#One time this song came on the radio when I was 10 years old in the car with my dad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twobluejeans · 9 months

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HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!

charles leclerc x famous!reader

summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.

part 9:foreign affairs, series masterlist

faceclaim: madison beer

ally’s radio 📻: PART 9! anyways, stan y/n l/n for clear skin and good grades!✨😌

INSTAGRAM, july 18

liked by carlossainz, landonoriss, and 12,654,234 others

yourinstagram mood :') gonna cry all day lol. thank you for your warmth. thank you for listening n hearing me. i love you.

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ntltcy/n whoever said the second slide is so real

danielricciardo I said what I said

zendaya ma’am is taking up all 10 spots on the 10 ten…that’s my best friend ❤️!!!

channeleclerc16_ she should just stick to acting…

beyonce well deserved! the song brought actual tears to my eyes

yourinstagram beyonce screaming crying shaking…thank u, i love u always

leclerc_pascale beautiful girl congrats

yourinstagram leclerc_pascale thank u mama

drewstarkey on repeat i fear

ferarrileclerc i mean ... since the song is about charles that means he got another number one hit! charles congrats baby!

harrystyles A beautiful song from an even more beautiful person. Congratulations, Y/n/n—H.

ypurinstagram thank u sweet angel. miss you!

redlipclassicy/n harrystyles yourinstagram WHAT THE FUCK

JULY 18, 2023

Lola Ransdell Under Fire for Using the N-Word in Resurfaced Tweets

Not a good look.

BY ALLY JULY 17, 2023 11:15 AM

Lola Randell has some explaining to do. The 25-year-old came under fire on Sunday when Twitter users began resurfacing tweets of the model using the N-word in 2020. The receipts included direct messages and Instagram comments, in which Ransdell called her friends the racial slur, as well as tweets from Ransdell claiming that she could use the N-word because she’s “not white.”

In screenshots resurfaced by the Twitter PopHub, Ransdell can be seen calling someone an “ugly” N-word. The screenshots also include a group chat with some of her friends, in which she is called out for using the N-word. In her response, Randell explains that she can use the derogatory term because she’s not white. (Ransdell’s mother is Brazilian, but that still does not excuse her behavior.) “I’m not white tho so that’s awk,” Ransdell responded.

However, the receipts don’t end there. Along with the first screenshots, some users also resurfaced other old tweets, in which Ransdell said that she returned a “different race” after she spent some time tanning in Florida. (She accompanied the tweet with an emoji of a man with a turban.) Another screenshot also shows Ransdell liking a 2020 meme comparing Jay-Z to a Ransdell. One user also claimed to have a video of Ransdell rapping the N-word, though the audio is unclear.

Ransdell allegedly once tweeted, "leaving to Florida white but coming back to NY a different Race." The statement was accompanied by an emoji of a white blonde man and an emoji of a darker-skinned man wearing a turban.

A post from 2019 read, "With @chanteljefferies and that awkward moment when ur at a Chinese restaurant and your waiter isn't Chinese...."

The following year, she allegedly threatened, "Shut up before I smack you back to your own country!"

Screenshots also show the youtuber allegedly liking an Instagram post from 2018 about how only men and women should marry because the Bible says so.

Then there are the women-hating posts.

Ransdell allegedly liked an undated Instagram post showing a photo of Selena Gomez that posed the question, "Would you smack her for $835 BILLION?!" The person whose reply was featured in the meme read, "I'd smack her for a sweet tea from McDonald's."

In 2018, Ransdell allegedly tweeted about transgendered women" being "wicked slutty."

She's also been accused of openly hating on her boyfriend’s former partner, Y/n L/n.

Once a fan of Charles (and even of Charles and Y/n together), Ransdell seemingly turned on the 26-year-old singer when "Your/Ship/Name" was on the rocks.She allegedly once followed a Y/n L/n hate account on Instagram and allegedly favorited/liked a tweet from 2022 that showed a picture of Y/n and read, "She collects guys as if they were infinity stones."

How these receipts surfaced is unclear (many of them are private messages between Ransdell and her friends, so someone must have leaked them on the internet), but it’s certain that people aren’t happy with Ransdell using slur, even as a joke. After the tweets resurfaced, many users took to Twitter to call out Ransdell for her offensive behavior, as well as demand accountability and an apology from her and her Formula One boyfriend, Charles Leclerc.

SEE MORE RELATED POSTS:

• Charles Leclerc finally addresses messy breakup with Singer Y/n L/n.

•Harry Styles just commented on Y/n L/n’s Instagram post for the first time in 7 years.

• Miss Americana and The Heartbreak Prince: Harry Styles and Y/n L/n’s relationship timeline

INSTAGRAM, july 18

liked by f1wh0re, corneliastreety/n, and 546,782 others

y/naflorals CHAR!ES SPEAKING ABOUT MOTHER TODAY IN AN INTERVIEW

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dressy/n no comment.

lewismercedes ur joe king…ur joe. king.

leclerc16charles as a charles fan…idk either i’m sorry

TWITTER, july 18

INSTAGRAM STORIES, july 18

yourinstagram 9m

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TWITTER, july 18

ally’s radio 📻:i don’t like this chapter 😞. also pls know that anything that was mentioned within lola’s article is not something i condone!! pls don’t think i’m a bad person, it’s literally only just for the plot😭!! i got inspo off of hailey biebers old tweets sooo. if u see ur username but u weren’t tagged, it’s bc tumblr wouldn’t let me :( if u asked me to tag u and i didn’t, pls send me a message or inbox me bc it might’ve gotten lost 😭 i try to stay up-to-date but sometimes i miss people so pls lmk!!!

taglist 🦢🪩: @incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @perjarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife@mrsmaybank13@black-swan-blog27 @stargaryenx@lilsiz@ohthemisssery@leclerclvr@slytherinjimin3nthusiast@shessthunderstoms@cool-ultra-nerd@ncentic@playboykenz @canvashearts @tinyhrry @xeliaaaa @ifionlywould @gaviypedrisbride @callsignwindow @dhhdhsiavdhaj@chasing-liberosis@laneyspaulding19@a-daydreamersday@saikikusouswife@motorsp0rt@lifesuckslife@shessthunderstoms@drewsandsebastianswife @sainzluvrr@ietss @agustdlvr @sarahkaliii @sweethoneyblossom1@sticksdoesart @ayoanna @c0wgirlswag @ifionlywould @l1ghtaura @ellesmythe @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

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daydreamgoddess14 · 9 months

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Saturday Mornings

MASTERLIST

🤸‍♀️ Well , well, well, didn't take long to get me back on my bullshit, did it? 🤣 I bring you a Roy Kent smutty one shot. Enjoy the gorgeousness of this man 🥵

Roy doesn't have a thing for Phoebe's dance teacher. Until he does. 👀

For @littleesilvia 😘

Saturday Mornings

Saturday morning had always been for Phoebe. From the day she was born, Roy had dedicated every Saturday morning to her. In the first weeks of her birth, he'd let himself into his sister's house and picked up a squawking Phoebe from the moses basket and taken care of her from 6-10 am so his sister could get more sleep. In those early days, he'd spoken to her in his deep, gruff voice while she drifted in and out of sleep. Then they'd go for a walk to the shop, the neighbours peeping into the buggy until Roy had growled at them to "Fuck off and stop gawping at her, she's trying to fucking sleep." As she got a little older, it became cartoons and cereal - devoured together on the sofa, and then a trip to the park. He'd arranged everything for 9 years around his Saturday mornings with Phoebe. Even away matches with a midday kick off didn't stop him, it didn't matter if it was an hour, or five hours - match day or no match day, rain or shine, if he was single or not, Uncle Roy would be there. Their time alone together moved through her swimming lessons phase, gymnastics phase, and morphed into his coaching her kids team. He wanted to be on board with this next phase - really, he did.

After 8 weeks of lessons, he'd finally put his finger on what the problem was. The dancing was nothing new, Phoebe had tried ballet, tap, some weird toddler baby dance shit. 16 weeks ago, she'd switched to some kind of pop/tween dance class with a lovely older woman who mostly sat to one side and pointed to each move, each music transition. It had been great, 8.30-9.30am every Saturday, fucking wonderful. Then 8 weeks ago, that woman had switched classes and you had taken over. You, with your tight Tik Tok leggings and your cropped t-shirt. You who showed the kids each move over and over again. The number of dad's attending the class had suddenly gone up. It had been 6 months since he thought that he and Keeley could try again, but she'd made it clear that that was not the case. He'd been single for longer than 6 months before, sure, but not for a long time. Back then in his younger days, he'd thought nothing of a mutually convenient resolution with a friend until he met his next significant other. He’d come to the conclusion now that he was too fucking old for a friends with benefits situation.

If it was just Saturday mornings that were the problem, he could live with that. He started out by taking a book and ignoring the class completely, but Phoebe did not like that at all. So he switched to audiobooks, brought a pair of fucking ear buds so he could drown out the sound of your voice, your gentle encouragement and the giggles. If it wasn’t the leggings going to tip him over the edge, it was going to be the giggles. Or the praise. Weird, he didn’t realise he had a bit of a praise kink before. Then he heard you in a breathy voice saying something that definitely could apply to situations other than a 9 year olds dance class and nearly had to leave the room. No, it wasn’t just Saturday mornings anymore. You came to mind now at the most inconvenient times. Sitting on the bike while Jamie pulled him along at 5am when shouting at Jamie in the street would have been frowned upon and they instead trained quietly, whenever one of the kids dance routine songs came on the radio and he was forced to relive watching you teach them, at night in the dark when he was alone, in the shower… He absolutely had to stop thinking about you like this. Like you’d see it in his eyes when you waved good morning, or when he held his bank card over your little hand held machine to pay for the classes. He also couldn’t stand the very much married men who flirted so openly with you. Clearly telling their wives at home, no love, I’ll take little… Mabel to dance class, you stay here and have a lie in and a cup of tea.

It was funny how they’d migrated from the later morning class which was run by a woman who had the body shape of a fucking pencil. Beautiful, yeah she wasn’t bad. But she didn’t have the strong thighs you did, the sweeping curve of your hip into a cute little waist. He couldn’t go another week like this. Had to stop now, stop being so pervy. He was no better than the other blokes who came to watch their kids' class. Except he was slightly better, because he was actually single.

“Uncle Roy, we’re here, come on!” Phoebe was already half out of the car. He braced himself for another week of torture.

“Good morning guys! Come in, I’m just getting set up.” You called out from across the room. He was a bit too early really. Not intentionally, of course not. You were still in your hoodie, still setting up the portable speaker and drinking a Costa coffee. You put a song on in the background and he had to hold his breath while you pulled off the warm grey sweater. As it came off, it pulled the baggy cropped t-shirt up as well, exposing your sports bra underneath, the soft skin of your stomach. It was definitely soft whenever he thought about it anyway. You straightened yourself out and sat on the floor, stretching your legs out in front of you and reaching forward to your toes. Phoebe lept out of her seat, threw her coat at Roy and plonked herself down in front of you, mirroring your pose. “Joining me for a warm up Phoebs?”

“It’s important to warm up. My Uncle Roy is a football coach and he says it’s the most important part.”

“He’s not wrong.” You smiled, moving through some other poses and stretches. He was a dead man. This was it. The end, this was how it was going to go. You stretch your arms up as far as you can reach them, stretching out your back with a little pop. He tried to ignore the fucking Grecian vase shape your body made, truly. Until you’d made a noise a little too close to a moan for his liking, followed by, “Holy shit that feels good.”

Fucking hell. Fucking hell .

“Sorry Phebs, didn’t mean to swear.”

“It’s ok. I’ll let you off the first time, but you owe me a pound next time.”

“Aww thanks.” The class soon filled up, he wished he’d taken a seat way at the back, out of the way so he could either look at you without it being so noticeable, or ignore you completely. He totally respected your classes, he really did. It was a tricky thing, conducting an age appropriate class for 9 year olds which avoided sexualising dance moves but also made them feel like they were able to move their bodies how they wanted to. Of course, it’s not always the dance moves themselves which could be seen as sexual, more often it’s the person watching who makes that connotation. And he tried so, so hard not to do that. Tried desperately to not think about how your body would move underneath his, on top of his, the beautiful sounds he could draw from you. He needed to get out, feigned a phone call, holding up his phone as he got to the door so you knew he’d be right outside if Phoebe needed anything. He didn’t think you’d even seen him until you gave him a little thumbs up.

At the end of the class, you encourage the kids to just sit for a minute. You all usually end up sprawled on your backs, not having to make eye contact makes it easier for some of the kids to talk openly if they wanted help or an opinion on something. It was somewhat of an eye opener for the parents as well. This week, you had the kids sit up so they could see you,

“I thought I might take you on a little trip, if you guys fancy it? I was going to go and see the new Barbie film after class next week. If any of you want to come with me, with your grown up - of course - then we could have a really exciting morning! I’m not allowed to take any of you without another grown up though, ok? So you’ll have to check with them first.” You handed each of them a little pink party invite. He already knew before Phoebe asked. Their match next week was on Sunday so he was free all of Saturday morning. He had no excuse to not take her, he also didn’t think he wanted one.

He hoped you were a little bit dumb. It was a horrible thought, he knew that, to wish stupidity on someone. But if there was any chance of him making a full recovery and banishing you to the depths of his mind, never to turn up again - especially not when he was in the shower with his hand around himself, he really fucking hoped that you were dumber than a box of rocks. You weren’t. He already had an inkling of that, but he could still live in hope.

“Fancy the Barbie movie next week?” You’d asked brightly as he’d held out his card to pay, he wasn’t sure if it was the physical and mental turmoil of having to watch you for the last hour, but he thought he could detect a sliver of hope in your voice.

“Fucking probably, she won’t let me say no.” Phoebe held out a hand for her pound. “Add it to my tab.”

And of course, that’s how he found himself in a dark cinema the following week with a gaggle of kids around him. He was still trying to work out if it was a blessing or a curse that he’d ended up sitting next to you - it had certainly earned him glares from one or two of the other grown ups. As you laughed again at another joke aimed to sail just over pre-teen heads, he knew it was a curse. It had to be. Forced to listen to that laugh for two hours? Fucking torture. When you cried, he knew he was done for. He reached over, just a little and patted the back of your hand in comfort. Just a little there, there gesture. You’d only fucking gripped his hand and squeezed it, he stole a glance at you and you’d given him a watery smile and a little lopsided shrug. Then you’d let go of his hand, and turned back to the movie. He had to spend the remaining 45 minutes of the film trying not to think about your warm hands carefully exploring his body.

The following week, he did it.

“Would you like to go for a coffee sometime?” He asked quietly as his card payment went through. He didn’t think you’d heard him until you looked up sharply.

"Aren't you like way out of my league?"

"What league is that then?”

“Well, you're in the ridiculously fit footballer league? Y’know for people who date supermodels and influencers?”

“I wouldn't fucking know about that.”

“I'm sure you would, I'm sure they don’t kick you out once you retire. Once a fit footballer, always a fit footballer? Is that the name of it? The… F. I. T? Or is it just the R.F.F.L?”

“What's that stand for?”

“No idea, it's your league, you tell me. Footballers Into Tits?”

“That’s a shit acronym”

“I know. I can do better, promise. Give me a minute.”

“I'm sure you'd be alright in that league” He said quietly,

“Excuse me? That was very cheeky. Ohh, maybe it could stand for ‘Filthy rich but Impossibly Tedious’?”

“That’s pretty good, definitely suits some footballers I know. Alright, fine. What fucking league are you in, then?”

“Whatever the Conference equivalent of the F.I.T is.”

“Now that can’t be true.”

“Oh yeah? How do you know?”

“I just fucking do. Is it a yes to coffee?”

“I mean, I still think you’re way too high up the F.I.T for me, but sure.”

“It’s the R.F.F.L actually.” He smirks as you hand him a flyer for the class.

“My number is on there.” You tell him, then you’d walked away without taking his number, which meant he was going to have to be the one to contact you first. No, you definitely weren’t dumb. Shit .

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It was a combination of factors really, a busy week at work meant though he’d messaged you quickly, he wasn’t actually able to meet for coffee until the end of the week. So you’d spent all week in a message exchange which had ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.

“Would you rather fight 100 tiny Jamie Tartt’s or 1 giant one?”

“100 tiny ones. I’d fucking stamp on them all.”

“Figured out what league you’re in.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Champions League.”

“Fuck off am I. I’ve wikipedia’d your dating history mate. Gina Gershon? I think I should cancel coffee now…”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Do you always try so hard to look like you’re not looking at dance class?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Uhuh. Ok.”

“Yes, I do. Every week is torture.”

“Jamie says I’m too old for the R.F.F.L.”

“Maybe that works in my favour. If I’m up against Gina fucking Gershon, I’d have no chance.”

“You’re not up against anyone.”

“I've been thinking about you all morning.”

“Was that flirting? Were you just flirting with me?”

“Shut up. See you later.”

And now… well. Coffee at 3pm on a Friday turned into dinner at 6pm, dessert at 8pm and a nightcap at 10pm in his kitchen. You tapped the edge of your empty tumbler,

“Another?” He asked, leaning against the counter just across from you.

“No, thank you. I should… go.” The lift at the end meant it could have been a statement, could have been a question. He nodded,

“Early class.”

“Yep. I think we lost track of time.”

“Or not,” he offered,

“Or not,” you bit your lip and he felt indecision fluttering in his chest. He pushed off the counter and closed the gap between you both in only one step.

“If I kissed you now, would you be mad?” He asked softly, he could see your body tremble with the breath you took.

“Think I’d be more mad if you didn’t.” He watched you hold his gaze for as long as you could before looking at his mouth. He took the tumbler from you and put it on the counter before placing a careful hand on your hip and leaning down to kiss you. The warm whisky taste of vanilla and honey mingled with the chocolate from your dessert and Roy realised that no, he hadn’t been tortured before, watching you teach a bunch of kids how to dance wasn’t the way he was going to go. This was. Right here in his kitchen with your arms winding around his neck and bringing him as close as you could possibly get him. Your fingers scratching through his hair. He pressed you into the counter,

“I’ve thought about doing this for a long time,” he whispered, kissing down your neck, making you gasp. He pulled away quickly, worried that it was too much too soon, “Shit, sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He went to move further back to give you space but your hands gripped his shirt to pull him back in,

“Please, I don’t want to stop,” you breathed heavily, “I don’t want you to stop.” You said, more firmly. He was against you again in an instant,

“Sure?” He asked, “You’re sure?” You stepped up to kiss him, making your feelings very clear,

“I’m sure.” Your fingers flew to the buttons of his shirt, undoing the first couple. He pulled you away from the counter, strong arms wrapped around your back and lifted you enough to move you both to the sofa. You stumbled against the cushions, falling backwards and pulling him with you so that he landed heavily on top of you.

"Oof."

“Fuck, sorry. You ok?” He sits back up on his knees, allowing you to automatically move your legs to either side of his and sit up,

“Never better,” his smile catches you off guard, “fuck, you’re gorgeous.” You mumble, reaching for him. The feeling is more than mutual. He needs to feel your kiss again, desperate to feel your skin on his. It’s better than anything he’d spent the last 8 weeks dreaming of. And the sounds you made as his hands and kisses explored your body were enough to drive him insane. He moves further down your body, pulling your skirt down with him and immediately turns to trail kisses and little bites along your inner thigh while his hand reaches up to link fingers with yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered, his breath hot against your hip. The simple request alone made your body turn to liquid against him. He’d spent so long thinking about (denying, debating, ignoring) the effect you had on him, he hadn’t actually considered that you would be just as affected by him. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he looked y’know, alright , for an older bloke. But still, seeing it first hand… seeing it first hand, hearing it first hand, from you was really something else entirely. You tugged his hand to bring up back up to you but he shook his head, his beard catching the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, “busy,” he said, his voice muffled. He focused on nothing but you, losing himself in each gasp, moan and clutch of your hand still holding his. He worked you through one bone-shaking orgasm without stopping, leaving you a shuddering mess as he went straight for another. Looking up at you, he could see the hand that wasn’t clinging onto him had covered your eyes. This time when you squeezed his hand, he made his way back up your body and settled between your legs. “You ok?” he asked, leaving soft kisses on your jaw before finally capturing your mouth in a filthy kiss. You didn’t speak, just shook your head. “You taste fucking incredible.” He kissed you again and you whimpered, finally moving your hand away from your eyes.

“I’ve got a problem.”

“Oh yeah?” He said, moving back to your neck, a hand slipping behind you to unclip your bra.

“Yeah I thought you’d only want a one night thing but that’s impossible now.”

“It was fucking impossible anyway. One night is definitely not enough time.”

“Oh,” you whispered weakly. “Good. Please-, oh fuck,” he caught a nipple lightly between his teeth, “please don’t stop.” So he didn’t, and he never would again if it was up to him. When he’d been (much) younger, he fully grasped the importance and concept of consent. He was a professional footballer - it wasn’t just important, it was crucial. But as he’d gotten older, he finally realised just how much better saying, and hearing, the words made everything. Being able to ask, “may I?” and “I need to hear you say it” and waiting, waiting, waiting, for the breathy response had never left him so wrecked before. He pushed into you in long, slow strokes while you met him with each roll of your hips. When you hold his jaw tightly to bring his gaze to yours, he nearly falls apart but he's determined to get you there first and he knows you're so close. "You feel so good-," you whisper, "So good."

"Fuck, I need-"

"I know, I'm right with you." His name is on you lips as you come and he thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard. When he joins you, he kisses you with such depth it's like you were made for him. You lay still together for a while as you catch your breath. He keeps his nose in the crook of your neck while his hand softly smooths across your ribs and the side of your breasts. Your legs no longer lock around him, you stretch out and enjoy the weight of his body covering you.

"'M crushing you," he mumbles. His voice so low in your ear makes you shiver and despite you not being ready for another round quite so soon, your hips buck, "Fucking hell, give me a minute," he laughs.

"You're not crushing me, and I'm not ready yet either," you grin into his hairline and kiss his temple.

"Hmm if you say so." He rocks against you, half hard again already, needing to hear the broken little moan that ghosts over his head. "Come on, I want you in a bed this time."

He wasn't happy when you had to tear yourself from his bed at 7am to go home. He wasn't happy when he picked Phoebe up at 8am. He wasn't happy in the drive thru Costa queue at 8.10am. He was happy at 8.20am when he finally got to hand you your coffee and see your smile as you stretched out on the floor of the dance studio. He was perfectly happy knowing that you'd be torturing his Saturday mornings for a while longer.

FIN

#ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #roy kent #roy kent x reader #roy kent imagine #roy kent smut #roy kent x you #roy kent fic #roy kent fanfiction #roy kent fluff

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roanniom · 2 years

Note

Listen I'm using voice to text on my way home from work because I had a thought and I immediately said oh my God I have to send you an ask so I'm thinking comfortably mid-20s post high school. Eddie who has taken over running the local record store You walk in and Joan jett's. I Love Rock and roll comes on to the old rock radio station that he plays in the background because at this point the song is about 10 years old and you think that he's walked into the back room or there's nobody else in there and so you start singing it out loud. He walks out of the back room to you, singing the chorus of that song almost at full volume and immediately he's falling in love with you.

Please do with that thought what you will. Love you 💕💕

Claire. Light of my life. Fellow fantasizer of my fantasies.

This. Is. Brilliant. I can see it now.

The Record of You

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: NSFW, unprotected PIV sex

You don't think anything of the fact that nobody seems to be in the shop. The old owner Mr. Jenkins has been ancient since you were a child, often leaving the shop unattended for long stretches of time. Fully trusting the citizens of Hawkins to not rob him blind while he ate a tuna sandwich with his dog Jitters in the upstairs portion that served as his apartment.

You haven't been in town for a while so you don't know that Eddie Munson has taken over management of Hawkins' singular record store. You haven't seen him since he finally managed to finish high school and ended the night of graduation celebrating with his older friends Steve, Robin, and Nancy out at the bar at the end of main street (the younger kids who always seemed to follow him around like little lambs obviously couldn’t join in on that phase of the festivities). He had insisted on buying you a drink when he saw you - his smile wide and fueled by joy and PBR - and you ended up hanging out with him and his friends until the wee hours of the night.

His arms had remained respectfully, if not familiarly, around your shoulders at first. But as time went on and the drinks continued to flow, his arms found themselves wound around your waist. His hands found your hips. Your thighs. Your ass as he stepped behind you at the bar to call out “whatever the good lady wants, she gets!”

One thing led to another and you ended up in the back of his van as the dawn cracked, hazy and bruising in the sky. Both still fully clothed, Eddie had kissed you and kissed you until you were breathless and giggly. He sat you in his lap and ran his hands up and down your spine, pulling you down against him to feel how much you were affecting him.

But then the sun came up. And you told him the thing you weren’t telling him. About the flight you had to New York in just a few hours. The job you had lined up at a company larger than any Hawkins brick and mortar could ever fathom. You’d watched his face fall, but then his smile returned, even more blinding than before, as he congratulated you and wished you the best.

When you’d climbed out of his van, you’d urged yourself not to look back over your shoulder. Eddie was just a guy you’d grown up with. You’d never been particularly close - hellos in the halls at school that turned into waves at the grocery store and small talk at the gas station. But on this night you’d tasted him. Felt his hands on you. If you looked back you’d see the dimples you’d never noticed until a few hours prior. See the frizzy hair whose texture you now knew. And it would make it harder to walk away.

So you didn’t look back.

And you haven’t seen Eddie since.

So you have no idea he's in the back room stacking boxes of tapes and records when you walk into the record store and start perusing all these years later. The song that’s playing in the background comes to an end, leaving the customary beat of scratchy silence before the all too familiar opening notes of Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock and Roll” starts blaring from the speakers.

You laugh a little to yourself. This was your absolute favorite song in high school, and you’d yelled along to it religiously any time it had come on, in any circumstance.

As the first verse begins to play out, you try to resist, but it’s a lost cause. You start out just mumbling along to the lyrics. But before you know it you’re singing along at top volume as you thumb through records.

You don’t notice Eddie walk out of the back room, almost dropping an armful of records when he recognizes who’s singing in his store.

You get all the way to the end of the song without noticing his presence. In fact, by the end you’re even dancing around a bit. Eddie’s put down the records by this point, leaning against the check out counter with a massive grin on his face, enjoying the show. It isn’t until the song ends and the sound of clapping makes you whirl around that you realize you’re not alone.

“Forgive the intrusion, princess. Where can I pay for my ticket? Because a concert like that sure ain’t free.”

~*~

You spend an hour catching up with him. Hearing all about what he’s been doing and telling him everything that’s happened - good and bad - with your big time job. When you mention that big city living just wasn’t for you and that you’re here planning on moving back to Hawkins full time, you wonder if you’re imagining the glint of satisfaction in his eye.

After you’ve been speaking for a while he insists on closing up shop and making you dinner. You try to resist, telling him you can’t cut into his hours of operation, but he’s already flipping the sign on the door to say closed and grabbing your hand to drag you up the steps, ranting about how the Hawkins Welcome Committee would fine him if they found out he had a chance to welcome back a resident and didn’t take it.

Since taking over for Mr. Jenkins, Eddie’s been able to move out of his uncle’s trailer and into the upstairs apartment. Your heart swells taking in the ratty but homey decor that just feels so utterly Eddie. You’d always felt like Eddie Munson deserved better than the shitty circumstances life had thrown at him. You’re pleased to find that life seems to have taken a turn for the better.

Eddie doesn’t have much in his sparse kitchen, but he whips up a respectable pot of pasta which he serves on mismatched plates.

“I don’t have any wine or any of the shit that a classy lady like yourself would enjoy, unfortunately.” In spite of the humor in his words, he does seem genuinely disappointed that he can’t offer you anything nicer than one of the dozen PBRs he has in the fridge or a mug full of some shitty whiskey left over in his cupboard.

You happily accept the PBR, clinking it against his can when he raises it, laughing at the watery taste as it goes down. You haven’t laughed this much in a long time. You haven’t felt this warm and full and good in a long time.

Soon the sun has set outside the windows and you both have migrated into the living area. He’s on the couch next to his record player, loading up record after record. You’re on the floor next to him, reclining back against the seat cushions and listening as he rants about his current favorite bands. He’s always been so passionate. So fiery. It’s what you’ve always enjoyed about him from afar. That part of him has remained the same. So has his long hair and his worn out tee - though he’s switched out his customary Hellfire shirt for a Metallica one these days - and you can’t help but settle into the comfort of his constancy. His consistency.

His rings sparkle in the dim lighting of his apartment as he gesticulates wildly and his smile is wide as he continues explaining all about the modern state of metal. After a while it all gets to be too much. A lump is forming in your throat. A tension in your muscles. You hoist yourself up to join him on the couch and wait a beat, watching him hesitate and stop speaking at your sudden change of position.

“Eddie,” you breathe. Not really saying anything other than his name. Then you launch yourself at him. You fist your hands in his shirt and pull him to you, mashing your lips against his. His mouth tastes of stale beer but you’ve never loved a taste more in your life.

For a second he doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. In fact, he doesn’t even return the kiss for a few heartbeats, so surprised he is by your sudden attention. But then he’s kissing you back, and his arms are winding around your waist. His hands find your hips, your thighs, your ass.

When his tongue enters your mouth you moan, completely uninhibited. Full volume, just like when you were singing in the record store earlier. You’re past the point in your life where you silence yourself and your reactions. You’ve lived a lot of life in these last few years and you deserve to enjoy things without being limited by doubt and self-censorship.

You rock against him, because you’ve climbed into his lap at this point, and suddenly you’re right back where you were in his van all those years ago.

And Eddie must be on this same internal time traveling journey because when you break away from him, panting, to paint kisses on his throat, he gasps out a question.

“Do you ever - think of that night. In my van?”

“I do,” you say into his skin. You hadn’t fixated on it. Hadn’t lost sleep pining over him. You’d been off and on to a different life at the time. But you’d be lying, or at least lying by omission if you didn’t tell him the true extent. “Sometimes I still get myself off to the thought of it.��

You’re ripped from his throat so suddenly you swear you get whiplash.

“You...get yourself...”

“Off. Yes,” you confirm, smiling as you realize how flustered he’s getting.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans out, surging forward and capturing your lips again. His hands wander with less hesitation now. He’s gripping and groping and it feels great. He feels solid and whole beneath you and around you and you want...

“More,” you breathe into his open mouth.

“Want to finish what we started, princess?” He asks, holding your chin to look into your eyes. You nod feverishly. Glad to see he’s no longer flustered. He’s got a smile on his face and his hands are pulling at your clothes.

Your jeans and top are discarded swiftly, leaving you in nothing but a bra and panties. Onces you’ve helped Eddie divest himself of everything but his black boxers, you climb back into his lap, resuming your previous motion of grinding down into him.

This is exactly what you were doing last time, but this time there are far fewer layers between you. You can feel the stiffness of his member no longer stifled but his jeans, rubbing at the apex of your thighs in the most delicious way.

“You feel so good,” you practically whimper, rolling your hips to find the friction you need. Eddie guides you with his hands at your waist, helping you find a rhythm that has you both shuddering.

“I’m not even inside you yet, baby,” he chuckles. You look him dead in the eye.

“What are you waiting for?” Your smirk is challenging. You’re trying to rile him up. And it works.

“You know now that you mention it...” he quips, and suddenly you’re being lifted and turned around. He bends you over the arm of the sofa, pushing your knees apart to widen your stance, your ass in the air. “I guess I’m not waiting for anything.”

“Eddie!” you chide with a laugh. His hands grab at the rounded curves of your ass with a light slap and he pulls you back against his pelvis as he shuffles up behind you. He rubs his clothed cock back and forth against your fabric-covered pussy and you moan, shifting your hips down to try and get him to hit your clit.

“Impatient?” He sounds amused and you pout.

“I think I’ve been more than patient up till now,” you argue.

“I know, baby, I know.” You feel him peel your underwear off of you and you shuffle your knees to aid him in removing the garment all together. You hiss out a gasp when you suddenly feel his cock, uncovered and warm against you, pushing at your pussy. Now it is his turn to hiss. “Are you always this beautifully wet or are you just happy to see me?”

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson,” you say with a laugh, rolling your eyes. Your eyes cross mid-roll, however, when suddenly he’s pushing into you. You keen forward. “Oh fuckohfuckohfuck.”

“Thought you were done being patient,” he teases, though his own words are strained.

“Don’t make me - oh god! Wait so long next time!” you gasp. Eddie hears the promise inherent in those words but tries not to focus too much on it, lest he lose his cool immediately. He goes to work thrusting into you evenly, learning the way your body reacts. The things that make you pitch forward. The touches that have you biting the side of your fist to keep from screaming. Eventually that gets on his nerves.

“Don’t hold it in. Wanna hear you, princess,” he says, hauling you up so that you’re both up on your knees, his chest to your back.

“Well, I wanna see you,” you respond. You expect Eddie to throw you around again, but instead he eases out and turns you carefully, gently. He sits back against the couch cushions with his feet planted on the ground, pulling you into his lap. Right now you’re back in that very familiar position, with you grinding into his lap just as you had done earlier tonight - just as you had done that night in his van.

But this time he lifts you up and brings you back down on his cock. Your hands come to fist in his hair and you cry out at the delicious stretch.

“Thaaat’s it,” he encourages, dropping kisses on your neck, the hollow at the base of your throat, your collar bone. “Let me hear you, baby.”

“Eddie. Oh my - oh fuck.”

“You sound so pretty. Almost as pretty as you did putting Joan Jett to shame in the store earlier,” he chuckles. You let out a shaky laugh and try to bury your face in his neck but he doesn’t let you. “No more hiding, babygirl.”

As you get closer and closer to climax, you start to lose strength in your thighs and it becomes harder to lift yourself up and down on his cock. Eddie seems to notice this and he takes a firm hold on the underside of your ass and begins bouncing you up and down on him. The momentum, coupled with his upward thrusts, have you moaning all over again.

“Holy - oh fuck Eddie. Right there don’t slow down,” you whine, even as you know you’re so spent that your muscles can’t contribute much to the exertion for which you are begging. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact he seems like he’s on cloud nine taking in your bouncing breasts and your fucked out expression.

“Right there, baby? Yeah?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Hold onto me, princess. I’ve got you,” he says through gritted teeth and do hold onto him. You grasp at his flexing arm and thread your fingers through his hair, tugging as the ripple of your orgasm heats your belly.

When you cum, you recognize in a distant part of your brain that the record Eddie had put on earlier is still playing. The music adds ambience to the moment but you can’t quite make it out. It’s simply background for the music of your gasps and moans and chorus of “Eddie!”s.

And as Eddie cums and adds his own guttural groans and cries of your name to the din, you realize that there’s no other song you’d rather hear play on repeat.

~*~

Tiny tag list of some people who have publicly reacted to my Eddie thirsting: @millenialcatlady @theoncrayjoy @cowboy-kylo @addiiscryingrn @sacklerscumrag @shesthegirlnextdoor1 @ginnylupin

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #issa’s writing night #eddie munson #eddie munson x fem!reader #fem!reader

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yanderefictinallove · 2 months

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I̸ M̸a̸d̸e̸ A̸ D̸e̸a̸l̸, B̸u̸t̸ N̸o̸t̸ W̸i̸t̸h̸ T̸h̸e̸ D̸e̸v̸i̸l̸

Alastor x Reader

She wanted to be a star,she said that years ago. She loved to imagine it, to think it. But no one told her it would be a hassle to be an entertainer. She was lucky.

Luckey, enough to get this gig at a bar. It was pretty old and was said to be around for centuries, but money was money, and not everyone has the funds to just pay to be famous.

As she was in the backstage room, she was getting herself pretty for the stage, as she looked in the mirror to admire her [h/l] and [h/t] hair, her gorgeous eyes and soft skin, she was perfect and she knew that.

"10 minutes till spotlight," said the manager of the bar. She was a nice old woman, with long beautiful hair. It flowed, she was pretty young looking for her age and she was the sweetest thing ever.

"Thank you, ma'am." I responded, and she smiled and left the room, I opened my purse to see my picture of my gorgeous dog, Daisy. She was a beautiful white pitbull, she was my best friend, and even though she was a dog, she was my best friend. I love her, and I want her to be proud of me.

"Hey babe." Said a familiar voice that broke ne from my thoughts. "Hey, babe." I resopned, it was my best friend since diapers, Travis. "I just came to wish you luck, and you look sadder than a miserable husband. What's wrong?" Damn it. He was able to read me. What else did I expect, though? travis always has his shit together, I'm the train wreak. Well, I'm a cute train wreak anyway...

Before I could answer, it was time for me to get on stage. I stood up, and Travis went to go sit down. As I made my way to the stage, fear and excitement rushed through me as I walked on stage. I heard applause, as the band started I started to sing, but there was a problem.

The corners of the room are looking at me. The gaze hurts, and it burns. It's so blank that it scares me. it's smileing at me, its getting very close in here....

....

...

"5 minutes till spotlight"....what? I looked around I was still backstage, holding my purse, I looked up and the manager was there, she looked concerned and left me to be alone without a word. I got up, put ny purse back, and started to go backstage, as I was walking I got a random drive of determination just pop up out of nowhere, I'm gonna use it.

As I walked on stage and I heard applause, I started singing and while u was singing my heart out I noticed something...no, Actually...someone. In the corner. A gentleman, he was fair skinned and what caught my eye is what he was wearing, he was dressed buissness casual. And he wore a smile on his face...ok....fucking creep.

He keeps stareing, and not like in amazement like everyone else in here....it has an intent behind it. I feel uneasy. As I finish my songs I see applause, it feels great, fucking euphoric...but I need to leave, mr. "Lemme stare bitches right into their souls" is fixated on me, we keep making eye contact.

I quickly gather my stuff, tell the owner goodbye, and leave. As I walked to my car, I hurried to unlock it. Once I got in, I felt a little safer. I can breathe. As I started my drive home, I kept seeing a deer, I turned the radio on, it was nothing but buzzing and I had to tune it, some old county song was playing till it abruptly stopped.

"So what was it you seen?" A man said

"(Crying) it was a monster. It had horns , sharp teeth, deer head, oh lord, help me (cries harder). " A woman replies. What happened to the music?

"That ma'am was a wendigo." When the man said that my skin felt weird, out of place. I tried to tune it off but nothing worked.

"Wendigos are hellishly tall."[Tune]

"They crave human flesh."[Tune]

"If you see them, run, or you will crave human flesh."[Tune]

I finally turned it off, I was home anyway. As I pulled up to the apartments, I started to smell something. It was foul, gross, and smelled bloody and metallic. Problibly a dead animal. I parked my car and hopped out. As I was walking toward the lobby, I could still smell the stink. It was 10:15pm, and the reception for the lobby was closed. Now, only residents can get in. I go in the elevator and see the beautiful glowing button, I click the 2nd floor, and I go up. As I was waiting, it felt as if it was going forever. The light can barely stay on.

It's shaking, holy shit, it's shaking. I'm gonna die. This is it. As the elevator was trying not to fail too much. I was crying...I atleast wanna tell Daisy bye..*ding* What..

I opened my eyes to see the elevator, it was still.. and looked brand new and up to date... no flickering light or nothing...

I walked to my apartment and unlocked the door again. As I opened it, I was greeted by my little angle. She wagged her tail and smiled.. This is my reason for living. I locked the door and started to undress for my shower. As I got in, i ravished in the amazingly perfect warm water. It usually needed constant adjustment before it was perfect. As I washed myself, Daisy started to bark. She probably is just hungry, I finished up and stepped out. Ok, she is still barking.

As I ran to her, she stopped barking and started to wag her tail.

"What-What a show, I was quite impressed." I snapped my body around. It was the man from the bar, the one that was in the corner, smiling.

I ran to grab my phone off the counter.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you~" he said

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU!"

"I'm the person who can give you everything you ask for. Now fix this silliness or you will miss it."

"Miss, what?"

"Your once in a lifetime opportunity!!"

He smiled even harder than before. He looked at me and held his hand out for me to shake. I need to remain calm. I pushed his hand away and started to ask him questions, such as like 'how did you get in my house' or ' what do you want from me?' He skipped the first one.

"I'm here because i've scented your need for the big lights, and I wanted to help your little predicament, with, of course, a price to pay."

"So you came here for money?"

"Heavens no, I came here to watch your rise, and in return, I want a favor. I have the solution right here. You just have to take it, my dear!"

He pulled a paper out of his pocket, and at the top, it talked about personal management and was signed by AL.

Right below, it was blank space for a signature. I looked at it, and there was no intention to sign it. Why is my arm moving? It's moving toward the pen attached to the paper, and the man had a sadistic smile on his face... and Daisy is quiet.

I looked, and she was shaking in her spot... My baby, her eyes were asking, "What are you doing?"...I don't know, I'm sorry Daisy.

As my arm signed the form for me, that man smiled more. He snapped his fingers, and it disappeared.

"Alastor, quite a pleasure to be meeting you, quite a pleasure. You will be entertaining me for a long, long time."

I woke up in a cold sweat....

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

It's been years and I still simp for this man

Oh well...

Request: Open

#hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #yandere hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel

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notbecauseofvictories · 6 months

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Halloween Week of Horror (Games)

It’s that most horrible time of year, and I’ve decided to explore the spooky world of text-based games. My list of games is cribbed from this post and this post.

Just a couple today, since tomorrow and Halloween I’m going to focus on some of the bigger names on my list!

GAMEIFY HORROR // DAY 1 // DAY 2 // DAY 3 // DAY 4 // DAY 5

DAY 6, mary's hare, god is in the radio, if on a winter's night four travelers

mary’s hare

Mary’s Hare is short interactive horror story about a woman and a rabbit, based on the story of Mary Toft.

I have to admit, I love the story of Mary Toft. One of history's strange parables about scientific certainty, hoaxes, people, and the human knowledge-making project. Just recently I was reading about how incredibly painful Mary Toft's deception would have been, and reevaluates whether Mary was pushed or driven by those around her.

This game, though, this took the little parable to its blood-streaked ending, much more than reality ever did. I loved the creeping sense of horror (Mary wasting away; the missing husband!) and then the visceral, haunting ending. I have to admit I like it when these horror poems are brief, stark and almost poetic—it makes me think of Emily Carroll, and terror that is also poetry.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 5/10, mostly for medical horror (pregnancy, blood, etc.)

OVERALL GRADE: A-

god is in the radio

you are death, one of 22 members of the major arcana, a cult dedicated to some far-off god. the night is halloween, and you watch in scorn as the unknowing dance among devils and dress to indulge in sin. the high priestess receives a message from the all-mighty himself: the arcana must gather in an abandoned house and find his song on an old radio receiver.

I think one of the most surprising parts of this game is that it was all written in a few hours; something so well-realized seems like it should have taken longer. Dreamlike and strange, not entirely explained, but still a neat little story—neat as in “cool,” not as in tidy. (Especially given that picking “HOPE” means you die as a bloody sacrifice in the name of your nameless god...)

Still, the storytelling is lovely, and I loved the growing awareness that you’re missing pieces of what came from before (e.g., the brief mention of your brother; the injuries that you know have an explanation but that no one recalls.) I'm still thinking about one of the endings, where you break out, run---only to realize it’s just a regular Halloween night.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 5/10 for gore, but otherwise it's just spooky

OVERALL GRADE: B-

if on a winter's night, four travelers

a narrative-driven point-and-click adventure with horror elements that explores the stories of four characters in a masked ball taking place aboard a train in the late 1920s.

Quite haunting and lovely, which is especially impressive given the limited scope of its graphics. Yet for a pixelated world, it managed to be intensely gripping---the sun-drenched hotel room, the gloomy mansion that is suddenly revived in a dream, the cramped rooms near the surgical theater, and even the shadowy train car you find yourself in. Not to mention that the images presented are shifting, flexible, from the transformation of the beautiful home (beautiful and sunny, to grey and increasingly destroyed) to the hidden underside of the world (haunted by monsters, drowned, bloody).

Special credit to the third plotline you explore---I am still dizzyingly weak for European magic, and that underside of the world is so hauntingly painted.

As a last note, I loved that it took haunted people and gave them---well, not exactly a soft place to land, but perhaps softer than they might have had otherwise. It was a gentle note to end on.

SPOOKY LEVEL: 3/10, and then mostly for death, decay, and grief; nothing jumps out at you

OVERALL GRADE: A

#gameify horror #the oldest and strongest emotion of mankind

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d-criss-news · 5 months

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Review: A VERY DARREN CRISSMAS Tour Brings Music and Fun to Emerson Colonial Theatre

Making his way to the stage of the Emerson Colonial Theatre on the recent Boston stop on his “A Very Darren Crissmas!” tour – by going up, down, and around the sold-out venue – Darren Criss transported his eager audience from their seats to the palm of his hand.

And the popular performer, accompanied by a tight five-piece band, kept them there with a buoyant, tune-filled, nearly two-hour show, which featured everything from holiday favorites, from his 2021 debut CD that shares its name with the tour, to pop music covers and more.

The Emmy-winning actor and singer – famed for Fox-TV’s “Glee,” FX’s “The Assassination of Gianni Versace: American Crime Story” and “Hollywood,” and Broadway shows including the 2011 revival of “How to Succeed in Business without Really Trying,” 2014’s “Hedwig and the Angry Inch,” and the 2022 revival of “American Buffalo” – opened with what he called “a winter love song,” John Mayer’s holiday-themed “St. Patrick’s Day.”

Criss’s voice was richly expressive on that and other songs, including jazz-infused renditions of “Winter Wonderland,” “(Everybody’s Waiting for) The Man with the Bag,” and a gorgeous “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire),” the Mel Tormé classic Criss calls his “very favorite Christmas song.”

He also offered up wonderful covers of Regina Spektor’s contemplative ballad “New Year,” and, in one of the evening’s most impressive vocal moments, the 2004 Keane hit, “Somewhere Only We Know,” performed without mic to showcase the superb acoustics of the spectacular Colonial.

The legendary try-out house also provided the perfect setting for Criss to sing “Welcome Home,” first performed by opera singer Enzio Pinza in the 1954 Broadway musical “Fanny,” with music and lyrics by Harold Rome.

The San Francisco native’s good humor was sprinkled throughout the show. Apparently, whenever John Rox’s novelty song “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas,” a hit for 10-year-old Gayla Peevey in 1953, played on the radio in Criss’s childhood home, everything came to a halt so his mother could sing along. In Boston, her now-adult son’s version of the song had him, and his rapt audience, bopping along.

Weaving in plenty of colorful patter between the songs – which also included a light and lovely “When You Wish Upon a Star” – Criss shared freeform musings on the mood of the day, defined the musical term “imperfect rhyme,” and humorously lamented the takeover of the Billboard charts at this time of year by Burl Ives, with “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” and now Brenda Lee, with her current number one, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree,” first recorded 62 years ago.

At the close, Criss strapped on a guitar for his hip-swiveling “Christmas Dance,” a rollicking tune he not only wrote but also customized with song requests shouted out by his swooning Boston audience. It was “A Very Darren Crissmas” indeed.

#darren criss #broadway world #avdc 2023 @ boston #avdc 2023 #press #dec 2023

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strxwbloody · 1 year

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GHOUL IN THE BOX | Ch. 1

TAGLIST : @izz3l @honeym0chi @lohsna @writersblockk @kthyg @thelazylemur @asahi-namikaze @addictedtohobi

Summary: Seoul has been invaded in recent years by ghouls, demons with humanoid features that feed on human flesh. The CCG has introduced a curfew for human citizens to avoid losing their skin. What happens when a girl finds herself in an underground pub in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Pairing: Ghoul SS+ Hoseok x Human Reader

Genre: Horror

Warnings:Just a murder

Rating: 18+ PLEASE MINORS DON'T INTERACT

Words: Short

"Another murder case, this time in the university area of Hongdae, human remains of a boy and a girl were found, most likely by a ghoul. But we’re not sure if there’s a ghoul behind it that’s causing panic these days. A ghoul yet to be identified and yet to be ascertained if it is a higher class category. The CCG will try to investigate the matter. As far as we know about the victims, they were a couple of 20-year-old college students found near a not-so-popular pub. The injuries are the usual signs of struggle, bites and mutilation of certain parts of the body. We offer our deepest condolences to the family and friends of these young people. We recommend that you return soon-"

"Return soon to your homes etc.. etc..." sigh. "How many times have I heard it." You finally get bored by turning off the radio from the counter.

Each time it was so, various murders, bloodshed, carnage and frightened humans who had to return home early to avoid being eaten by these dreaded monsters and blah blah. Not to mention that now there was the new trend of this new "killer". Magnificent, simply magnificent.

Nothing surprises you anymore.

At the time there were no customers, just the background music of some random rock song that infuses in the store and yourself. You rejoiced at the thought of this moment finally, until you looked at the watch on your wrist.

18:13

In a few minutes, you could finally get home. Throw yourself in a hot shower that would soothe muscle pain, listen to music, read a good book, and eat the long-awaited boring noodles and cheap bibimbap you bought in the market on the other block. You admit that this routine had become boring, but what could you do? Until things got worse with these monsters, you couldn’t do much.

Hours were down for curfew, and salaries weren’t as good for work as yours. Of course, who bought CDs at 10:00 p.m.? Certainly no one, but you didn’t complain.

At least you earned money and set them aside out of necessity, without depending on anyone, especially an apprehensive person like your father.

But let’s put that aside.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell. You turn over distraught and exhausted. A sigh came out. "I'm sorry, I have to inform you that we are going to close- ISEUL? What the hell are you doing here?" You watched the newcomer break into the store, showing a 32-tooth smile.

Gosh, you should have put on sunscreen and a pair of sunglasses, blindingly. "Y/N! YOU WON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT HAPPENED TO ME!" She screamed happily jumping to the counter. "Shh, keep your voice down, or he’ll kick our asses." You whispered, showing her the owner who looked at them, reading his stupid newspaper.

"Tsk!"

"Oh... well here I found these in the mailbox." She pulled out of the ticket bag. "So what?"

"Apparently it’s a private party, only a few people get it! And that’s for you!"

"Hey, who told you I was coming? And you know what my dad’s like... why don’t you go with your boyfriend instead?"

"That son of a bitch? Forget it, after what he did to me a week ago, leaving me for another girl." He clenched his fists, looking down.

Understanding your friend’s pain, you pat her on the back. "Okay, I’ll go with you." At that answer the good mood returned on her face. "For what day and what time?"

"Tonight!"

Open your eyes wide. "Tonight?! Iseul, you know there’s a curfew and my father will never let me out"

"I know, I know... but fuck Y/n, all you do is work so hard and you’re always barricaded at home. So you just neglect yourself! You deserve to have fun."

"What if my father finds out about me? Damn it, that day I refused to share the rent with you." You really love your dad, but you just can’t stand him.

"Do you realize that now?" She raises her eyebrow, mocking you.

"Are you done?" You slap her arm and make her laugh, already with the shoulder bag ready to get out of the store. "Mr. Yoo, I’m going home. I’ll see you on Monday." All I get is a "Mh!" And close the door, going out with your friend.

"Try to make up an excuse to come, do like in college, sneak out the window!" She delivers you the ticket. "Are you crazy, are you suggesting to kill myself?" Take a look at the piece of paper.

The schedule said the party would start at 10:30 and the place...

An unusual place for a party....

The old Hogupo subway station.

-----

I'M SO SORRY GUYS, I HAD A PROBLEM WITH CONNECTION AND TRANSLATION (Sorry I'm not english mother tongue :c) PLEASE FORGIVE ME. It's my first time that I write a ff, be patient I will promise you the chapters will be long🫶🥹

Bye

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posttexasstressdisorder · 8 days

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1971, Vol. 1

A Mixtape

A History Lesson of sorts, Babies.

Composed of actual 45s I bought as a kid during '71, snap, crackle, pop and all. Recorded onto a Maxell C-60 low-bias cassette as a mix some time back in the '90s, the order much like it might have been back in '71 on any AM Rock Radio Station worth its salt, or on a hypothetical "American Top 40" episode.

Transferred from cassette to SSD sometime last year ('23). The old Nakamichi cassette deck don't miss a beat! Tape's in excellent shape, as well. No deterioration in 30 years. Currently listening to it via AM Broadcast, on a Zenith Transistor Radio, as The Gods Intended.

It's being played on a 5th Gen iPod (with the audiophile processor), the little hard drive of which I replaced with an SD card holder and a 256GB SD Card. It's playing over an AM Transmitter I soldered together from a kit about 10 years ago that's been essentially running 24/7 ever since I plugged it in first time.

Sonically, AM had this sort of expansiveness to it, like an automatic-level control with a degree of reverb, of sorts, that had this particular sound that lent itself really well to being listened to on the typical car radio, and on portable radios. The 45rpm "single mix" was always recorded "hotter" than the album track, so it was extra "in your face". That, combined with that reverb/compression inherent in AM was, and still is, Powerful.

It is essentially a Temporal Portal back in time, this experience of hearing them now, just as I heard them back than, on an AM Radio, that imperfect medium that seemed so perfect for this music...it is like being time-machined back.

Blogging about it to finally get the tracklist written down, since in my iTunes it's just 'Side 1 and Side 2' of the cassette xfer. lulz. Figured y'all would enjoy the selections. I'll have to dig through my tapes for Vol. 2 and the rest.

Side 1

1. I Feel The Earth Move (Carole King)

2. Another Day (Paul McCartney)

3. Maggie May (Rod Stewart)

4. Chicago (Graham Nash)

5. What Is Life (George Harrison)

6. Lucky Man (Emerson, Lake and Palmer)

7. Groove Me (King Floyd)

8. Sunshine (Jonathan Edwards)

9. Signs (Five Man Electrical Band)

10. 25 or 6 to 4 (Chicago WHEN THEY USETA ROCK!)

11. I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing (The New Seekers) (Yes, the Coke commercial song) (goddammit, we were so naive and innocent...why am I cryin'?)

12. Ooh, Child (The Five Stairsteps) (There, there, it's gonna be OK, baby...)

13. Where You Lead (Barbra Streisand)

14. Temptation Eyes (The Grass Roots)

Side 2

1. Day After Day (Badfinger)

2. Draggin' The Line (Tommy James)

3. I Hear You Knockin' (Dave Edmunds)

4. Nathan Jones (The Supremes) (Yeah, after Ross left, Mary and her two new Supremes came out swingin' with this killer song, cheesy phaser effect and bitchin' piano riffs included no extra charge!)

5. It Don't Come Easy (Ringo Starr)

6. Ain't No Sunshine (Bill Withers)

7. Beginnings (Chicago)

8. That's The Way I've Always Heard It Should Be (Carly Simon)

9. Friends (Elton John)

10. One Toke Over The Line (Brewer & Shipley)

11. Lookin' Out My Back Door (Creedence Clearwater Revival)

12. Me & Bobby McGee (Janis Joplin)

13. Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? (Chicago) No, really, y'all, there was a time when CHICAGO DID NOT SUCK! REALLY!

14. Power To The People (John Lennon)

15. From The Beginning (Emerson, Lake and Palmer)

So that's Vol 1, and 1971 was an incredible-enough year that it took me at least 3 tapes to get all the killer 45s put on tape. I'll have to dig.

#1971 #music of 1971 #45rpm records #single mixes #AM Radio pre-hate #53 years ago? fuuuuuuuuuuuck i'm old

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black-arcana · 2 months

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‘As Pure and Raw As It Can Get’: The Pretty Reckless’s Going to Hell Turns 10

Taylor Momsen and Ben Phillips recall the tragedy-to-triumph story of the band’s second studio LP, released on March 12, 2014

Taylor Momsen and The Pretty Reckless perform during the 2014 iHeartRadio Music Festival Village on September 20, 2014 in Las Vegas. (Credit: Isaac Brekken/Getty Images for iHeartMedia)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times—the making of The Pretty Reckless’s Going to Hell, that is. As the band’s second studio album celebrates its 10-year anniversary, frontwoman Taylor Momsen and guitarist Ben Phillips recall the epic and often heartbreaking journey of its creation—and surprising success, against the odds. “I think that it’s a story of triumph in a lot of ways,” Taylor says. “To see it become so successful when that wasn’t the intention is a little surreal, to say the least.”

The triumph part is easy. Four years after their studio debut Light Me Up (“Make Me Wanna Die” its hit lead single) established them as a band of definitive talent, The Pretty Reckless set out to create an album that reflected their shared love for the same fiery sound—with zero interest in topping anyone’s charts. The result was Going to Hell, an album best described in any room as unapologetic. Untamed and gut-wrenching also apply, as well as thoughtful, deliberate, and empowering—showcased by Taylor’s fierce and flawless voice, one perfectly suited for hard rock ‘n roll.

For perspective, in 2014 the Frozen soundtrack boasted the longest-running No. 1 album, with Pharrell Williams’ sticky, bop-along “Happy” Billboard’s No. 1 song of the year. And then here comes Going to Hell, flame-throwing itself onto Billboard’s No. 5 spot upon its release. “We melted Frozen,” Ben remarks, and he and Taylor break out in laughter.

Bassist Mark Damon, Taylor Momsen and the band on stage at London’d Brixton Academy on November 26, 2014. (Credit: Christie Goodwin/Redferns via Getty Images)

Clearly, the intention wasn’t to create a commercial album, and Ben goes so far as to recall when he and producer Kato Khandwala first met Taylor and how authentically “non-commercial” she was.

“She wanted to be Chris Cornell, and she didn’t care about anything else,” Ben says. “We don’t even know what a hit is in this band.”

As Ben recalls, Taylor and Kato met first, and it was established that Taylor “didn’t want to write songs for the record label or for [an] audience or for the whatever. She had songs that she wanted to write, and that meant that you had to be an artist about it. No one ever hears our records till they’re mastered and finished. That’s the first thing. No one. We’re not looking at the radio, we’re not looking at anything. We just create in the studio.” The 15/16-year-old Taylor that ignited Light Me Up wasn’t the same as the 18/19-year-old Taylor behind Going to Hell. “She’d stepped into maturity,” Ben says.

Going to Hell started with the best of intentions. Gone were the “childish pretensions” and “a whole mess of music industry stuff we weren’t expecting” of their studio debut, according to Ben. Kato had put together a new studio for them—Hoboken, New Jersey’s Water Music Recording Studio—and they “worked on songs as they came, in a vacuum making our music and not knowing what anyone else was doing,” Ben says. Also present were bandmates Mark Damon on bass and Jamie Perkins on drums. Working as a unified, creative force, these were the best of times. But then, in October of 2012, Hurricane Sandy came and destroyed the studio. They relocated to Lake Hopatcong (also in New Jersey) to finish up.

“There’s no songs on this for radio or anything,” Ben thought, at the time, and they were happy with what they believed to be an honest, authentically non-commercial album. Taylor agreed, definitively, remembering: “This is not a hit record.”

Taylor and Ben before a live performance at London’s Electric Ballroom, March 24, 2014. (Credit: Rob Monk/Total Guitar Magazine/Future via Getty Images)

Ben refers to the album as a “dark record about Taylor removing herself from her childhood, growing out of her upbringing…identifying with all her childhood mistakes and everything that she had done.” Aside from its obvious dark themes, the album was written in actual darkness, during the 2012 NYC blackout, Taylor sitting in her apartment surrounded by candles. “I was sitting in the freezing cold writing ‘Going to Hell,’ Taylor says, of the single that eventually became the theme of the entire project. Though they initially wanted “Going to Hell” to be the album’s first single, they went with “Heaven Knows,” released on November 13, 2013, and it would become the band’s first No. 1 on Billboard’s Mainstream Rock Songs chart. “Messed Up World (F’d Up World)” and “Follow Me Down” followed in chart-topping suit.

No one was more surprised than The Pretty Reckless. “We never had any radio [play] in America, so we didn’t even think that was a possibility,” Ben says. They clearly struck an unexpected chord. A “heavy and dark” chord at that, according to Taylor. Going to Hell was already a hit.

Taylor and Ben attribute the artistic and unanticipated commercial success of Going to Hell to being a cohesive unit.

“Possibilities were endless… musically we were on the same page,” Taylor says. This, of course, included Kato who, according to both of them, was at his creative height on Going to Hell. Aside from Hurricane Sandy drowning their studio in six feet of sewage, and, in Taylor’s words other “devastating outside forces” during the making of the album, Kato’s wife Lisa passed away at the end of the year. It was Lisa who’d come into the studio with Q-Tips and, as Ben recalls, “cleaned every guitar from screw to screw for us, bringing them all back to life.” Going to Hell is dedicated to Lisa.

This devastating loss signaled a definite shift. In an attempt to help Kato through the tragedy of Lisa’s passing, they brought him back into the studio to work on the last single, “Messed Up World (F’d Up World),” a song that Taylor says “sums up the whole thing.” Kato, their cherished collaborator who Ben referred to as “our best friend,” died in 2018 as the result of a motorcycle accident.

As Ben says, losing Kato meant trying to navigate future projects without him, moving forward: “We had to rebuild and figure out how we were going to do this without him.”

Taylor adds: “[Kato was] a conduit for our songwriting and our creativity. He got inside what Ben and I were writing and helped to make that vision come to life in a really deep and involved way.” Going to Hell, she continues, “changed our lives. Even though we maybe didn’t see it at the time, we certainly are feeling the effects of it to this day. First, it made us double down on our ethics. It gave us the confidence to go, ‘We’re doing the right thing by doing it this way,’ and continued us on the path that we’re still on.”

“It’s ups and downs, but…that’s life,” Ben says.

“That’s the life,” Taylor says. “It’s a perpetual, lifelong sacrifice to be a songwriter and to be true to yourself.”

From his 125th Street Harlem studio, photographer Danny Hastings, best known for his legendary hip-hop album covers (Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers, Eminem’s Slim Shady special edition, among others), shot a naked and painted Taylor over the course of 16 hours.

Determined to preserve authenticity, and inspired by the classics, Taylor and team were committed to capturing the Going to Hell cover image in its entirety on camera. That meant, the now-famed downward-pointing arrow/cross was painted on Taylor on site, a task that took time, but was well worth it, in the spirit of iconic covers of the past. As Taylor explains, the idea came from the famous 1996 Pink Floyd promo poster shot by Tony May featuring six naked women sitting by a pool, their backs painted with the band’s cover art. (Eric Clapton’s E.C. Was Here and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, where a man was actually lit on fire, served as further inspiration.)

“It’s kind of a homage to love, with a new take on it,” Taylor explains. “Because the cross was something that I had drawn myself and come up with. I was like, ‘This is the physical representation of this record to me, this is the symbol.’” Visuals, she says, come naturally to her, “especially when making music.” (She says she sees music visually, too.)

“I was drawing [the cross] while we were recording the record, and I was like, “Well, this is the logo, this is the symbol for this record and so let’s put it on my back and use sensuality and sexuality.”

An outtake from the Going to Hell photo shoot. (Credit: Danny Hastings)

The artist hired to apply the graphic on Taylor was familiar with the band, but not Taylor and her former acting career — in the beginning. “As he was painting my nipples very detailed and it’s specifically my nipple…that’s what’s funny about this…he’s leaning in…creating every little speck and dot perfectly. He puts together that I was Cindy Lou Who [in 2000’s How the Grinch Stole Christmas], and this guy drops his paintbrush, starts spinning around the room, screaming, going, ‘I can’t believe I’m painting Cindy Lou Who!’” Taylor says. It provided some “much-needed comic relief [for] this very serious project.”

As to not distract from the music, Taylor’s face is intentionally not shown. They thought of every detail, including the redness under the right elbow. “It’s getting scorched by flames you can’t see as I’m reaching down to hell, being tugged,” Taylor says.

To achieve the final image—Taylor’s body curved just so, arms forward in gentle balletic motion—the inky graphic had to be painted perfectly and, according to Ben, she had to angle her body a certain way, to achieve, in Taylor’s words, “a piece of art.”

The result is an astute personality test for any onlooker: Is the woman in the picture actually going to hell – or emerging from it?

“This is me as pure and raw as it can get,” Taylor says. “Kind of how I feel about this album.”

#taylor momsen #ben phillips #the pretty reckless #interview #long post

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omni-present-god-send · 3 months

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Hazbin Hotel One-shot

This is just a quick oneshot that takes place during the finale. It’s also a niche way to intoduce y’all to my OC. Enjoy!

Alastor shuffled his way into his radio tower. What was left of it at least. Adam got him good. His chest burned as blood trickled down from the wound. He slammed the hatch behind him as he dragged himself to the control panel. “I can see the headlines now: Alastor, altruist, died for his friends!” He mocks himself. How did he get so close with these nincompoops so quickly? Well... there was one. One that was different then the others. “Alastor? Are you in there?”. Ah. There she is.

Alastor didn’t say a word. His heart going a mile-a-minute. He can’t let anyone see him like this. Especially not her. Not Ivy. Anyone but Ivy. “I wont force you to open the door. I just want to make sure you’re OK.” Her voice sounded so sad, so scared for him. Just like... just like his own mother would when he would come back from school or the factory. Bloody and bruised from the other children beating him. It wasn’t his fault his skin was darker! His mama had darker skin then him and she was the most beautiful woman in the world! Why couldn’t they see that? Why couldn’t his papa see that he was hurting them? Couldn’t Papa see that Mama and him didn’t like when he came home smelling like booze?

“Alastor? Are you alright? Please... at least let me know you’re alive.” Oh right. Ivy is still out there. Her voice was laced with tears as she spoke. He shook the memories away. This is no time to go down memory lane. “I’m alive. There is no reason to worry.” He forced out. Trying to make his voice seem normal. Ivy sighed from the other side of the hatch. “Thank God you’re alive.”

God wasn’t here. If he was, he wouldn’t care about someone like Alastor. Not in the way his mother and Ivy did. Alastor wasn’t someone who was easy to care about. He made sure of it. Never again would he let anyone close to him. He tried that once, and look where that got him. Fighting for his life on the floor of his destroyed radio tower. Where was God when you needed him? God wouldn’t tuck him into bed with a lullaby. God didn’t make him treats when he was sad. God wouldn’t scratch behind his ears when he was stressed. God didn’t put lavender in his room to help him sleep. God only had his father come home smelling like booze and death. God let a 7-year-old risk his life in a factory all day every day just for the hope of being able to eat at the end of the week. If God existed, he gave up on humanity a long time ago.

A folded piece of paper was shoved through the hatch. He started to crawl towards it. “We won. Adam is dead and the extermination is no more. Charlie is already making plans to rebuild the hotel. I was able to sneak them.” It certainly looked like something Charlie would call a plan. It looked like it was ripped right out of her notebook. Sketched on with a pen with colorful notes made around circled sections. Music notes of Charlies favorite song were going to be a center-piece of the front. Husk, Niffty and Angel would be getting upgraded rooms all to themselves. Lucifer, ugh, would be getting his own personal suite. Across from that, on the other side of the building, was a black tower. Circled with a red glitter-gel pen. Alastor’s New Radio Tower!!!! <3

Charlie added his radio tower into the plans? It looked... nice. Built into the building instead of smashed on like his old one. What was this warm feeling? It couldn’t have been the blood from his wound, that wasn’t near where the feeling was. The feeling was in his heart. Was he... emotional? Someone else had thought of him. Added something specific especially for him. It even looked like something he would design himself! Maybe they aren’t as stupid as he once thought.

Slowly, he opened the hatch for her. Ivy only had to straighten out her stance To enter the tower. Being a 10-feet-tall Orchid Mantis helps sometimes. Immediately she saw the wound. He couldn’t have looked much better in comparison. “Alright. Sit against the wall. I’ll see what I can do to help.” To this day, he still doesn’t know why he listened to her so quickly. That’s what he tells himself at least. He could tell that she was having trouble maneuvering around the tower with her size. She didn’t say anything though. Too focused on the bleeding wound in Alastor’s chest. “Alastor, I do apologize. However, I need you to remove your coat and shirt. Only if you’re comfortable with me touching you that is.” She was always so gentle with him. Never glared at him. Never... made him sad. He removed his hand from the wound.

The sudden air on the wound made it sting. Badly. He gave an unconscious hiss at the feeling. A warm hand cupped his face. “There there. It will be alright.” He leaned into her hand as his shoulders relaxed. He felt her slowly unbutton the rest of his coat with her other hand. She removed her hand from his face to help him out of his shirt. Alastor hasn’t been this vulnerable with someone in a very long time. It felt... nice to have someone else take care of him. Even if he had to almost die to get it.

But that’s not what happened. She had been caring for him for months. Caring for all of them really, but she seemed to give Alastor extra attention. Did she sing lullabies to the others? Or teach them how to play guitar? He doesn’t think so. He knows he’s selfish and cruel. It’s part of what makes him such a good Overlord and business partner. He knows that Charlie’s whole thing is to be as good a person as possible to try for redemption, but what could it hurt to be selfish about this one thing?

A hot stinging pain shot up from his wound. “Shh shh shh. It’s alright. It’s just the anti-septic.” He didn’t even notice the medical kit she brought. He felt her scratching just behind his ears. His breathing evened out as she pet his head. “Now, I’m going to have to stitch it up. I’m warning you now cause it’s going to hurt.” was his wound really that bad?

One look told him yes. Yes it was that bad. He heard fabric ripping. Looking up, Ivy had ripped off a piece of her skirt, folded it up, and was holding it up to his face. “Bite down. This will hurt.” So he did. His sharp teeth somehow not tearing through the soft fabric.

Alastor doesn’t know how long he stayed there. Sitting against the wall of his radio tower. Being stitched up for what felt like eternity. If it were anyone else, they would have been dead before the needle broke skin. The needle and thread going in and out of his skin was torture. Even still, Ivy tried to comfort him. “You’ll be alright.” I’m almost done.” Just a little more.” “You’re doing great.”.

How did a woman like this end up in Hell? Oh right, she killed her husband and ate his head. He keeps forgetting that.

Finally, the torture is finished and Ivy finished all the stitches. She began to wrap them up so they didn’t come out. “You did great Alastor. I’m so proud of you.” Those damn words. Why does she always know what to say before even Alastor does? “Who... who killed that prick?” he finally managed to strain out, not trying to make his voice seem normal.

Ivy gave a soft smile as she helped him into his shirt and coat. “You’ll never believe me, but Niffty is the one who killed Adam.” She laughed. Alastor loved that laugh. It meant that everything would be OK. “He was so busy insulting us that he didn’t even notice Niffty sneaking up behind him.”. Seems as though celebration is in order. “Can you stand?” Alastor tried. At least, likes to pretend he did. He was just so tired. His legs ‘gave out’ under him. Seems he’s a better actor then he thought. Ivy bought it hook, line, and sinker.

“Why don’t I carry you back? I’ll make sure the others don’t see.” Alastor gave her a nod. In an instant. He was being cradled in her arms like a child. He didn’t care if the others saw in that moment. She just felt so... warm. So safe and comforting. He closed his eyes and pretended. He pretended he was a child again. Being carried by his mama off to bed after a long day of working and whatever meal his darling mama was able to whip together. He could even hear her humming Alouette to him again. Oh wait, that was Ivy. He didn’t care. He fell asleep all the same. Perhaps God hasn’t given up on him yet. After all, he did send an Angel his way.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #oc #hazbin oc #hazbin fic #fanfiction #oneshot #mother son relationship #cause yes

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backtothefanfiction · 7 months

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The Angel In The Garden of Evil | Chapter 10: Million Dollar Man

Summary: When that explosion at F.E.A.S.T hits, Peter is quick to jump into action.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY! Bombing, terror attack, blood, gore, IF THESE ARE GONNA MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE DON'T READ THIS CHAPTER!!! Genre typical violence and drama, angst

Word Count: 2K

A/N: As stated in the authors note of the last chapter, I am very aware of how this part of the story could be triggering for people or hard to read. I will put red stars ** to mark where the more graphic first response scenes end so you can read the plot info towards the end of the chapter, but if you want to skip this specific chapter altogether you can, the story will still make sense! This is a chapter from Peter's POV. The title comes from yet another Lana Del Rey song but I couldn't pick just one line as the whole of that song just encapsulates the feelings between Peter and Angel in this chapter. Also just to note, first responders are f*cking heroes and deserve to be treated as such every single freaking day! Anyway, enjoy!

TEN

BOOOMMM!

Peter was five blocks away from the hub when the blast went off. It was large enough to shake the surrounding buildings, car alarms going off.

“What the fuck was that?!” he hissed to Miguel in the driver's seat as traffic came to a screeching halt.

“I don’t know.” Harry frowned as they began to climb out of the car. That’s when they saw the smoke.

“That looks like-” Harry said.

“You don’t think-” Eddie chimed in, but Peter knew immediately, his ears tuning into the radio of a parked police car a little way up the street.

“We need all units to head towards Chinatown. There's been an explosion on Mulberry st.”

Peter didn’t think, just started running in the direction of the hub. As he ran down old back alleys and streets he hadn’t thought about in years, he couldn’t help but think this would be a lot quicker if he could swing there. He needed to get there. Although he ran as fast as he could, he felt like he was running out of time. Every second in a crisis like this was crucial. It was the literal decision maker between life and death.

‘Come on, still be alive.’ He thought to himself. ‘Still be alive.’

His heels skidded onto the street. It was carnage. Police and paramedics had already started to arrive, lifting bodies into the back of ambulances or covering them in sheets. There was smoke and dust everywhere. “Hey, you okay? What happened?” he asked an elderly couple who were trying to find a spot on the sidewalk away from the smoke to assess their injuries. The older gentleman had blood running down the side of his face, which dust and ash began to stick to. The older woman hobbled under his arm, a large graze on her arm and leg, her lungs heaving, trying to clear the smoke and dust.

“Bomb.” The old man’s gravely voice said.

A younger woman in her 30’s ushered them into her shop and out of the direct smoke and ash as Peter turned to survey the street again, working out how best to try and find her, his feet slowly carrying him towards the now former F.E.A.S.T building. If she was still inside he had no clue how he was gonna get her out.

“PETER!” A voice called to him. “YO BOSS! OVER HERE!”

Peter scanned the street until he located the owner of the voice, Miles, his shirt held up to his mouth as he tried not to inhale the smoke.

“Where is she!” Peter commanded.

“Right here.” Miles said as Peter reached him, Miles’ body now crouching protectively over Angel again.

She had a deep cut in her eyebrow that was gushing blood down the side of her face. Her hair was full of flecks of ash. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving and Peter suddenly feared the worst as his hands reached out to her.

“Is she…?”

“No. Just unconscious.” Miles coughed.

“We need to get her out of here!” Peter shouted over the sound of sirens and people’s shouting voices. There was a baby screaming and the fire that had taken hold in the wake of the explosion roared behind them. “What happened!?”

“I don’t know, we were crossing the street when we were knocked on our asses. If she hadn't stopped at that cafe, we would have been in there!”

“What cafe?”

“The Lucky Cat, or something like that? Why?”

Peter just shook his head in acknowledgment, letting out a small thank you under his breath, but he didn’t know to whom.

“Hey, over here!” a fireman who had come up beside them, shouted to a paramedic, waving them over. That was when Peter looked down to see Miles’ leg, his pant leg torn and caked in blood.

A young female paramedic not much older than Miles himself, dropped to the floor beside them as she began to introduce herself and assess injuries. “Hi, I’m Dani, what’s your name sir?” she asked of Miles, as she grabbed out a tourniquet kit from her bag and began to apply it to Miles’ leg.

“Miles.” he informed her.

“And is this your friend Miles?” She asked, motioning to Angel’s body lying on the floor.

“That’s my wife.” Peter said.

“And you are sir-” Dani started to ask as she looked him over only to see he didn’t have any injuries, the only thing currently tying him to the blast, the ash and dust that had settled in his hair and on his black blazer and trousers. Then she caught a better look of his face and her question froze in her mouth at her recognition. She quickly decided to wave off the question as she looked from Peter to Angel and back again, before fixing her eyes to finish off wrapping Miles’ leg. When she was done her fingers reached out to check for Angel’s pulse.

“She was conscious just after the blast but then she became unresponsive again.” Miles filled her in.

“Again?” Dani asked, her eyebrows raising in the younger man’s direction.

“When the blast first went off and we were knocked on our asses-”

“-where were you?”

“-crossing the road. She was out of it for a second with the blast but she woke up when I called her name, she tried to sit up but then just collapsed again.”

“Okay. Okay.” Dani said before turning her head and calling to a colleague. “I’m gonna need a board so we can get her into the back of an ambulance, I’ve got a blow to the head- did she hit the car?” Dani quickly turned to check with Miles as she took in the dent in the side of the car door that was giving them shelter.

“Yes.” Miles hastily responded.

“Yeah! I’m worried about potential internal bleeding!” Dani turned back to shout at her colleague who gave a nod before leaving his own more stable patient and running down the street to a parked waiting ambulance. “Mr Parker,” she said as she turned back towards Peter, her fingers subconsciously retrieving gauze and a bandage from her kit to wrap around Angel’s head, “I suggest you make yourself scarce right now unless you want to cause even more of a scene and problems, especially if you want us to take care of your wife.” she advised. “I will make sure Miles here will get placed in the same ambulance as her and they end up at the same hospital so he can let you know where they end up so you can meet them there, but right now, it’s in everyone’s best interest if you leave. Unless you want to risk being arrested.”

Peter looked to his wife conflicted, but he knew the young lady before him was right.

“Pete!” Harry’s voice called as he made his way past bodies to reach them.

“I advise you, get your friend out of here now!” Dani cautioned again to Harry.

“Come on, Pete, we need to go.” Harry encouraged him as Peter slowly stood. “PETE!” Harry shouted at him to snap him out of the trance he seemed to be in. “This is exactly what Toombes wants. Don’t get yourself caught man!” Harry continued to reason, pulling at him.

“I’ll make sure she’s okay.” Miles promised.

****

Peter reluctantly turned his back on Miles and his wife and allowed Harry to ferry him away from the scene and back to where Miguel was now parked with the car.

“Boss, what do you want us to do?” Eddie asked as Peter climbed back into the car.

“I need you to call around to all the other hubs, make sure they get evacuated immediately.” Peter said. His message conveyed its urgency but his tone showed his mind was still split.

“Boss, Hobie’s calling?” Miguel said, handing a phone into the back of the car to him.

“Fuck.” Peter huffed, running a dusty hand through his equally dusty hair, getting frustrated as it flaked all over the seats of the car. He let out another groan before he answered the buzzing phone.

“Hey, man, what’s going on over there?” A loud, yet concerned, deep British voice bellowed down the phone. “It’s all over the news.”

“Fuck.” Peter sighed as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest.

“We’ve just had it confirmed that one of the injured here on the scene is Y/N Parker, otherwise known as Angel, the daughter of recently deceased gangster Wilson Fisk. The F.E.A.S.T establishment here was set up by the Benjamin Parker foundation, 6 years ago, a charity that was created in Ben Parker's memory after his brutal murder almost 11 years ago now.” Peter heard the broadcast say in the background as Hobie spoke.

“Shit man, this is gonna bring so much attention. What the fuck happened? Some sources are citing it as a gas explosion but others are speculating because of your family ties to it being gang activity. It’s not looking good.” There’s a pause on the line as Peter thought and tried to compose himself. “Yo, Parker man, we gotta get on top of this shit now.” Hobie pressed him down the phone, but Peter had nothing, his mind panicking, trying to chase too many thoughts at once and coming up empty. “Look, I’m gonna call up Reilly, we’re gonna get on a jet and be with you asap. We can work this shit out when we get there.”

“Hobie?” Peter finally said, finding his voice. “What do you know about the Vulture?”

“Oh shit, no man! You are not in it deep with the Vulture?” Hobie responded. “Dude, that guy is ruthless, you saw what he did to KingPin.”

“But you know him?” Peter confirmed.

“Yeah, nasty piece of work. You know we had that warehouse in Manchester raided a few months back?”

“Yeah.”

“Well he took no time in swooping down and trying to take it.”

“You never told me that.” Peter looked confused.

“Didn’t need to, sent Reilly up there with some of his boys and they stamped that shit out quick. Guess that's when he decided to high tail it to New York and start messing with Fisk, not before he took a little stop in Italy, that is.”

Peter’s ears pricked up. “Italy?”

“Yeah. I had a tip off from Francetti when he saw the Romano’s sitting down with a guy he didn’t recognise and it was starting to brew trouble. When we asked him to give us a description of the guy we knew it was our man.”

Peter’s face changed. “What does that mean?” Harry asked, who had been listening in on the conversation. “Pete?”

“Any of Romano’s men get in touch with the Bianchi’s over here?” Peter asked down the phone.

“Yeah, why?”

“Shit!” Harry said as he too started to put the pieces together.

“Eddie?” Peter called out to the front passenger seat to get Eddie’s attention.

“Yeah.” Eddie’s gruff voice said back.

“When exactly did Angel get back into town?”

“It was maybe two days after Fisk had that break in at the Phoenix club.” Eddie replied.

Peter began to think. That was when Fisk first started having issues with the Italians. He thought back to his conversation with his wife at the house before they were shot at. She had said they had just thought it was the Italians getting too big for their boots at first.

“I’ve just got a text from Miles, they’re just pulling into Kings.” Eddie then said.

“Brooklyn?” Miguel confirmed as he started up the engine to the car. Eddie nodded as Miguel pulled out into traffic.

“Parker, we’re gonna get on a plane and be with you in a few hours.” Hobie said down the phone. “We’ll get this guy, I promise. Nobody lays a finger on our Angel without burning in hell for it.”

-----------------------------------------

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daisyvramien · 20 days

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Just short something about music gatekeepers:

Gatekeeping in music, or any art form for that matter, is like trying to build a fortress around something that should be open and inclusive. It's essentially saying, "I'm the gatekeeper of good taste, and if you're not on my level of understanding, you're not welcome." Well, guess what ? That's a load of bullshit.

Music is subjective, just like art. What resonates with one person might not strike a chord with another, and that's perfectly fine. But when you start acting like you've cracked some secret code that others haven't, you're just stroking your own ego.

Folks will claim they "get" a certain band or artist better than anyone else. They'll sit there, puffing out their chests, spewing out pretentious nonsense about how they've deciphered the true meaning behind every lyric or riff, while the rest of us mere mortals are left scratching our heads. Newsflash: music isn't always a puzzle to be solved; it's a form of expression meant to be enjoyed by all. By positioning yourself as the ultimate authority on a particular artist or genre, you're essentially saying that your taste is "superior" to everyone else's, that YOU are superior because YOU get it, and by extension: "Others don't". It's like a twisted game of musical one-upmanship, where the goal isn't to appreciate the music but to prove that you're somehow more cultured or sophisticated than the next person.

Gatekeeping in music isn't just about claiming superiority. It's also about trying to invalidate others' connections to the art form. We don't care if you were there since the band's creation, if you discovered them last week, or if their song came on the radio while you were cruising in your dad's old car 10 years ago. Your connection to the music is valid, no matter when or how you found it.

There's not some kind of purity test you have to pass in order to appreciate music properly.

I saw some recently on here get genuinely mad when an artist gains popularity through trends. Newsflash: trends aren't a crime, they're a reflection of what people are into at any given moment. If a song blows up because it's catchy or relatable, why should that be a source of anger? It's not like the artist sold their soul to the mainstream; they're just reaching a wider audience, which should be celebrated, not condemned. Some may discover them for the first time and go back through all their discography and discover pure gems!!

At the end of the day, music is about connection. It's about finding something that resonates with you on a personal level, whether you're the artist themselves or just a fan in the crowd. Music is for everyone, and if you find yourself getting genuinely mad because someone interprets a song or artist differently than you do, it's time to take a step back and reevaluate your priorities. For example, I adore "Ivy" by Taylor Swift. It has a specific meaning for me, cause I can relate with my own story. Someone may and WILL have another interpretation and that's tots okay!! Music is supposed to bring us together, not separate us with "which one is a real fan" game. In this essay I will-

#sorry for the rant #rant post #taylor swift #lana del rey #hozier #unreal unearth #too sweet #unheard hozier #music #hot take #screaming into the void #textpost

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twistedtummies2 · 4 months

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Top 12 Portrayals of Belle (from "A Christmas Carol")

Last time I talked about the first of the ghosts Scrooge encounters in “A Christmas Carol.” Before we get to our final three characters for this little marathon - those being the Three Spirits of Christmas - I want to take a brief pit-stop in Scrooge’s past to talk about another major supporting character: Ebenezer’s ex-fiance, Belle. Belle is by far the single most well-known and important figure in Scrooge’s past, by all accounts. I can think of versions of the Carol story that omit his sister, Fan. I can also think of versions that omit the bubbly Fezziwig. These are not to mention all the various minor characters, such as Dick Wilkins or the Headmaster. But while many version inexplicably change the character’s name (she’s been alternately called Isabelle, Alice, and Emily, just to name three examples), no version of the Carol DARES to omit Scrooge’s former love. It’s the loss of Belle in Scrooge’s past life that acts as the straw that breaks the proverbial camel’s back. She isn’t by any means the reason he became the greedy old codger he is by the time the story begins, but the pain of losing her is perhaps the deepest wound Scrooge has in his heart. What’s interesting about this wound is that Scrooge loses her through his own fault, and this is part of what makes the character so impactful, and her part in the tale such an important element: throughout Scrooge’s past, he sees past nuggets of love and humanity that he held onto, such as Fan and Fezziwig…but it’s indicated, in all those cases, they are people he lost early on, who died before their time. Belle is another story: she was THERE for him. She was FINE. It is Scrooge’s own greed and ambition that pushed her away; he was caught between two worlds - a humble but happy life with uncertainties to face, but love in his heart…or clinging to material gain that he believed would give him security. Scrooge chose the latter, and as a result, while he’s financially successful…he’s not truly happy, and he’s racked with guilt and longing that he can never admit or let go of. When compiled on top of all the other tragedies in his past, many of which seem directly related to Christmastime, it’s no wonder that he not only hates the Christmas holiday, but also has become such a vile person. As a result, Belle is the one part of his past that every interpretation wisely holds onto: some versions restrain her role to simply the breakup moment, while others expand on the novel, including not only a bit of what happened to her after, but also what came before, to up the sorrow. However it is handled, the scene is always one of the most potent in the story, and one of the most heartbreaking. Many fine actresses have handled the role of the former fiance over the years, and many of them have done a splendid job. Who did so the best? I have no idea, but here’s some that I like. Ha Ha. These are my Top 12 Favorite Portrayals of Belle! (Again, the character’s name is sometimes different, but all of these are recognizably the same character.)

12. Bea Benaderet, from the Campbell Playhouse Radio Production (1939). (My thanks to a friend for helping me identify the uncredited actress for Belle.)

11. Zoe Wanamaker, from A Christmas Carol (1977).

10. Daisy Duck, from Mickey's Christmas Carol.

9. Meredith Braun, from The Muppet Christmas Carol. (This only really applies to the original director’s cut of the film, with the song sequence “When Love is Gone” included.)

8. Jane Kean, from Mr. Magoo’s Christmas Carol. (Silly hair notwithstanding.)

7. Suzanne Neve, from Scrooge (1970).

6. Jodi Benson, from A Christmas Carol (1997). (By far the best scene in the film is Ariel and Tim Curry singing a duet as Belle and Young Scrooge.)

5. Jessie Buckley, from Scrooge: A Christmas Carol (2022). (This version is pretty “meh,” but it’s perhaps telling that the stuff with Belle is, by far, the best part, in my opinion.)

4. Robin Wright, from A Christmas Carol (2009).

3. Rona Anderson, from Scrooge (1951).

2. Laura Fraser, from A Christmas Carol (1999). (Don’t ask me what Lydia from Breaking Bad is doing here. Your guess is as good as mine.)

1. Lucy Gutteridge, from A Christmas Carol (1984).

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capnmarvell · 1 year

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Can’t believe I was able to snap these photos 🥲 Arlington TX, 4/1 (Night #2 aka the night of THREE Death By A Thousand Cuts bridges)

I’ve been a fan of Taylor’s since 2007. She has the same first name as me, and for a long time I hated how common it was. Every year there were at least 1 or 2 other Taylor’s in my class. And I was never the Taylor people called out to. I felt totally invisible.

Then one day driving home from school I turned on the radio and heard the first chorus of Teardrops on My Guitar and fell in love. “Who is this?” I thought. I’d never heard this singer. Once the song was over the deejay said it was Taylor Swift, a new artist who’s album just came out a few months prior. That was it for me.

I asked my dad to buy me her Debut CD, and played it on repeat on my little portable stereo in my room. Taylor helped me love my name again. She felt like the friend I didn’t have at that age. She was exactly what little 11 year old Taylor needed that day in 2007.

For years I dreamed of seeing her live. My family could never afford concert tickets, and to be fair my parents also had no idea when she was touring and how to even go about buying concert tickets, and I was never really on the internet until I was about 16 so I didn’t even know when she was touring either. We were all horribly internet-challenged 😅. I even remember when I’d learned she had a concert after the fact, because girls from my school would come in the following school day showing off their merch and talking all about it and just being devastated I missed it. Then when I actually did know she was touring, it was just something we either could never afford, and had no way of getting to said concert 🥲.

And despite never being able to afford merch or attend concerts, I’d still always get the CDs and spend hours just getting lost in the stories Taylor told through her songs. I’ve grown with her these last 16 years. We’ve both been through loss, love, and heartbreak. I don’t think i’ll ever stop listening to her.

I lost “The Great War” for presale tickets to the Eras Tour, and chalked it all up to being another concert I can’t attend. But seeing as how big Taylor has gotten and will continue to get, I decided it’s probably now or never. So, I’m sorry, but I did buy a scalper ticket. I didn’t get any boosts for the presale, and wasn’t picked for any of the second chance sales and what have you, so unfortunately scalpers were my only choice. I don’t regret it, though, because it put me the closest I’ll ever be to Taylor in my lifetime. She put on an amazingly incredible show, one I will never, ever forget.

I got to scream the bridges of “Cruel Summer,” “Champagne Problems,” “Death By A Thousand Cuts,” and “Betty.” I cried while she sang “Marjorie,” the song I can’t listen to without thinking of the loss of my mom. And best of all I got to laugh and smile along with my favorite artist of all time, live and in person 10 ft in front of me for 3 solid hours.

I love you Taylor 💕✨

Signed, the-girl-who-loves-her-name-now Taylor

#Taylor swift #the eras tour #Arlington texas #arlingtontstheerastour #mine #@taylorswift #@taylornation #@taylurking

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whyareyouhere66 · 2 years

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Dally x Fem Reader - The One That Got Away

Dallas x Fem Reader [but it’s very easy to imagine it as gender nuetral, or male as it is in 1st person. Just replace a couple of words such as girl, and queen with whatever. (Y’know? Y’know)

Angst

Song Fic

[The One That Got Away - Brielle Von Hugel] *or Katy Perry, literally the same song*

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, cheating, smoking. Very much unedited.

Summer after high school, when we first met

We were both about 15 years old, when we met. Just about a year before he dropped out, and he had caught my eye right away. Despite his “reputation”, I knew I wanted to know him better. So that’s what I did.

We'd make out in your Mustang to Radiohead

And on my *16th birthday, we got matching tattoos

We clicked almost instantly, much easier than I had anticipated. And since then,we’ve been great friends, doing the most stupid shit imaginable.

Used to steal your parents' liquor and climb to the roof

Talk about our future like we had a clue

Never planned that one day, i’d be losing you

It was at one of Buck’s parties, that I learned of her.

We were both tipsy, sneaked away from the ruckus of Buck’s living room and up onto the roof of the house with a bottle of whiskey and a couple of kools.

Even with the alcohol coursing through my blood stream, I could hear the way his voice lifted when he said her name. “Sylvia”

In another life, I would be your girl

We'd keep all our promises, be us against the world

Right before I turned 16, we made a promise to each other. We were partners in crime, best buds. And while that did hurt a bit, I knew it was the best I could get.

But what I didn’t know, is how easily those promises could be broken.

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

Cause just like that, I wasn’t his favorite girl anymore. If he wasn’t at Buck’s, with the gang, in jail or with me then he was with her. And even when he wasn’t with her, he’d talk about her.

All of the time.

The one that got away…

I’m losing him, and I didn’t like it…

I was June and you were my Johnny Cash

Never one without the other, we made a pact

Sometimes when I miss you, I put those records on

I haven’t talked to him in a good week, hauled off to jail again. We weren’t as close as we used to be, but the songs we used to listen to together still played on the radio on a weekly basis. Just the memories hidden in those lyrics could comfort me, distract me for even a second.

Yet, it still wasn’t enough.

Someone said you had your tattoo removed

Saw you downtown singing the blues

Sylvia had yet again cheated on him, not giving a shit he was in the cooler-thinking about her. And he knew it damn well.

So I just couldn’t understand, why he kept running back to her, time and time again?

Never planned that one day, I’d be losing you

Especially when, I was right here, standing with my arms and heart wide open…

In another life, I would be your girl

And we'd keep all our promises, be us against the world

It wasn’t the same, as when we were 15. The tattoos, we’d gotten. Two playing cards, his the king of Spades, and mine the queen. Will mind was the symbol of our promise- his, despite being the only one he had, was just but a drawing.

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

The one that got away

I was no longer his queen. Maybe a Jack, or an ace. A 10, perhaps?

All this money can't buy me a time machine, no

I can't replace you with a million rings, no

Sylvia had no idea how lucky she was. Dallas, albeit a bit rough around the edges, was like none other. Shitty guy, sure, but he was a good friend when it came down to it. He could come through, i haven’t met many who could.

I should've told you what you meant to me, no

'Cause now I pay the price…

Back before Sylvia, when I had a chance. Why didn’t I take it? It was foolish, I was too much of a coward. And I see that now.

'Cause in another life, I would be your girl

We'd keep all our promises, be us against the world

We could’ve still been partners in crime. We could’ve been up on Buck’s roof again, drinking whiskey and talking shit about people.

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

We could’ve stolen from that old diner across town again, like when we were 14. We could’ve been friends still, possibly even more.

The one that got away

But I let him go

The one that got away (no)

And by the looks of it…

The one that got away

I wasn’t gonna get him back.

#dallas winston #dally x reader #dallas winston x reader #fem reader #song fic #the one that got away #The Outsiders #dally angst

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