#DJ Kill Sing

[thebowerypresents]

Tierra Whack Celebrates Debut Album’s Release at Webster Hall on Friday Night

Tierra Whack – Webster Hall – March 15, 2024

Philadelphia rap queen Tierra Whack has been getting the party started worldwide with her infectious rhymes for several years now. (It’s probably only a matter of time before she graces the multipurpose-room stage on Abbott Elementary to battle Tariq Temple at a F.A.D.E. showcase.) Whack channels creativity and visual aspirations into her poetic lyrics and the videos that accompany them. From the Grammy-nominated video for “Mumbo Jumbo” to the recent Alex Da Corte–directed “27 Club,” her flair for fashion exudes further joy and pop, as witnessed on World Wide Whack, her debut full-length. She celebrated its release Friday night at a sold-out Webster Hall.   

With a large inflatable of the World Wide Whack avatar occupying a third of the stage, the rapper appeared adorned in her silver clown suit mirroring the attire from her album’s aesthetics. Opening with track one from her latest, “Mood Swing” appropriately began with  “I’ve been trying new things.” Throughout the show, the crowd indulged in a call-and-response, which warm-up DJ Kill Sing kicked off with a cry of  “worldwide” and requested the “Whack” reply. The admittedly nervous singer would cover the majority of the new songs, from the bounce-inducing “Ms Behave” to the melancholic “Two Night,” Her confidence building thanks to the supportive crowd, Whack effortlessly weaved among rap, pop, and R&B with her new material. On lead-single “Chanel Pit,” music box melodies danced amongst the spits of cultural references, like Vin Diesel and Resident Evil. Closer “27 Club” grooved to more R&B vibes for a downtempo, contemplative swan song, enrapturing the front row. 

Tierra Whack didn’t leave her stans without a trip down memory lane, including fan favorites like the bop “Pretty Ugly” and “Fuck Off,” which elicited raised middle fingers across the room. Everybody on the floor happily sang, “He likes my diamonds and pearls,” along with “Hungry Hippo.”  For the first time live, Whack performed her section of Lil Yachty’s “T.D.” before calling it a night. Despite the house lights turning on and exit music playing, everyone stayed put, chanting, “World Wide Whack,” leaving the stage crew unsure if they should halt operations. DJ Kill Sing indicated it might not be the end to this unforgettable night, as a wigless Whack returned to confess she was already shedding her costume. The crowd-manifested encore had the Philly native run off “Peppers and Onions” atop the barricade, before dropping to the floor amid her rabid admirers. —Sharlene Chiu | @Shar0ck

Photos courtesy of Edwina Hay | thisisnotaphotograph.com

@thesearenotphotographs

#Abbott Elementary #Alex Da Corte #Bowery Presents #DJ Kill Sing #East Village #Edwina Hay #Lil Yachty #Live Music #Music #New York City #Photos #Review #Sharlene Chiu #Tariq Temple #Tierra Whack #Webster Hall #World Wide Whack

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

|Limp Bizkit's cover of "Billie Jean" (2009)|

#the way my eyebrow shot up seductively and chills that ran down my spine when Sam came in with that groovy bassline #and then when Wes came in with that iconic riff my soul left my body☠️ #and best believe John kept my foot tapping to the beat of his kickdrum #Loved hearing Lee's scratches mixed throughout the song so perfectly #and I much prefer Fred's singing this song compared to when LB covered this song with Corey Feldman on the mic in 2013. he did too much lol #this is my fave MJ song and to hear LB do a small cover of it... I hadn't lived until I heard this version #like AAF killed it with “Smooth Criminal” (god how I remember seeing that mv on MTV Hits back in the day. good memories) #but man oh man I'd give my left arm just to hear LB's studio recorded version of this #still salty that I never got to hear LB's cover of Paula Abdul's “Straight Up”. I still have hope of finding footage of it some day. #Limp Bizkit #nu metal #Fred Durst #Wes Borland #Sam Rivers #John Otto #DJ Lethal #lucy the rabbit's video edits #down the rabbit hole

[petitprincess1]

Hey, I'm really sorry for asking this, but do you and how do you deal with any guilt for liking Hazbin Hotel? I think the controversies and antis have got to me because I can't watch it or any content without thinking about those.

I love the songs (both the show's and PARANOID DJ's because they're bangers) but I also can't help but think "am I a terrible person with bad taste for liking this?"

Parts of this show also just make me happy, especially Angel Dust. He became such a comfort to me after I went through a similar situation. Not as extreme, but it messed me up. And Alastor is just the best character to ever be created. He sings and dances and kills and eats people, what more could you want in a man? But yeah, I just want to enjoy the silly demon show without feeling gross afterward and I don't know how to shake that feeling off.

First of all, I don't have any guilt watching anything I enjoy.

Second of all, neither should you. And this is the problem with antis and "critics". No one should EVER be made to feel bad about liking anything. Hell, I'll even extend that thought to those who like Velma. I'll never understand it, but I can't hate you for liking something.

I know Vivzie is tied to a lot of controversies, but so what? More than half of them have been debunked or shown to have changed as she grew older. Even if you still feel iffy, Hazbin is more than just Vivzie. There's an entire crew attached to this show and they should not suffer bc of one person.

I mean, you've most likely played a game or watched a movie that has had a problematic person connected to it. Yeah, that person is scummy, but you can still enjoy the content that has them featured or they created bc...that doesn't define you as a person. What you like in fiction does not translate to real life.

It's different when it comes to someone like Onision, who's content is nothing but his life and about him. I'd be more disgusted if you liked him vs you liking Hopper from A Bug's life, despite him being played by Kevin Spacey. Awful person, but Hopper is disconnected from Spacey other than voice. Or liking a song by a problematic artist. You like the song, not the person.

Once again, YOU SHOULD NOT FEEL GUILTY FOR ENJOYING SOMETHING! NO ONE SHOULD EVER FEEL GUILTY FOR ENJOYING MEDIA THAT'S MEANT TO BE ENJOYED! VIVZIE MADE THE SHOW BUT SHE IS NOT THE SHOW!

Anyone who dares to feel self-righteous over a cartoon needs to get that tree branch out of their ass.

#hazbin hotel #long post #important #ask answered #ok to rb

[luvhughes43]

on the dance floor | luca fantilli

[luvhughes43 masterlist🌷]

request: I want to send a request for Luca. So Luca and reader are dating and maybe it’s Summer and they go to a friend or like a family members wedding and she gets drunk and he’s just admiring her with one of his friends until she drags him on the dance floor, just something cute and giggly!

word count: 0.6k 

“do you like?” you ask your boyfriend of a few years as you twirl around in your dress. luca plants his hands firmly on your waist - effectively stopping your twirling - to kiss you before mumbling a soft, “you’re gorgeous,”

“i don’t think i heard you?” you giggle from the pressure of lucas soft lips darting across your cheek and down to your neck. 

“you’re gorgeous,” he repeats, knowing full well that you heard him the first time. luca places one last kiss on your lips before stepping away from you to straighten himself out. your cousins wedding ceremony was late this afternoon, so now you and luca were just waiting around the venue until the real festivities began. 

you watch silently as luca straightens his tie, which will definitely be discarded by the time you two hit the dance floor. you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by his small movements, like the way his fingers comb through his grown out hair, now weaving through the laces of his shoes, the way he rolls the sleeves of his blouse up his arms… 

“we should head down now,” luca says, straightening up and reaching for your hand. you quickly intertwin your fingers, and let luca lead you outside where the party is. you vow silently to yourself that you were going to have a great night. 

tequila shot, 

vodka cran

stolen sips of a ceasar

another tequila shot…

“luca!” you cheer, wandering up to your boyfriend who was busy talking to some of your brothers. it had only been about 30 minutes since you left to do some shots with your cousins, but you still miss luca regardless. 

“y/n!” he replies easily as a smile breaks out across his face. he swore he’d never seen anyone more beautiful. 

once you were in reach of luca and your brothers, you stumble on air. “how many shots did you take?” one of your brothers tauts as luca steadys you. 

“only not very many,” you slur, gaze now focusing solely on your boyfriend. “luca!” you repeat, all giggles as you lean your head against his shoulder. 

“hey baby,” he replies, arms wrapping securely around your waist to prevent any more stumbles and falls. “are you having fun?”

you hum in response, meaning to say something more but when you look up at luca your train of thought disappears. “you’re so pretty,” 

“you're so pretty too,” luca giggles and brushes your hair out of your face. “i was actually just telling your brothers how pretty you were,” 

your face burns and when you turn towards your brothers for confirmation they reluctantly nod. “its gross how much he likes you,” 

“that’s so mean! luca is so sweet and-”

“It’s a murder on the dance floor… but you better not kill the groove!” 

you gasp mid sentence, completely forgetting about whatever petty argument you were going to start for fun. “luca,” you pull away from him while he's distractedly looking at you. 

“DJ, gonna burn this - house down!” you attempt to sing the lyrics in your hazy mind. “luca let’s dance,” you shout enthusiastically, and luca lets you pull him onto the dance floor with all the other young wedding-goers. 

“it's a murder on the dance floor!” luca sings, spinning you around quickly as you both move messily with the music. 

“you better not steal the moves!” you shout sing back, arms high above your head as you continue swaying to the music. 

“DJ!” luca yells, pointing to who knows! you spin once more, and then lace yours and lucas fingers together. 

you two continue dancing, stealing quick kisses in-between songs, and taking half-shots as two young people in love do at weddings!

#luca fantilli x reader #luca fantilli fic #luca fantilli blurb #luca fantilli imagine #umich imagine #umich fic #umich blurbs

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 1 || KTH

(banner by @/itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @/sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: vampire hunting and killing, blood and gore in vampire attacks, language

WC: 5.7k

Maggie’s mother always told her nothing good happens after midnight. Maggie disagreed. Lots of good things happened after midnight. Usually in bars with loud music, her friends’ laughter ringing in her ears and a little too much alcohol singing in her bloodstream. 

That was the case tonight - and the night had been wonderful. She and Farrah had still been going strong at midnight, throwing back shots in tandem. The DJ had been stellar and they’d danced until their feet hurt. And, the piece de resistance, they’d run into that guy from their Econ class - the one with the dark eyes and killer smile. He’d stayed with them the whole tail end of the night - even offered to walk them home, back to their apartment building. 

He’d stayed with them, but his eyes had been on Maggie. And when, on the walk home, Farrah skipped ahead of them, buzzed and happy, he’d tugged on her hand and kissed her sweetly, right there on the sidewalk.

Nothing good happens after midnight, who? 

And then, something weird happened. The stretch of sidewalk seemed suddenly darker, as if there was something between them and the flickering streetlight - like netting, or mist. It seemed, suddenly, that the lack of light was an entity - alive, all around them, shifting and changing and wanting. 

“Farrah,” Maggie called, the hairs on her arms starting to stand. She’d only been a bit ahead of them, but somehow Maggie was having a hard time seeing her friend. Econ Guy put his arm around Maggie’s shoulders protectively, glancing around them.

But there was nothing to see except darkness that felt darker.

“What in the fuck?” he muttered, and then two things happened so quickly that to Maggie’s human eyes, it seemed to be at once: a bit of darkness moved much too fast just in front of her, and Farrah’s body slumped to the ground.

“Farrah!” Maggie screamed, her breath caught in her throat. She started towards her friend’s motionless body, but she was tugged back. Econ Guy was pointing at Farrah’s body, his mouth moving like he was trying to make a word, but couldn’t. Maggie looked again, closer. 

The darkness that had moved was bent over Farrah’s body, obscuring their view of her shoulder and face. Maggie’s heart beat so hard in her chest that it hurt, and a tingling she associated with panic started in her fingertips as her body pleaded with her to run.

“What is it?” Maggie whispered in horror. Beside her, Econ Guy made a choked sound and took a step backwards, his arm falling away from her, all pretenses of toughness vanishing. 

At the sound of her hushed question, it looked at them, head snapping up, the motion sharp and jerky. Then, it clambered to its feet, stepping over Farrah’s body and staggering towards them. As it approached, Maggie could see it - him - for the first time.

He was undeniably beautiful - or would have been, if it weren’t for the blood, black like ink in this light, running in rivulets from his mouth down to his chin. Could have been, if not for the inhuman growls and snarls that rippled from his chest like the start of an antique lawn mower, if not for the way his eyes were glossy black, no pupils or irises visible at all. Could have been, if not for the inhumanly long incisors ending below his curled upper lip.

“Infracti,” Maggie said hollowly. 

Beside her, Econ Guy found his voice again. “Hey,” he said sternly. “You can’t hunt here. It’s against the law.”

The Infracti stalked closer, unblinking, then stopped a few feet before them. Its upper lip was curled in what looked like disgust, displaying its most fearsome weapons clearly. Maggie’s entire body shook and she dropped to the ground, her legs refusing to hold her up - let alone to run. 

Not that she could outrun an Infracti. 

The beast looked at them evenly, then stuck out its tongue and languidly - as if putting on a show - licked its lips, sucking a few more drops of Farrah’s blood into its mouth. Maggie didn’t see the monster move, but suddenly Econ Guy was screaming, arms flailing as he tried and failed to shove the Infracti away from his body. The Infracti’s long fingers gripped his upper arms tightly, holding Econ Guy in place, its frightening face buried in the crook of his neck. 

The scream fizzled to a sob. The Infracti opened its hands - fingers splayed purposefully as it emptied them - and its victim’s body hit the pavement. The sound - a round, weighty thud - echoed through Maggie’s head as the Infracti turned to face her. Its all-black eyes seemed calculating, in their own way. Still on the ground, Maggie was almost face to face with Econ Guy’s corpse. His eyes were still wide and frightened, though unseeing. 

The Infracti stepped closer to her, gently, carefully, and then it crouched down, swirling black eyes meeting hers. The growls subsided, and Maggie thought wildly that it looked almost thoughtful. Her heart wasn’t beating anymore as much as vibrating. Her breaths were so shallow they barely counted, and the night swam around her. 

When Maggie was seven, her grandmother was mugged while they were walking together. In the moment, her grandmother had tossed her purse into the street, and grabbed Maggie’s hand to run when the thief lunged for the bag. When Maggie asked about it later, in that way that kids do, her grandmother had explained to her, “He wasn’t interested in you or me. He was interested in my money. I gave him what he wanted, so he left me alone.”

Now, eye to eye with a beast straight out of her nightmares, Maggie saw her grandmother’s face, heard her sweet voice. I gave him what he wanted, so he left me alone. Tentatively, she held out her wrist, veins up. The beast moved like liquid again, a shifting of darkness, until he was closer to her, her wrist clutched tight in his cool grasp. Then, gently, as if he were a gentleman kissing the back of her hand in greeting, he brought her wrist to his lips and let his fangs pierce the flesh.

Taehyung wakes to a shout; he becomes aware of the pain before anything else. His head throbs, his throat feels like there’s glass in it, his shoulders and back ache like he’s carried marble slabs all night. 

It’s a uniquely human curse to question, and Taehyung isn’t human, but he immediately tries to figure out why he hurts from head to toe. Especially since he hasn’t hurt in several centuries. 

He shoots a quick glance around to see what he can figure out without moving. Right away it’s clear that he is not in bed. He is on the floor, the stone cool beneath his palms. A servant is crouched near him, repeating his name but smart enough not to touch him.

He can tell, as his blurry vision clears bit by bit, that he’s definitely in the palace proper, though not in a wing he frequents. The floor beneath him is just stone - no marble, no thick carpeting - which indicates he’s not in a living-quarters wing. The walls, however, hang with vibrant tapestries and oil portraits, gilded sconces lighting the way every few feet. Most definitely still the palace.

“Why am I here?” he manages to croak.

The servant turns over his shoulder and shouts to someone, “Alert the King!”

This is the first moment that Taehyung feels alarm atop the pain. He struggles to sit up, takes stock of his surroundings. The same servant still hovers near, face pinched with something akin to fear. 

How did I end up on the floor? 

Not only that - he isn’t even entirely sure where in the sprawling palace he is.

When he hears approaching footsteps and recognizes the sharp, staccato clicks and clacks, he almost sags back to the floor in relief. Instead, he pushes himself to standing, a wave of dizziness sweeping over him and then ebbing just in time for him to incline his head and intone, “Mother.”

Despite the centuries that have passed since Taehyung was small, something affectionate and maternal remains in the Queen. She presses cool palms to Taehyung’s cheeks and looks him up and down. She winces at something she sees. “Darling,” she says, the word lilting in the strange accent she has, one that belongs to a language long-dead. “What were you thinking?”

It takes Taehyung a moment to articulate a response. He’s frightened - something quite new to him - and he isn’t sure the correct move to make in this situation. The fear toys with logic, makes the answer slippery, hard to grasp.

He settles on the truth. “I don’t know what happened,” he says. “I mean - I can’t remember. I don’t know how I got here.”

He doesn’t ask, did something happen. It’s obvious that something did. 

He hears his father, Sunjae of Rune, King of Infracticus, long before he enters the room, his authoritative voice barking questions and orders.

“How far has word spread?”

“There was only one witness. She’s in custody.”

“Handle her and send her back,” the King snaps. “As quickly as possible. Where is my son?”

This last question is roared as he finally enters the high-ceilinged corridor where his wife and son stand.

“I’m here,” Taehyung says, needlessly. 

The King sizes him up, eyes narrowed, chest puffed. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he spits finally. 

Taehyung clears his throat and then ventures, “For starters… I’d really like to know what happened.”

The King’s face slides from fury to something befuddled, his hands sinking to his sides like sails in the absence of wind.

–

Taehyung’s father leads them back to their private wing and closes them into a dimly lit room that houses floor to ceiling bookshelves full of tomes so old they’d crumble to dust if you dared to touch them. A fire roars in the hearth for aesthetics only - Taehyung’s kind can’t feel cold. 

He locks the door and turns to face them. Taehyung’s mother has sunk delicately onto a fainting couch, and she watches her son sharply. 

Taehyung feels itchy under her gaze. She’s the smartest of the three of them, and Taehyung knows it even if his father doesn’t.

“You’re telling me,” the King growls, low, “that you don’t remember any of it?”

“I was in my wing,” Taehyung promises. “Sometime near midnight. That’s the last thing I remember, until I woke up on the floor in a random hallway -”

The King and Queen exchange a look, an entire conversation in just a glance. Then, the King heaves a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. 

Then, the Queen ventures, “The Elders should see him.”

The King grumbles something under his breath.

She tries again. “He could be ill. He could be going mad. We need to know!”

“Will someone please tell me what’s happened?” Taehyung bursts out, finally unable to take it - the anxiety, the questions, the conversation about him but not involving him, all of it.

“You went rogue,” the King says dryly, his eyes on the dancing fire instead of his son.

Taehyung feels his stomach drop. “Meaning?”

“Exactly what he said,” the Queen says, something steely in her tone. “You went above, alone, and… hunted.”

Taehyung feels his legs turn to stone. His stomach twists and a wave of nausea rocks him. “I what?” he asks, but it comes out like a gasp. The sides of the room are starting to go black and he breathes slowly, one hand gripping the back of the couch.

Silence expands, filling the room. Taehyung’s stomach lurches, and he closes his eyes.

“Did… did I -?”

“You took two humans and left a third alive. We have teams cleaning up, up there, and we’ve got the spare here -”

Took two humans.

The spare.

Taehyung’s stomach twists again. The black creeping at the edge of his vision draws closer to the center. Taehyung loses sight of his father’s face in the encroaching darkness. 

“Darling, we’ve covered up incidents like this countless times. No one will know. We’ll make sure.” The Queen’s voice is soothing, bringing to Taehyung’s mind all the times when he was a child when she would hurry to calm him.

Taehyung shakes his head. “That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

“You didn’t know you were doing it,” the King muses - his next problem to solve, not a placation to reassure his guilt-stricken son. “We must uncover the cause.”

“The Elders,” the Queen says again, insistently. “At least let them give him a medical once-over.”

The King sighs in defeat. “I suppose we have no choice. Wait in your rooms, Taehyung. I’ll summon the Elders at once. The sooner we find out what came over you, the better.”

—

Taehyung is in his wing when Jimin comes – uncalled, unbidden, simply as if he sensed his best friend’s distress. And perhaps he had – the Infracti have shown stranger powers before.

“I heard you had a bit of an adventure,” he says carelessly, flopping sideways along Taehyung’s favorite leather couch, feet propped on the armrest, as he has millions of times over hundreds of years.

“News travels fast,” Taehyung says bitterly.

Jimin smiles indulgently, used to his moody friend. “Not so. But they called on Seokjin to help wipe the memory of the girl who survived before they sent her back.”

Taehyung blanches. “That’s illegal.”

Jimin gives him a dirty look and a scoff to accompany it. “Please,” he says dismissively. “You can’t be that naïve, not in your position.”

The Queen’s words run back through Taehyung’s mind. We’ve covered up incidents like this countless times.

He sulks. “They shouldn’t be breaking treaty laws over me,” he grumbles.

Jimin lets out a sigh. “If rules can be bent for anyone, shouldn’t they be for you? Besides…” He sits up, looks at Taehyung more seriously. “It’s not like one of us went up there willingly, like… on purpose. If someone decided to just fuck the protection laws and go hunting, I’d obviously object to a cover-up. But that isn’t the case here. Something happened to you. They’re not covering up a crime, they’re recovering from an accident.”

An accident. He’d killed two innocent people. Nearly killed a third.

Taehyung drops onto a chair near Jimin’s feet, covering his face with his hands. “Truly,” he says hollowly, the words muffled by his palms, “I have never in over six hundred years felt this deeply guilty about something. Jimin, I killed people. Me. I did that.”

It’s an understatement. There aren’t words – not in any language, dead or alive – to describe the deep, crawling self-hatred Taehyung feels. There’s no phrase for the twist and ache in his stomach when he pictures the scene above-ground – bodies limp on the ground, the echo of screams from the survivor floating away into the uncaring night, blood thick and metallic on his tongue, a wild flash in his eyes.

Jimin shakes his head, lips protruding in a pronounced pout. “It wasn’t you. We all know that.”

“Those people are dead and the fault is only my own,” Taehyung says firmly.

“You weren’t yourself,” Jimin insists. “What did the Elders say?”

The Elders are terrifying, is Taehyung’s take-away. His own father is thousands of years old, and looks like a child in comparison. Infracti are not immortal; rather, under the right circumstances - and often with the help of the magic they can control - they can live for tens of thousands of years. The oldest Infracti that Taehyung knows - not counting the Elders, as he doesn’t know them - is around thirty thousand years old, and weaker every day. The Elders, whose ages Taehyung doesn’t actually know, seem so fragile they might be made of dust, particles held together by magic and force of will. He’d showered three times after leaving them just to get the icky shudders to stop.

“That I’m not ill and I’m not mad,” Taehyung recites dryly, finally removing his hands from his face.

“Which leaves what possibilities?” Jimin asks with a frown.

Taehyung shrugs. “They’re meeting about it right now. I’ve been told to stay in my own wing.”

Jimin squawks. “For how long?”

“Until they’re sure it won’t happen again, I suppose,” Taehyung guesses with a small shrug. “Or until they’ve come up with an answer.”

“Lovely,” Jimin quips sarcastically, and moves to rise. “Well, I’ll check in on you later this evening. I’m sure you’ll be bored, cooped up in here.”

“I’d rather be bored than -”

“I know.” Something new creeps into Jimin’s voice – some kindness, some understanding. “It wasn’t your fault, Taehyung. You didn’t do it on purpose.”

Taehyung gives him a nod and sees him out, his stomach twisting and roiling. Only one of those things, he knows, is true.

Sunlight and fresh air assault you as you make your way slowly down the city block, the messenger bag around your body laden with thick books and hastily scribbled notes. The ache in your shoulder from carrying it has been part of your existence for so long that you barely notice it anymore.

You pass a bank and glance at the screen displaying today’s date and temperature, followed by the time. It indicates that you’ve somehow ended up here between buses. You’ll have to wait a bit for the next one.

At least it’s nice out, you think, and settle onto a bench just across from your bus stop. It backs up to a park, and you watch as people bustle by, most of them glued to their phone screens or carrying on conversations into their earpods. In the park, a group of kids is playing loudly, shouts and shrieks rising towards the cloudless blue sky.

“Songie’s team, you’re the Runes!” someone shouts, and it grabs your attention. You smile, watching them gather and form groups.

“It’s not Runes,” someone corrects snottily. “It’s Ruins.”

Actually, you think, hiding a little smile, the proper pronunciation of the powerful Infraci family falls somewhere between the two words. 

The ancient language of Infracticus has phonics that most modern people struggle with. As a result, there tends to be two schools of thought regarding pronunciation. Commonly, the families are called the Runes, the Cleaves, and the Scores. At the university that you’d attended, at which you now work, they’d taught you Ruins, Leaves, and Scorns.

But it’s all the same, really.

You watch the game for some time. It’s a lot like freeze tag, and you remember playing it in the schoolyard as a kid. Teams – one Runes and one Scores – try to cross a field past each other without getting tagged and frozen. Teams had elected members called Cleaves, who were the only players who could unfreeze another.

It’s funny, you’ve always thought, how the actual history of the three Infracti families translated into the rules of the children’s game. To be historically accurate, it should have been three teams – Cleaves wouldn’t be members of Runes or Scores but their own faction altogether.

However, you do wonder if their ability to unfreeze players is derived from the Cleaves’ ability to heal, something the other two bloodlines have never possessed.

And is it coincidence that the game became the Runes versus the Scores, when those two families had a particularly ugly blood feud, millennia ago? 

All three families have vied for power at one point or another – most known history of the Infacti includes this never-ending power struggle. But the Runes have managed to hold court since the time the protection laws were passed, the ones that both protect humans from being hunted and bans those same humans from doing the hunting. The ones that decree quarterly blood donations from every adult human to ensure there’s never a shortage that could lead to hunting. The ones that declare the monarchy follows only the Runes’ royal bloodline.

Hunting - both of and by Infracti - still happens, of course. There’s no such thing as utopia. But at least now there are consequences when an Infracti attacks a human, and consequences when humans turn to violence to drive Infracti out of their communities.

Questions like this, constant curiosity about the Infracti culture and history, had carried you through dual degrees studying the history and sociology of the Infracti. Now, after nearly a decade of your adult years spent in academics, you tote multiple degrees, including extensive experience with both curses and counter-curses.

Your family hates it - never understood it. Your mother has called it an obsession time and time again. But neither she nor your father can argue with the career opportunities in academia that you’ve been afforded, now that you’re full-time staff at the university.

And they don’t even know about the other opportunities that keep falling at your feet: more and more curse-breaking cases as the years pass. The more your reputation and success rate grow, the more your name seems to be passed around. You think your mother would faint on the spot if she knew that only two months ago your team had flown into deep Brazilian jungle and helped them to cast the counter-curse that freed an entire village from unending rain. 

When the bus finally pulls in, bringing with it a warm breeze and the smell of gasoline, you rise, hefting your bag higher on your shoulder and searching for a seat. It’s about twenty minutes to campus unless you catch an Express – and you have no such luck today.

Your phone rings in your pocket as you sit, and you shift in your seat until you can slide it free. Your boss’s name floats across the top of the screen and you answer it quickly. 

“Are you on campus yet?” he asks in lieu of hello. Dr. Kim - the department head at the university where you teach - is nearing seventy, but he’s the leading curse-breaker on the eastern coast and you find it unlikely that he’ll slow down anytime soon. He was one of your first professors when you showed up here as a bright-eyed undergrad, years ago.

“Twenty minutes out,” you report. “I’m on the bus.”

“Come directly to my office,” he requests, but you can hear the urgency dancing in his tone. You know what this means: he’s been contacted about a curse. 

“I have a class at ten thirty,” you warn him. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

“It won’t take long,” he promises, and you agree to stop by before ending the call and turning your attention back to the bus window. 

It’s somehow chillier when the bus drops you on campus, cloud cover removing the warmth of the sun as you hustle down one of the paved walkways towards the academic buildings, dodging students standing in groups talking, others riding bicycles and the rare electric scooter. 

You hurry into the building that houses most of the staff offices, bypassing the corridors the students frequent and taking the narrow back staircase that leads to Dr. Kim’s office.

He’s waiting for you, door open, a spread of papers on his desk. 

You greet him with a smile, dropping your heavy bag by his door as you have hundreds of times in your professional history. Dr. Kim was one of your first undergrad professors, years ago, and you’ve worked closely with him in all the years since: first, as a TA for his tougher classes, then co-teaching when the university took you on, and finally joining his team of curse-breakers, rapidly bypassing several team members who had more seniority but less knack. 

“We got a call?” you guess, drawing closer to the papers and peering at them for clues. That’s when you notice the young man already seated in one of the two chairs across from Dr. Kim’s desk. Embarrassed, you hurry to nod hello to him, murmuring an apology. He has dark hair, sculpted cheekbones, razor-sharp eyes, and - you notice when he smiles in greeting - a deep dimple on each side.

The expression on Dr. Kim’s face is a little strange - almost like he’s nervous to give you the news. You can’t imagine what might be giving him pause, considering your last meeting like this had landed you both in a literal rainforest. Could he have gotten a request for the team to go somewhere even more remote than that?

“We did,” he allows with a tight little nod. “It’s… a bit unorthodox, though. I’d like you to consider the situation carefully.”

You feel yourself frown. “What is it?”

He sighs, then nods towards his door. “Will you close that, please?”

You reach behind you and gently press the wooden door shut, feeling flutters of uncertainty for the first time in your career. The stranger shifts in his chair uneasily.

“Perhaps you should sit,” Dr. Kim suggests, holding a hand towards the empty chair opposite his desk. 

This isn’t how these meetings go. You’ve done this a dozen times or more - usually as soon as Dr. Kim can see your face he starts chattering excitedly about the details: who’s been cursed, what the effects are, the specifics of the location, the bits of travel itinerary he’s already worked out. 

You sit hesitantly, hands gripping the arms of the chair nervously. You try hard not to glance sideways at the man you don’t know. 

“Well?” you prompt, when Dr. Kim still doesn’t speak.

“This is Namjoon,” Dr. Kim says, belatedly realizing he hasn’t introduced you. “His degrees all focus on curses. A comparable background to yours, academically.”

“That’s not true,” Namjoon says, holding up a hand. “I didn’t study Infracticus. My magical knowledge is focused solely on curses and curse-breaking.”

Dr. Kim makes a noise like he doesn’t quite agree with this. “Anyway,” he says to you, “I personally asked Namjoon to make the trip and hear the request. I think he’ll be invaluable in picking this one apart.”

“Okay,” you agree easily. You trust Dr. Kim with your life - literally - and if he thinks someone will be an asset to the team, you’d never argue with that. You turn sideways just a bit and murmur an it’s nice to meet you before turning your attention back to your (normally) fearless leader. “So what are we in for?”

He sighs and runs a hand down his face, almost as if he’s unsure if he should tell you or not. “You need to know right from the start how very dangerous this could be,” he says, looking back and forth between the two of you, his voice more grave than you’ve ever heard it. 

“Because of the magic involved?” you ask. Curse-breaking is always dangerous, that’s the very nature of it. You always run the risk of making a fatal mistake; you could turn the curse back on yourself, or strengthen it, or simply end up creating side-effects you hadn’t intended. He’s never given you this warning before.

He shakes his head. “Not necessarily. Not more so than any other. It’s… well, my dear, it will involve a stay in Infracticus.”

You’re shocked into silence. You can’t help but meet Namjoon’s eyes, sideways, and find him looking just as surprised as you. You utter, quietly, “What?” even though you heard and understood him perfectly well. It’s more than you need help processing, facing the reality of the words. “An Infracti has been cursed?”

He shakes his head, though the answer isn’t no. “Not just any Infracti,” he corrects. “The Prince of Ruin.”

Your jaw literally drops. “Someone cursed the crown prince?” you gasp in disbelief. “Who would dare?”

“The Scorns, I imagine,” Namjoon murmurs, almost to himself.

Dr. Kim gives you two a wan smile. “Luckily, we aren’t tasked with solving that. Just finding and casting the counter-curse.”

You sit back in your chair in a daze, blinking slowly, cogs in your mind whirring fast. “Okay,” you say finally. “We’d be protected, though, right? They’re inviting the team, so they’d make sure we were safe?”

Dr. Kim seems to look far-away for a moment, contemplating his answer. You shift nervously, glancing sideways at Namjoon. You would have been reassured by a quick answer - the fact that he needs to formulate a response does nothing to quell your unease. 

“I trust we are being invited there for the reasons they say,” he allows. “And so, I do believe the royal family will want us to be safe, yes. But the fact still remains that we will be humans walking around Infracticus. I’m sure we will be given guards - the question becomes, can we trust those guards completely? I fear I cannot say for sure.”

“It’s like walking into the lions’ den,” Namjoon murmurs beside you.

“Quite,” Dr. Kim agrees, nodding. 

“Except there’s an injured lion and only we can fix it,” you point out. 

“We can’t rely on that to ensure our safety,” Dr. Kim says, frowning more deeply. “It’s a delicate situation. The royal family cannot let it get out that the prince’s well-being has been… compromised.”

Namjoon frowns in confusion. “Why not?”

You think you understand. You venture, “To admit weakness, to admit to having been successfully attacked, to admit that the crown prince is cursed - it would be an open invitation for rebellion.”

“Yes,” Dr. Kim confirms, inclining his head, his white tufts of hair moving breezily. “The Infracti respect the laws that are currently in place, but the crown prince is the last member of the Ruin bloodline. If he were to die, or to be unfit to lead…”

“There’s nothing in the laws about who would rule next,” you finish for him, eyes wide. “It would be…”

“A war for the throne, I imagine.”

You sit in silence for a moment under the weight of this. Then, Namjoon says carefully, “I’m sorry, but can we circle back? The prince’s curse has to be secret, I got that - but how does that affect the safety of our team?”

“We’ll be hosted in the palace as honored guests,” Dr. Kim tells you both. “But no one beyond the royal family will know why. They don’t know that if they slipped up and harmed us, it would harm the prince, too. We can’t assume our purpose will serve as protection. Any Infracti beyond the royal family should be considered a threat.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh, turning to face Namjoon. He looks just as bamboozled as you feel, validating your reaction. 

“This is wild,” you utter, mostly to yourself. “This is absolutely bonkers.”

“This is why I said you need to consider carefully,” Dr. Kim insists. “There is much at stake. You’re in danger every moment you’re down there, even with the promised protection. The curse itself must be complicated, or they’d have solved it themselves. If your reason for being there is uncovered due to a fault of our own, we’ll be facing the wrath of the royal family. And I… I’m afraid I won't be able to join you.”

“What? No - you have to,” you blurt, panicked. “I can’t do it without you - you’ve decades of experience over me - I’ve never led a case before!”

“They don’t want me,” he tries to explain. “They don’t want any possibility that someone will figure out who I am and put the pieces together. A simple inquiry of my name blows the whole thing - the first thing they’d find is curse-breaker. As I said - the secrecy of the prince’s condition is vital.”

You scoff. “So they want me because I’m nobody.”

He looks at you kindly, used to your moods. “They want you because you have a high success rate. Your ability to stay… lowkey, as the kids say -”

Namjoon makes a choked sound like he’s fighting a laugh.

“- you should see it as an asset.”

“I don’t want to go without you,” you say, because it’s true. Because it feels safer to have someone older, wiser, with more experience. Because it feels like less responsibility to not be the person in charge. Because it’s what you’re used to, and you cling to the familiar. 

He shakes his head sadly. “The royal family will not allow it. I’m sorry.”

You lapse into silence again. 

Namjoon speaks slowly, as if a new thought is dawning on him, and he doesn’t like it. “If they suspect the Scorns…” 

Your stomach sinks. 

Dr. Kim nods. “I imagine you may see the beginnings of some political unrest if an accusation is made.”

“Forget the accusation,” Namjoon says hollowly. “If we uncover that it was a Scorn attack… we’ll be walking into Infracti civil war.”

“Will it be that bad?” you ask, frowning, pulse quickening. 

Namjoon shrugs. “The Ruins and the Scorns would each love a reason to point the finger at the other. If we do happen across the cause of the curse as we try to break it… it’s likely there will be political ramifications.”

“God,” you mutter. 

“As I said,” Dr. Kim repeats. “I won’t accept an answer today. I want you both to sleep on it. Discuss with your families.” (You snort at this. As if you ever would.) “Talk to me tomorrow about how you’re feeling.”

He dismisses you then, shepherding you both towards his door, leaving it open now that you’re done discussing the equivalent of vampire state secrets. 

Halfway down the stairs, Namjoon calls your name. Ahead of him, you pause, turn, and let him catch up to you. 

“Can we exchange information?” he asks, digging in his wallet. He finally hands you a business card, and you do the same, hoping you have one tucked behind a credit card or something. 

“I’d like to talk to you about this, later, if you have time,” he says, a bit sheepishly. “I’m… not feeling very sure about it.”

“Okay,” you say easily, glancing at the time - you’ve got seven minutes to get across campus to teach your first class. “Do you want to grab a bite later? Your number’s on here?” You wiggle the business card, and he nods. “I’ll text you,” you promise, and start down the steps again, mind racing.

Next ->

thank you for reading! i hope you liked this first installment! chapter 2 will go up next friday!!! <3

#bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts supernatural au #bts royal au #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung x you #taehyung x y/n #kim taehyung fic #kim taehyung fanfic #kim taehyung smut #kim taehyung angst #supernatural au #royal au #s2l #magic au #fic: of ruin

[ohmyglobwhatthefrickamievendoing]

dj saying izzy was like a father figure to ed & then trying to connect that to ed killing his actual father is insane but specially, specially, when you remember that last episode stede & izzy had a pretty obvious moment where they came to an understanding about what it's like to be in love with the same man

that's not the kind of conversation and look you share with your ex's father figure. It's the one you share with your ex's ex while you're both still in love with him

Then the episode before that they kept cutting from stede&ed having sex to izzy singing a love song?

And the episode before that izzy stuttered and hesitantly asked stede what ed's been saying about him??

I know found families can have parental figures whom you may still feel a sexual and/or romantic attraction to, but at no point did either season ever show such a relationship between the two. I guess if you want to reach for it you could say that in early S1 there are times when izzy tries to look out for ed & guide him but even stede (fucking stede) clocks them as 'old married couple nearing the final stages of their divorce'

You could on a technicality apply the 'mentor dies at the end' trope to izzy but that's only if you assume that izzy's somewhat significantly older than ed and so probably looked out for ed at some point when they were working under hornigold together, which again is never shown in their dynamic (the only mention we get of it is through stede but I'm almost certain that most of what stede said was just him buttering up izzy to get him to train stede)

I feel like rather than 'father-figure/mentor dies at the end' it gives more 'even as we try to move on our existences are inseparably linked to each other and you're the last part of my old life that needs to die before I can finally be free to change and we both know that, even as it hurts' Yeah yeah izzy deserved to live a happy life away from blackbeard's influence the same way ed deserves to live a happy life away from izzy's (and I really wish he could have) but they've been unhealthily connected from the beginning (much more obvious in S2 seeing how neither of them could bare to get rid of the other's body) and it makes sense that eventually that's the trope & ending izzy fell into

point being:

david jenkins, sir, i respect your writing and love your show but that was absolutely NOT what was going on there

Izzy wanted to get fucked nasty but Ed's a bottom so it never worked out

#did i blackout and somehow miss like a significant chunk of ofmd where this is apparently a thing??????????????? #someone (multiple someones?) has definitely already said this before but holy shit i needed to get this off my chest it was driving me crazy #ofmd spoilers #our flag means death spoilers #ofmd #our flag means death #our flag means death season 2 #ofmd season 2 #ofmd s2 #our flag means death s2 #edizzy #blackhands #ofmd edward teach #ofmd ed teach #ofmd izzy #edward teach #izzy hands

[aaknopf]

Martyr!, the poet Kaveh Akbar’s propulsive debut novel, tells the tale of Cyrus Shams, the son of a lost mother (victim of a 1988 U. S. Naval snafu in the Persian Gulf that killed 290 people on a commercial airliner) and the long-suffering father who emigrated to Fort Wayne, IN with his baby boy. We meet Cyrus as a student of poetry at Keady University and a reformed addict. In this excerpt, he’s at the local open mic with his friends; we also share one of the poems from Cyrus’s bookofmartyrs.docx, helpfully supplied by Akbar, the poet behind the fictional poet.

. .

The Naples Tuesday night open mic had become a mainstay of Cyrus and Zee’s friendship. It was a small affair, not much to distinguish it from the myriad other open mics happening elsewhere in the country—except this was their open mic, their organic community of beautiful weirdos—old hippies singing Pete Seeger, trans kids rapping about liberation, passionate spoken-word performances by nurses and teenagers and teachers and cooks. As with any campus open mic, there was the occasional frat dude coming to play sets of smirky acoustic rap covers and overearnest breakup narratives. But even they were welcome, and mostly it felt like a safe little oasis of amongness in the relative desert of their Indiana college town, a healthy way to spend the time they were no longer using to get drunk or high.   Naturally, Naples didn’t have its own sound equipment, so Zee would usually show up fifteen minutes early with his beat-up Yamaha PA to set up for Sad James, who hosted every week. Sad James was called this to distinguish him from DJ James, a guy who cycled nightly through the campus bars. DJ James was not a particularly interesting artist, but he was well-known enough in the campus community to warrant Sad James’s nominative prefix, which began as a joke but somehow stuck, and to which Sad James had grown accustomed with good humor, even occasionally doing small shows under the name. Sad James was a quiet white guy, long blond hair framing his lightly stubbled face, who played intensely solemn electronic songs, punctuated by sparse circuit-bent blips and bloops, and over time at Keady, he had become one of Zee and Cyrus’s most resilient and trusted friends.   On this night, Cyrus had read a poem early, an older experimental piece from a series where he’d been assigning words to each digit 0–9, then using an Excel document to generate a lyric out of those words as the digits appeared in the Fibonacci sequence: “lips sweat teeth lips spread teeth lips drip deep deep sweat skin,” etc. It was bad, but he loved reading them out loud, the rhythms and repeti­tions and weird little riffs that emerged. Sad James did an older piece where the lyrics “burning with the human stain / she dries up, dust in the rain” were repeated and modulated over molten beeps from an old circuit-bent Game Boy. Zee—a drummer in his free time who idolized J Dilla and John Bonham and Max Roach and Zach Hill in equal measure—hadn’t brought anything of his own to perform that evening, but did have a little bongo to help accompany any acoustic acts who wanted it.   On the patio listening to Cyrus talk about his new project, Zee said, “I could see it being a bunch of different poems in the voices of all your different historical martyr obsessions?” Then to Sad James, Zee added, “Cyrus has been plastering our apartment with these big black-and-white printouts of all their terrifying faces. Bobby Sands in our kitchen, Joan of Arc in our hallway.”   Sad James made his eyes get big.   “I just like having them present,” Cyrus said, slumping into his chair. He didn’t add that he’d been reading about them in the library, his mystic martyrs, that he’d taped a great grid of their grayscale printed faces above his bed, half believing it would work like those tapes that promised to teach you Spanish while you slept, that some­how their lived wisdoms would pass into him as he dreamt. Among the Tank Man, Bobby Sands, Falconetti as Joan of Arc, Cyrus had a picture of his parents’ wedding day. His mother, seated in a sleeved white dress, smiling tightly at the camera while his father, in a tacky gray tux, sat grinning next to her holding her hand. Above their heads, a group of attendees held an ornate white sheet. It was the only picture of his mother he had. Next to his mother, his father beamed, bright in a way that made it seem he was radiating the light himself.   Zee went on: “So you could write a poem where Joan of Arc is like, ‘Wow, this fire is so hot’ or whatever. And then a poem where Hussain is like, ‘Wow, sucks that I wouldn’t kneel.’ You know what I mean?”   Cyrus laughed.   “I tried some of that! But see, that’s where it gets corny. What could I possibly say about the martyrdom of Hussain or Joan of Arc or whoever that hasn’t already been said? Or that’s worth saying?”   Sad James asked who Hussain was and Zee quickly explained the trial in the desert, Hussain’s refusing to kneel and being killed for it.   “You know, Hussain’s head is supposedly still buried in Cairo?” Zee said, smiling. “Cairo, which is in which country again?”   Cyrus rolled his eyes at his friend, who was, as Cyrus liked to remind him when he got too greatest-ancient-civilization-on-earth about things, only half Egyptian.   “Damn,” Sad James said. “I would’ve just kneeled and crossed my fingers behind my back. Who am I trying to impress? Later I could call take-backsies. I’d just say I tripped and landed on my knees or something.”   The three friends laughed. Justine, an open mic regular whose Blonde on Blonde–era pea-coat-and-harmonica-rack Bob Dylan act was a mainstay of the open mic, came outside to ask Zee for a cigarette. He obliged her with an American Spirit Yellow, which she lit around the corner as she began speaking into her cell phone.   In moments like these Cyrus still sometimes felt like asking to bum one too—he’d been a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker before he got sober, and continued his habit even after he’d kicked everything else. “Quit things in the order they’re killing you,” his sponsor, Gabe, told him once. After a year clean he turned his attention to cigarettes, which he finally managed to kick completely by tapering: from one and a half packs a day to a pack to half a pack to five cigarettes and so on until he was just smoking a single cigarette every few days and then, none at all. He could probably get away with bumming the occasional cigarette now and again, but in his mind he was saving that for something momentous: his final moments lying in the grass dying from a gunshot wound, or walking in slow motion away from a burning building.   “So what are you thinking then? A novel? Or like . . . a poetic mar­tyr field guide?” asked Zee.   “I’m really not sure yet. But my whole life I’ve thought about my mom on that flight, how meaningless her death was. Truly literally like, meaningless. Without meaning. The difference between 290 dead and 289. It’s actuarial. Not even tragic, you know? So was she a martyr? There has to be a definition of the word that can accom­modate her. That’s what I’m after.”

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar.

Browse Kaveh Akbar's poetry collections and follow Kaveh on Instagram @kavehakbar.kavehakbar.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

#poetry #poetry month #national poetry month #Knopfpoetry #Knopf Poetry #Kaveh Akbar #AkbarAudio #Arian Moayed #MoayedAudio #MartyrANovel #Martyr! #Martyr! A Novel #Excerpt

[pedriscroquettes]

𝐓𝐑𝐀 – FERMÍN LÓPEZ

summary. going clubbing doesn’t go as planned when your brother’s rival shows up to ruin the fun

warnings. fermín x paz!reader, f!oral, semi public s3x, fingering, & a cocky!fermín.

a/n. my brain worked overtime on this tbh. poor fran i completely slandered him in this. based off tra by bad gyal (catalan it girl)

the strobing lights were almost strong enough to blind you and half of the real madrid b squad. the dj seemed to be going through an existential crisis since he kept going back and forth between edm and reggaeton. you’re fortunate enough that he at least plays fiebre without remixing it or pausing it to try and drop a beat.

“joder.” your brother puffs clearly done with whoever he’s texting. (fuck.)

“is it the schedule?” you ask him wondering if this seasons schedule finally came out. it always got him worked up.

“no, this season seems like a good one. it’s just-” he sets his phone down before turning his head towards you.

“el boludo de agustin…” he takes a sip of his drink. he’s always been the most dramatic out of the two of you, clearly. (augustin’s dumbass.)

“nico, you already know that i’m not interested in him like that. he’s just my friend. ” you reassure him.

“no, i know and i don’t want to be an overbearing protective brother but mom would kill me if i let one of my teammates hurt you.” he sighs.

“nico i can take care of myself. don’t worry about me you’ve got a whole career ahead of you. focus on that instead.” you smile at him.

“i’m trying- joder” he scoffs again.

“now what?” you say concerned about the way his mood changed so quickly.

“look who just came in.” he nods towards the entrance.

you try to subtlety turn around but it’s almost impossible without doing a full 180 to see who your brother was talking about. your eyes immediately spot the three guys nico hated the most on the pitch. although out of all three of them only one stood out to you, fermín. you didn’t care for your brothers’ rivalries except for the one he had with the barcelona midfielder. not only did he bother nico but he bothered you as well. every time you were in barcelona he was always there with his annoying attitude.

“well, we are in their city.” you shrug trying to ignore their presence.

“there’s like a million other clubs here and out of all of them they arrive here it can’t be a coincidence.” he scoffs as if the three of the players had been following them.

“i’m not very fond of them either but you’re being ridiculous. we’re like ten minutes away from their training grounds i think it would be a coincidence that they’re here.” you explain logically.

“yeah what- you know what i’m just very stressed out about my whole nationality process right now. i’m gonna go get a drink. do you want anything?” he asks.

“no, it’s fine. just don’t indulge too much i do not want to take care of you again like in vigo.” you bring up the northern city into the conversation.

“you promised you wouldn’t bring that up again. that shit was so embarrassing.” he whines.

“i wasn’t the one who confessed their profound love for duki in his messages. i had to delete over ten voice notes of you singing, crying, and explaining why you’re better than emilia.” you burst out laughing.

“whatever, i’ll see you later.” he walked off.

you watched as your brother walked away either to find someone to flirt with or get another drink. he was the social sibling always outgoing and making friends as soon as he joined a new team. your house would always be full of people you hardly even knew. so you were surprised when his distaste for fermín began, your brother never held grudges. but then you met the devil himself and you realized why your brother disliked him.

he was arrogant, a total egomaniac, and an asshole. you remembered how nice he was to you when he first met you outside the stadium but as soon as he realized who’s sister you were he was always taunting you. you knew how serious rivalries were but you didn’t think it was that deep.

“hope your brother enjoyed my goal from the bench.” a voice interrupted your thoughts.

you look up to find him sitting in front of you replacing your brother. you’re studying his features when the chain around his neck distracts you. a cross. yet, he was somehow the worst person you knew. meanwhile, a smirk grows on his face as time passes and he realizes you’re not in a rush to get him to leave.

“milking a friendly today, are we?” you tease him.

“a friendly your brother spent at the bench the whole night.” he smirks.

“i’m starting to think you have a crush on my brother.” you laugh at him. “which probably explains why you always stalk my story every time we’re in town.”

“what are you talking about?” he scoffs at the accusation.

“felopez03? could you make it more obvious?” you manage to embarrass the barça player.

you had lied to your brother earlier. every time the two of you ran into fermín it was never a coincidence. you had debated on telling your brother about his secret admirer but quite frankly you loved the attention. you knew he always watched your stories when you were in town so you took advantage of that. posting pictures of yourself in short dresses, bikinis, and including some where the only thing covering your breasts were your hands. he always seemed to like those anyways.

“lópez is an extremely common last name.” he simply replies.

“good night fer.” you stood up and picked up your things.

“if you’re going to go like for your brother you won’t find him. saw him leave with a girl who looked very familiar. i think-” he paused debating on whether he should say what he was thinking. “i think i must’ve slept with her as well.”

you simply roll your eyes not wanting to be the victim of his ego. you check your phone and surely enough there’s a message from your brother. you can’t believe he’s left you alone with his teammates and the egomaniac to get laid.

nico 🐣: don’t wait up on me fran will take you home.

y/n: you left me alone to get laid? i hope she bites your dick off.

you shove your phone into your bag and begin looking around for fran. you spot the defender near the bar with a few of his teammates. you’ve avoided him for almost a month and the last thing you wanted tonight was to talk to him. the barça player seems to notice that too because as soon as you start walking towards fran he steps in front of you. you try to push him out of the way but he’s too strong.

“fer-” you sigh exhausted at his antics.

it all happens in a quick blur one minute you’re trying to shove fermin out of the way and the next you’re completely drenched in vodka. you’re not even sure how it happens but the girl in front of you is currently rambling about how sorry she was. you were a bit annoyed that the top you had just bought was now ruined but you could always borrow your brother’s card again.

“it’s okay. it’s fine don’t worry.” you try to calm her down because somehow she’s more upset about the situation than you are.

as soon as she leaves you head towards the bathroom hoping to dry off your shirt. you don’t realize that fermín has followed you into the bathroom until he shuts the door.

“what are you doing here?” you scoff.

“she spilled half of her drink on me too. must’ve tripped or something.” he murmured.

“and you came to dry your shirt in the women’s restroom?” you ask dumbfounded.

“well i can’t exact leave you alone in a bar full of strangers.” he shrugs.

“i know more than half of the people here.” you complain.

“yeah and they’re not exactly looking out for you. nico asked fran to take care of you and as far as i know he hasn’t come looking for you yet.” he bites back.

you murmur a quick ‘whatever’ before focusing on your top again. it’s completely wet from top to bottom so you have no other option but to take it off. you completely forget about fermín’s presence when you start walking around the restroom with your black lace bra and mini skirt. fermín tries his best to look away, to be respectful for once but you leave him in a trance. the view you give him is all too much and he decides to do something about it.

“here. it’s almost dry anyways.” he takes his shirt off and offers it to you.

your eyes linger on his toned body for too long you practically have to force yourself to look away. the dirty blonde finds himself smirking at your reaction. he walks closer to you hoping you’ll accept his peace offering. it begins to drive him mad how beautiful you look you in your current state. if he hadn’t been such a prick to you for the last couple of years maybe it’d be him taking you home and not fran. besides fran wouldn’t know what to do with all that.

you look at him again and throw your inhibitions out the window. your brother is the one who hates him on and off the pitch but not you. maybe just on the pitch but right now you were in a club bathroom without tops on. if your brother could have fun why couldn’t you?

“fer?” you turn around to look at him directly.

“hmm?” he puts his arm down realizing you won’t take his shirt.

“do you think i’m pretty?” you bat your eyelashes innocently.

he pauses not knowing how to respond. of course you looked pretty but he couldn’t exactly say that out loud. not if he wanted to keep up with the banter the two of you had. it would ruin the dynamic.

“it’s fine you don’t have to answer i’ll just go and ask fran.” you fake being upset and head for the door before fermín steps in front of you again.

“you can’t go out like that.” he panics.

“why? don’t you like my bra?” you tease him.

“joder tía pero tú estás loca.” he sighs frustrated. (fuck, you’re crazy.)

“i mean you’re the one who’s been liking all my stories. especially the ones where i leave little to the imagination.” you reach behind your back and unclasp your bra letting it hit the floor. you’re too far gone now. “you seem to really likes the ones where my breasts are showing though.”

he bites his lips trying to avoid his eyes from wondering. he can practically feel his pants getting tighter the closer you got to him. it was as if the room got smaller and ten times hotter. he’d always been so cocky with his hookups but you somehow made him lose his confidence. but then you said someone else’s name and he suddenly gained his ego back.

“do you think if i asked fran to fuck me he’d say yes?” was the question that threw him off.

his demeanor changed in an instant and suddenly he needed you right there in that bathroom. he knew you were probably just teasing him but he wasn’t going to lose you, not to fran at least.

“he’d probably finish in his pant just by seeing your tits and you’d go home upset.” you didn’t realize how much little space was left between the two of you until you saw both his arms on the sink. you were stuck between the sink and his shirtless body. “he’ll never satisfy you.”

“and you would?” you test his patience.

his hand finds its way onto your thigh and you realize you’ve finally gotten what you wanted. as your breath hitches his hand trails up and the look on his face proved he wanted this as much as you did. he pauses once he gets to your clothed core and looks up at you. you realize he’s asking for permission. you trail your hand down your body to where his hand is and carefully move your panties to the side.

“joder.” he groans at the sight. this is definitely not how he expected his night to go.

“fer.” you whine wanting him to touch you already.

his hands creeps up your throat you can feel his fingers getting closer to your lips. you know what he wants you to do so you open your mouth taking in two of his fingers. he watches intently as you suck on them making them wet enough to enter you. he takes a mental screenshot of you not wanting to forget about this moment. when you finally stop he places his fingers on your thigh again, teasing you. he’s gotten his ego back.

“fuck, you’re so wet.” he can feel the blood rushing to his dick as you you spread your legs for him.

you want to tell him to shut up and hurry up due to how needy you are but he finally drags his fingers over your core. a wave of pleasure rings through your body as he finally touches you. he circles your clit before dragging his fingers down to where you needed him the most. he enters you with one finger first thrusting it slowly letting you adjust. the room is filled with your incoherent moans and your acrylics dig into his free hand.

“oh, fuck.” is all you can say as he enters his second finger.

his thrusts begin to gain momentum as he sees how much you’re enjoying it. the feeling of having your walls squeeze his fingers is so surreal and he can’t resist the urge of reaching up to kiss you. the first kiss is long and sweet but as soon as you start kissing him back it gets heated. soon the kisses become short and needy and you can barely breathe between them. he grabs you by the hair pulling it to get better access to your neck and the pain turns into pleasure as he curls his fingers inside of you.

fermín expects you to tell him to not leave marks but you can’t help but want him to bite down on your neck. he leaves short peppered kisses on your neck before sucking and biting making sure that tomorrow you’ll have to hide your neck from your brother. he hears you panting and knows you’re getting close to coming undone. your hands run through his hair tugging on the strands as you get closer to your high.

and then suddenly you feel empty. his fingers are no longer thrusting inside of you and he pulls away from your lips. you’re about to yell at him when he kneels down in front of you and your eyes go wide. he spreads your legs further apart placing one on each shoulder. you can feel his breathe on your core and you’re not exactly sure you’re ready for what’s to happen. one lick is enough to make your head go back and your legs tremble.

his hold on your thighs get stronger and he dived in deeper. you pull on his hair harder each time he gets closer to your hole, clearly teasing you. he sucks on your clit and that’s enough to have you screaming out of pleasure. your moans are enough to raise his confidence and he brings his fingers back and enters you once again. his tongue and fingers are too much, he’s overstimulating you. you can feel your high approaching once again. this time he doesn’t stop he keeps going. he wants to see you reach your high.

“gonna cum all over my fingers?” he teases.

“fuck, yes.” you gasp barely having the strength to speak properly.

he somehow manages to go faster and you know you’re only a couple of thrusts away from cumming. then he adds in another finger and you’re a moaning mess. your juices squirt all over his fingers and pulls them out of you. he drags your fingers back towards your lips and you grant him access again. you lick them tasting yourself before he kisses you again. it’s a slow sensual kiss and then it happens you spot something moving in the background from the corner of your eye.

“fran.” you gasp at the sight of your brother teammates standing in the back shocked at the scene he walked into.

“what?” fermín pulls away confused at the sudden burst of fran’s name. that’s when he spots fran in the mirror and instead of being ashamed he can’t help but smirk.

that is until you push him off of you and fix yourself. you grab fermín’s shirt without a second thought and fix your skirt embarrassed about being caught and by fran of all people. fran’s disappointment is visible but you really don’t care about his feelings at the moment but rather about whether or not he’ll tell your brother.

“my shirt!” fermín yells.

“you’re a man you can walk around without a shirt.” you say as you get your purse from the sink.

fran walks out not wanting to witness more of what he’s already seen. you have no choice but to follow him since he was your designated driver for the night. but once again fermín steps in front of you and stops you from leaving. he leans down and kisses you and you can’t help but kiss him back.

“next time leave the bodyguard at home.” is all he tells you before stepping aside letting you leave.

that night you fell asleep in his shirt. you’re definitely looking forward to the next game your brother has in barcelona.

#i want him now #fermin lopez x reader #fermin lopez smut #fermin lopez imagine #football smut #football imagine #gabri writes #request

[playroom-sekaii]

CG VBS Kaito hcs for a friend :D

(Him with the vbs babies ^w^)

• The dad ever oh my God

• Gives all of them the silliest nicknames that either make them giggle or blush each time

• Sneaks them sweets a lot (Meiko is very annoyed by this)

• I don't know how else to word it but he's kind of like Bandit/Bluey's dad when it comes to games, they're ridiculous but he gets very into them, sometimes more than the kiddos himself

• So many uppies for all of them, but especially Kohane, she's so light that he can carry her on his back while doing basically anything

• Kohane loves games like hide and seek, or being given "horsey rides", and Kaito is always willing to provide anything of that sort she desires. Anything his little ones want they get!

• He works extra hard to make sure he doesn't scare or overstimulate her when she's little, he knows her anxiety is worse in this headspace and he wants his little mouse to feel safe!

•An loves helping at the Virtual Singers' café when she's small, and Kaito loves letting her do so! She's his little assistant, adding toppings to drinks and making sure all the pancakes are extra fluffy! It can get a little messy though, and usually the two of them are too busy enjoying their snacks to remember to clean up without Meiko reminding them >-<

• She likes it when he plays with her hair! Even if he's not the best at it, she still likes it! Mr. Kaito makes her look so silly and fun!

• Works extra hard to make sure she feels seen and paid attention to, since that wasn't a constant when she was a kid. Every word she says he's on the edge of his seat, he'll drop everything if she says she wants to show him something, she's singing? Standing ovation this'll surpass RAD WEEKEND (she's like five rn)

• Doing his best to be the greatest CG possible for Akito, not only because he knows how insecure he can be about his regression and how rough his home life can be, but also because of Kaito's greater connection to Aki's true feelings. Knows all of the little ways to make him regress (ruffling his hair, saying he's proud of him, calling him sport or kiddo, etc), Akito is grumpy whenever he manages to make him slip at first but he's grateful deep down.

• One of the few that Akito is truly open about his needs or wants with when small, even if he's a bit grumpy about it. Kaito's nothing but supportive though, and wants to help him get more comfortable with it.

• Loves playing games with him, especially soccer. When Akito's on the older end of his age range he'll put up a real fight but when he's littler Kaito usually lets him win so he doesn't have a grumpy tantrum-

• Since Toya's the littlest of the vbs kids when he's small, Kaito feels that he has to protect him the most. He's just a baby that deserves a proper chance at a good childhood! (Toya called him "Papa" once and now he'd kill for him)

• Always ready to make cookies or warm milk for this little guy! He managed to find some bottles in the café, and is working to find new flavored milks and such to make for Toya to see if he'll like them (he does, but regular chocolate milk will always be his favorite)

• Toya has fallen asleep on his lap so many times before, but it's worth it! It means he's feeling truly safe and small! Who cares if he can't feel his legs! It's for the baby!

• Sometimes when he's working with his DJ equipment he'll let Toya sit on his lap and play with them, pressing the buttons with a wide-eyed fascinated look on his face. Now he's just like Papa! Kaito's so proud.

#the person i wrote this for has toya bias but i tried not to make that fact too obvious lol #project sekai agere #vocaloid agere #kaito #kaito vocaloid #vivid bad squad #kohane azusawa #an shiraishi #akito shinonome #toya aoyagi #mine ♡

[fatkish]

So I have this idea swimming around in my head for either a oneshot or a short story about Present Mic (Hizashi Yamada) coming across a child reader who’s quirk is ‘death song’. Basically the child loves music and keeps trying to sing unaware of the effect they’re having on the people who are near them. The sound frequency that the child admits when they sing vibrates the skull or some other important part of people’s heads that causes them to shatter like glass.

The biggest issue is that their singing also draws people closer kinda like a siren’s song. (The kid is gonna be like a Jigglypuff, they sing but don’t understand the effect they have on people but still wants to find an audience). Basically the police and pro heroes are thinking it’s a villain doing this and are trying to find the culprit. Present Mic ends up hearing the singing and uses his own quirk to cancel out the vibrations. After tracking the movement of the suspected perp, Hizashi comes across the kid crying.

Thinking the kid got hurt by the perp’s quirk he asks them if they’re hurt only for them to tell him that no one ever listens to their singing. People always end up ‘falling asleep’ before they’re finished and they’re really sad. Upon talking more with the child, Mic realizes that the kid is the one who’s causing all this and decides to take the kid in and teach them how to control their quirk after learning that they accidentally killed their parents because they couldn’t control their quirk/didn’t realize that they were using it.

After some time, the two of them become like father and child and they spend lots of time together. But due to the kid’s quirk being unstable they have to wear quirk canceling gear as they grow. So because the kid can’t sing without potentially hurting someone Hizashi decides to teach the kid to DJ.

Should I turn this thought into something or leave it as is?

#mha x reader #mha x child reader #mha hizashi #yamada hizashi #bnha hizashi #hizashi x reader #present mic #present mic x reader #bnha x reader #bnha x child reader

[romanarose]

Protected

Jake Lockley x fem!reader

Masterlist : Join my taglist!

Summary: Jake is trying to relax at a bar when a woman won't leave him alone. Confused as to what's happening, Jake isn't sure how to react. Men don't hit women, right?

Warnings: Depiction of sexual assault (over the clothes gentile touching), reader gets aggressive with other women. Jake has old fashioned, patriarchal notions of paying for women's drink, that he shouldn't assert his boundaries, that he can't be assaulted because he's a man and she's a woman, blaming himself. Men have a right to protect themselves from violence of any sort with proportional means. Protect men. Reader mentions trauma, illuding to rape. Reader isn't exactly "safe" with going out, but neither am I know I'm "supposed to" go with friends, no walk off with strangers etc. but I won't live my life afraid. My assaults have been from people I was supposed to trust, every single time. Strangers don't scare me.

Immersabily: Fem reader. Reader mentions past sexual trauma. reader mentions working with children. At one point, Jake mentions reader being shorter than a woman taller than Jake so??? IDK if that's anything lol. Could mean anything IG.

*************

Jake Lockley respected women. Jake Lockley didn’t hurt women. Jake Lockley wasn’t rude to women.

That made his current position complicated.

He’d just come to this bar to drink for a bit, to get away from his alters for a bit. He loved them and he loved the new relationship with Steven and Marc, but he needed peace and alone time. Well, not totally alone. When he was totally alone, Khonshu liked to talk to him like they were friends or something, that’s not what he wanted, so Jake went to a karaoke bar.

 He liked it, honestly. It was fun seeing people’s personalities come out in the songs they sang, he liked watching people get more and more drunk, strangers becoming friends, people singing way out of their key as the night went on. Some people hated watching others do karaoke but Jake thought it was fun. It was people’s truest selves. He liked to watch the show, drink a little but also keep an eye on things. No one was getting roofied or assaulted on his watch.

As people got drunker, a very unsteady woman got on stage (barely) and tried to rap to Without Me by Eminem. It did not go well. It wasn’t terrible, she knew th lyrics down pat but 1. She could not rap for the life of her 2. She was very giggly and kept laughing. The smiling DJ kept taking the second mic and filling in for her while she laughed. It was adorable. 

That was his first impression of you.

The night went on and he noticed you weren’t with friends. A bold move, going out alone. You were brave. He liked that. He tried to keep a special eye on you but it was proving difficult and you were beginning to stress him out. You’d leave drinks with random people asking the girls to watch it. How did you know they could be trusted? He followed you outside when you stumbled off with people you were talking too, only to find you smoking in an alley. What the hell is wrong with you? You were going to get yourself killed. Right now, you were his main focus.

Until you left to use the bathroom, leaving your drink on a table and Jake attempted to walk toward it to make sure no one spiked it when another women intercepted him. “Hi handsome, what’s your name?” She smiled at him, looking down a bit. She was tall. Jake didn’t mind his women taller than him; he liked his women however they came, but she seemed to be positioning herself to intentionally intimidate him.

“Jake.” He needed to get over to watch your drink, but when he tried to step to the side, she stepped along with him and blocked his path. It was when she put a hand on his chest he grew uncomfortable.

“My name’s Cas, why don’t we head to the bar and you buy me a drink?”

Jake was about to object. He needed to get to you, but he didn’t have much of a choice when she grabbed his tie and pulled him. She ordered two vodka cranberries. Jake didn’t like vodka. Why was he paying? That’s what he did, right? He was supposed to pay. He was supposed to entertain beautiful women -and she was beautiful for sure. 

He wasn’t entirely sure how she got him in this position, but he wasn’t doing much to fight it. He was backed into corner and the woman was kissing him. He didn’t like it. Jake’s stress was compounded by the anxiety that he couldn’t see your drink, he couldn’t see you. Did something happen? Did someone spike the drink because Jake wasn’t watching? He wasn’t watching because he was horny? 

He didn’t want to kiss her, but when she ground her body against his, the natural reaction was to get hard. He fought it, fought it, fought it but his will power was no match for biology. Jake felt like fucking shit. His body was stiff, he wasn’t kissing back, he kept trying to move away but his efforts were weak. She was strong, and it wasn’t like he could push her or hit her. Only weak men hit women, right?

When he turned, he locked eyes with you. Little did he know, you had been watching much of the scene play out. It wasn’t entirely clear what was happening, as the crowd of karaoke fridays kept blocking your view, but you’d grown concerned when you saw him in a corner and went to investigate. One of the girl’s you’d met and had been chatting with told you not to worry about it, that the man could handle himself… but after all you’d been through, you never wanted someone to go through that.

Then you see it. The woman’s hand went to cup his crotch, and the panic on the man’s face that had locked eyes with yours was clear. He tried to gently nudge her away, to squirm out of her grasp but she didn’t move. So you did.

The violation on his body got him moving a bit, disgust at himself for letting them happen. Not because it was his boundaries, his body, his autonomy, but because the body was Marc and Steven’s, and he was letting someone touch Marc and Steven. He wasn’t protecting them, he was failing them, but he still couldn’t manage to get her off him without hurting her. 

“I don’t-” He tried to protest, but she shushed him.

“Yes, you do.”

Did he?

Before he had time to think more, Cas was ripped off of him, and another body was placed in between. 

You stared the woman down, glaring daggers into her eyes; although shorter than her, you show no fear. All night, you’ve shown no fear.

“What the hell is wrong with you!” You shout at her.

“Me?” The woman gahawfs. “You’re interrupting a perfectly good-”

“He’s clearly uncomfortable!”

“He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.”

“Well he doesn’t have to, because I’m handling it, now get the fuck out of here!”

Cas looks at Jake, glaring at him and flipping him off before walking away. Jake wasn’t entirely sure what he did, but whatever it was, it was wrong.

Once she left, you turn to the man again. He looks in shock. “Can we step outside?” 

Silent, Jake nods and you take him hand, carefully guiding him to the alley where you pull up two crates for you both to sit on. Both his hands are in yours now.

“I need you to breathe with me, okay, in your nose, out your mouth.” Your voice calms him. It’s only then that he realized he wasn’t calm. Jake was having a panic attack. You continued instruction. “I’m going to squeeze our hands as I breath in, but if you need to squeeze at any time, you can. Hard as you need to, you won’t hurt me.”

You did just as you said. As you breathed in, You gently squeezed his hands, letting go as you breathed out. It helped him keep in time when the panic made blood rush to his ears. He couldn't hear you, but he could feel you. Jake certainly wasn’t going to squeeze as hard as he could -his strength could actually hurt you, despite what you said- but he did give a few good squeezes and although his were random and erratic, yours remained steady. Jake latched onto that steadiness, beginning to squeeze in time with you until he was calm.

After a few moments of silence, Jake spoke. “Where’d you learn that?” He didn’t fully look at you, but you could hear the smile in your voice.

“I work with preschoolers. It’s a great way to teach them to manage their emotions…” You pause a little before adding. “Well, I guess I learned it from myself. Breathing exercises were the only way to calm myself down for a while.”

With that, Jake locked eyes with you. “You’ve had… you’ve felt like that before?”

You nod. “Yeah. Especially when random people touch me. What happened to you, has happened to me, so touch can be very triggering.”

That caught his attention. Jake was no stranger to rape victims; he’d killed plenty rapists in his day… but this still mad him feel pity. You were kind, and it made him sad to think that you’d felt like he did now.

“Someone did that to you?”

“Multiple people.” You confirm. “Sometimes it ended at a bar or a party, sometimes it ended… much worse.”

Jake felt anger in his confusing mix of emotions. He wanted to track down every single person who did that to you and end them, violently. “Is that why you…”

“Stepped in? Kinda. I’d hate for anyone to feel like I did.” Your smile was kind and warm. “But I’ve always been like that. A little crazy.” Crazy is how you’d put it.

Jake nodded, only then realizing he was still holding your hand. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay.” You reassure him before finally telling him your name.

“Jake”

“Well Jake, I assume after all that you don’t want to go inside. Can I walk you home?”

Absolutely insane, you were just trusting him like this… but he really didn’t want to be alone right now. “I drove. I only had one drink… if you’d like I can drive you home?”

You smiled. “I’d like that. What’s your last name?”

“Lockley.”

“Okay, Lockley. Stay here.”

You went inside, coming out and handing him his ID.

Now Jake was confused. “I- what?”

“Your tab.” You explained. “I paid it.”

Jake had never had a woman pay for his drink before. The only person he ever let get away with it was Matty, and that was on a good day.

“But-... I can pay my own tab?” He tried to protest, as if it wasn’t already paid.

“I’m sure you can.” Gathering up his hands in yours again, you pull him to his feet. “It’s just one drink, no big deal. I didn’t want you to have to see her again.”

Having a woman pay for his drink should make him embarrassed. A woman assaulting him should make him feel embarrassed. But you? You calmed all that. A drink wasn’t a big deal to you, but most importantly, you validated his feelings. You didn’t make him feel weak for feeling how he did. 

It was okay to be human with you.

You protected him, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life returning the favor.

***********************

I just wanna protect Jakey and make him feel saaaaaaaafe.

he deserves it.

@missdictatorme @ahookedheroespureheart @whatthefishh @runa-falls @del-ightfulling @eyelessfaces @fandxmslxt69 @pikapuff-316 @mikaelak @k-ra @ivystoryweaver @campingwiththecharmings @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @steven-grants-world @boysddontcry @harriedandharassed @lokisv7lkrie @scarletthefierce

#jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley x you #comfort #hurt comfort #jake lockley hurt comfort #protective Jake Lockley #soft jake lockley

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Time the Series - Episode 1

Another time traveling show. This time by expectations are basically on the floor.

So before I say anything here's the official synopsis: Foam, a famous actor, saw Chris, the lover, killed in front of him by the police. But fate gives Foam a chance to go back and correct the past for what he did wrong, causing Chris's death. When a mysterious man gives a clock that can travel back in time to Foam, will Foam be able to fix the past and save a lover's life? Only time will prove it! MDL You can watch it on YT, Gaga. Uncut on WeTV.

I watch the cut version, if anyone watches the full version please let me know what I missed. Not that I'm all that invested but still. This is basically a "I watched it so you don't have to" type of review so obviously, all spoilers from here on. Skip to the end for my short review.

We begin with a police chase that ends with Chris being caught but then there's a sniper and he gets shot. Very exciting already.

Cut to Foam waking up in bed and promptly pouring himself red wine while he cries and reflects on his lost love. Warning for singing and guitar playing in flashback.

The next day he's passed out and won't answer his phone and everyone is very upset, cause he's an actor and there's a lot of people waiting for him to shoot a commercial. There's already a war of managers happening btw. The one in pink is Foam's manager, the other one wants to be his manager. I'll be calling her the bad manager from here on for reasons which will become obvious.

So eventually he arrives and they shoot a commercial for some skin product that is amazing for the skin if we believe the people that show up to help Foam with his lines, cause the boy is struggling.

And apparently it's his birthday and he makes the weirdest call to his mum to ask her to wish happy birthday and the subs have the mom saying "Hello, dear" but there's actually no sound from the other side of the conversation. Amazing.

After this the drama really begins. And I mean there's so much happening and none of it is good.

So really quickly: - Birthday party where Foam is the DJ and there is some really bad dance acting happening. - The bad manager drugs Foam and assaults him and is interrupted by the good manager. - The two managers insult each other in front of passed out Foam and a physical fight ensues. Slap, screaming, slap, insult, slap, begging, more slapping. This is all very dramatic btw, almost lakorn level dramatic. Glass on the floor, bad manager picks it up and stabs the good manager. - Bad manager's bodyguards take her and Foam wakes up with the bloody glass shard on his hand.

Panic sets in, everyone comes and for some reason some dude is filming this whole thing. And we get our second police chase of the episode. This time Foam is the one doing the running.

Foam hides in a dark ally where he meets a stranger with a shining pink necklace that invites him to his place and of course he goes, because why not?

Then he recognizes the necklace/watch because he gave his boyfriend one that looks exactly like it. And then this:

Guy in alley - gives Foam pink shiny watch - dead boyfriend appears.

They immediately jump each other, as you do when all of a sudden your dead boyfriend is in front of you again, and Foam wakes up thinking it was all a dream. But was it? I have no idea.

Foam wakes up, hits himself, hurts himself and wonders why he's in his old apartment. He goes outside and it's five years before Chris died. The end.

So... to recap. I don't even know what to say. This is from MFlow, the same company that brought us the mess that was Beyond The Star so my expectations were really low.

With that said, I can't in good conscience tell any of you to watch this. It's not good. From the previews it seems Foam is going to meet Chris all over again except he won't remember him. Fun times all over again. I'll be honest. I probably won't be watching this, but come next tuesday if I have nothing better to do I might check it out. Depends how much I remember the experience and how curious I get about how they will deal with the time traveling. I obviously have not learned my lesson.

If anyone watches it please let me know what you think.

Thanks for reading.💜

#time the series #thai bl #bl drama #rose rambles

[jenscx]

CRUSH 25 — into you (half-written)

you walk into the club, nose scrunching at the smell of alcohol invading your senses. it was packed with college kids, most drunk out of their mind and dancing along to the mix the dj had prepared. minjeong’s performance was at 8, and you had about 10 or so minutes to kill.

as you approached the bar, you noticed some friendly faces, most from your college classes.

“hey, yn,” you wave at soobin who had a drink in his hand, “here for minjeong’s performance?”

you halt, eyes narrowing at his teasing. by now, most of hanyang university’s students were well acquainted with the outcry from minjeong’s fan club when she had accidentally followed you on twitter.

“what about you?” you ask in return, both knowing your answer to the previous question.

soobin smiles, “friends dragged me over, better party a little before midterms. i think professor lee’s going to go ham on us next week.” you nod in agreement.

by now, most of the crowd had died down and were awaiting minjeong’s arrival on stage. you shift awkwardly on the bar chair, heart rate increasing as every second passed.

“and for our final performance, we have hanyang’s very own skilled, kim minjeong!”

your eardrums would have burst if you focused on the screams erupting from the crowd, but you’re too entranced by the way minjeong steps onto stage, confident in her steps and electric guitar held firmly in her hands.

“hi everyone,” the crowd screams again, “i’m minjeong and tonight, i’ll be performing ‘into you’ by ariana grande.” her gaze filters through the students and you can tell she’s looking for someone.

“i…” she looks a little disappointed and you can’t help but feel upset, “this song was meant to be for someone, but they’re not here. i hope you still enjoy the performance.”

you don’t make an effort to ram through to the front, it would be futile anyway, you’ve seen the way minjeong’s fan club tackles down people who talk shit about her.

so you stay, at the back, seated on a bar chair where you had a perfect view of minjeong.

i’m so into you, i can barely breathe

you’re enchanted. minjeong’s voice is heavenly and if someone told you minjeong was secretly an angel, you would have believed them in a heartbeat.

and all i want to do, is fall in deep

her fingers dance along the strings, and you’ve never found someone so charming. minjeong looks nervous and her awkwardness ties the whole package for you.

but close ain’t close enough, till we cross the line

so name a game to play, and i’ll roll the dice

the crowd is swaying to minjeong’s captivating tone, and you’re so astounded. aespa was great that night, amazing even, but something about minjeong was different for you.

oh baby look what you’ve started

the temperature’s rising in here

as she sings, you feel warmth, unsure if it’s from the heat in your cheeks at how indescribable minjeong’s making you feel, or if you just drank too many sips.

is this gonna happen?

been waiting and waiting for you to make a move

before i make a move

and as the chorus approaches, minjeong takes one more glance to access the crowd and you can tell when she finally spots you. her eyes widen significantly and the grip on her guitar tightens.

you don’t even register the rest of the lyrics as she focuses her gaze on you, eyes boring into yours.

cause i’m so into you, into you, into you

masterlist | next

TAGS ! @rosiehrs @ky-yk @elyds @nasyu-kookies @silantryoo @hsyvers @cwpiqwon @justme-idle @haerinfangs @trishatheotaku @tocupid @azinwo

#aespa #crush ft. kmj #kim minjeong x reader #minjeong x reader #winter x reader

[frooogscream]

In regards to the whole “was it bury your gays?” discussion, there is one very important thing I need everyone discussing this to understand first:

Not necessarily every single queer character has to die in a show, for the storyline of one specific character to fulfil the criteria of the trope. In my opinion there are three main reasons it feels like it and one that actually makes it “bury your gays”.

-Izzy is the ONLY outsider among the crew and the ONLY character with a coming out arc(accepting the crew as his found family, wearing makeup for the first time, performing for the crew in drag, literally confessing his love for another man), these are things a lot of queer people can relate too and feel represented by. To kill off THIS ONE of all characters, when his storyline was so specifically queer this season is upsetting. It’s made worse because literally the last thing he does before getting shot, the thing we will remember about the character, is giving the “it’s not about glory” speech, about found family and what that means to him. We get shown that this character has really accepted this beautiful idea of found family and queerness, in extend he has accepted himself as a queer person… and then is immediately killed. This feels like bury your gays (and fulfills significant criteria of the trope!)

-Izzy (in s1 the classically queer coded antagonist) is one of the character archetypes that we have lost to the Hays Code and it’s media echo till today, time and time again. Sure in OFMD he doesn’t seam particularly gay in comparison, but in every other show this would have been the character that queer people saw their only representation in. I mourned for so may characters like him, when I was a child. It would have been nice to see a character like this get a Happy End, just this one single time. This feels like bury your gays.

-DJ literally used the same reasoning to kill Izzy that is the baseline of “bury your gays”: he said he put Izzy through enough & this was a“kind” end, that his character arc was done and there was nothing more for him, called this the ONLY fitting end to Izzy’s arc. This is the same reasoning the classic “bury your gays” has: there is a certain type of character that just can never get a Happy End, their death is inevitable and because of who they are it is even “morally correct” to give them death. Yes, I admit DJ did not say this is true for Izzy because he is queer, but because of “what he went thru” a.i. queer person who is just starting to find their community, surviving an abusive relationship, being disabled, surviving a suicide attempt. -I’m not gonna go into how problematic it is to imply, that the best for a person who went through these things, is to die here.- However this in my opinion shows, that he doesn’t have an understanding of what “bury your gays”actually means and why it is so problematic (spoiler: it’s not because a gay character dies but of the moral implications that are made about the death of the character as deserved or a coup de grâce), otherwise he wouldn’t have used the same reasoning to kill of a character. This feels like bury your gays. -And lastly: he does realise that “out of the closet and into the fire” is a variation of “bury your gays” right? (Out of the closet and into the fire=a character comes out/is revealed as being queer/accepts their queerness -f.ex. a character could find their community, confess his love to someone of the same sex, wear makeup for the first time, sing in drag, give a speech about how important found family is in a world where you don’t fit in- and is immediately punished, humiliated and ultimately killed). This -if you like it or not, by cold hard definition- IS bury your gays.

I am a simple light/video technician not a director and I work in theater not in film, if even I am aware of the implications Izzy’s death has in regards to how queer characters are historically represented in film and how it has many of the same implications and the same arc like every other gay ever buried, it just feels like David was to lazy to do even a medium amount of homework

#ofmd #ofmd season 2 #ofmd izzy #ofmd spoilers #ofmd s2 #ofmd 2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #our flag means death spoilers #ofmd meta #ofmd thoughts #izzy hands #our flag means death #queer media #bury your gays #izzy deserved better #izzy death

[thislovintime]

The Monkees with CFUN DJ's Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner in Vancouver, April 1, 1967.

“Regina: CKCK’s Terry David Mulligan claims to be the first Canadian air personality with an interview with the Monkees and he has a tape to prove it. Anyone wishing a copy can take Mulligan up on his boast by sending him a blank tape and he will return a dub to sender. Terry also did a 30 minute Christmas show with Peter Tork, his sister and brother. They sang cuts from the Monkees new LP (Mulligan sings too)[,] sang a few carols and just chit-chatted in a relaxing mood.” - RPM Canada, January 28, 1967 (this Christmas 1966 anecdote was previously posted here and more about Christmas 1967 here)

“History records that The Monkees played their first Canadian concert in Winnipeg on April 1/1967. What never gets mentioned is that the first time all four Monkees set foot on Canuck soil was many hours earlier, in Vancouver, while en route to Manitoba’s capital city. Top 50 radio station CFUN assigned two deejays—Terry David Mulligan and John Tanner—to meet Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, Michael Nesmith and Peter Tork at Vancouver International Airport. A photo op ensued in a private waiting area as the lads waited, shortly after sunrise, to board a connecting flight. 'If you study that picture, you could tell two of the guys (Davy and Peter) were really into it and the other two (Micky and Mike) didn’t really want to be there,' recalls Mulligan (second from right in photo). 'They weren’t pissed off at us. They were just tired and weren’t particularly into having their picture taken that early in the morning.' Nevertheless, all six exchanged pleasantries. Despite the early hour, Davy Jones seemed friendly and 'Mike Nesmith was so whip smart, while Micky Dolenz had this interesting Hollywood vibe about him,' remembers Mulligan. Terry and Peter got the opportunity to renew acquaintances. The previous year, when Mulligan was spinning discs at CJME Regina, 'who should walk in but Peter Tork. Of course, I asked: "What are YOU doing here?" And Peter answered: "My dad (Halsten John Thorkelson) teaches at the University of Saskatchewan and I dig your radio program."' Peter would take a couple of additional breaks from Monkees commitments to visit his family. Each time, he’d visit Mulligan at CJME. 'We’d always have really good off-air chats, in between as I was playing records.' For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner (second from left in photo) boarded the plane bound for Winnipeg with The Monkees. 'I remember being at the tail of the plane while The Monkees and their entourage were much further forward. I walked up there at one point and noticed some of them were sleeping. So I went back to my seat as I didn’t want to bother anyone.' Prior to the late afternoon Monkees concert at the Winnipeg Arena, Tanner said he killed some time walking 'what seemed to be the coldest streets in Winnipeg.' Indeed, band insider David Price would mention the frigid 17 degrees Fahrenheit daytime temperature when he subsequently wrote a four-page article titled My Life With The Monkees—That Wild Canadian Weekend for 16 magazine that detailed the April 1 concert in Winnipeg and the ensuing show in Toronto on April 2. Price, who also served as a decoy for Davy Jones (in addition to other band duties), claimed The Monkees came to Canada aware of rumours that attempts might be made on their lives during the two concerts. In the 16 magazine piece, Price wrote: 'Mike asked me and his friend Charlie Rockett and Mike’s wife Phyllis’s brother Bruce Barbour to make sure that any packages that landed onstage were thrown off again, because one of them might contain a bomb.' In the end, the only ‘bomb’ at the Winnipeg show was a water bomb hurled at Micky Dolenz atop the seven-foot high stage just before opening song Last Train To Clarksville. Seconds before, the four Monkees burst out of phoney amplifiers on either side of the stage, with the boys having hidden themselves within when the house lights were momentarily turned off. Likely backing up The Monkees onstage was Candy Store Prophets. If so, that band’s members—including guitarist Tommy Boyce and keyboardist Bobby Hart—had played on many early Monkees studio tracks that Boyce and Hart produced. Winnipeg-based Electric Jug & Blues band opened the show. Press reports later revealed that before the concert, rambunctious fans charged past about 30 police officers as the band left the Hotel Fort Garry for the arena. Monkees publicist Don Berrigan described the incident as a 'near riot' adding 'Mike and Davy were knocked down. It was really nasty.' There were apparently well over 400 police and security inside the arena. Perhaps it was the security concerns that resulted in Winnipeg and Toronto fans receiving slightly shorter concerts than about a dozen previous American shows in late 1966 and early ‘67—13-song setlists, three less than south of the border. The Winnipeg concert marked the first time Peter Tork-sung Your Auntie Grizelda, was played publicly. 'He really dug it, and so did the audience,' wrote Price. [...] Back in Winnipeg, after final song I’m A Believer, the band rushed to limos to return to the hotel, before taking an evening flight to Toronto. A subsequent Canadian Press article noted that one policeman was taken to hospital after a wire retaining fence collapsed on him when 'thousands of fans surged towards the rear exits in an unsuccessful bid to catch a glimpse of their departing idols.' The officer was treated for cuts and abrasions and released. The official capacity of Winnipeg Arena was 11,800. But Price claimed that several hundred additional tickets were sold just before showtime, resulting in an attendance closer to 12,500. Later that Saturday night, The Monkees checked out of the hotel and headed to the airport in what Price described as near-blizzard conditions. For his part, CFUN deejay John Tanner got a kick out of the 'wild and crazy' show he had just witnessed. 'It was kind of a thrill being there.' The photo taken back in Vancouver earlier that day would be published in the April 8 copy of the C-FUNTASTIC FIFTY survey given away at Greater Vancouver record stores. Part of the photo ID read 'They said it couldn’t be done' — likely a veiled reference to doubts that The Monkees would trek north for concerts so soon into their existence.” - Richard Skelly, Facebook, April 1, 2022 [x]

#Peter Tork #Tork quotes #Davy Jones #Micky Dolenz #Michael Nesmith #The Monkees #Monkees #60s Tork #1960s #1967 #long read #Terry David Mulligan #John Tanner #David Price #et al #Monkees fans #where is that tape of Peter and his siblings now? #what if... of Tork history #'sang a few carols and just chit-chatted in a relaxing mood' (if that tape still exists it'd be such a gem) #hope those radio tapes were preserved #can you queue it

[cosmica-galaxy]

Since I absolutely adore pal,, could we have more facts on his personality? Mayhaps silly lil quirks even? /nf!!

~Facts about Pal!~ + Pal is a VERY talented singer! He can sing soprano, opera, crescendo, pop, rock, and electronic. Even A cappella! + Pal is outwardly friendly to most units and, despite his size and VERY powerful ability, he's a gentle giant that doesn't want to fight. + Pal actually has friends outside of his primary pack! He joined the human by choice and left his original pack in search of adventure. He still visits them! As he leaves from time to time to visit his "older pack" that stays together at his older home! + Pal has a collection of music boxes that he's collected! He also likes fancy watches and things that emit noise, like little pocket watches or "stim toys". Bubble wrap is also a fun "toy" to him! + While the human spars or wrestles with other units, especially larger units, Pal wants to try and "play" too. + He's the moderator of the group. If Buddy and Fiend start fighting too much, he'll step in. If the fighting gets really bad or annoying to Pal, he'll flare his frill to the max and it never fails to make the other two behave. + Pal is VERY strong and can easily hold his own against larger skibidis, not to mention his ability to absolutely cripple them or kill them altogether. + He uses his frill to help him hear better, since his sight is not very good. Posters and writing on walls tend to go unnoticed by him if they don't stick out or have a texture. For these reasons, he reads primarily in braille. + Pal eats skibidi jerky and skibidi meat. He has a strong dislike for garlic and will retch if he eats any. His favorite dish is Buttered Skibidi Steak with simple lemon and black pepper! He eats any types of sides, veggie or fruit, as long as garlic isn't present in the dish! + Pal is able to rotate his head 360 degrees! This is how he can lock onto any target while hanging from the ceiling! + Pal, when touched by surprise, will let out a "mrrp!". + Pal's frill is very expressive and flexible, they can wrap around the front of his speaker if he wanted them to! (Example would be to hide his "face") + Pal loves to drink lots of fruit juices and water. Doesn't really care for sodas or energy drinks. Not even coffee. But teas are lovely! + Pal is capable of waiting for long periods of time. He's a very patient mimic. + Pal is also capable of flight! His arms can extend into wings and he becomes a force to be reckoned with. A sound-based nuke that can also fly is why Speaker mimics are NOT to be antagonized. They also use their flight abilities to change positions in elevation, such as moving from a high vantage point to a low vantage point and vice versa. + If there is ever a need for a babysitter, Pal is the one you should ALWAYS go to. He's experienced in helping care for young! Even when he was littler! + Loves his pack, but he loves the human friend the most of all. + Has golden retriever energy. + Loves speakermen the most out of the alliance, even if they may find him a bit scary. Knows Phil and DJ, and they all get along well!

+ Pal can also mimic voices! So he can help in fooling enemies or getting into voice-activated areas!

#haxorus imp #hax speaks #cosmica galaxy #cosmica-galaxy #anonymous #anon asks #anon ask #skibidi tag #skibidi mimic #skibidi toilet mimic