#I could say this about most men in the music industry as well but no one is out here fucking worshipping... idek I literally

[thatdykepunkslut]

Taylors wift is just elon musk for horse girls and gays who are afraid of faggots

#punkblogging #if any of y'all call me a fucking misogynist for this #I literally almost exclusively listen to women fronted bands it's not because she's a woman #I even listen to pop sometimes!!! (I mean not radio pop but still) #she is just fucking lame as a human being and she's an awful songwriter and an industry plant in the exact same ways as musk #I could say this about most men in the music industry as well but no one is out here fucking worshipping... idek I literally #do not know enough men fronted bands to put together an example

[megumimania]

UNGODLY HOUR

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drugs, fluff at the end (i lied!), rapper!ony x black reader, kinda angsty, reader and ony need therapy, mild swearing, unhealthy relationships, somewhat happy ending

a/n: im back after falling off the face of the earth xx this wasn’t supposed to be this sad, sorry x🤗 im clearing out the drafts

ony kept calling again and again, usually you’d ignore it like what you’ve been doing for the past month but tonight was different, so you finally picked up the phone. “hey.” you answered, your voice still groggy from sleep. “hey? it’s been a month y/n, where the fuck have you been!” he said with a slight slur to his words, he was drunk.

“first off, watch your tone when you talk to me and second of all, i’ve been busy.” you replied with a bite to your tone. now you regretted picking up the phone in the first place. prior to your month of no contact with ony, you were his rock. in an industry full of yes men and record labels who didn’t give a fuck about what he did as long as he dropped music on time, you were a breath of fresh air. you were his peace.

so when he’d have a rough day, or was high or drunk out of his mind, you were the first person he called. and you always came to his rescue, calming him down, helping him sober up, hiding him from the paparazzi—but it got all too much. the infrequent bad days became frequent, and his constant expectation for you to be there when he called, meant you lost out on opportunities and relationships, and you slowly began to build some resentment towards him, but that swiftly came down when you realised he was just hurting and lonely.

you were there for him through everything.

you tried to love him from a distance, help him from a distance but that became overwhelming too. you tried to get him help, but that often went nowhere. after a tense argument with him, you went ghost, needing space from him entirely. you still kept up with him on socials though, anonymously of course and it looked like he was doing well—until tonight.

“busy with what?” he asked. you let out a deep sigh before replying, “busy with my life, i have shit that exists outside of you, you know that right?” he went silent for a second before laughing. you were already tired of his bullshit and it hadn’t been five minutes since you picked up. “ony, why do you keep calling me?” you said, frustration evident in your tone. “i missed you ma.” he said his voice sounding hoarse, you felt your heart break for him all over again.

you were sure that you were gonna regret this decision later but you knew that you couldn’t let him be on his own right now, especially in such a vulnerable state. “im coming over.” you said, hanging up before he could get a word out.

—

the first thing ony did after you stepped into his apartment was pull you in for a hug. you pulled away giving him a once over and he looked like he’d seen better days. “you look a mess.” you frowned, pulling him into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “damn ma is that all you gotta say to me, after a whole ass month?” he looked at you in amazement. “just drink the damn water.” you muttered in annoyance.

“so are you gonna give me an explanation to why you ghosted me for a month?” you rolled your eyes in annoyance. “ony man…don’t fucking do this, im not in the mood.” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “do what? im just asking why you’ve suddenly remembered my existence after a month.” you let out a hollow laugh, “i needed space. ”

“space,from me?” ony scratched his beard, not knowing what to say, so you took it as an opportunity to let out all your frustrations at him. “yes, you. ony, you are the most insufferable, selfish person i’ve ever met. you took a deep breath before continuing, “all i’ve tried to do is help and yet you never take it into consideration, hell you don’t even take me into consideration.”

“I do—” he replied. you gave him a deadpan look, “you don’t, instead you end up on tmz or the shade room for doing stupid shit that makes me wonder if you actually care about your career.” ony’s jaw ticked upon hearing those words leave your mouth. he accepted that he wasn’t perfect by any means, but to come for the only thing that he put his blood, sweat and tears into was a slap in the face.

“so why did you come back?” he said quieter than intended, his eyes slightly glossy from the tears.“ i thought time apart would do us good. you needed to work on yourself and on your music, plus i just didn’t want you to rely on me like that again.” you tentatively step closer to him, caressing his cheek. “ony, i genuinely love and care about you but we can’t do this anymore.” you said, your voice wobbling slightly. “you need to sort your shit out and i can’t help you do that any more.”

the tears came out of nowhere and you gave up on trying to stop them. “I should go.” you said sniffling slightly as your eyes, “i don’t even know why i came here, i should’ve stayed at home.” you grabbed your keys and your phone and was halfway out the door, when ony called out for you. “y/n…i’ll go to therapy, anything! but i just can’t lose you!” he begged, the desperation evident in his voice.

“that’s nice.” you said, wiping your tears. you wanted to believe him so bad but you knew him like the back of your hand, this was one of his lies that he’d make you forget about in an array of large gestures and kisses until the next time he spiralled and flipped out on you. “ony, we both know how this is gonna end up.” you swore that you saw his spirit break at that moment, all the fight he had build up, slowly left as his shoulders sank in defeat.

you left his apartment shortly after, before his sweet words could coax you into thinking that things were gonna be alright, that he was gonna be alright. you expected to leave his apartment with some sense of relief but grief ate away at you, you missed him so much and you hadn’t even reached home yet. you mourned the relationship that you had with him, the relationship that could’ve been if he’d just sought out help that he needed.

you got home as the city began to roar up again and tried to move on, it was hard considering that memories of him were scattered all over your apartment, invoking a wide range of feelings from anger to immense sadness. you knew that moving on wasn’t simple especially when you had such a complex history with him. a life without ony, was a life that was going to take some adjustment to but you were to take it one day at a time.

#vina writes #vina writes: aot #attack on titan #aot x black!reader #aot onyankopon #onyankopon x black y/n #onyankopon x reader #aot angst #writing angst is a nightmare #ony angst #x black fem reader #aot fanfiction #black writblr #attack on titan x black reader #aot

[joesalw]

All of Taylor's albums were tailored to the most popular aesthetic at the time. She didn't make shit popular, she just adapted. Especially when she made the transition into pop music.

True. She's currently jumping fences with rep as well. Making it out to be a goth punk moment and using trendy words like 'female rage'. The album has the most romantic songs she's ever written. C'mon now. The whole record is electropop with some R&B elements thrown into the mix.

She portrays 'Lover' as her social justice warrior era. 'If I was a man, then I'd be the man'. Yeah, we've seen it Taylor. Miss 'me becoming a billionaire is good for the world because I'm a woman'. She makes herself out to be this 'feminist girl's girl' when in reality it couldn't be further from the truth. She's not a feminist and she doesn't want to be the woman that's advocating for women's rights and leads the path for the future generation of women. She wants to be the man at the top. Her motto is literally 'gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, greenhouse gases'.

Another thing is her queer allyship. She's mentioned it when and only when it was profitable to her. During her tour she hadn't said a thing when the number of states signed anti-trans bills and the state of Tennessee where she says she lives *according to her own documentary* banned drag. I don't think she said anything about the anti-abortion legislation either. Her activist era started and ended in 2019.

Don't get me started on her position regarding the BLM movement. She only posted something because her own fans started calling her out and then declared that she's 'ferociously anti-racist'. She positioned herself as an advocate *by herself* and then immediately dipped when it stopped being as profitable. If you don't want to be dragged for your silence about social and political crises, don't proclaim yourself as an activist. Simple as that.

I've also seen the video on Youtube about TS being a narcissist (someone posted it on your blog earlier I think). And the guy in the video brought up her guitar teacher. So I looked him up and found an article where he talks about his experience with the Swifts which he got sued for later. According to the man, Taylor's mother was interested in him teaching her daughter how to play country music and was just a stage mom in general. And TS says that she'd been begging her parents to allow her learn how to play guitar and that she's self-taught. She wants her success story to be a rags to riches so bad I can't even.

She's a woman with an extremely fragile ego where millions of people could be praising her and a single negative comment would set her off. She can't handle any form of criticism, break ups or inconveniences like a grown woman simply because she doesn't have enough emotional intelligence to do so. Her being surrounded by yes men also doesn't help the situation. If i were her, I'd rather invest in a good therapist rather than 2 PJs. She drowns herself in work and relationships so she doesn't have time to go inwards and sit with her thoughts.

I kinda feel bad for her, honestly. She's been in the industry since she was 15 and her success was almost immediate. She doesn't know what the world's like because she's been sheltered her whole life and then had other people do things for her. I don't think she has many real friends as well. By real I mean people who aren't afraid to tell you the truth and are able to call you out in your face. Instead she has a bunch of people who appease her afraid of pissing her off and ending up on her bad side and as a result her vanity grows and she completely loses any sort of perspective whether in her friendships, romantic relationships or maybe even her own family.

I also wonder what she thinks about her fandom pirating her concert film instead of paying to rent it. I sort of hope that her fans are starting to wake up to her conning schemes. I mean, you've already made a shit ton of money from the theatre release, why charging 20$ more to RENT IT?Not even buy it. Or is it another narrative about how 'no one can own my work but me'?

This woman sells well but her cultural impact is almost nonexistent. She hadn't done any good for the world causes or inspired several generations of performers like Michael Jackson has with his philanthropic endeavors and incredible performing skills. The artists like Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, Bruno Mars, Justin Timberlake (bleh) and The Weeknd were hugely influenced by MJ. These artist create their own unique legacy and impact on their communities. Especially the ladies. Gaga's been an avid LGBT+ advocate since the beginning of her career and created a foundation that focuses on issues like self-confidence, well-being, anti-bullying, mentoring and career development. She also participated in anti HIV and AIDS campaigns, spoke against immigration laws in the US, contributed to 2011's earthquake and tsunami relief campaign in Japan. Beyoncé's a huge advocate for the black community and black women especially which always finds its way in her work and visual art in particular. She's been platforming black culture and history for her whole career (2016 Superbowl and Coachella performance are the brightest examples of black american culture and releasing her Lion King album to showcase African artists' excellence). She also has a foundation where she provides black youth scholarships, clean water for communities abroad and housing to families in need in her home state.

What exactly makes Taylor Swift's cultural impact? Thousands of tons CO2 emissions? Music labels putting a clause in the contract so the artists can't re-record their material for 10 years now instead of 5? Making several versions of the same CD or vinyl so the sales are bigger? Mind you, that's all excessive plastic and paper. Some countries and US states are banning gas stoves. Her position regarding artists being paid during the early days of streaming (when the platforms were launching with a free period tial) was right but no one really benefited from it but her. She was shitting on Apple Music, then they offered her money, filmed an ad and released her 1989 Tour DVD exclusively on their platform. She shat on Spotify, then when LWYMMD came out, she was all over their biggest playlists all of a sudden and recorded Spotify Singles later on. Spotify's always promoted her every release like a motherfucker shoving her in every corner of the platform. Especially for the past 3 years. She doesn't have any memorable outfits or unique style to be called a fashion icon either. She's not a trailblazer she thinks she is. She is only popular because a lot of people *mostly ww* who peaked in high school see themselves in her. She's average in everything she does, her writing topes are also the same (only now she started using compound or uncommonly used words to mask it) but she's extremely commercially successful so that those people can see themselves in her. She doesn't have unique music style or chameleon-like discography like Gaga, Bey, MJ, Madonna, Shakira, Kelly Clarkson, Miley Cyrus or Nelly Furtado. She doesn't have a unique singing voice like Bjork, David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, Janis Joplin, MJ or Bob Dylan. She's no instrument prodigy either. And swifties say that 'Michael couldn't play any instruments'. Well, he was an exceptional beatboxer. She can strum 4 guitar chords and play basic piano, that's it. She doesn't have an outstanding dancing and/or vocal skill.

What is she gonna be remembered for? Her numerous relationships with famous men? While that might be misogynistic or sexist to some degree, she's the one who makes her relationships the centre of her music and public persona and brings them up even 10 years after they ended. Her public feuds with men and women that she can't get over years after? This woman is certainly can hold a grudge and is extremely vindictive. The leader of a parasocial cult that blindly defends her bigotry? I believe so. I don't think I've ever seen a fandom as toxic and as hive-minded as swifties. And again, it's Taylor's own creation. She's the one that constantly says 'look closely for the easter eggs' in her content making her fans theorize on every aspect of her life, or 'if you're very loyal I might invite you to MY HOUSE and you can listen to the new album early, we'll take pics and I'll bake you some cookies'. Of course they'll follow your any order. I'm glad I escaped.

Oof, I'll stop here. That's a very long one already

sorry hehe

.

#anti taylor swift #anti swifties #swifties dni

[venuscnjunctpluto]

Megan thee stallion and astrology ⭐️

Credit: @insertlanasong

(Im in no way blaming dv on where the stars were in the sky. the gremlin and all these other male bullies are accountable for their OWN actions)

*Lilith in 1st: I’m not gonna stfu about this placement. When I say men are intimidated by us and we don’t even have to speak. Megan constantly gets told she’s acting like a man and trying to play a man’s game for being openly sexual. These same people lust after her all day long. It should be noted how many men online and in the industry seemed to gang up on her for someone nobody gaf about all like that and who had a history of violence. With Lilith in 1st people are waiting for your downfall and you have to be mindful of who is around and why they’re there. 

*her aqua sun she’s definitely been very giving and she’s been promoting charities for cancer, I think she’s trying to open some hospitals, organized a clean the beach event, and advocated for victims of abuse esp black women.

* Megan has a Leo mars and people have compared her performance energy to Beyoncé who also has a Leo mars. I do enjoy this placements ability to put on a show

*Shes a good representative of Taurus rising women as she can go into multiple spaces. She’s recently visiting the White House and her classy Venusian energy fit in well.

* megan stated in a live that she can’t stay away from Virgos and her ex friend Kelsey was one also Moneybaggyo. She has Virgo in her 5th which could explain her gravitating towards them because of the fun and excitement that house brings.

*Megans bf Pardison has Venus square Lilith (which represents his relationships w women and she’s Lilith prominent) his mars in her 7th/8th house cusp and hella 10th house synastry. She’s known as the hot girl coach and was introduced to the public as looking for a fun time and not taking men seriously. But of course 10th house synastry makes you wanna go to show that person off esp Venus.

*I love Nickis music so barbs pls don’t come for me (idgaf) but nicki has been arguing w herself. She’s a sag sun and Venus so these placements are likely In Megan’s 8th house. People like to debate what the planet person feels but it’s alot of mutual energy. Megan seemed to be a fan of nicki and they seemed to get along. Then something clearly happened and nicki started throwing shot after shot at Megan since 2021. And to this day *in my tiktok voice* nicki is arguing w herself in the public eye coming after Megan HARD. I’ve had an 8th house stellium with this guy and it’s gone very similar it’s a love-hate until it’s straight up hate after a certain point. It’s been weird to see this considering nicki has never so overtly came after somebody this much esp somebody she co-signed and collabed w. And nicki is a sag Venus (aka a bisexual which Megan is as well) so I wouldnt be suprised if this could be a scorned lover situation.

Torey Lanez’s pluto squared Megan’s sun, moon, and mars. His Lilith conjuncts her sun plus his mars in her 1st house. That man was obsessed w her and he already had a clear anger problem that he admitted to during an interview. My cousin has sun square pluto w her bf and he’s very controlling and insecure when it comes to her.

7th house synastry though very comfortable Can also be be open enemies. For ex: Megan thee stallion after that gremlin shot her you had numerous MEN coming to attack her (Of course with Lilith in 1st) . I would like to name three of them. Drake, Joe Budden, and Dababy all Scorpio placements. Megan is a Taurus rising w unconfirmed degrees but I bet she has 7th house synastry w all of them. Drake has Venus, sun, and mercury in Scorpio. Joe Budden has a Scorpio mars and Dababy has a Scorpio Venus. They all came for her at one the most difficult times of her career just to drag her down even more. Drake and Dababy publically lusted after her and Joe budden was drooling in his seat interviewing her prior to his comments about her. Im a late Aries rising and I’ve had issues w many Scorpio placements because they had some underlying issue w me for no reason. Scorpio In the 7th is very difficult because if our enemies don’t know if they wanna harm us or literally f*ck us it’s insane. She even said something similar in a freestyle.

I hope she keeps glowing cause her vulnerability and strength is inspiring🫶🏾🫶🏾

#astrology #taurus rising #megan thee stallion #astro notes #Scorpio in 7th #10th house #8th house synastry #beyonce #leo mars #lilith in 1st

[the-obnoxious-sibling]

in which this story comes to an end. (fucking finally.)

part eight of the post-marineford portion of the near miss fics! (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7) if you have no idea what i’m talking about but would like to read a shanks/buggy story about kissing in disguise and then having to deal with the emotional fallout of doing that, click on this link, that’s the tag for the whole thing in chronological order. (plus a fair bit of complaining about writing, one inspirational improvised musical number, and a snippet of shanks pov) if you do know what i’m talking about: it’s done! it’s done!! i wish i could say i planned to end this on 3/8 but lmao, did not know the significance of the day until, like, this tuesday. but it’s done. i’m taking a break from the world of this story to work on some gift exchange fics, but i will be uploading the first few fics to ao3 soon, and should start posting the shanks POV post-marineford story in late april. if there are scenes you’d especially like his POV on, let me know! i’ll do my best to incorporate them.

Buggy spent a very cathartic half-hour shouting at a bunch of guys who ate up his words with a spoon.  Always eager to please, the men obediently found themselves disembarkation buddies, cleaned up the messes they’d made, and started gathering their things (mostly weapons they’d stolen off the guards at Impel Down).

It was nice to be respected, Buggy thought as he watched them scurry around the ship.  However misplaced the respect, it made people listen to him, something Buggy had wanted for as long as he could remember.  He’d never been able to get enough.  Probably never would, if the hunger that grew every time these men cheered his name was anything to go by.

He wandered up to the room he shared with Galdino—thankfully empty, he didn’t want to end up in another slap fight over details—and took care of his own possessions. (It wouldn’t do to have any excuses to delay or hang back when they got to the meeting point.) With the modified Marine jacket and hat back on, Buggy could fit everything else in a small satchel that he strapped around his waist, neatly hidden by a twist in a sash and the way the jacket fell.  He left the room… more or less the way it had been when he arrived—there was no way to hide that dent in the wall, and Galdino would have to be the one to deal with the smear of wax across half the bed—and exited the room for the last time, taking in the view of the deck below with a contented sigh.

The Red Force was a well-run ship—a compliment Buggy would never voice aloud, but in the privacy of his own mind he allowed himself to think it.  Even with hundreds of strangers aboard who couldn’t help but get in the way, she was clean, well-equipped, and sailing smoothly.  Buggy didn’t know if he’d be able to say the same in a few hours, when all these men would be trying to squeeze onto the somewhat smaller Big Top.  Buggy rubbed a hand across his mouth to hide his involuntary grimace at the thought.  Maybe the island they were meeting up on had some industry he could put them to work at?  A farm would be fantastic, if he could get paid for their labor and get the produce at a discount as well… 

Buggy looked over the deck in search of one of Shanks’ senior officers.  He didn’t know most of them by name, but those cloaks and capes they wore were distinctive enough that he thought he should be able to identify them on sight, and surely if the one he found didn’t know anything about the island, they could point him to someone who did.  The navigator?  Roux, who seemed to know a little about everything?  Beckman, whose job it was to know something about everything?

And, think of the devil, one of the doors to the interior of the ship opened to reveal Beckman, speaking with a few of those cloaked men.  They each went their own way, and Beckman crossed to the railing, taking up a pose not dissimilar from Buggy’s a few levels above him.  That was a first mate for you, always keeping an eye on things, one way or another.

Buggy sent his feet down the stairs and the rest of him took the shorter path, swooping down to Beckman’s side like a giant white bat.  To his credit, Beckman didn’t react to this unusual approach. Instead, calm as anything, he said, “Whatever you said to those men, it seems to be doing the trick.  Thanks.”

Buggy waved the praise off.  “If they’re so eager to be under my command, they’ve got to start learning to behave themselves sooner or later.  Might as well be now.”  Leaning an elbow against the railing, Buggy looked Beckman over.  He sure did seem a lot more relaxed now than he’d been outside Shanks’ rooms.  Relaxed enough to share intel?  “Tell me something.”

Beckman glanced sideways at Buggy.  “Hm?”

“What do you know about this island where we’re meeting up with my crew?  Is it populated?”

“Ah, I don’t think so, no,” Beckman said, tilting his head back, recalling the facts.  “Snake picked a jungle island that’s a bit out of the way of normal trade routes.  There’s some ruins, but no signs of recent habitation.”

Buggy tried not to visibly wilt.  “Ah.”

Beckman’s eyes lingered on Buggy.  “We didn’t want to risk a naval presence on the island getting word out to the rest of the Marines.”

“No, no, it makes sense.”  Buggy sighed, shoving a hand under his hat to scrub at his hair.  “Just trying to figure out how the hell I’m gonna feed all these guys in that case.”  No way had anyone thought to tell Alvida that Buggy was bringing new guys with him, let alone a lot of new guys.  She’d have gotten the ship supplied with their normal numbers in mind.

Well, the new guys were a tough bunch, maybe they’d see hunting for their dinner as a fun challenge.  Assuming there was anything safe to hunt and eat on this island… Buggy dug his fingers into his scalp, biting back a frustrated groan.

Beckman laughed.  “Yeah, I don’t envy you that job. At least we were expecting to take on passengers.”  He whistled to get the attention of someone up in the crow’s nest and flashed a hand sign at them.  After a few exchanges, he stopped signing and rolled his eyes.  “Stubborn, overworking little—” He cut himself off and glanced at Buggy.  “Was that all you wanted from me?”  Buggy nodded.  “Then I’ll see you when Shanks finally gets up the nerve to talk to you… or when we land.  Whichever comes first.”  With that, he walked over to the mast, got the attention of a young man who’d been leaning against it, and grabbed onto a low-hanging rope.  The two of them pulled themselves up into the rigging—to harass whoever was up in the crow’s nest into taking a break, probably.

Buggy watched them climb for a minute, a frown crawling its way across his face.  When Shanks finally gets up the nerve to talk to you… so there was something Shanks was hiding that he didn’t think he should, huh?  Buggy had figured the feeling he was getting off Shanks was about one of those topics he’d had private conversations with Roger about way back when, not something that Shanks would consider any of Buggy’s business.  But apparently that wasn’t the case.

Buggy’s frown deepened.  He could come up with a list of topics Shanks wouldn’t want to broach but would still feel obligated to bring up, no problem.  But that list was short, and Buggy didn’t like the thought of discussing anything on it.

Unsettled, Buggy leaned back against the mast, arms crossed.

“Look out below!!!”

Buggy looked up and shrieked at the sight of a man falling head-first out of the crow’s nest.  He scattered—it wasn’t like his body would soften the blow enough that the guy would live—and then blinked, as a rope he hadn’t noticed went taut, and the falling slowed to a gentle, somehow mechanical motion.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” he demanded, floating up to be eye-level with the slowly descending man.  This was, if Buggy remembered correctly, Shanks’ sniper, Yasopp, of the infamous years-long tempting out to sea.  Someone with good aim, and a keen eye, but not particularly decisive—or, at least, he hadn’t been back then.  He was also apparently someone with a shitty sense of humor; he wasn’t answering Buggy’s question because he was too busy laughing and pointing at Buggy.

“Your face!  Oh, my stomach hurts,” he said, clutching at his waist.  “Oh man, that was almost worth getting kicked out of the nest.”  As they approached the ground, he shifted his weight so his feet would touch down first, and untangled himself from the rope with practiced ease.  “Phew.  Sorry, uh—Buggy, right?  Yeah, sorry about that.  The crew knows better than to stand so close to the mast when the watch changes, and I didn’t think to check before I jumped.”

“Jumping from the crow’s nest for fun.”  Buggy shook his head.  “And here I thought you people were almost respectable.”  Yasopp, the maniac, cackled.  Beckman, drifting down to the deck on his own rope mechanism, in a much more orderly fashion, chuckled a little.

“It’s possible we’ve been on… well, not our best behavior.  Let’s call it better behavior than usual, these last few days,” Beckman admitted.  “Except for Yasopp, who doesn’t know the meaning of the concept and so stays up in his nest.”

“You haven’t been on your best behavior, you’re as mean as ever,” Yasopp said, putting on an over-the-top pout.

Beckman rolled his eyes.  “Because I need to be, to get anything done around here,” he said.  “And you need a break.  Drink, talk to someone, tinker with one of your ridiculous trick bullets, I don’t care, just—let someone else keep an eye on things for a few hours, okay?”  He nudged Yasopp in the side with an elbow.  “Or are you gonna say you didn’t train your juniors well enough at their job?”

Yasopp crossed his arms, sulky.  “No,” he conceded.

“Good,” Beckman said.  Giving Buggy an apologetic grimace as he untied himself, he said, “I trust he’s apologized to you already?”  His tone suggested that if he hadn’t, Yasopp would soon regret it.

What a mother hen of a first mate, Buggy thought, fighting down a smile. “Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he said, shrugging off the incident like it hadn’t carved a decade off his lifespan.  “I should’ve known you people had to be at least a little crazy, since you run around with Shanks.”

A small smile crossed Beckman’s face, and Yasopp muffled a snort of laughter in a fist.

Someone called out in a panicky tone for Beckman from a far corner of the ship, and the smile fell off his face.  “If you’ll excuse me?”  Not waiting for a reply from either of them, Beckman walked off.

“So mean,” Yasopp said, fondness creeping into his voice.

“That’s first mates for you,” Buggy said, unable to keep a similar fondness out of his own voice.  Shanks had done a good job finding this guy.  When you grew up with the gold standard first mate (or, heh, the Silvers standard?), it was hard to find someone who could measure up.  “Keeping things in order when your captain’s lost his head.”

Yasopp chuckled.  “Ah, the boss isn’t that bad off.”  When Buggy gave him a skeptical look, he smirked.  “Lost his heart, maybe, but he knows where his head’s at.”

“I—uh.”  Flustered, Buggy cleared his throat.  He’d really just gone and said it.  “You’re a lot less subtle than your crewmates.”

Yasopp shrugged.  “I leave subtlety to subtle men.  I’m not built for it; I’m built for getting to the heart of the matter, and doing it fast.”  He extended two fingers towards Buggy, lifted his thumb into the air, and twitched his hand like it was a gun recoiling.  “We both know where things stand.  What’s the use in dancing around it?”

“Sure,” Buggy muttered, his thoughts going back to what Beckman had said.  What was it Shanks both didn’t want to tell him and needed to tell him?  What was there left unsaid, besides the sort of thing Buggy had already decided didn’t need saying?  He crossed his arms.  Damn it, he’d been trying to avoid thinking about this shit!

“Hey,” Yasopp said, snapping his fingers to draw Buggy’s attention.  “You work with bombs, right?  You make them yourself?”

Welcoming the change in topic, Buggy scoffed.  “Of course,” he said, “only an idiot trusts the kind of weapons manufacturers who are willing to sell to pirates to make explosives that are good, reliable, and cheap, and I have better things to spend my money on.”  He narrowed his eyes at Yasopp.  “Why?”

“Because Beck just gave me permission to tinker with my trick bullets, and if you make your own explosives you might be able to figure out what I’m doing wrong with this one.”  Digging around in one of his oversized ammunition pouches, Yasopp presented Buggy with an unusually lightweight cartridge.  “Here, what do you think?”

Buggy cracked the cartridge open, curious.  Inside was a pool of silvery-black gunpowder and a thin-walled hollow bullet, which proved to have some other kind of powder inside.  Buggy pinched that powder between two fingers, rubbing them together to feel the grit and then sniffing at the residue left behind.  He stared at his fingers, baffled, and smelled them again.  “What is that, aluminum and an ammonium salt?”  Yasopp nodded.  “Are you trying to make a cartridge that explodes in the barrel?”

Yasopp sighed, running a hand through his locs.  “What I want is a smoke bomb I can fire out of a gun.  What I’m getting is… that, more or less.”

“Yeah, of course you are, a big velocity change ignites this stuff easily.  With a different catalyst, though, or maybe a better sealed chamber…” Buggy trailed off, considering the bullet.  A miniature smoke bomb, huh?  Something that could stand up to the initial shock of gunfire, and turns to noise and powder on impact… “Do you have a chem lab around here somewhere?”

Yasopp grinned.

The two of them didn’t emerge from Yasopp’s workroom until the bell rang out announcing last call for lunch.  Buggy wasn’t sure he’d ever get the metallic burnt smell out of these clothes, but he didn’t care; this had been fun, the kind of idle experimenting with explosives that he hadn’t had time to do in years.  Buggy hadn’t realized how much of a man’s free time it ate up, captaining even a smallish crew, until he’d gotten a fraction of that time back.

“Too bad we didn’t figure out a solution for your smoke bullet problem,” he said, dusting the last of the gunpowder off his shirt sleeves.

“Eh, I’ve been working on this on and off for months, it wasn’t gonna be an easy fix,” Yasopp said, shrugging his star-spangled cloak back on.  “But it got both of us out of our heads for a few hours, so I’d hardly call it a waste.”

Buggy blinked at him, frozen with one arm in his jacket.  “Both of us?”

“You were fretting, I don’t know what about.  Shanks, at a guess.  And I’m… not good at letting other people take on my responsibilities.”  Yasopp grimaced.  “Beck doesn’t always have to toss me out of the nest, but…”

Buggy frowned, sliding the jacket up his other arm.  “I wasn’t fretting.”

Yasopp gave him an unimpressed look.  “Sure.  And what kind of concealer do you use to hide the frown lines you must have, if you make that face every hour of the day?”  When Buggy scowled at him, Yasopp said, “I’m not a subtle man, remember?  If you want somebody to pretend to believe your lies, you’re looking at the wrong guy.”

Buggy sighed.  As Yasopp locked the workroom up behind them, he admitted, “It… was good to get out of my head for a while.”  Yasopp gave him a squeeze on the shoulder, and they left it at that.

Lunch was a bit less exciting than the past few days had led Buggy to expect: the fried rice with pickled cabbage and ham that had been served with Shanks’ breakfast was the main dish on offer, with other repurposed leftovers making up the rest of the meal.  When Roux wasn’t looking, Buggy gave him a curious look.  The rest of the crew had been on their best behavior, according to Beckman… so, had Lucky Roux been showing off?  If he had, it had worked on Buggy; he still wanted to poach Roux for his own crew, even if this less impressive offering was his usual fare.

Eating his bowl of rice with a couple promising-looking toppings—all well-spiced and delicious, of course—Buggy made his way out onto the main deck.  A few Red-Haired and Whitebeard Pirates glanced Buggy’s way, but most of them had gotten used to Buggy over the last few days and returned to their meals without paying him any mind.  He peered down at the lower deck, crowded with men in worn prison uniforms standing in surprisingly well-organized clusters of twos and fours, finishing their lunch.

“Afternoon, men!” he called.

“Captain Buggy!” they cheered.

“Let’s see,” Buggy said, and on a whim set aside his bowl to chop off his feet and swoop down, close enough to excite his men but just out of reach.  “Aren’t you arranged all nice and orderly?  It looks like you did as I asked.”

“Of course!”

“We’d do anything you asked, Captain Buggy!”

Buggy grinned.  Music to his ears.  “Then I suppose I should reward you, shouldn’t I?”  A few excited sounds rose from the crowd as Buggy returned to his spot on the deck above them.  “Hm… I’ve told you a few stories of the old days with Captain Roger, and a few more adventures of the great Captain Buggy’s crew.  But there’s someone I’ve yet to introduce you to, a captain who’s been allied with me and mine these last few months.”  Someone who might need some convincing to cooperate with the sudden appearance of all these guys… and who was more eager for praise than even Buggy.  “Let me tell you how the strong, beautiful Iron Mace Alvida saved my life.”

A hush fell over the crowd.

“Yes, I know what you’re thinking: the great Captain Buggy, in need of rescue?!”  The wide-eyed stares Buggy received confirmed this.  And by the look of it, some of the men were mentally tacking on the phrase by a woman? to that question, as he’d suspected they would.  Yeah, best to nip that potential problem in the bud.  “Well, I’d been through a terrible trial in the days leading up to our first meeting.  Separated from my crew, from my body, alone on a half-wrecked ship, starving, a vicious sea monster rising out of the waves before me, his many-toothed maw dripping with drool, eager to eat me—when suddenly!  A great iron mace came down on his skull!”  Buggy slammed his lunch bowl against the railing, the crash of metal on wood drawing the eye of every man below.

Buggy grinned.  If they hadn’t been hooked before, they sure were now.

He fudged some of the details, of course—no need to reveal exactly who had put him through that terrible trial, or how his crew had behaved in his absence.  But the broad strokes were true enough, and the changes he made were in support of his reason for telling the story: to convince these guys to respect Alvida, to flatter her as they did him, to make this joining of forces go as smoothly as possible.  Sure, it didn’t put Buggy in the best light, at least not at first, but he didn’t want Alvida taking a perceived slight out on a man who might be able to stand up to her mace.  If revealing one of his weaknesses was how he avoided that disaster, so be it.

He was just reaching the ‘rescuing his crew from cannibals’ climax of the story when a cry rang out from above: “Land ho!”

Finally.  The relief that rushed through Buggy nearly made him cry.  After all the many hells he’d been through since being arrested… things could finally start getting back to normal.

“We’ll continue this story after we disembark,” Buggy announced, to a few disappointed groans from his men.  “Find your buddy if you lost track of him during lunch!  Make sure you both have everything you’re taking with you!  Stay out of the way of the Red-Haired Pirates while they’re get us to shore, but be ready to leave the second we’re docked!”

“Aye, Captain!”

But of course, it wasn’t quite that simple.

Buggy found Galdino sitting in the empty mess with Lucky Roux, making polite conversation over a pot of tea.  Though, with these two, it might not actually be the conversation it seemed to be—something about the island Roux sourced his tea from?  Apparently it was a distinctive blend, and hard to acquire.

“Did you need something, Buggy?” Galdino asked, an undertone of irritation to his voice.  Because of course Buggy needed something, why else did he ever seek Galdino out?

Well, if Galdino didn’t want to be used, he shouldn’t have made himself so useful.

“The dock’s gone,” Buggy said.  “Either rotted through or swept away in a storm.”

Galdino glanced up at him, and set down his teacup.  “Well, at least it’ll be a challenge.  Lucky Roux, it’s been a pleasure.”

“It’s sure been something, having you people aboard,” Roux said with a wide smile.  “Hopefully not for the last time.”

Buggy snorted.  “In your captain’s dreams.”

Galdino muffled a laugh in his fist; Roux didn’t bother concealing his amusement.  Buggy realized how his words had come off, scowled, and stormed out of the mess with a mutter of, “Come on, Galdino.”

The two of them joined Beckman and the Red-Haired Pirates’ navigator at the bow of the ship, and considered the space where a dock clearly used to be.  A ship this big, an island with such a sharp drop from shore to sea?  They wouldn’t be able to land without a dock. 

“Can you do it?” Beckman asked.

“I’ll need to begin from the shore,” Galdino said, thoughtful.  “If it isn’t well anchored from the start it’ll drift away.”

“That’s no problem.” Buggy chopped his feet off and leaned forward, letting Galdino sit cross-legged on his back.  He flew them to shore, where Galdino made some long wax spears that Buggy wedged into place.  When they were securely dug in, Galdino melted the tops of the spears and, starting from that spot, created more wax to mold into a floating dock.  Nothing that would be any good at anchoring a ship the size of the Red Force long-term, but they didn’t intend to be here any longer than necessary.  So long as it could hold firm while the men disembarked, that was all they needed.

While Galdino worked, Buggy hovered above the canopy, looking for any kind of promising location to settle his men.  He quickly spotted the ruins Beckman had mentioned—several of the old buildings were tall enough to be seen well above the treetops, the gray of the stone standing out against all the greenery of the jungle.  There was one with a large paved area around it, not far from the shore, which seemed promising.  Buggy took a moment to fix the spot in his memory, then went back to tell Galdino about it.

Galdino barely paid him any mind. He was focused on his work, and confident enough in it to stand on the dock as he was building it, a foot or two of wax all that separated him from the awful, helpless death that awaited any Devil Fruit user in the ocean.  It was bold of him; Buggy preferred a nice, reliable boat any day.

“Any messages to pass on to the men?” he asked, hovering at Galdino’s shoulder.

“They’ll need to be light on their feet, and should stick to the center of the dock,” Galdino said.  He was starting to sweat; extruding this much wax in one go must take a lot of effort.  “If their weight isn’t balanced right, one wrong move could capsize this whole thing.”

Buggy blanched.  Yeah, he could never.  “Noted,” he squeaked, and flew back to the Red Force to convey these instructions.

Despite Galdino’s warnings, the disembarkation went well.  Buggy watched with no small amount of pride as the buddy system worked beautifully, each pair of men walking down the gangplank, across the waxen dock, and onto the shore without any signs of a bottleneck developing.  Being listened to was nice—it was very nice—but being listened to, having your orders followed, and seeing them work exactly as you imagined, now that was heaven.  Buggy might not be the strongest pirate the world had ever seen, but damn it, he was good at this shit.

As the last dozen pairs prepared to leave the Red Force, Buggy felt a gentle weight press down on his foot.  He frowned, tried to remember where he’d left his feet, and only then noticed a presence on the main deck that made his hackles rise.

Shanks.

“Are you holding my feet hostage?”

“That depends,” Shanks said, giving Buggy an unreadable look.  “Are you leaving without saying goodbye?”

Oh, this guy.  On his own ship, surrounded on all sides by his most trusted officers, and still managing to look like some kind of miserable wet cat, terrified of being left alone.

“And how was I supposed to say goodbye to someone who’s been hiding from me?” Buggy asked, instead of the dozen meaner things he wanted to say.

Shanks glanced away, suddenly awkward, and Buggy took the opportunity to look him over.  The shower had done him good, gotten him clean of all that secondhand makeup—though it had not, Buggy noticed with a quiet little thrill, removed the bruises that had apparently been hiding underneath some of that makeup.  His hair looked nicer, almost healthy, even pinned back by the sunglasses Shanks had propped up high on his forehead.  “Are these the shame glasses I’ve heard so much about?”

Shanks’ hand rose to fiddle with the temple of the glasses.  “Ah, yeah.”

“I thought your crew was supposed to laugh at you while you were wearing them?”

“They’ve been laughing at me, all day,” Shanks said, tired.  “And they’ve been right to, given… everything.”

Well, that was ominous.

With a sigh, Shanks said, “There’s something I should have told you earlier, Buggy, but there never seemed to be a good time, and… I didn’t know how to say it.”  A sheepish smile pulling at the corner of his lip, he said, “I still don’t, to be honest,” and pulled the sunglasses down over his eyes.

It took Buggy a moment to put it together.  Shanks’ discomfort, the way the large mirrored lenses took up so much space on his face, the nervous twist of his lips… then Shanks ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and it clicked.  All the blood draining out of his face, Buggy caught Beckman’s eye; he nodded, ever so slightly.

(Fuck.)

Buggy got up in Shanks’ face, looking past his own wide-eyed reflection to confirm that spark of recognition.  Shanks leaned back, Buggy reconnected to his own feet, and at this angle… yeah, he knew that face.  He’d kissed it, once.

(Oh fuck, he’d pickpocketed that guy, too.)

Fighting down a hysterical burst of laughter, Buggy said, voice high-pitched from the strain, “Well, uh, thanks for the ride, Shanks!  I’d say I owe you one, but I’m pretty sure you still owe me another two or three dozen favors before we’re even.”  He backed up, hands brushing along the railing as he inched towards the stairs, and beyond them the gangplank, the dock, the island, freedom.

(Somewhere he could have a little breakdown about this revelation in private.)

“Buggy…” Shanks cautiously held out a hand.

Buggy pulled back out of reach.  “I’m not saying goodbye to you, Shanks!” he snapped.  Shanks faltered, his hurt visible even past those ridiculous sunglasses, and Buggy sighed.  Did he have to spell it out?  “Stupid.  I already told you.”

Confusion wasn’t a much better look on Shanks.  Well, either he’d figure out or he wouldn’t.

Buggy rolled his eyes, spun around, and ran off.  Over his shoulder, he promised, “Until next time, Red-Hair!”

#notfic #the near miss fics #one piece #shuggy #buggy #shanks #now if you’ll excuse me i’m going to sleep for a week #orz why is writing so easy at the beginning and so hard at the end

[ledhead94]

I’m probably definitely opening a can of worms by asking this, but here goes…

Serious question to all Jimbert truthers: if Jimmy and Robert were actually romantically and/or sexually involved during the Zeppelin era, why are there literally no rumors, no gossip, no speculation, nothing outside of modern Tumblr? There are certainly cases of clandestine queer relationships among classic rockers, but generally those cases spawn rumors out the wazoo well before anything is confirmed (case in point, Mick Jagger and David Bowie, whom we now know had a flaming affair back in the day, but about whom there was speculation since the very start).

I just…don’t buy the idea that Jimmy and Robert could keep a flaming affair of the magnitude that (most) Jimbert truthers believe in completely secret for years on end while also being the two leading men for (at its peak) “the biggest band in the world.” And yes, I read the Jimbert manifesto on AO3 that proposes a “gentlemen’s agreement” that no one would say anything, but where is the precedent for such a thing being put into practice? There was certainly no gentlemen’s agreement available for Bowie and Jagger. And gentlemen’s agreement aside, surely some scorned wife or girlfriend would have talked at one point or another.

If there are rumors outside of modern Tumblr that I’m unaware of, or some precedent for such a “gentlemen’s agreement” in the music industry, by all means point me in the right direction. But this is the main reason that I just can’t logically subscribe to Jimbert as a real thing. Do I like the idea? Sure. Do I think it’s hot? Absolutely. But without the existence of some sort of contemporary rumors or speculation, it just…doesn’t seem plausible.

Thoughts?

#jimbert #jimmy page #robert plant #led zeppelin #jimbert truthers

[tenabrye]

Could I possibly get some headcanons for what type of music Vash, Nick, and Knives would listen to in a modern au?

If not thats totally fine! Thank you so much!

I hope I wrote this well since a lot of bands and artists can fall under a variety of genres.

Vash

Psychedelic rock is a genre he's not afraid to admit liking and listening to. MGMT, Tame Impala, Pink Floyd, etc. He typically likes to hum along and even sway his body to the beat, oftentimes just flat out dancing to the rhythm if it's a song or band that he can get really get into.

Alternative/Indie rock is another good genre for him. His top five might include Arctic Monkeys, Florence + The Machine, Two Door Cinema Club, Chase Atlantic, and possibly Teflon Sega. Not only do a lot of the ones he listens to sound amazing, but some songs just feel good after a stressful day.

Alternative/Indie pop, but he's picky about this genre. Lana Del Rey, Twenty One Pilots, and Blink-182 are just a few that he'll listen to. He's open for recommendations with this genre, though.

Synthwave is his JAM. It's his go-to genre for literally doing any sort of chore around the house. Kavinsky, Trevor Something, Mr. Kitty, and Wayfloe. He may also listen to such songs when trying to sleep, as they have an easy way of relaxing him.

Anything classical, but that's really only because his brother likes it. He's not really picky with any pieces belonging to this genre, but he does tend to listen to the softer, less intense ones. Sometimes he'll play a piece, whether it be on his own piano or from an app on his phone, and just think about Knives and how he's doing at the moment.

Knives

He's very into the classical genre, so anything from Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, and Puccini can and will be heard in his home. He'd much rather play the pieces himself than to use an app to listen to them, however, he'll elect to use the app if he doesn't have any intentions to play them himself.

Classic pop, which he's honestly very picky about. He leans more towards artists that are similar to Frank Sinatra, and of course he listens to Michael Bublé.

Synthwave, but only because Vash had it playing when he visited. He didn't care much for the genre, at first, but it grew on him. Only listens to Kavinsky and Wayfloe, though. Might seem stubborn to broaden this genre, but he's just picky.

Alternative/indie. Only listens to Florence + The Machine, Lana Del Rey, and Fleurie. Such powerful and captivating voices will always grace his ears for as long as he lives. Not that anyone would know he listens to them.

Industrial metal, but no one will ever know. His favorites from the genre are Rammstein, Oomph!, Celldweller, and Nine Inch Nails. He once heard Vash play an Oomph song and got scared, thinking his brother knew about it.

Wolfwood

Alternative just oozes out of this man. Bands/artists such as Muse, Sub Urban, My Chemical Romance, Green Day, ThxSoMch, etcetera, are what he will be listening to. Will even sing along to the song if he's feeling it, and that happens a lot.

Not opposed to rock or heavy metal. Metallica, Slipknot, Korn, Tool, even Ghost are bands he'll listen to. He likes the volume loud a lot, however, he'll make exceptions for when people visit him.

Rap rock bands such as Hollywood Undead, Linkin Park, and Limp Bizkit are also thrown into the mix. Listens to it during chores because he says it "energizes" him. Will most definitely sing along to every song.

Electropop, yeah, he likes it. Anything similar to Graveyardguy, Slayyyter, Night Club, and Ayesha Erotica he likes. Vash doesn't like riding in the car with him ever since he played Emo Boy with a smirk. Kidding, since the blond suggests similar songs for car rides now.

Metalcore, but he only ever listens to this genre when he's in a certain mood. Usually a bad one, but he thinks listening to bands like Bring Me the Horizon, Bullet for My Valentine, All That Remains, and Of Mice & Men will cancel out his bad moods. It's become a tell of his that lets everyone know how he's feeling without saying.

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun headcanons #trigun stampede headcanons #trigun vash #trigun stampede vash #trigun millions knives #trigun stampede millions knives #trigun wolfwood #trigun stampede wolfwood #vash the stampede #vash headcanons #vash x you #vash x reader #vash x y/n #millions knives #millions knives headcanons #millions knives x you #millions knives x reader #millions knives x y/n #nicholas d wolfwood #wolfwood headcanons #wolfwood x you #wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x y/n

[kontextmaschine]

People loved their work once, and it didn’t matter if they worked in the public sector or in the private one. The men who worked in the CCC would take their grandchildren to see the forests they planted, while the men from the auto plants would point out the cars they’d built as they passed them on the new interstate highway system. The women who fastened the engines on the wings would watch the B-17’s fly off to make a liar out of Goering, and the women who taught in the public schools would point with pride when one of their old students got elected mayor. Work was about making money, certainly. It was about feeding the family and keeping the roof where it was, and maybe having a little left over at the end of the day, or at the end of the week, for some amusement. Maybe a trip to Lincoln Park or White City or a hundred other places, where you could take a moment and enjoy the cool of the evening, music riding the nightwind from a dance pavilion down along the lake.

But it was also about Doing A Job, and doing it well, which was different than simply Having A Job. It was about making good cars and strong steel and sturdy furniture. It was about learning a craft, even if what you were doing wasn’t recognized as one. There was a craft in tightening rivets, or feeding the open-hearth furnace, or planing the wood just so. You had your craft, and the person next to you had theirs, and, when all the work was done, and all the craft was practiced, and practiced well, there was something you could look at with pride and say, that is something I have given to the world. Job well done, as they used to say. You could teach seventh grade civics and then, one day, you’re on a podium outside of City Hall. That kid right there, you could say. That kid is something I have helped give to the world. Job well done, as they used to say.

Unions were greatly responsible for the pride that people took in the work they did, especially in the middle of the last century, when unions helped build the most formidable middle class in human history.

There was an autoworker, Ben Hamper, who wrote a column in the Flint (later Michigan) Voice, which was the alt-weekly Michael Moore first made his name by running. A lot of his columns got collected and repackaged in an excellent book, Rivethead, that I read in college.

I read it in a class with Stuart Blumin, who was my favorite professor and de facto advisor. He was an American historian, focused on labor and class and the development of capitalism, you could tell he was heavily influenced by EP Thompson and the Communist Party Historians Group over in the UK.

He was quite open that he had expected Communism to ultimately triumph, and that he had been wrong about that, and in subtext that he had wanted it to ultimately triumph, and didn’t think he had been wrong about that.

Anyway, Rivethead. The story is that Hamper was born in 1956, a fairly clever kid growing up in Flint, Michigan, the chronological and geographic apex of American industrial unionism, where everyone’s dad worked for GM.

And he could have gone to college but he gets some girl pregnant and so he goes to work on the assembly line not even really out of obligation or Catholic guilt or whatever but because that seems as good a life course as any, it’s what every man he’s known does, under the mighty UAW the pay’s on par with the kind of “educated” jobs you could get anyway, why not.

And so he goes to work on the line and eventually he ends up writing a column about it, and he talks about the color of the factory culture, playing soccer with rivets for balls and cardboard boxes for goals, drinking mickeys of malt liquor in your car on lunch break, the absurd fursuited mascot “Howie Makem, The Quality Cat” that GM would feature at rallies and shop-floor tours, being laid off in economic downturns and put into the “job bank” where you get paid waiting to be rehired in the next upswing, developing a perfect rhythm with your partner, training into a rhythm so perfect you can each trade off doing the two-person job yourself for 4 hours while the other one goes out to a bar on the clock, the dignity and solidarity of the American worker.

And time goes on and eventually his marriage fails but he takes it in stride, and his column gets recognized and he takes pride in that and then eventually he has an epiphany, and a complete breakdown, which are basically the same thing. And the inciting incident is when an older line worker, some guy he’d looked up to as a model of quiet, philosophical stolidity, just shits himself and is barely coherent enough to even notice this and he realizes the guy hadn’t been a Zen master, he’d just been checked-out mindless drunk on the line every day.

And he realizes that the rivethead life is destroying him, that the only thing holding it together was a budding alcoholism, and that it’s doing the same to all his co-workers, and looks back and realizes it had done the same to every grown-up man he knew, his father and uncles that growing up he had looked up to as models of masculine strength and fortitude really had just had their spark snuffed out and the life beaten out of them long before, and whatever pride they took in the cars out on the road was a defensive attempt to locate in an external form the sense of self-value that had been exterminated within them.

When Marx talked about “alienation”, well.

And he went crazy, and couldn’t bear to work on the line anymore, and there’s no redemption, that’s where the book ends.

And that was a theme that cropped up again in Professor Blumin’s class, that there were two great working class traditions that echoed through the ages, and they were

avoiding work

and

drinking

Back in the premechanized age of small-group workshop manufacturing, workers would celebrate “Saint Monday”, which was to say just not showing up for work, hung over after the weekend.

(This was riffing off of Catholic feast days, or holy days, from which we take the word “holiday”, and as time went on counted an increasing share of the days of the year. There was a reason that poor workers were aligned with the Church, and nobility, in “Altar and Throne” coalitions resisting the development of industrial capitalist liberal democracy.)

In the ‘80s, the crap time of American auto manufacturing, one trick that was passed around (pre-internet, so by word of mouth largely) was to look at the codes stamped on car bodies, which would tell you what day of the week they were manufactured, and to avoid Mondays and Fridays. Because those days had the highest defect rates, because the workers tended to be drunk, or hungover, or absent.

And back in the workshop days, you’d drink at work. Apprentices would be sent out for growlers or buckets of beer, there were elaborate rules of who in the hierarchy of workers was expected to buy rounds for who and when. And there was hellacious resistance to attempts to get them to knock this off, as the industrial era kicked into swing.

Those great satanic mills, where women and children worked in shifts at great water- or steam-driven sewing and spinning machines, stories of little kids getting their hands mangled by the machinery? One of the major reasons women and children were preferred was because they would actually show up on time every day, and stay sober around all those hand-manglers.

And I mean, this maybe sounds like an argument for socialism. Though not of any actually-existing- variety, as capitalist propaganda will be glad to tell you, Soviet work culture, at least when the morale thrills of the Revolution and Great Patriotic War faded from personal to institutional memory, was all about shirking and vodka.

So those complaints about how America celebrates Labor Day instead of May Day, ignoring the true meaning of labor - solidarity - in favor of mindless distraction? Psssh. Labor Day is a celebration of the truest, most ancient, most fundamental traditions of labor: not working (especially on Mondays), and getting drunk.

Happy Labor Day!

#working class #holidays #stuart blumin #labor day

[usedpidemo]

What if there was a K-pop based game? Not a Just Dance K-pop edition, but an actual game? What would the gameplay be like? Would you play or buy it? And who should be the first cover idol?

This honestly shouldn't be something I put so much thought into, and it's only scratching the surface, but there's so much material and concepts you could do with a K-pop based game. Other suggestions have already been tackled and explained tactfully, such as gameplay and Career/Story Mode, so here's a list of things and ideas I would like to see in a hypothetical game:

Cover idol:

I think if it’s not BTS or Blackpink, especially for the first game, you’d cause a huge riot. They are far and away the two most popular and recognized K-pop groups of all time, and are basically most Westerners’ gateway to the genre. It makes sense why not them, they’re currently inactive (esp. since BTS are in the military), but I’d argue that you should easily make two cover versions of the game—one with BTS, the other Blackpink. If it has to be one active idol, you could go with many options: Wonyoung, Karina, An Yujin, Yeji, Chaewon, Winter, Seulgi, Sana, Miyeon. It would be cool to have a foreign idol, but it has to be a Korean first, and I’d personally go with Wonyoung. For the Legacy/Legend Editions, I’d pick IU.

MyGM:

You could go three ways with a MyGM mode. Group based, company based, and music show based. All three will have similar gameplay elements, but have different ways and strategies to go about managing a successful group, company or music show. 

MyIdol could be you as a singular group’s manager, scheduling comebacks, concerts, days-off, and so on during a calendar year. There’s a stamina/morale system to balance between working them for profit/popularity and resting them so that none of the members get disgruntled and leave or be sidelined. You’d also have to make decisions for the members’ solo opportunities, line distribution, and more.

MyCompany is larger in scale—you now run an entire company or sublabel (good luck if you’re running Cube or SM lmao). You have to manage every artist’s comebacks and schedules, or else they leave or demand a contract termination. An addition from MyIdol is the ability to sign other idols/artists/trainees on the free agent market and you can add them to existing groups or create new groups with your current roster. 

MyMusicShow would basically be WWE 2K’s MyGM. You’re in charge of a music show/Korean TV station like KBS’ Music Bank or SBS’ Inkigayo and you have to compete with other networks for the best ratings of the week throughout a calendar year. You can negotiate exclusive contracts with other agencies so that their groups can only appear on your programs, as well as managing set designs/TV booking (who wins on your show)/screentime for the artists on your show. 

Universe Mode:

What it says on the tin: you have control over the entire industry and decide who are the top dogs, create special collaborations, send groups on international stages, etc.

Showcase Mode:

Depends on who’s the cover idol: you basically replay some of their most iconic/legendary stages throughout their career. If it were someone like Wonyoung for example, it would include her Very Very Very performance from PD48, that one Love Dive baseball stage, K-Pop Flex 2022, her 2022 Melon Music Awards performance, and so on. You could also do one for whoever’s on the Legend/Legacy Edition cover.

Roster:

Depending on which companies are down for it, I expect all the current 4th/5th gen guys to be available from the start, while 3rd/2nd gen groups are labeled as Legends/Legacy and require some grinding to unlock (with few exceptions). Newer groups would probably be DLC or groups from prominent eras/releases (like 2018 TWICE or 2010 SNSD for example). TheLibrarian’s suggestion of having boy group/girl group only versions is also a possible option, but c’mon, if the NBA and WWE 2K games can include both their men and women’s rosters, I see no reason for the K-pop game not to do the same.

I put so much unnecessary thought into it for some reason, I even tried making concept covers of my own using my ideas and others (they're kinda bad XD). Sorry you had to read through all that.

#asks #question #zeketheknight

[icedmatchatae]

Glimpse of Us | KTH Chapter I: Finding Happiness

Pairing: Problematic Idol Taehyung x Grad Student Reader

Genre: Idol AU, Ex-Childhood Best Friends into—, Angst (Hello, welcome to my angst central), Fluff (mainly in the flashbacks), Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

Summary: BTS’s V has been living a lavished and successful lifestyle, but underneath all of that, Kim Taehyung is far from the perfect image the media and fans made him out to be. All he wants is to relive the feelings of happiness and purpose in his life, but how can he when he left behind those memories years ago? The same memories, he hopes to see a glimpse of.

Warning: Angst (from the start mwahahaha), mentions of alcohol consumption, violence, stalking, faulty media, descriptions of therapy sessions

Word Count: 7.2k

Chapter I: Finding Happiness || Series Masterlist

“BTS is the highly musically acclaimed boy band from South Korea, sweeping the charts across the globe with their wide diversity genres of music. Their lyrics consisted of personal and social commentary that moves those who listen, especially with their fanbase, ARMY. Each member of BTS have their own individual style to their work, yet still continue to play an important role to the group’s success.”

“BTS’s V shook the world, being recognized for his alluring baritone voice and exquisite “duality” and emotions on stage, as well as being coined “The Idol’s Idol” within the Kpop industry. His facial expressions, his motions, his voice, it shows it all.”

“V ranked first on the charts of being the number one most searched keyword for the past five years in South Korea.”

“V was always the first to attract those who don’t know BTS by his unique visuals, strong aura, and his intimidating gaze.”

“V is also part of Wooga Squad, a highly achieving group of men consisted of actors Park Seojoon, Choi Wooshik, Park Hyungsik, and artist Peakboy (Kwon Sunghwan). Their friendship is widely known on their platforms while supporting one another.”

“V caught the attention of many famous fashion brands, as everything he wears turns into gold, including Celine, Louis Vuitton, Gucci, and Prada.”

“V was ranked number one as the world’s most handsome and beautiful man in the world.”

“Among the members, V has the most followers on Instagram as well as the fastest growing account on the platform.”

“V is well-loved by ARMY and is supported of his endeavors. They hope to see a solo album in the near future.”

“BTS’s V gets followed by sasaeng at the park.”

“BTS’s V attacked by an influx crowd at the airport. Videos of him holding onto j-hope.”

“Kim Taehyung was seen hanging out with Park Seojoon and mystery girl?? Potential new lover?”

“Kim Taehyung (V of BTS) caught smoking before award show! Is he becoming an addict?”

“BTS V gets embroiled in attitude controversy for not greeting fans and journalists.”

“V of BTS: dating rumors with Tzuyu of Twice? JYP denies but HYBE ignores.”

“Taehyung was secretly recorded at night on the streets, drinking more than he can handle.”

“Kim Taehyung fighting in a club?? Reports of getting drunk and the idol throwing punches.”

“Are BTS’s V and Lisa from Blackpink dating??”

The cycle repeated itself as the ever-growing success of BTS continues, with Kim Taehyung being one of the members. Success, scandal, success, scandal. At this point, it was practically the same thing. Though with the achievements, popularity, and passionate fanbase, it, unfortunately, came with a price, specifically with Taehyung.

His life turned into something he didn’t expect, whether good or bad, but it could be safe to say it has been leaning towards bad. During his years as an idol, as V, his life was heavily scrutinized by the media and the fans. Through the hate comments online, unwanted paparazzi photos, and delusional headlines on topics that he didn’t even know about, it was never-ending that sadly took a toll on him.

Taehyung faced straight forward, not wanting to make eye contact with the man across from him, leaning slightly to the left. Blankness overcame his expression with the deep-set dark circles and hollowness of his cheeks. His lips peeled and swollen from the many occurrences of biting the skin off. His hair was messily styled into his “fluffy Tae bear” image as what ARMY loved to say, but he couldn’t care less about his appearance.

The ticking sound of the clock echoed within the tiny room as Taehyung hoped time only went faster. Despite the tight space, the environment was relatively comfortable. The warm fluorescent lights hanging above the two, a brown velvet couch occupied by yours truly, and a rust-toned loveseat also occupied by the professional. The walnut surface of the desk stacked with files and books by a wall and extended shelves on the opposite was in his peripheral vision.

Taehyung could sense the attentive stare the man was giving him, which had no effect on the idol. It wasn’t harsh gazing, almost curious and kind, but Taehyung wasn’t really ready to give his all. He was trying his best but didn’t know what to do. The idol almost felt bad for him, having been assigned to the professional for nearly a year with little to no progress. But the man had some steel grit and was determined for Taehyung to speak about something.

A particular question made Taehyung fidget in his seat and bounce his leg. It wasn’t too personal because everyone knew, but it still gave him chills thinking about it.

Recently, at BTS’s Festa Dinner Party, the boys announced a temporary pause on group activities except for their variety show, Run BTS, to focus on their solo projects and other activities they wished to pursue without the constant clash in the group’s schedule. Each member was currently doing their own thing, whether promotions or taking a short break. In Taehyung’s instance, the company and his fellow members thought it was a fantastic idea for Taehyung to continue focusing on himself.

Through the years and over time, Taehyung has been dealing with the pressure of the idol life and fearing that his privacy would be taken away at any minute. The heavy load caused a strain on him, a concoction of emotions, as well as changes in behavior. He got sad, he got angry, and he drank. He rarely remembered anything the morning after. He got nervous, he got stressed, and he smoked, which led to online hysteria. He got into fights with strangers, friends, and his members. Countless articles on him from a fight dated back months ago. Despite rarely interacting, he got caught up in scandals with various female idols that were obviously not true. The recent one was another Blackpink member. It has been his fourth one in the past year.

Somehow it was Taehyung getting the bitter end of the fruit, having to deal with it alone. He never comprehended how his name got caught in the tongues of the people when there were hundreds of thousands of celebrities they could choose from. Though not wanting to wish it on others, new up-and-coming idol groups were entering this industry. Idols who were quite naive don’t even know half the bullshit he and BTS faced.

Of course, there was ARMY support. But they interrupted the news differently, assuming that he’s trying to be a normal human and that he does indeed make mistakes. Others commented on Taehyung’s behavior as highly inappropriate as younger fans looked up to him. All responses are partially correct but also, in a way, incorrect in Taehyung’s eyes.

The boys’ support was incredibly different, and they understood him until a couple of years back. Now there has been a faint tension between Taehyung and some of the members after a disagreement right before the group’s announcement. Nevertheless, they were there for him, especially now.

But it was a little too much for his liking.

He has been in and out of therapy, having one session every month due to the rigorous scheduling of the group. But now, since that was on hold, it gave Taehyung the perfect time to engage with himself as frequently as possible.

Taehyung eventually gave up and told his therapist what had happened the past two weeks. The professional knew who he was and what happened with the group—having gone through a well-detailed contract of privacy—but it was appropriate for Taehyung to mention it on his own because sitting before the therapist wasn’t V of BTS but simply Kim Taehyung.

“How do you feel about all of that?” Dr. Im continued thoroughly, jotting down notes in his notebook.

Taehyung scrunched his nose, thinking what to say, “Bittersweet, I guess? You know we’ve been doing this for so long. It’s kinda like we don’t know how to act or do without the group.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, everything I’ve done for almost a decade has been in the group, for the group, with the group.” Taehyung shrugged, playing with his fingers. “Now we have this time to ourselves…almost lost I guess.”

“Can you elaborate on when you speak about “lost”?”

Being in a mood, Taehyung felt a little talkative this session. That’s what usually happened. One session, he’s a blabbermouth, the next, silent as a ghost. There was a reason why his progress was so inconsistent. “The group strived for a goal together, we worked hard and had success which made us happy, but…I don’t know. Me, I guess? I’m feeling lost where now it’s just me, and my goals, my happiness?”

“What would be your goals?”

“I don’t know. I just have my schedule.” Taehyung muttered, slowly getting disinterested in the topic. He hated that he didn’t know anything in his life. “Maybe write and do my solo album, but nothing is ever good for me. That’s why I’m probably the last member to do that.”

“I see, all that’s understandable. I can’t imagine your line of work, but I can sense that the craft takes time.” Dr. Im reassured his client with a warm smile. “You worked hard to get where you’re at. Hard work comes success and of course, at times, success can lead to happiness. Yet at the same time, there will always be struggles.” Taehyung barely responded, only with a nod of acknowledgment.

Lightly segwaying into another topic, Dr. Im wondered out loud, “You’ve mentioned your happiness. Could you describe a bit more to me?”

“There’s really nothing.” The idol bluntly replied. “I don’t feel happy. Like with the group, yeah I guess so, but just me? No.”

“So with the group, what is your happiness?”

“Maybe like, our bond?” Taehyung stated frankly. “We sacrificed things for the band and we only ever had each other. We had good times, good laughs, cries and fights. We, of course, had our fans who’ve done so much. Together, we were always so strong and understood one another, until recently…”

“What do you mean?” His therapist inquired, but Taehyung stayed silent and stoic. Though the professional attempted his best to let Taehyung open gradually, there was still a concrete wall up. That also led Taehyung into spacing out and ignoring anything Dr. Im said. But that didn’t mean he didn’t understand his non-verbal communications. He knew that Taehyung would eventually talk about it, but as of right now, it was too much for him.

So Dr. Im simply hummed and nodded before saying, “It’s okay to not say anything about that. Whenever you’re ready.”

Taehyung peered at the profession, mentally applauding how well he was with him. If Taehyung was in his shoes, he’d slap himself.

“However, I hope you don’t mind talking more so about your happiness.” When Taehyung didn’t protest and shrugged, it was a good sign to continue. “So the happiness by yourself? How is that?”

“Again, I’m not happy, or I don’t feel it at all. I never thought about it until now actually.” The idol reiterated.

“How long have you felt that way?”

Taehyung blew his cheeks out as his breath came out of his drying lips. “Probably years...maybe even the whole time since debut.”

“That’s a long time to not feel happy. How is happiness, is it important to you?” Dr. Im pointed out.

“I guess, yeah…I mean look at where I am. Fucking emotions always changing and ruining my life.”

“Emotions are never changing, you know.” His therapist explained. “But how you use it can. How were you able to cope?”

“Well, we were more restricted in the beginning since we were rookies and I used to hide it well with all the bullshit I did.” The idol responded thoroughly. “I guess over time, it got worse and I couldn’t take it anymore hence all the scandals. So yeah, I’m not happy. Life is just there. I’m just here.”

“So, when was the last time you felt happy?” His therapist questioned, sparking a new discussion up.

“Uhhh, I’m guessing before debut, the group, fans? If it’s been years.”

“So imagine the last time you felt it, and I want you to describe to me what your happiness is. What are the thoughts that came up, the emotions?” Dr. Im sought it out in hopes that it could unlock a new memory about his past.

“That sounds pretty loaded…” Taehyung tilted his head as he stared at the window.

Soft tangerine brightness leaked through the reflection. The sun settled down as he was the last client of the day, mainly due to his schedule. It was also perfect so that other clients wouldn’t be sitting and waiting and suddenly looking up to find the V of BTS coming out of his therapy session. He knew for sure that it would spread like wildfire. He wasn’t ashamed, but it was somewhat taboo, and people could warp the story to make it worse.

“Let me reword it.” Dr. Im suggested. “Before the group, before the fans, before you were V, you were simply Kim Taehyung so what was your happiness as Kim Taehyung?”

“Wow, you’re bringing me way back.” Taehyung chuckled lightly, glancing at the man nodding and waiting patiently.

The idol pondered on the question. What was his happiness as just Taehyung? Taehyung mentioned his happiness in previous sessions, but this was the first time it was discussed. Only because it has been a while since Taehyung looked at his past before BTS and as an idol. BTS and being an idol was his life. He didn’t realize that the last time he was happy went way back. It was likely when he lived in Geochang, his childhood days before leaving and going to Seoul to train. It seemed so long ago, being in his mid to late twenties, that it was all blur.

There was his family and school friends, school days, specifically recess and lunch, the farm, the countryside, and the distinct street food you could only get there. God, it felt like a fable. His life went from low-income farmer boy to this international pop star, the whole rags to riches spiel. But these memories didn’t feel real, almost make-believe, maybe even nonexistent. His mind couldn’t replay those memories right now, feeling too shy to reveal it all to his trusting therapist that all the people and their faces were erased.

Well, not all faces.

He remembered one face as clear as day, but he knew that face would forever be a lost longing memory.

-

It was like everyone Taehyung knew had the sixth sense of knowing when he finished his session because calls and messages bombarded his phone. The tones bounced off his eardrums, grimacing at who was raiding the device.

Sure, his group chats with the members and his friends separately. The name of his sweet, sweet girlfriend popped on the screen with texts asking “how are you” or “let me know when you get home so I could cook dinner <3.” Anyone in the world would think these gestures were supportive and caring as a girlfriend should to their partner, but now, Taehyung did not want to deal with her and eventually ignored it, putting his phone on vibrate. He thanked his therapist before leaving the office and heading down to the elevators. 

As he entered the platform, his phone vibrated continuously. He groaned and rolled his eyes, thinking it was her again. But lo and behold, it was his best friend, Park Jimin. Though hesitant, Taehyung accepted the call and answered.

“Hello,” The idol greeted monotonously.

“Why, hello, my lovely giggling bear!” Jimin’s voice sounded too ecstatic for his best friend’s liking, but he didn’t comment on it as it was usually like him. “And how was your time in therapy?”

“You know you don’t have to call after every session I attend.” Taehyung commented when he stepped out of the elevator and then the building. “You’re only gonna get the same answer—less shitty than before.” He spotted one of his company cars waiting in the parking lot and walked towards it.

“I’m just worried about you. You should know that.” Jimin huffed, and Taehyung could almost see the pout evident on his best friend’s face. “Better me than Yoongi Hyung or Namjoon Hyung.”

The mentioning of their names puts a frown on him. He knew that though supportive of his path to improvement and soul searching, the way they spoke to him felt somewhat demeaning and scolding him for every little thing. Do this, not that. You should have stopped yourself before the mess gets bigger. Why are you doing that when you clearly know you shouldn’t do that? I think this is best for you. Blah, blah, blah.

Though he didn’t mention it with Dr. Im, right before everyone split to do their own thing, Taehyung fought with his hyungs, leading to Taehyung walking out of the company building frustrated and getting wasted until the following morning and not talking to them for almost two weeks. Things were said, insults were exchanged; it didn’t matter if they were right or wrong. Taehyung didn’t want to hear what’s been repeated countless times.

“I also miss you. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”Jimin announced, hoping to lighten the mood. “When I call, I wanna know how’s life for you.”

“I appreciate the gesture, but Jimin, I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” Taehyung replied as he rubbed his tired eyes.

“I know you’re not fine, Tae. That’s why I’m worried.”

The idol sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm himself. “Anyways, how’s your family? How’s Busan?” He wanted to switch the discussion over to Jimin, hoping he would get the notion that Taehyung didn’t want to talk about that.

Jimin paused and respired, understanding what he was doing, so he gave in and updated his best friend on his life. While Jimin was talking and he traveled through the city to go home, Taehyung’s mind wandered off, thinking back about his session. What popped into his mind was not spoken, but he explained that those memories were gone as those in it were gone, his environment changed, and the hold on his attachment was slowly loosening.

But then, his therapist said something that got him thinking.

“It’s a pain to not be able to have those things right now, especially when you know they made you happy. But having those memories are key to unlocking more ways of potential bringing yourself closer to your own happiness. Putting words into action.” Dr. Im responded, writing down more scribbles in his book yet staring at Taehyung. “You’ll know the types of people you want, you know where you should be, and understand how much you want it.”

Taehyung understood his therapist, giving him some hope but not as much as the professional intended. “You mentioned people, the types of people I wanted.” Dr. Im hummed. “What if it’s not the type of people, but just…the people?”

“What do you mean, Taehyung?”

Taehyung scratched the back of his head, gradually feeling his nerves tingling. He tried laughing it off as the man before he stared attentively. “It wasn’t the types of people I was with, but the people I was with. Actually, a person, specifically.”

“Are you willing to talk about this person?”

His therapist had no clue what or who he was talking about, but it brought out many mixed thoughts and emotions. The reference to it sent an aching twist in Taehyung’s heart. He didn’t like the feeling. It only reminded him that it was over and nothing had been the best since.

“Not, right now. No.”

-

Taehyung went into his house, located at the edge of the city, to avoid any disturbances yet be within the vicinity of his work. After a sasaeng threat, he moved out of his luxurious condo in the heart of Seoul and found a comfortable and lovely two-story house in a quiet yet secured neighborhood. It helped with his living situation, but not necessarily his life.

As he closed the front door, he heard feet padding down the hallway and a soft voice speaking whimsically, “You’re home!” Skinny limbs wrapped around his torso, making him tense up, but he ultimately eased himself to the touch.

He pushed out a grin and wrapped an arm around her, kissing the crown of her head. “Hi, babe.” She raised her head with her sparkling almond eyes, smiling only for and at the sight of her boyfriend returning home. He stared back and nodded, biting the inside of his mouth.

There she was—in her raw and glorified self—Na Clara, his girlfriend of five years. Clara came from an affluent family, the Na Group conglomerate, which became a stakeholder for Big Hit back in 2016. That was where the two met—at a stakeholder’s event as Clara was there for her family and Taehyung was there as part of the band to show respect and gratuity for the support the Na family has given. That very night was where everyone said, “Tae and Clara hit it off so well.” 

As the rise of Big Hit increased, the CEO at that time, Bang Sihyuk, and Na Seong-jin, Clara’s father, made a mutual agreement to part ways but still own part of the stocks. But the departure didn’t stop the blossoming relationship between the two. After countless flirting and dates, the two made it officially the following year and have been together ever since. They got Yeontan together and moved in with one another, so Clara left her family home to stay with her boyfriend.

Of course, due to Taehyung’s idol status, they agreed to keep their relationship a secret. Clara was indeed a socialite but also had an image to maintain for the sake of her family. Still, it wasn’t as harsh to keep up as Taehyung’s. The company insisted on annual NDA renewal contracts to ensure the idol’s safety. There were no disagreements as Clara happily signed the papers because, in her words, “As long as I have my Tae, then I’m happy.”

Clara was kind and caring, even to the members and others around her, and it was easy to gain the support of their relationship. She was also a philanthropist and animal lover, donating to charities and helping rescue endangered species. She was a real golden goddess, the visual of South Korea. Her shining long, ebony locks, pale glassy skin, glittering eyes, a body many women referenced for surgery, and a heart that melted and attracted many citizens. Men wanted her. Women wanted to be her. But she didn’t care about any of that.

Because Kim Taehyung had her heart and only looked his way.

Those who did know deemed their relationship as perfect in every way. Perfect connection, perfect communication, perfect attraction, perfect visuals, perfect, perfect, perfect.

But it was anything but.

“How was therapy?” She asked as she lets go of him to run back towards the kitchen. Taehyung took his shoes off before dragging his feet to follow his girlfriend. He rolled his eyes at the same old question everyone’s been asking him, and Clara wasn’t any different.

“Less shitty than before.” He mumbled loud enough for her to hear. Then softer taps to the floor amplified before a sharp squeaking bark of fluff came towards Taehyung. He crouched down to carry his pet before standing back on his feet.

“You know you should try to be a bit more enthusiastic about this.” She said as she stirred some kind of soup. Taehyung glanced over at the pot and scowled when he caught a waft of it.

“But I’m not.” He shrugged, caressing Yeontan in his arms.

“Tae, do you even try?” With an annoyed face, she looked up to her unbothered boyfriend.

“Yes, I try. But I don’t know. There’s some shit I’m not ready to talk about.”

“Therapy is supposed to help you open up.” She started out the obvious, which made Taehyung roll his eyes. “If not with your therapist, then with me or the boys.”

“You guys won’t understand if I told you.” He scoffed after settling his dog down. Clara tried to grab him next, but the Pomeranian ran away to his kettle. “You would think I’m psychopath with all my fucked up thoughts and behaviors.”

“Tae, stop calling yourself that! I don’t like it when you say those things.” She scolded as she turned off the stove.

“What, I thought you loved my weird expressions.” He cocked an eyebrow as he sat on the counter table stool. An outsider would look at them and assume that he was only teasing, but in actuality, he was pushing her temper.

“Not when you say shit like that!” Clara shook her head before sighing. “You’re not psychopath, I never thought of you like that.”

“Bet you thought a lot of things of me.” 

Ignoring his insufferable commentary, she said sincerely, “This is to help you understand yourself better, and understand we’re here to support you. You know…”

He didn’t even bother listening to her as his messages went off. His group chat, Wooga Squad, had all his hyungs, and they discussed late-night eating plans. Taehyung checked the time, and it was already close to eight on a Tuesday night. Nightlife wasn’t as busy compared to the weekends, so it was possible that Taehyung could hang out with them too.

“Tae! Are you even listening to me?” Clara shouted, snapping her fingers in front of his face and then shaking his shoulder.

The idol blinked rapidly, almost tunneling his vision with the phone conversation. It was a tendency he did as well as spacing out. “What?”

“Ugh, I hate when you do that.” The socialite sneered. “I was just talking to you too.”

“Can you chill? What you were saying wasn’t even that important. Jimin even said the same damn thing.” Taehyung snapped as he typed his reservation for the Wooga outing.

“Who are you texting?” Clara’s eyes attempted to leer at his phone, but she was a little too far, and it was angled in a way she couldn’t see anything.

Taehyung rolled his eyes heavily at her implicit interrogation. “It’s Seojoon Hyung. They wanted to have dinner outside in like an hour.”

“Tae, I’m already done making our dinner.” She pouted as she pushed the pot in his direction. “I made kimchi jjigae.”

“Oh, that’s what it is.” Taehyung gasped sarcastically. “Yeah, I still don’t want it.”

“Hey, I’m trying to cook more, okay?” Clara frowned. With her socialite status, Clara was attended to and pampered by maids and butlers from the day she was born. Ever since she moved in with Taehyung three years ago, she had to learn how to cook and clean without any help. Taehyung had to help her at some points, and he wasn’t the best either. Actual cooking wasn’t done until a couple of months ago as the food was always take-out. But when the idol mentioned how much he missed home-cooked meals in this therapy, Clara tried her best to learn some dishes.

“You are.” He agreed as he stood up, heading towards the door. “But I’m going.”

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” The socialite followed Taehyung like Yeontan would. She watched him put on his shoes. “I’ve missed you the whole day.”

Taehyung exhaled before standing up straight, “I guess I can spend time with you tomorrow. I have somewhat of a free day. We’ll have breakfast together.” He kissed her head and patted her hair. He held her face in his hands. “But we’ll order in.”

Her pout shifted into a suppressing smile as she pulled his hands off her. She tugged his arms to encircle her waist, then wrapped her arms around his nape. “We better.” She tiptoed to peck his lips, transmitting shivers down his spine with mixed feelings. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

It was at the ringing of his phone that rescued him off of his girlfriend to take the call. He quickly bid farewell to Clara, who waved hopelessly before he closed the door behind him.

He answered, “Hyung! What’s up?”

“Tae, are you home?” Seojoon exclaimed through the speakers.

“I was, but I’m leaving now.”

“Stay there, Wooshik and I will be there in ten minutes. We’re dropping off Joohyuk home, said he’s got a family birthday to attend.”

There has been a somewhat unofficial addition to the group—Nam Joohyuk. Some may have seen him from Weightlifting Fairy Kim Bok-Joo, Start-Up, or Twenty-Five Twenty-One. He has been slowly breaking the acting industry and stealing the hearts of fans worldwide, in addition to his modeling career. The group met him through Seojoon and eventually made his way into Wooga, coming to outings and trips.

However, Taehyung was weary of him. Sure, Joohyuk was pleasant and respectful towards the others and met the group’s criteria of being “too handsome,” but it was a bit off. Still, his hyungs loved spending time with him, and it can be assumed that Taehyung could be civil.

But he also kept his distance from him.

A sour face morphed onto the idol’s face, but his voice was poisonously friendly when he responded, “Aw, Hyung isn’t coming?”

“He said he’ll come next time, but not this time.”

“Yeah, unfortunate…” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “But yeah, I’ll wait for you.”

-

Walking through empty streets would seem eerie and dangerous, but it was basically heaven in Taehyung’s eyes. Wooshik suggested a place his cousin told him about, but he never looked it up until the group went. When Seojoon parked the car behind a nearby lot and got out, they realized it was completely barren.

They found out they were in a rundown part of Seoul where it was sketchy as fuck. Streetlights flickered, stray animals running, and a few individuals here and there, but they weren’t as approachable. They concluded that they were either a sex worker, a drug dealer, or someone interested in obtaining either or both. That was the one of the only reasons for anyone to be there, but it wasn’t the group’s reason.

“Wooshik, what the fuck is this place?” Seojoon scowled as they walked down the pavement. Eyes were on them, but it wasn’t the typical staring of celebrities. It was more so the eyes trying to hunt prey or wondering why the individual who clearly doesn’t fit in would come to an atypical location.

“Hyung, calm down.” Wooshik checked the maps to ensure they were going in the right direction. “It’s only the path. After that, there’ll be more activity and running places.”

“I just hope it’s not the same place as these watchers stay in.” The eldest of the bunch hoped. Let’s just say many of the sex workers had googly eyes with him the most. Worship was too busy navigating, and Taehyung felt somewhat relieved.

The idol didn’t need to hide his face or get recorded in this part of the city. Though it was a bit high-risk, there was a perk for him. Of course, he was still in constant fear of getting caught but mentally reassured himself. 

All he wanted to do was get away from all these problems, but it seemed to keep following him no matter where he went. He fucked up all that time ago, leading him to where he was: sad, enraged, and nervous. He really had no hope in things and went on dragging with what little life he had in him.

To Seojoon’s relief, they reached a pretty lit area. There were convenience stores, bars, low-rated clubs, and a small community. Most people walking and passing by were elderly, but it was safe enough.

“Jesus, this restaurant better be worth it after passing by mini Hell.” Seojoon breathed out with ease.

“You’re literally the tallest, strongest, and eldest among us.” Wooshik bluntly scoffed. “Be tough like a leopard.”

“So what? You know what can kill leopards? Lions! And you know what can kill Lions? Hyenas!” Seojoon countered at his younger. “We were surrounded by hyenas, Wooshik.”

Taehyung was grateful for his friends. Yes, he loved his members to death, but something about his friend group gave him solace, especially in these rough times. They helped him out, taking him out of the fights, limiting his alcohol and smoking, and keeping various eyes on their surroundings. This time was one of them, despite the high severity of it.

“We’re here!” Wooshik disregarded his rant, presenting the restaurant. It was small and rundown, having an entrance made by a bright blue tarp. Trash cans were filled to the brim with waste and other junk inside. Taehyung could have sworn a rat passed by. There were graffiti markings on the side, but it was still the cleanest everywhere.

Out of nowhere, two clearly-drunk large-set men stumbled out of the cloth holding onto one another. They exchanged rambling and laughing so loudly to make the bunch flinch. But out came a gentle-looking old grandmother, ensuring they were leaving safely.

“You two get home safe, okay? I called a cab for you. They’re coming soon.” The lady smiled and patted their back.

“Ohhhh, Halmeoni! Thank you so much!” One of them managed to say. “Always taking care!”

“Of course, for my loyal customers!” She laughed joyfully as she was about to go back inside, but the three extremely handsome men in front of her caught her very eyes. “Oh, welcome! Welcome to DanDan! Please come in!” She lifted the tarp open for them to enter first.

Though they were hesitant, they warmed up to her kind aura, thus going inside the restaurant. Their eyes scanned the place. It was utterly different from the outside. It held a cozier and comforting atmosphere, more intimate as compared to traditional restaurants in Seoul. It had a “family-owned” vibe, despite the customers being middle-aged men or elderly couples enjoying a night out. A male server came out from the back and handed plates, followed by busing the tables and wiping them down. Potted plants surrounded the corner, a TV in the middle, and the succulent aroma of food touched their noses.

“I’ve never seen handsome gentlemen before!” She cheered. Judging by her sentence, she knew nothing about who they were, which was a good sign.

“Oh, Halmeoni! I had a cousin come here and said your yukgaejang was out of this world!” Wooshik complimented, to which the old lady clapped in glee.

“Ahh, he’s too kind. Come, come, sit wherever you want.” She motioned towards the vacant seats. As they settled down, she handed them menus before walking away. They engaged in the list of foods to even realize she was gone.

She headed towards the back kitchen, squealing like a school girl, where she found her husband cooking and one of the only two servers fixing the plates. She eyed the particular worker before she called out their name.

“___!” Your boss whispered loudly in hopes the men didn’t hear from outside.

“Yes, Halmeoni?” You smiled, looking up from the orders that were ready to go.

“Sweetie, there’s a couple of guys out there.” She grinned, hinting at you to serve them.

You squinted your eyes at her and scrunched your nose at the thought, “Please, no more. I know you mean well, but I don’t want to talk to some creep. The last man turned out to be a scum.”

“And my apologies for that. But, this time is serious!” Your boss voiced out. “They’re super handsome, like a mother’s dream son-in-law!”

“Are you talking about me?” Your fellow coworker, Kenji, who was three years younger than you and the actual grandson of your bosses, stepped into the backroom and the conversation without permission.

“She said mother’s dream son-in-law, not Quasimodo’s twin.” You retorted, to which he stuck his tongue out to you.

“Nice one, ___!” Harabeoji laughed at his grandson.

“Kenny, please tell ___ about the handsome men out there.” Though it was bothersome at times that Halmeoni was being persistent, you enjoyed it. It reminded you of how your grandmother was to you.

“Oh, yeah. They’re super hot.” Your coworker joined in on the persuasion. “But you’re probably not their type, maybe even bottom tier that it’s last resort kind of thing.” Meanwhile, Kenji was the irritated brother you never wanted.

“First of all, that was rude, and it’s the reason why you’re still single, and second, whether they’re handsome or hot or not, I’m not looking.” You reasoned, putting up a feigned smile. 

“So what, you’re gonna die alone?” Kenji snorted, to which he received glaring eyes from you and his grandmother. He quickly shut his mouth and muttered an apology.

“It’s complicated, okay? I’m just trying to work and earn money.” You said before lifting your tray.

“Just have a look, kinda like window shop.” Halmeoni insinuated before concluding her suggestion. You sighed, giving in to making her happy, so you nodded before leaving the kitchen.

Meanwhile, the bunch wanted to order a whole receipt of the appetizing dishes, completely in awe of the prices and how good they sounded. The range of soups, meats, sides, and drinks was all too alluring.

“Looking at all of this made me hungry. I’m ready to order.” Wooshik bounced in his chair before putting the menu down. “Tae, you good enough to eat a lot?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The youngest one simply said. Though he looked at the dishes, his mind was preoccupied with everything. He thought the food would cheer him up, but it still didn’t meet his expectations.

“Don’t think about it right now. Just have some dinner with your lovely hyungs, and if you want to drink, we’ll buy some.” Seojoon proposed as he smiled reassuringly at the idol. “Also, dinner is on Wooshik.”

Worship was about to protest, but the eldest used his power card to make him shut up. “Yeah, it’s on me.”

During their conversation, you came out with the heavy trey and yelled, “Coming through!” You carefully paced towards another table and laid the food before dispersing it to the customers. All without knowing, you passed by him. 

“I’m going to the bathroom!” Taehyung announced as he stood up. The youngest had his back facing the kitchen and passageway. “Do you know where it is?”

“I think it’s just right down the hallway over there.” Seojoon pointed, making Taehyung turn his head in the direction and find the signs leading to the bathroom. All without knowing he passed by you.

“Cute waitress.” Wooshik nudged Seojoon as he caught sight of you.

Seojoon peered towards you, smiling at the elderly couple you were serving, “Looks young though, but agreed, she’s cute.” It was easier for them to spot you as they had a view of the back.

“Let’s get her attention.” Wooshik prompted before raising his hand and hollered, “Excuse me, Miss! We’d like to order.” Once you gave that table’s food, your eyes sought for your following table to attend to until you saw a hand held up. Your eyes widened at your discovery.

Not only were they attractive, but you knew who they were. Park Seojoon and Choi Wooshik were big-time actors in the country and potentially the world. Also, as an avid drama junkie who watched every drama and movie they were in, you could say you were a fan.

But obviously, you hid the fan in you away. As of now, they were somehow customers of the family-owned restaurant in a dangerous part of the city. You were good at hiding your emotions, which was fairly easy when you walked toward them with your customer service smile and gentle approach.

“Hi, welcome to DanDan. I’m ___. I’ll be serving you today.” You greeted to their liking, and you knew this because they smiled so beautifully back. “What can I get for you?” As they ordered, you wrote it down in detail as some orders were modified. They wanted dishes that weren’t spicy, no added coconut shavings, and no lemon on one. It was very particular, but you went with it. You’ve experienced picky eaters in the past, as a waitress and in life in general. 

You repeated their order, just in case you misheard, but they agreed to all. “Oh, before I forget, any drinks besides two cups of water?”

“Can we get three bottles of soju, and one coke.” Wooshik asked politely. “Oh, also three cups of water. Our other friend is in the bathroom right now.”

Hmm, another friend, they say. You wondered who it may be, Hyungsik? You knew some actors were friends with them, so it could be. You didn’t want to get your hopes high, but you couldn’t help but think if the other guy exceeded your expectations. 

You nodded mindlessly, “Okay, got your orders. I will be back with your drinks.” You turned your back as you walked towards the kitchen but stopped when Kenji came out with no task.

“Oh my God, Ken. Those men!” You whispered at your coworker so no one would hear. “Do you know who they are?”

“No? Am I supposed to know?” He denied it, taking a glimpse of the men talking to one another.

“That’s Park Seojoon and Choi Wooshik!” You beamed.

“Oh my God,” Kenji gasped. “I still don’t give a fuck.” Your mouth dropped as you scorned him.

Taehyung finally left the bathroom, walking down the hallway. While he did his business, he also thought about his happiness. The topic seemed to be under the spotlight in his brain, wanting to be recognized. He wanted happiness, like, who doesn’t? He loved when he was happy. Everything felt safe, comforting, and relaxing in his life. But it felt physically and mentally impossible for him now when those memories of when he was happy had a person in them, a specific person. Someone who truly made him feel alive and shined hope into his life.

But alas, she was no more after events that were too shameful for his liking.

All these thoughts weren’t getting him anywhere. Maybe he should give up on therapy. It was all Clara’s idea, and he just went with it to stop her pestering. It had its pros and cons, but he doesn’t know where he stood with it but him going was something? Like what was said, there was now no hope, and life dragged him. Walls seemed to cave in on him, testing how far he could go.

Then he paused at the end of the passageway with dilated pupils.

He felt his body freeze up, unable to take control of his limbs. His breath stopped for a second to gaze. His growling stomach rumbled with his anxiousness. He had to blink twice to see if it wasn’t his imagination. 

It couldn’t be; this was impossible; there was no way. The disbelief was vivid on his face but slowly made his jaw drop in shock as he processed the reality of it all. The door of lost longing memories opened with a flood as it crashed into his mind. Years of joy washed before his very eyes, years of hope sparked his nerves, years of happiness flashed on his face, and the years of the childhood friend he once had were right in front of him back after almost a decade apart.

“___?”

Tagged: @manuosorioh @kaal-ee

#taehyung x reader #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfiction #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts smut #bts x reader #matcha masterlist

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hi BPP. I have a question running through my mind lately, and I think it’s a little bit stupid, a little bit legit. I read your thoughts and like your opinions. I think you’re one of the best people who could answer, if not the most appropriate one. Sorry if it sounds dumb, tho.

I’ve been into kpop for a while, now. I can’t say i know the way it works, i can’t say i’m a master of it. But i notice things. I notice the big big impact fanservice has in the industry, for example. It’s literally fundamental. There are a few few companies with sex-mixed groups. Put them apart, the majority are same sex groups. Because with opposite genders in the same group there could be problems, unease, relationships etc.

Then they push same sex fantasies with fanservice and amplified skinship (already present in Korea). And until this point, everything is normal. I mean, we know things work this way.

But here i already notice a controversy. Homophobia is present and rooted in Korea and in the industry, but still they push gay narratives/don’t do anything to debunk them. So they try to “feed” everyone, people who like gay scenarios/moments included.

Then i think about girl groups. Twice, black pink. There’s a lot of explicit touching, explicit affirmations (i like you, your body is stunning, let’s go on a date, you make me blush etc). There’s in bts too, the guys did some nasty things too on cameras, i know. But with girl groups, you can easily notice it’s made up for the cameras but it still happens, and unless i’m missing it, i never saw someone hating or heavily hating on members because of it. Because of some easily misunderstanable sentences/acts.

The same goes for boy groups. I’m thinking of ateez. On of the members (i’m not into them so i don’t know his name) loudly read a comment saying “marry (insert another member’s name)”. And he said “you want me to marry *? You know it’s illegal here”. Then i’m thinking of enyphen, again, i’m not into them, but i saw this clip of two members going live and reading comments about them being a couple/being romantically involved. Shipping.

I’m sorry this is gonna be a long one, but before making my point i need to say these things.

Then we have Somi. She explicitly said she has a lot of women flirting with her, and she said she wants to conquer women too. She said she likes Han SoHee and dmed her on insta, but she didn’t reply. She even kissed Hyuna in a video posted on the internet less than a month ago.

Then we have Bibi. She kisses girl fans during her concerts and pictures of it are shared everywhere. She’s still famous, all of these people i’m mentioning are famous, are known, are in the korean spotlight, more or less. And their careers are not fucked up. Sometimes it’s fanservice, some others it’s who they are. Somi really likes women too, imo, and Bibi as well.

I get that for women it might be easier. There’s a group (a big group) of people who prefers gay interactions between women than gay interactions between men. They find it pleasing, and it’s an homophobic, toxic masculinity and women fetishization related preference.

But still, most people are fine with it. Yeah someone probably criticized it, probably hated on them because of these behaviours, but at the end of the day everything is fine for them.

I’m thinking about J-Hope too, who has gay friends and publicly shares pictures with them. He even visited a gay club and, again, probably some people criticized him for it and i’m just not on that side of the internet and the fandom, but at the end of the day his career is not gonna end because of it. Most People are fine with that too. He wears nail polish, tae does too. Can you imagine Jm or Jk doing that publicly? The hate they’d get? Maybe i’m wrong and it wouldn’t be like that; but that’s how i feel.

Then i think about Holland. His coming out had a huge impact on his career, his life. The aggressions he was victim of; his music not being so followed and famous, probably also because of said coming out.

I think about every kpop artist who is closeted and can’t say it. I think about Jikook, about Jimin who had to “play” with colors, lyrics, temporary tattoos and playful interviews (such as the “I think he likes men-> I don’t like you” one) in order to silently whisper that he’s not straight. That there’s more he can’t show.

And then Jikook in general. They could never afford to do what ateez and enhypen did. Never, bpp. We know that. So why?

Why is there this difference, why is it so… difficult for me to get how this works. Why can they do it, but Jikook can’t? But bts can’t? Why is there a limit for some idols, and some others are almost completely free? What am I missing?

I hope my question is clear, bpp. I really do, because i feel like i made a mess here all over the place. I’m sorry about it, thank you for reading this, if you did.

I appreciate you🫶

***

Hi Anon,

Don’t apologize.

So if I’m reading this right, you’re asking why the reaction to jikook showing queer expression is so much more negative than you see it for anyone else / other duos and groups?

Or, maybe quoting you is better:

“And then Jikook in general. They could never afford to do what ateez and enhypen did. Never, bpp. We know that. So why?”

I’m not sure if what I’ll say will make sense, and this might seem silly, but I think one reason jikook/BTS appear to have fewer liberties on things like explicit/overt shows of love/attraction between them, even under the umbrella of ‘fan service’ and compared to other groups, is because BTS is the biggest group in the world. Just by virtue of the group’s prominence, BTS being very closely tied with several government appointments and massive brands in Korea (Samsung and Hyundai)… there’s a greater expectation of conformity for them compared to other groups. There’s just more at stake for them.

I mean, do you recall the lead up to the enlistment news? How people were picking them apart, people who didn’t think they should be exempt where digging into their old footage trying to find anything to turn public opinion against the group. It was kinda crazy. In that sort of environment and in any case, the prudent thing would be to wait till after military service to expect more freedom in expression for a boy group. And perhaps that’s what we’ll see with jikook and BTS in general come 2026.

But also, the thing is, jikook have still been quite loud… in some ways even louder than Somi’s declarations (but certainly not Holland’s and the cost to him and any openly gay artist is apparent to see). GCF in Tokyo is so loud, it couldn’t be louder if JK got a megaphone, climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower and screamed that he loves Jimin in the four cardinal directions. No matter what anybody says about GCF in Tokyo, that video itself is very clear and it says it all.

Then there’s the gesture of Jimin flying from Paris to Korea just to spend some time with Jungkook on his birthday, and then more recently, flying to NYC to be with JK during Seven debut. There’s the way their families treat them both. There’s that OT7 live where Jimin kept one half of his body literally glued to Jungkook’s on the couch, hooking his arms to keep their thighs together that not even air could pass between them. Then there’s fucking Rosebowl, pardon my French.

Like, even with all the scrutiny, jikook have still been able to say what they actually want about what they each mean to each other. Jimin is usually private and careful with how he speaks in general, he’s not the kind of person to talk the way Somi did about anything, really. So expecting a similar level and style of communication/queer expression, for jikook compared to these other people, really isn’t fair to Jimin or Jungkook to begin with, I think.

It’s totally okay if as a fan you’d like to see more open, simple and consistent expressions of queerness the way we have it in OnlyOneOf, Ateez, Bibi, etc. Those groups are made in some ways precisely to scratch that itch. It’s good the way they talk about queer attraction draws you in or resonates with you, but I’m not sure it’s fair to expect other people, in this case jikook and/or BTS, to express their relationship and queer feelings the same way.

If you’re approaching this solely from the point of concern for jikook, I totally get it. Korea is very homophobic. But within their immediate team, I hope and trust they are surrounded by more good people than bad, people who will aim to protect the queer members. There’s no use worrying about this for long, since they’ll just have to learn to take care of themselves.

I could’ve totally missed your question or what you’re actually asking, Anon. If so let me know. But the above is also what I think.

#Also Hobi didn’t go to a gay club but one rumoured to be frequented by some gay men #jikook #BTS #bts chapter 2 #kpop

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Wasted Potential

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Stripper!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: dirty men eyes, being embarrassed by stripping

Request by anon: Could I request bucky barnes x reader who's like angel Salvador (the girl with bug wings from xmen) just fluff maybe she's insecure about her power? :3 <3

Summary: You work as a stripper who can do so much more if you want to. You have powers that you'd love to show off but can't because you were always told to conceal them. One day, Bucky comes into your club and you don't handle it well.

Squares Filled: kink: legs (2020) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You stare at yourself in the mirror debating whether or not you want to continue this job. It pays very well and gets you out of debt but you hate the way it makes you feel about not only yourself but about the other people you work with. There is a whole side to yourself that you have to keep hidden, and this job forces that part of yourself deep down inside of you.

You turn to examine the outfit they forced you into and notice the wings on your back. They are tattooed on for the time being but they are beautiful. Oh, how you wish to bring them out. Customers seem to love the look of them which is why you wear stuff that shows off your back. Your entire body is on display for people to look at but they always gravitate toward the wings.

“Angel, are you ready?” your manager asks.

“I guess,” you say and fix your lipstick.

“We got a large crowd today. Make me proud,” he grins.

You choose not to comment on that. You’d love nothing more than to punch him in his face and give him a taste of his medicine but you force that side of you down. You walk out of the dressing room and onto the main room where there are hundreds of hungry eyes devouring you. Thankfully, the manager of the place doesn't let the men touch you or the other girls.

The music starts playing so you begin your planned dance. You’ve got this beat down like the back of your hand at this point, but it still gets the same praise from the first time you performed it. You hook your leg over the pole in the middle of the stage and swing around it before dipping down. Whistles sound from all over the room but you focus on the bright lights to distract yourself.

You don’t like to look in the crowd because the men who watch you are predators. They think all women are beneath them and you can usually tell who has bad intentions with the way they’re looking at you. However, this time, you scan the crowd. Most of the men are wearing fake suits to look expensive while some of them are silent partners. They’re the ones who sit in the corner, drink their bottom-shelf whiskey, and just enjoy the show.

There is one person in particular that catches your eye. Someone you know and work with. That’s been your fear while working in the entertainment industry. You’ll be doing a dance seductively and end up seeing someone you know in the crowd. However, this person isn’t just a person you know… he’s your crush.

Bucky Barnes. What the hell is he doing here? You’re going to be sick. You have to remain professional and finish your dance without letting Bucky mess you up. He knew you worked as a stripper and a dancer but he never really saw you in action. He respected your privacy too much to watch you while you’re at work. However, there is a mission and he was sent to come grab you.

Even if you weren't a stripper, he still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world. He loves the way your body is shaped and the kind of personality you have. The best part of your body is your legs. He has a weakness for women’s legs, and yours is no exception. He tries not to let his mind wander to what could happen if he allows himself to enjoy this so he quickly looks away from you to give you some sort of privacy.

As soon as your dance is done, you quickly leave the stage and go back to the dressing room. You bypass the vanity and straight to the trash can. You grab it and immediately throw up into it from nerves and shock. Your spit dissolves the bottom of the trash can so that the contents spill out of it and onto the floor.

“Shit,” you gasp and look around the room for something to clean it up.

Not only do you have magical wings you can sear onto your back like a tattoo, but you have acid saliva. Most days you can control the acidity of it but when you’re highly nervous and in a panic, you can’t control it. You can still do other things like kissing and such since you can control your acid to make it so that it’s not lethal or dangerous to humans at all.

Bucky follows you backstage and notices you in the corner trying to clean your mess. He sees the wings on your back and wishes they were out. He loves the sight of your wings. They look like an insect’s wings but you make it work. He sees your robe hanging on the coat hanger next to the door and grabs it to cover you up.

You get up and turn but jump when you see Bucky standing in the doorway. You use your hands to try and cover yourself but it’s not working.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” you stutter.

“Here,” he offers and wraps the robe around your body.

“Thanks,” you whisper and pull it tight against your body. “What are you doing here?”

“Steve asked me to bring you in.”

“Oh. He could have called,” you say and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Not where he is, no. I’m sorry for barging in on you but I wouldn’t have unless it was important.”

“Right. Um, what’s the mission?”

“I’ll tell you on the way.”

“Let me get dressed.”

Bucky turns to leave the dressing room to give you some privacy but stops at the door.

“When are you going to quit your job? You didn’t look happy up there.”

“What else am I gonna do? My powers get me in trouble. Men seem to love my tattoo and my manager says I wouldn't fit in anywhere else.”

“I know this isn’t my place, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but what he says is complete bullshit. Tony has a facility. He’ll help you control your powers. I, for one, think that your wings are better out than hidden. We’ll take care of you. I’d hate to see you waste your life away here. You’ve got a beautiful one and this place isn’t helping you.”

With that, he leaves. Your cheeks heat up and a smile works its way onto your face. Your tattoo magically comes to life and your wings manifest as real ones attached to your back. They flutter happily and you chuckle at their enthusiasm.

“Okay, calm down. Maybe he does have a point.”

Maybe Bucky has a point. You’re miserable here whether you make good money or not. It’s time to let your wings free and soar to your highest potential.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fan fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel #marvel fan fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #mcu #mcu fanficiton

[hauntedestheart]

Artist Development (Male Possession)

Fame can change people. More specifically, fame can change people into me.

Who am I? I'm nobody and everybody. The biggest star in the world and a complete mystery at the same time. I've sold millions of records without anyone learning my name– you've heard my music, you just didn't know it was mine.

Wondering how this is possible? Let me tell you. I will remain anonymous and names will be redacted, but here's the tea on one of the industry's best kept secrets.

I was just a kid from Nowhere, Iowa (so to speak) who thought music was going to be my ticket out, and I was so sure about it that I dropped out of school and chased my dreams all the way to LA. After all, I was a great singer, played twelve instruments, wrote my own songs... surely I had everything it took to become the next big sensation in music!

Cue the laugh track.

Labels were always excited to meet with me after hearing my demos, but the second they saw my face they couldn't get me out of the room fast enough. I wasn't ugly, just... plain. Unremarkable. Average. And labels aren't interested in signing someone you could see walking down the street.

See, the sad thing about the music industry is that talent is only about 10% of what it takes. Maybe 15% on a good day. Having a successful career is 50% image (a fancy way of saying "being hot"), and that was something that I lacked.

But that remaining 40%? That's how willing you are to play the game, and that ended up being my saving grace.

My career was going nowhere fast, and after years of being beaten down by the industry I was on the verge of calling it quits and limping back home to Iowa. Then I got a call from a label (that shall remain nameless) asking for a meeting.

After years of rejecting me they were now offering me a deal: a guaranteed album release, collaborations with the best writers and producers in the business, a national tour, and a multi-million dollar marketing push.

The catch? I wouldn't be doing it as me.

Apparently the label had snapped up some kid that they were convinced had tons of star potential, but executives were nervous that he was a bit too green to succeed in the industry and they had come up with a radical new solution that could revolutionize artist development. Their r&d team had developed certain technology that could transfer consciousness from one human to another, effectively allowing them complete control over another person's body and live as them indefinitely.

The plan was to implant someone else into the kid's body and have them bear the brunt of his early years– someone with talent, experience, and most importantly, someone desperate that they could control. Someone just like me.

Though what we were doing was entirely legal (just a tip to any aspiring artists out there, always read the fine print in your contracts), for obvious reasons the label wanted to keep it on the down-low. The deal was that I'd "help" him through his first album, and then disappear into the shadows... but during that time I'd get to be a superstar.

Naturally I was conflicted. It was a tempting offer, but it was strange knowing that none of the success would truly be mine. No one would ever know my name. Was a hollow victory better than a defeat? Was I willing to sacrifice my artistic integrity for success?

Turned out the answer was "yes."

What sealed the deal for me was when they showed me a picture of the kid... a tall, strapping white boy who looked like he was built in a lab by thirsty gay men. I'd get to live my dream, and I'd get to do it looking like that? I'd be an idiot to pass that up.

So I accepted and turned him into the superstar he is today. Perhaps you've heard of him.

I spent two years piloting his body while he got his career off the ground, and with his face and my talent it wasn't long until I was topping the charts... and plenty of groupies as well. Fame is the ultimate aphrodisiac, but having tight abs doesn't hurt either! His penis was actually smaller than mine (bummer) but the rest of the package more than made up for it; the face of the boy next door with a body built for sin.

After years of being unremarkable, being a star went to my head fast and I'm not ashamed to admit that I became a bit of a slut... but trust me, if you could experience what it's like to be the hottest young thing on the scene, you'd do the same. I used that guy's body to fuck men and women in every city across America, and I even managed to do it without tarnishing his good boy image.

As long as I never missed a show or appointment, the suits were happy– and it helped that I was sucking them off behind their wives' backs.

(Like I said, you have to be willing to play the game.)

Eventually my contract ended and the label allowed the artist to resume control of his own body, but they were so pleased by my performance that they asked me to help them out with someone else– an established artist whose wild behavior was becoming a bit of a liability. Would I mind stepping in for him for a bit and helping get his career back on track after a few scandals?

And since then my life has been a whirlwind of different bodies. I've become the industry's invisible hatchet man, the enforcer who gets called in to deal with singers who need a bit of extra attention.

I've done it all: broken in newbies, rebranded stars, stood in for legends. I did a year in South Korea as a Kpop star– didn't speak a word of Korean, but that doesn't matter when you're as beautiful as he was. Name a boy band, I've probably spent at least a week as one of their members. I'm everywhere.

By this point I've lived so many lives that it would be pointless to list them all, so I'll stick to the greatest hits.

I took over the body of the frontman of a rock band who didn't want to "sell out" by going in the more sexual, commercial direction that the label wanted for them– which I, of course, had no qualms about. His shirt came off, and everyone was happy about what was underneath.

The other members of the group were skeptical at first, but I can be very persuasive when I put my mind to it. A lot of their fans wound up absolutely hating the new music, but hey, that wasn't any of my business!

Being onstage as a rock star is electrifying, when the music pounds and the crowd screams I feel like an absolute god. When I was up there shaking that wiry body around I knew that every single person in that room wanted to fuck me, and the second I got offstage I did my best to let them. Even if they didn't like the music, none of them complained when I invited them back to my dressing room.

And let me tell you, alt-rock groupies? They're freaky.

A lot of the artists I get assigned to are skinny young men (because every label thinks they're going to launch the next teen idol) so it's always a treat when I get to work as someone a bit more... let's say mature.

Once a popular r&b singer got into a dispute with his label over not wanting to film a certain feline related movie, so I was brought in to smooth things out in my own special way.

His voice wasn't that great but damn, could he move. I had to take a crash course in dancing but thanks to his body's muscle memory in a few weeks I was doing flips and splits I'd never dreamed of. The things his body could do were insane, and I took full advantage of that.

Strictly speaking about bodies, his was the best I've had. He was big in a way a lot of the other guys weren't, huge biceps and rippling pecs that I loved to show off. A hell of an ass too, though I didn't get much use out of it because he had the biggest penis I'd ever seen on a man and I wanted to cram that elephant trunk into everything I could.

A lot of the time, when I look in the mirror at the bodies of these superstars, I wish that I could suck on their dick. But in his body? If I bent over I actually could.

Honestly I hated the music I made as him– but man, I miss that dick.

I had similar motivations for spending a few months as an up and coming country music star– a bit more indie than my usual jobs, but I jumped at the chance to try out being a bigger guy (because let's face it, there aren't enough of those in the industry).

After years of cycling between bodies with abs it was a bit of a shock to suddenly have a gut, but the experience was even better than I could have dreamed. It's sensual in a different way– the feeling of all that soft flesh sliding under my hands still haunts my dreams.

Plus he was openly gay (another rarity, look at that) which meant I didn't have to keep my usual nighttime escapades on the down low. I didn't feel any less sexy– quite the opposite actually, I've never had people worship my body as hard as the guys I hooked up with when I was a scruffy bear cub.

Being gym trained hunks isn't exactly a hardship, but I did tell my management to keep an eye out for any more jobs like this one.

But probably my favorite experience was when I spent eight months helping a certain reggaeton artist break into the US market. The sex I had using that body? Out of this world.

I'm not sure what it was but his body was just built for sex. It oozed out of every inch of him, from those bulging tattooed arms to the hefty seven inches (soft!) he was packing down below. There was even a music video where someone sucked on my toes, because apparently even his feet were sexy.

This was the closest I ever came to getting fired, but I couldn't help it! I was constantly horny, all I could think about was drinking and screwing. I ended up overindulging a bit and the paparazzi caught some snaps of me stumbling out of a party naked and well... even though this guy had nothing to be ashamed of, it wasn't my proudest moment.

My ass was saved because the pictures blew up on Twitter in a good way, so his management decided that having a sexy bad boy image was actually good for him. Getting paid to party, have one night stands, and dance around shirtless? I have the best job in the world, and I never want to lose it.

Currently I'm assigned to a new guy, some viral online sensation that the label is worried will be just a one-hit wonder and needs the help of my special brand of direction.

I'm excited because I'm already seeing tons of "potential" in him... we're gonna make sweet music together, I can tell.

Gif sources: (x) (x)

#male possession #male body swap #a bit of a longer one and I'm not sure how I feel about it but I like the concept #any resemblance to artists real or fictional is a wacky coincidence (and a great compliment)

[nihilnovisubsole]

it's that time of year again: AK's 2023 Wrapped™. no, not the music thing. the december year-in-review thing. my spotify charts were deeply unfunny this time around because of all the game soundtracks i've been listening to. i don't know when these end-of-year posts became tradition for me, which is to say i could find out and i'm too lazy to check. the important thing, like lemon pigs or eating black-eyed peas, is that it feels like we've always done it. in the depths of winter, the warmth comes from the routine.

i won't beat around the bush about it: it's been a difficult year. it's been hard enough that it doesn't seem appropriate to joke about it or wave it off in favor of big, blog-worthy wins. times are dark right now. it behooves all of us to think deeply and check on each other. i hope i've been a decent friend to the people who needed it. so instead of scraping together a halfhearted victory lap, i'm going to go against my better judgment and be vulnerable.

it wasn't all bad. i got promoted to staff narrative designer this year, which is a fancy way of saying "you don't have to do time cards anymore." it's strange: in an industry infamous for volatility, my job has become one of the few things i can rely on to be positive. i believe my coworkers like me, which is good, because i like them. i feel not just included, but welcomed at work social events. i've developed a reputation for being a garbage goat on my writing team. "got an odd job? give it to AK. we can count on her to eat it." i had the chance to collaborate with someone i've looked up to for years, and i was delighted to find out how amenable they are to work with. there's work stress and there's work stress. everyone has challenging days, but it's not the crab bucket that voltage was, so it never seems that bad. i keep it in perspective. sure, these tasks keep me on my feet, but is it three cents a word, seven thousand words a week? i'll live.

i just wish it had all been good. it speaks to how my health has been that getting covid in february was one of the most mundane things to happen to me. i did everything right. i had all my boosters. i had paxlovid. i recovered well. still, it knocked me out of orbit in the psychological sense. i stopped getting enough exercise, though i'm building myself up again. i became neurotic about my stats. am i Getting A Good Grade In Blood Pressure? what about Pulse Rate? two months later, i came down with a strange, unrelated condition that was nowhere near as serious as covid, but made my life ten times more difficult. i'm happy to report i feel worlds better these days. even so, it was a bizarre time. bodies sure are curious.

later, my sink flooded my closet, and for a few days, i had to reckon with the idea that mold might destroy my entire wardrobe. all those irreplaceable pieces of character design that i've built my identity around since i was eighteen years old. who would i be without them? a wise person would say it was a lesson: stop defining who you are by your looks and find worth in your inner self. the mold is gone and my clothes are fine, but sometimes i have days where my lungs seem like they're sort of operating at ninety percent. i'm trying not to fuss about it. my checkups are normal, and i feel fine whenever i get out of the house for a while. maybe it'll go away when i move. because, hey, i can contemplate saving for a house now. how about that? remember when my mother and i were homeless? what a surreal landscape of highs and lows.

maybe grief is strange like that. in july, just when my health started to settle down, my grandmother died. it was a long time coming. she was 94 and extremely frail. i handled it well at first. it took the ensuing few months for the full weight of human mortality to sink in. before, i'd mainly been to funerals of warm, but distant old men, great patriarchs who loved but didn't relate to little girls. her, i knew. she was there when i was born. i won't go into detail, but it was not a peaceful passing, and it left problems in its wake. you don't live through that without taking a long, hard look at your life. everyone gets the invincibility knocked out of them sometime.

my mother is too disciplined to let it get the better of her. on the worst days of her life, the stove still got cleaned and the bills got paid. when people give her condolences, she encourages them to look on the bright side: she got almost seventy years with her. how many children can say that? but i can tell she's sad, and i'm not under any illusion i can help. i have to sit with it. there's nothing else for me to do.

under different circumstances, i'd have thrown myself into my work. i'd come up with some writing project to avoid thinking about it. i guess the dominant theme when it comes to my personal writing has been inertia: accomplishing nothing and being unsure of myself. if it's a growing pain, it's a rough one. i question my storytelling instincts so much, it's hard to get a story off the ground, let alone take it anywhere. i've hit a point where i find the conventions of the romance genre limiting. i still want to write about people in love, though, and i can't reconcile the two. why do some love stories get to be love stories and others are "just romance?" you could ask why it's "just" romance, and that's a good, but different conversation, i think. what are the great love stories saying about the human condition that i'm not? what is my work saying, period? not a whole lot, i'm afraid. i used to be pugnacious about writing from my id brain, about doing it for the fun of it. i worry that's not going to cut it anymore. i have to push myself harder. i also have to stop fretting about being perceived as pretentious for asking these questions.

it would be easier if i had more answers. i'm not sure which project to work on next, because they're all half-formed outlines with plots i don't know how to fill. i'm not sure whether it'd be weird for someone with my job to keep writing or posting fanfic, no matter how informally. i'm not sure what role physical intimacy should play in my writing, if any, because along with everything else, this was the year shame caught up to me. i'm not sure what happened there. i hope the "are sex scenes necessary" debate didn't get me, because i'd argue for their artistic merit any day. but when i do it, i worry that it's indiscreet somehow, like i'm revealing myself in ways that make strangers uncomfortable. some days i feel like going through my backlog of published work and tearing out all the sex-adjacent content like a power-mad inquisitor. i won't, because i'd regret it, but i spend a lot of time being embarrassed. it's embarrassing. i can't escape the feeling that people don't want to know that about me.

despite it all, it's still bad form to end on a down note, so i'll leave you with this: after five years, i finally got into physical therapy for my arm. i told my doctor the whole sob story and she put in a referral to a hand/occupational clinic. will it help? i don't know. i've tried so many things that haven't. but they're optimistic that i'm in better shape than i think - i've heard a lot of "wow, we get patients who can't even open a jar!" - so it's worth a shot. if it means i can draw a little more, it's something. i still make time for the picrew every day. ever onward. thanks for hanging in there with me, guys. you keep things interesting.

#long post #fyi there's death stuff in there

[sugarsweb]

DF!Madara Mikejima x Fem!Reader

ABORT MISSION. You're tasked with getting information and run into someone you shouldn't have. (Originally posted Sep 28th)

Contains : Fem!Reader, smut, mentions of killing, Double Face!Madara, possessiveness, praise kink (good girl, etc), slight size kink (stomach bulge, etc), slight breeding kink, inaccurate lore, not proofread, etc.

A/N : Let me just preface this fic by saying Madara Mikejima makes me incredibly unwell. Some more stuff you should know before reading this is; Madara might be slightly OOC but I tried my best to keep his teasing and carefree personality in there. I also tried to keep the dress up to the reader’s imagination besides being low-cut and has a slit in the side to expose reader’s legs. This is also the first full smut fic I’ve written in a while so I truly apologize if any of the actual smut part is rusty, let me know!

Word Count : 5.5k+

18+ content underneath the cut. By clicking 'Keep Reading' you are knowingly reading content made for people over the age of 18. Read at your own discretion.

This was not how your night was supposed to go. 

Not at all.

You weren’t excited about having to meet Gatekeeper in the first place, but orders were orders, and you had dedicated your life to following them. However, it seemed like the rest of the world decided to test the oath you had sworn all that time ago. You look down at your glass of champagne, reminiscing about the beginning of your evening as you avoided eye contact with a certain someone.

Your dress clung to all the right parts of your body to accentuate your curves, the colour of the fabric suited perfectly to compliment your skin tone. Your heels clacked against the cement pathway leading to the huge mansion where hundreds of rich, overpowered men and women of the music industry (and more) would be gathering tonight. What should have been nervousness coursing through your veins was instead replaced by the adrenaline you usually felt during your missions - somehow comforting to you, perhaps a curse to others. You mastered the art of hiding what you truly felt, the shake in your hands long gone by the time you arrived at the huge doors of the mansion. 

You could hear the classical music from outside, letting other invitees brush by your shoulder as you repeated the same mantra in your head - you can do this. Truthfully, as much as your brain loved to overthink things, you already knew you could do this. You’ve done it a thousand times before, what’s one more mission to add to the list? 

Well, for one, having to initiate contact with Gatekeeper and gather intel is not your ordinary mission, at least for someone like you. Gatekeeper was someone involved beyond the idol world, and you didn’t step out of that boundary… much. He was powerful, well-known, and most importantly, a killer. A nagging voice at the back of your mind rudely reminds you, ‘well, who isn’t?’ and you quickly decide to put an end to those thoughts, instead replacing it with your analytical, observational ones as you finally took your first step inside the building. 

Gold decorated the halls, marble columns holding the twenty-foot ceilings up high, intricate designs laid upon them. If you weren’t in such a controversial position, you could’ve possibly enjoyed the architecture and paintings decorating the walls, but now wasn’t the time to think about it. 

Now was the time to find a drink and naturally let your well-crafted persona surface - now it was time to infiltrate and gather information on the people you so desperately despise. You walked up to the bar, ordering a glass of champagne for yourself, and you took a seat once the bartender handed you your drink, scanning your surroundings. Everyone was dressed to the nines; you noticed one woman had a pure diamond necklace resting on her neck, surely worth thousands. Her jewellery could put your own to shame, the ones your boss had so generously given you for this specific night, and you knew he spent an incredible amount of money so your costume was as perfect as possible. 

You took a sip of your champagne, letting the bubbly drink soothe the rest of your nerves. A nice drink, you thought to yourself, maybe you’ll sneak a bottle back home when you leave. God knows you wouldn’t be able to afford it outside of this place. 

“Enjoying yourself?” A voice spoke up from next to you, and you smiled as fate has dealt you a good hand (ironic, you bitterly think now, considering the situation you’re currently in) - next to you stood a tall man with slicked back hair, dressed in an all-black suit and expensive gold rings adorning his fingers. 

Gatekeeper. 

He’s good-looking, but certainly not your type. A certain brunette came to mind- damn it, brain, this isn’t the time!

“Yes, I am.” You gave him a small, charming smile. “And you?” 

“Of course I am,” Gatekeeper chuckled, “I’m surrounded by beautiful music and now I’m in the presence of a beautiful woman. How could I not?”

You patted yourself on the back for not letting your smile waver out of disgust. “Well, it’s a lovely night for such an occasion. You are?”

Granted, you knew everything about him already - or, as much information as there is about him out there. If you truly knew him, you wouldn’t be here. 

“Gatekeeper. And you…?” His hand reached out to shake yours, and you gently accepted it.

You gave him the fake name that your boss had given you for the night, and Gatekeeper nodded, smirking. If he had seen you before around ES Square, he didn’t give away that he recognized you - and knowing how careful you’ve been about your true identity, you doubt he had ever even heard of you. “A pleasure.” 

“Well, the pleasure is all mine.” He raised his glass of red wine, and you clinked your delicate glass of champagne and gave a small ‘cheers’. 

You continued talking about this and that, mostly about the newer idols making their units’ names known. Gatekeeper had an alluring voice, you’re aware, but it doesn’t work on you. He tried to drag you in with his sweet words, and you played along, assumingly falling into the trap he thought he laid out in front of you. However, there was no glint in his eye when he talked about the things he’s apparently ‘passionate’ about - his smile was fake, and the politeness in his voice was void of any true respect towards you. You’re just another pawn in his game, but little did he know you have control of the board. 

The conversation flowed smoothly with your perfect lies, the two of you faking each moment spent together. You knew you were getting somewhere when he accidentally dropped the name of someone you recognize - before, he had just been talking about his colleagues anonymously. 

Gotcha. 

It shouldn’t have been this easy though, and unfortunately, you proved yourself right when you caught a glimpse of a long, green jacket flashing by, and another matching uniform quickly passing by in the hall. To anybody else, they were invisible, perfectly moulding with the picture-perfect, rich environment surrounding you all, but to your keen eye, they were practically glowing.

Double Face was not supposed to be here.

Madara’s green eyes locked onto yours, and you saw the shock on his face before he quickly wiped it off, melting back into his stone-faced look. Shit. Kohaku noticed his reaction, and turned his head in the direction where his companion was staring, his eyes landing on your figure right next to Gatekeeper. Shit, shit, shit. 

You frowned right back, but before either of them could look away, you placed your arm on the bar’s high table and tapped the counter repeatedly, without Gatekeeper noticing as he glanced away when someone called his name. Tap tap, pause. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap. You swear you saw a look of relief wash over Madara’s face, and he nodded, before motioning to Kohaku to follow him, and just like that, they disappeared into the crowd, but you can still feel Madara’s eyes on your body. 

Which brings you back to your current predicament. 

Gatekeeper turns back to you and notices the way you stare absentmindedly at your champagne. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks with faux-concern. 

You turn to him, looking at him and give him a perfectly sculpted nervous smile. “Yes, I’m just not used to being in such a big venue with so many people. What am I even supposed to do?” 

His calculating eyes seem to ponder your words for a moment - shit, did you slip up? There was no way you could have. However, Gatekeeper merely chuckles and his hand comes up to place itself on your right cheek, cradling it gently. God, you want to throw up. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll teach you.” 

He places his empty glass of wine on the counter, you following in suit, and leads you to the ballroom, where couples dance together to the classical music the orchestra plays. His hand settles on your waist, the other entangling itself in your own (ugh, is his hand sweaty?), which prompts you to place your free hand on the bicep of his arm holding your waist. 

“Do you dance?” He asks you. 

“Quite poorly.” You hope you step on his foot. 

“Nonsense, nothing a little practice can’t solve.” And with that, he starts to sway to the orchestra, and you play your part of the helpless woman who can’t dance to save her life.

(You’ve taken dance lessons since you were six.)

You continue to dance in your waltz of lies, continuing to talk about the idol life between the two of you - ever since his slip-up, Gatekeeper chooses his words carefully. The alcohol must have loosened his tongue, but the namedrop sobered him up quickly. He was a smart and calculating man, you’ll give him that. 

Speaking of smart and calculating men, you can feel the gaze of your favourite one staring right at you, and a subtle glance to the right confirms your suspicions. Madara is still keeping an eye on you, not out of maliciousness, but rather of concern. The small furrow of his brow is familiar to you (he gave you the same look when you accidentally fell off stage during your unit’s practice), and you try to give him the most subtle reassurance you can muster through eye-contact alone. His once crossed arms slowly go back to his side, and he taps his pointer finger against his thigh - alright, he’s saying. But the fire in his eyes is far from dying down. The look on his face sends a shiver down your spine. 

The song comes to an end, and with that, so does your dance. You try not to pull away too quickly from your partner, unless you want to give away how eager you are to stop touching him. 

“Tonight was lovely,” Gatekeeper says, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “but duty calls. I hope we will meet again soon.” 

Go to hell, is what you want to say, but you hold yourself back. “Thank you for the dance.” And with that, you part ways. 

You try to find a quiet place to gather your thoughts and go over the intel you’ve collected thus far from your quiet conversations between the man. Your eagerness to get out of the ballroom keeps you momentarily distracted, and while turning a corner (perhaps too quickly) your face makes contact with a soft wall. You keep your yelp down, a hand smacking right over your mouth. 

A soft wall? 

Looking up, you lock eyes with the man who has been distracting you all night. 

“Mikejima,” you greet, trying not to look too excited upon finally talking to him - keeping your true emotions at bay was hard with him, it seems. 

He says nothing back. One of his gloved hands settles on the small of your back, pushing your body completely flush against his, his other hand coming up to the back of your head, tucking it in his neck. Madara’s lips brush against your ear as he leans down to speak words only the two of you can hear. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do.” He says, and something in your lower stomach ignites. 

You try your hardest to ignore it - if you gave in to your true feelings, he would become a liability, a weakness, somebody who can be used against you in case you ever fall into the wrong hands. 

There’s no anger in his eyes when he pulls away from your rather intimate position to look at you, only aggressive concern. In fact, the anger appears when he looks towards the ballroom, and you turn to see him glaring daggers at Gatekeeper, who is now mingling with an older-looking man - the exact man he name-dropped earlier. 

“Let’s move someplace else.” Madara gently grabs your hand, dragging you off into the hallway you had turned towards earlier. 

“What about Koha–” You start to say, but he interrupts you. 

“He’ll be fine.” 

Knowing he’s right, you nod, and the two of you set off into the maze of hallways, coming across fewer and fewer people until you’re in a seemingly-abandoned section of the mansion, and Madara opens the door to a lavish-looking bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you both, and motions for you to sit on the bed. Hesitantly, you do so - what if he was actually mad, and truly thought you were working alongside Gatekeeper? You’d rather die. 

“What were you doing here tonight?” He’s standing right in front of you, arms crossed once again. 

The one question you can’t answer. 

“Who do you work for?” The brunette asks. He takes one step forward, and it feels like your eyes are permanently locked together as you keep your mouth shut tightly. 

Another question you can’t answer. 

“...Do you work for Gatekeeper?” 

“No.” You immediately say, knowing that you can answer that question. 

“Thank god.” Madara sighs out, a small grin on his face. “I knew it, but hearing it from you is a thousand times better.” 

It seems that even on a mission, he still holds that carefree personality he tries so hard to uphold. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask. 

“C’mon, if you can’t answer that, you think I can?” 

Your shoulders drop, and you rest your elbows on your thighs, head going slack. You feel like you can finally drop the persona you perfectly crafted for your mission in Madara’s presence, and you can hear him chuckle at your relaxed body language. 

“Tough day at work, huh?” He muses, and you let out a small, breathless laugh, raising your head to look at him. 

“Something like that, yeah. I feel nearly damn tainted by having his hands on me.” You don’t have to even say his name, because both of you know exactly who you’re talking about. And judging by the frown once again settling on Madara’s gorgeous features, you know he’s not a fan of Gatekeeper in the least. 

“I didn’t like him touching you like that.” 

It’s hard to not read into his words, but when an attractive man standing right in front of you says that - the same attractive man you’ve been fantasising about for god-knows-how-long and desperately crushing over - your brain nearly goes haywire and you feel yourself warm up. 

Your head goes back to resting in your hands, and you can clearly hear Madara’s slow footsteps approaching you. He crouches down to your level so he can look into your eyes. When you make a point of not holding eye contact (curse your stupid brain), his hand grabs ahold of your face and keeps it still. His fingers are pressing against your jaw gently yet firmly, and it feels like electricity zaps down your spine as you see the look in his emerald green eyes - his pupils are nearly completely dilated. 

Deciding to test the waters, you ask:

“Touching me like what?” Your cheeks warm up even more at the sound of your meek, desperate voice - Madara must’ve heard that. 

He sighs, his eyes closing momentarily as his head drops a bit, his bangs covering his face from your view. He looks back up after a second or two, his messy hair framing his face beautifully, and you feel like you’ve died, gone to heaven and been greeted by an angel. “Never realised you’d be a brat about this.”

“A br–?! Ah!” Your exclamation is quickly interrupted when Madara’s hand leaves your face, instead hooking underneath your thighs so he can make you fall backwards onto the bed, and he quickly crawls on top of you, his strong thighs keeping you in between him. 

“You know exactly what he did.” He mutters, and your faces are so close your noses brush against each other. The warmth emanating from him seems to surround you, and your heart beats wildly against your ribcage as you feel your cunt clench around nothing. 

Madara’s thumb strokes your bottom lip, letting his touch leave a fiery trail in its wake. Your breath shudders in anticipation, waiting for him to do something, anything, more. Your eyes flutter close, and the man on top of you huffs.

“Look at me.” He demands. 

Your eyes snap up to him once you hear the stern tone in his voice, and he smiles at your compliance. 

You’ve always been a rather assertive woman, not letting people walk over you as long as you could help it. You know what you want and how to get it, and your missions have always been successful because of your attitude. However, with Madara on top of you, all you can think about is how badly you want to be good for him. You know he’s thinking along the same lines as you as you glance down and see a tent in his dark grey pants. 

Your hand reaches out to give him a bit of relief, but before your fingers can brush against his clothed dick, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Madara bends down to mouth against your neck, the neckline on your dress exposing your delicate skin and being suggestive enough to leave others wanting to see more. 

“Seeing him touching you like that, it pissed me off so much.” You can hear the strain in his voice, his hand tightening around your pinned one. Your free hand comes up to run your fingers through his soft hair before cupping his face, and he gives you a gentle look. 

“Mikejima,” You say softly, “It’s a mission. That’s all it is.” Your thumb strokes his face, and he seems to lean into the comforting contact for a moment before he hardens his expression again. 

He leans down until his lips are right next to your ear, and you feel goosebumps cover your skin as he continues speaking. 

“I know,” he mumbles, “but he should know not to touch what doesn’t belong to him.” 

The fire in your lower stomach continues to be fanned by his words, and you clench your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction to pleasure yourself. Madara’s sensual touches only make you feel more needy for what you crave. You decide to continue to push his buttons, tilting your head in mock-confusion. 

“Who do I belong to, then?” 

That was the tipping point. 

His thigh moves in-between your own, pressing against your clothed cunt and he lets go of your hand to place both of his on your waist, rolling your hips to grind against him. You whimper at the sudden action, your own hands reaching out to grasp his shoulder tightly. You feel his strong muscles clench underneath your touch, and you’re suddenly reminded of how strong Madara really is. He could easily use his strength to snap your neck, but instead he’s using it to keep your body flush against his own.

He leans down to nip at your neck, finding your sweet spot quickly as your moans get louder and more desperate, and you feel his teeth bite down hard enough to leave a mark in a very obvious spot for everyone to see. He clearly wants to imprint the message in your mind - you belong to him. 

Madara moves to take the strap of your dress off of your shoulder so he can leave more bruises along your collarbone and shoulder, his hand slipping from your waist to cup your breast and give it a firm squeeze. Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you start moving your own hips against his thigh desperately. 

“Are you so desperate for me you’re gettin’ off of my thigh?” You feel his warm breath against your skin along with his lips curling into a smile. 

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you shake your head, embarrassed. “‘M not…” 

“No need to be shy, baby,” he chuckles, “tell me what I wanna hear, and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

Madara’s hand wanders down as he speaks, trailing down to your thigh and disappearing in between the cut of the dress that exposes your leg. His touch sets your body ablaze, his fingers finally brushing against the area where you need him most. He traces the lace of your underwear before letting his hand cup your heat, and stops all movement as he looks at you expectantly. 

What he wants to hear? 

He taps a finger against you as you take too long to reply, and you jolt at the sudden contact of his finger against your clit - the light touch leaves you wanting more. He gives you a disappointed look, nearly giving you puppy eyes, and you panic internally as you feel him start to pull away.

“Well, I guess you didn’t want this, then...” The hand that cupped your breast moves to cup his own erection instead, the outline of his dick clear against his tight pants. In the dim light of the room, you can kind of see how big he is. 

“No-!” You say quickly and desperately, yet mindful to keep your voice down in case anybody did come into this part of the mansion. “Please, I need you so badly.” 

“Say it then,” he says, unbuckling the belt around his waist. It’s at that moment that you realise that his long, green jacket (you think to yourself that it counts as a cape) had been removed previously - you must’ve been too distracted to notice. “Tell me who you belong to.” 

Oh.

You know your panties are ruined now. 

Your body feels like a furnace as you try to muster the courage to say the words he wants to hear. 

“Mikejima, I belong to you.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

What?

You think for a moment before you realise - he wants you to call him by his first name. 

“I’m yours, Madara.” You say confidently. You realise it’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. 

He groans happily, fully taking his belt off and loosening the tie around his neck. Madara rewards your answer by running his fingers through your wet folds, covering them with your own arousal. The movement of his hand is restricted by your underwear, which he impatiently rips off of your body.

“Hey! I liked those.” You whine. 

“Aw, that’s too bad,” he gives you a fake pout before he speaks again, “but if you keep whinin’, I’ll use it as a gag to shut you up. You want that?” 

As hot as it sounds at the moment, you shake your head - you want to feel his lips against yours, and having a gag in your mouth would prevent that. Madara smiles at your willingness and carelessly throws your ruined panties to the other side of the room. He continues undressing himself until he’s shirtless, his toned, strong body on display for you to appreciate. He moves the two of you further up the bed until your head is comfortably resting against the soft pillows, your hair splayed out around you. Your lover climbs back on top of you, strong arms keeping you caged underneath him - in that moment, with your eyes hazy, lips parted in a silent pant, you look like an angel to him. 

Madara’s hand goes to the small of your back, lifting it up so he can find the zipper. He slowly takes your dress off, careful not to let his eagerness get in the way. 

“Oh, so ripping the panties is fine, but the dress is off limits?” You cock an eyebrow, and he laughs lightly in reply. 

“Seeing you in this drove me crazy,” he admits, “I wanted to fuck you then and there when I saw you.” 

His words make your cunt clench around nothing again, and your whine nearly sounds like a moan. Once your dress is fully off, he tosses it on the ground, and his hands are immediately on you once more. 

Madara kisses you, his lips fitting perfectly against your own. His fingers trail down towards your wet cunt, once again gathering your slick before he finally pushes a finger into you. You moan, and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, tangling it with your own. Your head feels fuzzy from the stimuli as he thrusts his fingers inside your warm pussy, your juices running down his hand and onto the mattress underneath the two of you. Your thighs start shaking and your body jolts at his touches, and Madara wears a proud smirk on his face, removing his fingers from you. He holds them up to your mouth, waiting. 

“Be a good girl and clean them.” You obediently listen, opening your mouth and letting your tongue wrap around his wet fingers, sucking them clean. He removes them from your mouth with a ‘pop’, and lets his head drop to lean against your shoulder and mumbles, “So good for me, huh?” 

He sucks another hickey on your skin, and you nod your head. 

“Yes- yes, only for you.” Your voice sounds breathless and needy, making Madara chuckle. “‘Dara, please, I need more.” 

“Whaddya want?” He teases you, but he’s already taking his pants and boxers off, revealing his thick, long cock. He’s impossibly hard, leaking precum, and you feel your mouth water. He snaps his fingers in your face, bringing you back into the present. 

What is it with this constant teasing? You complain about it in your head, but your body has a different reaction - you feel yourself grow more aroused, if possible. 

“I… I want you.” You say quietly. 

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear ya.” He rubs the tip of his dick along your folds and you both shudder at the feeling, but stops moving to await your answer. 

“I want you, Madara.” But it’s not quite enough.

“C’mon, speak up. Aren’t you supposed to be my good girl?” 

Fuck, you’re desperate to feel him inside of you at this point. You push your embarrassment aside, wanting- no, needing to cum. 

“Please, Madara, I need you so bad!” You shut your eyes as you beg. “I need you to fill me up, ple-”

He finally pushes his cock inside of you, your slick making it easy. You both sigh in relief, but your sigh turns into a loud moan at the feeling of his size inside of you - he’s so big and he feels so fucking good, you’ve never felt so full before. 

Madara isn’t faring any better; your warm walls suck him in so easily, cunt drooling around him, and he’s trying so hard not to snap and fuck you into the bed. But the sight of his dick disappearing into you is driving him insane, and he sees a slight bulge coming out of your stomach. Out of curiosity, he places a hand down on it, and nearly folds when he feels you tightening up around him and moaning. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), you feel so good.” Madara says, sounding quite breathless himself. All he wants to do is fill you up with his cum, to see you leak his seed, to have everyone know that you’re his and he’s yours. 

If he isn’t careful, he knows he’ll get carried away. 

“Please, please move- please,” you beg more, “fuck- you’re so big-” 

He starts thrusting slowly, your body getting used to his sheer size - you know you’ve been ruined for any other man. Nothing will satisfy you the way Madara can. 

You get lost in the pleasure, but it’s still not enough to bring you to your end. There’s a certain itch at the back of both of your minds that neither of you can’t quite pinpoint, and one particularly hard thrust from Madara makes you moan out - loudly. 

“M’dara, need you to fill me up,” you say without thinking, “wanna feel you cum inside-” 

The man on top of you stills, processing your words. Shit, you think you’ve fucked up. However, his hand places itself on your stomach, right where your womb is, before speaking. 

“You want me to fill you up here?” He asks, and you nod your head vigorously. 

Something snaps inside of Madara, and he suddenly continues his movements, but more quickly and desperately. His hips snap against you, his dick angled perfectly to hit your g-spot continuously, and you nearly scream his name. 

“Careful baby, there are still people - fuck - here. You want them to hear you?” He says through his breathlessness, but you’re too focused on the intense pleasure you’re feeling. “You want everyone to know who’s fucking you this good?” 

 If your lover was being honest with himself, he wants people to hear you.  

“N-no!” You exclaim. 

Your brain feels muddled, drool seeping out of the corner of your mouth - all you can focus on is Madara’s cock filling your insides. His hand moves down slightly on your stomach, and he feels his cock moving around in you, pressing down to make you tighten up like you did earlier. Sure enough, he gets the same reaction, and he knows he’s approaching his end. 

“Fuck - you’re gonna take all my cum like a good girl, aren’t ya?” Madara says, and he thrusts deeper than before, hitting a spot that even you haven’t reached before. 

“Yes, yes- I will, I’ll be good for you, only you!” You babble. 

Through his delirious pleasure, he remembers earlier that night - seeing you in your dress, talking to Gatekeeper while he flirted with you - he nearly walked over to fuck you in front of everyone to show he’s the only one who can make you feel that good, he’s the one that gets to feel your pussy wrap around his cock perfectly like you’re made for each other. His calm and collected demeanour from the earlier mission seems like a joke to him now. 

“You’re so amazing,” he continues, “so fuckin’ beautiful, I just wanna fill you up…” 

The thought of filling you up with his seed, and it actually taking makes him nearly cum then and there. To imagine your belly round, breasts plump and heavy with milk gets a weak whimper out of the back of his throat, and your legs tighten around his waist as he starts pounding you into the bed. 

You tighten up around his thick length even more at his praise, and he knows that you’re getting close as you start to moan his name, begging endlessly and becoming more careless about your volume. When he leans down to level his lips to your ear, you know you’re a goner. 

“Come for me, my love.” You cry out, your pussy clamping down around him, your juices gushing out. The feeling triggers Madara’s own orgasm as well, pouring his hot load into you as you milk him dry. He pumps every single last drop into your tight cunt, and there’s just so much that it makes you whimper, feeling it drip in between your thighs and land on the mattress, mixing in with your own fluids. 

You catch your breath, Madara hesitantly pulling out, letting his body drop next to yours on the bed. You feel more of his cum leaking out of you, and the brunette tuts disappointedly, his fingers scooping the excess liquid and fingering it back into you, careful not to overstimulate you - you shiver anyways, your thighs shaking violently and he finally pulls his fingers out once he’s sure he’s done a good job. 

You both turn on your sides to look at each other, the smell of sweat and sex wafting throughout the room. The moment is quiet and tender as you look into each other’s eyes, Madara smiling softly at you. 

“You did so well.” He says, tucking some of your hair behind your ear - his touch is nothing like Gatekeeper’s, and you feel safe in Madara’s arms. “Let’s get you dressed so we can get out of here, shall we?” 

He helps you get back into your dress after he gets back into uniform, and you leave your ruined panties behind. Your legs are shaky as you walk towards the main door, and you try not to walk too stiffly - but also not casually enough where other people can see the trail of Madara’s cum seeping down your thigh. You both walk out the doors, and let out a deep sigh of relief at the same time. 

You look at each other, and there’s silent understanding between the two of you - finally, your mission is over. 

(After the party is over, Gatekeeper tries not to question the ripped panties in the corner of one of his guest rooms.)

#sugarsmut #madara mikejima #madara mikejima x reader #madara mikejima smut #enstars smut #ensemble stars smut

[missrayon]

"What about saying something you believe in, making those anthems from the fraternity house as important as sermons from barricades? Why, in a sense, did these punk initiates not take up the gauntlet thrown down by rebel rockers like The Clash, or translate 'Anarchy In The UK' into a north American setting? Speaking to Playboy's Charles Young in 1987, Adam Yauch touched on this issue.

"What most adults don't understand about most teenagers is that most teenagers are extremely conservative most of the time, even as they are engaging in obnoxious behavior designed to differentiate themselves from most adults. Most teenagers enjoy a heavily structured life, are threatened by deviations from the conforming norm and will ridicule those enamored of deviating from the conforming norm. In this way, most teenagers are exactly like most adults, the only difference being that teenagers piss their lives away in high school while adults piss their lives away in corporations. Most teenagers do, after all, grow up to be most adults."

Speaking as Licensed To Ill was about to top the American album charts, Yauch's right to pontificate seems not unreasonable. To those weaned on the all-out attack philosophies of the punk era, his views may seem profoundly distressing, but at least he could point to his success as vindication of his notions and his approach to his music. Even if this is all Licensed To Ill is - a reassuring shot of brattish obnoxiousness from a troupe of clever young men who've given it enough anti-establishment credibility to make their record appear dangerous to adults while remaining accessible and desirable to the sought-after teenage audience - it is still a considerable achievement. Some may even make claims for it being subversive. And a few people well placed to make such a judgment have made claims for its validity as art. Admittedly, Israel Horovitz could hardly be described as an impartial judge, but his comments to The Los Angeles Times are revealing.

"If people can't see the humor and satire in the record, I don't know what to say to them," Adrock's father said. "It's all so obvious. I think the thing that makes the record so good is that it shows a real understanding of people; maybe not an understanding of 49-year-olds, but certainly of 17-year-olds. I am delighted beyond description; it's like a kid taking over the family store."

Certainly, in defense of the album's nihilism, it can be argued that the record represents a startling warning to the political and social establishments that sought to have its makers hounded out of the public eye. If one is to try to understand the album in any serious sort of way, you have to consider its worth, as Horovitz Senior is hinting, as a piece of satirical social observation. What can we learn of adolescent America in 1986 from this record? Maybe not much we didn't already know; teenagers, as Yauch told Playboy, are often as reactionary and scared of change as their parents, and largely bored most of the time, play at being tough in front of their mates when in reality their insecurities prevent them from being assertive enough, and have given up on any hope that they have a meaningful influence on their society. It is surely not a mere coincidence that levels of apathy among first time voters in the United States and western Europe reached new peaks during these years. As governments in the USA and Britain, in particular, became convergent around a single political philosophy, with voter choice being limited to one of two parties (Republican and Democrat, Conservative and Labour) whose defining parameters all but vanished, it seemed as though a line had been drawn in the social sands. You were either part of the consensus and happy to participate in it, or you stood on the outside with no real hope of influencing events. Youth should be a time when your dreams and ideals are nurtured and encouraged, yet to so many young people growing up in the so-called industrialized west of the mid-to late-80s, ideals were all too often things you sacrificed for profit, dreams nothing more than the unattainable goals of hopeless romantics. It's little wonder so many people decided to take a turn away from the way things had been done before - and even a decision to step into a mental and philosophical void seemed like a tempting move compared to the other options available. So, in adopting these caricatures and living out this fantasy lifestyle, the Beasties were actually providing positive role models, by seemingly proving the validity of an imagination and demonstrating that it was possible to succeed on the older generation's terms - i.e. financially - by making a virtue of what they sought to take away from you.

This point was never fully appreciated at the time, though, and the rather more dubious parts of the band's package were allowed to overshadow the whole. It's interesting to note that similar mistakes of appreciation and perception are still being made: for example, most discussion of Be Here Now, the third album by Manchester rock band Oasis - routinely described through the mid-90s, like the Beasties before them, as "the bad boys of rock" - concentrated on its deficiencies or otherwise sonically and the band's failure to radically alter the formula of their earlier records. Yet in its lyrics, the album offers messages of hope and encouragement to dream and keep positive in the face of institutionalized apathy: "Say something, shout it from the rooftops off your head" (from 'It's Getting Better (Man!)') may well prove to be as defining a lyric to the present generation as Bob Dylan's 'Blowin' In The Wind' had been three decades earlier, precisely because of the song's helpless lack of specificity."

- Rhyming & Stealing: A History of the Beastie Boys by Angus Batey

#beastie boys #licensed to ill #oasis #be here now