#also Yeah tempo is just living rent free in my head now

[phioneplatinum]

ah, the brainrot is real, you know what this means!

silly doodle time!!!

#phione's art funnies #harmoknight #puyo puyo #puyo puyo tetris #jay and elle puyo puyo #tempo harmoknight #tappy harmoknight #lyra harmoknight #tyko harmoknight #chat i am SO SORRY I CAN N O T DRAW BUFF MAN FOR THE LIFE OF ME #also Yeah tempo is just living rent free in my head now #along with the tetra twins! who have been living rent free since *checks calendar* 5 YEARS AGO???? good GOD #didnt realise how much time its been since I've gotten into puyo puyo. i feel OLD and im not even 20 yet #so anyways now i sleep #goodnight chat....i eep

[theprophetsaid]

I’M SCARED - ANALYSIS

While Another World will live rent-free in my head forever, I’m Scared makes me want to scream. I don’t know if that’s good or bad, but I know that I had to do an analysis of this one as well. 

Disclaimer: I’m not telling you what to think. I’m writing my analysis based on how the song is presented. You are free to make up your own mind about it. 

Part I: This is personal 

Since I can’t find an interview where Brian talks about I’m Scared, I’ll discuss how he sees himself as a songwriter and how that influences the song. In an interview about his album Back To The Light, Brian says:

"(...) I can only function if a song means something to me regarding human relationships. I like to write about things that are personal, rather than about politics and other wider issues.” 

He labels himself as a personal writer who, above all else, writes about human relationships. That is important in the context of I’m Scared, as it allows me to assume that the voice in the song belongs to himself, not a made up character. 

Brian worked on this album during a period of massive emotional turmoil for him, while he was struggling with his mental health and thought his life was in ruins. That, as you will see, also relates to this specific song. 

Edit / addition:

Since writing this analysis I’ve come across an interview where Brian (very briefly) talks about the song: GW: "I'm Scared" is an interesting one.

MAY: Yeah, that goes back a long way. I kept doing different versions of that, as I kept finding out that I was scared of more and more things. And I figured that most of us are. We just keep it inside. I think it's good to let all that stuff out sometimes. Do a bit of screaming. — Guitar World Magazine, January 1993.

Here, Brian says that the song took a long time to write, but he also “confirms” that it’s about his own fears. In other words, this song is about himself.

Furthermore, Brian has revealed (on his live stream last week) that ‘I’m Scared’ is the first song he wrote for the album. Do what you will with that information.

With all of this in mind, I’ll break down the lyrics and the story that they tell.

—

Part II: The Story

You take me to the party You put me on the stand You're pumping up my heart To the beating of the band You toss it in the air And you don't care where it lands You take it, you break it You're hurting me There’s a clear dynamic set up here. There’s a ‘me’ (Brian, presumably) and a ‘you’ (someone else), but this dynamic is framed in a certain way right off the bat because the person he’s with is doing everything, and doing them to Brian (’You take me to the party’; ‘You put me on the stand). 

The phrase, ‘Pumping up my heart’ seems to be a metaphor for attraction and the heart-racing sensation that it often causes. Then after ‘pumping up [Brian’s] heart’, this person carelessly plays with it and breaks it, hurting him. This person that he’s with is in control while Brian is presented as passive and, frankly, rather powerless in comparison. 

Because I wasn't prepared I couldn't go where you dared You got my whole soul bared I never knew that you cared (No it just ain't fair) I’m scared (x13)

This chorus more or less explains the imbalance in control by implying that it relates to bravery. Brian doesn’t consider himself as daring as the other person, which would make him less able/likely to take control in the dynamic.

Also, ‘you got my whole soul bared’ is interesting because it implies that this person understands Brian on an intimate level in spite of him not opening up; Brian didn’t intentionally bare his soul to them but they can somehow see it regardless.

You take me out to dinner And you swallow me whole You're nothing but a sinner With a dark black soul I figured I could handle you But I'm just a toy You're getting bolder and bolder You're just a bad bad boy

This verse is the game-changer. It describes that Brian went out to dinner with whoever this person is. The difference in bravery/control between them is consistent, but the metaphors that describe the dynamic here are not emotional as they are in the first verse. They are sexual. ‘You swallow me whole’, ‘sinner’, and ‘toy’ have those clear connotations, which heavily implies that there is a sexual aspect to this dynamic. 

(Moreover, being swallowed whole alludes to a... very specific sexual act and I frankly don’t know what to do with that information, but I’ll leave it here: It’s a blowjob, folks.)

Now, let’s address the elephant in the room, shall we? It’s that last line. It changes everything about this song.

Brian is singing about a man. 

The ‘you’ is explicitly gendered as male. That is non-debatable. Moreover, gendering the ‘you’ in this verse, specifically, is a bold move because it includes so much sexual language. Brian describing himself as this man’s toy, singing about being ‘swallowed whole’ and being unable to handle him... It alludes to a sexual relationship, and I didn’t read into that. That’s just how it’s presented.

What you staring at You're such a scaredy cat When I know that I just can't fight it So what you staring at You're such a scaredy cat Because I'm only scared that maybe I might like it

Edit / Section changed due to new interpretation:

This bridge is interesting mostly because of the way Brian sings it. The bolded lines are sung in a tone that’s different from that of the unbolded ones. It creates the feeling of two people speaking to each other. This makes even more sense when you look at the lines themselves. “What you staring at, you’re such a scaredy-cat” seems like a taunt, whereas “When I know I just can’t fight it” and “Because I’m only scared that maybe I might like it” are framed like responses to this taunt. This paints a picture of the man taunting Brian for staring/being scared, and Brian “responding” to this with the bolded lines.

Now, as far as the meaning behind the bolded lines goes, the ‘it’ is unspecific. However, when you view them in the context of the previous verse, which has a very sexual tone, I think it’s safe to assume what it is that he can’t fight. What he’s scared of liking. It’s about attraction, and it’s about sex. 

After this fear of ‘maybe liking it’ has been sung, the song breaks off into a section in which Brian sings about everything that frightens him. When you listen to the recording, the fears are thrown at you in a rapid pace and it’s difficult to hear them as they pan from ear to ear, but here are some of them:

I'm scared to change, I'm scared to stay the same I'm so scared I want to die I'm scared of dying I'm scared of my thoughts I'm scared of being found out

The bolded fear ‘I’m scared of being found out’ is the last thing you hear when you listen to the song because Brian screams it; it’s louder than anything else. But overall this whole section is a major red flag for his mental health deteriorating; it presents fear as a constant whirl in his mind. Each fear seems to produce yet another fear until it becomes a spiral of sorts. 

(Interestingly, the spiral seems to grow out of his fear of ‘maybe liking it’.)

Following this section, the lyrics jump back to the story of Brian and the other man:

You take me to the limit You take me to the brink You left me with the blues When you found me in the pink You know just what you're saying But your metaphors stink I gotta lick it,or stick it Or this is the end

Edit / section changed due to new interpretation:

As we return to the verse structure, we also return to the dynamic, with the lines “You take me to the limit, you take me to the brink.” These illustrate that the man has taken Brian to “his limit”, probably emotionally, and “to the brink,” which, again… if you look at it in relation to the language and connotations of the previous verse… it can be seen as a, um, sexual brink, if you know what I mean.  

“You left me with the blues when you found me in the pink”. As @iwilltrytobereasonable pointed out in the comments, in the pink is an old metaphor for being in your optimal state of health and wellbeing. The blues is a self-explanatory contrast to that. To me, this line is Brian saying, “You met me at a time where I was doing well but, because of what you did to me, I’m now depressed. So fuck you.”

Now, “I gotta lick it or stick it, or this is the end” is still mysterious to me, but as someone pointed out in the comments, it might be a form of ultimatum. Because this dynamic is written as sexual, I’m gonna assume that the ultimatum is, too.  Since Brian “couldn’t go” where the other man dared, does this refer back to that? Was he given the option to either “lick it” or “stick it”, but couldn’t go there so it just ended? To me, that makes the most sense.

The Hidden Lyric:

Before I move onto the melody, there’s one last thing that I want to talk about, which is a hidden lyric toward the end of the track. By “hidden” I mean that it wasn’t included on the lyric sheet, but you can hear it, muffled in the background. As Brian sings, “I’m scared, I’m scared” repeatedly, there’s a single time where you can hear him quickly yell “Maybe I’m wrong!” afterward.

So the hidden lyric is:

I’m scared (Maybe I’m wrong!)

And… this line kills me because, keeping everything in mind about the narrative of this song and the emotions that it discusses… What might Brian be wrong about?? And why does that scare him so badly?? I think it’s pretty self-explanatory but it seems to be an acknowledgement that he might be wrong… about himself.

With all of That out of the way, I want to end by discussing the melody of the song quickly. 

—

Section III: The Melody

If you read the lyrics to this song before listening to it, chances are that you’re gonna be thrown off as soon as you press ‘play’ because the melody and overall tempo of the song does not match the content of the lyrics at all. It’s a fast-paced, guitar-heavy beat that makes your head spin. The singing is aggressive and full of confidence, which immediately diminishes the heavy words that are coming out of Brian’s mouth. 

Because the beat is so overwhelming, Brian can sing ‘I’m scared’ about 50 times (or more, I haven’t actually counted) in the song and it won’t really land because the rhythm is too distracting. The rhythm tells you something else, it says, ‘bang your head and forget about it’ 

I definitely find it alarming that he sings about such intense fear in a nonchalant way, in a way that almost forces the listener to look past it. Why would Brian choose to do this? I dare suggest that it is to present this song as the ultimate case of irony. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘I’m pouring my heart out to you and you don’t even notice because I’m singing like everything’s fine. I’m pretending that everything is fine.” 

—

Final Thoughts:

So, why does this song make me want to scream?

Well, I think that should be obvious by now. I know this analysis could make some people uncomfortable but, frankly, I don’t care. I don’t think it’s appropriate to ignore the obvious implications of the song’s narrative simply because we don’t want to question what we think we know about Brian’s sexuality. The fact of the matter is that I’m Scared is about a man, and not only that, it is intentionally sexual in tone. That, I think, is non-debatable. What it means, well... As I said, you are free to ponder that on your own. 

#let's be honest i could write a thesis on this song #not tagging this post because i don't think i should put it in the tags #but please feel free to reblog and like and comment if you want :) #or better yet: send me a message so i can ramble about it more #my analysis // #edited: 8/12/2021

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Maybe a fic with serena zhang where mc is going blind (not of old age tho, just because sickness you know...) and the reaction of serena and maybe the mc is reassuring her and fluffs things like that ?

Warning: Writer’s first time writing a visually impaired character. Condition referenced is Retinitis Pigmentosa.

...

There’s the flutter of sheets beside you, a small sigh. The sound catches on the edges of your dreams, satin soft. The bed dips just slightly. You can feel a warm presence hover right over you, and it doesn’t take much to figure out who it is.

You keep your eyes closed, waiting. The presence hesitates. Itches closer, like a wary cat, then stops. There’s a small pause before Serena starts pulling away, and you almost want to roll your eyes.

Really? She’s never this bashful. She’s usually on top of you as soon as she wakes up.

“Well, if you won’t do it, I will.”

She lets out a small squeak as you reach for her, managing to grab her arm. The kiss you pull her into is sweet and short, vibrant with loving energy. She leans back slightly, just enough to mutter:

“I didn’t want to wake you…”

So you pull her back in, smiling into the kiss. One of her hands settle on your hips easily, effortlessly, and you hum in delight at her touch.

“You’re being silly.”

“Sorry about that. How do you feel?”

“I’m fine.”

And you are. There’s no pain, just a slight discomfort… you hadn’t become aware of it immediately, anyway. Serena had been the first to tell you that you had been squinting your eyes a lot recently, but that wasn’t surprising. Out of everyone in the island, she’s the one that paid attention to you the most.

It had been a small ‘huh’ from your part. It wasn’t a bit concern, maybe you were just tired… but then you had begun stumbling more often when you walked in darker places. It began taking longer and longer for your eyes to adjust to darkness, and that had caught your attention a bit more, and you had frowned and thought that maybe it was because of winter—somehow, someway—and everything was just… darker. Looking at it back now, it was a very silly theory.

And then the edges of your vision just began to… chip away. There was an initial blurriness and then nothing, like covering your left eye and trying to see through it anyway. There was just nothing there. You had to turn your head to see things at your sides. Serena’s detail-driven mind had noticed right away, maybe even before you had realized it was happening, and you could feel the confusion and worry in her expression from miles away.

She had confronted you about it the night before. Her words had been like a heavy waterfall, snapping out of the daze you had been in, because somehow you had convinced yourself nothing was wrong along the way.

Well. There was no use ignoring it, was there? You needed to push through. It would be fine—it would change things, but not for the worse. It would just be… different.

“No headaches?” Your wife continues. She looks beautiful, dark hair spilling over her shoulders like a cool night, and you grin softly at her. You don’t know how of your vision you would lose, so you’d rather commit her image to memory just to be safe. Not that it was hard—she lived in your mind rent-free.

“No, the one I had yesterday disappeared pretty quickly.”

“Try not to strain your eyes too much. You’ll just get another one that way.”

“Right.”

“I… I would prefer if we went back with Clyde next time he comes. It should be in a few days—”

“Huh? To California?”

“Anywhere is fine, really. Anywhere that has a competent ophthalmologist, at any rate.”

“But—”

“Please,” she says, quietly, chocolate eyes sad and dull like aged wood, and the word curls around your heart and stays there like a cold chill. “Please. I just want to confirm you’re safe.”

“…alright.” You reach for her once again and pull her close, holding her there as if she were the only source of warmth in your life. In a sense, she is. “You don’t need to worry about a thing, babe—I’ll always listen to your concerns.”

“Thank you for that, Aura.”

“It’s also a great chance to introduce you to my parents formally. I know they aren’t satisfied with just letters.”

“Mm, you should meet my mom, too. She’s a bit eccentric, but nothing that will embarrass me too hard.”

“If she is as sarcastic as you are, I feel like it’ll become a roast session soon enough.”

“You might be disappointed.”

You shrug. “Eh, I’ll live. Anyway, we’ll be gone for a month, right? I’ll need to search for a substitute… classes just started, too…”

“It… might be a bit longer.”

That’s surprising. “Really? I thought you wouldn’t like to stay longer… but it’s alright! I’ll work something out for the school.”

“I’ll tell you how long later. We need to tell Angelo.”

“Yeah, we probably should… and Serena? Thank you. For looking out for me.”

“I’ll always look out for you, Aura. You are my whole world.”

Red tints your cheeks, a pleasant buzz rolling lazily down your spine at her words. “You are perfect, Serena. I just—I love you so much…”

She grins, her worry from earlier properly squashed. “I know. I love you too.”

…

Talking things out with Angelo and Olivia could be going better, you think.

“So Aura is going blind, then?” Olivia asks, surprise in her voice. “We could try to put something together—”

“No.” Serena’s voice is flat and cold, analytical. “Nothing of the sort. Not for this.”

You can imagine the way Olivia’s expression schools at the words, like it had all those years ago, when Serena had challenged her methods.

“We’ve been through this, Serena, and we agreed—”

“I know what we agreed, but this is not our specialty, Olivia. We won’t know what to look for, and messing around could prove disastrous. We’re practically setting everything up for a misdiagnosis if—”

“Well, maybe the spirits—”

“Don’t bring them into this. I don’t want to think about any magical related treatment right now, I only want to know what is happening.”

“C’mon, from her symptoms it can’t be something like Ocular Melanoma.”

Serena’s shoulders loosen just slightly, but she doesn’t hesitate when she turns towards Angelo. Your vision isn’t too damaged to keep you from telling key changes in her expression yet, and the face she wears now is stone-cold determination.

“We’re going back with Clyde. We’ll return in eight months or so.”

“Hold on, eight months?” You pipe up, stunned beyond measure.

“The diagnosis won’t take long, but there are some things we should do and I figured we could use it as a vacation, too.”

A vacation, she says, as if you weren’t already living in a dream island. It’s a pretty cozy place, the sole thought of reintegrating society and the chaotic tempo it operated in—with honking cars and yelling citizens and loud parties at every turn—make your head spin.

“Oh, you want to get O&M for Aura?” Olivia says, and there’s a special sort of softness in her voice now, as if it was something she hadn’t considered before.

“O&M?” Angelo asks, interested. “Sounds fun.”

“Mm, I don’t know about the fun part, but it is necessary. Only if the condition gets worse, of course, but I don’t like taking any chances.” Your wife explains, more relaxed now that she sees no one is jumping to fight her.

“Wait, but what is that?” You ask, frowning slightly at the unknown term.

There’s the thump of boots by your right—turning your head reveals a grinning Olivia.

“Things like learning braille and moving around with a cane. It’s rad stuff.”

“Braille? Uh, no offense Serena, but there aren’t many books in the island to begin with…”

“We’ll go shopping once we’re there. I wanted to buy some medical texts too. Clyde always manages to bring me old versions of the books I request…”

“I feel like you should have told me this sooner.”

“It’s quick—shouldn’t take more than six months.” Olivia intervenes, humming to herself. “And you’d need a cane too… we don’t have the resources to produce aluminum ones…”

“I’d be okay with a plain wood one, you know...”

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #serena zhang #lovestruck serena #serena x mc #castaway #lovestruck castaway #castaway serena #fluff

[bakughostly]

hi👉👈 would you be open to sharing some tidbits of your new fics? your current ones live in my head rent-free

this is literally so sweet of you to ask!!! i am more than willing to share!! i've been moving so writing has been going slower and these aren't as polished as i'd like them to be, but here are tidbits from two of the fics in progress! (they're also like super different types of stories, so the first tidbit is big literary fiction/the reader also gets character development, the second is more true-to-form fic writing. sorry for the tonal whiplash lmao)

tw for character death (the character is not specified) and super vague descriptions of the cremation process!!

it's the living that's hard

He shows up three minutes before the time you’d agreed on this morning, his illegally-parked Toyota Yaris gleaming black like snakeskin. When you slide into the car, the heating system’s airflow engulfs you. Your skin still feels too cold.

Moments with Bakugou have always had a sort of weight to them—an almost stifling blanketed silence. In his car, watching the smooth way his hands slide over the old Toyota’s steering wheel, the silence feels different. You’ve only ever interacted with him in office settings, group gatherings—never an enclosed space where you’re sure he can hear each and every one of the deep breaths currently keeping you grounded.

You met him at a hero gala years ago, when your partner was just starting out, when the long nights of training turned into longer nights of patrol shifts and meetings and press events. You’d always been hero-adjacent—analytics may sound like a boring job, but it’s the safest way to make good money in Musutafu, especially if you’re a UA grad—so you understood, to an extent. You saw the work it took to become a good, well-recognized hero from the numbers end of things: ratios of assists to captures, public perception and approval, agency statistics and their impact on hero ratings.

Bakugou took the spot of number ten hero at the age of twenty-one. He knows, better than you and your partner, what it means to work yourself to the bone. He wasn’t anyone you would have sought out by yourself, that you would have struck up a friendship with, especially when he was at his worst.

But that night was a rare good one for him. He smiled, just once, when his new title was announced, pride etched into the hard planes of his face. You decided he couldn’t be as bad as everyone else you’d met from UA had made him out to be.

You were wrong, of course, but even in his lowest moments you remember that smile--that single moment in which he’d allowed himself to be proud, to relish in the accomplishments he worked so hard to achieve.

Nothing in the past week has been familiar. Everything is dismantled, upheaved, broken—the cracked glass in the picture frame on the side table next to your bed, the ache in your sides that gets worse every time you're alone, the quicks of your nails that have been bitten unevenly down to nothing.

Everything is painful to touch. There’s an ache in your fingers you can’t quite dislodge.

You couldn’t bring yourself to be there when your partner was placed into the cremation chamber, limbs arranged careful and proper. It’s something you’ve thought about since you got the call this morning, a bored front desk person telling you that it was time to come to the crematorium and complete the death rites.

It was Bakugou that you asked to drive you there, to help you with the kotsuage, to pass the bones of your lover between mismatched pairs of wooden chopsticks.

Before you leave the car, he reaches out—almost touches you. Pulls back before his fingers can graze your wrist. “I can tell them we’ll do it another time.”

You shake your head, chest tight. There’s a tall black pine next to the crematorium, just offset behind it, and it reaches over the curved, gray-shingle roof to the cold sky. The needles blend and clear, your face is hot and cold, your hands are numb and not. It feels like you’re going to die if you don’t get out of this car right now. You dig bitten-down finger quicks into your palms and force yourself to ache.

“I don’t give a shit if they called today,” he says, voice made more gruff by the cold that snakes into the idled car. “If you’re not ready, they’ll wait.”

“It wouldn’t be respectful,” you tell him. Not to the crematorium—to your partner. You don’t want them to wait longer than they already have.

You return to the familiar quiet as you step out into the mid-morning frost, as you enter the cramped building and follow the crematorium director to the table of ashes, as you pick out snowdrop bone from the soot-black remains. Phalange and vertebra, metacarpal and jaw. The collagen framework of the body you once called home.

They’re interred in a simple brass urn because they prefer—(preferred, you correct)—minimal over intricate.

Their family shrine is close. Without asking, Bakugou knows to drive you there. To let your partner be with their ancestors for a little while before they’re buried, traditional, like their family would have wanted. You burn incense—patchouli, their favorite—and allow them to rest with their kindred spirits. A sweet reunion amongst so much bitter.

He drops you off afterwards, pulling up to the sidewalk in front of your apartment building’s front door. You slip out of his car along with the interior’s heated air, and you can see his breath when he says your name, frosted and curling into the windshield.

He looks conflicted. Not sure what to say. He’s not the type to apologize—and you appreciate that. All you’ve heard for days is sorry, sorry, sorry, variations on a theme. You’re sick of it. If he apologizes now for all that you’ve lost, you think you might actually break down on the sidewalk. Kneel on the concrete until all of its peaks and valleys are carved into the shape of your shins.

“I know you’re gonna try to handle all this yourself,” he tells you eventually. “But don’t be a dumbass. If you need something, call me.”

“I will,” you tell him. It’s the truth. “Thank you.”

He nods, a lurched motion, as if he’s not quite sure how to react to anything you do. There’s no buffer between you now that your partner isn’t there to soften interactions like taking punches. You have to look at each other when you speak because there’s no one else to look at. Every word, every motion, is a direct and unavoidable blow.

“Yeah,” he responds, eyes on the massive pothole next to his car, on the street corner’s tilted lamp, on anything except the person his words are meant for. “Just don’t mention it.”

An expression, but one he means literally. If you weren’t a mess, it might have been Tell anyone about this and you’re fucking dead. It might have been I’m doing this for them, not for you. You wonder where he draws the line between pity and obligation.

And you’re not going to mention it. You know that this is more than he does for most people. For anyone, really. All of this—the quiet rides, the silent but present support, the way his chopsticks steadied yours when your hands started shaking so badly that you nearly dropped a starlight-soft piece of bone—is nothing you would ask of him. Expect of him.

That doesn’t mean you don’t wish he would stay, if only to numb the sharp edge of your apartment’s unfitting silence.

new mexico piece that doesn't have a name yet

The sky is a burnt orange above the desert when you get there, the lamps down the street above the gas station clicking on as the day continues to darken. There’s a door to the inside office of the garage on the left side of the building, but the two large, vertically sliding doors on the right are open, revealing the main shop.

A large speaker towards the back of the shop is blasting nineties hip-hop, a smooth, bassy beat overlaid by enunciated, intricate verses that adhere to the music’s tempo easy as breathing. It’s the kind of music you’d expect to hear in a mechanic’s shop, but for some reason, not the kind of music you expected Bakugou to listen to. The dark-clothes-red-eyes-and-edgy-undercut vibe screams metalhead. So do the blatant anger issues.

There are two cars other than yours on the floor, and you see him bent over the engine of a cherry-red Corvette with its hood popped. The car looks like it was made forty years ago even though it shines like it just rolled out of the factory.

But what’s more distracting than the car is Bakugou’s wide back, completely bare, the muscles shifting with each movement of whatever tool he’s using, a fast clicking noise filling the air. You still think he’s a dick, but there’s no denying that his body is impressive, all hard angles and toned lines and a shoulder-to-waist ratio that some models would probably kill for.

You only let yourself watch for a second more—maybe two or three—before you clear your throat. And then, when he doesn’t seem to hear you, you say, “Uh, hey. I’m back.”

He turns, grabbing a grey-tinged rag from the edge of the Corvette’s hood and wiping his hands on it, his fingers stained soot-black. When he’s fully facing you, your eyes catch on a long line of grease running up his obliques, drawing your gaze down the length of his torso to the waistband of his dark jeans.

Fuck. He’s got to put in work to look like this. There must be absolutely nothing else to do in Musutafu except work out and fix cars, and the man in front of you is living proof of that.

“Eyes up, extra.”

Your face heats because he’s caught you blatantly checking him out, and you rapidly look away from him and towards your car. “Just noticing how dirty you are. Not a great way to greet customers.”

“Comes with the job,” he says, unimpressed. “Customers are gonna have to deal with it. You want to know what’s wrong with your car, or did you just come here to be a fucking creep and stare?”

You’ve never met someone that purposefully tries to piss off other people as much as Bakugou, and you don’t want to meet anyone like him again after this. “Keep your ego in check. I’m here for my car.”

“It’s just like I thought. Rotor’s fucked beyond repair. Your brakes are shot on your other front wheel from picking up the slack when you drove into town.” He lets out a short, frustrated sigh. “Gonna have to replace the entire wheel along with the tire because you warped it so bad.”

“That sounds expensive.”

He looks at you like you’ve just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “That’s what happens when you do reckless shit like this. You’re lucky you didn’t bend the whole axle. You’d be looking at way more.”

Your palms are sweating. Maybe it really wasn’t worth it to drive to the gas station in the rain. Maybe you should’ve stayed in the void and waited for morning. Waited until you could walk into town cold and exhausted, abandoning the paintings that cost more than your entire net worth. “Just give me an estimate.”

He gives you a number about a grand and a half more than what you have in savings. “And that’s not including labor.”

You nod, keeping your breathing even. You don’t want to react in front of him. Or at all.

Despite that, you feel your throat start to tighten, your lungs seizing in your chest. There’s no way you can afford to fix this, and if there’s that much to fix it’ll probably take longer than a few days, and this means you’re going to have to call Chisaki and tell him that you’re going to take longer and you’re positive that this is going to get you on his bad side, and Shinsou is so fucking close to getting that promotion instead of you, and now, because you were a fucking idiot and drove out on a dangerous desert highway in the middle of the fucking night, your entire career might be ruined and what were you thinking? You could have just waited and avoided all of this, but you’re so impatient that you wanted to get the drive out of the way and now you’re going to blow all of your savings on this and maybe even lose your job, and you feel so fucking worthless.

“Shit, are you—why are you crying?”

You put a hand to your face and feel just a few tears that you hadn’t even realized were there. A panic response. Your face is hot and cold and stinging. You still can’t calm your breathing and you think you’re going to have a full-on anxiety attack, so you close your eyes for a moment and ground yourself, digging your nails into your palms to feel something other than the buzzing sensation of worry and stress and fear. You can’t believe this is happening in front of another person—you feel like a child.

Bakugou looks uncomfortable, but his brows draw in something that would look like concern on a kinder face but really only serves to make him look more frustrated. He walks over and stands in front of you, awkward, like he wants to help but doesn’t know how. He smells like sweat and grease and under that, weirdly enough, something sweet like caramel. “We can work something out if you’re gonna take it that bad. Just—stop looking like that.”

Jaw clenched, you wipe the few tears away with your sleeve and shake your head. Steady your breathing. Keep your eyes trained on one of his dirty hi-tops, counting the lines of stitching on the nose of the shoe, until you feel like you can look him in the eye again. “I have a lot riding on being able to get to Taos.”

“Taos?” He narrows his eyes, frowning a little. “The fuck do you need to go there for? It’s barely bigger than Musutafu.”

“I just need to get there as soon as possible or my boss is going to be pissed.” You think of the way you’ve seen Chisaki yell at interns that got his coffee order wrong. This is much bigger than a coffee order, and you also have much more responsibility than an intern. You clench your teeth again, trying to choke down the fresh wave of anxiety the builds in your throat. Facing Chisaki is going to be worse than anything. He’s going to kill you. Or fire you. You’d almost prefer the former.

Bakugou sighs, looking between you and the car. He runs a tired hand through his hair, and even though it sounds like the last thing he would ever want to do, he says, “Let me get you a beer.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting behind the garage in a Tommy Bahama beach chair with a San Miguel in your hand, the cold bottle a balm against the fading heat of day. Bakugou is in a matching chair next to you, sipping on his own drink, and you sit together, A Tribe Called Quest playing in the garage behind you and filling the silence.

The shop floor of the garage has those large vertical doors on either side, so you can see through it, past the still and quiet cars, out onto the highway. Civilization, or something like it, across the street in those rows of two-story buildings. On this side of the shop, you can see where the edge of a few residential blocks of Musutafu meet the desert, and further than that, where the desert melts into forest. The trees closest to the edge are withered, shrunken things, probably stunted by a lack of water and the unobstructed sunlight, and you’re brutally reminded of how cruel the earth can be.

You’ve always been a little scared of the desert. It can be beautiful, sometimes, but most of the time it’s frightening. Lurking. Like a beast on the edge of your peripherals, always watching and waiting. You could walk out into this wasteland and never be found. Your bones could sink into the ground and rest there, untouched and sand-bleached, forever.

“Why’d you move out here?” you ask, even though Bakugou has been consistently refusing to acknowledge your presence after he made sure you were situated with your chair and your beer.

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

“You’re a great conversationalist.”

“Maybe I don’t want to have a conversation.” He sips his beer and you watch a bead of condensation trail down his arm. He put on a shirt before joining you out here, thank fucking god, but he’s still dirty from working on the cars in his shop and it’s almost entrancing to you—not the dirtiness, but how it came about. The obvious effort he puts into something he’s good at.

You wonder how old he is. If he owns the shop or if he just works here. There’s a lot of things you want to ask him, but he’s the least friendly man in Musutafu, so your chances of getting those questions answered are pretty fucking slim. “Okay, how about this? Question for a question. You ask me something and I’ll answer totally honest as long as you do the same.”

He glances at you, just for a second, red eyes made darker by the lack of sun. The night has settled comfortably on the horizon now, and everything about Bakugou has become a little more intimidating. He seems bigger in the darkness. His shadows are elongated in the most terrible ways. “Why the fuck would I want to know anything about you?”

Yeah. That’s what you should’ve expected. “Never mind.” You take a long swig of your beer. It tastes like sand, but that might be the desert burning itself into every single one of your senses. Just to take a final dig at him, you say, “Bet you’d have nothing interesting to tell me anyway.”

You’re going to finish your beer and leave. You’re not sure why you stayed this long—maybe it was the fact that his offer of a drink seemed like a kindness he doesn’t often show. You don’t think he’s kind by nature, but he at least didn’t laugh at you when you cried a little earlier. He has a heart, even if it’s small and shriveled and almost completely devoid of empathy.

Just as you’re downing the dregs of the San Miguel, he says, “Fine. Tell me what’s in Taos.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha x reader #HOPEFULLY soon i will be posting the living is hard #we are just having a Busy Time over here #i hope these fragments tide u over lmao sorry they are not super polished #fics

[jmeddows2]

Purple Thunder (Roger Taylor Series) Part 5

(present/old) Roger Taylor x  Reader Notes:

as promised, I still made it on time, well kind of.. as this relationships develops I’d be happy to hear some of the concepts you guys have/ would love Reader and Rog do/experience etc. :) I’d be really grateful and excited to hear some of that..

other wise, same old jazz: sorry for grammar/ mistakes, English is not my first language but anyways, I gave it a go. Enjoy and feel free to submit requests, feedback etc. :)

If you haven’t already, please check this out: Introducing: Purple Thunder :)

Warnings: a bit of cursing, cheating, we’ll get to more in time, don’t worry ;)

Words: 2.5k

„How was that?“ your drummer Sid gave you a questioned and expecting look through the glass wall from the recording booth, as he fiddled around with the drum sticks, twirling one in his right hand. Roger was already in the black leather chair next to you, willing to produce the whole new album and of course, he didn’t give you a chance to deny it, or to put it better, he insisted on taking over the job as producer. 

“It was good, really good…. but I don’t know.. I feel like we’re repeating ourselves over and over again” your eyes darted from the sound board to your band member. “It’s good, but it all sounds the same. Don’t you think?” You put your elbow to rest your chin in your hand in a thoughtful gesture looking to Roger beside you. His air was a bit messy, but still looked flawless. He put so much work and detail into each song, trying to make little masterpieces out of them, but as much as you appreciated his work, something was wrong. 

“I’ll try a new pattern then? To match the tempo you had in mind?” Sid made you beam back him again, already finding a new beat as he was waiting for your answer. 

“Have you tried drumming machines?” Roger firstly looked at you, then Sid, then back at you.

“It’s not exactly the real thing but it’ll give you something to experiment with” Roger suggested, lightly scratching his beard. 

“Your call, boss” Sid smiled at you , he was indeed excited about Roger’s ‘new role’ in your band, considering that he had been a life - long fan of his, picking up drumming because of Roger in the first place. It should also be mentioned that his parents met at Live Aid back in 1985 when they were just 15 years old, both stood in front row cheering on their favourite band: Queen. Sid especially recalled seeing pictures of Roger in magazines his parents owned, showing a younger Roger wearing some nice suits, having a glass of wine in his hand and always a beautiful young thing by his side. A major part in his decision making on wanting to become THE next Roger Taylor. And he did.. Well sort of.. Sid was someone who enjoyed life… and especially the ladies… He enjoyed it so much that he lost count of the hearts he had loved and left haunted. 

“Ok, let’s try it, you guys mind if I go out for a smoke?” you asked as Sid jumped excitedly into the seat next to Roger. 

“It’s alright love.” Roger gave you a smile and turned to Sid “Now, we’ll start with the basics, you can imitate any percussion on this, if you just…” Roger’s voice drowned out as you made your way out of the sectioned area you had rented, up the stairs to the roof terrace. After 10 minutes of smoking and collecting your thoughts you made your way back onto the ground floor, passing the counter in the foyer where Laura, a good friend of yours had been working. Dan had declined all calls since his outburst in the studio the other, which didn’t make the situation any easier. Arriving back in the booth the drum backing track had surprisingly fast, already been laid down.

Time went by flying as Roger showed Sid some tricks of his own on the drums, which left him amazed. 

“Today’s been great, you’re heading into a kind of different direction in terms of music, I mean your last two albums were excellent, but I think this is going to be even better” Roger smiled adding finishing touches to the mastering of yet another song. Sid had left you two to it again, heading off to meet his parents. Probably also to tell them that he is currently working with rock royalty, but we’ll leave that aside. 

“You listened to those? I’m sorry, I’m just.. I never thought someone like you would listen to my kind of stuff” you chuckled. 

“Someone like?” he laughed. “Why do you always think so bad of yourself? Those two records were really good! Of course I listened to them, got to know what’s hot in the moment… Y’know.. what the teenagers fancy… or whom. I read all the music magazines.”

“You’re probably the only person who still reads those” you laughed giving him a light pat on the shoulder. 

“Hey” he frowned a bit, but a smile appeared on his lips, signalling he wasn’t taking it too seriously. 

“You’re growing with your music, it’s a good thing. Without any of the growing and changing part, Queen would have probably never made it. Gotta think outside the box y’know, do what your heart tells you to do.” He touched your shoulder in a loving gesture. 

“And if it tells me to quit?” you whispered but it was still audible for him. 

“I don’t know if I want to keep doing it. I’m not feeling it anymore, the excitement, the relief, the love…” 

“Are you sure you’re still talking about music here?” Roger looked at you softly, trying to test the waters. 

“I don’t know... Music’s always been there for me when friends or family were turning their backs on me, or when I was too afraid to ask for help, I’d just put some record on and everything was fine. It helped me cope with so much, you helped me cope with so much.” looking into his eyes. 

“Listening to your music was almost like a healing process, I know it sounds weird but it was and still is. I’m just… confused right now. Do I want to continue? Make an album, tour and then end up in the same dark place I had been in two years ago, because absolutely nothing feels right about it? Do I attempt to make my fans happy, but end up disappointing them because nothing feels right?  There’s always so much pressure, I don’t even know who we’re doing this for anymore” by now there were a few hot tears escaping your face. You felt pathetic. Pathetic for always crying and being miserable when Roger was around. He must think you’re a fool by now, someone that’s not capable of the spotlight anyway. Someone weak and undeserving. 

On the other hand….. 

Roger knew what it meant to make sacrifices, also for the sake of his other three band members back in the day. When you’re up against 3 equals, you’re not always able to convince them with your ability or choice. Whether it depends on the melody and musical part of each song or the lyrical choices. Roger often recalls having a song idea, which then ended up being taken apart by his band mates, trying to change every little thing possible. 

This happens, especially when each individual has their own favourite type of musical style. The journey of a musician in expanding their horizon ends, with not feeling it inside their heart anymore. Or the feeling being lost, hurt and especially left out. No matter how many people they’re surrounded with.

You two were sitting with him on the black leather couch, one leg on the couch, one on the ground, while he was listening to you ramble on as if was the most interesting thing ever. Comforting you, giving advice, but most importantly not trying to lead you into any direction, which many people have tried before. He was there. He cared. Lost in comfort you pulled up your feet to place them in his lap.  “I was too stubborn when I was younger, but I know now! Don’t do what might sound like the best idea. It usually ends up going into the opposite direction. If following your heart means breaking free from everything that’s holding you back now, then you could do that” Roger gave you a sympathetic smile, softly rubbing your ankles.  “If it means taking a break from all of this” he made a circling gesture “then you could do that! Don’t feel like letting anyone down, they’ll understand. We used to release an album every year for quite some time, but the fans still continued supporting us, it’s not going to be any different here.” You brought your legs from his lap to the ground scooting closer to him. A failed attempt.  “Do you know how to play?” he picked up the drum sticks that had been lying on the little table beside him and you shook your head in response. He got up and walked over to the drum kit with you following closely.  “Be ready to learn from the best then” he sat down on the little stool behind the kit, making enough room for you between his legs, patting for you to sit down. You did. You held the drum sticks in both of your hands when he brought his around you, to teach you a simple pattern.   “So try hitting the high hat eight times in beat of one measure. Snare comes in at 2nd and 4th hit.” You followed his instructions perfectly earning praise.  “Yeah, just like that, keep the tempo. Now try adding the kick drum on both beginning and end of the 1st and 3rd beat.” You followed his instructions again.  “We have a natural here” Roger laughed reaching forward to brush the hair out of your face that was sticking to your forehead.   “Solo time” it took a few loud clashes on the cymbals to send the sticks flying through the room. “Ooops” you laughed covering your mouth with your hand, your head slightly tilting to one side as Roger laughed into your shoulder.  “A true rockstar” you turned your head to face him.

No phone this time, no text interrupting this moment. There it was. Your all or nothing moment. 

You leaned forward pressing your lips against his. He helped you turn around to sit in his lap without ever breaking the kiss.

“You’re the most impactful, strong and beautiful woman I got to witness in such a long time” he brought his hand up and brushed a few strands of your hair out of your face.  You moved closer to him, pressing your lips against his again and he deepened the kiss.  Your heart was racing when your lips touched his, the feeling of his beard tickling your chin as his mouth started to move along with yours, his lips surprisingly soft. You moved your hand into his messy hair as one of his hands moved to your hip, the other cradling your cheek. Sudden realization hit you and you pulled back. Roger opened his eyes at the sudden loss of contact, when he saw you with your head already in your hands as you were nervously pacing around the room. “I really seem to mess everything up, huh?” you mumbled to yourself, not intended for him to hear. “Hey, it’s alright” calming down was the last thing on your mind now. “You’re alright!”  “No, nothing’s alright, Roger! I’ve been telling myself that for far too long now.. I get it if you don’t want to see or work with me ever again “you were cut off when his lips crushed against your again, he pulled you onto the leather couch with him, back into his lap. A feeling of safety crept into your heart as he pulled you tighter, kissing along your jaw.  Nothing mattered, not the fact that your boyfriend was currently touring the states, avoiding every single temptation on the way, nor Roger’s wife who was patiently waiting for her husband’s phone call from the other side of the world.  Your face was pressed against his chest, the scent on his shirt in your nose and it felt like the safest place in this world. He held you as close as possible. “What are we now” “I don’t know. But I hate the fact you’re everything I was looking for, when I wasn’t looking for it.” Roger replied with a hint of sadness in his voice, caressing your hair.  “Have dinner with me, I know this restaurant, pretty hidden…”  “what if they-“ “Brian’s going to be there. No paparazzi to worry about.” So you agreed. Without having any other conversation your current status, he held your hand. On the way to the cab, in the car itself, earning no suspicious look from the driver who probably didn’t even notice your intertwined fingers. Roger only let go once you entered the restaurant.  Brian was already there, definitely not expecting you on joining them, as he had already taken a seat on a table for two. Roger was right, no paparazzi around.  A young waitress with long brown hair pulled up into a ponytail, which was about 16 years old, was willing to reseat you. She was nervous and almost trembling, so you suspected her to be star struck by the two rock royalties who you shared the table with.. She came back with a tray of drinks, nearly tripping over own feet when she finally reached your table. Brian was just about to ask her if everything was alright, Roger beside you with a smug smile but it wasn’t them she was interested in. “Actually I’m so sorry it’s not really professional, but (Y/N) I’m such a big fan!! Could I please take a picture with you! I’m so sorry to disturb you, I just can’t help myself” the young waitress bounced nervously from one foot to the other. Roger took a quick picture for the girl, who had now basically wrapped her arms around you, still trembling. It was cute, a small reminder of why you’re still doing this. Making people happy… but somehow always leaving yourself out of the frenzy of happiness. She thanked you by giving you another squeeze and you took your seat next to Roger.  “So… how’s the album getting along? Roger told about some complications concerning the guitarist? Did everything turn out alright?” Brian asked, taking a sip from the beer in front of him. You were struggling to answer that question. Your guitarist had basically left, you were far behind in production and material. Yeah everything went great, except for the fact that management was pressuring you, because of the money they were about to lose. Everything was great. Roger noticed the worry in your eyes so he was trying to change the topic.  “Let’s not talk about work now, what are y’all having? Bill’s on me” he placed his hand on your thigh under the table, making sure no one would see and gave you reassuring squeeze. It was all you needed in this moment to calm down.  Brian was quite suspicious. He had known his best friend for over 50 years now. Even considered him a brother. He knew when something was going on with Roger. And that was a lot in this moment. He saw it, right in front of him. Every single look that was exchanged between you and Roger, every single gesture and the exchanging touches. Love.

 Roger payed the bill as promised and wanted to drop you off at your flat. Brian though had other plans, which involved a serious conversation with his best friend. So tricked Roger into the belief that some ‘serious’ problem about the upcoming tour came up. 

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing Roger?” taglist: @bellamy1998 @oldfashionedlovergirlsblog

#roger taylor #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor fanfiction #Queen #queen + Adam Lambert #Brian May #old roger taylor #present day roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #present day roger x reader #purple thunder

[woosey-woo-shitposts]

Guns and Roses

(Obey Me! Mafia!AU)

This au's concept originated from this user

Parts of this storyline are loosely inspired by Mafiatell (An Undertale Mafia AU) written by Staringback, adapted into a comic by Cutthroat-Jutsu which was later voice-dubbed by Vade.

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This narrative was written in first person to minimize the use of MC's pronouns for your enjoyment, however I ask you pardon any errors because I am inexperienced in this writing style.

As a matter of fact, I loathe it. But I wanted to make this a fun read. I did this for you.

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"You have got to be kidding me!" I snarled as I observed the wrinkled notice in my hands. Of course, the one time I get a good night's sleep, my landlord gives me a demand to pay extra for this month's rent! That was my biggest pet peeve: when they demanded money but never chose to specify WHY. As far as I knew, this wasn't a matter of protection fees, this was him taking advantage in the cruel world we all lived in.

I can't wait to get out of this town. Every cop, politician, or anyone else in some position of power was corrupted by selfish desire. As for me? I'm just someone living on my lonesome in a piece-of-crap apartment on a singer's wage. Oh-- yeah. I sing and dance if the price is right. If you dress nice and pile on enough make-up, you might make it out here. Unfortunately, I never made it past the low-life bars that paid a somewhat survivable wage. Now I had to lose all my leftover money on this in order to not get kicked out by my greedy landlord. My friends taught me to never respect someone who wears sunglasses indoors! What a mess...

I know what you might be thinking: "why not find another place to stay?" And my answer is-- this is the cheapest place around--even with that "living fee" my landlord was forcing me to pay IN ADDITION to this month's rent! Yeah, I still haven't forgotten about it! Thanks to a certain gang that controlled the area, it was hard to find a living space that didn't put you in debt because of the additional "protection fee" that all tenants were charged. All this city cared about were money and power and control. Sometimes they went hand-in-hand.

After a few moments of pacing, I finally went to my room to pick out some clothes for tonight's gig. That was the best I could do for now.

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Heavy on the eyeshadow, bright red on the lipstick. That's what the club owner asked for before I retreated into the bathroom to apply it all. If I had a say, I'd be going without the skimpy flapper girl dress, but that's what they wanted. For whatever reason, though, the club owner seemed more... tense than usual. I've seen low-life thugs and lesser members of the local gang in this club during my past performances, so it couldn't be that. What if it was someone more important...?

"Showtime in 10, darling~!" The owner hollered from the changing room door, snapping me from my thoughts as abruptly as they arrived in my head. He was attractive to say the least, although I could go without them opening the door and leering in. It was almost like they were trying to sneak a peek at me every time. Even if that wasn't bothering me, I felt this knot twisting in my gut, telling me that something big was going to happen tonight as I fixed up my hair to the best of my ability.

I could hear my shoes clicking against the wood flooring as I approached the stage. To my right was a small jazz crew: a trumpet, and a saxophone player... although one looked to be a kid in height, especially with how his blonde hair was styled. He looked far too short for the clarinet he was playing. The other gentleman was tall and muscular with darker skin. He also had a calming air about him, like a long lost friend of mine. To my left was someone on the piano, cracking his knuckles and poising his hands over the ivory keys. I've never seen him before. He was slender with white hair, but I couldn't see his face from where I stood as I adjusted the height of the microphone. However, my attention was drawn to the the pianist that stood from his post to investigate who was standing in the crowd.

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"Would you look at that?" A gentle, yet playful voice uttered before he turned to face me. He was tall, probably 5'11, with steely gray eyes and pale skin that was almost as white as his hair. Of course, I wanted to introduce myself, but my attention was drawn to the slightly parted curtains he was peeking through.

I squinted out at the dimly lit bar, scanning the tables. As I suspected: there were mostly low-life criminals drinking their worries away, however I noticed a menacing aura wafting from a far corner of the room.

Draped in shadow, there looked to be three men whose eyes seemed to glow with an inhuman glint. The first man seemed to be the tallest out of the three: dressed in a jarring red suit with a black tie and a golden chain linking his collar and his suit. His hair surprisingly looked even redder than the clothes on his back. Then there were his eyes, glowing like yellow-hot coals that matched the shimmering gold chains he wore.

On the far end of the table was a slender looking gentleman wearing a mint green jacket over a black vest. His eyes were shimmering emeralds, although I was more focused on how he patiently was sitting by, more focused on their surroundings than the men he was sitting with.

To his left--sitting between him and the man in red--was another man, sitting barely as tall as the first, yet sharing the same if not a more menacing aura than the figure in red. He had a more standard looking suit with a red vest and tie with a black suit jacket resting on his shoulders. His hair was black, swooped partially to one side more than the other with a hint of silver fading from the tips. I also took notice of his black gloves. He must've gotten his hands dirty in the past. Then there were his eyes. Those eyes were a shade of red that almost blended into the lighting of the room from what I could see from the curtain. Even so, I could feel a sudden piercing sensation when I felt like I was being watched. Before I could figure it out, I hastily closed the curtains and returned my attention to the pianist.

"That... that was Diavolo, wasn't it?" I questioned with a quiver of my lip. I heard that the gang leader of this area was a man who dressed in red as to hide how much blood covered his hands.

"Wow, even small town singers know him?" The man questioned in a teasing tone.

I narrowed my gaze at him in a cold glare. "Know /of/ him. I've never seen him in person, let alone pictures of him."

The pale man shrugged off my glare, keeping an almost foxlike arrogance about his demeanor. "Well, consider yourself lucky if you survive the night. Rumor has it his gaze can curse the weak of mind."

Right when I parted my lips to snap back at him with something- that club owner called from behind us.

"Get in position, you four!" He said in a hushed shout, signaling for the performers to get ready to start their number.

I bit my lip with growing anxiety before the club owner waved at me from back stage before offering a quick thumbs up and mouthing what seemed to be "break a leg". All I could do was nod curtly to acknowledge it until the curtains swung apart, temporarily blinding me with the stage lights.

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I had to admit, these musicians had talent. It was easy to keep in pace with them through the first number. As I removed the microphone from its stand, I danced about, letting my clothes sway about until the crowd cheered and called out to me. Even so, I felt that knot in my stomach. As my motions slowed, I noticed Diavolo and the other two men looking my way... whispering. It left me unsettled.

My dancing slowed to a stop as I returned to my spot by the microphone stand, but I kept with the upbeat tempo until the song ended. Those catcalls and whistles erupted into proud cheering where I stood. Still, my gaze fixated on those three figures, my gaze briefly locking with Diavolo's as a quiet gulp swallowed back my anxieties.

With a forced smile, I waved to the crowd. "I see a few unfamiliar faces tonight. I hope you enjoyed the music." I chuckled lightly to myself. "This next one is dedicated to a special guest tonight." Even though my body was fighting against a terrified tremor, my eyes met with those monsters again before winking in their direction.

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The crowd fell silent in appreciation of the next song, although, to a mixture of relief and fear, I saw Diavolo leave with his entourage of two. A few thoughts came to mind as the second and final song ended before the cheering became muffled behind a closed curtain.

"Bravo, darling~!" The owner rushed in to hug me, catching me off-guard. "Beautiful singing as always." He chimed as he twirled me about.

"Easy, Asmo." The saxophone player interjected, quickly separating me from the overexcited club owner. "A lot just happened. Give them some space."

The rosy-haired man blinked, taken aback by that remark. "If you insist. Darling, you're free to go. I left your pay in the changing room." He smiled in fake innocence as I walked past him and off the stage. In the corner of my eye, I saw Asmo glancing over his shoulder in... concern?... as I went backstage and back into that changing room.

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The room was pitch black when I stepped into it. Odd, I don't remember turning off the lights when I left to perform. I took a few steps into the room in order to find the light switch, using what little light that came in from the hall until--

Click...

My heart suddenly sank into my stomach the moment the door shut behind. Immediately afterwards, the light was switched on and a hand brought itself on my shoulder the moment I thought about running for the door I came through.

"I don't think so." A gentle voice mused. A side glance revealed a white silk glove gripping my shoulder. Even if it didn't look strong, my body refused to budge against it. Then, however, my attention was brought to a towering man in in a red and black suit. That tall, dark, and mysterious guy Diavolo was talking with. My heart was racing a mile a second as he stood up and approached me. Is this it? Is this how I die?! My eyes went wide as they locked with his.

The moment he brought his hand up to my chin, I let out a sharp gasp-- I couldn't help myself... I was scared for my life! I found myself tensing up as he forced me to look him in the eyes. Those dark red eyes were much more intimidating up close.

"Tell me, human." He began, voice deep and low. It wasn't even a whisper, but it was quiet enough to have the same effect on me. He tilted his head, glaring angrily down at me before he spoke. "Why were you looking at Lord Diavolo?"

TO BE CONTINUED

#obeyme #obey me! one master to rule them all #obey me lucifer #obey me solomon #obey me asmodeus #obey me diavolo #mafia au #writing #fanfic #fanfiction

[mygiantesslove]

Are you still alive?

1. Meeting the Ballerina

"Still alive?” asked Marilyn to her high heeled chunky loafer shoe. In fact, she was talking to someone inside her shoe. That specific someone had been in there for nearly 4 hours without interruption while at work. It was now noon, beginning of December.

“I am alright,” said a low shriveling voice from inside the musky smelly shoe.

“Okay.” Said Marilyn. She then placed the shoe back on the ground and carelessly pushed her foot back in, twisting her ankle for until it was a tight fit. Under her black cotton socked toes, there was a tiny half-inch naked girl, a bit absent-minded.

Marilyn works for a law firm, she’s the law student who never became a lawyer but more of a counseling jurist. She spends most of her days on the computer reviewing texts, making sure they are legal, and stuff like that. She’s a 35 years old single woman, loves to drink wine and smoke cigarettes and has 2 passions: Classic ballet and figure skating.

The tiny girl who was actually being a bit tortured inside her shoe is Annie, 20 years old. Now, Annie is what we call a “shrinker”. She was diagnosed being a shrinker when she was young, learned to live her life with it and at some point, when she was 20, she just decided that she should have a life of her own. She stole her purple jewel from her mom and ran away, moved out of town, and decided to use all her savings to rent an apartment and work full time in a coffee house in NYC. Annie, much like many shrinkers, had grown up living half of her life in her mother and sister’s shoes, being crushed under smelly women’s feet is something Annie had lived a LOT. She hated it as much as she enjoyed it, depending on who was crushing her, how, in what circumstances and footwear type. But Annie was now in control of her own life, a rare thing for a shrinker, and she kept her purple jewel safe. When twisted, that jewel had the power to shrink her or grow her back to normal size.

Nobody knew who she was, and she could have a normal life.

Annie now lives in the apartment under Marilyn’s, she moved in and met Marilyn a few days later. They became friends quite quickly in fact, and it was a most awkward moment for them. It was earlier in September, Annie heard tap sounds from the apartment above. Like someone hitting the floor with a small hammer, rhythmically, like following music tempo. Curious, but also a bit annoyed by the sound from the apartment above, Annie went upstairs and knocked at the apartment’s door. She could hear classical music inside and someone walking to open the door. Marilyn smiled, wearing ballet points, white nylons, and dancewear uniform, her jet black hair in a ponytail.

“Oh hi!” said Marilyn.

“Hi, I am Annie, I just moved below a few days ago.” Said Annie extending her hand. Both girls shook hands and met normally. “I see you’re uh...a ballet dancer?” asked Annie. Marilyn smiled and invited Annie to follow her inside, where she grabbed the stereo remote to cut the music off and lit a cigarette. “Wow, nice apartment.” Said Annie.

“Just likes yours I guess. No?”

“No, well mine is not a loft. And hmm, well I just moved in so I don’t have all the decorations, just what is necessary.” Annie smiled shyly, quickly overwhelmed by the cigarette’s smoke. Annie was staring at Marilyn’s ballet pointe shoes with great fascination. Being inside all sorts of footwear for all her childhood, she had never been inside ballet points and she couldn’t help but stare.

Marilyn said something but Annie was distracted and unfocused.  Marilyn talked about stuff and finally ended up with a question: “So what do you think?”

“Me? Oh, hmm, sure. I don’t mind trying, I’ve never been put inside ballet points before.” Answered Annie.

“Uh...what?” Marilyn puffed out her smoke and looked at Annie with a weirded expression on her face. “Annie? I ask you what you think about the neighborhood...” Marilyn looked confused.

Annie’s face became as red as a beet. She couldn’t believe she got so distracted and absent-minded. She could not believe what she just said, she was sure she only thought it. She looked up at Marilyn, who was quirking a brow in disbelief. “I am sorry, I was, hmm, thinking out loud. I mean... I was...distracted. I huh... I do like the neighborhood, a really nice place to live, really. Hmm, sorry about that.”

There was a silence. Annie couldn’t help but look at Marilyn staring at her and look down at the floor. Marilyn crushed her cigarette in her ashtray and flexed her right leg up, bringing it up, straight until she rested her heel on the countertop. The apartment being somewhat a loft the kitchen, the living room and the dining room were all one big room. Marilyn stretched her body forward like a gymnast, grabbing her own foot by the sole and stretching her leg. Annie was looking at this whole stretching without saying a word, she glanced at Marilyn’s ballet pointe shoe on the counter.

“How small can you shrink?” asked Marilyn who clearly made 1+1 in her head.

“I am sorry?”

“How small?” asked Marilyn, this time stretching her other leg, bringing it up on the counter and bending her body over it like she did with the other leg. Annie hesitated and fidgeted. “Come on, don’t be shy, I know of your kind. Never met one before, but, sometimes there is news in the papers about your kind being crushed to death and all. Aren’t you old to be a shrinker?” asked Marilyn.

“I huh... survived like I could.” Said Annie, inadvertently admitting her condition. She instantly sighed and realized that she had just told a pure stranger about herself and that she should have been more careful. Living in the big world by herself could be dangerous and she was new to this, mostly.

“Most of you are kept inside shoes right?” asked Marilyn without any concern.

“Yes...hmm, mostly. Yes.” Said Annie.

“And you like it?” asked Marilyn, now rotating her ankles on her points to stretch them and keep them warm.

“I don’t! I mean, you know...” She hesitated.

“It’s okay you can tell me....” said Marilyn to ease Annie’s visible discomfort.

“...well, after spending almost half my life in my mother’s and my sister’s shoes, I kind of...I kind of got used to it. But, now I am free, I can live a normal life you know.”

“I am happy for you, really. All I hear about your kind is horror stories, mostly. So what do you like, the pressure?....the smell?...being humiliated?” asked Marilyn.

Annie realized she was talking to a very understanding woman in her mid 30’s who actually respectful towards her, even if she was a shrinker and had a “lower” status in society. No rights, no consideration, shrinkers were seen more like objects than real human beings. For a rare time in her young life, Annie was getting compassion from someone, a stranger, who she actually wanted to become friends with even if she was way older. “I hmm, huh, how to say. I have never talked about this before.”

Marilyn shrugged. “You did start it.”

“I guess you’re right... Wow, I am a fool.” Said Annie.

Marilyn did not answer.

“Hmm, yeah well, hmmm....Smell is always different, sometimes I like it sometimes I hate it. Pressure hurts, but I am more sturdy than I look.” She gave Marilyn a little shy smile, trying to sound humorous. Marilyn returned the smile. “As for being humiliated, well... I don’t know, I can’t remember not being humiliated. People just don’t care about us you know, they don’t care if we die.” Explained Annie.

“Yeah, that’s quite horrible, really. One would hope our president would do something for shrinkers rights but I think she’s biased. Some say she has a shrinker in each of her shoes at all times. Maybe she enjoys torturing you guys too much to actually change anything.” Said Marilyn, still flexing her ankles and lighting another cigarette.

“Yeah, I heard those rumors...Thanks for being nice,” said Annie, not knowing what else to say.

“So how small?” asked Marilyn after a few puffs.

“I am sorry?” asked Annie, unsure.

“Well, if you want to try being inside my ballet points while I practice, you have to tell me how small you can shrink, cause it’s quite cramped in there.” Said Marilyn way too casually than Annie was used to.

“Hmm uh..oh, uh....1 inch tall ...I think...maybe... oh my god...What am I doing!?” Annie stuttered, visibly shy, and also aroused, but mostly embarrassed.

“Oh...that’s big. Maybe I could squeeze you under the arch of my foot at that size, but if you want to really be in the toe section....” Marilyn tapped the hard tip of her right ballet pointe on the floor, making a few Toc toc sounds. “....you got to shrink way smaller.” With that, Marilyn stood up on her points and maintained her balance. She arched her arms above her head and walked on her points until she was in the middle of the living room, and the dropped back on her feet and proceeded with a few arabesques and dance moves in sheer elegance, her shoulder and arm tattoos contrasting with her white dancewear, moving like a feather in the thick smoke cut by orange sunlight from the large loft windows. She finished her cigarette, walked-danced back to the ashtray and crushed it in, all under the fascinated, astonished, admiring eyes of Annie, who was hardly containing her excitement.

“Half an inch maybe? Said Marilyn, slowly exhaling her smoke in the shy girl’s face.

“I can try,” said Annie. Completely mesmerized and under Marilyn’s charm.

“Still a bit big, but, I guess if you get crushed in there I can’t be held responsible. You see, I am a jurist. I know the laws.” Said Marilyn. “So, what do you say, shall we try?” Marilyn got closer to Annie and ran the back of her hand on the 20 years old shrinker’s cheek, very smoothly, caringly, teasingly.

“S....sure... I.. huh...I’ll get my jewel, it...it’s downstairs.” Said Annie.

Marilyn smiled and nodded, then grabbed the remote of her stereo and pressed play. Classical music continued to play and Marilyn went on practicing ballet moves, on her points. “Don’t bother knocking on the door when you come back.” She said, already not giving Annie any more attention. Annie took a few seconds to really take in what was happening, and suddenly felt like Marilyn was a good person, and that she should get downstairs in her own apartment and come back with her jewel as fast as possible. And that’s what she did.

Minutes later, she was back, holding her purple jewel necklace. Marilyn has paused to drink water. The angle of the sun rays was slowly getting smaller, soon, they would see the sun setting over the city skyline.

“Hi again.” Said Annie.

“Come on Annie, stop being all shy it’s okay. I mean, I think you’re very courageous to actually knock on my door, staring at me and my shoes, and ask me to put you inside. As weird as it may sound I don’t care, I am in fact impressed, many in your situation would have never done that.” Said Marilyn, smiling and holding a towel around her neck. “So how does it work?”

“Hmm, you have to hmm, hold it like this and spin it, and the more you spin the more I’ll shrink and well, that’s it, twist it again after to make me grow back.” Explained Annie.

“Don’t you have to strip?”

Annie scratched the back of her head and grinned shyly. “Yeah, kind of. Didn’t think about that one...”

“No problem. Go ahead.” Marilyn grabbed the jewel and inspected it. It took a few seconds for Annie to actually acknowledge that she had just handed ultimate power over her to a complete stranger. Yet, she felt interestingly in confidence and started to slowly strip, shivering. Marilyn looked at the girl. Being a jurist, Marilyn is a confident woman, she hardly had any prejudice, but she had a strong character. “Yeah, well, that’s a weird way to meet someone for the first time.”

“I know” answered Annie, naked, covering her midsection with her hands. “I feel so pathetic.”

“In all honesty, you are. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t do it if I was not a bit curious myself. I actually never tried a shrinker. I have friends who did, and said you guys were entertaining.” Marilyn paused and looked down at her feet. Annie looked down at them too. Marilyn looked back straight at Annie. “Anyway, let’s get this over with, there is a show later I don’t want to miss.” Said Marilyn, dead serious. She gave the jewel a good twist.

Seconds later, a half an inch tall tiny minuscule naked girl was on the floor beside a pile of clothes looking up at the giantess in ballet dancewear. There was a brief moment of mutual astonishment. Marilyn sat down on the floor and crossed one leg near herself and lifted her other knee up to reach her dance shoe and started untying the long silk ribbons around her leg. Annie was looking at her new neighbor with great anticipation as she saw her remove her ballet pointe shoe, revealing her size seven perfectly shaped sexy foot encased in white nylon. But a few seconds later, the torn insole of a rather warm and old pointe shoe was all Annie could see as Marilyn placed the shoe on its side in front of her. “Hop in!” said an beautifully inviting deep voice.

Annie felt the musky powerful smell of the pointe shoe, and she walked in and climbed in its moist side. The giant dance shoe’s ribbons were all over and around. Suddenly, Annie felt like falling along and sliding/tumbling on the long moist leather insole of the point shoe toward it’s hard shelled toe section. And hitting the bottom felt like hitting a moist cloth wall. She rests there as Marilyn has put the point shoe upward, on its pointe. Annie new soon Marilyn’s huge nylon toes with being crushing her right there.

Marilyn looked inside her shoe and smirked. “Remember, you wanted this.” She said before bringing her foot up and lowering it inside, blocking Annie’s light and soon, movement. The tiny girl felt the toes touching her squeeze together and push down on her. She was small enough to squeeze herself between the second and third toe, her body covered in nylon mesh and starting to absorb the woman’s foot sweat saturating the rare tiny air pockets that are not filled with her toes. Annie could hear the ribbons being enlaced around the woman’s leg and the pressure started to increase. Marilyn stood up and walked, put her music back on and started her ballet routine just as if nothing happened.

Annie, on the other hand, could feel her world rotate, swing, and tip upside down. She knew that when the pressure was hard, she was being pushed against the tip of the pointe shoe normally and when the pressure was unbearable was when the woman above her would stand on her points. Toc toc toc, she could hear the hard shell of the pointe would hit the ground under her back and all of the stranger’s weight pushing down on her tiny frame. Annie felt her right kneecap being crushed and a rib break. A few more steps and she felt her right leg go numb.

Annie was used to being crushed, she knew how to withstand this and resist. No matter how hard she was being crushed, her face full of sweaty nylon mesh and flesh, she was happy to finally be crushed by someone who made the whole experience something fun. And besides, Annie enjoyed the hard musky and sweat-soaked satin and leather mix of aromas finding its way strongly inside her nostrils when she could actually get a chance to breathe a little.

This went on for quite a while as Marilyn danced and danced and practiced, and danced again. Each time, not giving any thought about the tiny being inside her shoe. She danced around her loft in the sunset and with elegance and style, until she had done her routine ten times. Marilyn felt her feet aching and needed to release them from their squeezing prison and while doing so, she lit herself a cigarette. She greeted a tiny reddened little girl with a long exhale of smoke right into her ballet shoe.

“Still alive?”

“Yes... I am...” said Annie, tumbling down, and trying to stand and walk on the damp insole. She effectively crawled.

“Get out.” Ordered Marilyn. Annie clumsily and painfully crawled until she reached the sides of the ballet pointe slipper and hissed herself outside the shoe with great difficulty. “You look bad.” Said Marilyn. As soon as the girl was outside her shoe she stood up and gave the jewel a good twist. She looked at the tiny girl grow back up to her normal size and exhaled smoke in her face again, handing her back the jewel. “Go rest now Annie, it was nice to meet you.”

Annie nodded and put her clothes back on painfully, always holding on either the counter or a wall. “Thank you, Marilyn...”

“You’re welcome.” Said the woman helping Annie outside her apartment. The door closed behind Annie as soon as she was out in the hallway.

It took Annie a few days to fully recover, she had to call in sick at her new job and mend herself. During those days Annie never saw Marilyn, but she could sometimes hear her walk up there through the ceiling. Annie was happy to be in control of her life and desperately wanted to see her neighbor again someday.

#giantess #g/t #g/t writing #foot crush

[loogi-selfships]

Guys I'm MANIFESTING on this Twitter account I found,,

So I decided to post some of these Present Mic quotes and rate each one because I absolutely love them and they bring me so much joy..-

Let's begin! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

｡.•*¨*•♬✧

♬𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐜 𝐐𝐮𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬:

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• 💘Quote #1: "Yo, wassup? Hey, tell me about somethin' you really love - I'll be YOUR listener this time!"

• 💕Note: Honestly y'all have no idea how happy this makes me- there's just something about the fact that he wants to listen to ME that it makes me feel so loved and cared for sjsjjsjs-

• 💝My Rating: A solid 8/10✨

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• 💘Quote #2: "Hey, how are you doin'? C'mon, tell me about your day!!"

• 💕Note: This one is cute! It's like, he wants to check in on you! He really cares 🥺

• 💝My Rating: Definitely a 7/10✨

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• 💘Quote #3: "Give it your all today! I wanna see ya REALLY shine!!"

• 💕Note: This gave me supportive boyfriend vibes sjsjsjsj god I love him-

• 💝My Rating: Oh this, hmm a 6/10✨

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• 💘Quote #4: "Have you had enough water today? Your health is no joke, yo!"

• 💕Note: This is so SWEET AAAAH!!! He worries about my health 🥺 what a cutie.

• 💝My Rating: Obviously a 8/10✨

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• 💘Quote #5: "Hey, hey, don't stay up too late! Make sure you're catchin' enough of those Zs, too!"

• 💕Note: This one made me laugh a bit, since I don't get enough sleep I just thought it was cute that he worries about my terrible sleeping schedule- 😭💀

• 💝My Rating: Doesn't hit different but I'll give it a 5/10✨

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• 💘Quote #6: "Take things at your own tempo, yo! Doesn't matter how fast you go, just matters that you get there!"

• 💕Note: He,, he has a valid point.

• 💝My Rating: Very sweet. Soo it's a 7/10✨

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• 💘Quote #7: "Say, whatcha listening to over here? Hmm?"

• 💕Note: I kinda have mixed feelings on this one. Like on one hand it sounds cute because he probably wants to listen to your favorite songs and have you recommend them to him, but it also kinda sounds like he's a snooping li'l fucker- idk it's cute and funny ig?

• 💝My Rating: I'm not rlly sure abt this one soo 5/10 ✨

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• 💘Quote #8: "EVERYBODY SAY HEEEEEEEEY!!"

• 💕Note: A classic. This quote lives in my head rent free, hell sometimes I'll randomly say it out of nowhere just 'cause it's funny-

• 💝My Rating: Oh yeah babyy 9/10✨

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• 💘Quote #9: "Some people have arbor ardor, but I'm much more of a city kitty, ya dig?"

• 💕Note: Another classic. This is probably the quote I use the most when thinking about 'Zashi's dumbass- ( I also tend to use it a lot for post captions.. )

• 💝My Rating: Yee yee 9/10✨

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• 💘Quote #10: "DAMMIT! Hey girl, watch your mouth, huuuuuh!?"

• 💕Note: It's strange how it says 'damnit' instead of 'dummy' which is what he actually says- but nonetheless, another classic quote that lives rent free in my head 💀

• 💝My Rating: It's hella funny ngl so 8/10✨

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• 💘Quote #11: "Hey, now, don't beat yourself up! You're a lot cooler than you think!"

• 💕Note: GOD THIS IS SO CUTE UGH 🥺😭💖

• 💝My Rating: Fuck it 9/10✨

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• 💘Quote #12: "Do you wanna sing with me? Yeah, together! I bet we could make a SWEET collab, yo~ ♫"

• 💕Note: This sounds like a fun quote! I mean imagine singing with him, like a karaoke night or something, that sounds like a cute date idea,, ( which is funny since I don't consider my singing voice that great- )

• 💝My Rating: This makes me feel soft 7/10✨

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• 💘Quote #13: "You have a great smile, y'know! ...What? No really, I mean it!"

• 💕Note: Honestly I absolutely fucking love these quotes where he's hyping you up, they make me feel so special.. 👉🏼👈🏼💖

• 💝My Rating: Heheheh 10/10✨

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• 💘Quote # 14: "Whoa there, listener, is somethin' wrong? Take a deep breath for me... you're gonna be just fine."

• 💕Note: Fucking hell man this quote- I just know that Hizashi would be an AMAZING boyfriend just because of this. 😔💖

• 💝My Rating: This deserves a 9/10✨

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• 💘Quote #15: "Eh, you want a hug? Well, what're you waitin' for? C'mere!"

• 💕Note: I saved the best for last. So, when I read this quote I literally cried, this is the absolute cutest thing I have ever read! My heart exploded- I was all like 'BRUH I WANNA HUG HIM SO FUCKING BAD'- Is that too much to ask??? 😭

• 💝My Rating: Fr I'm serious- 100,000/10✨

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Finally! My first written post for this blog! I had fun with this!

Anyway that's all, hope you enjoy my dumbass hyper fixations- ✌🏼😗

#written work #by neko loogi #do not repost #f/o gush #f/o post #f/o stuff #romantic f/o #banana-bf🎁🎤 #ugh my heart #🥺💕 #quotes