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the-cards-she-wont-show · 3 days

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TTPD Twin Storylines weaved together & double meanings throughout! ✌️👯‍♀️💕

Attention ALL Swifties (particularly Gaylors) and associates of the Tortured Poets department

PLEASE READ!! (and read with an open mind!!)🤍

Listening to the amazing TTPD on repeat this past week, I am certain that I have made an important discovery that I haven't seen talked about anywhere else yet and would like to get the coversation going, in hopes that Taylor will see that we are all finally listening to her! I'm still piecing everything together, as there is so much to unravel and am far from calling myself an expert on her exact timelines and dates, so am looking forward to hearing thoughts from others that are more knowledgable in her history.

I have been of the belief for a while now that Mastermind and Dear Reader were foretelling of her future, and also that the album title had a double meaning (evidenced by the lack of apostrophe in 'poets'). That the tortured poet would be departing. Note that I am also a believer that she has been closeted by those closest to her and is preparing to ruin her name and perceived reputation, give up the false public version of herself and come into her own true self. Everything as we know it will be destroyed and it is all playing out now, coming together as part of her plan.

Falling in line with all of the two's - the double album, the double meaning in the album name, the two sides of taylor etc, I have found that there are two intertwining stories told throughout her tracklist, AND that all songs also have a double meaning!! None of which are about the perceived muses of Travis, Matty or Joe. The 'evidence' for those relationships are all red herrings (for example 'putting narcotics into all of my songs' - but only in the songs with obvious reference to her beards), to make it seem ambiguous and open to interpretation of who the songs may be about, which is seen often throughout her discography. She uses an incredible amount of metaphors and we must look beyond those to decipher her lyrics - do not take anything at face level with Taylor. Most should realise that she is so much smarter than making obvious songs about whichever male muse she is 'dating' at the time. She has always played into that public view to cover her true self. Many songs have themes of secret and hidden love, which juxtaposes with the public 'relationships' she is seen as having.

She tells us in 'The Manuscript' that "lookin' backwards might be the only way to move forward". Therefore we must listen to TTPD in reverse, from track 31 (13 reversed!) to track 1. I believe The Manuscript also acts as a bookend for both of her stories and should be listened to as a closer after the last song of the story 'Fortnight' ends, to get a complete picture. Once we have listened to the album in reverse order, can we see so plainly that each song tells a different story of a period/situation/muse/love/heartbreak in her life - beginning at her parents meeting in The Manuscript, to current day. I think the songs may also actually have a sister song from the corresponding album/period in time, with similar sound, lyrics or theme that connects them. I believe that each song also has a double meaning and can be interpreted as messages to her fans about things that have happened to her over the years or that are about to happen, and she is trying to communicate her feelings of being trapped, which is honestly so heartbreaking. Many relate to her being caged and forced to hide her true self, in particular by one person closest to her - her father. It is devastating to listen to.

The really brilliant part I discovered next, is that The Anthology tracks also have another hidden storyline being told which intertwines and intersects in the exact right place to fit in with her life story. It includes all of the "THE" songs and is in reverse order from the parallel life story and vinyl variants order of issue (but chronological track list order).

The Tortured Poets Department

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived

The Alchemy

The Black Dog

The Albatross

The Prophecy

The Bolter

The Manuscript

Rather than presenting my interpretation of the timeline and each story told in every song, I urge everyone to listen to both stories, in these exact orders, with an open mind as to what she could possibly be describing! My mind was completely blown when I figured this out!! Her mind is incredible, there is no other way to describe the album, other than a masterpiece! I feel so much for the pain she has gone through. This album explains her feelings and reasons for hiding her true self over the years for any fans that will inevitably be feeling upset and deceived. We all need to show compassion for everything Taylor has sacrificed and give her what she needs. She truly deserves love, honesty, happiness and peace. ✌️💜

I'm in the process of creating a document trying to piece all of the hidden connections together just to wrap my head around this amazing body of work, so may possibly link this when I have it completed, otherwise I will add it to this post for anyone that might be interested.

I have a couple of extra personal thoughts, theories and hopes for anyone still reading…

The manuscript of her life story may possibly be the manuscript for a future book/film.

I think one meaning of "Fortnight" is a foretelling message to the fans that havent been noticing any of her many hair pin drops - she has been trying to get the message across but they aren't listening. For the fans she loses when she comes out - she touched them with this album for only a fortnight, before she lost them. She loves the fans but staying in the closet is ruining her life. I think something big could be happening a fortnight after release? Friday 3rd May is International Sun Day. ☀️ Karlie Kloss was always 'sunshine' to Taylor. According to Karlie, their first meeting was at the 2011 Met Gala on May 2, however, there is a possibility that they could have met at the afterparty - after midnight, making the anniversary May 3! 2024 Met Gala is a few days later, could they both make an appearance? If nothing big occurs, perhaps some seeds of doubt will be planted on the 3rd? Or.. It could also be a surprise rep TV (with or without Karma and Debut - surprise triple drop?) with wlw vault tracks?! Who really knows.. I honestly have no idea, but whatever happens, I know Taylor has it all meticulously planned out and everything will happen when it is supposed to.

Taylor is chairman of the Tortured Poets department - the leader of the mass coming out we are about to see. As Chely Wright put - 'we need someone at the top' to come out and pave the way for others to do the same, and to stop the forced closeting in the celebrity world. I think Travis and the majority of her former beards are also queer and there will be many more 'tortured poets' that will join 'the department'.

Karma will be album 1 (TS12) in the 3,2,1 countdown, TS13 is 0 - the album in which she gets all of her full colour back, reclaims her glitter gel pens and finally can sing her truth proudly! She has destroyed her own name and reputation, burnt down the lover house and all her former selves.

Last of all, PLEASE BE KIND! If anyone has made it to the end of this and doesnt agree, I'd love for you to have a listen to the songs in the orders above before commenting. If not, lets just agree to disagree! We all have our own personal takes on Taylor's lyricism and I would never dream of being unkind to another just for having a difference of opinion. 🫶

For Taylor - if you somehow happen to see this - please know you are truly a mastermind, you are loved and we've got you!

🌈💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛🌈

❤️ gerimegs

#taylor swift #gaylor #kaylor #ttpd #thetorturedmusesdept #the tortured poets department #the tortured poets dept #taylorswift #swifties #taylornation #tsttpd #taylor swift eras #erastour

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queer-reader-07 · 5 months

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i understand getting really deeply and personally attached to fictional characters (i do it all the time) but i think too many people fall into the trap of interpreting criticism (or honestly just differing opinions that aren’t even necessarily negative) of characters they love as personal attacks.

not every character or every piece of media is for everyone. some people are not going to like your Favorite Thing. and that is OK. it’s ok if you’re a little hurt by people saying they didn’t like your favorite character.

but what isn’t ok is taking that hurt out on the person who you disagree with. you don’t get to tell someone they’re a bad person for not liking your favorite show or for having a different favorite character.

don’t make me tap the sign.

yes, some people are just assholes and will call others dumb for liking a certain character. but if someone isn’t saying that? if they’re just sharing an opinion on the public opinion sharing website? maybe don’t go into their replies and tell them why they’re wrong for not having the same opinion as you. maybe you don’t need to tell them why they’re a terrible human being. maybe don’t put words in their mouth and interpret everything they say in poor faith.

maybe, just maybe, you can keep scrolling. if what the other person is saying is Just An Opinion and not spreading hate, maybe you don’t need to tell them every reason why they’re wrong.

sometimes people have different opinions than you. and most of the time, neither of you are right or wrong. most things we all have opinions on are not dichotomous, so we’re all bound to have varied thoughts on whatever the Thing at hand is. that’s just how it goes.

ALSO and this bit is specifically for the good omens fans in the audience: for the love of all that is holy do not go into Neil’s asks trying to get him to justify why your specific opinion or interpretation is “correct” and other people’s are “wrong.” i mean no one should be doing it with any creator but some of y’all are way too comfortable in Neil’s ask box.

YOU ARE TALKING TO REAL HUMAN PEOPLE.

#in the age of the internet i think everyone needs to remember their opinion doesn’t need to be shared on every single thing #(yes i see the irony in me sharing my opinion on why we don’t need to share an opinion on everything)#you can be hurt by other peoples differing opinions but that doesn’t make them a bad person #just because their words made you feel a thing doesn’t mean what they said is actually objectively bad #people are allowed to say what they want about the media they’re consuming #just like you are #and i don’t think fighting with people about why you’re right and they’re wrong actually is helpful #it’s counter productive at best and actively harmful at worst #media criticism #media discourse #long post #just some thoughts #good omens #this one’s been sitting in the drafts for a while so have it on this fine thursday (or whenever you’re seeing it)

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eels-eels-eelsrobot · 1 year

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Broke: "it belongs in a museum" is both meant literally in the films and is supposed to be seen as always good.

Woke: "it belongs in a museum" is settler-colonialist perspective, a perpetuation of the idea that cultures with ancient places are all dead and thus looting said places and taking historical items away is at worst a neutral act and possibly even a good act.

Bespoke: while the above is true, it does not have to be the end of the story and the trilogy itself starts to realize that as it goes on.

In the first movie we have Indy in the opening stealing items from a temple that belongs to a still living people and said items are casually sold to a museum in what is effectively a transition scene. And famously the Ark of the Covenant itself, an item that holds significance to lots of people around the world, including one of Jones' creators, is treated as this ancient thing. A thing whose power is to be respected, sure but not much else. While it being stored away in a warehouse at the end of the film is seen as a bad thing, it is seen as bad mostly for the loss of potential knowledge from studying it, rather than because a large people group does not have access to an item of immense importance to them.

In the second film, while set earlier shows an almost deconstruction of the ideas of the first one: Temple makes no two ways about Indy hunting down artifacts for the highest bidder in the first scene and he is openly motivated to find the stones in the rest of the film for "fortune and glory". However, this greed slowly melts away from him until by the third act he is wholly motivated by the need to rescue these kids and to give the stones back to people who could actually use them. "If they were in a museum they would just be another rock collecting dust."

In Last Crusade we see an interesting take. 'it belongs in a museum" as a phrase is taken entirely from this film but in the context of the film, it is not in response to a person in their final resting place or a religious item in it's holy place, but to a private collector wanting to keep a historical item all to himself for the simple sake of having it. In this light, Indy's phrase is less about theft, and more about access and public knowledge. He wants the cross in a museum because more people would be able to learn about it and it's history then people would if it was just an accessory for some guy. Furthermore, we have Elsa, who's greed in the third act, simply wanting an item without giving respect to it ("she never wanted the Grail, she thought she had a price") is her own downfall and and when Indy nearly falls into the same emotional trap seconds later, it is a reminder of who he is that reminds him that there are more important things then taking an artifact to different country.

Put all together, it seems a valid read and one that has aged better then it's more common interpretation is that 'it belongs in a museum" could be better phrased as "it should have more accessibility."

#i have a lot of thoughts if you can't tell 😭😭😭😭😭#anyway! just my two cents on the subject i think a lot of people have lots of valid criticisms of the films but they never seem complete to #me if that makes sense #god my head is so full right now i love this series #indiana jones #long post

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heartofspells · 1 year

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Hey I’m currently reading HE and LOVING it but I’ve come to a bit that confused me and I don’t know if I missed something that was important or if I’m just dumb lol but Sirius just heard a song and worked out it was the song remus “dedicated”(I can’t think of the right word) to him and then from there found out remus was moony but I can’t work out why he was annoyed at the song or what the song meant.. I was just wondering if you could explain it to me like I’m 5 years old 😂

I'm so happy you are loving it!! That's wonderful to hear (read??)!

As for the song, I've made it no large secret that I found Longwave (the band that sings the song and many others through the fic) specifically while researching for this story in the beginning. It was originally just meant to be a random, obscure band Remus loved and passed that love onto Sirius, but when I found Longwave, parts of the story sort of crafted around them and their music.

One of the great things about this band and a large number of their songs is that there's not hard and set meaning behind the lyrics. They can be interpreted in a lot of different ways, which to me is always a nice find.

Eyes Like Headlights (the song you're referencing) is one of these. To me, I typically relate it to some sort of drug use or possibly a bad relationship, but it could honestly apply to almost any negative situation viewed through another's eyes.

Longwave has been around for more than two decades, so as a teenager, when he originally met Sirius, Remus had already heard this song (and it's actually referenced in A Lamp to Guide the Way, which is the prequel). To Remus, I think the lyrics of this song would relate back to Sirius a lot for him. Another kid half-broken and beaten down by circumstances that he's trying so hard to escape but doesn't know how, and then finding him later in life, knowing Sirius had escaped one trap only to fall into another where he's maybe not as miserable, but close enough and simply denying it. Sirius, hearing the lyrics of the song, likely would have related to back to all the things about his family and life that were public knowledge, which, not knowing at the time that Remus was Moony, caused anger because as far as Sirius was aware, at the time when Remus mentioned the song as a recent favorite, Remus didn't know much of anything about Sirius enough to pass any sort of harsh judgement like we hear in the song.

I've never been one to really break down lyrics and explain them to people, because I think music should be interpreted however someone wishes without someone else influencing them. But I'm also weird. So! I'll explain how my thought process worked with the song, and, as you said, I'll try to break it all down like you're five 😉

Your eyes are aglow, they look like two ghost lamps, but your soul keeps sinking/No way to go, backward or forward/I could never tear you away/You got caught right at the beginning

So imagine Remus as this insecure, shy, friendless little thing when he's thirteen years old who makes friends with Sirius Black of all people. Extremely confident, laughter oozing from his very pores, kind and accepting, but Remus can see the sadness settled around him, something that he finds out after a few months very clearly relates back to Sirius' home life, and is confirmed to him years later through news articles that pry into Sirius' past. Meeting Sirius again after so long, Remus can still see that sadness in him, even if he doesn't know exactly why it's there, but he eventually figures out that it's because Sirius isn't happy with the path he's chosen in life.

How did you get so far from home, dear?/You were just getting started

When Remus knew Sirius as a kid, he still had the entire world stretched out in from of him, just waiting for him to take it and make his life into something better and worth living. Remus, as an adult, going through the things he's been through, pulling his own self out of the life he'd been given and finding some of those better things, had thought Sirius had as well until he meets with him face to face again and sees that he's not much different than when they were kids, stuck in something because he thinks that's all he's good for when Remus knows better.

But on your face, I could see it glowing/And all your thoughts are going back to the place where you once were golden/But somewhere you were broken/I could never tear you away

Remus knew, even as a teenager, that Sirius had so much potential to be so many things and find happiness. As adults, Remus sees it in Sirius, in the way he talks and the things he talks about. At some point, it had all gone wrong. Sirius loves playing, but he hates doing it professionally, except he won't admit it, but at the ripe age of 18, that was the dream. It was all so promising and exactly what he'd been working towards for so long. He should be happy with his life as it is, so why isn't he? And Remus can see all of this, keeps trying to get Sirius to see it, too, because he knows the knowledge for Sirius is there if he'd only look at it closely enough, and Remus blames himself a bit, because if he'd never disappeared from Sirius' life, maybe things could have been different.

And then we have Sirius, finally truly listening to these lyrics for the first time, knowing what's been released into the public through the media about his life, feeling judged and criticized by every single word hitting his ears by the one person he had thought would never judge him for any of it. Sirius didn't know the full story, had no idea what Remus was seeing in the song, but Remus, having thought about it more since initially mentioning it, having learned more about Sirius as an adult, knew exactly how Sirius would interpret the lyrics when he discovered the song, in such a negative way when that wasn't Remus' intention at all. So Sirius was very angry because he found a similar yet different meaning in the song than Remus had.

And this got very long and wordy. Er...sorry. But I hope that maybe explains the use of the song a bit better and the reaction to it in the end.

#at the healing edge of broken #anon asks #ask #answer #lovely anons #no one should ever ask me interpret or explain music #i think i'm terrible at explaining what's in my head whoops

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cashflowplanningforlife · 7 months

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lizbotw · 3 years

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impatient | itadori

you can’t decide if being left alone with him is a blessing or a curse half the time.

itadori yuuji x reader

word count: 2.2k

inspired by fushiguro being all pouty when he didn’t get to help itadori and kugisaki in that one episode :(

“This is so boring.”

“Yuuji, shut up.”

Shoe soles scrapping against the gravel, you didn’t even bother looking at him, although the burning gaze you already felt prickled the hairs on the back of your neck.

“You’re bored too.” It wasn’t a question.

“We’re supposed to wait for them out here.”

There was a flash of color in your peripheral and a side glance revealed that he was tapping the heel of his red sneakers on the ground—another thirty seconds of that and you’d probably end up threatening him to a life without legs (not that it’d work—Sukuna in all his stupid glory would just regenerate them for his precious vessel; speaking of which, if Sukuna decided to start complaining right now too, you were sure you would lose your mind).

Whistling wind was the only reply to your statement and, content your ears would be spared from the monologue of complaints Yuuji had been going through for who-knows-how-long-now, you crossed your arms and tilted your head back to lean against the brick wall. The stone was dusted with a rustic red—standard, yet somehow fitting for the scene around you. The building looming in front of you was dilapidated in appearance, but you admitted the sleepy residential neighborhood it was located in had some charm to it in a weary, tired sort of way. The splash of brightly colored flowers and houses on some corners really upped the appeal you had to say.

Caught up surveying the surrounding area in admiration, you were almost able to forget about the boy perched on top of the junction where the wall dipped in its height down to a low brick fence just short enough to climb on top of. Almost.

As soon as the sigh left him from beside you, your face reacted before your mind had even fully comprehended what it meant (what it meant was that there was no chance you’d get any peace and quiet around here at this rate), your features annoyed and frowning and everything in between as had become routine at this point. “Why can’t we go in?” he whined, nudging you with his knee. His gaze was expectant and weirdly innocent as he peered up at you, as though you were explaining to a child why they had to have patience. You supposed that comparison could be accurate most times when it came to Yuuji.

“Because Gojou said so.”

“He’s not even here!” That was true. He was off on some super secret mission, although the instructions he had given the group of you were specific—or... er, not too specific that you couldn’t take some... creative liberties in their interpretation, such as stopping for ice cream on the way there as per Kugisaki’s demand request—trusting the lot of you to take care of yourselves and follow them to a T. And by that, he of course meant Fushiguro keeping everyone in line.

There was another curse to take care of, yet Gojou had decided to have you two sit this one out and simply accompany Megumi and Nobara to the site—those two were to actually head inside and deal with the threat. In hindsight, it all made sense considering you, Yuuji, and Megumi had spent more time around each other prior to Nobara’s arrival at the school, no matter how minuscule the time difference was. Hell, you and Yuuji had both spent more time fighting alongside Nobara than Megumi had (they always seemed to keep getting separated from each other in some way or another during the early missions, a laughable observation now that you thought about it). Naturally, letting those two duke it out and come to a somewhat agreeable partnership was the best course of action, and what better way to do that than force them into an abandoned building together?

But even in spite of all that clear-minded reasoning, you couldn’t lie that you weren’t more than a little peeved that you weren’t getting in on any of the action. You scoffed. Team bonding, but at what cost? At the cost of your sanity, that’s what.

You rubbed your temples, squeezing your eyes shut. You no longer wanted to see. “Yuuji, we’re supposed to keep watch,” you huffed out, exasperated. Although truth be told, the title of “guards” just seemed like some fancy namesake Gojou had given you two in order to placate you and make you feel like you were actually doing something. Needless to say, it was not working.

The low section of the wall he sat upon was one half of the area that flanked the archway of the path that led up to the building, and Yuuji, stupid and silly and cute, peeked his head just around the corner to look out of the entrance at the (empty) street and then turned back to you with a shrug. “Nothing there. Job done.” Playfully adorable as he was, you cracked a smile at that, shaking your head.

“Guess you’re right—job done,” you conceded.

He beamed and then hopped off of the ledge, pacing now. You wanted to stretch your legs too and go exploring around the area, but you were trying to be the voice of reason here, knowing that if you gave up that control you were a goner for sure. It was painfully easy to get swept up in his antics.

You barely even registered him setting off on another tangent about how he wanted to go inside too, more so focused on his hands as he switched from swinging them at his side to putting them up in a mock thinking expression for his head to rest upon as he kept walking back and forth in front of you—you were wondering if (and if so, when was the perfect moment) you could reach out and grab ahold of his hand to still the restless energy... and also partially because you just wanted to.

“They’ve been in there a long time, haven’t they?” Yuuji mused, your mind actually picking up on the question now that it was directed at you and not at some vague imaginary spot in the distance. He was right. You noted the glow of the red of the bricks making up the wall as they shone brilliantly warm under the softer evening light, the silent ticking of time among the clouds your only indication of the day passing. The sky was in between the bright shades of blue of the sunny afternoon and the orange hues that were gradually creeping in and mixing with them.

“They have,” you confirmed. You wondered if you would be here until nightfall with how long it was taking them. You crossed your arms again and drummed your fingers against them. Come on already, I have things to do.

After a staring contest with one of the many dust-covered windows of the building as though you were mentally willing the two inside to come out, your narrowed gaze swung over to Yuuji to see what he was up to and promptly widened. You hadn’t noticed that he had stopped his pacing and was looking at you now, closer than you remembering him being moments before.

“And... we’ve been alone this entire time, haven’t we?” Another step forward, casual yet making you suspicious all the same.

“...yes,” you replied, wary of the grin he had—you would’ve thought it was Sukuna if not for the crinkle of his eyes into a smile that matched the one on his lips (oh yeah, that was Yuuji alright).

His steps were so easy, carefree, as though he were sauntering up to talk to you any other time, but you knew him and you knew when he was planning something. Sure, there were times you were downright confused by just about everything he did, but then there were others where his thoughts were just plain obvious.

“And what have we been doing?” In one swift movement he had trapped you against the wall—another step and your back would hit the surface—piercing look pinning you in place. It was a sudden development but you also had the notion that you should have seen this coming from a mile away. He didn’t even need to put an arm out to prevent you from side-stepping out of the spot, his mere presence enough (although you very much wanted to wipe that sweet smile off of his face).

Your mind scrambled for words, you glancing off to the side briefly—you could not maintain eye contact with him like this. “Talking?”

His eyes lit up and you had the feeling you’d just fallen right into his trap. The hand that came up to cup your face confirmed your suspicions. “Yeah, and that’s boring, isn’t it?”

You swallowed, trying to still your breathing. “It is...”

Yuuji tilted his face forward to lean his forehead against yours, skin warm. Both of you were silent aside from the quiet hitches of breath, scrutinizing one another. When you felt his thumb press against the full part of your bottom lip in interest, you just about lost it. His voice was smooth and low when he spoke, “I was going to wait until later but...” You felt him breath in.

Later was usually when anything happened, you two not yet entirely bold or confident enough when it came to most displays of affection in public—or at least in front of the others that was. Their teasing was enough to have your face burning in shame for days, even if you had to admit it was funny at times. You barely even held hands in front of them. Then again... following Yuuji’s train of thought... you had been out here alone for so long already... maybe it wouldn’t hurt to just...—you weren’t lost to contemplation for long though as he brought you back to reality.

A mere brush of his lips against yours stopped you from replying, your eyes falling closed, heart hammering. Your hand found a weak grip on the front of his shirt as you waited expectantly for the warm flush of his mouth.

“What are you two doing?”

You jolted at the familiar voice, heart hammering for an entirely different reason now, and pulled away from Yuuji’s face, although his grip on your head didn’t let you get far, the press of his ring finger and pinky into the back of your neck dizzying. Fushiguro and Kugisaki stood a few feet away, looking a little worse for wear with minor scrapes and bruises littered on their exposed skin, but thankfully all in one piece.

Eyes darting to them, mind reeling as you realized the compromising position you had been caught in, you thought up an excuse on the spot.

“Standing guard.”

“About to kiss.”

You and Yuuji both spoke at once. You slowly looked at each other, blinking.

A second passed and then— “Why are you lying?” he asked, genuinely confused.

You slapped a hand across his chest in horror at him blatantly blowing your cover like that. “Yuuji!” You were mortified (but also... he was still so close... it was almost easy to forget that the other two were still there).

“I...” Fushiguro looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it and shook his head. “I don’t want details. Let’s just go.”

A sigh of relief left you, but then Yuuji gave a chipper, “Okay!” and when he still didn’t release his hold, you had a vague feeling in your gut that something was wrong—

He leaned forward to close the gap at last and press his lips against yours, swallowing up your breath in the process—then he pulled away like it was nothing, off to go bother Fushiguro about the details of the curse.

You stood there, dumbfounded.

A gasp. “Gross!” Kugisaki shrieked, sounding like she wanted a break from everything that had occurred in the past five hours. She was sticking her tongue out, nose scrunched up and eyes screwed shut. “I cannot see anything cute after dealing with that thing inside.” A nose of discontentment, “Bleh.” But then she seemed to have a moment of clarity, clapping both hands on the side of her face and giving you a look that might as well have been an overexaggerated wink paired with her shouting every cliche couple trope from the rooftops. “But also... romantic.” Please someone save you.

Fushiguro was looking a little pale himself, caught off guard by the display of affection, staring at you, but then catching himself and looking away. He looked embarrassed and he didn’t even have anything to do with it.

Carefully, robotically, you brought a finger up to brush against your lips, still warm where Yuuji’s had molded between them, and subsequently noticed the teasing look he was giving you in the distance. It was a little too smug for your liking.

You stalked up to him and jabbed a finger into his chest, staring him down. “Yuuji, I swear-”

Kugisaki shoved the two of you towards the exit before you could get into a fist fight over a single surprise kiss, tsking while Fushiguro followed behind in her wake (you wondered if he would recover from... that any time soon—poor boy). “Okay, move it along, lovebirds. I want to go take a shower.”

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bitacrytic · 2 years

Note

I already sent this to someone else and its not in the KP tag but I think you might enjoy my analysis.

The way I interpreted the Mirror Scene was that in some way, Kinn was trying to quell him, possibly subconsciously, possibly not (idk if that's the correct term to use, but), we see him brusquely turn Porsche around by the shoulders, we see that Porsche doesn't want to be doing that or possibly be in Kinn's presence; He's tilting his head back almost rolling his eyes and while I don't think there's sexual tension yet and absolutely no romantic feelings, when Kinn traps him in his arms, I think Kinn becomes consciously aware how intimate and unintentionally domestic it's become

Kinn's gay. He knows he's strictly into men, and while I don't think he has any sexual or physical attraction to Porsche right now (his annoyance and exasperation is in the foreground), he has eyes. He can tell Porsche's attractive, and he has an attractive man within the circle of his arms in what can almost be called an embrace. I think he realizes, in that moment, how strange it is to have someone who's existance has wrecked havoc and disorder in just a day or two of just being there, so close and in his personal space for someone who he isn't sexually or romantically involved with. I highly doubt he's like this with any other guard or even family. It's almost like he feels he needs to be the one to put Porsche in his place, and he can't really tell why. Maybe because he brought this feral street cat himself and maybe feels responsible for him, not because he cares, obviously, but because his father gave him a task and he's got to complete it. Porsche not adjusting and just blending into another faceless, indistinguishable guard like the rest of them as easily as he should have and is expected to, means his task isn't done. He's got to put a leash on him first and then he can take his eyes off of him, is probably his reasoning.

Meanwhile, in Porsche head, he's probably annoyed that Kinn has basically manhandled him into trying on the tie. And obviously, it's so much bigger than just the tie. He's doing a job he doesn't want to do, about to go someplace he doesn't want to go (and possibly be killed) after the worst day(s) of his life, after being publically humiliated and displaced from his home away from his little brother and Kinn has been hostile to him at every encounter to make matters worse. He just doesn't want to be near him right now. In his head, he's probably like "what the fuck is going on?", "why the fuck is he so close?", "why the fuck is he in my space, I can do this myself" and so he can't really decipher why Kinn has suddenly stopped fiddling with the tie over his shoulders and is now staring at him strangely and slack-faced through the mirror. Hence, he turns to face Kinn eye to eye, jaw set, eyebrows slightly raised. He thinks Kinn is challenging him, and he turns to face him thinking Kinn is up for a fight or about to do something. Why else would he be staring at him like that? His fight instincts are rising up and are alert at the moment (Think feral cat meeting another unfamiliar, strange, and territorial cat).

In some way, Kinn's initial advantage over Porsche has shifted (him trapping in his arms and manhandling him) and is now in Porsche favor. We can see that Kinn possibly decides not examine the feeling/thought any further and basically just runs, which is very uncharacteristic for Kinn. Something has definitely shifted between them but they don't know it yet. Kinn will likely be the one to acknowledge it first whilst Porsche pretends and denys, further down the line. And considering their whole dynamic is them fighting over control over one another, we can finally see a bit of that dynamic shine through in this scene.

So I don't really understand why people are already interpreting this scene as "uwu ♡ they're so whipped/falling for each other >.< !" When I feel that there are so much layers to it than just that. After all, it's a slow burn, enemies to lovers and this is only episode 2 of 14.

Oh ALL OF THIS!!!

I definitely don't think it was googly eyes. It was... something on Kinn's part, and exasperation on Porsche's part.

#kinnporsche

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yesimwriting · 3 years

Text

Searing Starlight (chapter two)

A/n Chapter twooo!! I cannot believe the support I’ve been getting on here im so excited to share my six of crows/shadow and bone fics with y’all!

Lmk if you’d like to be tagged when I update this story!! And just letting y’all know I take requests so if you have an idea you’d like to see me attempt feel free to comment it or send it in :))

At least Kaz’s claimed ‘wraith’ (which is such an odd thing to just have) is a girl, and a seemingly kind one at that. She was quick to find me, body pressed into wooden shelves and glass bottles, and subtly gesture for me to follow her. It had been difficult to keep track of her flighty form through the crowd, but I think there was a point in her strange raveling, to make sure no one was following me.

She’s not particularly talkative, but she doesn’t seem bothered by me. She tossed me a random oversized shirt to pull over my dress when she saw how I kept adjusting the fabric and crossing my arms. That was kinder than she needed to be. I think I’ll like her.

“So you’re a wraith,” I manage, breaking the nervous silence, “Like a full time, constantly on-call wraith.”

The question seems to puzzle her, dark eyebrows drawing together. “Yes.” The corner of her mouth twitches up slightly, a smile. “A full time, constantly on-call wraith.” She hesitates, perfect stance adjusting. “What were you doing before?”

Great. This question. “Nothing important.” It’s not a fair cop-out. Especially since she answered my question. “I um...I’m indentured to Rollan Kenya.”

I watch her reaction to the name. Some know of him. Some revere him. Some loathe him and everything he’s associated with. “His religious interpretations are controversial.”

“If you think what he says to the public is bad you should hear what he says in private.” I push myself further into the chair I’m in.

Something strange flickers over her features. “I can imagine.”

Shaking my head, I hope I’m ending this conversation. “What’s your name?”

A hesitation. “Inej.”

I nod once, “I’m y/n.”

“Do you need water, y/n?”

I scratch my still exposed knee. “That’d be nice. Thank you.”

She’s quick to leave, feet making no noise. A minute later she returns with a cup. I have no reason to suspect her, but I still sniff the cup before taking a cautious sip. I wonder if Anya made it back home. I wonder if she’s worse off for it.

Before I can fall into a pit of debating despair, the door to the room Inej took me to squeaks open. On instinct, I snap my gaze towards the door, tensing. The first person I notice is Kaz, entering the room with a determination too intense for this time of night. Jesper is quick to follow, and I drop my stare. I’ve never had to interact with anyone I’ve lied to after taking their money.

“Are they gone?” Inej asks, clearly accustomed to such brooding tension.

Kaz nods once, “It took too much convincing--the Inferni’s more than she’s letting on.”

I’m literally in the room. “I’m not--we’ve spoken two words to each other, sorry my abilities didn’t come up.”

He turns towards me with a deadly grace. My grip on the cup tightens. What the hell is wrong for me? How deeply instilled is that god complex Kenya wanted in me? It must be as part of me as my name if I felt comfortable enough to speak that way to Kaz Brekker.

I keep my eyes on his cane, waiting for some kind of physical retaliation. “Maybe the grisha hunting you would appreciate your sense of humor more.”

It’s a bluff. He needs me. He’s desperate for something that can mimic a Sun Summoner. Still though, I’m not in the mood to poke a bear with a stick. “Speaking from experience,” I clear my throat awkwardly, “They tend not to.”

“Then I suggest you begin explaining before I decide I’d rather take my chances and you lose your worth.”

Maybe if I hadn’t spent the last eleven years of my life with Kenya, his words would haunt me. I keep my expression set, but the lanterns in the room flicker. “It’s not as impressive as they’re making it seem--Inferni can produce fire, regular, red, bright fire.” I pause, feeling energy in my palms. “I can do the same, but I can also,” I extend a flat palm, “Do this.”

I focus my energy on restraint, forcing the fire on my skin to remain there, covering my palms in a cold, blue glow. “It’s still fire, just blue--and that matters to them because blue light is the only kind you can use in the Fold.” Do they know anything about the fold? “Kenya, the man I’m indentured to, believes that this ability makes me eligible for Sainthood. He specializes in collecting people he thinks are eligible for Sainthood.” The low flame coating my palm licks upwards as I remember what disappointing Kenya means. “And if you don’t meet his standards, he’ll find a way to make sure you do. That’s why the grisha want me. He made me more and they believe that if they give me to someone who can give me an amplifier I’ll be able to produce enough blue light to protect an entire fleet.”

“What do you mean ‘he’ll find a way to make sure you do’?” Inej’s voice is cautious. An attempt to be respectful.

I drop my palm, letting the fire disappear into nothingness. “I wasn’t born with the ability to control the blue light so well--It’s difficult enough to produce for longer than two seconds let alone keep it from burning everything in sight. By the time I ended up in Kenya’s control he had learned that certain stimulants. Some scientists are working on a more grisha-targeted kind, but Kenya has managed to work with the generic well enough.” Hands shaking, I wipe the condensation off the side of the cup and hold out my wrist. Using the condensation, I begin to wipe at my wrist and forearm, smearing my makeup and revealing the needle bruises. “The key is withdrawals.”

Thoughts of begging Kenya, crying and screaming for another fix as he promised to give me that as soon as I showed some control of my abilities, make the shaking in my hand worse. I clasp my hands together, squeezing them in hopes of hiding the signs of withdrawal.

I stare at the ground, not wanting to take anyone’s reaction in. I handle pity as well as I handle kindness.

“Do you think you could produce enough blue light for one ship?”

Looking up, I take in Kaz’s measured expression. I’m glad he’s sticking to business. I’d rather that than deal with unpacking all of that with a group of strangers that don’t care if I live or die.

“I could try.” I’ve never tried to protect anything that large. “Even if I can, it doesn’t mean a voyage like that will be safe.”

“There’s no real safety in the Fold,” he replies easily. Realistic expectations. That will make this easier. “No one finds out about her--especially not Pekka Rollins.”

I pull my arm towards my body, glad for the opportunity to hide the bruises. Signs of my weakness. The worst part was always the way Kenya would speak to me after. Pathetic. Weak. Trapped within the restraints of my flesh.

“Who’s Pekka Rollins?”

Kaz briefly turns his head in my direction. “No one that will ever concern you.” He ignores my annoyed huff. “We’ll use the Inferni to get to Alina Starkov.”

Alina. Alina Starkov. “What do you want with Alina?”

At that, the room seems to drain. I feel weirder than when they were seeing my abilities.

“You know her?” Jesper’s surprise reveals more than Kaz wants him to. I don’t miss the glare he receives.

I half-shrug. “We were in the same orphanage for awhile.”

“How did you get to Ketterdam?” I don’t trust Kaz’s urgency.

“I don’t remember, I was a child and I--I hit my head that night I think. I just woke up and I was with Kenya.”

“How well do you know Alina?”

There was a point in time in which she was my best friend. We learned how to braid hair by practicing on each other, we would draw maps together, and I was the only one who knew about her crush on Mal. “Not that well.”

He takes a step forward, eyes almost squinting. The touch of distrust is evident on his face. “If you’re lying I’ll find out.”

I owe Alina at least this. “Well then it’s a good thing I’m not.”

I’m not naive enough to believe that I’ve convinced him, but his intense gaze does not remain on me. I’m relieved when his attention is off of me, but he’s only moving on to start planning the riskiest thing I’ve ever done.

Taglist: @ambrosia-v-black

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Kinktober - Day Twenty-Nine

Prompt: Tutor Kink

Pairing: Bokuto/Reader & Akaashi/Reader (Haikyuu!!)

TW: Non-Con, AFAB!Reader, College AU, Non-Consensual Touching, Semi-Public Sex, Molestation, Slight Victim Blaming, and Implied Future Non-Con.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as you saw Akaashi.

You could believe that Bokuto needed your help. You didn’t have to believe it, honestly, because he did need your help, he needed as much as he could get. When he’d approached you after a lecture, last month’s assignment balled in his fist and a disappointed pout already painted across his expression, you’d been sure of that, and you’d liked the idea of helping one of your more enthusiastic classmates out. You should’ve hesitated when he asked you to meet him at the campus library in the middle of the night, but he was an athlete, he had a busy schedule. You should’ve been put-off by how excite he seemed, when you agreed to help him study, and you should’ve grabbed your things and gone back to your dorm the moment your eyes met Akaashi’s, tucked into a secluded booth set apart from the rest of the empty tables. Akaashi’d never failed a pop quiz, let alone an exam. Akaashi didn’t need your help, and if Bokuto had Akaashi, Bokuto shouldn’t, either.

You should’ve, but you hadn’t. Bokuto seemed harmless, and you’d been so sure Akaashi wouldn’t do anything, not in public. You’d been so, so sure.

It’s almost funny, how smart people make such stupid mistakes.

You shouldn’t have worn a skirt. You doubted a few extra buttons would’ve stopped Akaashi, but you wouldn’t have to feel fabric rustle against your skin every time his wrist arched, bunching around your waist and doing little to obscure the sight of his hand snaked down your panties, his thumb toying with your clit as two fingers eased into your cunt. You’d tried to get up when you felt him touching you, tried to leave, your reputation be damned, but Bokuto was faster than you could ever hope to be, more reflexive, stronger, and just the weight of his arm around your midriff had been enough to stop you, to keep you rooted to your seat as he nudged his latest draft in front of you and his friend leaned onto your shoulder to get a better view, Akaashi’s demeanor so stoic and so casual, you might’ve thought he was just playing with your pussy to keep his hands busy. He might’ve been, honestly. He could’ve been. You could never get a good grip on people like him, not when their passivity was as practiced as his.

“I just don’t get what I’m doing wrong.” Bokuto wasn’t any better, albeit a bit more obvious with his intentions. Even as he gestured to his paper, that perpetual whine heavy in his voice, his gaze kept drifting, wandering, falling to your heaving chest and the lip trapped between your teeth and all the signs and tells and evidence Akaashi’s work milked out of you. It was perverted. It was perverted, and it was sickening, and it was illegal, but Akaashi knew what he was doing, just when to spread his fingers, just where to rub and prod to make you want to curl into yourself and bury your face on the cluttered tabletop and scream. Bokuto’s interest was obvious, his awareness even more so, but he was more than happy to pretend it wasn’t. You could only be thankful he was so used to acting oblivious. “I mean, I’m using quotes, and I’m talking about the sonnet. That’s what they want, right?”

“Y-you’re not supposed to--” They might’ve been able to act like nothing was wrong, but it was more difficult for you. Everything made you feel breathless, from the idea of doing something so dirty in such a public place to the feeling of your own slick building up and dripping onto your thighs, pooling on the cushioned bench below you. It was humiliating. It was humiliating, and if not for Akaashi’s stare burning into the back of your neck, for the way Bokuto’s grip tightened every time you shifted, you wouldn’t be able to take it. You didn’t want to take it.

It didn’t seem like you had a choice, though.

“You have to embed,” You managed, Akaashi choosing that moment to sink the full length of his fingers into you, down to the knuckle, and making the last word coming out fractured, too cracked not to be suspicious. A student browsing a nearby shelf glanced towards you, absentmindedly, and you glared at the paper in front of you, doing your best not to go any tenser than you already had. “It’s not enough to have evidence, you have to… you have to work it in smoothly, and--” Another finger, Akaashi barely teasing your slit before sliding it in, taking a second or two to scissor you apart properly before returning to his constant, unbearable pace. “And-- and it’s proof, you have to prove that your interpretation is--”

“It’s an argument, Bokuto-san. You’re arguing your case, and you’re supposed to use words and phrases to do that.” You could feel Akaashi’s lips moving against your shoulder, his weight settling into your back. Briefly, his gaze drifted away from you, and towards Bokuto’s essay. “Specific words and phrases, when you’re discussing tone. Quoting an entire stanza is usually considered bad form.”

Bokuto said something about that. You think he said something about that, at least, because you stopped paying attention as soon as Akaashi’s free hand fell to your side, his face finding the crook of your neck as he started fucking into you in earnest. You wanted to do something. You wanted to stop him, but your complaints and rejections and all of it got caught in your throat as you lurched forward, Bokuto catching you with an airy laugh. He almost sounded surprised, but every trace of shock was gone by the time he opened his mouth. “He’s good with his hands, huh?” He asked, acknowledging your violation but not straying from his unaffected tone, never straying from it, even as he held you to his chest, encouraging you to hide your face in his hoodie while Akaashi pinned down your bucking hips and twisted, hitting every sensitive, neglected spot inside of you in one seamless motion. You tried to whimper, but Bokuto only chuckled, hushing you as he carded his fingers through your hair. “He’s almost done, baby, just let ‘kaashi have his fun. He‘s been dying to do this ever since he found out how pretty my new tutor was.”

Holding onto Bokuto wasn’t a choice, at that point. You clung to him, digging your nails into his biceps as Akaashi’s palm ground against your clit and your whole body seemed to burn. You almost moaned, you almost sobbed, but Bokuto was fast, he was so fast. His palm was over your mouth by the time you could think about opening it, muffing any sound you might’ve bad as you clenched around his best friend’s fingers, Akaashi suddenly feeling generous enough to carry you through your orgasm, only stopping when the first pangs of over-stimulation made your eyes water and your legs twitch. Even then, you didn’t try to get away from Bokuto. You couldn’t have, even if you did.

His grip was iron-clad, and he didn’t seem to have any intention of letting go.

“Look at that, Keiji, you made ‘em cry.” The comment earned a polite nod, a small ‘sorry’ as Akaashi pulled away, but there was little remorse in either of their voices. If anything, Bokuto sounded just as happy as ever - happier, even, with all the childish joviality you’d grown used to and something else mixed in, an eagerness, an impatience. One that only seemed to grow more expectant, as he went on. “I’m not mad, but…”

There was a pause, a smile, a kiss pushed into the top of your head. For the first time, you wondered why you ever thought Bokuto was so harmless.

“You interrupted our study date. We should go over the material more thoroughly back at our apartment.”

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heretherebedork · 2 years

Note

This is going to get long, so I apologize in advance.

The way I interpreted the Mirror Scene was that in some way, Kinn was trying to subjugate him, possibly subconsciously, possibly not (idk if that's the correct term to use, but), we see him brusquely turn Porsche around by the shoulders, we see that Porsche doesn't want to be doing that or possibly be in Kinn's presence; He's tilting his head back almost rolling his eyes and while I don't think there's sexual tension yet and absolutely no romantic feelings, when Kinn traps him in his arms, I think Kinn becomes consciously aware how intimate and unintentionally domestic it's become.

Could be.

I still think it was Kinn basically going 'fuck, he's hot and I hate that.' because he definitely seems to know the bodyguards separately and the bodyguards know him well enough to view him differently and know about his issues and to have more sympathy for him than for other people.

There might be more depth to it, certainly.

But I genuinely think part of it is Kinn having a moment of 'why is this fucking idiot hot?' and then just rolling his eyes at himself and moving on.

Porsche... I dunno. Sorry. Slapstick sauce of the episode just made him unreadable to me overall.

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resinatingbeauty · 3 years

Text

I wanted to take a moment to share a few old school tips and tricks of the craft I have fallen back on in a pinch that many of you who are experienced may already know, but we all fall victim to consumerism - I know this well as a solo small business owner running my own little witch shop on Etsy- it's real easy to think you absolutely need something to work your magic when in reality the only thing you need is the strength of will to manifest your desires.

The reason being is that it seems like many newcomers to witchcraft / spell crafting seem to think that they need all these pre requisite things to work successful magic daily and some of those things just aren't practical.

•I don't have an endless supply of Sage to dry for smudge bundling (especially now that I inadvertently killed my poor Leatherleaf Sage plant), but I do often use 'Witch's Salt', aka 'Black Salt' or 'Blessed Salt' to cleanse an area or consecrate a space as all it requires is salt and ash. The blessing is a given.

•I may not have a specific chime candle on hand of the color specified for a particular spell, but white tealights are something that I have an abundance of and a white candle may be substituted for any candle color in a spell.

•Don't forget to check the pantry for items that can be integrated into your spells or rituals. For example, sugar and honey may be used for truth seeking spells, to 'sweeten' a relationship or a business deal, or in spells for attraction. Many common herbs found on the typical spice rack have an abundance of magical uses. You may be surprised at the results you find for those in your kitchen when you search their name + magic / witchcraft!

•The kid's room or craft closet can be full of potentially magical tools and objects! Don't forget that 'spell weaving' is a thing- the earliest instance of which was the creation of 'Witch's ladders' by knotting or braiding symbolic objects or charms together with colored cord, hair, jute, yarn, and or whatever it is you have available.

•Check your backyard. Literally and figuratively. Your local area may be abundant in native magickal plants and other tools like sea shells. One of my customers requested that I did not add seashells to her mystery box order because she lives on an island. I live in Florida near the coast, seashells are easily acquired, but if you're a city witch and/or landlocked, the closest natural resource may just be located at the farmer's market if you're lucky, if not, the corner store, which doesn't help much, but the above tips will!

•Look into alternative divination methods. I hand craft many rune sets, pendulums, dowsing, and oracle / talking boards for my shop, and they are some of my best sellers, but the most popular forms of interpreting the ebb and flow of energies throughout time and space aren't necessarily the best, and more importantly, the best for you. If you are a chronic tea drinker but you have never looked into interpreting tea leaves, don't you think that maybe you should give it a shot? How many times have you stared at the assorted plant matter in your cup, personifying the blobs like a child staring up at clouds passing through the sky? Seriously- it might be telling you something! This practice, known as Tasseography, is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to potential divination tools. Casting crystals, palmistry, even the casting of bones can be used as a form of divination. Once you explore these alternative methods, you may find one you connect with instantly you just so happen to already have the materials for.

•Your local library probably has more books on witchcraft, wicca, paganism etc. Than you thought. I live in a predominantly Catholic Christian city mostly populated by senior citizens. When I first started exploring spirituality and the many facets of it when I was eleven or so, the public library was a place I spent a lot of time in that I was originally astounded at their catalogue of occult manuscripts. If the public library isn't an option for you, you can find a wealth of free e texts here on the web in this public domain archive. There is a wealth of knowledge to be had just sitting on your sofa, should you desire it. Never forget!

The point is to not fall into the trap of thinking something is magical or has magical / spiritual Properties just because someone else claims this to be so! If you aren't in a position to acquire the various components of a particular spell, don't hesitate to to make substitutions as needed. The magic is, and always has been, in you!

If you looking for a new array of altar Supplies and spell crafting tools intuitively selected just for you, you may also find them in my mystery boxes, discounted currently for Imbolc. (If you still desire to spend your money, that's on you) :)

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honsoolie · 4 years

Text

don’t rush | 03

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings: mentions of alcohol (everyone is sober!!), explicit smut, fingering, oral (f receiving), min yoongi has a dirty mouth

words: 6k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: ahhh i hope you’re as excited for this chapter as i am ;) start from the beginning?

You never realized how easy it was for your life to fall into a smooth common time rhythm, now that the semester was in full swing. School, music, dodging your friends (usually to go practice), and now, Yoongi. You find yourself slipping into the gentlest of cadences. Spring is coming, the flowers are blooming. There’s a new spring in your step, from the warming weather or the constant daily dose of Yoongi, you’re not sure.

You go to classes, pay your dues in the library. Write the papers that need to be written. You throw yourself into practice. At times you wake up in that half-awake morning sleep, fingers twitching with whatever phrase you were perfecting the previous night. The same cancelled plans, weekend meetups whenever you can manage.

You study with Yoongi. Or at least, that’s the pretense that you operate under when you go to his apartment. By now, you’re there more often than not. (To be fair, it’s much a much better place to study than your room, what with the in-and-out bustle of your roommate. And, well, it’s Yoongi. )

On the nights that aren’t as busy, and you’re not filled with the swelling dread that the impending Bach Festival brings, you practice that Brahms piece with Yoongi in the dingy practice rooms. Much to Yoongi’s dismay, you had started your meetings (lovingly) calling “weekly jam sessions.” Although they were neither weekly nor really jam sessions. Most of the time that you spent in the practice room with him was either laughing at whatever joke he had just cracked, or thumbing through your score, trying to pick up where you had left off. The time you had left until your performance at the Bach Festival was quickly decreasing and you never really found the time to practice the Brahms to properly do it justice, but that wasn’t the point.

The point, like Yoongi had said, was to get you to find the joy in the music again. Secondary to that was hopefully finding the bravery and confidence to play in front of other people, and Yoongi’s plan was slowly working. After all, you can’t really worry about your intonation at the same time that you’re groaning at Yoongi’s shitty dad jokes. If you didn’t know better, these jam sessions really serve to be a shoddy excuse for what should really be called a date.

When Yoongi invites you to meet him in the practice rooms, to practice this romantic piece of music, and offers to get dinner with you afterward, how could you call it anything but a date?

Especially when he insisted on holding your hands if he deemed it too cold. He would shake his head in mock disdain, chiding you in a way that felt nothing like criticism.

Where are your gloves, y/n?

Or God forbid that Yoongi decided that your evening attire wasn’t suitable for the still-frigid weather, and you ended up going through the whole night wearing one of his jackets. Every time you turned your head or moved ever so slightly, you would again be surrounded by the fresh-laundry-cute-piano-major smell of his clothing, and it would take every muscle in your body to not swoon right then and there.

Your first violin teacher had always said to you, “You can’t hide from the metronome. The metronome always tells you the truth.” As a child, it wasn’t bow maneuvers or intonation or memorizing pieces that escaped you. It was keeping the simple rhythm, keeping track of the steady downbeat. You could have been learning the most straightforward pieces, but would get tripped up at simple syncopation patterns or start rushing at the wrong places. And that was something that plagued you into your life as a music student. It was difficult to corral your tempo problem, sometimes derailing orchestra rehearsals or struggling with the same sections over and over during your own practice. All because you would stray away from the gentle tick of the metronome.

Yoongi, however, kept the time for you. Like the metronome, he didn’t lie to you. He kept you grounded.

When your thoughts would begin to race and run miles ahead of your heart, Yoongi would look into your eyes with that reverent tenderness and tell you it was going to be okay. Then he would pull that wry smile of his and everything melted away. Sometimes, words weren’t necessary and rather, he would pull you into a tight hug that left both of you breathless.

He wasn’t always easy on you. If he knew you were acting unreasonably fretful, he would tell you the truth. Didn’t feel the need to dress it up in gentle words or beat around the bush. Then he would tell you a sex joke that he probably got from a joke book and then the weight on your shoulders was lifted, albeit briefly. Sometimes the tough love approach works. (Although, at times, it seemed like that this whole stage fright ordeal was the only thing that he could be direct with you about.)

The pressure was mounting, advancing on all sides. Dr. Kim gave you more-than-firm reminders in the form of tight-lipped smiles every lesson, circling dates and deadlines on the lesson notes marked with your name. Dr. Yang greeted you in the hallways, jesting, “Can’t wait to hear the Bach!” Your university email inbox was flooded with music department newsletter updates, promoting the upcoming festival in every. Single. Email. Staring at the “OPEN TO THE PUBLIC” notice printed at the bottom of the e-flyer probably wasn’t doing anything to help you perfect the Baroque interpretation on Bach’s partita, but there it was, looking back at you. Taunting you.

There was only so much time until your fated performance, only so many hours left to practice, only so many days left until finals week descended upon your campus. Two weeks, if you wanted to get technical about it.

And Yoongi somehow made it all bearable.

Like all things in life, adjusting to Yoongi took time. He set new baselines for you. New thresholds on what was friendly banter, ever toeing the carefully drawn line.

Ever since that pivotal study date (You know, the one where Yoongi held you down and told you he was going to make you beg? Kind of hard to forget.), the signs inexplicably became more and more mixed. Or you were just living in a constant state of denial.

Because all of the things that he said and did with you, none of them could be considered flirting. You didn’t want to give into that belief. It felt too self-indulgent, too good to be true. It felt like setting yourself up for failure.

Because if you did, well, that would warrant action. If you decided what he said with you was flirting or something-more-than-just friends, then you would have to do something about that.

You would either have to take his carefully extended invitation, or reject him. Neither of which you were willing to do. The space that the two of you had come to exist in became precious to you, even if you remained only as friends. Ever before you ever spoke with him, you had spent a great deal of time admiring from afar. Pining is all you’ve known, at least when it comes to Min Yoongi. Wouldn’t it be easier to take the path of least resistance?

And of course, what if you were wrong? Reading all the signs wrong, falling again into the trap of wishful thinking. Things in real life are never like reading off a score. There are no dynamic or expression markings telling you how to broach this kind of conversation.

By now, the unwillingness to speak on the matter is irrefrangible. Like an ancient tradition, some unspoken agreement to ignore the elephant in the room.

Yoongi wanted you, you wanted Yoongi. At least, that’s what you wanted to think. That’s what all the signs pointed to. But it was too late to mention it now. You and Yoongi let it drag on, well past midterms and trundling on in the slow march toward finals. And the Bach Festival.

Unless, of course, this was a total non-issue. Maybe this was how he talked to all your friends. Maybe this was just how Yoongi was nice. Maybe he just has a totally dirty sense of humor… that clicked perfectly with yours.

Here’s the catch. Interpretation isn’t always all that simple, especially with Bach. You have to get historical context, you need to know enough about esoteric Germany to know how to interpret the markings on Bach’s scores. It’s not always so easy, but that makes things all the worse.

It’s all the maybes and what-ifs that plague you when you’re restless at night and the only thing you can think about is Yoongi. Maybe he’s into you, maybe he’s not. What if he’s actually repulsed by you and he just wants a study partner? What if this whole study buddy thing is just a ploy to get you to spend time with him, because what if he’s actually just as into you as you are into him? Maybe he just wants to be friends, but what if he doesn’t?

What if Yoongi is actually an alien, and he’s trying to decipher how to act like a human being, and that’s why he acts like that?

What if.

You would have better luck divining your future with Yoongi in your coffee dregs rather than lay awake, staring at the mildewing ceiling tiles.

You (8:18pm): want to work on the Brahms tonight

You (8:19pm): we can get boba if it’ll sweeten the deal

Yoongi (8:23pm): sure

Yoongi (8:24pm): I was going to go out later tonight so we can practice for like an hour

You (8:26pm): oh

Yoongi (8:26pm): I’ll make it up to you though, i promise. Boba on me?

Yoongi (8:27pm): you should come out with me, namjoon will be there

Yoongi (8:27pm): taehyung too

Yoongi (8:27pm): we literally all know each other, let’s gooooo pls

You (8:28pm): i wish but it’s literally thursday dude

You (8:29pm): have a drink in my name :)

Yoongi (8:30pm): will do

Yoongi (8:31pm): meet me in 115B in twenty minutes, what boba do you want?

So Yoongi does have a sense of fashion outside of sweatpants and beanies after all. White button-up, but only a few buttons are actually done up. Sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Dark jeans, and god, that belt . The need to cry or get on your knees right then and there is overwhelming.

Wow, everything works for him. Every time you think you’ve done the impossible task of not having a visceral reaction in his presence, he does something like this. You never know what specific flavor of Yoongi will appear before you at any given time.

Yoongi, aloof college student. Yoongi, dark and mysterious man who buys you a drink in a hazy bar. Yoongi, the concert pianist with hands of steel and a heart of gold. Yoongi, the love of your life—no. No, we are not going there.

It’s a crush, it’s a harmless crush, nobody said anything about love.

You try to get your head out of the mushy-falling-in-love gutter by doing what you do best. Flirting with him, teasing him, poking fun at him for the littlest things. “You clean up well, don’t you.” You all but sneer, incongruous with the heat spreading across your face. “You’re late.”

“Well, I was taking care of an important errand. Look,” He shakes your iced drink in front of him.

You take a sip, refreshing despite the still-frigid weather. “Fuck, we’re so bad. We shouldn’t be eating in here.”

“We’re not technically eating, are we?”

“You’re right.” He never, ever fails to make you laugh. Or everything he says is funny. “Let’s get started, I don’t want you to be late,” you say, fiddling with the music stand.

“You should cooooome out, y/n. Don’t be so boring for once.”

You gasp. “I’ll pretend like that didn’t hurt. And I won’t know anybody there, and I’m not even dressed to go out, and it’s Thursday .” You gesture to your evening loungewear, your barren face.

“Okay, but just this once. You’ll have to come out with me next time.” It sounds like a promise, or maybe a demand, when he says it.

Come out with me next time. Again, you wonder if he knows the implication behind his words, if he really ever means what he says.

You pull your music out of your backpack, the plastic sleeve of your binder crackling underneath your touch. It’s a familiar sound. You set a pencil on your music stand, like you’ve done thousands of times before.

“Let’s get started, Yoongi.” He takes a seat at the piano bench, smiling contentedly. You smile back at him, and for a still moment, everything feels just right.

Yoongi isn’t usually late to class. He usually comes in a couple minutes early, headphones on and deaf to the warble of students around him. You know this, because you’ve always made it a point to show up especially early to the classes you share, just so you can watch him scroll through his phone for the few precious minutes before class starts.

Today, he stumbles in right after Dr. Won, wearing last night’s clothes and a bucket hat undoubtedly covering a messy bedhead. He’s missing his usual coffee, and the bags under his eyes belie the smile he gives you. Yoongi says nothing as he sinks into the seat beside you, cradling his head in his arms. You sense the opportunity to tease him, and pull your phone into your lap.

You (10:06am): it looks like someone had a rough night

Yoongi (10:08am): you should mind your own business and pay attention

Yoongi (10:09am): i don’t look that bad do i :(

You (10:10am): just tired that’s all

You (10:11am): still drunk or something?

Yoongi (10:11am): nope painfully sober

Yoongi (10:11am): let’s get day drunk after this >:)

You (10:13am): no <3

Maybe his questionable inebriation lowered his inhibitions, which might explain his knee nudging yours underneath the desk. Looks like he didn’t forget your previous conversation. It’s not an accident; accidental knees are nowhere as insistent as Yoongi is being now. You nudge your knee back, as if to say, two can play at that game.

Yoongi (10:14am): still touch starved? ;)

You (10:16am): fuck off >:(

Your theory is confirmed when he inches his hand closer and closer to you, finally resting his hand on your knee. His thumb draws languid circles on the inner part of your thigh, insistent but gentle, playful but... possessive. It’s a lot to take in at once.

However, you don’t need alcohol to stoop down to his level. You’ll never let him get the upper hand on you without a fight, no matter how much the butterflies in your stomach would like to contest that.

You take his hand and place it back in his own lap, trying your best to stay discreet. You keep your eyes trained on Dr. Won, but your gaze still slides back to Yoongi. When you look at him, he’s looking at you in contempt. “Is that a challenge,” his eyes seem to ask.

Slowly, tentatively, you slide your hand from the desk into your lap. It doesn’t get Yoongi’s attention at first, until you gently greet his hand with yours. He’s still looking at you with those same taunting eyes.

Sometimes you can’t stand how cocky he is. And other times, like these, you love it. You just want to take him down a notch. Your journey underneath the table continues when your hand comes to rest on his thigh, trailing your fingertips along until you find the inner seam of his pants. He’s warm and solid under your touch. It feels overwhelmingly real, and you wonder if you have the guts to finish what you started.

You try to keep a neutral face, like this isn’t affecting you at all, like you do this all the time with other cute piano performance majors. The smile breaks through your facade anyway. You bite the inside of your cheek red in an attempt to stop it, and you renew your efforts to continue taking notes.

Your smile turns into a stifled gasp when Yoongi guides your hand higher up his thigh, his hand dwarfing yours. He doesn’t stop until he reaches the half-hardness between his legs, holding your hand in place.

Blatantly, you realize, your actions have consequences. This is real. This, whatever this is, with Yoongi, is real. Neither of you can fake it anymore.

The blushing starts up again, creeping down your neck. The heat spreads through the rest of your body, settling in the pit of your stomach, replacing the nervous knots that were there not an hour ago. This was most definitely not what you were expecting. Was fake-drunk Yoongi really going to take the flirty banter this far? You thought that was just part of being friends with Yoongi. Do all his friends get to touch his dick?

You really should have thought this through more, but you’re going to finish what you started.

You use the heel of your hand to trace along the length of his cock, dragging it slowly just to tease him for his contempt. You’re suddenly thankful that nobody can see what you’re doing from your angle in the classroom. He shifts into your touch, still not quite looking at you. Yoongi picks his pen up again, scrawling on the blank corner of your notebook.

“I’m a horny drunk,” it reads. You roll your eyes. Everything is a joke to him, you posit.

You continue your gentle teasing. Eventually, Yoongi rocking back into your touch. Not once do you tear your eyes off the Powerpoint slides projected across the room. This is the only time in your life you’ve ever cared so much about the beautiful simplicity of Bach’s fugue subjects.

But in the end, no matter how hard you try, you can only focus on one thing at once. And the task at hand (literally) was to tease Min Yoongi to full hardness. You were fairly successful.

Yoongi picks his pen up again. “Just so you know,” he writes, “ I’m about to blow a load.” He places your hand back in your lap, patting it for good measure. You don’t miss the way that his hand trembles.

“I’m a girl with a mission,” You retort, as petulant as you can be with a pen. “Let me finish the job.”

“Continue your mission after class.”

Oh. Friends don’t do this with each other.

You scribble over your correspondence with your pen.

You wish you could take the extra time to explore the inside of Yoongi’s apartment, despite how many times you’ve been here already. Maybe there would be something new to decipher, now that you were here under different pretenses. You catch scant glimpses of the familiar quaint kitchenette and the neatly organized rack of shoes, but you’re now preoccupied with Yoongi’s hands on your waist, tugging your shirt out of where it was tucked into your pants. You see the same guitar on the same wire stand and the same MacBook sitting idle, but your view is obscured after Yoongi presses you up against the door.

It’s a feat of mental strength to stay upright, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

After class, Yoongi had shot up from his seat, hand in his pocket, likely readjusting himself. His eyes were glassy. He had looked so, so wrecked.

“Come with me,” He said, voice strained. To the untrained ear it might have sounded like a voice heavy with sleep, or maybe too many drinks too late at night.

But to you it sounded like a voice rough with lust, or (a lot of) wanting. All for you.

He had grabbed you by the hand and led you back to his apartment, as nonchalant as you can be about this kind of thing. It was an unspoken truth what you two were about to do, like this was the natural order of things. Like you were just fulfilling the inevitable. Like you were always meant to fall into his arms like this. It almost makes sense.

He had grabbed your hand and led you along the looping hallways out onto the sunny walkway like he had done this hundreds of times before, like the both of you have been touching each other like this for months—rather than just hinting and skirting around the innuendoes, the half-worn glances, the knowing smiles.

The walk back to his apartment was silent and full of untapped sexual tension coming to a head. Even if the hammering in your chest allowed you to speak, you wouldn’t have. It passed by in a blur, the denial giving you tunnel vision.

Yoongi is holding your hands in his, like this is a much more intimate moment than it should be. “You still don’t have gloves,” He murmurs against your lips, but he doesn’t close the gap. It sounds more like a promise rather than a statement.

He’s warming you up from the inside out, erasing the cold from the walk here. Spring was still slowly waking up. The sun takes time to melt the snow.

He rolls his hips against yours, more insistent than he was in class. When he does, you can feel precisely how wanting he is. All the contemptuousness is gone from his eyes. Whatever replaces it isn’t something you can give a name to.

He can’t—Yoongi can’t hold your hands like that and look solemnly into your eyes like that. Yoongi can’t look at you with that kind of reverence, because that was what made you fall into this deep dark pit of confusing feelings in the first place. But you don’t have time to consider it because he’s rolling his hips against yours again.

“Look,” he gasps, “Look at what you did to me.” When you look at him again, his pupils are blown wide, all fucked out and desperate and wanting. If it was physically possible, he might be more desperate than you, from the look of it.

“I thought you said you were a horny drunk.” You tease, and to steer the conversation away from the way he had been looking at you. That’s a conversation that you’re not ready for—neither of you are ready for.

After these weeks of back and forth, you’re finally going to make him say what he’s really been thinking all along. You’re done being the cat chasing after the mouse.

The Yoongi in front of you is a far cry from the one before, teasing you for not having been laid in months, showing you just how dirty his mouth could get.

“No, this is all you…” He breaks off into a breathy moan, muffled by your hair. His hips are still slotted against yours, and your ability to ignore that is diminishing by the second.

Who knew that the stoic Min Yoongi could ever produce such a whimper?

“I have to get to class, can’t be late…” You tease, trailing a finger down his chest, but you’ve already made up your mind with what you’re going to do with him.

You’re going to stay.

You can worry about the loose ends later.

“Please stay, just a little longer, please.” He guides you over to the couch, clutching your hand like a damn lifeline. When he straddles your hips, you’re reminded of the last time he held you down, when you were studying together. That memory seems faint now. It’s funny how context can change everything.

“You won’t be late, I promise,” He says, voice coarse. “And I’m going to fucking show you what this mouth can do.”

“And you have to promise not to ever drink that much again, what the fuck.” You chastise, your breath hitching at his promise, but you don’t really care. Not if it gets Yoongi like this. Your hand comes to rest on the waistband of his jeans.

“I didn’t have that much, I was just up late… thinking about you.” He starts to unbutton the collar to your shirt, slotting his leg between yours. Yoongi traces the cup of your bra with a daintiness that reminds you of the way he runs his hands over the keys of the piano before he reels up to play. Knowing that these hands that create his beautiful music are the same hands that are currently on your body produces a shiver that sparks down your spine.

You try not to put too much stock into what he’s saying, he’s always been all talk. It’s just words to get you in the mood, set the scene. Yoongi has always been all bark and no bite, teasing you with empty, joking promises. That was his whole gimmick, if you could call it that.

He knows you like dirty talk (you made that abundantly clear from that last conversation), you’re a warm and eager body in front of him, you can do the math yourself. There’s no need to read between the lines for this one.

The gasp you make when he starts mouthing down your neck is involuntary, as is the way that you thread your fingers through his hair when he moves his way down your chest.

Yoongi’s hair is uncharacteristically soft, like silk, or the little sigh of satisfaction he makes when he finds the sweet spot he’s looking for. You briefly consider asking him about his haircare routine when he closes his mouth over your nipple. Hot, wet, and everything you needed to forget about the long afternoon ahead of you.

“Please, please.” He pleads again. “Please stay. I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Okay,” You gasp, “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“Good, because I’ll make you eat your fucking words,” Yoongi says, gritting his teeth. He’s fully unbuttoned your shirt now, and you are all but bare to him, save for your bra. “What were you thinking? Touching me like that? In class? What if someone saw? But you don’t care about that, right?”

He doesn’t wait for your answer, however, instead opting to kiss bruises into your collarbones, adding to the faded violin hickey on the left side of your neck.

You are a deer in headlights, frozen in place, completely pliant underneath his touch. Even if you weren’t pinned underneath him with his hands and legs, then you are underneath his piercing gaze. You know he can probably see more than just your shocked, open-mouthed expression. He can probably see your longing written all over your face, or maybe the special kind of glee that comes from wish fulfillment. You might as well confess your feelings for him now, because your expression has all but told him the truth.

“Did you forget what I said to you the other day? I’m supposed to be the one teasing you until you’re fucking desperate to come, not the other way around.” You shake your head no, lost for words. Who’s going to tell him you’re already desperate to come, sans teasing?

He starts to push your pants past your thighs, kissing at the skin that’s now bare—and you squirm, whine, whimper into his touch, just to show him how much you want this. Want him.

Somehow, it feels better like this, with the way he’s left your clothes half on, half off. The collar of your shirt is undone. There is a trail of four socks leading to the couch. It… it… almost suggests that Yoongi is in such a rush to have you that he can’t be bothered to undress you properly. Like he needs you that much. You ignore the following twinge in your heart.

All you can focus on is the fine bead of sweat on his hairline as he sways on top of you, ghosting a hand over your panties. When you finally feel him nudging against your clit with insistent, slow pressure, you make a strangled gasp.

Faintly, you hear yourself cry out into the filtered indoor air, just above the sound of the heater humming. It doesn’t sound like your voice, but you’re too far gone to care or investigate further. All you can focus on is the increasingly hopeless need between your legs, and the person that’s currently about to attend to that. You’ve never heard yourself make noises like these before, let alone meet someone who’s able to make you so desperate.

Your desperation makes itself tangible in the way that you writhe against him, straining against the warm weight of his body, too much and never enough. It feels like your body is making up for lost time, getting revenge for all the almost-touches, almost-confessions. All those quiet moments in the still night where you should have kissed Yoongi but didn’t, never closing the gap.

Even now, when you’re right up against his body, it doesn’t feel like enough. Should it scare you that it doesn’t like enough, and you’re almost certain it never will be?

He laughs, almost coldly. It sounds nothing like the morning that you met him. This is a different kind of cold, a different kind of cruelty. “You sound like a little bitch in heat. What, you can’t be a little patient?” He checks the time on his watch, because of course, Yoongi is the kind of guy to wear an analog watch. “We still have time before your next class.”

At your silence, he softens. He takes his hands off of you, much to your dismay. “Is that—okay? Can I call you that?” You should be embarrassed at the enthusiasm in your nod, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to care.

Yoongi leans over you again, grinning. “Don’t worry, I like it. I like having you like this. All desperate and,” Yoongi drags a finger downward , “Wet.”

“Fuck, don’t tease. Don’t-” You’re absolutely shameless now, but it doesn’t matter, as long as you can get some kind of relief.

“Are you sure? Then it would be over so, so soon.” Yoongi returns to your clit, tracing light circles that only serve to incense you. “Can you even take it?” He pulls your panties askew, blowing gently on the exposed skin. You shiver, now realizing just how wet you are for him.

“Yes, yes, please, I can, just give it to me–” His finger meets little resistance when he finally pushes a finger inside your needy cunt, immediately setting a punishing rhythm.

“This is what you wanted, hmm?” He kisses the crook of your thigh, settling ever closer to you. “I told you I would get you to beg.” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh, shut up.” You cover your face in your hands, laughing despite yourself. “Not everything is a competition, you know.”

He works you open with skill because, of course, Yoongi is good at this too. It’s not enough for fate to make him a diligent student, a talented pianist, and have a heart of motherfucking gold. No, he just has to be good in bed too. How are you supposed to resist falling for him? Was it ever worth the effort to try?

“But it’s so much more fun like that. You know, I don’t appreciate this backtalk.” He presses deeper on that sweet spot inside of you, and you keen, eyes fluttering shut. “Seeing as I’m the one who’s going to make you come, and all.” All the light is gone from his voice now.

“You’re going to be good for me, right?” Yoongi says, as if the answer could be anything other than a firm, enthusiastic yes. He tightens your grip on your hips, his blunt nails digging into the soft skin.

“ Yeahyesyesyesyesanythingyouwant,” you whimper. You don’t even have to pretend like you want this dearly, as you’ve had to in the past with less doting partners. How long have you held your breath, waiting for something like this to happen?

“And I thought you were worried about being late? You didn’t get enough? Don’t worry baby, I’ll make sure you get your fill.” His playful condescension sinks to the lowest parts of your stomach.

“Yoongi,” You whine, “You’re going to kill me.” You attempt to draw your legs up in a belated attempt to preserve your modesty, but Yoongi yanks you further down the couch.

“No, no, I’m not done with you yet.” Yoongi finally takes your panties off, inadvertently streaking your arousal down your thigh. He throws them off to the side. In doing so, you can see your arousal dripping down his wrist in the afternoon glow.

“This, Yoongi says, with stars in his eyes, “Is payback.”

The hot lick of his tongue feels nothing like revenge.

Yoongi is still keeping you trapped in the same place, nowhere to go. You’re nowhere closer to a release than before. The initial thrill of his mouth on you is gone when you realize that he’s not evolving past the featherlight touches with his hands. You roll your hips against him, as if to to pout.

“Please, Yoongi,” You gasp.

“What? Please, what?” He smiles. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and you’re not sure whether to love or hate him for it.

“You—you can’t—just leave someone like this.” You all but shove your pussy in his face, relentless in your pursuit of some kind of relief, no matter how small. But he won’t give it to you. The kitten licks he’s giving you aren’t enough. The uncharacteristically coquettish kisses he trails down the inside of your thighs, leaving gooseflesh in his wake, aren’t enough. You’re insatiable.

“Like what? I think I like you more like this.” You know he’s reveling in this, much like how he’s likely reveled in your desperation in the past weeks. Nothing he’s doing is providing relief to the need, the ache. Everything he does only serves to stoke the fire brewing in the pit of your stomach.

“Yoongi, I need you.” Maybe if you keep hinting at what you want, he’ll give it to you. Because you’re not about to fucking beg for him. Again.

“I’m going to need you to be more specific.” He drives his point home by dragging his fingers against the upper wall of your pussy. Your answering moan should be specific enough.

“Come on…” You whimper, thighs trembling. You’re not sure if it’s from the pleasure or the lack of it.

“Come on… use your words.” Yoongi stills his hand.

“Just—ugh— touch me. ” you urge, whinier than you intend, exasperated and desperate. You need this release. You need it so much your vision is blurring. “Make me come,” your voice smaller, “Use your mouth, your hand, I don’t care anymore.” You throw your arm over your eyes in defeat.

Yoongi has all the puzzle pieces laid out in front of him. He’s seen your wanting expression, now that you’ve all but admitted that you want him to give you an orgasm. How could he not see your puppy love for what it is?

He chuckles, light as bells. “Was that so hard. And for the record, next time, you’re gonna come on my cock.” And just like that, it’s like a dam has broken. No more denial, no more teasing, no more waiting, and Yoongi is touching you in full now.

You try not to look at him with his head buried between his legs. One, the pleasure is so immense that you can hardly stop your legs from trembling, let alone stop your head from lolling back against the couch cushion.

Two, you’re scared. Of him looking at you, catching his eye. Of him seeing your face from below. Scared to face the truth, just a little bit. Min Yoongi, the concert pianist that you have been eyeing all semester, is servicing you with his mouth. It even sounds ridiculous in your head.

Three, you’re not really even sure if this is happening. It is entirely plausible that you’re going to wake up tangled in your bedsheets in the dead of night and realize it was another night of mistaken belief.

Next time. Maybe. What if.

The few glimpses you do catch are of the dark hair caught between your fingers, handholds tethering you to the couch, to him. You can also see the indents his fingers make in your thighs, he’s holding you in place. His knuckles are white with the effort.

“I’m-I’m gonna come. Yoongi, fuck, I’m—” When you finally crest over the edge, you all but levitate off the couch, every muscle in your body straining under the force of your orgasm.

The sound he makes sounds almost like “you’re mine,” but you ignore that for now. You sit up, blinking in the sunlight. It might be nearly noon now, but you don’t care. Your afternoon lecture is low on your list of priorities right now. You smile wolfishly. “Your turn.”

There’s no way to pretend anymore, no more mental gymnastics, no more what-ifs, buts, or maybes. You might as well dive in headfirst.

#armywriterssupport #btsgoldnet #min yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts x reader

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peachy-inserts · 4 years

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todoroki falling for someone/relationship hcs

request: may i request some headcanons of how shouto would fall in love and how would he act in a relationship?? 🥺🥺 thank u!!

warnings: just cursing! a/n: sorry for uploading this so many times! i messed up the tags (and also, hello! i promise we aren’t dead) long post! more under the cut

Shouto is a hopeless romantic at heart. Although it’s not something that crosses his mind frequently, whenever it does he finds himself daydreaming about the possibility of the perfect love interest as an escape from his mundane and repetitive life in which he feels trapped

Similar to Bakugou (Same prompt for him here!) I feel like Shouto would definitely fall in love with someone after learning how to trust them and interact with them rather than falling for someone after a couple meetings, he has to know you personally and on an emotionally vulnerable level before he would even consider the concept of something more; partly because of sheer embarrassment, the other from deeply routed trust issues

He would be best suited with someone spontaneous but respectful; someone who can break him free from the chains binding him to his career and future and expand his horizons and emotional capacity to levels nobody thought were ever possible. The way he acts around you is uncharacteristic of this terribly disturbed boy

Shouto realizing that he’s fallen in love with you will hit him hard and suddenly, knocking the air from his lungs and knocking him over onto his feet. Hopefully, you’ll be there to pick him up and make him see that maybe this won’t be such a frightening experience, and that you can help him along the way

He’s a very blunt yet dense person, which is shocking for someone of such quick wits and broad intelligence. Tease him about it and he will scowl at you, but give in and laugh as you both recount some of his most memorable moments. You paying attention to him, telling him your favorite times spent with him? It’s an intoxicating liquid drug that he wants to drink up and bathe himself in in a lavish fashion

Coming to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you, someone he’s so close with is by far what’s most difficult for him since he doesn’t know how to healthily process his own emotions, often times dismissing how he feels and letting it build up into an alcoholic cocktail of rage and self doubt

Without even realizing it, he’ll begin to cling to you. You’re practically attached at the hip, and he’s so subtle about it and kind that it will take an incredibly receptive sense of the world around you to notice that he’s putting an increased amount of effort into spending as much time as possible with you

Hell, kudos to anyone watching the two of you who will see what’s really happening. He’s a very unpredictable person, and everyone would simply assume you two were impersonal friends simply trying to be polite and help each other

Shouto isn’t really someone who ever writes, but like I said he is a hopeless romantic. One way he finds to cope with his new and foreign feelings is by writing sappy poetry inspired by or even for you. They’re actually not too bad, but there’s not a chance in hell that he would ever let you see them. Sometimes he’s so embarrassed to have done it that it’s incinerated on sight

I think Deku and him would be good, close friends, more so than what the series portrays. I like to think they’re besties and im putting that here because im selfish and love their dynamic. Anyways, Shouto would nervously approach Deku and ask for his thoughts on his poems, wondering if you would appreciate them or find him strange for writing about you in such a manner

After months of hiding away and suddenly growing distant, he would finally decide that if he gets rejected, it’s at least better than living out his dreams through fantasies in the solitude of his own imagination. He would come out and say that he loved you to your face, and then should you reciprocate become a shy and nervous mess who can’t help but shudder at the sudden fluttering in his stomach

Shouto actually really likes to go out on dates! He prefers to take a gentlemanly approach to your outings, and growing up frequently attending formal settings is more than comfortable with going out to whatever high end event your heart may desire

Date nights are just for the two of you, and provide for him confirmation that you’re his and nobody else’s; he’s the only one who gets to take you out and spoil you, the only one you will get ready for and the only one who will be there still at the end of the night to hold you tight

Not only that, but you have the opportunity to truly catch up and cast any other responsibilities to the side for a while. All that matters right now is the undeniable bond between the two of you, even if it’s only for a while. No matter how far apart you are, it can’t be broken by any amount of distance

Literally tell him to stop bringing you flowers; because of his mother, he’s always been particularly fond of them and their meaning, spending far too much time researching the symbolic truth behind every petal, and giving them to you for no special reason at all… far too frequently. This man is literally smothering you in carefully planned, sweet gestures

Please be patient with him. Afraid of losing you, he would actively try to change himself for the better so that he can become the person that he needs from you, since it’s only fair. He’s insecure about his seemingly cold demeanor, and worries that you may leave him for someone who isn’t afraid to reach out when they’re needing help, someone who isn’t broken and can take care of themselves without relying on you

This only feeds into his jealousy. Depending on the situation, he would most likely react one of two ways. If someone is hitting on you out of the blue, being rude and obnoxious, he would (again) be similar to Bakugou in that he’s immediately provoked and won’t hesitate to throw punches without a single bit of remorse. If you have a relationship with someone he doesn’t like or feels threatened by, then he will try to ignore it despite the way it nags him day and night, spending his free hours sulking over it; yet not bothering to speak out, afraid he will take things too far and accuse you or someone else of things that aren’t there

Help teach him that there are levels of conversation, let him know it’s okay to argue and disagree sometimes. When commiting to a serious relationship with Shouto, it will undoubtedly benefit you to show him how to have a healthy discussion from opposing perspectives without becoming heated. He doesn’t want to be the way that he is… he knows no other ways, though

Once he gets over the initial shock of being with you, he really doesn’t mind PDA. He’s not confident, but sure as hell not an ashamed person, either. He doesn’t mind to hold your hand in public or give you a chaste kiss on your forehead, perhaps even letting you rest your head on his shoulder

He would obviously wait a little before considering that you meet his family, that being a serious commitment. Him doing this definitely symbolizes his intense dedication to you and desire to stay with you for a long while. It’s a big step for him given their relationships, so stick it through with him and offer him support

He’s definitely spoken about you to his siblings and mother, though. Further into your relationship he won’t hesitate to openly gush about you and the ways you make him feel things he never has before, and how he didn’t know feelings this intense were possible when it came to others; it’s unlike anything he ever expected, feeling as if his life is better than any artistic interpretation of romance

I’m only gonna say this once so listen up. He is a Todoroki. He likes to feel as if he’s in control and protecting you, so one of his favorite things is to totally cage you with his body, so that the only thing keeping you shielded from the outside world is him and his loving embrace. Would absolutely randomly pick you up just to watch you squeal and jokingly try to push him away from you all while giggling as your face flushes pink

As for showing you off, he doesn’t really see that it’s necessary. What can I say, he’s a centered and simple guy. He’s hella proud, but it’s not important to him that everyone knows just how lucky he is. He doesn’t need an ego boost, not when he’s got you to cherish. All that matters is at the end of the day he’s got you to himself

A great listener! Not because he doesn’t talk, he’s actually very engaged in your conversations. Shouto just genuinely appreciates all that you have to say and wants to know every detail you have to spare, often times wondering what the world is like from your perspective

Not too fond of pet names at first, but if you insist on it and start making cute nicknames for him he’ll cave in and do the same for you, eventually sometimes stuttering when he uses your real name because it’s become so foreign to him. Always bringing you up in conversations as ‘pumpkin’ or something personal to you, and then feeling the heat rush to his face when he realizes it

Shouto is the type to want to move in together very soon; mans is committed for the long haul. Just for fun, would draw out floor plans with you and discuss the features your future home would have, with every intention of making every detail you offhandedly mention a reality

He loves it when you kiss his scar I don’t make the rules that’s just how it is. He wants nothing more than to be smothered by you in love and affection, and your gentle pecks among his sensitive feature that represent so much horridness in his life are something that he lives for

Oh. He’s really good at giving massages.

»»————-　♡　————-«« Like these hcs? Find the same prompt for:

hawks.

bakugou.

aizawa.

kirishima.

#todoroki hcs #todoroki headcanons #shouto todoroki x you #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x reader #mod josie #hc #hcs #headcanons #todoroki

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stdio2020 · 3 years

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NICOLAS BOURRIAUD POSTPRODUCTION CULTURE AS SCREENPLAY: HOW ART REPROGRAMS THE WORLD

This book fucking rocks and affirms many things about my practice. Good to know I am on a good path. Written in 2002, the text could not take into account the level of postproduction that would ensue in the following twenty years. This is the age of the consumer-producer. Everything is consumed and produced multiple times over. Bourriaud thought that artists processing their own consumption would take on liberatory pollitical effects. Unfortunately late capitalism has simply developed such that we no longer need ‘power’ to satiate us with entertainment, we are given the tools to satiate one another.... Below are really haphazard notes, not very well structured but all very important.

p7“Pop Art was born of a conjunction between the phenomenon of mass production and the birth of visual marketing, under the aegis of a new era of consumption” (p2)

“the works of Pierre Huyghe, Douglas Gordon, or Rirkrit Tiravanija deeply reexamine notions of creation, authorship, and originality through a problematics of the use of cultural artifacts - which, by the way, is absolutely new.” (p4)

“When artists find material in objects that are already in circulation on the cultural market, the work of art takes on a script-like value: "when screenplays become form," in a sense.” (p4)

“Postproduction apprehends the forms of knowledge generated by the appearance of the Net (how to find one's bearings in the cultural chaos and how to extract new modes of production from it).Indeed, it is striking that the tools most often used by artists today in order to produce these relational models are preexisting works or formal structures, as if the world of cultural products and artworks constituted an autonomous strata that could provide tools of connection between individuals; as if the establishment of new forms of sociality and a true critique of contemporary forms of life involved a different attitude in relation to artistic patrimony, through the production of new relationships to culture in general and to the artwork in particular.” (p7) <<So important

It is no longer a matter of starting with a "blank slate" or creating meaning on the basis of virgin material but of finding a means of insertion into the innumerable flows of production. "Things and thoughts," Gilles Deleuze writes, "advance or grow out from the middle, and that's where you have to get to work, that's where everything unfolds."01 The artistic question is no longer: "what can we make that is new?" but "how can we make do with what we have?" In other words, how can we produce singularity and meaning from this chaotic mass of objects, names, and references that constitutes our daily life? (p8) BINGBINGBING

The activities of DJs, Web surfers, and postproduction artists imply a similar configuration of knowledge, which is characterized by the invention of paths through culture. Finding a way through, finding bearings, the endless trace through culture...

By using television, books, or records, the user of culture deploys a rhetoric of practices and "ruses" that has to do with enunciation and therefore with language whose figures and codes may be catalogued.

Commerce is above all a form of human relations, indeed, a pretext destined to produce a relationsship. Any transaction may be defined as "a successful encounter of histories, affinities, wishes, constraints, habits, threats, skins, tensions."(p15) << Reminds me of the andy warhol quote, “ Being good in business is the most fascinating kind of art. Making money is art and working is art and good business is the best art.”

Art tends to give shape and weight to the most invisible processes. When entire sections of our existence spiral into abstraction as a result of economic globalization, when the basic functions of our daily lives are slowly transformed into products of consumption (including human relations, which are becoming a full-fledged industrial concern), it seems highly logical that artists might seek to rematerialize these functions and processes, to give shape to what is disappearing before our eyes. Not as objects, which would be to fall into the trap of reification, but as mediums of experience: by striving to shatter the logic of the spectacle, art restores the world to us as an experience to be lived.

ARTISTIC DETOURNEMENT (DIVERSION) - DJing

A pollitcal application of duchampian readymade (using a rembrandt as an ironing board or erasing a De Kooning drawing)

The DJ’s work consists both of proposing a personal orbit through a musical universe (a playlist) and in paying attention to their sequence as well as the construction of atmosphere. One can recognize a DJ's style in the ability to inhabit an open network (the history of sound) and in the logic that organizes the links between the samples he or she plays. Deejaying implies a culture of the use of forms, which connects rap, techno, and all their subsequent by-products.

The curatorial process is an artistic one we know that already! But it can be tighter, more specific, weilded masterfully.

"Sometimes," Godard writes, "the class struggle is the struggle of one image against another image and one sound against another sound."

We must stop interpreting the world, stop playing walk-on parts in a script written by power. We must become its actors or co-writers. The same goes for works of art except now, the ‘power’ has given us the tools of creation such that we socially govern one another. The best marketing is user generated. pollitical agendas are spread through memesis. This is not the liberating scenario Bourriaud thought it would be in the early 2000′s

we are not saturated with images, but subjected to the lack of certain images, which must be produced to fill in the blanks of the official image of the community.

We are then very close to the "equivalence of everything, the good and the bad, the beautiful and the ugly, the insignificant and the distinctive"

to signify that everything was equal because everything could be consumed

Roland Barthes, asserts that culture is an infinite palimpsest. Considering each book to consist of "multiple writings, proceeding from several cultures and entering into dialogue, into parody, into protest," Barthes accords the writer the status of scriptor, an intertextual operator: the only place where this multiplicity of sources converges is in the brain of the reader-postproducer.

Boycotts, detournement, and piracy belong to this culture of activity. When Allen Ruppersberg recopied Oscar Wilde's The Portrait of Dorian Gray on canvas (1974), he took a literary text and considered himself responsible for it: he rewrote it.

No public image should benefit from impunity, for whatever reason: a logo belongs to public space, since it exists in the streets and appears on the objects we use, A legal battle is underway that places artists at the forefront: no sign must remain inert, no image must remain untouchable. Art represents a counterpower. Not that the task of artists consists in denouncing, mobilizing, or protesting: all art is engaged, whatever its nature and its goals. Today there is a quarrel over representation that sets art and the official image of reality against each other; it is propagated by advertising discourse, relayed by the media, organized by an ultralight ideology of consumption and social competition. In our daily lives, we come across fictions, representations, and forms that sustain this collective imaginary whose contents are dictated by power. BOOM

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padawanlost · 4 years

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Hey Padawanlost I haven't ever asked but could the Jedi win the war without the clones? Because I don't think the Jedi had any other option. I am not saying they are right but could you tell me how can the Jedi win the war without the clones?

Hey anon! There’s a planet called Earth that has its people have been killing each other and waging war since day one rather successfully and, as far as I know, no clone army has ever been used. Of course, you might argue that it’s different because it’s citizens dying but I’d counter argue that clone lives are as valuable as any other life in the world and the fact they were robbed of their citizenship doesn’t justify them being dehumanized and killed in someone else’s place.

As for the ‘lack of option’ excuse, that’s all it is: an excuse. And it’s one that has been used for years to justify all sort of crime, injustice and persecution including slavery. The slave owners had no choice, what were they supposed to do? Hire people? That’s unheard of! What was the Republic supposed to do? Draft people? that’s impossible!

Seriously now, the ‘they had no choice’ is only a valid justification for a crime – make no mistake, slavery is a crime in both our world and in the GFFA – when the person is under duress and even then their responsibility is still debatable and open for interpretation. And even it was simple legal justification (and not also a moral one), it’d not be one the Jedi Order would fall under. They were never under duress and they had not been stripped of their agency. The were offered a choice between two terrible options, but a choice nevertheless. They could’ve walked away or refused to play generals as many jedi did.

Following the Battle of Geonosis, many Jedi chose to leave the Order rather than serve as generals in the Republic army. Others, such as the Jedi Master Sora Bulq, chose to ally with Count Dooku and fight against the Republic. By the end of the Clone Wars, it seems that the Lost Twenty had been reduced to a footnote in history. [Star Wars: Jedi vs Sith: The Essential Guide to the Force by Ryder Windham]

Each time civilization threatened to topple into ruin, the Jedi faced a momentous decision: Did the Republic’s survival require the Order to intervene directly in its affairs? At various points in galactic history, the Jedi reluctantly decided such intervention was necessary. They stepped in to prevent the young Republic from annihilating the Tionese, plotted in secret to overthrow the Pius Dea chancellory, and served as chancellors while directly ruling large swaths of Republic territory in the chaotic centuries before Ruusan. Each time, the Order surrendered the powers it had assumed, returning to its guardian role. But as the Republic decayed and the Separatists gained strength, the Jedi began to once again debate whether a more activist role was required. By 22 BBY matters had reached a crisis point. This time it was the Supreme Chancellor himself who asked the Jedi to assume a new role: A powerful army awaited Republic command, but the Judicial Forces were ill prepared to lead them. Mindful that the Separatists were led by the Jedi apostate Count Dooku, the Jedi agreed to lead the Grand Army to Geonosis in an attempt to short-circuit the Separatist threat. [The new essential guide to warfare by jason fry]

This wartime bargain caused a rift in the Jedi Order. Some Jedi welcomed the chance to take action, but others saw leading troops as a betrayal of key Jedi precepts. Even Jedi who accepted their new responsibilities were badly strained. They grappled with the morality of leading clones who had been bred for war, and watched Padawans and younger Jedi Knights succumb to impatience and anger, burning for revenge on the Separatists and their leaders. “In this war, a danger there is of losing who we are,” Yoda admitted in one of his darker moments. But the Jedi Grand Master had no idea just how much truth his words held.” [The new essential guide to warfare by jason fry]

They didn’t even have to leave, all they had to say was no. They were not under any kind of legal obligation to lead the army. They did to avoid a political problem and because they were convinced they were better suited for the job. They wanted to protect the Republic because they believed it was their duty. I would hardly classify that as a ‘lack of option’.

To make matters worse, they actually lied about the clone army origin. So they put themselves into a situation where they didn’t have all the answers. They could’ve avoided the whole thing by simply saying ‘we have no idea where this army came from and this should be further investigated.

The Jedi Master rubbed a hand over his forehead and looked to Yoda, who sat with his eyes closed. Probably contemplating the same riddles as he was, Mace knew. And equally troubled, if not more so. “Blind we are, if the development of this clone army we could not see,” Yoda remarked. “I think it is time to inform the Senate that our ability to use the Force has diminished.” “Only the Dark Lords of the Sith know of our weakness,” Yoda replied. “If informed the Senate is, multiply our adversaries will.” For the two Jedi Masters, this surprising development was troubling on several different levels. [R.A. Salvatore. Attack of the Clones]

Anyway, what could have they done other them leaving, refusing or telling the truth? They could’ve done what the governments always do: send their citizens to war. Palpatine wanted the war to be between droids and clones for this version, to avoid the massive citizen outcry. As long as they weren’t the ones dying the public would be much easier to manipulate. As clones as it was only clones dying Palpatine could keep the war going without damaging his popularity.

Corellian senator Shyla Merricope speaks about this during the events leading up the war

The decision comes after a week of closed-door meetings between Bel Iblis and Corellian Diktat Shyla Merricope. When the Military Creation Act vote was announced, Corellia was one of its most outspoken critics, both in the Senate and the planetary government offices in Corellia's capital city of Coronet. "CorSec's men and women will not be drafted into Republic service, to die on a distant world outside of Corellia's borders. Nor will armed forces from other worlds be billeted in our homes." Merricope said in caucus, the day following the vote announcement. She later told the sector's leading newsnet, Corellia Sector Newsfeed, that she would do "whatever possible to preserve the integrity of Corellia for Corellians." Corellia Closes Borders [x]

The war was not the Jedi order’s sole responsibility. It was never up to them alone to fight for the Republic. They were part of the Judicial department, a department that hosted the Judicial Forces the Republic’s main (semi)militarized force. The idea it was the Jedi or nothing is not supported by evidence.

So, no, if they had refused the Republic wouldn’t have been helpless. In fact, many lives would’ve been saved (including Jedi lives) because Palpatine’s ban on peace talks would’ve been unsustainable without an large army to protect the Senate’s interests.

Another option would’ve been droids, a option the Republic refused because clones were cheaper.

So, how could the Jedi win the war without the clones?

By refusing to fight they would've ruined Palpatine’s plans, that’s always a win;

They could’ve demanded peace negotiations, since that was their main job;

They could’ve requested drafting or volunteers.

They could’ve requested droids;

They could’ve let the Judicial Forces take charge;

The Clone Wars were the perfect Jedi trap. By fighting at all, the Jedi lost [Matthew Stover. Revenge of the Sith]

Again, how could the Jedi win the war without the clones? They would’ve never won the war with the clones because the clones were there to kill them. So the best way for them to actually win the war was to refuse to accept the clone army.

But, really, the best solution possible that I can think of, is for the Jedi Council to accept the clone army but ONLY if they are made free. They could easily say it’s a against the Jedi believe to accept a slave army so the Republic would be pushed into giving them rights and actully ask them if they want to fight. So, instead of an army of slaves they would be leading a army of volunteered soldiers. Those who refused to fight could be offered jobs in the outer/mid rim planets to help the local economy and trained protection in case of a separatist invasion.

Let’s not mistake the Republic need to fight with the CIS and the Order’s desire to help with the need for a SLAVE ARMY.

How do you win without a slave army? You don’t use the slave army. Look man, the real question you have to ask yourself is if slavery is ever justified. Because that’s what you are asking me, and my answer will always be NEVER. There’s no situation where using slave labor is a righteous choice. If you think the Jedi had it bad, try looking at the situation from a clone perspective. Ask yourself when it’s okay to breed someone, buy and sell them, shorten their lives, rob them of their childhood, deny them their rights and send them to die for a life they will never, ever be allowed to live.

The only characters who truly didn’t have any choice in this entire story were the clones.

I love the Jedi, I truly do, but I don’t need them to perfect for me to love them and I certainly won’t make excuses for slavery and cruelty just so they can be seem as perfect or righteous. There’s no valid moral justification for slavery and to be honest it saddens me to know some people still think there is.

#ask #anon #gffa politics #jedi order #sw meta #jedi politics #clone troopers #meta: clones #txt

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