicknames. She called Taylor “TayTay'' once and you swore you’ve never seen them so mad - they’d yelled something about Taylor Swift? You think? You weren't sure - you were way more focused on the fact that your professor needed to pull you aside for… something. 

Your thoughts immediately went to the worst case scenario. 

Did you accidentally plagiarize one of your papers? You’d seen videos of plagiarism checkers catching lines used in obscure fanfics before, could that have happened to you? Or did you completely flunk something and he was merely giving you a heads up before dropping you from his class and alerting the dean?

You never did get the opportunity to talk. Aurora seemed intent on talking his head off, and before the older man could get a word in, she had rushed everyone out of the classroom, chittering away like a parakeet. You didn’t particularly want to have a conversation with your least-favorite professor, so you quickly told him you’d speak to him on Wednesday about it. You tried to convince yourself that you were content with being ignorant to whatever problem he had with you for the weekend.

But even when you were loaded in the back of Aurora's 2012 Subaru Forester you couldn’t get your mind off it, not fully. Not like you had a means of distraction either, you kept opening telegram and then closing it. 

Because you were the tallest in the group, you always got the window seat…at least you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone in the back looking over your shoulder at your phone screen.

“Off to the shore now. I’ll make sure to take pics :3” - Fawnteeth - 8/19/24 12:05 PM [Read]

Your fingers were practically flying across the small screen as you chewed on your bottom lip. In a way it felt awkward messaging him, desperate for attention you hoped he would reply - you saw the indication he read the message instantly, but no reply came. You settled with scrolling instagram, he’d reply eventually. 

He was an adult - he had a life. 

Just like you. 

You had a life, right?

Totally. 

After a thankfully uneventful drive from NYC to Ocean Grove's beautiful beach and cozy little town. It was early enough that the beach wasn’t completely packed, blessedly, leaving plenty. You helped Kore and Taylor unpack the car, being the only one who could carry the umbrella. So you tugged it along as you saw Aurora with her girlfriend Cerice. 

The two met by accident at one of the many cheap bar stands that littered the shore. She was a lifeguard and Aurora had somehow flirted herself out of getting scolded when she was caught running with two margaritas in hand. 

(She may have been a short little thing but damn if Aurora could drink.) 

The two were inseparable when they got together, always attached at the hip. You swore Aurora would drive the three hours there every day if she had the time. Honestly, you found yourself occasionally wishing for something like what they had - their relationship was enviable with how affectionate they were, even if it made Taylor roll her eyes sometimes with how sickeningly cute they were. 

But you never really saw yourself as relationship material anyways, and besides the closest thing you had to a boyfriend was an old man that had made you cum with a bluetooth toy a couple times. You didn’t know his name, and, really, you weren’t even sure if it counted as a situationship, and he was currently leaving you on read…

(was he seriously that technologically inept? you knew he was older, but he had to know that leaving people on read was, like, insanely rude.)

As always, though, an impromptu beach day meant attempting to build a sand castle with Kore, Aurora, Babette and Cerice while Taylor acted weirdly dad-like, scoping out the beach, commenting on the tide and mumbling about sunscreen and adjusting the ‘god damn umbrella, christ’. 

They had a thing about skin cancer. It was the ginger in them. 

After you helped build the foundations, watching Aurora and Kore collect sticks and colorful shells in order to decorate the sandcastle which was still just its foundations. You settled down on a towel and pulled your phone out of your bag. You used your bag as a pillow, shaded under the umbrella as the day passed by.

You shouldn’t be thinking about college right now, nor what Dr. O’Hara was going to chat with you about. It didn’t matter that you had an essay due Monday and a report due Thursday. You’d get it all done the night before in a grind of glorious procrastination as you did on most assignments that required your attention for more than an hour. 

You wished Web had replied. It was strange that he hadn’t; usually, he was pretty quick to get back to you, but the fact that he had left you on read was strange. Maybe you’d do something to get his attention. 

You opened your phone and realized that your boobs looked great at this angle. Snapping a picture, you shot it Web’s way. He didn’t open it this time, but you could see that he had the app open before promptly closing after he got your notification. 

Weird. 

You ended up taking a nap listening to Aurora, Cerice and Kore chat away about the sand castle. You’d look up every so often and see Babs in the distance on her large pink colored donut floatie, and assumed Taylor was somewhere nearby.

In the end, you all walked the boardwalk, got ice cream at the little corner shop and collected seashells and sea glass. Babette found a red sea glass piece and you all freaked out at how rare it was. You all took pictures to post to your instagram stories, and Aurora made some offhand comment about her “Uncle Miggy” liking a post from a few weeks ago.

Overall, it was a huge relief to get away from the rest of your life. A tiny vacation, in a way. You kept checking Web’s messages… but again, you saw he had seen your photo but hadn’t replied. 

Maybe he was busy. 

After you had showered away sand and salt, moisturized and dressed in your favorite pajamas - an old t-shirt and loose sleep shorts - you pulled up the Canvas app. Nothing was due tonight, so you were good to cuddle up in your bed, pull up a movie, and relax. 

For a moment, you just stared at your phone. Were you desperate enough to text Web again? After all, this wasn’t normal. He always replied or said he was busy and would get back to you. He’d typically even shoot a ‘ busy next few days’ as a warning, not just… leave you high and dry like this. .

Did you upset him? Was it something that you did? Or - maybe he had some kind of emergency in his personal life? With how old he was, surely he had family, right? 

You went back and forth, if you messaged him again, that would be pretty pathetic. But everything about this situationship of yours was pretty pathetic if you thought about it for too long. He had purchased you, a girl he had just barely met, over 200 dollars in sex toys, and in exchange he had seen almost every inch of your body. 

Save your face of course, you’d even gotten lazy and let him see your tattoo a couple of times, he said it was pretty, and “fitting,” whatever that meant.

 You gave in and messaged him again.

“Heyy just got back home u up?” - Fawnteeth - 8/19/24 9:23 PM [Read]

You watched that message for hours, anxiously switching between Telegram, Tiktok, Instagram, and even Pinterest. You couldn’t even remember the last time you opened Pinterest, but you were desperate for anything to keep you distracted. Time seemed to crawl, and soon it was nearing 1 AM -

and he still hadn’t replied. 

You told yourself you were being silly, that there had to be a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why he wasn’t responding to you. You did your best to convince yourself, but you couldn’t ignore that gnawing feeling in your gut that something was deeply wrong. 

Maybe you should visit a doctor about getting you a prescription for anxiety medication…

You fell asleep waiting for his reply - the anxiety alone wasn’t enough to keep you up later than 2 AM. When you woke up and were conscious enough to register last night, you quickly scooped up your phone and scrolled through all of your notifications to find… that he had left you on read, and never replied. 

It just wasn’t like him. Something was clearly wrong.

The feeling of dread returned and went straight to your stomach again. You couldn’t bring yourself to get up yet, it was only 9 AM, and you didn’t have class till noon anyways. You sunk back into the comfort of your pillows and allowed the weight of your weighted blanket to crush you. You didn’t want to distract yourself, you just wanted to lay there and wallow. So you didn’t bother with the nervous routine of checking all of your apps and allowed yourself to wonder what you did.

You opened your phone against your better judgment, reading over the last few texts you sent him. 

(Did he think you were trying to get out of meeting up with him?)

“Hey, hope you’re okay. Not like you to not let me know if you’re gonna be gone.” - Fawnteeth - 8/20/24 11:53 AM [Read]

Did he find someone better than you? Prettier, smarter? Easier to get along with? Dread was where your mind went to first. You couldn’t come up with a logical explanation as to why this was happening. You knew you’d felt better once Web actually answered you, for fucks sake. But until he did it seemed that you were nothing more than a spider caught in a web of your own insecurities and anxiety, and no one had yet come to your rescue to cut you free.

Minutes turned to hours and soon the alarm you set yourself went off. 10:30, you needed to at least shower and get something in your stomach before you went to class. You couldn’t allow yourself to skip just because the internet man you’d grown attached to had decided to ghost you. You were pathetic, but you weren’t going to be that pathetic, no matter how much you really wanted to. Thankfully, all your other professors were way nicer than Dr. O’Hara.

You showered, ate oven-heated chicken nuggets with Taylor and made yourself at least somewhat presentable. You hated how much you craved Web’s attention and care - it was stupid how a man you barely knew had reduced you to this.

You looked at yourself in the mirror before heading out, you looked like shit, you knew that. Deep eyebags a clear indicator of a lack of sleep, your hair was still a bit damp from your rushed shower and you were pretty sure you hadn’t completely washed your conditioner out. It was up in a disgustingly messy bun, so it's not like it mattered anyways.

You tried to navigate the day as you typically would, aching for any shred of normalcy as a welcome distraction. You were halfway through one of your classes when you had to rush to a bathroom stall to have a silent panic attack. You were wiping your tears with the shitty paper-thin toilet paper when you decided to just head back home, consequences be damned.

On the subway back to your shared apartment, you took out your phone and sent a quick message to the group chat.

“Went home early, when all of you are back could you be as quiet as you can please? I’m sick and not feeling well :( ”  

You dropped your bag on the floor and kicked your shoes off into some uncaring corner of the room. The moment your head hit the pillow and you were curled up comfortably, you were out like a light. You weren’t sure how long you were asleep, but when you checked your phone It was about 5 am. You had a few notifications, the expected feel better soon wishes from your friends, some Instagram notifications, but nothing from Telegram. You didn’t bother checking it, you knew that the Read in italics seen underneath the last message you sent would only mock you further. Your roommates had at least done what you had asked, the whole place was quiet and still. They were all probably still asleep.

You didn’t bother to shower, instead crawling back into bed and watching Supernatural. You didn’t even like Supernatural - but you watched three episodes straight and fell asleep in your sweats on your bed with the sound of Dean yelling lulling you to sleep. 

Eventually, you woke up with sweat sticking to the back of your neck. You felt gross and it made you shiver. It was 11AM and you knew you had classes. You convinced yourself to take a shower, but forgot to eat. You ended up getting coffee and a bagel on the way to class. 

It wasn’t a very good bagel. 

But hey, you did ace your first test in calculus - take that, Dr. O’Hara. You were good at math. 

You messaged Web again when you took the subway back home.

“Did I do something? I’m really getting worried.” - Fawnteeth - 8/21/24 5:28 PM [Read]

He was getting your messages, reading them clearly, and yet he was choosing at this point not to reply. You were truly getting ghosted at this point, and the realization that Web was probably not ever going to respond to you hit you like a brick to the head. You tried not to cry on the subway, you did not want to be that girl who cried on the subway over getting ghosted on Fetlife.

When you got back to your apartment, you once again shed your shoes and outdoor clothes, and crawled back into bed. You ignored everyones concerned looks and mumbled to Aurora that you were fine and just tired when she knocked on your door to check on you. You appreciated the gesture, but you did not want to talk to anyone right now, and you didn’t have the energy to deal with Aurora's animated personality at the moment.

Despite the exhaustion you felt, you couldn’t sleep. The silence of your room was deafening, and the complete lack of message notifications you were getting only made you want to cry. You let out a shaky sigh as a few stray tears dripped down your cheeks. You weren’t in public, you were in the enclosure of your own room with only a few stuffed animals as your witness. You could cry now, this was probably the best place to cry.

Yet despite how badly you wanted to, how you wanted to scream and sob and fall apart until you were a heap of sweat and snot on your bed, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything more than shed a couple more tears. You didn’t eat dinner that night, you felt like if you tried to you’d just puke it all up.

If Web knew you weren’t eating, he’d scold you, maybe even punish you. You wished he would, punishment, no matter how painful it was and how sore it made you, was better than this. You wanted to go into your messages, confess to every skipped meal, missed shower and late bedtime, to put it all in writing in the hopes of getting some kind of reaction from him, even if he was busy. Probably busy with some new girl that he was talking to that had bigger boobs than you and a cuter pussy. He was probably telling her to write the praises and sweet words meant for you on her body.

You felt like throwing up.

You were being completely pathetic now, you knew that. But now you were too sad and too hurt to care. Maybe if you bothered him enough, you’d get some kind of response. Closure maybe? Taylor told you when you broke up with your last boyfriend that you deserved closure, so this probably wasn’t any different 

“I do want to meet up, if that was a problem… I’m not trying to lead you on. Please” - Fawnteeth - 8/21/24 11:45 PM [Read]

You doomscrolled for an hour before you turned your phone off completely and went to bed.

You woke up to your alarm, feeling like shit just like the past few mornings. You forgot to shower again, and planned on skipping breakfast before Babs stopped you and pushed a protein bar into your hands. You ate it to make her happy, and it did help a little, even if you hated the peanut butter flavor.

As much as you wanted to skip class again today, you knew you couldn’t. You had Dr. O’Hara’s class today, and he would be the least understanding and sympathetic to your problems. He’d probably laugh at you and tell you to grow up. That the “real world” didn’t make accommodations to the hurt feelings of a stupid girl. 

Asshole.

You walked into his classroom with Taylor on your heels, but before you even had the chance to set your bag down at your non-assigned assigned seat, Dr. O’Hara stopped you. “Stay after class. I’d like to have a word with you.” You felt tears burn in your eyes as you barely managed to whisper out a “yes sir” before you found your seat. Taylor raised an eyebrow at you, concerned, but you just shook your head, wiping your eyes and looking down at your shitty laptop’s keyboard as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d cried this much.

You had completely forgotten about him wanting to talk with you. It was probably about your academics, and how you’d somehow fucked up unintentionally and ruined your life yet again. First it was your Fetlife dom that you clearly had strong feelings for, and now you were going to get kicked out of college for plagiarism. This was it! You’ve completely ruined your life and now you were going to be stuck working retail for the rest of it with horrible hours just to be able to afford to keep a roof over your head. Next all your friends were going to tell you that they hated you and are kicking you out.

You couldn’t pay attention in class, you didn’t even make a single note. Dr. O’Hara was a horrible professor, and Taylor would give you their notes anyways. You could see the way their eyes occasionally flicked to you, concern and scrutinization mingling into something that almost resembled pity. 

You stayed in your spot after class had finished, with Taylor telling you to text them whenever your conversation was over so they could walk you to the Subway. They never did that - while Taylor was always protective, they seemed hesitant to actually be personal and one on one with people. God, you must’ve looked like a wreck then. Once everyone had cleared out, your professor turned to you. “Come to my office and wait outside, I’ll call for you once I’m ready to see you. This isn’t a classroom conversation.” His voice was cold - was it colder than usual? God, you felt nauseous. 

You nodded, wringing your hands, and walked your way over to his office. Peeking inside the window, it seemed cold and empty, save for the man himself. There was not a single personal item or degree on the wall - it felt like a shell, really. Was this not his usual office? You tried to remember if he had office hours listed in his syllabus, you didn’t think he offered them. You sat down in the plastic chair outside the room, clutching your bag as you dug your nails into the well-worn material.

As he sat down, Dr. O’Hara mumbled your name, formal and cold, and god, it felt like he was mad at you. You practically tiptoed into the room as you shut the door behind you with shaking fragility. You were a good girl, all things considered. The only time you had ever been called into an office was to congratulate you on your scholarship. Of course, you totally squandered said scholarship by doing what your father wanted and going into nursing , but that was neither here nor there. 

(Even if he was still upset with you at the new development.)

Now he’d be laughing at you - you were already failing classes. So much for success and proving him wrong. You hoped when you were older, maybe in your thirties, that you could go right up to your father and prance about his office, singing “I told you so’s” from the heavens themselves. Now your life was over, and within a week you were sure to be homeless. 

You felt cold sweat on your neck, forcing you to fiddle with the tag of your zippered sweatshirt as you sat down in the plastic chair before Dr. O’Hara’s desk. You found yourself staring at your sneakers, double knotted and slightly stained.

Did you already fail? Did you fuck up your most recent assignment? Did whatever plagiarism checker he used ping a false alarm? Your mind rushed to a thousand possibilities.

Dr. O’Hara cleared his throat, causing you to jump out of your thoughts. You looked up at him. He looked… nervous? You had never been close enough to really see his features, he looked older, wide flat nose, pronounced cheekbones, dark messy hair. His dark brown eyes were staring you down. 

…Was he waiting for you to speak? Did he think you knew why you were here? The silence was worse than any scolding he could give you. 

You were a talker. You’d always been a talker. The amount of times that you’d been told to shut up in your life was more than you could count.

So, of course, you talked .

“I-I don’t know why I’m here. I hope it - I promise you I'm trying as hard as I can. I both work and do school full time. If it’s something with my recent assignments I- I don’t know . I’m trying. I.. I have a habit of using really big words that sometimes come up with plagiarism checkers that the college recommends you all use. It happened last semester with one of my roommates - er. They didn’t have anything to do with any of my assignments. They’re not even in the same major -”

“Slow down. You’re not in trouble,” he interrupted, eyes tired as he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. 

You paused your rambling, staring at him almost dumbfounded as you grip at your sweatshirt. “W… Why am I here?”

He looked like he was weighing something in his head as he stared at you, dark gaze thinning and lips pressing thin. With a big exhale, he let out whatever inhibitions had been holding him back.

“Does the phrase ‘Fawnteeth’ mean anything to you?” His words were blunt and emotionless, face turning to stone in an instant. You couldn’t read him, but you weren’t very good at reading faces anyway.

You felt all the color drain from your face, veins turning to ice. You were frozen, terrified, a deer in the headlights. How the fuck did your professor know about - that. You had used ‘Fawn’ as an online alias since you were a teen, yes. But Fawnteeth was something that you only used… on Fetlife. You know - where you were anonymous . You were supposed to be anonymous!

…Did someone tell him? The college board? Not even your roommates knew you used that website. You only spoke to three people on it - and even then, only one regularly. Or… you had, before Web ghosted you. 

In your panic, you couldn’t put any answer together that made any sense.

“I… If anyone has sent you anything. I am so sorry- I don’t know how. Oh my god . I’m so fucked .” Your hands grabbed your face, fingers sinking into your flushed cheeks as you tried to look anywhere but your genetics professor. 

“You’re not in trouble,” he reiterated, though the words seemed almost as painful as they were awkward rolling off his tongue, “I just needed to - we needed to -”

You couldn’t look him in the eyes as he spoke, so you stared at his hands. 

His… oddly familiar hands.

(Despite the fact that you’d never been close enough to see his hands.)

You heard him talk, but it was like listening through water as you just stared at his hands. As you visualized the last time you saw them wrapped around - oh god.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, and he looked…concerned, brow furrowed and dark eyes wide. You tried desperately to speak, but your words caught in your throat.

His hands were Web’s hands. The same scar on his knuckle and webbing of veins that made them look out of those black and white thirst trap BDSM aesthetic tumblr posts you used to reblog on tumblr. 

This was not what you had imagined when you agreed to meet up with your weird…online situationship dominant.

Distantly, you heard Dr. O’Hara - Web - say your name, still coming through your head like water, distant and muffled. 

This had to be some sick joke. You trailed your hands from your cheeks to cover your ears. You swear you’re going to hurl. 

Were you having a panic attack? 

Probably.

You took a moment to breathe into the silence, thankful that he seemed to take the hint and stop fucking talking . You could just leave, pretend like he never.. You two never…

This had to be a sick joke. Unless he hunted down one of his future students… but… You hadn’t even signed up for his class when he messaged you. No, this had to be some horrible accident. Some horrible, horrible accident. You did NOT sign up to fuck your teacher.

Especially not… Him. Anyone but him.

Finally managing to compose yourself, you took in a shaky breath, hands dropping from your face to your lap. Forcing yourself to meet his eyes, you balked at the sight - he looked terrified . Not ten minutes ago, you would’ve found some sick joy in it, but right now… 

You couldn’t find the humor. 

“Web?” Your voice cracked, upset and heartbroken. What else could you say? Ask? What could you do ?

You watched Dr. O’Hara tense up, breathing through his teeth. He ripped his gaze from you and placed his hands, palm down on the table. 

This could only happen to you. Only you would somehow sext your fucking teacher for months. You could never have anything easy or normal. He couldn’t have been some banker, or a stupid sexy jock librarian. 

“Dios mío…,” Dr. O’Hara rumbled, voice deep and low. You watched him lean back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He was Web. Your horrible, awful, asshole professor that you had spent countless nights bitching about was the man you had sent pictures and videos of your whole pussy swallowing up a dildo to. This man had seen you cum before he’d seen you get an A on one of his assignments.

Oh god. 

You spent a solid thirty seconds in the most painful, humiliating, awkward silence you’d ever gone through in your entire life. This was worse than when you dropped out of nursing school, when you broke your arm learning how to skate in front of all the popular girls in middle school, when you’d been turned down in front of a crowd by your middle school crush. It was worse than anything you’d ever experienced.

(You wished you had died right there.)

Unfortunately, God was not intending to strike you down right then. Maybe you could pray to Zues and he’d throw a perfectly aimed lighting bolt right between your eyes. You’d seen on Tiktok that some people prayed to the greek gods, maybe one could grant you a favor and-

Your thoughts were interrupted with the door being swung open, another one of your professors waltzed into the office like he owned the place. Professor Parker - most of his students seemed to call him Peter - burst open the door, phone in his hand held out to Dr. O’Hara. 

“Oh. My. God. Miguel. You will not BELIEVE what my baby sitter just sent me.” Not even looking at you, he strode in, pajama clad and scruffy bearded. It was like you weren’t even there, and your jaw snapped shut, teeth clicking with the effort. Dr. O’Hara’s eyes widened. 

“You know Mayday? My pride and joy? Your godchild? Look at her. She got cake and it's all over her little face. Hah! Babies don’t know how to eat cake. It’s so adorable…” He chuckled, waving his hand in a relaxed gesture before he noticed that you were also in here, very panicked and on the verge of crying. You… and Miguel having the worst day of his life from the look on his face.

“Uh.. Did I interrupt some-”

“ Nope ,” Dr. O’Hara said quickly, slapping both of his hands down on the desk. He turned to you, eyes wide. “I will continue this conversation with you later.” 

Dr. O’Hara raised his brows as if trying to tell you to act normal . You blinked once. He said your name - all formal again. Prof. Parker leaned on his chair, still holding the phone in his direction. Eyeing you with confusion, the ganglier professor frowned, head cocking to the left. Curious. 

You needed to play it cool. You wished you exploded on the spot. You’ve seen videos about spontaneous combustion before. 

That would be really nice about now.

You squeaked and stood up. “O-Okay Dr. O’Hara I will see you. Next… Class. Later.” You turned on one foot and practically ran out the door.

This was not at all like the sexy TeacherxStudent college romances that you had read on wattpad in middle school. But knowing your luck, your life would turn into a version of “Kidnapped by One Direction” next - you already had the messy bun part down of being a Y/N.

But hey, at least you knew why Web ghosted you now. You kind of wished that it was a prettier, younger girl with better boobs and a cuter pussy, not this. This wasn’t the kind of closure you wanted. 

So. You went to your next two classes and then promptly went home and laid down face first on your bed until you heard the phone ping. For a moment you considered not checking… but you groaned and picked up the phone. It was Web. Dr. O’Hara. 

 5:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Hey.”

“ ...Hi. ” - Fawnteeth - 5:12 PM

 5:10 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how else to approach you about this.”

“ I can imagine ” - Fawnteeth - 5:12 PM

“ please tell me for the love of god you didn’t know ” - Fawnteeth - 5:12 PM

 5:12 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I only found out Monday. Your tattoo. You don’t normally have it showing.”

“ oh ” - Fawnteeth - 5:12 PM

 5:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I didn’t mean to make you worry before, I was just trying to figure out how to respond.”

“ ghosting me was not the way to do that ” - Fawnteeth - 5:13 PM

 5:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Would you have preferred I told you who I was over this chat? I wasn’t sure it was you. Not fully.”

“ I guess that makes sense ” - Fawnteeth - 5:13 PM

 5:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “If it wasn’t you you would have said that name doesn’t mean anything to me and I would have messaged you back right away on here.”

“ ok ” - Fawnteeth - 5:13 PM

 5:13 PM - WebRigger2099 - “This wasn’t what either of us expected.”

“ sure fucking hope not ” - Fawnteeth - 5:14 PM

 5:15 PM - WebRigger2099 - “I promise I did not intentionally try to woo one of my students. There’s like… 20 different colleges in NY. Thousands of students in each of them.”

“ I have the worst fucking luck on the god damn planet ” - Fawnteeth - 5:15 PM

 5:15 PM - WebRigger2099 - “You’re telling me. I finally find someone that agrees to my rules and waits patiently for two months before they even meet and this happens.”

  5:15 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Look, you can block me, I would honestly expect that. I’m sorry again.”

“ is this what you meant by continuing the conversation? ” - Fawnteeth - 5:15 PM

 5:16 PM - WebRigger2099 - “If you want I will help you transfer out to a different class. Afterwards, we can mutually block one another.”

“ I don’t want that. ” - Fawnteeth - 5:16 PM

 5:16 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Then what would you like? I want to make this right by you, the last thing I want is for you to feel like I’ve thrown you away.”

“ I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure what I want. ” - Fawnteeth - 5:16 PM

 5:17 PM - WebRigger2099 - “That’s fine. But I’d like to speak about this again with you, in person. It’s wrong to have a conversation like this over text.”

“ I would appreciate that, please. ” - Fawnteeth - 5:17 PM

 5:17 PM - WebRigger2099 - “Okay just… Somewhere private. I don’t need to be raising questions meeting up with a student outside of class.”

“ I think that’s kinda obvious. Where? I don’t want to see professor parker again. ” - Fawnteeth - 5:18 PM

 5:16 PM - WebRigger2099 - “He has a bad habit of coming in at terrible times. Highland Park, tomorrow at 5pm?”

“ ok ” - Fawnteeth - 5:19 PM

You turned your phone off for the night, you saw you got another notification from Web, but you didn’t bother reading it. Maybe you should have -, at least then, he’d be the one left on read this time.

[sturniolocoded13]

hi!! i know the triplets aren’t huge taylor swift fans so could you write like a matt x reader where she really loves t swift and he bought eras tour tickets for her and goes with her. then the concerts just him focusing his attention on her while she’s excited and jamming out?? thank you so much if you do!! 💖

Part 1: Getting The Tickets

Part 2 - Part 3

Matt had never expected getting tickets to be so difficult. The idea had come to him one night after you casually mentioned that you’d never get to see Taylor Swift live—the one thing on your bucket list. He’d known about Taylor’s Eras Tour for months, but when the dates for Foxborough were announced, something clicked.

“I have to get those tickets for her,” Matt thought to himself.

The first step was finding a way into the madness that was the Taylor Swift ticket system. Matt knew he’d need help. He called Chris, who’d managed to snag some hard-to-get concert tickets before, and the two started brainstorming.

Chris gave him the lowdown on what to expect—countless hours spent refreshing the ticket sales page, waiting in endless queues. But Matt was determined. He spent an entire weekend preparing, making sure he was ready when the presale started.

Then the day came.

Matt sat in front of his computer, fingers poised above the keys as the clock ticked closer to the presale time. His heart raced as he clicked through the verification steps. He kept his eyes on the screen, praying for luck. As the minutes passed, he could feel the tension in the air. Will I get through? Will I be too slow?

The line finally started to move. Matt clenched his fists, trying to stay calm, but his pulse quickened as the screen refreshed with every passing second. It felt like an eternity until the page loaded, and there they were—the tickets.

He grinned like a kid in a candy store as he clicked to purchase them, his hands shaking. “I did it,” he whispered to himself.

Afterward, when he saw the confirmation pop up on the screen, Matt leaned back in his chair, breathing a sigh of relief. He knew it had been a gamble, but the look on your face when he gave you the tickets was worth every second of waiting.

Later, when he told Chris the good news, his friend could barely believe it. “You really pulled it off, huh?”

Matt just smiled, thinking about the smile that would soon be on your face. “It’s all worth it for her.”

[veryberryjelly]

THEODORE OR MATTHEO WATCHING THE ERAS TOUR ON A GLITCHY LIVESTREAM X READER AND ITS SO CUTE BC SHES SEEN IT LIKE 40 TIMES BUT GETS SO EXCITED LIKE ITS THE FIRST TIME (and she’s hyperfixated on Taylor swifts music) and it’s so cute and fluffy!!!

𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

he knows what his evening is going to be full of when he sees you in your etsy bought t-shirt.

it's another livestream night.

there's a routine that happens every time you watch a concert live stream.

you come out in a piece of taylor swift merchandise and theo gets to work loading up the stream on his computer while you make tea for each of you to enjoy while you watch.

when you come into the living room he's got everything set up, including his computer connected to speakers so you can enjoy it as loud as you want, as if you were surrounded by all those screaming swifties.

he watches in absolute awe as you sing along to every single word, smiling at every opportunity.

it's only when you gasp and jump off of the sofa that he turns his attention back to the screen to see what set you off.

' 1989 taylors version ; october 27th '

even he knows how important the re-records are to you and every other person screaming on his computer.

[unofficialcourtofowls]

Original Opening for "Near Death Experience" Fic

"Ok, tell you what, I'll present it and format all the references if you guys do the actual writing stuff."

"Deal."

"No, Mrs. Cooper said we all have to contribute writing."

"You're gonna need to write someday, Beck, so you might as well learn now."

Beck stuck her tongue out at the last speaker. Babs rolled her eyes.

"Mature."

Well, she was the youngest in her class.

"Val,* really, it's better this way, you've never read Beck's writing," Geri* said.

"Hey! I'm writing in my fourth language."

"Beck, you could write novels in ancient Sumerian if you really wanted to," Babs scolded.

"Why would anyone want to do that?" Geri grimaced.

"Beck, if we assemble the research and do our own references, you can just do the introduction and conclusion and then present," Val counter-offered.

Beck cringed, but agreed, since Barbara elbowed her in the ribs, and Babs's elbows were sharp.

"But we're reviewing it," Geri added.

"Fine by me."

Beck caught Geri's eye and winked, and she winked back. They both looked away innocently before Babs or Val could catch them, secure in the knowledge that Beck would format Geri's references, and Geri would write the intro and conclusion. She actually enjoyed English somehow, so really, it was a win-win.

"Ok," Val, self-appointed leader continued, "now that that's settled–"

Blaring alarms sounded from all four girls' phones, making them jump. Each screen had lit up with a bright red exclamation point in the center and bold, capital letters underneath reading DIAMOND DISTRICT.

Beck opened it in a millisecond. Bruce was patrolling Diamond tonight.

"Oh, my God," Val whispered.

All three leaned over Beck's shoulder to see the alert. Babs's fingers were gripping Beck's arm almost hard enough to bruise.

Explosion. Gotham Royal Hotel. 9:47 PM. Casualties unknown. Cause unknown.

Where the hell is Batman?

Val stepped back, fumbling for the remote and calling up Gotham City 1 on her TV. Jack Ryder was already there across the street, shouting into his microphone over the wailing of people and sirens.

"-- threat or statement was issued, so the police frankly have no idea who's done this, or if they will strike again. Right now all efforts are on evacuation, fire, and medical. Although it seems folks below the forty-sixth floor are alright, relief efforts are scrambling to find other accommodations, or else return passage to vacationer's homes."

Geri sobbed as the camera caught a shot of a gurney being loaded into an ambulance. Even from far away on a TV screen, Beck knew no hospital would be able to save the victim.

Val tentatively wrapped an arm around Geri's shoulders, and the other girl hid her face on Val's shoulder as she started sobbing. Beck swallowed tightly and texted Bruce.

Beck: b pls i need 2 know ur ok

Barbara slid her hand down Beck's arm to squeeze her hand. Beck squeezed back, knuckles going white, barely breathing as she kept staring between her phone and the TV for whatever would tell her about her dad first.

"-- as much of the wreckage blasted laterally. It seems that a few of the collateral buildings were empty office spaces, but at least one apartment complex–"

Beck: BRUCE

B Man: fine, chum.

Beck leaned back in her seat with a sigh of relief. Babs gave her hand another squeeze, but she looked relieved too.

Beck: do u need me?

Another few minutes, as reports of damage gained horrible clarity. Then,

B Man: no

Beck turned off her phone and went to join the others by the TV, wrapping an arm around Geri's waist. It seemed most of the initial chaos was ebbing, handled mainly by first responders. But now she could see Batman onscreen, a shadow that darted about carrying the wounded and dead. Gordon was there, too, face pinched as he explained that the GCPD currently had no clues as to who had done this.

A jarring burst of Taylor Swift came from Geri's phone. She went sheet white, eyes rolling up, and Beck and Val shouted as she sagged in their arms.

“Babs!” Beck ordered. “Val, go get water.”

She lifted Geri and laid her on the couch as Val ran from the room and Babs answered the phone.

“Hello? Uh, no she's… We just heard about the bomb… Um…”

“Geri,” Beck called, checking and finding a steady pulse. “Geri, wake up.”

“Oh, God… I'm so sorry, Mrs. Pruitt. Y-yeah, of course…”

Val returned with a glass of water as Geri stirred. Her eyes filled with tears immediately, and she started sobbing when Babs, having hung up, whispered, “Geri, your mom called–”

By the time the girls could calm the panic attack that ensued, and Babs could explain that Geri's father – who'd stayed on the forty-seventh floor – was injured, not dead, her brother had already arrived to drive her to the hospital. Babs, Beck, and Val gave her each one last hug and whispered reassurance, then stood and shivered on the doorstep, staring as the siblings sped away.

“I'll take over her part,” Val whispered.

Beck and Babs nodded silently. Beck's phone buzzed again. This time it was Alfred.

“Do you want a ride home?” she asked Babs quietly. “Or to stay over?”

“You're welcome here, too,” Val murmured.

“I'll take the ride,” Babs said quietly.

Beck nodded and texted Alfred. The three girls waited for him on the stoop, not talking. Beck's mind was racing, trying to puzzle out the whos and hows and whys, but not coming up with any answers. She knew Babs was doing the same, and probably Val, too, in her own way.

Finally Alfred came, and they drove to the Gordons’ and then home in silence.

Beck went up to her room but didn't go to sleep. She sat up, watching news that told her nothing, until she heard footsteps down the hall. Then she slid off her bed and followed Bruce into his room.

He didn't speak either. Just smoothed back her hair and let her crawl under the blankets to curl against him, to feel his warmth and remind herself he was ok.

He stroked her hair in silence until she fell asleep.

*OC classmates of Beck and Babs at Gotham Academy