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drvscarlett · 22 days

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Sweet Nothings (2)

Carlos Sainz x pageant queen!reader

Summary: All that they ever wanted was sweet nothings but everything changed like midnight rain.

Sweet Nothings: 1, 2, 3. 4

A/N: i indulged a lot with catriona so expect a lot of her faces. i like to build up things hehe.let me know your thoughts

YNjpeg posted a photo.

Liked by CarlosSainz55, LewisHamilton, and 543,456 others

YNjpeg thank you for the opportunity for the roundtable to discuss different issues faced by our society [link]

User4 the way she speaks says a lot about her character

User6 I dont need to see any other queen, Y/N is my Miss Universe 2024.

User7 i never knew Y/N is this knowledgeable

User9 right?? i mean before we all knew her as just Carlos' partner User10 is it bad for me to say that i think Carlos and Y/N break up is a good thing? User9 true bestie.

LewisHamilton Wonderful insights, thank you for using your voice!

YNjpeg honored to be appreciated by you Lew! LewisHamilton 👑☝️ User12 real recognize real!

User55 anyone notice that carlos is still liking?

User90 omg i just noticed that! User77 my divorced parents

F1News posted an article.

Carlos Sainz sits down talking about championships, end of contracts, and relationships.

The hottest topic in the paddock at the moment has been Carlos Sainz. He is the driver that has been to watch out for as he becomes the El Matador that crushes Red Bull's streak of victory. The soon to be ex-Ferrari driver thanks the team for building a good car and creating new strategy that allowed them to best Red Bull several times already.

It was no surprise that him and teammate, Charles Leclerc has been chasing Max down for the championship. When asked about how does he deal with the pressure, he mentioned that he kept himself grounded by a note tucked inside of his helmet. He said that the content of the notes cannot be discussed (as well as the writer of the note) but he is very grateful for it for keeping him in touch with reality. The Spaniard is currently sitting at the second place with only 2 points difference from the current champion.

"It has not yet been decided" this is what Carlos has to say regarding where he would sign next. Carlos assures everyone that there are offers but he is still weighing which will be a better option. His focus at the moment was not on the signing because as he states "if I'm a good driver then the offers will just keep coming." He wishes to focus on doing his best with his current team and reiterates that he has no ill feelings with the team.

Another hot topic that Carlos was asked about is regarding his love life. There were rumors about his split with long-time girlfriend and now running for Miss Universe, Y/N L/N. Carlos explained how he is very proud of Y/N and that he wishes all the best for her. He refused to answer questions detailing more about her since he explains that "focus on Y/N as a beauty queen and not because of her relationship. She deserves more than just being someone's girlfriend."

CarlosY/N4ever

CarlosY/N4ever me realizing that Miss Universe 2024 and the Las Vegas Grand Prix is happening together???!!!

User5 wdym together???

CarlosY/N4ever It will both happen in the 24th,the gp will go first at 2pm while the Miss Universe will start at 6pm. User5 OHMYGOD????

User7 So are we going to watch miss universe or f1???

User8 Im gonna watch both User9 rip to us with a different timezone

User10 i love how we can use Y/N's reactions for this

User11 girlie is a walking meme User13 walking meme but still elegant

User19 SO WILL THE GRID BE WATCHING????

User22 what is barbenheimer when we have this going on!!!

QueenYNUpdates just posted a reel

Well my gowns and my costumes have been carefully selected. Everything has a meaning. It is an homage for my country and of course to the best parts of myself. [Can we have any more insights about your evening gown] All I can say is that I want to make Filipinos proud and the color has a very personal meaning.

User10 Im excited to see her final look!

User12 agreeeee,her attention to details is everything!

User7 Our filipina queen! PERIODT!

User13 the color has a very personal meaning + that smile.. anyone wanted to bet with me that its ferrari red???

User15 I might cry if its really red User18 and its carlos' last year to ferrari as well User90 I just want to have a good time on this app

User55 Go fight for the crown!!!! Bring home the crown!!!

QueenYNUpdates posted a reel

[What can you say about your relationship with Carlos, everyone is curious about what happened] This is the only time, I'll talk about this. If you are looking for drama, there is no drama between the two of us. Carlos and I met when we were still young people and we grew up together. We matured as individuals..Its not a bad thing. I am extremely happy and proud of where he is right now. Were both chasing our dreams. What we are, what have been. Its all good. That's all that I have to say.

User5 This basically confirms it.

User6 we are really children of divorce

User7 CARLOS GET HER BACK, ITS NOT TOO LATE

User8 YEAH SHE IS NOT YET MISS UNIVERSE User9 BRO DON'T LET HER GO CarlosSainz55

User11 Its the miss universe curse. If the girl really wants the crown then they will undergo heartbreak

User14 why do we have to sacrifice someone?? User15 so miss universe is just like ferrari strategy? here we sacrifice a boyfriend, in ferrari we sacrifice leclerc User17 that comment got me gagged.

YNjpeg posted a photo

liked by CarlosSainz55, LandoNorris, and 876,525 others

YNjpeg I am ready to represent!!! Flying to Vegas!!!

Charles_Leclerc goodluck Miss Philippines!!

YNjpeg thank you charlieee

LandoNorris can't wait to see you take the crown

YNjpeg lando you believe in me too much LandoNorris I SAID take the crown!!! YNjpeg ON IT!

User5 im so happy that she is still being supported by the grid

User67 bring home the crown Y/N!

User8 Mark my words, she will come back with the crown!

User9 safe flight!!!

CarlosSainz55 just posted a photo.

CarlosSainz55 You always hated flying. You told me that there is a certain discomfort and uncertainty when you are a thousand feet from the ground. Right now, you are flying. I know it has a certain discomfort and uncertainty of what's to come but I believe you can find some joy in it.

You will always be the most beautiful in the universe.

User7 OMG????

User6 CARLOS I WAS UNFAMILIAR WITH YOUR GAME

User8 bro really went to tell the whole world that he will be here no matter what

User15 were always talking about how Y/N is Carlos' biggest fan but Carlos is also Y/N's biggest fan

User17 ITS TOO ERALY TO CRY

CarlosSainz55 just deleted the post.

#carlos sainz x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #carlos sainz imagines #f1 fic #f1 smau #carlos sainz x you

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littlenightma · 3 months

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Hello. Could you write more about Sheriff Eric Newlon (if he's dark or yandere it would be great.) Your article about him was great.

Yandere!Eric Newlon Headcanons

• Eric comes off as a normal guy. Always has a smile on his face, greets everyone with warmth and is always there when someone needs him. His dazzling charm sucked you in. No one could have ever seen the darkness brewing beneath the surface of his nice guy facade.

• Eric thrives off of protecting you. He loves the way you curl into him with his coat wrapped around you as you two walk down the sidewalk or when you tighten your hold on his hand when you pass a group of unfamiliar people. You have no idea the lengths he would go to in order to keep you safe.

• No idea.

• And damn it what kind of man would he be if he allowed you to wander the world without him, alone, naive to the dangers that were lurking around every corner.

• Eric isn’t just in love with you. He’s obsessed with you. Everything about you Eric thinks about every waking hour of the day from your twinkling eyes, your gorgeous hair, down to your luscious body. He’s practically itching to get off his shift so he can drive home to find you curled up on the couch waiting for him.

• He has access to everyone’s files at the station, including yours. Especially yours. He keeps a copy locked in his desk drawer, tucked safe and sound, where he can pull it out whenever he wants to. All of the info he could ever want to know is right there within arm’s reach.

• He knew which cafés you preferred, which stores you liked shopping at, and where you got your car maintenaced. He knew everything about you before you even knew his name.

• You didn’t actually believe running into him as much as you did was all due to chance, did you? Silly one, you should know by now when it comes to Eric, nothing is ever just a coincidence.

• He pulls it out when he’s having a particularly bad day in order to run his thumb across the picture he took of you while you were out shopping with your friends. You’d stayed out longer than usual so he felt the need to check up on you and he got so enthralled by your beauty that he just had to snap a photo to remember the moment forever.

• You start noticing Eric’s paranoia emerge the longer you two are together and the more his feelings for you grow. At first, he comes as extremely protective, but then it progresses into something more darker, more…possessive.

• When he comes home to find you not there, he checks his phone. To his dismay there is no text and he becomes scared thinking that you were hurt. Call after call there is still no answer. Eric rarely shows himself so when you come home in the middle of his breakdown he is instantly in your face asking you question after question not letting you answer the first one. He chides you about not informing him of your whereabouts and berates you about who exactly you were with.

• You brush it off, believing it to be a symptom of being a cop for so long. You explain that you had to stay back at work to put finishing touches on a project and this seems to calm him some. He pulls you into a hug.

• “I’m sorry I acted like that, baby. I just get so scared when I don’t know where you are.”

• Puts a tracking app in your phone and on your car without you knowing. He can’t allow that to happen again. What if you had been hurt and what if he didn’t reach you in time? He can’t risk it.

• Black Friday shopping was always off limits to you, but when your friends invited you to go with last minute you decided to go. Eric had been constantly hovering and you yearned for space.

• What a stupid decision on your part.

• Eric is livid. He’s like a bull ready to charge as he’s driving out to find you. When he does, he is suspiciously calm. He asks you to come with him and you do and on the way home you apologize but he doesn’t say anything. His eyes are trained on the road. Inside the house though it’s like a matador had finally raised their red flag.

• He’s roaring. “I fucking told you not to be out on Black Friday! Why can’t you listen to me?! I’ve lost so much. So many people. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you!”

• “Eric, you can’t expect me to stay home when everyone’s out shopping.”

• And then he snaps. He yanks your hair, his handsome face dangerously close to yours. “Don’t fucking do it again or I swear to God you’ll regret it.”

• And the worst part is that no one would ever believe that highly adorned and doting Eric Newlon would ever do something so horrible and so vicious.

• You’re stuck with no where to turn. If you leave, he’ll track you down with the plentiful resources he has at his disposal. You are trapped, forever his.

NSFW 18+

• You have pushed Eric past his limit. You are tied to the dining room table, legs spread and mouth gagged. He has presented you like an oven-baked turkey and he can’t wait to take a bite out of you. He runs his cock over your slick opening teasingly, preparing you to get basted by his cock.

• “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you? After everything I have done for you, all the love I have ever given and you still want to leave me.

• He thrusts exactly three times. “So. Very. Ungrateful.”

• You moan against your gag. Your body is betraying you. It accepts him with open arms, like he was meant to be inside you. You tried so hard to get away from him, but he always managed to reel you back in.

• Eric sees the turmoil on your face, sees the fight you’re having with yourself. With every snap of his hips he knows he’s closer to breaking you down and he’s desperate to do it.

• He pours cranberry sauce on your chest, letting it dye your chest maroon. He rubs the sticky liquid over your body and it looks like blood. Your blood.

• “I could fake your death so easily, you know. Then lock you up and keep you all to myself. No one would come looking for you. Or I could always find someone else who will appreciate my efforts.”

• You fight your binds, not liking that he was talking about someone else while he was rearranging your guts.

• “Ah, so you do care. What is it, dear? Want me all for yourself then?”

• Crawling on top of you, he unknots the gag and kneels over your face. He puts his cock to your mouth. “Why don’t you show me just how grateful you are.”

#eric newlon #eric newlon x reader #thanksgiving movie (2023)#thanksgiving movie #patrick dempsey #slasher x reader #slasher #slashers #slasher community #john carver #john carver x reader

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 8 months

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another manolo anon here, requesting- another manolo fic. preferably nsfw of some kind, i think he's really good with his fingers from playing guitar for so long. do what you will with my headcanon.

Deep

Pairing: Manolo Sanchez x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, just downright smut, thirsty reader, fingering, short fic, drabble

Words: 1027

Streams of the sun was what awoke you that morning, tangled in your bedsheets with the spot next to empty. It was cold, telling you that Manolo had woken up long ago and left the comfort of your casa. You hadn’t even felt him get up.

Leisurely you stretch your limbs, enjoying the action as a lazy cat would. You wonder how long Manolo had been gone for.

Ten minutes later you catch the creak of the front door opening and the soft shutting of it. Gentle footsteps guide your eyes to the bedroom door. Just as it opens, you close your eyes feigning sleep; wanting to know what he would do.

You hear him tenderly chuckle, his hand oh so delicately comes down on the top of your head in an affectionate pat that had your tummy searing warm. It was hard to keep the smile off your face but you managed to restrain your facial muscles.

He shuffles away and you begin to hear articles of clothing being removed.

Covertly you crack one eyelid open the smallest fraction.

While not being a matador anymore, Manolo still kept up with the work out routine of one as he liked staying in shape.

Broad shoulders glisten with sweat that crawls down to the fine taper of his waist. He's quietly humming as he undoes his pants. You allow your eye to open a little more. Manolo had one of the finest asses in all of Mexico. Perfectly rounded with pure muscle. You let the other eye open to truly appreciate the sight before you. They led to expertly sculpted thighs that could crack open a watermelon.

But you were specifically waiting for him to turn around so you could see that beautiful monster between his legs.

"Ay!!" Manolo leaps a little when he realizes you're actually wide awake and watching him with a blush to your cheeks as you cheekily grin at him. "Mi amor! I hope I didn't wake you." He relaxes but still a bit flustered from your heated gaze.

You practically purr as he's still standing in front of you completely naked. "You didn't. Come here, Manolo."

Even though both of you have seen each other naked many times, Manolo still grew bashful in front of you and shuffles his way over.

To his surprise, you run your finger along the length of his girth, watching it come to life from your touch. It rolls over and immediately fattens up. He moans softly, always responsive to your caresses and overly sensitive. Soon enough, his cock is standing at attention, swaying in front of you as he continues to shiver from your ministrations. You're practically jacking him off now, but you really want him in your mouth.

When you lean your face forward to his crotch, Manolo's heady haze clears and he's pushing you away. "Mi amor, no. I'm still sweaty. Can't imagine it would be pleasant for you." He chuckles at the last part and you pout.

Before you could protest though, Manolo throws the sheets off of your body. You were still clad in your thin nightgown. "I can offer you something else though." Those skilled fingers of his glide across your bare thigh, pushing up the hem of your gown to your lacy panties that had him biting down on his bottom lip. His cock twitches when he runs his hand under your panties and cup your ass. A breathy moan shudders your body when his fingers wedge their way between your thighs. His pupils are completely blown up and he's panting a little.

To make things easier for him, you roll onto your back and spread your legs wide for him. He's whimpering from the sight of your already wet pussy. Many times Joaquin teased him for being so pussy whipped. Manolo never felt bad though as he sat on the edge of the bed to worship properly. Your panties are promptly discarded, replaced by his large hand that was rough with calluses from both the sword and guitar.

His thumb first rolls over your clit before slipping between your sopping folds earning more whines from Manolo and you. "Que bonita." Manolo sighs as he toys with your cunt, riling it up for him so that his large fingers would have an easier time penetrating you. He's squirming and fisting his cock with his other hand in needy desperation.

You toss your head back and forth on your pillow, his name a prayer on your tongue when he finally slides in one glorious finger into the velvet wetness between your legs. Instinct had your hips bucking and your legs threatening to trap his hand but he's strong enough to keep your bucking at bay.

"Manolo-" Your moan is utterly filthy but drives right into his cock and has Manolo slipping a second digit into you. His pumps are slow and torturous. He revels in the feely of your gummy walls squeezing the life out of his fingers. Tickling the inside of you when he begins to curl his fingers in a delicious rhythm that has a wonton cry coming out of you.

"Eso es todo. Canta mas para mi (That's it. Sing more for me)." Manolo's dark eyes actually roll when he feels your pussy mercilessly clench down as he continues to finger you. His thumb strums your clit as it would the strings of a guitar. "Por favor mi amor. Necesito escuchar más de tu bonita voz (Please my love. I need to hear more of your pretty voice)."

Lips quiver to form the words "P-p-please Manolo." From your bleary vision you make out Manolo's shoulders shiver at your begging. A squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your pussy grew louder as his movement became faster. He presses down harder on your swollen bundle of nerves with his thumb.

That was it for you. Those magical hands of his always brought you to a fast climax that smacked you senseless. Your entire being explodes and you knew your neighbors would be able to hear you happy cry as you came hard around Manolo's fingers.

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #book of life #book of life fanfiction #book of life fanfic #book of life fandom #the book of life fanfic #the book of life fanfiction #manolo x reader #manolo sanchez fanfic #manolo sanchez fanfiction #manolo sanchez #manolo sanchez x reader

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dustedmagazine · 1 month

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Butthole Surfers — Rembrandt Pussyhorse (Matador)

Photo by Jerry Milton

Given the amount of ink spilled and pixels configured concerning the music and cultural phenomena associated with the Butthole Surfers, it seems a daunting task to find anything new to say about the band — even about a record as excellent as Rembrandt Pussyhorse, first released 38 years ago (say what) on Touch and Go and presently being given the vinyl reissue treatment by Matador. But two things obviate the perceived difficulty registered just above: somehow, someway, Rembrandt Pussyhorse sounds like it could have come out yesterday on some currently über-hip, punk-adjacent underground label (say, Feel It Records from Cincinnati, or London’s La Vida Es un Mus); and for certain, it feels a very particular, vividly upsetting sort of way to listen to these demented, raging and inspired songs in March of 2024, as we struggle and lurch our way toward spring.

For example: Give “Strangers Die Everyday” a spin and try not to think about Gaza. That shouldn’t be a compelling match, of past music with present, all-too-real event. The song features a nigh-histrionic, Bela-Lugosi-as-the-Count organ, plastic fangs chewing on cheap, drywall scenery. Gibby Haynes does some of his bullhorn-mediated vocal antics, and sounds of bad plumbing bubble up into the mix. It’s the Butts in nightmare mode, which was always a vertiginous blend of ruthless ugliness and brain-rattled hilarity, and there is nothing funny about Gaza. Nothing at all. But keep listening. “Strangers Die Everyday” ends up expressing a deranged pathos. The organ is hammy, but the melody is mournful. The glurping, glooping bubbling evokes looking down a mostly stopped-up drain, which is always a bum-out experience, woven into the textures of the “Everyday” world nodded to in the song’s title. It situates the sadness and disgust in a feeling tone. But just exactly where is your everyday world? If you can tune in and make an additional metaphorical leap (to all the drains in Gaza, and in Myanmar, and in Ethiopia, and elsewhere, all of them backed up and drowned by unstanched cataracts of blood, from the bodies of all of those strangers), you will feel a particular sort of weight in your gut.

The Butts’ best stuff always worked the spaces in which earnestness, nausea and a decidedly bonkers mirthfulness overlap. Perhaps “collide” is a better word for the music’s resulting dynamic. In their early recordings, you can hear them bashing and stumbling their way toward ever-more-effective smash-ups of sharply opposing affects: the delirious one-two punch of “Suicide” and “The Revenge of Anus Presley” from Butthole Surfers (1983); the ebullient, anxious, headlong hallucination that is “Dum Dum” from …Another Man’s Sac (1984). The best performance of that sort of collision on Rembrandt Pussyhorse is “Perry,” which initially registers as a hyperbolic parody of the theme music to Perry Mason. Natch, let the laffs commence. The organ is back, but this time it’s in full Phantom-of-the-Opera mode, rollicking and tempestuous, Lon Chaney grinning horribly. Haynes delivers the laffs, howling and whooping himself breathless.

Keep listening. “Perry” takes its turn toward something more than parodic goofiness when Haynes provides a series of anaphoric itineraries: “It’s about coming of age / It’s about learning how to do it / It’s about learning how to experience things the way they ought to be experienced….” And so on. It’s a reckless thing, following Haynes into that improvisatory philosophical space: How, precisely, should things be experienced? What would a Butthole Surfer say? “It’s talking about being the slave boy / It’s talking about giving head when you’re 6 years old / It’s talking about enjoying these things….” You can just about see Raymond Burr blanch, even in black and white — and sure, it’s the Butts being the Butts, invoking a series of transgressive, taboo images, perhaps only for the charge of the transgression itself.

But there are other ways to hear the transgression. We might take the reference to Perry Mason a little more seriously. In the summer of 1986, just months after Rembrandt Pussyhorse was released, the Meese Commission on Pornography published its final report, a Puritanical screed that sought to throw the full moral weight of the Justice Department (yeah, yeah, I know) behind a juridical condemnation and potential outlawing of sex work, porn consumption and kink. The most liberal — in the hard sense of that word — readings of the Report’s recommendations would likely sanction tossing a band called the Butthole Surfers and songs like “Perry” (and “Lady Sniff,” “The Shah Sleeps in Lee Harvey’s Grave,” “Moving to Florida,” and later just about every song on Locust Abortion Technician and Hairway to Steven…) onto the pile with all the copies of Hustler and Torso and the endless numbers of VCAvideocassettes — not to mention the models and actors themselves, and all the folks who watched them and looked at them and felt pleasure.

It's not a hard history to uncover when you listen closely. Reagan’s reinvigoration of the American Right in part drew upon Jerry Falwell’s political turn, and the idea that evangelicals could have real power if they participated in the electorate, rather than regarding it as the fallen domain of a lesser law. In 2024, the Republican Party takes that evangelical vote for granted, and its full complicity with the array of MAGA-affiliated constituencies has created a new set of political alliances, issuing in events like January 6 and the Q Shaman leading a prayer service in the evacuated Senate chamber. Not sure even Haynes could conjure that image. Return to the record. The echoes of Raymond Burr’s voice, in full closing-statement declamation, reverberate out from “Perry” to the Butts’ magisterial cover of “American Woman”: “All right, you little creep, come out of there! We know your name!” We’ve got you surrounded! Where’s Mike Pence?

No one would argue that the Butts possessed anything like socio-political prescience when they recorded Rembrandt Pussyhorse. They were too busy experiencing things the way they had to experience them, to make the music that they had to make. And some of us enjoyed it. Still do. That may be reason enough to return to the record — or to reissue it. But the band somehow tapped into some very serious energies circulating in the mid-1980s: the Reagan Administration’s bloody-minded Christian nationalism (read some of his speeches, you’ll hear it); the Israeli Labor Party’s “Iron Fist” policy of 1985 and the accompanying intensification of settler activity, all of which would soon lead to the First Intifada. And here we are: Gaza on fire and self-identified Christian Nationalists like MTG and Tommy Tuberville setting policy. Here we are, in the “Whirling Hall of Knives” Haynes and Paul Leary and the rest of the band set in motion in 1986. Even today, especially today, it cuts deep. It draws blood. Strangers die everyday.

Jonathan Shaw

#butthole surfers #rembrandt pussyhorse #matador #jonathan shaw #albumreview #dusted magazine #reissue

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trans-luis-serra · 6 months

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OK GOOOOOOOO READ THIS POST FIRST I WAS TRYING TO REBLOG IT BUT TUMBLR WOULDNY LET ME ADD ANY MORE PHOTOS OR TAG ANYMORE PEOPLE CUZ IM USING THIS POST AS A JUMPING OFF POINT!!!!!!! GO FOLLOW @theprestigegirly AND @cloverisnonexistantbro !!!!!!!!!

I had @void-detective ask me a few days ago if the ornaments on Luis’ jacket had any particular meaning and as with everything I fell down,,,,,, one hell of a rabbit hole HDNWHWNEHDNX

So, first off; I couldn’t find any super definitive answer to what was on his jacket but I have some pretty good theories!!!!!!!

@vespereargentum and their friend on Twitter helped point out to me that the floral designs are really reminiscent of old Spanish Renaissance furniture and like yeah!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I mean look at it!!!!!!!!

These photos aren’t very good but you get the gist!!!!!!!

Why would Capcom put visual designs from FURNIATURE onto clothing I have no clue, but considering the fact that almost every single detail of Luis’ character down to the damn rings are extremely purposeful I’m sure we could pick up some pieces!!!!!

It also kinda makes sense, like,,, character wise too y’know- Valdelobos was a glorified Catholic cult and obviously they kept a very old-fashioned mindset so visuals-wise it makes sense!!!!!

@ 11cool also pointed out that his jacket has a lot of similar motifs to Matadors and Traje De Luces which they have their own post you can check out if you wanna!!!!!!!! Ofc there brings up the whole issue of y’know, Bad spanish stereotypes and bullfighting etc etc but this whole post is just throwing stuff at the wall in complete honesty!!!!!

And like the og post and @cloverisnonexistantbro said there’s a not for none Chance that the designers were trying to play into abstract windmill motifs would would be super cool!!!!!

@theprestigegirly and @kaychen666 were also kind enough to point out that the flowers on his jacket kinda look like poppies!!!!!!

And I think most people already know that poppies are a pretty common symbol for death (especially after war which I’ll touch on in a second) which. Y’know. Would be just SUCH A FUN AND SILLY DETAIL if true HAHDHENDHSJ

And like the og already has put so eloquently there are just,,,,,, S O many lil design elements of Luis’ that are so perfectly purposeful,,,;,,,… down to the fact that Luis has a gun from WWI (Realistically probably passed down from hsi grandfather, who would have probably had to have lived through Spanish civil wars (yayyyyy we love generational trauma yippeee another thing to add onto Luis amirite /lh)) and down to the fricken rings he wears and what fingers he wears them on!!!!!! (One of the rings for instance is of the Virgin Mary and it’s supposedly said that wearing a ring on the fingers Luis does symbolises leadership and compassion etc etc etc Yknow ring logic HDBEHEBXHX)

So like idk!!!!!!!! If anyone who actually has knowledge of Spanish culture wants to chip in PLEASE PLEASE DO!!!!!!! I’m the whitest Mf on planet earth there’s only so much justice I can give Luis BSNDHENDJSNSJ

Tl;dr: until Capcom or somebody whose more of a professional in this field outright explains what little design details like that mean for certain I’m just throwing stuff at the wall and letting people see it HDHEHEJEID

#luisposting #luis serra #luis serra navarro

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murfpersonalblog · 8 months

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Operation Matador: Wolf Killer Lestat

@blueiight FACTS! Lestat represents everything both he & Louis claimed they hated, but secretly admired/envied. Lestat lives for the aesthetic--he grew up just as slovenly and broke as any peasant, in the marquis' crumbling chateau, embarrassed about his brothers' rough manners throwing bones to the dogs at the dinner table & such.

For all Lestat's talk about being the rugged hunter, the Wolf Killer, the first chance he got he booked it to Paris to act the dandy Lelio. He HATED his family, and he admired/envied the lifestyles of the rich & fabulous. Part of why dandies act so flamboyant is because they're putting on airs--an emulation/exaggeration of what they thought the nobility/genteel acted like. The bourgeoisie/nouveau riche/lower & middle class all wanted to be JUST like the aristocratic elite--and the Reign of Terror showed how they became the monsters they were trying to kill. "I wanted to murder the man; I wanted to BE the man." Vicious cycles.

@likethemodel you keep doing this to me--STOP. 😵💫The Wolf Killer's red velvet cloak and the Bull Killer's red flag/cape, DANG.

Lestat got the prized wolf fur cloak, and matadors are awarded the bull's ears (orejas) and tail (rabo) if they perform exceptionally well during the fight. Lestat's family ate the wolf meat, and after bullfights the bulls are sent to the slaughterhouse and sold as beef. THE PARALLELS commemorating BLOODY victory.

@dirhwangdaseul And what's BANANAS is that Lestat is just as controversial as bullfighting itself. Their violence is not all/inherently bad, it's just whether one chooses to see it in a good/bad/neutral light. IWTV (i.e.: Louis & Claudia) is focused on making Lestat look bad. For Louis/Claudia, the "villain sequence" in Ep5 highlights how Lestat (dressed as The Killer (matador in Spanish)) is just like Akasha said in QotD: "so perfectly what is wrong with all things male." But that's not the WHOLE story, that's not ALL of what Lestat is, even though YES, when AR first wrote about him she was speaking from a place of pain & grief & anger about her own life. A decade later, AR had switched gears and gave Lestat his own perspective, as there's 2 sides to every story. In TVL he's FAR more sympathetic, and we see The Killer in a far more nuanced light, described best by Gabrielle (a la a mother's love).

Lestat LOVES Louis & Claudia. But by Ep5 things had gotten so dang BAD that he succumbed to his worst impulses ("my father's temper"), taking upon himself "the burden of murder or madness to be free of this place." Just like the tragedy of Louis was that he was weak/cowardly; Lestat's tragedy is that he's strong/impulsive--he's always been "stronger than anyone else." He's Hercules, killing his wife & children in a fit of madness thinking they were a pack of lions. But the beast was INSIDE Lestat all along. It's classic Gothic Horror.

@blueiight ALL OF THIS, yup! NGL I think Lestat's endless wealth made him an acceptable relic--his privilege saved him from being treated just like Paul. (Like, Paul acting up in public was only tolerated because of the money Louis kept pumping into the neighborhood (the church donations, those storefronts, etc), that made the DPDLs so respected.) There's a lot being telegraphed by Mr Bouillabaisse de Lioncourt partially because he's SO old that he's out of touch with modernity (I NEED to know if he was asleep before NOLA Rolin, PLEASE 🙏); partially because he's foreign and "there's things you don't get about America, Lestat;" and partially because he's white and he has no clue about the rich nuances of black culture until Louis educates him. (And even then Lestat insists he knows best--one-upping Jelly Roll Morton to create the Wolverine Blues (a la white people claiming blues/jazz/rock & roll Monsieur le Rockstar); whitesplaining about the race riots; etc...). And it's beyond hysterical that Louis was like "he ain't white, he's French," like SIR. 🤦 You of all people should be well-read enough about your own city, Mr. Heads on a Pike in Jackson Square, to know French Whites were the big bad wolves of NOLA's history--not to mention French imperialism across Africa & the Caribbean & Asia. 💀 (He's so lost in the sauce, bless his heart.) But Louis doesn't REALLY know Lestat, is the kicker.

@demonicdomarmand Soooooo multilayered. It's 100% satire @blueiight, agreed. Like, there's the IRL history of Mardi Gras flouting social/class hierarchies (turning everything upside down a la the Saturnalia); how Lestat plays into queer history through gender & drag; the Louis vs Antoinette of it all with the let them eat cake and French history; then they wrap it all up in a direct nod to vamps/demons accused of stealing/killing kids.

DIABOLICAL, AMC, please keep going.

@nalyra-dreaming Show of the Decade! <3 IWTV has the best allegorical handling of vampirism I've ever seen, but folks wanna complain about raceswaps & Claudia's age & them not being on a plantation anymore, like HUH?

@greedydemands I'm not LOL. Just living online and talking to all y'all teaches me more than I ever got in school.

@thebarnburn LOL I'm a student, just proctoring--DR. CAROL CUTSHALL is out here with TENURE. 🍎 It's a effing crime the Emmy's snubbed IWTV--if we don't get some roses come S2 the fix is in, officially, cuz their attention to detail has been downright disgusting.

#interview with the vampire #the vampire lestat #loustat #fashion statement #fashion history #operation matador #justice for claudia

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papasbaseball · 8 months

Text

His Office of Propriety (Papa Emeritus IV x Reader)

+18 CONTENT NOT FOR MINORS. MINORS KEEP SCROLLING

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: All the warnings. Dubcon bordering on Noncon, Knives, Blood, Mention of Torture, Violence, Clothes Cutting, Rough Sex, No Aftercare, Office Sex and Boss/Employee dynamic.

Summary: Furious from a meeting where he is cut off financially by the clergy, Papa Emeritus IV takes his frustrations out on his assistant. He doesn’t know yet that his loyal assistant had more reasons to be loyal than just a paycheck. Too bad loyalty does not soothe anger and a wounded ego. She will have to learn from her mistakes the hard way.

Word Count: 3,470

Notes: READ THE WARNINGS. Translations are at the end.

AO3 Link

"Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" The door slams so hard you thought the bricks around it would come crumbling down. His brow hoods his mismatched eyes as Italian venom continues to pour from his lips. Barreling towards you, he looks like a bull that had been speared by a matador, his jacket as red as the fatal cape.

"Pap-"

"You think you can run your fucking mouth, hm?" Unable to look at him, your pen shakes as you try to go back to underlining an important number—it had to be important, must be important—for his upcoming quarterly meeting with the clergy. He snatches the pen and tosses it across the room. "Run your mouth now. What did you tell Sister Imperator?"

"I didn't-"

"But you did. Do you want to know how I know?"

Your whole body is shaking. Rage tries to escape the heavy paint on his face, reddening a patch of skin on his neck where the paint had rubbed off. His eyes are wild, lit red in the shimmering fire of that jacket. He snatches you by the back of your shirt out of your chair, the stitches on your chiffon blouse ripping barely audible above his ragged breathing. “No, Papa! No!”

“Only you knew! Now I am leashed!” The soft cotton of his glove wraps around your throat and he slams you so fast to the wall that one of his framed accolades falls, glass shattering with a pop. “I trusted you and you violated my trust, dolce.”

The pet name makes you whimper. It’s new and so perfectly wrong with how mad he is. You had fantasized about him calling you all kinds of pet names, but never like this. He would be on the phone, thinking you were too busy logging receipts and making appointments. You would watch his brow knit together as someone told him about plans for the new tour and you'd think of you and him curled up in his bed on a Sunday morning - nowhere to go, nothing to do- just the two of you. You imagined how he’d play with your hair and call you every beautiful diminutive under the sun, kissing and touching and fucking. You'd dream until he hung up the phone.

His lips twitch into a smile that would make Satan himself shiver. “Did you do it to make me mad, dolce?” He drags out the e in a gravelly tone. He slides his hand up to where your jaw meets your neck, pinning you to the wall like one of his accolades.

“P-Please,” you choked under the grip of his glove, “I would never try to make you mad. I'm sorry.” Tears stung your eyes as he pressed harder.

He throws you to the ground, the carpet stinging your palms and knees. Your back arches as you try again to stop thinking about him fucking you, here on all fours, in the middle of his office of propriety. The glass from the frame crunches as he steps around you to search for something in his desk. “Let me tell you about my day, dolce. Maybe it will jog your memory, hm?” You stay silent. “I finished my meeting with Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil at 4 o'clock - you know this, ma certo, you put it in my calendar.” His voice is calmer now, more measured. It's enough to make your bones grow cold. “She called this meeting for a very important reason, dolce. Do you know why?”

You shook your head, not wanting to anger him further with your words. Looking up, you see that he is holding up a pocket knife that he found in the drawer.

He sucked his teeth. “You are a very bad assistant, sending me into traps like this.” He holds the knife up to the sunlight streaming through the windows, watching as the glint glides back and forth. Your stomach churns and your legs beg you to run. Moving only millimeters at a time, you crawl towards the door. “I will tell you,” he says, continuing to search his drawer, knick-knacks knocking about, “Sister says to me ‘Copia, I’m cutting you off.’ This is news, yes? I ask her why. She says, ‘The clergy did not approve your new vestments.’”

Shit. It is starting to come together now. It was a passing conversation you had in the hall with Imperator the day the new vestments came in. You had told her just how regal he looked in them, leaving out how your heart raced when your fingers glided down the silky brocade that felt so good over his solid chest. You had dreamt of him fucking you that night, the fine fabric bunching over the small of your back, him so desperate to finally have his assistant that he couldn't even bother to take the damned thing off. You move more quickly toward the door.

"You see, dolce, that is when I knew. Only you had seen them. Only you had access to my receipts. They were supposed to be a surprise."

The door is within reach when the sole of his boot connects with your back and presses until you crack. Your elbows buckle and the floor comes up to knock the wind from you. He kicks you in the ribs to face up, but it’s the knife that has you scrambling backward, the carpet biting into your rug-burned palms once again. You try to ignore the heat in your core marbling with the fear in your stomach.

“Please, Papa!” “They cut me off. You need to be taught a lesson.”

“No, please Papa. I’m sorry, I’m stupid!" It's coming up and you can't stop it "I kept thinking about how good you looked in them and I was daydreaming.” The tears are pouring down your face. Was he going to cut your tongue out? Was he going to kill you? The room spun and you wanted nothing more than to pass out. Let this nightmare end and go back to the sweet dreams of him and you in that bed on a Sunday morning. “I shouldn’t have opened my mouth,” you sob, “but Sathanas has cursed me to think of you every night and my mind is not sane.”

You see the glint of one of his canines and he laughs.

“The little lamb has developed a crush on her shepherd, has she?” His knee had pushed up your skirt and you realize just how firmly it was pressed against your aching cunt. A nudge is all it takes for you to rock your hips against it like the pathetic infatuated creature you are, cooing in misery. You want to die, but you need him to keep going, and all you can do is whimper.

He presses the blade against your throat. “Use your words, dolce: Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” Sick satisfaction highlights those painted lips. You know the answer, you just can’t say it. The blade presses harder and the pain gushes them forward.

“Yes, Papa! Only you. Every night.” He hums seemingly with pride.

“Good girl. And how do you touch yourself?” The blade prompts you again with a bite.

“Ah! With my hands, Papa. I imagine they’re yours. I think about how good your cock would feel when I fuck myself with my fingers.”

“The assistant dreams of her Papa’s cock, is that right?” His knee grinds into your pussy and you have hope for a brief moment, hope that he wants this too and that he wants to see you writhe in ecstasy. It’s not in his bed, tangled in his arms and the sheets, but he might let you cum if you’re good.

“I can’t stop thinking about it.”

The knife pulls off your throat and you cry as he stands up, your dark desire craving the pressure of his leg. He runs a hand through his disheveled hair and points the knife to your cheek. "Beg."

"What?"

"Beg for my cock. Beg for me to use your worthless pussy."

"Papa-" The knife nicks the apple of your cheek and you yelp.

"Do it."

You swallow hard on your tears. The words that he wants to hear are turning your cheeks redder than the blood blooming forth from the knife. "Please let me have your cock, Papa."

“Do you think you deserve it? Do you think you have earned it when you can’t even keep your mouth shut?” He cracks you hard across the face with his palm, the gloves muting the slap.

Turning your head back to look into his eyes breaks you. You can see the faint glimmer of pain for the first time, how you’ve truly hurt and disappointed him behind all that rage. What good were you, the person he was supposed to be able to trust with his secrets, if you told them to anyone? The disappointment chokes your voice. “Please. Let me earn it. Let me earn you.”

He unlaces his pants, never breaking eye contact, and frees himself from their ripped confines. The knife ghosts down your cheek until it tips your chin up to look up at him. Any warmth in those mismatched eyes is now gone, replaced with sadistic want. “Worship me, troia senza valore.”

His cock is already half hard and looks too big to fit in your mouth. You place a hand on his leg to steady yourself, but he quickly swats it off. “Did I say you could touch me?”

“No, P-”

“Suck.” The knife guides you to the thick head, your lips trembling. You can’t help but to open your mouth as the bead of precum touches your lips, eager for the salt of him. His hand is in your hair quicker than you can realize and Copia is guiding you down the length of him. Your jaw aches as it struggles to wrap around his girth. You give up and relax the muscles, letting yourself drool like a mindless animal. He hisses out a stream of Italian you’d never heard before. In your pitiful heart, you hope that he is praising your mouth. You hope that he is telling you how hot and tight it is, how it's the best mouth he's ever had. Daring a glance up, you see that he isn’t even looking at you.

Steadying your hands behind your back, you take the initiative and hollow your cheeks while looking up at him in defiance. He looks down on you, smug as ever.

“Is my office slut finally ready to behave and cooperate? It is clear that I need to retrain you.” He guides your head faster and harder, occasionally touching the back of your throat. “Would you like that?” You don’t dare nod and break his rhythm, only batting your eyes up at him in agreement.

He pushes further and further until you are gagging on him. "Ah ah. Look at me. You will take it all, capisci?"

Digging your nails into your palm, you push yourself onto him again, trying to angle your head so you wouldn't choke again. That's enough. It will be enough. When you go to pull off he holds you head down on him. You choke and sputter, desperate for air as the pressure in your head pushes you closer and closer to passing out.

“That is a good girl. This is a very important lesson, no? Holding your breath, so you don’t spill my secrets again.”

You’re sure you’re on the precipice of unconsciousness when he finally pulls out. The deep gasps send sharp pangs to your lungs. Each breath hurts so bad, but the high they give you, oh the high. Your thighs tremble to hold yourself up. Something in your arms is begging for you to grab on and cling to his legs. Don't. The smack from earlier still stings under your skin. This is his office. His rules. You’re finally able to look up at him through your watery mascara stained eyes.

His thumb comes down to wipe away a mascara tear track. "So pretty. You are the prettiest when you follow my rules. Obedience looks good on you, dolce."

You lean into his sweet hand. The affection, even after choking you with his cock, is enough to make you cry tears of joy.

"Mi dispiace, Papa. Thank you for the lesson."

"I did not say we were finished." His fingers twist your hair, dragging you up to your feet and over to the red velvet divan. As he guides you to lay down on it, the fabric brushes and cradles your skin with the plush luxury. “A lesson must be permanent.” The knife is at the ready again and you can see the edge stained red with your blood.

The wind is crushed out of you once more in a horrible sob. “Please Papa. I’ve learned my lesson. Please.”

He is quick, slicing through the chiffon and pearl buttons with his knife. It is another cut in the series of slashes he has already made to your ego. You think about how you saved for so long to buy that blouse on your monthly ministry outing and how you’d picked it out just for him. There isn’t even enough time to process the loss before he has cut the straps and the front of your bra open, spilling your breasts out for him. “Ecco. This is much better, no?” You try to cover up, but he nicks a cut into your arm in response. “You will not cover up what is mine. If I wanted you to cover up, I would have told you.”

He slashes through your skirt but leaves your pantyhose untouched. The chill of the office air already has you shivering and your nipples puckering into hardened buds. “This is your new dress code, pet. Since I will be wearing less clothing because of you, so will you. As above, so below.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Why did you do it?”

You hadn’t seen that question coming. Five little words and you can’t look at him. You can feel your slick leaking out to soak the inner thighs of your pantyhose. He tilts your face back to face him with the knife and you can see his cock is leaking precum again. “I did it because I was too busy thinking about wanting to fuck you,” you mumble.

“Maybe I should fuck you with my knife if you want me that bad.” The knife pierces the soft skin of your cheek.

The blood drains from your face and your body screams again to run for the door. If you did that he would shove the blade right through your pantyhose, mangling the soft wet flesh. The thought made your skin crawl and tears burst from your eyes.

“Please, Papa, anything but that. Please don’t hurt me.”

“I must hurt you in some way, pet. It is the only way you’ll learn. Daydreaming has become a bad habit for you.” His face and tone are sympathetic but his words are pure cruelty.

You sob even harder knowing that he can do whatever he wants to you, there is no escaping this room without the consequences.

“You must be a brave pet for your, Papa, d’accordo? I will let you choose where I hurt you if I am satisfied with how you please me.”

You want to please him. If you obey, maybe he will rethink his punishment. “Can I have the knife please?”

You’re so weak he doesn’t think twice. He places the blade in your hand curiously.

“I can be brave.” You slide the knife down the front seam of the hosiery, watching as the threads spring back with eagerness, exposing your soaked panties for him. It is a little more difficult, but you wiggle the blade from hip seam to hip seam across the front of the white soaked cotton. “For you, Papa. I can’t leave now.”

His lips are on yours, as he presses you further into the sofa. It’s real and your heart is beating overtime as he slips his tongue greedily into your mouth. His. His. His. He is claiming you as his. You moan and rock your hips up against him, desperate to feel him take you fully.

He takes his cock and teases it up and down your slit. Once. Twice.

“Papa, please.”

“How long have you wanted this, pet?”

“Since the fir- aah!” He’s sinking so quickly inside you that you can’t help but to clench around him. His eyes burrow into you, speaking to the undeniable fact that you are so thoroughly his and he knows it. He watches you intently, pushing and pushing until he bottoms out.

“Use your words, dolce.” He steadily pulls out again.

“Since the first day, Papa. Since I started working in your office.” He thrusts into you again and you cry in delight as he stretches you fully. It’s better than the daydreams. Little details you hadn’t even thought of like his warm breath against your collarbone, the way the sequins of his jacket lightly scratch their markings into the valley of your breasts, all become the focus of your attention as he fucks you for his pleasure.

“But you never did anything?”

“You’re Papa. I am just a sister of sin.”

“I am Papa.” He wraps his hand around your throat once more. “You are below me and you belong to me.”

The pressure builds in your head again and you drop the knife, the metal clattering on the floor. Your hands break your own rules as they claw at the soft leather of his sleeves. You’re not certain if it’s to pry him off or beg for more. His hips are now snapping into you at such a rapid pace, and occasionally they’ll catch in the right way, bruising your needy clit. The whimpering from you is uncontrollable.

It’s sooner than you want as he spills into you. All it would take is a few more thrusts for you to reach your own high, but he slips out of you and you can feel his unholy seed leaking from the gaping mess that he’s made you. Tears bud in your eyes, but it’s futile to ask.

He picks up the knife from the floor. “You learn quickly and I am satisfied. I will let you choose.”

“I want to make you happy, Papa. I have already upset you.” In truth you wanted it somewhere where it wouldn't hurt so much, like an arm, but you’re aching cunt wanted him to finish what he had started, and that meant making him happy.

His lips quirk up into a smirk. “You want your Papa to choose? Even after all of my punishment?”

You bite your lip, fighting the fear creeping in.

He takes the knife and guides it to the muscle of your thigh, pushing back the ripped edge of your pantyhose. You do your best to fight the pain, but still cry like a wounded animal as it slices through the skin. It’s like a paper cut on steroids, but it is over just as soon as it started. Five lines. The Roman numeral IV.

“You owe me, so now I own you.” He offers no remedy for the bleeding, simply getting up to put his knife away at his desk once more. Cleaning the blade, he collapses it and shuts the wooden drawer. “I expect you to be in the office 30 minutes early every day and you will stay 30 minutes late for the purposes of servicing me.” He tucks himself back into his pants, lacing them up like none of this had ever happened. “Since I now own you, I do not want you touching what is mine. Playing with yourself and fantasizing about me is what got you into this mess. You are only allowed to touch yourself when I tell you to, capisci?”

Your cunt drips at the thought of it belonging to him, contracting around the memory of the stretch of him. “Yes, Papa.”

“I will call for clothes so you can leave the office, but until then, get back to work. I have to make other plans for the tour.” He draws out the chair and is immediately punching buttons on the phone.

You get up in your cut pantyhose and underwear, walking back to your desk, mindful of the broken glass. The cold office air licks against your still hot skin and you almost slip your hands between your legs before you catch yourself. The pout creeps onto your face, but you look over to him, a ghost of how you used to daydream. He did say I would have to stay 30 minutes after. Maybe he’ll let me cum then… if I’m good.

TRANSLATIONS: "Maledetta puttana del cazzo!" - Damn fucking whore! dolce. - Sweet ma certo - But of course troia senza valore - worthless whore capisci? - Do you understand? Mi dispiace - I am sorry Ecco - There. d’accordo - Okay

#Evil Copia #the band ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus iv x reader #dark fic

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daresplaining · 1 year

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Mike Murdock vs. the Daredevil Baddies

THE GAME: Every 24 hours, our hapless hero Mike Murdock will face off against a different Daredevil villain. If he wins, he lives to fight another day. If he loses, the game ends and his poor brother Matt will (probably?) cry about it. This will continue for as long as Mike lasts, until he beats all of the bad guys, or until I decide to pull the plug.

Round 1: Mike Murdock vs. The Matador WINNER: Mike Murdock

Round 2: Mike Murdock vs. The Ani-Men WINNER: Mike Murdock

Round 3: Mike Murdock vs. José Quesada (Earth-701306) WINNER: Mike Murdock

Round 4: Mike Murdock vs. Muse WINNER: Mike Murdock

Round 5: Mike Murdock vs. Stunt-Master WINNER: Mike Murdock

Round 6: Mike Murdock vs. The Gladiator WINNER: Mike Murdock

Round 7: Mike Murdock vs. Leap-Frog WINNER: Mike Murdock

One week in and Mike's still kicking! On to Week Two...

Round 8:

THE COMBATANTS:

Michael Matthew “Badboy” Murdock: The Murdock family pussycat! The black sheep! Occupation: criminal! Style icon! Home-wrecker! Smarmy rascal! Certified Real Boy™! The only person on the planet who would choose to alter the fabric of reality in order to make themselves related to Matt Murdock. Abilities: Punching, gun stuff, existential crises, style

Phillip Wallace "Death-Stalker" Sterling: The self-styled Exterminator was having a great time supervillaining up until the point when his time displacement device malfunctioned, thanks to Matt Murdock's ill-advised attempt to fake his fake brother's death. In the ensuing explosion, the Exterminator became displaced in time. However, he didn't let that get him down. Kitting himself out in one of the coolest supervillain outfits in the Marvel universe, he used his newfound ability to leap in and out of the physical world, along with some death-inducing gloves, to reinvent himself as the perpetually creepy Death-Stalker. Abilities: Deadly touch, intangibility, sweet cape

#Daredevil #Mike Murdock #Death Stalker #Mike Murdock vs. the DD Baddies

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my-chaos-radio-00s-list · 4 days

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The 2000s List

Update: Every Sunday

Last: April 21, 2024

1, 2, 3, 4 - Plain White T’s

1973 - James Blunt

4 In The Morning - Gwen Stefani

4 Minutes - Madonna

Absolutely Everybody - Vanessa Amorosi

Advertising Space - Robbie Williams

Again - Lenny Kravitz

Ain’t It Funny - Jennifer Lopez

Alejandro - Lady Gaga

All Good Things - Nelly Furtado

All Rise - Blue

All Summer Long - Kid Rock

All The Right Moves - One Republic

All This Time (Pick-Me-Up Song) - Maria Mena

All You Wanted - Michelle Branch

Allez Ola Olé - Jessy Matador

Almost Here - Bryan McFadden, Delta Goodrem

Almost Lover - A Fine Frenzy

Amazing - Seal

America - Razorlight

American Boy - Estelle, Kanye West

Angel - Shaggy feat. Rayvon

Angels (Love Is The Answer) - Morandi

Another Chance - Roger Sanchez

Anyone Of Us (Stupid Mistake) - Gareth Gates

Apologize - Timbaland, One Republic

Around The World (La La La La La) - A Touch Of Class

Ayo Technoligy - Milow

Back To Black - Amy Winehouse

Bad Boys - Alexandra Burke, Flo Rida

Bad Day - Daniel Powter

Bad Romance - Lady Gaga

Bag It Up - Geri Halliwell

Be With You - Atomic Kitten

Beautiful - Christina Aguilera

Beautiful Lie - Jennifer Paige feat. Nick Carter

Because I Got High - Afroman

Because Of You - Kelly Clarkson

Behind Blue Eyes - Limp Bizkit

Bella Stella - Highland

Big City Life - Mattafix

Black Coffee - All Saints

Bodies - Robbie Williams

Boten Anna - Basshunter

Boulevard Of Broken Dreams - Green Day

Break My Stride - Blue Lagoon

Break Your Heart - Taio Cruz, Ludacris

Breakaway - Kelly Clarkson

Breaking The Habit - Linkin Park

Breath - Blu Cantrell

Breathless- The Corrs

Bring Me To Life - Evanesence

Bulletproof - La Roux

Buttons - The Pussycat Dolls

By The Way - Red Hot Chili Peppers

By Your Side - Sade

Bye Bye Bye - *NSYNC

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noloveforned · 1 year

Audio

no love for ned airs on wlur tonight from 8pm to midnight. tune in for the new show at 8pm and an encore presentation of last week's show below at 10pm. as always, feel free to stream last week's show at your convenience from this post!

no love for ned on wlur – november 11th, 2022 from 8-10pm

artist // track // album // label fleetwood mac // go your own way // rumours // warner bros. frankie cosmos // fragments // inner world peace // sub pop the db's // rendezvous // like this // bearsville the primitives // don't know where to start (acoustic fuzzed version) // don't know were to start ep // happy happy birthday to me triptides // can you see me // predictions // requiem pour un twister luu kurkkuun // can't live in the day // luu kurkkuun 7" // royal mint team ten // pony girl // team ten // shoemaker delivery // wear it well // forever giving handshakes // feel it split system // it ain't you // volume one // legless the linda lindas // little babies // dig me in: a tribute to sleater-kinney's "dig me out" // sleater-kinney poster paints // falling hard // poster paints // ernest jenning thinking fellers union local 282 // my pal the tortoise // strangers from the universe // matador naked roommate // wandering thumb // typical girls, volume six compilation // emotional response jj ulius // mening åt oss alla // volume ii // dfa sunburned hand of the man // shitless // headdress (remastered) // three lobed lucrecia dalt // dicen // ¡ay! // rvng intl. oort smog // every motherfucker is your brother (excerpt) // every motherfucker is your brother // arthur king presents detroit contemporary four featuring charles moore, ron english and stanley cowell // effi (live in detroit, 1965) // detroit artists workshop- community, jazz and art in the motor city, 1965-1981 compilation // strut tom skinner // voices (of the past) // voices of bishara // international anthem miles davis // what's love got to do with it // that's what happened 1982-1985: the bootleg series, volume seven // legacy contour featuring semiratruth // repossess // onwards! // touching bass open mike eagle // i'll fight you // component system with the auto reverse // auto reverse sault // god is love // untitled (god) // forever living originals missy elliott // bring the pain (feat. method man) // under construction // atlantic flex tmg // burn this town // whisper swish ep // domestic departure delight // i wanna make you mine // síntesis moderna- an alternative vision of argentinean music, 1980-1990 compilation // soundway whitmer thomas // everything that feels good is bad // the older i get the funnier i was // hardly art cozy slippers // when will when come? // cozy slippers // subjangle die zärtlichkeit // chaos // die zärtlichkeit cassette // la tendresse way dynamic // so familiar // so familiar // spunk guidon bear // lessons // unravel cassette // antiquated future

#wlur #radio shows

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doodle-dog-diary · 3 years

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#sk8 the infinity #sk8 ad*m #bad touch matador #i think this is pretty self explanatory

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kuroopaisen · 3 years

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impulse | fushiguro megumi

➵ megumi can't hold it in anymore. gn!reader. 1.4k

Megumi’s tense. He always is, around you.

Although, he usually doesn’t feel like his heart is about to hammer its way out of his chest at any given moment. No, that’s reserved for when you’re touching him.

And you’re doing just that, sat together in the alarmingly muggy infirmary as you tend to his wounds.

He’d be the first to admit that he could’ve left his last fight in better shape, but that isn’t quite how things played out. It’s a rather diverse set of injuries – some cuts on his forehead, a small gash along his chin, scratches on his knuckles, his palms, and his fingers… Typical fare.

He’d managed to clean his face before you’d come bursting into the infirmary, eyes ablaze with worry and rebuke. But you’d spared him the lecture, far too worried about the general state of him than anything else.

It’s late afternoon, and Megumi knows you should be relaxing by now. You deserve it. Instead you’re here, with him, playing nurse. The sun sets outside the window, bathing you in unfairly flattering golden light. It makes you hard to look at.

But if you notice Megumi’s apprehension, you say nothing. You’re too focused on his hands.

“You need to stop being so reckless,” you murmur, fingers brushing against his as you finish bandaging his knuckles.

Megumi grimaces. He’s not sure how, but you always seem to know when he’s been injured. Even if he’s making an active effort to keep it a secret from you – in a misguided attempt on his part to spare you the anxiety – you always find him.

And every time he tries to play his injuries off, every time he tries to tell you that he’s fine, really, it’s worse than it looks, you just glare at him with those aggravatingly expressive eyes of yours, your anger thinly veiling your heavy worry.

Today, however, his injuries don’t look too bad compared to the usual. Regardless, you worry. It makes him feel so… so…

He sighs heavily, too exhausted to even begin untangling the thoughts burning in his brain.

Your eyes are bright as you smile at him with a hint of mischief. “About to start brooding, hm?”

“No,” he grumbles.

You chuckle, your entire face lighting up with a smile. Megumi swears his heart constricts.

He doesn’t want you to worry. Every time you look at him with those sad eyes, asking him ‘what happened’, he can’t help but feel like a piece of shit. You shouldn’t be spending your time worrying about him. He doesn’t even know why you do.

“There you go,” you sigh, holding his hand with both of yours as you inspect your handiwork. Your hands feel so soft against his fingertips, warm yet not overwhelming. The thought of them obscures anything more logical.

“Thank you,” Megumi swallows, drawing his hand out of yours a little too hastily. He turns his hand over to admire your work. As usual, you’ve done an excellent job at wrapping his wounds. Firm, but not so tight it’ll disrupt blood flow.

“You don’t have to do this,” he sighs, flexing his fingers. They’re still a bit stiff, but they’re better than they were a couple of hours ago.

“I know,” you hum nonchalantly, tilting your head at him. “You need to stop saying that.”

Megumi resists the urge to flare his nostrils like a bull in some matador show. He feels like you’re always doing this for him; he’s not as reckless as Itadori, but he knows he’s still too blasé for your liking.

But that’s just how you are.

Soft. Gentle. Too kind for your own good.

Certainly not cut out for this world of violence.

Megumi’s eyes darken at the thought. He can’t help but wonder if it weren’t for him, for Itadori, for Kugisaki, then maybe you’d walk away. Maybe you’d be free from this grim waking nightmare. Maybe you could live as a normal teenager, worried about average adolescent things and crying over inane little dramas.

No fighting. No suffering. No death. That’s the life you deserve.

“Hey,” you murmur, eyes downcast as you fiddle with the hem of your jacket. “I… I don’t want to make assumptions or anything, but… if you’re worried about being a burden, you’re not.”

Megumi’s breath catches in his throat and his eyes widen.

“I-I mean, burden might be the wrong word, but…” You bumble, gaze firmly affixed to your own lap. “I just mean that sometimes you… you seem to feel… guilty, and I don’t want you to.”

Megumi swallows roughly, unable to take his eyes off your face. You look so… reticent. Like you’re afraid of saying something you’ll regret. How can he say that he doesn’t want you to be careful?

“I…” You break the tension with a sound almost no louder than a whisper. “I care about you,” you mumble, twiddling your thumbs in your lap.

It’s not unusual for you to get Megumi’s heart racing. Sometimes a smile from you is enough to make his pulse quicken.

You’re cute, yes, but Megumi knows it runs a little deeper than that.

And sometimes – just sometimes – he lets himself hope. In moments like this, where you can’t quite seem to look at him, voice quiet and eyes sparkling, looking so innocent and earnest.

He doesn’t know what to say. What to do. He wants to say it back – he certainly cares about you, too. More than he’s comfortable admitting.

But he can’t just leave you hanging like this, letting your quiet little confession melt into the wooden walls of the infirmary.

You swallow awkwardly, fumbling around with your equipment. “Let’s do your forehead.”

He’s struck breathless as you lean in, fingers brushing against his forehead lightly as you inspect the damage. You’re close – alarmingly close, so close he can feel your breath against his nose, so close he can smell the faint sweet scent of your shampoo – and Megumi can’t take it anymore.

Fuck it, he thinks.

A large, bandaged hand cups your cheek and the next thing you know is that his lips are on yours, warm and soft and insistent.

You let out a quiet gasp and Megumi worries he made the wrong move.

But you lean into him, placing a hand on his knee to stabilise yourself. Your lips are so soft. Somehow softer than he’d imagined. There’s the faintest taste of your vanilla lip balm; that, perhaps, is what makes Megumi realise this is real. This is happening.

He’s kissing you, and you’re kissing him back. Neither of you know what you’re doing, fumbling awkwardly through it, but Megumi doesn’t care. He’s so lightheaded that he’s dizzy, and he’s forgotten how to breathe (and he doesn’t even know if he wants to).

But if he doesn’t breathe he’ll pass out, and that’ll just make you fret.

He pulls back reluctantly, his breath ghosting your lips as his face lingers close to yours for a second longer.

“Was that… too much?” He swallows, eyes more intense than usual as he finds the courage to meet your startled gaze.

Your own eyes are wide, but they’re sparkling. It’s a look Megumi knows well – one he’s silently vowed to protect. You’re happy. No, that’s too plain of a word. You’re… joyful. Thrilled. Something of that ilk.

“No,” you smile, shaking your head ever so slightly, “I… I liked it.”

Such a simple sentence, yet such an avalanche of emotion within them. He may not be the best at reading people, but even Megumi can glean what you really mean.

Megumi considers, for a moment, that this might be a dream. That there’s no way he’d kiss you on impulse and that you’d kiss back, and that you’d like it. That you’d tell him you like it. That you’d smile like this.

But he feels alive. And it’s the first time in a while that he realises he doesn’t need to be in the thick of battle to feel this way.

“We…” He swallows once more, brows drawn together as he searches desperately for the courage to continue on. “We could… keep doing it. If you’d like.”

It’s such a stupid question, so teenage, and yet you respond with such earnest sincerity that Megumi’s heart aches.

Your entire face lights up, and perhaps it’s the most humbling thing that’s happened to him today.

Once again, your words are simple, but strong enough to move a tsunami. “I’d like that.”

#megumi x reader #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #megumi x y/n #fushiguro x y/n #i've been here so long and i still don't know how to navigate tags #anyway if you're reading this thank meg #she mentioned megumi brainrot and i was like you know what yeah #so i finally finished this #i'm in Pain and it's all my fault

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princess-fuckrosa · 3 years

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Hi. I hope you don't hate sk8 adam. If you one of the unique and awesome people whole love/like Adam can you perhaps wrote a SMUT of him? I'm sad that i can't find and SMUT about him cause everyone hating on him. You can write anything tho i don't have any particular request.

Thank you and sorry for the bad English. English is not my first language

Ahw, don't worry Anon, this blog is a safe place for loving on anyone!

And well, let's be completely honest, everyone who hates on this moron, is actually right about it, the latest episode left me a 3 minute complete silence as I tried to recover from what he did to our dear Cherry.......

But, to be fair, I have a soft spot for all the motherfuckers like Adam, so all of you who love the Matador of Love, don't be afraid to send in your requests, I adore him too! 💖

And don't worry about your English anon, it's perfectly fine! Send me a request anytime I'm open! ❤

*EDIT: Yesterday I forgot to include some stuff, so I added them~

HEAVY smut under the cut, general TW for the innocent vanillas~

Ainosuke Shindo (Adam) SMUT headcanons

We already have some clues about how the Matador of Love would be like in a relationship, and let me tell you, and I don't think it's a surprise but...

It's not nice. At all.

or it depends on what you call nice I think haha

Ainosuke definitely has a big turn on for tears and fear.

He's a sadist, and I don't think he would be completely against being on the other end of the line, but he would be the top dom most of the time.

He's into both physical and mental abuse, but before we completely bookmark him under the 'heartless psycho' category, he won't do anything non-consensual.

I imagine he would search for his 'Eve' in this way too, and if someone wouldn't willingly submit to him, they are just not the right ones.

So unless you let him do whatever he wants, he wouldn't take you seriously. He might have a one night stand, as he does sometimes, but to be his Eve, that's not enough.

He would expect you to be 100% submissive towards him, but only in the bedroom, and not on the casual side. He would love the contrast between the two: you being bold and confident during the day, but a sobbing, needy mess at night - perfect.

Master/Pet play is a big kink for him.

At first, he would give you a taste - he wouldn't be half as rough as he usually is, but would make you cry during the act, just to show off his style a little

"Do you still want to be my pet?", he asked, his index finger lifting up your head to make your teary eyes meet his seemingly empty, red ones. If you managed to whimper out a yes, his fingers would brush your lips as he leans a little closer. "I'm gonna abuse you, y/n."

You saying yes to him again would make his blood boil in excitement again.

He would absolutely cherish the idea of having a s/o as a pet, someone who would adore and worship him, and he could play with them as much as he would like to. Wouldn't go as far as caging (well, if you really insist, he wouldn't be against it either), but would give you a collar with "Adam" written on the tag.

Ainosuke is the kind that would be gentle and caressing at the start, and as the play session goes he would get more rough and vicious.

He does a lot of foreplay. It's mostly anything that implies that he is in control, and usually it starts rather innocently.

He walks over to you, caressing your cheeks with a brief smile, giving you soft kisses on your neck, hands traveling on your body with gentle touches...

...only until you get completely relaxed. He would lean back a little, his fingers tracing your lips, and for the first time in the last few minutes, he would smile at you.

And the fun begins.

You quickly learn that specific smile, the innocent, kind one that only appears on his lips when he came up with something truly dirty and terrific.

Would totally manhandle and take advantage of you. Grabbing you by the hair or your collar to get you to the bedroom, but sometimes when he feels like it, he could be able to just pick you up in bridal style and carry you to his bed - which is gigantic, by the way.

With Ainosuke, expect a lot of messy blowjobs. He would let you start and show your appreciation for the first few minutes. But after that, he would cup your cheeks, tug into your hair and face fuck you with vigorous speed. Plus points if you wear any makeup, he would ruin it, and almost get off only on the sight of seeing you crying off your eyeshadow. It would be hard to stop him after he starts, and wouldn't really care about your discomfort, the only thing he would avoid is making you vomit, he doesn't like that

He would call you the dirtiest, filthiest names ever, but would praise you and call you sweet, loving names just as much, especially during said face fucks.

He is not THAT into bondage, Ainosuke prefers using his hand and body only to get you under full control, but if he is in the right mood, he would totally tie you up and abuse the hell out of you.

Doesn't matter if you are a female or a male, he would absolutely torture your nipples. Flicking them roughly, pinching them, tugging on them so hard that your back arches, slapping and biting them.

Getting to the main act with Ainosuke takes a long time, he would make sure to make you come one way or another, at least once.

Sometimes, when he is in a more affectionate mood, or you earned a reward, he would overstimulate you until you're so dizzy and disoriented that you don't even remember your own name, because you screamed his name so many times during your climaxes. He would leave you no rest, once you get your first one, he wouldn't stop, aiming for the next one, and the next one, and the next one...

Finally, when he gets between your legs with his crotch, you're so wet or lubricated that it wouldn't be much of a struggle to slam into you without a warning.

Through the whole foreplay, he is just so aloof and cold, or somewhat loving yet collected, but now that he is in you - he would completely switch into an animalistic, rough beast. Grabbing and bending you, completely getting lost in your moans, whimpers, and screams.

Would enjoy a lot of poses, his favorites are mating press, spreader, v, all variations of doggy, and basically everything where he is in full control over you.

But when he gets close, he would prefer to switch into missionary, leaving no space between your bodies, looking into your eyes as he reaches his high.

Depending on his mood, he would be either very affectionate with aftercare, or just completely ignorant of it, leaving you in the room alone as he goes to clean up himself and return to his day.

If there's no risk of knocking you up, he would usually release his seed into you, as a way of marking you as his, but would love to just cum anywhere on your body for the same reason.

That being said, he is not an abusing asshole all the time. From time to time, he would be more gentle, focusing more on holding your body like it was the most precious thing in the world, keeping it close to him, shower it with kisses, lovebites, and loving gropes.

He would sense your mood often, and if you feel down for some reason, he would cuddle you, placing you into his lap and wrapping his arm around you, and he would offer you some distraction from your problems. If you accept it, he would pay attention to your needs. Sure, if you just want his usual self, he will order you around and give you a rough treatment.

But if you need lovemaking, how would the Matador of Love turn you down? It's just something he won't really go for on a regular basis, so savor these moments every time, but don't be afraid to mention it when you need it, he's bossy and narcissistic but up for negotiations.

The latter is rather rare, he would usually just cuddle up with your messy, hot body for a few minutes before helping with the cleaning up.

Either way, sex is hardly ever predictable with him, he would be able to surprise you every time even after a long, long time of being together.

#sk8 #sk8 the infinity #sk8 anime #sk8 imagines #sk8 x reader #sk8 headcanons #sk8 adam #ainosuke shindo #sk8 adam x reader #ainosuke shindo x reader #smut #like fuck that was filthy #sk8 adam smut #ainosuke shindo smut #princessfuckrosa

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eggtoasties · 3 years

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Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.2k of tooth rotting dad!kuroo

Summary: Love is in the little things: Brita filters, sesame seeds, and frozen waffles.

Music plays softly in the background as Kuroo works diligently in the kitchen. Against the backsplash of white tile, glass containers dotting the wooden shelves, and stainless steel appliances in the modern kitchen, Kuroo Tetsurou wears a bright red apron with the words “Kiss the Chef” written garishly across the front.

On a tray he’s already balanced a stack of incredibly fluffy pancakes covered in a light dusting of powdered sugar, topped with the ripest berries. He’s taken out the nice porcelain that’s stored on the top most shelves—only to be used on special occasions, she said—and filled the matching bowls with an assortment of fruits and granola from the farmer’s market.

He hums to himself as he places the sunny side up eggs just so on the plate and delicately shakes the spice bottles to ensure an even layer. Putting the final touches on the food, he starts the espresso machine while he peels several oranges to hand squeeze. In the middle of his fourth orange, Kuroo hears the patter of foot steps down the stairs.

“Wow,” a small voice drawls out at his hip, “looks so good.”

A small, chubby hand reaches for a bowl and Kuroo lightly swats it away.

“Daddy did a good job, didn’t he?” Kuroo says mostly to himself, satisfied with the assortment of sweet and savory treats, so aesthetically placed he figures Martha Stewart would weep. Finishing with the last orange, he wipes his hands on his apron and moves to make the coffee, scooting the tray further away from the edge.

He feels a small tug at his pajama pant leg and looks down to see his pouting child.

“I’m hungry,” his son complains, tiny hand fisting cotton and the other resting at his hip, a mirror image of his mother.

Gently ruffling his son’s hair, still unruly from sleep, a set of heavier footsteps makes its way to the kitchen. Yawning the sleep from her eyes and sighing at the pops in her neck, Kuroo’s eldest daughter zeroes in on the breakfast spread and makes a beeline for the tray.

Swiftly blocking her warpath he grabs a dish towel and waves it in front of her like a matador to a bull. “Who are you and get out my kitchen,” Kuroo says.

She scowls up at him which makes him scowl too.

“You know what your mom says about frowning,” he lightly scolds.

“I’m young and have a great retinol,” she bites back, “what’s your excuse?” she taunts.

“Oi! What’s with the attitude so early in the morning, can’t you see I’m busy,” he says incredulously, gesturing to the breakfast tray as he catches his youngest drag a short footstool towards the counter.

With one step, Kuroo scoops him up—away from the food—and distracts him with the promise of Eggo waffles while squishing chubby cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, kissing the soft skin.

“You’re making pancakes from scratch and you’re feeding us the frozen waffles?” his daughter deadpans.

“Who said anything about feeding you guys—you have two hands,” he points out, wincing when small fists beat his chest.

At her stink eye, Kuroo curses teenage hormones and nearly runs to the beep of the espresso machine, any excuse to avoid further scrutiny from his daughter. He puts his son down and whispers for him to sit and wait for his sister to get him breakfast. His daughter—light of his life, apple of his eye, his precious darling baby girl—but an absolute menace at sixteen and unfortunately absolutely took after him in this regard.

He pours the perfect amount of hot water to the espresso and Kuroo nods approvingly at the spread: pancakes, eggs, fruit, yogurt, granola, freshly squeezed orange juice, water at room temperature because apparently cold water is bad for the stomach, and finally, hot coffee.

Rummaging in the freezer his daughter grumbles, “Can you at least get me water?”

He grabs a glass and fills it halfway and meets his daughters open mouth of disbelief. Placing his hand on his hips he mocks her expression.

“Yes?”

“You’re giving me tap water,” she says accusingly.

“The Brita is for the dog and your mom,” he retorts.

Turning away at her screech of indignation, he smiles to himself when she can’t see it. Yes, she thoroughly irritates him with her refusal to drink orange juice with pulp and completely baffles him when she doesn’t heed his advice to wear a little less eyeliner. He also definitely thinks her boyfriend is a little bit of a loser, but, he is utterly and entirely certain that she is one of the best things he has ever done with his life equal to having her brother and marrying their mother.

His wife. Even as his ring clinks against his second cup of coffee, as it has every morning for the past several, several years they’ve been together, it still feels unreal. He thinks of her and remembers when they first met in college, first vacations, their wedding, their children’s births and even random memories from inconsequential days all at once. Like the day they got ice cream and she nearly puked in his lap on the subway because she insisted her lactose intolerance wasn’t that bad. Or when they were driving going to who knows where and there was a black sesame seed wedged in her tooth as she smiled at him and the car behind him honked for him to move because he was so dumbstruck by the way she smiled at him. When he thinks of her, a million memories and thoughts come rushing in at once to meld together to overwhelm him with one unmistakable emotion.

He figures he’ll never be able to articulate exactly how much she means to him with words. Hell, even for their wedding vows they had agreed to save the sappy stuff for afterwards—in private. He shyly presented a well-worn, heavily creased, ten page manifesto of his love in their hotel room, heart beating faster than it had during the wedding, feeling more exposed in that moment than when he was at the altar in front of all of their friends and family. His hands shook as she read each page, mouthing his words so tenderly back at him and he’s never told her that that moment was more nerve wracking than when he proposed.

So, he hopes that breakfast in bed makes up for it. Or, breakfast at their side table because she has a thing about crumbs in her bed. But nothing screams ‘domestic bliss’ to Kuroo quite like the idea of pancakes in bed and that’s why he’s bought so many bed trays even though she rolls her eyes every time.

And maybe, that’s what love is. Delivering breakfast in bed to your no-food-in-the-bed rule making partner on the trays she banned from the house. But, because you were so focused on making the perfect heart shaped pancakes and the fact that you bought a very expensive ring a long time ago, she’ll forgive you and ignore your citrus stained hands as you tenderly stroke her hair until she wakes.

Kuroo grins to himself as he makes his way to their bedroom, tapping his wedding ring against the handle and feeling the small weight of the gift box in his left pocket.

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