K-Pop Debuts and Comebacks for the Fourth Week of February 2024 (Feb 19 - Feb 25 2024)
Feb 19
LE SSERAFIM - Easy
Rising girl group LE SSERAFIM brings the 2015 RnB sound back in this vibey track!
Feb 20
BIBI - Sugar Rush
Talented RnB soloist BIBI continues to experiment with this softer and experimental sound in this new track!
IU - Shopper
Top soloist IU collaborates with talented indie artist and video producer IAN in this fantastical MV!
MOONBYUL - TOUCHIN&MOVIN
MAMAMOO's main rapper Moonbyul brings the funk and groove in this comeback!
TRI.BE - Diamond
Rising girl group TRI.BE returns in this beautiful song which happens to be the last work of legendary songwriter Shinsadong Tiger.
Feb 21
Daniel Jikal - One Of A Kind
Talented self-producing LOUD contestant Daniel Jikal debuts under PSY's label in this artsy hip-hop outing reminiscent of a young Beenzino!
YUGYEOM - 1 MINUTE
GOT7's maknae Yugyeom returns solo in this catchy song!
Feb 22
A.C.E - My Girl
Underrated all-rounder boy band A.C.E return from the military in this sweet and catchy song!
Feb 23
TWICE - ONE SPARK
Top girl group TWICE is back stronger than ever in this powerful performance!
Feb 24
AleXa - sick
America Song Contest winner AleXa is back with an emotional track!
Feb 25
No releases.
What is your favourite track of the week?
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Domestic Arkham!Jason Todd Headcanons
Y’all ever think about the inherent tragedy of Arkham!Jason craving something as simple as domesticity?
How he craves the comfort of home-cooked meals, but can’t actually eat anything he hasn’t prepared himself. Because during his time in Joker’s captivity, almost everything he was served was either poisoned or rotten, and now every time he eats, it’s like he’s expecting the burn of poison or the flavor of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth.
Can you imagine the frustration he must feel at his inability to share a simple meal with you?
The sudden clench in his gut when he realizes that he wasn’t there to watch you prepare the food, and despite the fact that he trusts you, he can’t help that familiar dread rising in the back of his throat.
Jason tries, for you, he tries.
But there are times, more often than not, when he feels the phantom burn of poison or the flavor of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth–and his body reacts before his mind does.
And suddenly he’s hunched over the sink or the toilet, vomiting out half-digested food, and it’s almost like he never left Arkham Asylum.
Can you imagine the absolute burning jealousy he feels whenever his family interacts with you with an ease he can only dream of?
Maybe it’s a movie night, during one of those rare times when Gotham City didn’t need saving, and there’s Tim and Dick and Barbara piled on the couch. And you fit so well with them–a tangle of limbs and careless laughter at a dumb joke Dick made–that it’s Jason who feels like an outsider.
Jason sits apart from all of you, the only person to pick an armchair instead of the couch, because every time he tries to sit close to someone, all he can think is whether they’re close enough to see his scars.
The table is piled high with snacks, more than the five of you can realistically eat in an evening. There’s popcorn and pizza, mozzarella sticks and pretzels, several bars of chocolate that can only be found in Bludhaven, the air is thick with the smell of grease and cheese dust.
And it’s almost like being a teenager again. Before that night and the Joker and everything else that followed.
It’s almost like being a teenager again, dizzy with the good fortune of being adopted by Bruce fucking Wayne, watching some dumb flick with his siblings when he was supposed to be training. Ordering takeout food and laughing along with Dick at Alfred’s visible disappointment as they stuff their faces.
It’s almost like being a teenager again, but not quite.
Jason watches the four of you pass around a bowl of popcorn, arguing about which genre of movie to start with. But when Barbara tries to hand it to him, he feels a sudden clot of heat in his chest, and he’s already shaking his head before he even knows why.
And he realizes, he’s afraid.
He doesn’t know who made the food or what restaurant it was ordered from, and he is sure if he asks, no one would be able to give him all of the names of people who handled it.
The burn of poison and the taste of something sour and rotten flooding his mouth.
Poisoned cake and rotting rats. The writhing of pale white maggots against bone and glistening meat and gristle.
He doesn’t touch anything for the rest of the evening.
Can you imagine how scared he is?
Jason is so acutely, painfully aware of how exhausting it is to be with him. To be with someone you can’t even share a simple meal with.
And he wonders how long it will be before you get tired of him.
Bruce, after all, had left after he had seen the twisted thing Jason had become.
And if his own father couldn’t even stomach his presence–
And suddenly he’s hunched over again, over the sink or against the toilet, vomiting out half-digested food.
And it really is like he never left Arkham Asylum after all.
This is what he thinks, when he finally collapses on the tiles of your bathroom floor, cold sweat pouring down his face. Your presence hovering over him like a ghost, a thousand apologies pouring from your throat.
But it’s not you that’s the problem, it’s him.
It’s this awful thing in the back of his head, always expecting the next threat, the next injury, the next sick game the Joker has come up with.
It’s the fact that his days with the Joker had left him so twisted and strange that he can no longer fit into a normal life, even when he wants to.
And this is what he thinks, when you catch the way he is not watching the movie at all. But instead he is looking at his family’s faces, his chest pulsing with a jealousy so fierce it might as well have been his heartbeat.
Jason wishes–oh, how he wishes–it was that easy, that simple for him.
You disentangle yourself from his siblings–Dick had already fallen asleep, head lolling heavily on your shoulder, to pad your way to him. You sink down onto the armchair to share it with him, practically on top of him, and he marvels at the way your heat dispels the chill that has crept over him.
Your hands are small compared to his, but they are just big enough that when you lay them atop of his, he does not have to think about whether you can see the scars.
This is what he thinks, on days like these. It is something he always thinks, a small voice in the back of his head that is never silenced.
He doesn't deserve you.
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Thanks to @red--pirate for the idea!
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Rough fingers
Today, I learned that my mom is dying.
Personally, it isn't news, I've been a witness of my mother's mortality ever since I was six years old. She knew sickness before she even met me, and now I'm afraid the disease will be by her side for longer than I.
The doctors don't even know what it is, so there's no treatment, just thousands of pills to ease the pain. My house always felt more like a pharmacy than a home.
The doctors don't know that it is but I do: it's unfair.
It's being eight years old watching your mother shaking; it's being thirteen feelling her faint in your arms; it's being a fifteen years old staying at home to watch your younger siblings; it's being sixteen going through everything alone because your mother already has too much to bare; it's being seventeen years old willing away her tears while learning how to interpret exams results.
It's a lifetime of waiting — and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting — for the worst.
I want her to see me graduate, I don't want to be the one who makes the other hair.
Please Gods, let my mom be strong enough to make a braid.
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