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mo0nfairy · 11 months

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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ UNCHAINED MELODY, PART ONE !

summary :: surviving raccoon city together, you catch the affections of leon kennedy, ada wong, jill valentine, and carlos oliveira. six years later, you reunite with them and realize their obsession with you has increased tenfold.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 5.7k.

content warnings :: mdni!! yandere!leon, yandere!ada, yandere!jill, yandere!carlos, noncon touching, drugging, kidnapping, ptsd, violence, explosions, weapons, death, mild sexual themes, sexual harassment (done by some random npc), car crash, hospitals, reader breaks their arm.

──── Rain.

It's the first thing you are able to scrutinize once you come out of your state of comatose. You listen to the tumultuous melody as the droplets batter against the roof of the car. Even with your eyes locked tight, you are able to figure out where you are just by the rumble of the car engine, jostling you around when the tires hit a crevice in the road. A fuzzy, knitted blanket is adorned around your body. Your headphones are set on top of your head, a playlist of your favorite songs playing on a low volume. The sounds come out distorted, somehow, as if the lyrics were tripping over themselves and the tunes were awkwardly dancing with one another. It's almost as if you had been drugged.

The right side of your face is squished against something, which you now perceive as somebody's neck. The surface pushes your headphones uncomfortably into the side of your head. In a fruitless attempt to take them off, you realize you are paralyzed from head to toe. An arm is draped around your shoulder, the other firmly around your legs which are draped among their lap. Whomever this stranger is, they are quite brawny as they tighten their thick arms around you. They press gentle kisses to your forehead, the stubble of their beard tickling your skin. A deep voice whispers sugary affirmations against your temple, but you are unable to dissect them through the warped music and white noise. Have I been kidnapped? Who the fuck is this person?

With what little strength you have left in your body, you are able to peel your eyes open just a crack. You find yourself in the middle of the backseat (the safest spot in the car, which was certainly done on purpose). You find the arms draped around you are tan, adorned in heaps of black hair. Casting your gaze forward, you look to the driver. You see a woman with short, dirty-blonde hair whose slender fingers grasp hold of the steering wheel. The identity of these two people remains unknown to you. Looking at the windows, the rain cascading down the glass prevents you from pinpointing any potential landmarks. The only thing you can do is slump against this stranger and let yourself be driven far, far away.

You rewind into the past to collect any memories that would help decipher the current events. All you are able to garner is a crisp October evening, where you snuggled beneath a blanket in the safe expanse of your bedroom. You remember wrapping the blanket around your shoulders and strolling into the kitchen, where you would then make yourself a hot cup of tea. This was your normal night routine, you recall in defeat. The last memory you had would be of no use, considering the large gap in your mind once you drank the first sip of tea. So, you rewind even further to see if anything abnormal had occurred during the day.

You remember how you had spent your morning journaling in the garden, analyzing the faces of other patients and doctors wandering through your memory. Nothing stuck out, however, so you abandoned your reminiscing of this past morning. You then think back to group therapy at noon, where others would express their traumas from Raccoon City six years prior. You would tell your own story of the agony you endured and how you met several people who had protected you with their lives. Leon Kennedy, Ada Wong, Jill Valentine, and Carlos Oliveira — four names you would never forget.

Then, you would express the grief you felt when you were told none of them had survived the night. You had never felt so alone after. But, fortunately, you were then taken under the wing of this sanctuary built just for survivors. You have stayed in their habitation since.

The faces of those listening to your story were people you have seen every day; none of their features matched the physicality of the people in this car. With that, you fast forward further into the afternoon to find anything that sticks out. The heightened security that seemed to be reserved for you made you furrow your brow. However, it was nothing explicit enough to explain your current circumstances. Several guards stood outside your room as you lost yourself in the book you checked out from the sanctuary's library. The headphones you wore blared your favorite music and tuned out any and all outside noise. Even the hushed noises straight from your kitchen.

The hours of the afternoon faded away while you read through your book. It wasn't until a friend had come to your door to remind you of your plans to go stargazing did you realize the sun had begun to set. As they left, you decided to brew yourself some tea before you would join the others outside. You remember sitting at your frail kitchen table, blanket adorning your shoulders like a cape as you watched the tea kettle on the stove. Silence pervades and you can't help letting your mind wander. It has been six full years since the incident in Raccoon City. Still, your brain always seems to saunter back to the memories of that night.

You think of Leon Kennedy that night. You remember those pale blue eyes, freckled innocence, puppy-soft hair; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Working at the Mizoil Gas Station, sitting right on the outskirts of the city, you're bound to face your fair share of weird regulars. And Leon Kennedy, by far, was the weirdest. A week before the night that sent your life into a tornado, you had met the new rookie who just arrived in town. And for seven days, you would always spot that familiar green jeep outside your workplace. His relentless appearances made you worry he had a hole in his gas tank or something. However, his visits weren't to grab gas or a quick snack for the road, it was to awkwardly lean against the counter and pathetically try to win your heart.

"Oh, hey Y/N! Funny running into you here..." The twelve visits a day spoil his attempts at being suave. "Yeah. I work here, Leon." His name sounds like nectar on your tongue, to a point where he is on the verge of outright begging you to say it. Even once more.

You then think of how during your closing shift, a coworker had become something ghastly, something monstrous. It all just happened so fast. You think of how you shielded yourself in your cramped work locker, limbs jutting out against the uncomfortable metal walls. To this day, you can still feel the suffocating tightness in your chest from holding back your sobs. All while you helplessly listened to the horrific sounds of your coworkers and customers being torn apart. You're entirely shaken with trauma, but with your brain in survival mode, you know this was no time to rest. Who knows how many more of those things will arrive? Now was your only shot at escaping this hellhole. So, you begrudgingly peel open the locker door and carefully inspect your surroundings. You grab a six-pack of beer on the desk beside you and take one of the bottles out. It was your only available weapon against your zombified coworkers, after all.

Blood paints your sneakers red and cheap beer stains your uniform as you fight your way out of the station. The sight of the entrance feels like a light at the end of the tunnel. Your lungs tighten with exhaustion as you continue to run towards it. That is until a firm grasp on your wrist halts your intentions. Swinging the bottle towards the assailant, they block it with ease and disarm you. It wasn't until a stuttering, concerned voice gasps your name do you realize that you almost just stabbed Leon Kennedy in the face. But God, you never thought you would be so happy for the persistent neediness of this cop.

You don't even know what had overcome you, but the sight of something human fills you with so much relief, you engulf the man into a hug. It lasted a mere second, but it was more than enough to get Leon's heart thumping in his chest. Even in the face of death, a smile tugs at his lips with any crumb of affection he can extrapolate from you. Muttering an apology to him, Leon disregards it entirely and stares at you with that dumb, love-struck expression. Your drop-dead gorgeous self; your witty comebacks that have his ribs tough with laughter… You, of all people, initiated affection with him, you actually wanted to touch him!

The roar of something inhuman cuts Leon off, to where he then bends down and scoops you into his arms. Without a second to resist, Leon (who is far too elated for comfort) sprints through the door with you and books it to his jeep. You're too busy staring at the store in trepidation to stop Leon from opening the car door for you, placing you in the passenger seat, and fastening your seatbelt for you. Almost as if you were a child, incapable of using your own hands.

The car ride to the Raccoon Police Department is quiet. Other than a few hushed reassurances of comfort from Leon, a heavy silence sits between the two of you. It's so bewildering that the people you had spent every day with are all dead. Not even dead, but zombie-fied creatures groaning to tear your flesh asunder. Your brain drifts to one coworker, in particular. One who was a master at getting under your skin. Manipulating your time alone to ask you out to dinner for the umpteenth time while tracing his hands over your skin. You never agreed, but with every attempt to bring this problem to your manager, it was always swept under the rug. And at last, you would have to endure the eerie smile and roaming hands of this middle-aged creep.

But now, things are different. You think about how he is now dead and can never touch you again; you think of how sickeningly good it felt to drive the rear end of a half-shattered bottle into his skull. Looking at your hands, you find your palms caked with his blood. Leon takes notice of this, taking one hand off the wheel and using it to grasp your hand into his. Electricity tickles through him from the contact. "You didn't have a choice" he assures in that soft tone reserved for you, but he is wrong. You did have a choice, and in the end, you wanted to hurt him.

"I wanted to. I wanted to kill him." Your gaze is locked on your red hands as you confess; Leon's gaze is fixated on you. "I just couldn't put up with him anymore. I finally got to fucking get back at him for once, to take advantage of him while he was weak." You don't even notice the tears streaming down your emotionally-drained expression.

You especially don't notice the sheer affect your words have on Leon. Tense jaw, flared nostrils, chest rising up and down with short breaths. What the fuck did he do to you? What had he done to push you, the angel of Leon's life, to such violent measures? He imagines his disgusting hands, dirtying your heavenly form; he imagines your face scrunched up with dismay, tears brimming in your eyes. And it absolutely destroys him. His heavy stare remains locked on you, entirely oblivious to any outside sources. No zombies, no eight-foot-tall tyrants — all that mattered was the audacity this dead man had to put his hands on you. And god, it makes him red with rage.

"Leon- LEON-!!" You shout out to warn him before the jeep then collides into a car wreck. It is pure mayhem as you shield your head with your hands and prepare for your demise. Leon’s arm stretches out over you in a desperate attempt to protect you. How ironic that in the face of a zombie apocalypse, you would die because of someone's poor driving skills.

You reluctantly open your eyes; you're alive. With your ears ringing out and your vision fuzzy, you manage to wrestle your way out of the jeep that had been flipped upside down. A grunt escapes from your chest as you make contact with the pavement. Something wet trickles down your head and from your nose, which doesn't take much for you to perceive as blood. You are so disoriented, you entirely forget about the man who was driving you just moments before. So disoriented, in fact, you don't hear the weak whimpers of your name from Leon as he watches you stumble further and further and further away from him.

You think of Ada Wong that night. You remember the click of her heels, her expensive perfume, her manicured nails; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. Somehow in your bewildered state, you had found yourself in one of the holding cells of RPD. You had collapsed against a metal bench, catching sight of a blood-stained first aid kit just within reach. You then tend to your wounds with feeble efforts. Soon, your senses clear, to where horrifying screams of agony echo through the large expanse. An unseen force rattles the room, and chunks of wall soar through the air from the cell beside you. There's a pop! before a deafening silence settles in the room.

All that is left in the air is your rapid breathing, waiting for your inescapable demise to embrace you. But, there is simply nothing to greet you but you and your thoughts. The gentle tap of quiet footsteps fills the permeating quiet. A woman then enters your train of vision, dressed in a trench coat, sunglasses, and stiletto heels. She stops in her tracks upon seeing you, seemingly inspecting you from behind her eyewear. With a tilt of her head, the woman steps through the threshold of your cell, where you then bundle yourself in the corner of the room. And you are just so adorable how you cave into yourself, almost like a bunny. So frail and terrified; too damn cute.

The way she walks to you is as if she were on a catwalk. Your trauma-ridden body trembles in fear with every step she takes closer. When she is just within reach, you act on instinct and push her away from you, racing past her and out of the cell. She barely stumbles from your attempt at an attack, an amused chuckle vibrating from her chest. You get a good several steps away before you finally discover what had made such a booming noise before. A man lies dead on the ground in the locked cell beside yours with a punctured hole in the wall. His dry mouth is hung agape and his body sits lifeless. Both eyes have been popped out of their sockets, blood seeping down his face and to the ground below. The woman follows you in your footsteps as you stare in horror. She merely tuts at the sight, a sigh of disappointment filling the empty air. How in the world is she not as terrified as you are?

"Come with me." Her voice is feminine, oozing with sultry confidence. It's soothing to listen to.

"Why?" Meanwhile, your voice is nothing like hers. Your speech comes out shaky and quiet, adorned in the fear this woman was apparently immune to.

"Well, you wouldn't want to end up like Ben, would you?" Your silence serves as your unspoken agreement. "Come now." In addition to her poised nature, her voice is also flat with demanding dominance. You find yourself blindly following her as she struts away.

Accompanying this woman as she walks through the police department as if she were the headline of a fashion show, you soon make it to the grimy streets of the city. During that time, she had introduced herself to you as Ada Wong, a spy working to retrieve the G-Virus. Why is she telling you the whole truth about herself, she doesn't know. Why did she make you follow her when she knows she works better alone, she doesn't know, either. There's just something about the way you cower into her when a zombie growls and the way your eyes glimmer with gratitude when she annihilates the monsters in your path. It makes her feel worthy, for something other than violence or money. As if she were the big, bad wolf who had fallen for the helpless bunny rabbit.

Now standing at the end of the street before the sewer entrance, you stare below in apprehension for what you have now learned lies within. This whole time, all the secrets Umbrella have were hidden right beneath your nose. Or better yet, right beneath your feet. A tank truck lies on its side several feet away from you and behind it, a trail of fire travels closer and closer. The flames and oil mending together then causes an explosion to erupt. Before you even had a chance to process anything, you're in the air, where you land in a patch of grass with a loud crack. Permeating pain courses through your right arm. From the time you had broken your wrist in 5th grade from attempting to climb a tree, you can tell your arm has suffered the same fate.

A leather-gloved hand then places itself onto your cheek. You look to see Ada, now with no glasses, tousled hair, and her coat discolored from grass stains. A dandelion had managed to wrangle itself with one of the dark-colored strands on her head. Playfully, you pluck the dandelion from her hair and gift it to her. Then, you make some joking remark about how it's a "thanks for the save earlier" with a weak chuckle. Your hand touches hers and something flutters within Ada's stomach — something grand, something scary. Something... warm. It stuns her into silence and catches her entirely off guard.

Her gaze shifts to your lips. Despite how chapped and dry they are, your bottom lip seeping with blood after the tough fall, they couldn't look any more appetizing to Ada. The mere idea of pressing her lips to yours causes her to relentlessly fall further and further into this unfamiliar, twitter-pated oblivion. You are just so benevolent, softhearted, and so, so bright. Ada's head is so fogged up with all sorts of devoted insanity, she doesn't take notice of the mass of zombies treading closer. While Ada is crouching beside you, she is then tackled to the ground. A pandemonium of zombies roaring ensues, and you're attacked by the undead, as well. With a hard kick to the skull of your assailant, you're able to wrangle yourself out of their grip on your leg. You stand to your feet and search for Ada to no avail, the heaps of zombies restraining you from any clarity.

With that, you turn tail and slam open the doors of the closest shelter you could find: Gun Shop Kendo.

You think of Jill Valentine that night. You remember her calloused hands, her rough-edged attitude, her scent of gunpowder; you remember how she had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. When you enter the gun shop, you're met with a man and a woman, both disheveled with dirt and blood. They point their guns at you upon your rushed entrance and in response, you raise your hands to surrender. The pummeling on the doors then has you all racing to barricade the entrance, using abandoned shelves and boxes as impromptu defenses. With heavy panting and a hefty barrier, the three of you stand, exasperated, trying to catch your breath. You sink to the floor and hold your arm, flashes of agony pumping through the broken limb.

Despite the danger just outside and your arm overcome with pain, this is the best you'll get in your current state. Shelter and weapons. You'll just have to endure how the shop owner shoved the barrel of his gun in your face and how the cop beside him sees you as gum beneath her shoe. Jill treats you like she does everyone else: ice-cold and blunt. She doesn't say a word to you; she barely acknowledges your presence. For that, you assume she hates your guts. Considering the circumstances, however, you don't take it to heart. Instead, you thank the two for allowing you to stay in the shop while the storm of zombies outside dies down.

However, things are quite different on Jill's end. The simple way you exist — it stuns her. Throughout her entire life, this dull ache has resided in her chest. She feels nothing. She would try and garner any feeling whatsoever; she'd do something adrenaline-inducing to feel fear, she'd do something ignorant to feel guilt. She would do everything to fill this hollow void within her. But, her incessant efforts were all brought to no avail.

That is until you came along.

Even though you're just some helpless civilian with no other desires than temporary protection, something foreign pervades her brain. Jill has come to realize you are far more than just the pretty face on the surface (although the idea of others witnessing your beauty causes her stomach to churn). She then tends to your broken arm, acting as if her heart wasn't running a mile a minute from the close contact. Meanwhile, lust-driven fantasies that would make even a harlot blush muddle her brain. To have you beneath her, staring up at her like that. You can't expect her to not swoon at the mere thought of how you'd taste, how you'd sound, how you'd tremble from her touch. Her mouth waters at the mental image alone.

Without thinking, Jill leans in to kiss you, fully ready to take you here on the floor of this filthy gun shop. The cock of Kendo's gun brings her out of her haze. You, on the other hand, assume this woman views you as nothing but a burden despite the clear display of infatuation in front of you. She informs you with a flat tone how survivors would be taken to the subway station, where they would then be transported out of the city. You thank her again for her hospitality, but mostly out of culpability. With your arm now covered with swiftly-made bandages, you reach with the other for an abandoned gun. Now that you've accepted the assumption this woman doesn't want a thing to do with you, the only way you'll get out of Raccoon City is by yourself. However, she blocks your attempt with a gentle grasp of your wrist.

"No need." Her voice is rough, but beneath the facade, it is timid and fearful.

"Why not?"

"You have me. I won't let anything happen to you." You stare at her, completely flabbergasted at the sudden alter in attitude.

The journey to the subway station was a breeze, to say the least. With your new bodyguard there to obliterate any danger in your path, it was practically a stroll in the park. She tells you her name and you tell her yours. Y/N Valentine has kind of a ring to it, Jill thinks. But with only just a few blocks to cross, something large, something beastly, something entirely inhuman stops you in your tracks. Incredibly massive with its large teeth protruding from its mouth, it groans a deep "S.T.A.R.S" before it begins to stomp towards you. Terror submerges your senses and immobilizes you. A red laser points from the rocket launcher in its hands, the dot sitting right by your feet. Jill then grabs hold of your hand and tries to run off with you, but her futile attempts were too late. A rocket then strikes the pavement and its force sends the two of you into the air. Your bandaged arm lands first against the unforgiving ground, anguish permeating your entire body.

You think of Carlos Oliveira that night. You remember his gruff voice, his kind heart, his dirt-caked skin; you remember how he had saved your life that night in Raccoon City. The pain in your arm is so blinding, there is nothing else you can think about. Not Jill, not Ada, not Leon, not the myriad of monstrous creatures on your tail. The only thing that exists right now is the torturous misery coursing through you. You're writhing on the cold pavement as you cling to your arm, cries of distress and exhaustion trembling from your chest. God, when will this nightmare fucking end?

The gut-wrenching entrance you're in is broken when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You expect to find Jill and her stone-cold, yet concerned expression, only to turn over your shoulder and see a complete stranger. He has a head full of messy, dark hair, with loose strands shielding his face; a strong body, with his military vest filled with heavy weaponry. His expression, however, was the most memorable. God, he looks at you as if you've hung the moon. His appearance is unkempt and dirty, but still overwhelmed with cheesy rom-com levels of infatuation. Why is this stranger looking at you as if you were walking down the aisle on your wedding day? You don't know. Besides, there are far more important matters to concern yourself with.

The heavy slam of Jill's boots reverberates as she sprints over to you. She helps you to your feet, not without a quick glare at the man beside you that reads "don't you fucking touch them." Jill puts your intact arm around her and leads you into Moon's Donuts, all while the deafening sounds of gunfire and grisly roars echo from behind. You don't dare turn around; you couldn't bear to look at that abomination once more. The quiet hum of heavy rock welcomes you as you enter the deserted donut shop. You practically collapse into one of the booths, Jill following behind and sitting across from you. With an exhale of relief, you relax into the seat and hold your arm in an attempt for temporary comfort. The man from before enters shortly, as well, then barricades the entrance with ease.

Your bandages are now torn and peeling. In an effort to fix it yourself, that same agonizing pain satiates through your arm instead. You hiss in response, alerting the two others. The man leans down before you, introducing himself as Carlos Oliveira, then eagerly asking you to inform him of your name. You oblige and he visibly shivers when your skin makes contact with his, an expressed concoction of nerves and irrepressible obsession. Upon gingerly grasping hold of your arm, he uses medical equipment from the various pockets around his chest and tends to you. His touch is careful, delicate — as if you would drift away if he applied any pressure. With every whimper and groan of pain from you, shocks are sent straight to his heart. Carlos had just met you moments ago yet still, he can't fathom the idea of you in pain. He assumes it's merely empathy, but when he feels tears brim in his eyes at the sight of you suffering, he knows this isn't normal.

With Jill's hand on your shoulder, consoling you through the pain, Carlos finishes swiftly before reluctantly breaking physical contact with you. He then gives you his canteen bottle, allowing you some water after your exhausting efforts to survive. You down the water like you've been parched for years. In the process, you are entirely oblivious to the heavy breathing from Carlos, who is left stunned at the prospect of an indirect kiss. Your lips against his — he feels his cheeks heat up from the idea alone. He doesn't realize how totally deranged he looks in his lovesick hysteria before the sharp snap of Jill's fingers brings him back to reality. Her possessive stare, her physical affection with you. Carlos feels his world crumble at the revelation that falls: you belong to Jill. The partner of his dreams is sitting right in front of him, but at the same time, is entirely out of reach. And it shatters him.

With that being said, Carlos isn't always the most articulate with his attempts at garnering information, hence why he stuck to the guns. So, as Jill and Carlos guard you like feral dogs with a bone while you travel back to the subway, he lets his facade slip.

"So... Are you two-like... Are you guys-um? Like, together?" Smooth as silk, Carlos. Smooth as silk.

Jill rolls her eyes in response. Mostly due to how annoying she thought him to be, but especially due to the fact that you aren't actually hers. Meanwhile, you tilt your head in confusion like a lost puppy (and you miss the way they visibly melt from the sight). After another fit of relentless stammering from Carlos, Jill finally clears the air.

"No, we're not dating." It hurts her to say it, evident in the way she clenches her jaw in an attempt to suppress her protruding emotions. Meanwhile, Carlos is sent to cloud nine.

Despite the blood, death, and gore he had witnessed in a single night, he had never felt so elated in all his years alive. Jill scoffs at his thinly-veiled euphoria, before grasping your hand and treading forward. Through trial and error (and more zombies than you could count), the three of you finally make it back to the subway station. You could cry, it's almost over. However, you can't help but notice how Jill and Carlos are perceptibly devastated by the idea of letting you go.

You hug Jill. It was nothing intimate, merely a thanks for the help she had provided you. Still, her body goes rigid and her heart flourishes with every kind of emotion she has never felt before. Through all the revelations that have taken place in this hellhole of a night, none of it compared to the earth-shattering emotions you have given her. Fear, lust, jealousy, devotion — it's all so overwhelming and she loves it.

You hug Carlos next. Again, nothing intimate or ulterior about the act of affection. But just like Jill, his heart practically detonates from the close contact. If only you could see his love-struck face; his expression is practically straight out of a cartoon. Cupid's bow through his chest, bluebirds swarming around his head and all. When the friendly hug soon started to turn into a romantic embrace, you push yourself off of Carlos, excusing his actions as nothing short of post-traumatic nerves.

With that, you join the other civilians on the train. The subway doors close behind you as you look at the survivors around you. All of them are riddled with trauma, shaken and silently weeping from the sights they have witnessed. Despite the harrowing circumstances, you're alive. That is all that matters and you could not be more grateful. Sitting on an empty seat, an exhale of relief escapes your chest. The train whirs as it begins to move. You turn your shoulder and look through the filth-stained windows to find Jill and Carlos, eyes blown wide with emotion as they watch you leave them. They stand in the same place you had left them, gazing wistfully at the love of their life. Picking up speed, you are soon out of their sight and they are now without the one they love most. And the sheer affect it has on them is gut-wrenching.

Fortunately for you, the ride out of the city is plain sailing. And with no S.T.A.R.S. members on the train, there is no 8-foot-tall creature there to set everything ablaze. You have now become one of the very few people who can say they made it out of Raccoon City alive.

You think of Raccoon City the morning after and the consequences that came from surviving. You think about what Carlos had said to you in the midst of danger. "I'm not gonna die on you and leave you in a cold, cruel, Carlos-less world." Liar.

Upon escaping the city safely, you and the other survivors were sent to a local hospital. From thereon, you would spend the next several days there (and finally receive proper treatment for your broken arm). After several days of anxiously anticipating the well-being of your friends and the entirety of Raccoon City, a doctor you had never seen before enters your room in the dead of night. Introducing himself as Dr. Matt Gorkis, he then reveals the news of the missile strike sent to the city and how there were no other survivors. A wave of devastation and helplessness washes over you. Weeping softly, the doctor bluntly provides details of the matter.

He then informs you of a sanctuary being built just for survivors of the incident. There will be provided shelter, basic necessities, and all sorts of therapeutic activities that will help you during your healing journey. And with your job, your home, and all of your friends eradicated to dust, you know you have no other choice. With another month of being tested for infections and going through physical therapy, you are released from the hospital and sent away with the doctor. For the past six years, this sanctuary is what you have learned to call home.

The hissing of the tea kettle makes you jump, bringing an abrupt halt to your road trip down memory lane. And while you pour yourself a cup of tea, you realize that your memories will be of no use for your current circumstances. For now, you'll have to let yourself be lulled to sleep in the back of this stranger's vehicle, driven far away to god-knows-where. But, the embrace the person has on you is so warm, so inviting. Your body can’t help but succumb to the relaxation this stranger provides.

You just hope that when you wake up, whatever welcomes you isn't anything reminiscent of the nightmare you faced six years ago.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 ۫ you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ MY LOVE, MY DARLING

I'VE HUNGERED FOR YOUR TOUCH . . . ❞

not a single person had asked for this, but it has been all my brain has been able to think about. i hope u all can appreciate some breadcrumbs from the ramblings of my heart hehe.

3K notes · View notes

ms-demeanor · 2 months

Note

This is regarding your post involving making friends. I have had a spectacular amount of failures in meetup groups, particularly involving men from multiple meetup groups trying to take advantage of me or using me. In addition to that, the other members of the groups tend are often quite rude. Also, many meetups in my area tend to fall into one of the following categories: professional seminar, mommy & me, or the other members are double my age or older. What would you advise?

Volunteering - find something you care about and see if there is a local volunteer opportunity; you might want to look into food banks or mutual aid projects.

Crafting - this will likely be an older crew, but making friends with older people is cool honestly.

Sports - see if there's a kickball league or some other variety of low-key sport that you can sign up for.

Get super into the local music scene. Go to bar shows, go to basement shows, go to backyard shows. If you go to places where they have local music and hang out a bunch you will get to know local music people eventually, which includes both people in bands and people interested in bands.

Become a regular at your local library. Go once a week at the same time of day and you'll start to get to know people.

Become a regular at something else local. If you go to the same coffee shop three times a week for a few months and are polite to the employees you will probably eventually have friends among the people there; even if you do this by walking around the neighborhood park at the same time of day you will start getting to know the park regulars people love habits and if you can become a chill part of their daily scenery they will eventually want to investigate further.

Start your own club of some kind. Maybe start a book club for a particular genre of book that you like, or start a movie group where you meet up to see a movie together twice a month. You can post things like this on meetup websites or facebook, but you can also make fliers to put up in places that you think people you might find interesting would hang out.

Join a gym and go regularly. Sometimes a random person you see all the time in a gym can go from being a reliable on-the-spot spotter to a good friend.

Take a class locally. See if your town has a community center that offers cooking classes or computer classes or any kind of classes even things you already know. I keep making jokes about improv but improv people are great; see if you can take an impov class. See if your local music store offers music classes (I made weirdly good friends with the folks at the music store where I took vocal lessons; this was a pleasant surprise!)

When you try any of these places make friendly smalltalk with the people you encounter and express interest in them. If you are speaking to employees, make sure you're giving them lots of conversational outs because attempting to befriend people who are working can feel like you're cornering them, I'd actually say don't try to befriend the employees at a business unless you go there and they attempt to befriend you, however as someone who worked in coffee shops for ten years if someone randomly started showing up for six hours a week I would almost certainly have gotten to a friendly shoot-the-shit level with them within a month; if you go out among people who are sociable and are around them enough sometimes the sociable people go "aha! new friend sighted!" and do the hard work for you, but you do have to go to places to let yourself be found by the sociable ones.)

I do not, generally speaking, use meetup groups as a generic thing as much as I look into what groups exist locally that I am interested in. If a local game store is running a weekly Magic tournament, that's a better place to meet people in my opinion than a one-time bowling event.

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greenorangevioletgrass · 5 months

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fever pitch (b.b) - prologue

soundtrack: mastermind - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: Bradley shoots his shot in public, but will he fumble when he meets you in person? warnings: language, drinking, meet cute notes: my first series in a while! this is shamelessly based on the epic Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce saga currently happening rn, and combine that with my innate love of football (the kicking kind, not the NFL kind) and... voila! I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks. Happy reading! <3 ✨I do not have a taglist. Please follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notification to get the latest update on my fics✨

Soccer Sensation Bradley Bradshaw Fails To Shoot His Shoot With Y/N At Her Concert?

Arsenal captain Bradley Bradshaw may be among his club’s top scorers this season, but even he misses a chance in romance like the rest of us.

The 29-year-old athlete spoke about his missed opportunity with the multi-platinum songstress Y/N while speaking to his former teammate Héctor Bellerín on the latter’s podcast, “More Than A Footballer”, earlier this week.

When asked about any fun stuff he did last weekend, Bradshaw replied,

“I went to the Y/N concert at Wembley [Stadium]... it was awesome. It was pouring rain, but it was amazing. I don’t remember Wembley ever being that electric aside from, like, cup finals. She was sensational.”

Bellerín nods in agreement, having heard great things about the famed singer-songwriter’s live concerts.

Unprompted, the American midfielder then continued,

“If you’ve heard about the tour, there’s this tradition of trading friendship bracelets. And I actually made one with my number on it, hoping I could give it to her after the show…”

The Cockney-raised Spaniard cackled in surprise and teased him, “But she didn’t wanna see you, bruv? [That is] legend!”

“No hard feelings!” Bradshaw raised his hands in defense over the Zoom call. “She needed to dry off and get warm. Gotta make sure she stays healthy, protect those vocal cords. But yeah, I was a bit bummed out about it.”

Bellerín laughed and jokingly addressed the camera, “Y/N, if you’re watching, give my boy a chance, will you?”

Mononymous pop sensation Y/N is hot off of her Kaleidoscope North American Tour, which wrapped in September. Her six-show run at Wembley Stadium this November officially kicks off the European leg of her sold-out tour.

Will they be the next pop royalty and conquer the stadiums with their own crafts, or will this fizzle out as this week’s viral anecdote? The ball is in your court, Y/N.

Y/N’s representatives have not responded for comment.

***

Your Miu Miu heels click and clack against the ground. The pavement gleams after the rain and glistens under the streetlights. Everywhere you look, your eyes hurt. Down, and you worry about slipping into a puddle and falling on your ass. Forward, and a million camera flashes are ready to give you an aneurysm.

All in the name of reporting your night off of work, performing live in front of 90,000 people in a stadium.

In other words, all in a day’s work.

There’s a moment of reprieve, when the silvery white blitzes disappear into the dim tangerine lighting of the lobby. The flight down the stairs is so dark, you’re seeing green. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but as soon as they do, the thumping bass line of some dance music hits your ears. Clashing perfumes doused on the dancing, dressed-up bodies that you have to weave through.

You are seriously regretting your girl friends’ invite to a night out. You could’ve just had them over to your hotel, open a bunch of red wine, and you would’ve still had a blast. But no. You had to say yes to going to the Cuckoo Club with Lacey, Amara, and Jo.

And this evening is making you feel quite cuckoo.

There’s champagne at your booth and you’re much too eager to take a glass and start a toast. “Cheers, bitches!” you yell over the music, clinking your glass against theirs before downing the whole thing in one go.

It’s nowhere near enough.

There’s not enough buzz to dull the assault to your senses—not even after the three glasses of wine at dinner earlier. Everything is still too loud, too bright, too crowded, too… much.

“Hey!” you nudge Amara, who is sitting right next to you. “Let’s do shots!”

She turns to you, eyes widening at the slightest. “I thought you wanted to take it easy tonight!”

“Changed my mind,” you shrug, as you get up to the bar.

While you make your way through the crowd on the dance floor, Bradley Bradshaw looks up from his booth and does a double-take at the girl who just walked by. Even in a high-end club full of the well-dressed and well-heeled, people still get starstruck. And why wouldn’t they? You’re about as famous as an iPhone.

His eyes widen and immediately whips out his phone to shoot a text to his oldest and most trusted friend Natasha Trace.

‘Dude, I’m in the club and Y/N just walked in. What do I do??’

Natasha thankfully texts back almost immediately. Then again, maybe being a Communications Director for a major company requires her to be a good texter. ‘Wdym what do you do? Just go talk to her.’

‘You were supposed to introduce us!’ Bradley replies, eyes darting between his phone and you at the bar, conflicted.

Natasha is a mutual friend of yours, too, and when the Bracelet-gate clip went viral, she laughed in his face for a full 5 minutes before deciding to set the two of you up. But the schedule never really aligned, so he hasn’t got a chance to see you. Not even after he went to your concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream.

And now, seeing you here in the same room at the same time as him…

‘What do you want me to do, get down there and do it for you?’

‘...Can you?’

He senses the judgment even as the three dots appear on his screen.

‘Stop being a pussy, Bradshaw. Let me Netflix and chill with my gf in peace.’

Bradley scoffs, half-annoyed and half-fond. ‘Asshole. Have fun.’

The dance floor clears up, just enough to see that you’re right there. Leaning against the bar in your dress like a dirty daydream, talking to the bartender, and he couldn’t just let you go without a word. He thought about it, and he simply couldn’t.

“Oi, where are you off to?” His teammate Martin hollers, while the others watch him make his way to the bar in determined strides.

He squeezes past patrons across this jungle of a club, hoping to God that somebody hasn’t beaten him to talk to you yet, or you haven’t ducked out completely. Oh fuck. You’re still there, though. Good. You’re still at the bar, still glimmering under the mirrorball. Just a tap on the shoulder away. You can do it, Bradshaw…

“Excuse me, I—”

You feel the hand on your shoulder just as you turn and stand up, and in a flurry of miscoordination, looks up just as the other person moves in.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Bradley feels the top of your head slamming up against his nose and he groans in pain. “Ohh!”

“Shit! Oh my God…” you gasp, reaching out to the man in front of you. He’s tall, very tall, and you can’t quite see his face with his massive hand clutching his nose. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, it’s okay. My bad…” It really doesn’t seem like it, so he lets go of his nose and smiles sheepishly. Gosh, he must’ve looked stupid right now.

But you see it differently. What you see is a dashing man in a sleek tieless navy suit and a well-groomed mustache, straight out of a Cinemascope flick, ever so handsome despite his reddened nose from the way you just accidentally headbutted him. “No, that was totally mine. Are you okay?”

Your eyes are crystal clear even in the dim light, the concern is palpable in your gaze—and rightly so. It’s just that he’d take the headbutt any day, if it means he can look at your beautiful face. “I’m… I’m swell. Y/N, right?”

There’s a shift in your gaze. First, alert—you’re assessing how much of a potential threat this person is, whether they’re gonna be weird about you— and then it relaxes. Not a threat. Then a slightest hint of mischief, like she wants to know what kind of dynamics they would have. “Have we met?”

And boy, can he.

“We haven’t, actually. But I went to your show at Wembley earlier this week. You were amazing.” He offers a handshake. “Bradley Bradshaw.”

You didn’t quite catch his name over the blaring music, although you shake his hand anyway. “Sorry?”

He leans into your ear, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”

You don’t know which one makes your heart skip, the sudden close proximity, the warmth of his timbre, or the whiff of his perfume.

“Right. Nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You accept his handshake, hoping he doesn’t see how flustered you are in the strobing purple light.

“Likewise.” He nods with a smile. “And may I just say… you look stunning.”

“What, this old thing?” You brush down the art nouveau-inspired Balmain dress on your body. You’re just being modest, of course; you know you’re dressed to the nines. You have never been much into facial hair, but somehow that mustache suits him very well. “You don’t look so bad yourself. You remind me of a… young Robert Mitchum. Or Paul Newman— or one of those Golden Age leading men.”

His face lights up. It’s hardly the first time he received that kind of compliment, but when it came from you, it feels… different. It feels special. It makes him just a little bolder. “Yeah? Maybe after a few drinks, I’ll be quoting lines from Butch Cassidy. Or would you prefer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof?”

This piques your interest. A man of culture, it seems. But of course, you can’t be too sure. “I’m more of a Paris Blues kinda gal, I’m afraid.”

Gosh, you don’t swoon so easily and he likes you so much for that. “Makes sense.”

“How so?”

“It’s a good underrated musical movie, for the musically gifted… And Sidney Poitier was just fantastic in that.”

“Huh.” You raise your eyebrows. You honestly thought he was just spouting the famous titles. But the fact that he has likely seen this hidden gem might just mean he’s really into it. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”

He leans in to speak in your ear yet again. “If you stick with me for a bit, I might show you another surprise or two.”

The music drowns out your racing heart just barely, and the bartender places a whole set of tequila shots on the bar top, and it snaps you out of your reverie for a moment.

“Wanna get some air?”

He seems surprised, but of course he wasn’t gonna throw away this shot. “Sure. Why not?”

You instruct the bartender to send the shots to your booth, not even spending ten seconds to ponder staying in this deafening hell hole. Not when this man looks like peace. Perhaps an undercurrent of mystery underneath, but his whole demeanor is as calm and comforting as those old-school movies you put on to fall asleep. At the same time, something about this person pulls you in, it’s almost magnetic, and you can’t help wanting to see this through.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw fluff #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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fob4ever · 5 months

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i was at a bookstore yesterday that had a copy of the kerrang: living loud book that featured the FOB watergun fight article i've never seen transcribed anywhere so i made a transcript of it for archival purposes. enjoy! from kerrang, may 2005.

For a man staring down the barrel of a loaded gun while wearing just underpants, Fall Out Boy bassist Peter Wentz looks remarkably chipper. Especially when you consider the person about to unload in his face is guitarist and vocalist Patrick Stump, grinning madly despite the fact that fellow six-stringer Joe Trohman has a pistol to his temple. He in turn is firmly in the firing line of drummer Andy Hurley, cackling loudly with his finger hovering over the trigger.

Passers-by stop and stare, waiting for the inevitable, messy climax of this "Reservoir Dogs" scenario. The tension mounts, onlookers brace themselves, the band get ready to open fire. Suddenly it happens.

"Argh!" screams Wentz as several litres of icy water soak him. "That's fucking cold!"

No, Fall Out Boy aren't about to blow each other away, They're having a water fight for K!'s benefit in a car park at the Chicago stop on travelling punk circus Warped Tour, where they're knocking out their "softcore" wares ("We're basically a hardcore band that couldn't cut it as a hardcore band," laughs Wentz) on the main stage alongside big hitters like The Offspring, Avenged Sevenfold and My Chemical Romance. The Windy City is more than just another stop for them; Chicago is Fall Out Boy's hometown, the place where they formed out of the ashes of their old hardcore bands, and where they still live with their parents- who are here for today's show - during the few weeks of the year they're not on tour.

It all started for Fall Out Boy here in 2001 when the members wanted a break from playing in their various bands. Long time friends Wentz and Hurley got together with hardcore associate Joe Trohman to do something a bit less heavy. Following a conversation about avant-metallers Neurosis in a bookstore, Trohman introduced Stump to the rest of the band. When their other bands folded, they took on Fall Out Boy full time.

"We wanted to do things before we were ready," chuckles Peter Wentz fondly of the early days of DIY tours for the benefit of the one or two people who would show up. "We'd plan two-week tours, just to see the world. Nobody would book us, so we had to do it all on our own."

"A lot of bands have scenes to go into and surround themselves with those people," says Stump. "We had no scene, so we would just play anywhere, with whoever."

FOB have come a long way from their humble roots. Right now they're America's fastest rising band. Radio smash 'Sugar, We're Goin' Down' has placed them squarely in the mainstream, having spent three weeks as the Number One song on MTV's 'TRL', a prime-time show usually devoted to pop acts like Maroon 5 and Ashlee Simpson. So dizzying their Stateside assent has been, they had to cancel their recent European tour in order to play the MTV Music Video Awards, where they are also nominated for 'Sugar...'. Thankfully, FOB haven't let the screaming adoration turn them into big-headed twats.

"A piece of shit with legs on it could walk onto 'TRL' and people would still go crazy," laughs Wentz. "That stuff just goes straight by me. With the fast turnover in the music industry, how can anyone have an ego"

Andy Hurley chips in. "You can be today's main stage and tomorrow's trash."

That's to find out tomorrow, though. Today among the madness of trying to plan anything on the Warped Tour - stage times are decided daily by lottery - Fall Out Boy have to try and find time for hanging out with family and friends.

"Three weeks on Warped is like three months on a normal tour," says Peter Wentz.

"Home becomes like Atlantis on tour, you wonder if it actually exists after a while," adds Patrick Stump.

Now FOB are big stars, a lot of old 'friends' have been coming out of the woodwork. Joe Trohman and Peter Wentz have polarised views on those who didn't give a toss back in the day suddenly becoming your pal once you've made it.

"The way I look at it is if someone's a dick to you and you don't know them, so what?" says Trohman. "Just care about who did support you, keep those important people close, not the people who five years ago called you a loser."

"I work the opposite way!" Wentz counters, before adding darkly, "The people I think about most are enemies. My brain works on revenge!"

Though a tight knit group of close friends, Peter Wentz is clearly Fall Out Boy's spokesman. He does most of the talking during the interview and writes the lyrics, and seems like the most driven one of the lot. As well as doing Fall Out Boy, Wentz has also written a book with tattoo artist Joe Tesaure, 'The Boy With The Thorn In His Side'. It's a dark, twisted tale that could have come straight from the brain of Tim Burton.

"I've always been into Roahl Dahl and people like that, and I was friends with a tattoo artist at the time and we came up with this idea to do a book together," he explains. "It wasn't something I felt fitted in with what Fall Out Boy is, I hate when bands do something that's not 'them'. The book is what it is, and Fall Out Boy is what we are."

Despite all thise talk of nightmares and revenge, FOB are upbeat individuals, enjoying their newfound success, while refusing to allow success to go to their heads. They'll tell you they don't like the shallowness of groupies or industry parties, and that the trappings of rock stardom hold no appeal.

"I don't feel like I deserve it," says Wentz in closing. "It's not like, 'this amount of time and this amount of shows = this kind of bus'. I appreciate what we've got. We've toured in a tiny van and it was cool, but now we're having new adventures living like this. I don't feel we deserve it more than any other bands do."

He surveys the sumptuosly appointed tour bus for a moment before chuckling heartily.

"Actually, that's a lie, we totally deserve it more than anyone else! Ha ha!"

#yayyyyyy #article

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kvtie444 · 6 months

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‧₊˚TOXIC pt. 2

A/N: read part 1 if u haven’t lol

Summary: seeing chris again but things r different I guess lol

Warnings: NSFW, fingering lol, kissing, swearing – don’t like, don’t read

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Our intense moment was suddenly interrupted by his ringing phone, connected to the car's aux, blaring loudly. I turned my head to see the caller ID, reading "Gia."

Chris hesitated for a moment, his eyes locking onto mine, searching for a reaction. His hand, which had been tugging on my waist, retreated, and I watched as he contemplated his next move.

His fingers brushed the decline button, silencing the intrusive ringtone, filling the car with a momentary hush. The only sound that lingered was the distant hum of the music from the aux cord, as I sat in quiet anticipation, waiting for his next move. The atmosphere inside the car grew heavy with unspoken tension, leaving me nervously biting the inside of my cheek.

However, the stillness was abruptly shattered by a text notification – Gia, once again. Her message read, "come over?? I miss you" I let out a sigh as Chris's hands slipped from my body, his fingers running through his hair in frustration, etching an irritated expression on his face.

"This was a mistake," I muttered to myself with a soft chuckle, attempting to steer away from mounting frustration. I swiftly retrieved my shirt, sliding it back onto my body. Chris's eyes remained fixed on me, reading an expression tinged with guilt.

As I reached for the door handle, Chris's right hand brushed a stray strand of my hair behind my ear, his hand lingering on my cheek. Simultaneously, we leaned in, sharing a sweet, tender kiss. A smile graced my lips as we pulled apart, and I pulled the door handle, saying, "bye" in a whispered breath. Chris repeated it softly.

I climbed off his lap and gently closed the door behind me, making my way towards my front door. As I entered the house, I couldn't help but glance back and smile at the sight of Chris patiently waiting for me to safely enter. I shut the door behind me, and in the distance, I heard the engine of his car come to life as he drove away.

For a moment, I stood frozen in place, staring at the closed door, feeling a complex wave of jealousy and sadness wash over me.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Its been about a week since I last saw chris. 7 days, no contact. This tends to be a cycle, consisting of heated arguments, a period of silent treatment, and ultimately reconciliations fueled by make-up sex, was something I had grown used to. But today was different. Nick opted for an intimate get-together, and it included me and six of our close friends in Nick's hot tub, where we all found ourselves chatting and laughing.

Honestly, for the first time in a while, I felt happy and in my element – laughing with my friends and making memories.We had brought out crate of six canned cocktails, but it vanished within the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, Nick's voice cut through the cheerful atmosphere, announcing, "Who's up for a trip to the kitchen to restock?" Our gazes shifted among ourselves, and a playful "not it" chain began. Of course, I was last. Following some bickering and laughter, I reluctantly climbed out of the hot tub, my bikini-clad body instantly reacting to the dramatic temperature drop, goosebumps prickling my skin.

As I stepped into the house and turn into the door way, I stop in my tracks at an unexpected sight.

Chris.

“hey” he says.

"Hey," he greeted me casually, and our eyes locked onto one another. His gaze quickly descended to take in my figure, dressed in a white bikini that perfectly complemented my skin tone. A subtle smirk graced his lips, but my focus shifted to the drink he held – one of which Nick had bought for us. I maneuvered around him, snatching the drink from his hand and placing it on the kitchen island in front of me. My eyes then flicked to the partially torn cardboard container, which now held only five drinks.

"Are you serious, Chris? These aren't for you," I snapped, my back turned to him. Suddenly, I felt his presence drawing nearer. His hands found their place on my waist, and his lips began ghosting soft, teasing kisses along the nape of my neck from behind, causing the fine hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

"You look so good like this, especially with your hair up," he remarked, alluding to the claw clip securing my hair away from the water. I let out a trembling sigh, my attempts to resist his advances growing futile. He had an uncanny ability to make me weak in the knees. I continued collecting the drinks until another kiss was pressed on my shoulder, accompanied by his hand pushing down one strap of my bikini.

I turned around to face him fully now, his eyes continually scanning down my body and then back up to meet my gaze, his lower lip was caught between his teeth. "Cmon, princess, I've missed you," he murmured in a raspy voice. My arms found their way around his neck, one hand playing with his hair, while the other dragged my nails down his chest, a gesture I knew he loved. It sent shivers down his spine, and his grip on my waist tightened, pulling me impossibly closer, our bodies pressing together. We now stood dangerously close, out lips barely an inch away from another - "What happened to your little girlfriend, Gia?" I ask.

He chuckled softly, "Blocked her the other day." Our eyes locked, and I feel weak under his gaze, "Why's that?" I reply.

“she just wasn’t you”

In an instant, I leaned in, our mouths colliding in a fervent, passionate kiss. After a minute of making out, we broke apart, his lips moving down to my neck in a gentle trail. They continued down to my chest, while my hands ran through his hair and gently tugged, drawing a soft "mm" from him. His lips rose to meet mine again with an urgent hunger, and his hands journeyed down to the back of my thighs.

In a sudden, unexpected move, he picked me up off the floor, placing me on the kitchen island, making me gasp. His biceps flexed in the process as I clung to his shoulders for stability, and he stood between my legs, drawing me closer, my hips almost hanging off the counter.

His hands find the waistband of my bikini bottoms, snapping them lightly against my skin, drawing moans against each others lips. He suddenly pulls back, his gaze fixed on mine. "Is this okay, baby?" he inquires, his tone gentle and caring. I respond with a hasty nod, my desire evident. "Yeah, but be quick, the others are waiting on me," I hurriedly add, chasing his lips once more.

His right hand pulls my bikini bottoms to the side, his fingers slickly swiping through my folds, collecting the mounting arousal. "Already so wet for me, hm?" he comments, his voice a sultry murmur, as I hold onto his shoulders, yearning for more. "Please," I beg, my desire building. "Please, what, baby?" he teases, a smirk

playing on his lips. "need you to touch me," I plead. "That's my girl. So good for me," he murmurs, returning to kiss my lips, my left hand tangling in his hair.

Swiftly, he inserts two fingers into me, skilfully curling them to meet my G-spot. I moan and bury my face into his collarbone, muffling my sounds of pleasure. He increases the speed of his movements, his thumb on my clit, swirling in rapid circles. "Fuck, Chris, I'm gonna come," I whine against his neck. "Look at me, baby. I want to see how pretty you look all fucked out for me," he insists.

I pull away and lock eyes with him, my jaw hanging slack as pleasure surges through me. "Come for me, princess," he encourages, and that's all I need to hear. I release around him, calling out his name amid a string of curses. After a moment, he presses a sweet, loving kiss to my forehead and gently adjusts my panties back to their original position.

He helps me down from the counter and assists me in gathering the drinks. Suddenly, he breaks the comfortable silence - "Let me take you out tomorrow night." I turn to look at him, initially confused, but my confusion quickly transforms into a radiant smile. "Sure," I giggle, leaving to return to the hot tub, a broad grin adorning my face.

・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆

#matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #fluff #smut #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo x reader #imagine #chris sturniolo #angst

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piratefishmama · 3 months

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Fake it till you Make it | Part 21

Eddie wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. Yes. He lived in a trailer park. But he wouldn’t necessarily call himself poor. He had money, he made bank on being weird for the women of Hawkins, he’d made an easy quick buck dealing back in his high school years, and he had many marketable skills that could get him some kind of menial labour kind of job.

Barback, auto repair, retail, manual labour, and of course, music among the few.

So he was never really poor enough to see moths fly from his wallet in place of cash, never poor enough to miss meals on purpose to save money, or to worry about where his next meal was going to come from while hunger gnawed at his gut.

But being able to just. Walk through a supermarket, without having to look at the price of things before putting them into the cart?

That was a level of financial security that he’d not yet attained, and yet there he was. After being given a second cart for himself, and being assured that he could get anything he thought he and Steve might want while John would grab things for himself and Lynda in his own cart, he was set loose with the simple instruction to meet at the checkouts, John would wait for him if he ended up there first and vice versa.

Eddie didn’t think he’d be finishing first though. There were options. He had options. He didn’t have to look at prices, he didn’t have to grab the cheapest things on the shelf, or look for things reduced in price cause they were about to expire.

He didn’t even have to do mental mathematics for taxes because it didn’t matter!

The only thing he had to worry about, the only thing that made Eddie completely certain in the fact that he’d be making John wait for him at the checkouts, was figuring out what Steve might want to eat without making it way too obvious that he didn’t actually know Steve all that well at all.

He was really starting to wish that he’d just sided with Steve about the pizza.

Okay so, contrary to popular belief given his whole. Keg King persona back in high school. Steve Harrington… couldn’t hold his drink.

At least not anymore. He couldn’t even do a hand stand anymore.

Before, he’d been a killer at it, he could drink and drink and drink, he was like a fish with it, king of the drinking games, lording it over the popular crowd as if it were something to actually be proud of, as if it were a genuine accomplishment to be able to out drink your peers.

But he didn’t drink anymore. At least not nearly as often as he used to.

Alcohol was expensive, and he worked minimum wage.

The most he could do was a six pack from the gas station that he and Robin would split out on a picnic blanket in his back yard, staring up at the sky with nothing but the glow of the pool lights to dim the stars above, laughing about their failed conquests and making plans neither of them could really afford to see through.

Back to the point, Steve, and Lynda Harrington, had found ol Mags’ stash of cheaper reds.

Not quite the big bucks bottles lining the shelves of the wine cellar which Steve, despite them being his now thank you very much grandparents and their ridiculously generous will, wouldn’t touch, but definitely heavy hitting enough to lighten any terrible lows that may have lingered after their earlier spat.

Which led them to their current predicament. Laying on the rug in the living room in front of a crackling fireplace, two glasses of wine between them, and two half empty bottles.

One each of course, they weren’t going to share just one, what were they? Poor?

Steve, feeling curious about a thing that’d come up once as a small, throwaway thought, now the only thing he could think about as he stared at the wooden beams that made up the ceiling and having zero inhibitions stopping him from asking it, so he asked, “How come you never brought up Robin?”

“Hm?” His mother turned to him, cheeks flushed a warm pink, she never could hold her alcohol, he’d gotten that skill from his dad, however fleeting his use of it had been. “Your friend?”

“Yeah, Robbie’s great, why’d you never… why’d you never try’n set me up with Robbie, wh’ts wrong with Robbie?” He didn’t think she meant to laugh quite as condescendingly as she had, but it definitely sounded like that as she burst out laughing. “Tried every girl but Robbie—s’not funny!”

“Oh, sweetheart, my little baby boy, Eddie… Eddie is lovely. You’re not… not thinking of leaving him for Robin are you?” That slight infliction on her name, what was wrong with Robin?! And then— “B’cause, cause… Jesus—baby, sweetie, you’re not— she’s not—it’s not… hm.” She looked at her almost empty glass as if it’d offended her, then placed it down to look at him again “It’s s’not my place… if you don’t know, s’not my place to tell you!”

“What do you know?” He pushed himself up onto his rear, shaking his head for a moment to clear up the spinny feeling that followed him moving “I—I know everything, Robbie tells me everythin but you… you don’t—what do you know about Robbie?”

“Pfft, sweetheart if you want a chance with Robin then, I’m sorry you’re definitely not aware of everything and that’s surprising, does she know you’re… you know… safe? To talk to I mean? You seemed so close I thought she’d have told you!” Granted, half of the words she was saying were slurred, but not slurred enough that he couldn’t make them out, and they were ringing all the alarm bells his brain could possibly conjure.

What did his mother know, and how had she found it out? “I don’t, I just—I was just wondering why you never—I thought maybe you didn’t think she cut it or something stupid, she’s told me everythin but that doesn’t explain why you know… or what you know, what do you know?”

And now his mother was up, sitting up straight doing the exact same thing as him, shaking off that little spinny spin the world decided to do as she sat up too fast. “Robin is perfect, Steven. Truly a one of a kind, kind of young woman.” The slurring had reduced the more serious she’d become, as if the alcohol couldn’t quite touch the severity of what they were now talking about “she also doodles quite obscene things on her shoes. I saw them in the rack not the last time we were home, the time before it? When she stayed the night? Those ratty old canvas things she wore covered in marker scribbles… most young ladies don't doodle breasts on their shoes, and they certainly don’t write about going 'down' on someone’s sister… I… figured it out. I also know that this isn’t something we should be talking about without her being aware of it.” Or at all, really.

She was right. As usual, his mother was right, he even knew she was right about the pizza, he always broke out a little after Tony’s, a few spots would always appear around his mouth that’d drive him insane, so he knew she was right about the groceries too, but yet…

It was so hard to admit that she was right.

“She uh… she was talking about what you guys were doin before we came out here y’know?” But if his mother knew about Robin then… maybe it wasn’t bad to talk about it. His mom regarded him with a curious expression but didn’t ask him to elaborate, didn’t stop him from elaborating either though “the matchmaking thing? I was complaining about it, cause… y’know… I had someone already” no he didn’t, but the excuse of ‘they all sucked’ probably wouldn’t go down very well. “And she said she wished you’d try setting her up with someone…” it was probably a joke but then…

Robin had been struggling.

The uncertainty in approaching queer dating in a small town like Hawkins was… scary. It was terrifying. They were only getting older, there’d only be so many more chances to experience things and trying to experience things later in life while being a big ol bundle of inexperienced anxiety?

Not fun, Steve didn’t want that for Robin. He wanted her to experience things. To be confident in herself because he loved her. He wanted nice things for her. And nice things involved kissing pretty ladies.

“Really?” Oh that little lightbulb, the devious little twinkle in her eyes, her passion reignited, aimed at a much more deserving and probably receptive target “Oh! Sweetie she should have said, second we get home, give her my personal number, okay? It’s up to her to call me but I would— I have a rolodex of names, an it’ll only the best for—for Robin.” Lynda would find that girl a hot sugar mama even if it killed her.

“You’d do that for her?” Steve put a hand to his chest, touched in a way he couldn’t really describe.

“Oh sweetheart, of course I’d do that for her, she makes you so happy, you just… you light up whenever you’re around her an I know it’s not cause you’re dating her because, unless there’s another conversation we need to be having, you’re really not her type. I know she makes you happy. And I know—I know I don’t say it very often—” her voice was wibbling, and oh boy if she was going to cry, then he’d start crying and they’d be a mess “but I’d—" her voice cracked, oh no “I’d move mountains for—for anything—anyone that makes you happy, sweetheart.”

And that was how Eddie and John found them ten minutes later after shaking the snow from their bodies, grocery bags in hand. The mother and son duo bawling together on the carpet, two bottles into the reds, wondering a very simple “what the fuck...?” voiced by a very confused Eddie.

#PirateWrites #FakeItTillYouMakeItFiclet #Steddie #No Upside Down AU #Fake Dating AU #Robbies gonna get HOOKED UP when they get home #i promise

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incorrectbatfam · 6 months

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Batfam as made-up facts

Dick: The biggest biohazard in public swimming pools isn't the kid that peed in it, but rather the body oil from all the swimmers accumulating over time. Not only is oil not neutralized by pool chemicals such as chlorine, but it also floats to the surface and is the first thing you make contact with when you jump in the water. This is why a lot of public pools ask people to shower beforehand.

Jason: Making new memories is simply the process of our brains creating and reinforcing new neural connections. Traumatic or impactful events see denser myelination in the hippocampus (brain's memory center) and it's theorized that when we die and our "life flashes before our eyes," there's more activity in those denser regions leading to more vivid images of those moments.

Tim: Klondike's Equation is one of the lesser-known unsolved mysteries in math. It's a branch of calculus that takes Olivar's Laws of four-dimensional derivatives and creates a paradoxal equation by which the right half of it cannot be fully written if the left half is unsolved, but the left half needs values from the right in order to be computed.

Damian: The oldest interactive/roleplaying game dates back to the ancient Sumerians, according to records. It consisted of a theater of clay puppets that the audience would chime in with how they should act. It was often performed at bars or taverns during holidays with stories themed around mythical deities or fables.

Duke: In 1982, Bill Watterson brought to Archie Comics a standalone concept of a child hero and a sentient animal companion. However, he was rejected in favor of the up-and-coming Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles story. After shopping around at companies and getting lots of rejections, Watterson finally found his big break with Andrews McMeel Publishing, cementing his place in comic history with the cult classic Calvin and Hobbes.

Cullen: The smallest readable book ever made is 12 nanometers long by 8 nanometers wide. It was engineered by four particle physics grad students at the University of Vienna and contains the first passage of the Bible across six microscopic pages.

Stephanie: Most aerosol cans use both oxygen and carbon dioxide as the aerosolizing agent, which is why you're told never to spray them near an open flame. However, for food (like whipped cream or spray cheese), nitrogen is used instead. This is to prevent perishable food from oxidizing and for preservation as nitrogen helps maintain a cooler inner temperature.

Cassandra: The most plausible explanation for the legendary chupacabra was proposed by a team of anthropologists in Oaxaca. Essentially, it combines the theories of mass hysteria with the existence of a similar creature that went extinct in early Mesoamerican history. As accounts of this now-extinct creature was passed down, the image of it was slowly distorted. The modern chupacabra legend likely arose in a period of mass hysteria during political and economical insecurity.

Barbara: Traditional computer programs can be broken down into a series of if-then commands by which a condition is given and the program must respond according to the parameters. However, machine learning algorithms use an expanded version of this, known colloquially as if-then-but-because-however. The "if-then" stipulates the parameters, the "but" is for modifiers, the "because" is for generating explanations (usually pulled from a database of other works unfortunately), and the "however" is for exceptions that may rise over the course of running the program.

Harper: Ambidextrous people actually struggle the most when it comes to the drums. Most drum setups and tabs (sheet music) are designed with right-handedness as a default. Left-handed people can simply flip it around it for themselves. However, ambidextrous players have been found to struggle with the asymmetry of the instrument. That's why, among professional rock drummers, only 6% are ambidextrous compared to the 18% of lefties and 76% of righties.

Carrie: Although it feels like our lungs are burning after holding our breath for a while, the sensation actually originates from our inflated diaphragm pressing against our lungs. Since there are more nerve endings around our lungs than our diaphragm, we interpret the feeling higher than where it actually occurs.

Kate: During the war of 1812, a group of nine Canadian men known as the False Damsels donned women's attire to act as spies against the Americans. Of the nine, four of them reportedly continued crossdressing after the war and one of them started going by Margaret a few months later and remained unmarried for 20 years until they moved to Portugal with an unknown courter.

Alfred: In 1757, the British government attempted to train livestock, such as cows and chickens, to spy on domestic threats (such as anti-monarchists). However, this project never took off due to a regional outbreak of avian flu combined with the takeoff of the Industrial Revolution and new inventions that rendered animal labor obsolete.

Selina: Coffees and wines contain a bitter compound called tannins, and the ability to taste them is genetically determined. Capsaicin can be seen analogously. Some people inherit a gene that allows them to detect capsaicin fully, so when they eat a pepper, all they get is the heat and little to no flavor. Conversely, others have a gene where the heat is "muted" and they can better distinguish the flavors between two spicy foods.

Bruce: There is a correlation between one's taste in food and expectation of others. According to a 2019 Harvard study, people who reported preferring more simultaneous flavors in their food were 26% harsher in an activity where they had to grade students' mock essays.

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robinhobiii · 1 day

Text

The Truth Untold

CEO! Jeonghan

Y/n’s son goes missing and there’s only 13 suspects that last seen her son. One of them happens to be her husband, Jeonghan.

Bad clue inspired

It has been approximately three months since Jeongmin was last seen. Y/n was restless. Her beautiful baby boy was missing and she was a wreck. What made it worse was that fact that her husband, CEO Yoon Jeonghan, was not really bothered by the fact that he was missing.

Where was the caring father that he showed Jeongmin? Where the loving man that put his family first?

She was anxious and nervous by this. It’s as if her status as a detective meant nothing in this moment. The court and other officials forbade her from digging into the case. This was a family related case and she wasn’t allowed to have any bias towards anyone.

That caused her to get even more mad. No matter what, she’ll find her precious baby boy.

. . .

She decided to visit an old friend. A friend that go way beyond her and Jeonghan’s history together.

“Hmm~ What’s this? Miss goodie two shoes at my office~?”

She looked almost defeated as she had to ask him for help.

“Seokjin, please help me”

Kim Seokjin. A man that has so many underground connections, that even he forgets who he knows. They coincidentally met one night when his wife was kidnapped and he had to turn to a real detective instead of intel from the mafia organizations. Her time and devotion to find his wife was admirable to him that he kept her around for certain small tasks. However, Y/n distances herself from him as the rise of scandals among officials were coming out at a rapid speed. She didn’t want to harm her or his reputation so she kept a safe distance from him. His, obnoxious behavior, seems to have never changed like all those years ago.

“My, my~ you seem so desperate. What’s the special occasion~?”

She looked to the side and sighed. She didn’t want to regret this but he was making a bit difficult to not.

“My son is missing and the court is not really taking it seriously.”

His eyebrow quirked up as he smirked slightly.

“So I’ve heard. Well then, what’s my repayment?”

“Jin, you still owe me for helping you find your wife all those years ago”

He heartily laughed as his smirked broadens.

“You’re right I suppose. However, your husband is a very powerful man. If we get caught, it’ll only plummet you and your career as detective. I’m protected by Mafia Law. Only you know how your husband acts so proceed with caution. You’re aware of all this right?”

She nodded. “I know. I’m ready to take any precautions moving forward. Just please help me find him”

“Very well then Miss Y/n, it’s a pleasure to work with you again.”

He shook her hand to seal the deal.

. . .

It’s been officially four months since her son has been missing. Her and Jin were able to list out 13 possible candidates that could’ve known what happened to her son.

One and two. Choi Seungcheol and Lee Jihoon.

Business partners and close childhood friends. Stick together like glue and never make a decision without consulting each other. They own the music academy that Jeongmin used to attend.

Three and four. Lee Seokmin and Boo Seungkwan.

Both music teachers at Jeongmin’s music academy. Jeongmin often spent extra time after classes to stay with either one of them for extra practice.

Five. Seo Myungho.

His personal bodyguard slash butler that has been assigned by Jeonghan to protect Jeongmin. He’s almost everywhere with Jeongmin and does almost everything with him.

Six and seven. Lee Chan and Kwon Soonyoung.

Both run a dance studio that the music teachers frequent. They’ve been seen with Jeongmin plenty of times.

Eight and nine. Joshua Hong and Hansol Chwe.

They both are assistants to Yoon Jeonghan and Lee Jihoon respectively. They seems to be very close despite working at two separate companies.

Ten. Jeon Wonwoo.

Personal tutor and mentor of Jeongmin. Spend a lot of time with Jeongmin after school and often takes him out for ice cream as a reward.

Eleven and twelve. Kim Mingyu and Moon Junhwi.

Personal chefs at the Yoon residents. Often seen with Jeongmin making dinner or desserts. They always take him out to fields and farms to let him pick fresh vegetables and fruits of his liking.

Thirteen. Yoon Jeonghan.

Jeongmin’s father and Y/n’s Husband. A wealthy and power man that over looks almost all of Korea’s wealth. His influence is unmatched and he knows it. He was the last official person to ever see Jeongmin before he went missing.

. . .

She dissected through their entire schedule. Making notes and comments about their daily lives. She needs to see a solid pattern before making any assumptions about any of them. Her increasing anxiety was keeping her on edge.

Jeonghan seemed to have noticed this slight change in her. He watched her look out into the calm and cool night from the balcony. He hugged her from behind and rested his chin in her neck.

“You okay baby?”

She only hummed a response and continue looked at the night scene.

“You know everyone’s trying their best to find Jeongmin. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. He’ll be back before you know it.” He says as he gently kissed down her neck.

“Are they really? It’s been four months Jeonghan. I want my son now.”

“Shh, honey. He’ll be back before we even know it. We’ll see the truth behind his disappearance and everything will be fine”

Oh, how true this statement is. However, the outcome is not what is to be expected.

. . .

Her eyes raked through the various pages of information about these men. Their every move and decision was document. What was the cause of this?

How are these men connected?

Do they really know what happens to Jeongmin?

These questions and thoughts are flooding her brain. She constantly is reminded that her beautiful son is not with her and it kills her everyday.

Her husband doesn’t seem to be bothered by their son’s disappearance. It irks her so much as he doesn’t care about their only son’s disappearance.

To be continue. . .

. . .

Hi! This is my first time doing any type of series! I really like the bad clue series from going seventeen and I wanted to make something inspired by it. This had been in my draft for months now and I just wanted to get something out already, lol. I honestly don’t know how long this will take, or how many parts there might be. So, I hope you enjoy as I write this.

Thank you ♡

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bleucaesura · 18 days

Text

STOLITZØ - FIFTY SIX

Millie watched the boys blush and be awkward and beamed with joy.

“You two are just too f*ck’n CUTE!”

She grabbed Moxxie around the waist and swung him around in a crushing hug.

He squeaked and gasped for air.

Blitzø burst out laughing.

“Well. It seems I may be interrupting a joyous occasion.” Stolas stood in the doorway. “Should I return later?”

“Don’t be silly!” Millie put Moxxie down, rushed over to Stolas and took his hand. “Come join us! Mox was just going to show Blitzø some of the music stuff we brought from home! Weren’t you Mox?”

Moxxie was bent over, hands on knees gasping for breath. He put up a finger as he tried to catch his breath.

“Oh, hun! Don’t be so dramatic!” Millie pulled Stolas over to the bed. “Come on. You’re welcome to join!”

Stolas looked at Blitzø shyly for confirmation.

He smiled back at him.

Stolas blushed.

“Sir.” Moxxie coughed. “I brought some things from home like the doctor suggested. Where would you like to start?”

“I don’t know. What’cha got?”

Moxxie pulled out a HellPad and pulled up a screen of his downloads. He handed it to Blitzø.

“If we’re just speaking music I have several genres. Classical. Contemporary. Broadway. Opera.” Moxxie swiped through the options as he went. “And within each genre, of COURSE its divided into”

Blitzø’s ears started to ring. Moxxie’s voice became this quiet “womp-womp womp womp wooooomp” in the background until all he heard was the shrill scream of the ringing whistle in his head.

F*ck… Don’t snap at him… Don’t snap at him… DON’T… SNAP…

Blitzø felt a hand slip into his and squeeze it reassuringly. He looked over and there was Stolas. He was smiling down at him as if to say “it’s ok”.

And it was ok.

Blitzø smiled warmly back at Stolas and interlaced their fingers.

The ringing stopped. Moxxie was still talking. “Of course if you’re into that sort of thing we could always try this artist over”

“Mox?” Blitzø interrupted him.

“Hm?”

“Why don’t I give that cat one you love so much another try?”

Moxxie’s eyes lit up. “REALLY, Sir?”

Blitzø heaved a sigh. I’m gunna f*cking regret this…

“Yeah. But you’re gonna have to explain it to me cuz I was confused as F*CK in the theatre.”

***

“Ok. So… Explain this to me again, Mox… These are like… What? Stray cats?”

“They are Jellicle Cats, Sir.”

“The F*CK is a Jelly Call cat?”

Moxxie ground his teeth and growled.

“Hun. Be patient. He’s not into this stuff like you are.” Millie laid a hand on his arm. “Why not explain it to him in terms he’d understand?”

Moxxie smiled warmly at her and nodded.

“Ok, Sir. Imagine them like a…” Moxxie flipped his hand and wrist about trying to manifest a description in his mind. “Ummmm…. Ah! A secret society of sorts.”

“Ok…” Blitzø looked at him skeptically.

“Ok. So they get together for a special ‘ball’ to choose one among them who gets to…” he rubbed his chin in thought.

Blitzø looked at Stolas. Stolas shrugged.

“I suppose the best description,” Moxxie continued “Would be that they are choosing one among them to go to heaven and be reincarnated. Have a second chance at life as it ‘twere.”

“Uh huh.” Blitzø nodded. “Mmmk… So. Like. A good thing. Right?”

“Yes, Sir.” Moxxie said flatly. “A good thing.”

“Mmk. Got it.”

***

“Who’s this old dude?” Blitzø pointed at the screen.

“Old Deuteronomy. He chooses who ascends.”

“Well who the f*ck is he that he gets to decide that?”

“Doesn’t matter. He just is.”

Blitzø glared at Moxxie.

Moxxie rolled his eyes.

“He’s lived many lives. So they see him as wise.”

“See? Was that so hard?” Blitzø teased.

Stolas leaned down and whispered to Millie. “Do they even really like each other?”

Millie giggled. “Oh yeah. They love each other.”

Moxxie was fighting off Blitzø’s playful poking finger attacks.

“Just watch the damn show, Sir!” Moxxie flailed his hands, slapping away Blitzø’s pokes.

Stolas raised an eyebrow. “Mmhmm…”

***

“This guy. I like this guy.” Blitzø tapped at the screen.

“Rum Tum Tugger, Sir.”

“Dude’s got swag.” Blitzø bobbed his head to the music.

“He will do as he do do, and there’s no doing anything about it.” Moxxie quoted. “Glad you like him. Because that cat costume you dressed up in when we were messing with the cherubs? That was Rum Tum Tugger.”

“Niiiiiice!” Blitzø winked at Stolas, who blushed and laugh-hooted back.

***

“Who’s this now?” Blitzø perked up again when he saw a ratty, bedraggled character shuffle on stage.

“Grizabella. She used to be a part of the group when she was young and glamorous, but left a long time ago.”

“Ok. I’m sorry. But why the F*CK are they being such pricks to her?”

“They are repulsed by her appearance.” Moxxie shrugs.

“Well f*ck them!”

“Blitzø it’s ok.” Stolas squeezed his shoulder. “It’s just a show”

“No!” Blitzø choked. “Did you hear her song? Grizabella is too f*cking precious for this world!”

***

“You see that?!” Blitzø jumped up in bed. “You f*cking SEE that?!”

“Darling!” Stolas tried to coax Blitzø to sit back down. “Please. You’re getting too excited.”

“Who’d they pick? THAT’S RIGHT! My badass bish Grizabella!”

Millie giggled. Moxxie covered his face in his hands and shook his head in shame.

“VIN-DI-CA-TIOOOOOON!!!!” Blitzø threw back his head and pumped his fists at the ceiling.

“Darling, pleeeease!”

Blitzø felt dizzy. He smiled at Stolas and let him help him back down onto the bed.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Millie laughed. “Aren’t you glad Mox?”

“What have I done?” Moxxie groaned into his hands.

Blitzø laughed.

“You were right, Mox! It really was a good show.” He squeezed Moxxie’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking the time to explain it to me.”

Moxxie looked up from his hands.

“I’ve figured it out.”

“What’s that?” Blitzø raised an eyebrow.

“You’re my Sisyphean task… Aren’t you?”

Stolas snorted.

Confused, Blitzø looked back and forth between Moxxie, Millie and Stolas: Moxxie burying his head in his hands, Millie shrugging and shaking her head, and Stolas desperately trying to cover his tittering laughter.

The F*CK does THAT mean?!

*****

#helluva boss #blitzø #stolas #stolitz #fanfic #helluva millie #moxxie #cats the musical #vivzieverse #vivziepop #vivienne medrano #brandon rogers #blitzo

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sheliaeddy · 1 month

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(December 7, 2023) Bryansk School Shooting - Alina Afanaskina

-- I already posted this a little ago here. If you want to see the footage and the crime scene photos uncensored then they're there.

The Shooter's Profile

Alina Afanaskina was a 14 year old student from 8-”A” class at Bryansk's 5th Gymnasium (formerly School #70). Alina was a type of a person who didn't communicate closely with anyone. Everyone who asked about her was basically repeating the same things: calm, loner, unremarkable, not active on social networks. Even the class teacher preferred talking to Alina's twin-sister, Daria, because Alina always was very silent and never came up with any questions/initiative. Teachers periodically were bringing up the subject of Alina's socialization to her mother and sister, although at the same time they didn't have any complaints about her grades or general behavior.

Alina had two siblings, including twin-sister Daria (Dasha). Her mom is a courtroom cleaner and dad worked in a private security company. Neighbors were perceiving them as good people, a nice and normal family, with a friendly father, though more reserved mother and daughters (who, allegedly, weren't hanging out with other kids at the yard). They didn't suspect any sort of violence in that household, as well as e.g. alcohol abuse; father doesn't drink. The third sibling is known to be a 28-year-old sister who lives in Moscow with her husband for a long time.

The Shooting

On December 7, 2023, Alina refused to eat breakfast. The last two words that she said to her mother were "Don't howl,” (Не вой), which the woman didn't understand. Next, Alina and her sister left the house. They both decided to skip the first lesson - geography and go to a second one - biology. Daria arrived there on time, like everyone else. Around 10 minutes later, when students started repeating their homework with teacher, Alina entered the classroom - with her father's shotgun and dressed all in black (shirt, trousers, combat boots with a knife in one of them, tactical glove), differently from her usual white clothes. Alina opened fire, killing one student, injuring five others, and then turning the gun on herself.

Injuries and Deaths

Alina Afanaskina - shot herself and died.

Maria "Masha" Nesmachnaya - the victim who was killed.

(Masha was going to turn 15 on the 27 December. She is survived by her mother, stepfather and two brothers (one older and one younger who is also attending the same gymnasium), grew up in a religious family. Was mainly interested in cooking, sewing, knitting; also played the guitar and attended music school. According to her mom, she dreamed about becoming a doctor and saving people's lives in the future. Masha's mom described her as a type of person who preferred to avoid conflicts and was on good terms with everyone. In fact, she talked about Alina in a positive manner - saying that she's quiet, but nice and kind.)

Timofey B - shot in the left forearm, thigh, knee and chest

Petr E. - in the lung; his spleen, back, lower back and shoulder were damaged as well.

Timur D. - shot in the shoulder by six bullets: four of them wounded him and flew out, passed through his body, the other two got stuck in it.

Evelina K. - was injured on the chest.

Vitalina D. - wasn't shot, but broke her leg, while trying to escape.

Ofelya Mkrtchyan - a teacher who covered students with her own body when Afanaskina opened fire on them (and also needed medical treatment after it, though not seriously; no injuries among adults were officially reported) - recalled that Alina said absolutely nothing during the whole thing. Despite teacher's attempts to attract her attention, calling her name, she didn't even look at the woman, instead being focused on shooting classmates. Ofelya didn't notice any warning signs before tragic events. In her eyes Alina was a „capable, tactful and diligent” student, „calm, polite and responsible” on daily basis.

The Aftermath

The firearm Alina used during the massacre belongs to her father, Dmitry Afanasyev/Afanaskin, who is currently under police custody of investigation on how she procured the firearm. Dmitry denied all accusations of domestic abuse, claiming that he loves his children, worked as much as he could to provide them everything they needed and "was very happy about becoming a father again after so many years”. He didn't favor any of the twins; they were close with each other, shared the room, studied well.

As a former athlete, Dmitry was often encouraging his children to physical activities and healthy lifestyle since they were little - Alina and Daria were even attending dance school (in a group centered around hip-hop) for at least two years.

However, around a year prior to the shooting, Dmitry started spending less time at home due to work. People from the neighborhood were seeing sisters mostly alongside their mother.

Alina didn't leave any journal, suicide note or explanation behind her actions. All Telegram channels, claiming to be created by her, are fake.

Investigators suspected that Dasha might know about her sister's plans, but during interrogation she denied everything. When her parents appeared at the school right after the attack, girl started crying and kissing her mother's hands in panic. She also couldn't sleep for three days because of the trauma caused by events.

The media started pointing at bullying as the most possible motive. In the general opinion of teachers, students, parents - no such thing happened, Alina wasn't harassed; isolating herself from school peers was her own choice. She didn't have any enemies and treated everyone equally, just didn't want to talk with them due to her introverted attitude. "There was no bullying. We don't know why she did it. We can't say anything else” - stated girl's classmate. Although, another student interviewed right on the day of events, said the exact opposite: "Yes, they bullied her, but not always! She was normal until they told her: you can't do anything to us, you're helpless.”

A note found in Alina's backpack with a text about how she „needs to meet with a friend”, that attracted a bit of attention, was most likely some kind of a grammar assignment, as the matching diagrams about parsing sentences were written nearby.

The motive is unknown so you can come up with your own conclusion as to why.

All of the injured victims have already left hospitals. Gymnasium is open again, but class 8A was transferred to distance learning. Masha was buried in Bryansk's central cemetery, while Alina - in the small village between Bryansk and Seltso.

#tcc #tccblr #tc community #truecrime #true crime #alina #alinaafanaskina #school shooters #school shooter #schoolshooter #schoolshootout #informational #educationalpurposes

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 16 days

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30 Seconds to Mars - Battle of One 2005

A Beautiful Lie is the second studio album by American rockband 30 Seconds to Mars, released on August 30, 2005. It differs notably from the band's self-titled debut album, both musically and lyrically. Whereas the eponymous concept album's lyrics focus on human struggle and astronomical themes, A Beautiful Lie's lyrics are "personal and less cerebral". It is the first to feature guitarist Tomo Miličević (who left the band in 2018) and the only one to feature bassist Matt Wachter, who left the band in 2007. The album produced four singles, "Attack", "The Kill", "From Yesterday", and "A Beautiful Lie"; of which three managed to chart within the top 30 on the US Modern Rock chart, with "The Kill" and "From Yesterday" entering the top three.

The band used to open their shows with "Battle of One" back in those good old days.

In 2007, A Beautiful Lie was named Best Album by Rock on Request. Metal Edge ranked it one of the top 10 albums of 2005. Melodic included it among the best albums of the year. Alternative Addiction ranked it at number six on their list of 20 best albums of the year. In 2009, Kerrang! listed A Beautiful Lie at number four on their list of the 50 best albums of the decade. The album was included in Rock Sound's 101 Modern Classics list at number 78.

"Battle of One" received a total of 64% yes votes! Previous 30STM polls: #30 "Fallen".

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#finished #high votes #high yes #00s #30 seconds to mars

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ratatouillewastakendammit · 1 year

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Maid To Be Yours

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Summary: Maid-Sama meets Touya Todoroki because that fucker would die to see you in a maid outfit. (Part 2)

Warnings: Smut, slight public-sex, language, vaginal fingering, the title tbh, Dabi too he gets his own warning

Word Count: 2.7k

“Behind,” you muttered, slipping past the chef and into the main seating area.

The room was abuzz with soft music and the smell of nostalgia. Girls in a similar uniform to yours were presenting some steaming dish or cheerfully chatting with their customers.

Your own, a pair of teenage boys who were probably just here for a cheap look at the servers, were laughing heartily about something unimportant as you walked over.

As long as they tipped well, you didn’t really care.

With a polite smile, you passed them their checks. “Thank you so much for dining with us. Please come again!”

And with a small bow, you were gone, weaving around the tables toward the quiet sanctuary that the locker room provided.

It was fairly busy for a Wednesday night, which meant more money, but also meant more people to deal with.

The constant activity of a full house made it difficult to not become overwhelmed. And while you dealt with an overload of alarming tasks on a daily basis, it did become tiring after a while.

Your mind felt drained from the constant employment of a likable persona, your limbs heavy under the weight of fatigue from hours of carrying over-sized drinks.

Thankfully, the flow of customers had finally begun to trickle to a slow, allowing you the sweet relief of a well deserved break. The charming guise cracked as you slumped over a bench, allowing a weary sigh to slip through the fracture.

“You okay?”

“Hm?” You looked up, meeting eyes with your manager. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Just a bit tired, I guess.”

It had been quite the night, keeping you out well over two in the morning. Unfortunately, your last minute decision to take some overtime had you waking up a mere six hours later.

In hindsight, a horrible choice.

Flashing a grin, she shot you a thumbs up. “Well, you’re doing great! Thanks again for picking up all these extra shifts.”

Your manager was a kind woman, although you silently wondered whether or not the enjoyment she found in this line of work was exactly warranted. Regardless, she was lenient and in no way condescending, a trait you had seen in many of the other bosses you’d had the pleasure of working under.

She took a step into her office, pausing for a moment in thought before turning back in your direction. "Actually, I know you're about to go on break in a few minutes. Would you mind tossing the trash out real quick?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Ugh, you're amazing," She gushed. "Remind me to tell you about the new hire tomorrow, yeah?"

Another thing about your manager was that she was, for want of a better term, very communicative.

Seeing as you and the other waitresses were relatively close in age to her, she seemed to show great interest in your personal lives, which resulted in a good amount of friendly gossip among your coworkers.

This also produced some unwanted questions and comments. She thoroughly enjoyed the standard 'you're too pretty to be single,' or a good old petition to set you up with a friend or neighbor.

Thankfully, you were quick to come up with excuses or some other lie that would quell her curiosity until it was placed upon some other unsuspecting victim.

However, you wondered what she would say if she caught wind of those hidden aspects of your life.

Of course, it wasn’t as if she would actually come close to finding out about any of them.

No one would ever guess a member of the infamous League of Villains would be working as a waitress in a maid cafe.

Being a criminal didn’t pay the bills. It gave you a place to stay, even when if that place was a small room a few floors above a musty bar, but it didn’t give much leeway financially. There were still other utilities and items that required money, hence your need to find another job.

Obviously, this hasn’t been your first choice.

Public service was not for the faint of heart, even for someone who associated with killers and other psychotic individuals on the regular. Not to mention the dress code, which had you rethinking your life choices upon inspection.

Regardless, the pay was a lot better than many deserving workers in the restaurant industry received and the hours were flexible, a necessary benefit for someone like you.

The cafe was also fairly far away from both the League’s hideout and your own living area, giving you peace of mind that no one would ever find out about your embarrassing side-gig.

Another thing you had come to find about workers as a criminal was that a lot of your colleagues were assholes. This wasn't surprising, seeing as they killed people on the regular, but it definitely gave you ample reason to keep your personal life private, even if a particular blonde teenager vehemently voiced her disapproval of your attempted reservedness.

That was a can of beans you had no intentions of opening.

You tied the top of the trash bag, hauling it over your shoulder and nudging the back door open with your knee. It opened into an alleyway, secluded from the busy streets and surprisingly clean.

The dumpster lifted open with a creak. It threatened to fall closed, but you propped it up with the bottom of your palm, slipping the bag through and taking a quiet exhale of victory.

"No fucking way."

Tensing at the unforeseen voice, you spun around with your hands up and ready for any trouble. Your heart slowed slightly upon recognizing the familiar face, only to pick up a moment later in panic.

Out of everyone in the League, Dabi was most definitely the last person you wanted finding out about this. His cocky attitude and overall lack of empathy for those around him had you extra weary about what you let slide concerning your personal life.

The fact that you had taken a slight attraction to the man also might have been of influence.

Exactly why, you weren't sure, especially since he had seemed to have recently found entertainment in the pastime of getting under your skin.

Maybe you were just a masochist.

You fumbled in a feeble attempt to cover yourself up, but the damage had already been done.

His surprised expression brightened considerably as he watched a plethora of emotions wash over you in sick glee. "So, this is your other job?"

"What are you doing here?" You avoided his question, tugging on the ruffles of your skirt and internally cringing when the fabric barely covered the highest part of your thigh.

Crossing his arms, Dabi leaned back on the brick. "There was a situation on fifth. The police should be here in twenty minutes, so I would watch out for that."

You sighed in annoyance, but the cops were honestly the least of your worries right now. "Shouldn't you... ya know, get out of here then?"

"Eh, later. I'm enjoying this." He shrugged, almost like an arrest paled in comparison to his new discovery.

Dabi pushed off the wall and began walking over to you. With every step forward, you took one back, avoiding his advance until your own shoulders hit the building behind you.

Turquoise eyes unabashedly scanned your frame and you unintentionally shifted under the strength of his gaze. He must have noticed, a tip of smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. "Who knew you were so cute?"

Blinking back in surprise, you shot him a glare that only made him laugh. "Don't call me that."

"Aww, is someone getting shy?"

"Pissed off, maybe," you muttered, trying to push past him and back inside the cafe, any place where you could sit and steep in your embarrassment alone.

Unfortunately, Dabi wasn't having it. He slipped an arm around yours, pulling you back around to face him.

"Oh, come on, doll." He tapped your nose with his finger, having it smacked away a moment later. "I think flustered is a great look on you. Do a little twirl for me, yeah?"

"I will kick your teeth out."

He gasped, the sound brimming in false hurt. "So harsh. Didn't you take this job for a chance to be nice to people? But if it was for the dress, I wouldn't judge either."

You rolled your eyes. "Obviously not, asshole. Shigaraki doesn't pay my bills."

"You know I have money, right?"

"And you'd be so generous to share?" You scoffed.

"In that little number," he cocked his head, a wicked grin flashing over his expression. "I'm sure we could work something out."

Heat bloomed up your neck at his insinuation, another insult getting caught in your throat.

Raising a hand to your temple, you let out an exasperated sigh in a meager attempt to regain your verbal footing. You had just about calmed down when you heard the shutter of a camera.

Your eyes shot up, heart dropping when you saw the phone in his hand pointing in your direction. "What are you doing?"

"Insurance policy." He inspected the photo for a moment. "There's no way anyone's gonna believe this without something some sort of proof."

"Dabi."

"Yeah, sweetheart?" His eyes flashed up to yours, faux innocence washing over his features at the anger evident in yours. "Oh, did you want this?"

Your fingernails bit into the palms of your hands, leaving tiny crescents behind that were evident of your vexation.

He loomed over you, eyes gleaming in sinful amusement. "You're gonna have to ask nicely then."

"Fuck you."

"Darn. Ya know, that's not the answer I was looking for." He swiveled on his heels, giving you an unbothered wave with his free arm. "See you later, doll."

You lunged forward, but he was quicker, not to mention taller.

With a surprising reaction time, he dodged your advance, lifting the phone until it was suspended just a few feet above your head. Every time you made a grab for it, he would straighten up just a few inches, making sure that the device was always centimeters from your grasp.

"Just give it!"

Dabi took hold of your elbow and pulled. You fell forward with a yelp, surprised at how easily he maneuvered your body against the wall. With your back pushing into the brick and his arms caging you in on both sides, there was nothing to do but succumb to his hold.

"You're telling me what to do?" The laugh he let out shot heat straight between your legs. "Sorry, doll, but I don't think you're not the one supposed to be giving orders here."

It was almost alarming how easily he was able to over power you, even more so how you barely even minded. Every suggestive sentence permeated your train of thought, thwarting any attempts you might have once had at preserving your pride.

His hands snaked down to your waist as he leaned forward, breath tickling the tip of your ear. "Now, I wanna hear it in that pretty, little customer service voice how much you want to keep this between us."

The movement sent a shiver down your spine. It was obvious that Dabi was an intimidating individual, but never like this. His presence was overpowering, the mocking tone of his voice a mere whisper of the intensity within his sharp features.

"Please keep this between us," you muttered, trying to push as much audible annoyance into the sentence as possible.

With a satisfied hum, he drew back and turned his phone off before slipping it in his pocket. "See how easy that was?"

"But you didn't delete it," you protested.

"Relax, sweetheart, I'm not gonna show anyone." His gaze raked over your form, a smug grin pulling at the corners of his lips. "I'm the only one who gets to see you looking like that."

The hand still holding your hips began to trail lower, gently grasping the top of your thighs.

Your eyes widened at the feeling. "What are you doing?"

Cerulean irises flashed up to yours as his movements came to an abrupt halt. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No," you breathed, far too quickly for your liking.

A smirk cracked over his features. "That's what I thought."

And his lips crashed against yours, hands moving to cup your face in a gentle ardor you didn't know he possessed.

He lifted his knee, nudging it between your thighs and drawing a sigh from you. He took advantage of your surprise, slipping his tongue forward to meet yours.

The kiss turned desperate. It trailed down toward your jaw and right above your neckline, creating marks that you could only hope to be able to hide.

Lust began to cloud your senses, fogging over your mind until rational thought became unnoticed. You unconsciously began to roll your hips over his thigh, desperate for friction in whatever form possible.

With squeeze he gave your ass, and the way he grinned into your neck, it was evident that he noticed.

"Do you know how long I've thought about you like this?" His voice was coarse against your neck.

"In a maid outfit?" You breathed, earning a short laugh.

"Desperate for me to fuck you stupid, but that's good too."

Dabi sneaked a hand under your skirt, nudging the fabric of your underwear to the side. He ran a finger across your slit, examining the wetness that followed it with pure satisfaction. "Shit, I've barely even done anything yet."

Your body stiffened as his thumb brushed over your clit, slowing rolling over the nub until your hips followed each rotation.

Satisfaction flashed in his features at the way your body reacted to his touch. “That's right. Show me how needy you are for me."

“Plea-” the rest of the word fizzled into a sigh as he pushed a finger into you.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” The encouraging statement reeked of mocking amusement. His hand curled into you, eyes brightening with every gasp and whine he pulled from you.

You grabbed onto his shoulder, legs weakening into jelly. "Fuck, Dabi, please!"

"There you go, doll." He slipped another finger inside and a moan slipped past your lips. The pace of each push increased steadily, following the wordless pleas that you gave.

Pleasure coursed through you with each one, his thumb still trained over your oversensitive clit. Your surroundings faded away into a mindless afterthought in the midst of euphoria.

It was only a few minutes before you were melting in his arms, falling apart in a mess of ecstasy.

“So pretty.” He muttered, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen askew behind your ear.

The world was quiet, bathed in a gentle glow that the setting sun provided. Shadows grew within the corners, a physical hint to the ever passing time.

Still, you could've stayed there forever, resting in the bright cerulean that admired your shaking form like it was a work of art.

Of course, it would have been surprising if you were granted that luxury.

Sirens sounded in the distance, a sound that you were more than familiar with, but one that had never been as unwanted as it was now.

Dabi seemed to share a similar sentiment.

“You've got to be kidding,” he groaned, drawing back and taking a look down the alleyway. Annoyance flashed over his expression, taking the place of worry that any rationally thinking individual would experience.

You cleared your throat. "Uh, you should probably get going then."

His gaze turned back to meet yours, softening a bit under the fading sun. Regardless, that shit-eating had returned, much to your dismay.

"How sweet of you to worry," He teased, earning an eye roll. Coming forward once more, he brought his lips to yours again before moving to leave. “See you later, doll. I'll make sure to fuck you properly then.”

You could only imagine what a mess you looked like, breathless and slumped against a wall behind your cafe. The brick supported your body as you saw Dabi's come to a pause, like a passing train of thought had overtaken his path.

Face still warm from his lewd comment, you watched him turn slightly, voice echoing off your surroundings in one final statement.

“Make sure to bring the outfit.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #dabi #touya todoroki #dabi smut #touya x reader #bhna smut #bhna #mha #mha smut #mha x reader #mha x you #bhna imagine #mha imagines #bhna x reader

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mixvyu · 9 months

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☆彡Asleep among endives

Scaramouche x reader smau

synopsis - Faceless streamer Y/N known as Étoile Polaire online is at her prime ! After spending so many years watching various streamers she finally got to be a successful one and she wouldn’t change anything in her life. That is until she encounters the familiar face of the well known streamer Kunikuzushi ! And in her college canteen no less !!!

disclaimer ! - I'm not a native english speaker so if there is any grammar mistake please let me know !! Also I write the chapters right before going to bed so there will be typos guaranteed

tags - streamer AU, college AU, Modern AU…

warnings ! - reader is refered using she/her pronouns, mature themes, swearing, sexual jokes, kys jokes (more warnings might be added later)

status - upcoming ! (will start after I’m done with my other smau Parfum d’étoile)

playlist - music I listen to while writing

send an ask or a comment to be added to the taglist <3

CHARACTERS -

Y/N & co !

Scara & co !

EPISODES -

- one

- two

- three

- four

- five

- six

- seven

- eight

- nine

- ten

- eleven

- twelve

- thirteen

- fourteen

- fiveteen

tba…

#scaramouche #genshin #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche fanfic #genshin x reader #scaramouche x y/n #wanderer #wanderer x reader #genshin smau #wanderer smau #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi smau #☆彡Asleep among endives

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jokeroutsubs · 3 months

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[ENG translation] Rock'n'roll in the blood

An interview with the Guštin family in Slovenian newspaper Delo, originally published 6.2.2022.

Original article is available here for Delo subscribers. Original article written by Agata Rakovec Kurent for Delo; photos by Jože Suhadolnik; English translation by a member of Joker Out Subs, native proof reading by IG GBoleyn123.

If you repost quotes from the interview, please link back to this post! And if you repost the photos, do not crop out the photographer credit.

Next Saturday (12.2.2022), Gušti and young singer Leyre will present themselves at EMA¹, but first, we visited him and his family in Bežigrad².

The Guštins (right to left) Chantal, Maja, Kris, Miha and Maks, were all happily rolling around the house during lockdowns and having a pretty nice time. PHOTO: Jože Suhadolnik/Delo

Just as I was looking at the names on the doorbells and considering calling Gušti about whether I was even at the right address in Bežigrad, the last of the five family members, Kris, came hurrying home. Actually, there are six family members, alongside Chantal and Gušti and their kids Kris, Maks and Maja, there is also Apple the dog, who greeted me with loud barking. Dogs remain with their parents even when the kids start to leave the nest, we agreed as we sat down at a big wooden table.

For musician Gušti and Chantal Van Mourik from the Netherlands, everything started with a teenage seaside romance. After that, nothing happened for ten years, but when Gušti wrote Big Foot Mama's big hit Črni tulipan, he could not imagine anyone other than his teenage love in the music video. He invited her to the filming, she came, and the rest is history. Three decades and three children later, their first-born Kris is following his dad's footsteps as the guitarist of Joker Out, the most popular band among the Slovenian youth right now.

We all know Miha 'Gušti' Guštin as Big Foot Mama's guitarist and the writer of their biggest hits. 20 years ago, he went his own way, musically, and recorded his first solo album Dolce Vita, where his successful collaboration with Polona Kasal³ started. He also did a memorable duet with Zagreb resident Ema Gagro, but let's start at the end.

If not for the good song, then for the laughter…

Next Saturday, we'll see something completely new at EMA, as he has joined forces with young singer Leyre⁴. How did they find each other? "People have been hinting that I should sign up for EMA for years and years and I never did, but this time I told myself that I would sign up if I found a truly good vocalist.

Producer Žare and I started looking, and through Dušan Obradinovič - Obre, drummer of the band Dan D, we got to Leyre. Leyre is Spanish by birth, she came to Slovenia when she was two years old. She's from Novo mesto, she is 19 years old and studies in Ljubljana. It's a one-time musical collaboration, just for EMA, so that I can finally have an answer for everyone who has been asking me for years: 'Why don't you sign up once?'" explains Gušti.

His family, especially Chantal and Kris, were initially pretty sceptical about this endeavour. Because it's a circus, because it's always said to be "rigged"?

"No, not because it's rigged, but because I thought that dad had slight misconceptions about what you can achieve with a song at EMA. My reservation was that if you go to EMA with a bad song, it falls through, no one remembers it, and it all doesn't seem worth the effort to me. Of all the songs that have been on EMA, 95 percent have sunk into oblivion, and I didn't want something like that to happen to dad.

Once we talked things through, however, and especially once I heard the song, I supported him, just like mum did. If you go to EMA, you have to win, otherwise it all passes you by, that's my opinion," says Kris.

Is Eurovision as much of a circus in the Netherlands as it is here? "It used to be, but now it's not like that anymore. For the past few years, they haven't even had a pre-selection. There's a committee that picks the performer who then represents the country at Eurovision. As for Miha, I think it's great that he signed up. The song is fantastic and the singer is truly exceptional.

On the other hand, I find it all amusing. I know Miha, and Miha is not about make-up and image, but with EMA all of that matters, the sound and the look are a package and it's absolutely not just about the song. That part, the fact that Miha is going to clothes fittings, is greatly amusing to everyone in the family," Chantal laughs.

Next Saturday, they will all keep their fingers crossed for Gušti and Leyre at EMA. Photo: Jože Suhadolnik/Delo

So did Gušti have a particularly shiny tuxedo made for EMA? "The styling will absolutely be appropriate for the event. I turned to a stylist, we just ordered everything, but I will wear a nice, elegant suit, which will still be rock chic."

The youngest members of the family, Maks and Maja, are smirking as their dad talks about rock chic. How interested is their generation in EMA anyway? "I don't know, I never asked my friends about it," is the concise answer of the youngest, seventh grader Maja, who is great at artistic gymnastics, as well as being the most artistically talented in the family.

"To be honest, I don't watch it and I'm not very interested in these things, but I will definitely watch it when dad performs, if not for the good song, then for the laughter," Maks' honesty makes everyone present laugh loudly.

History is repeating itself

Kris, who just graduated in chemical engineering, was not too enthusiastic about Big Foot Mama or Gušti's later solo projects at first.

"Everything changed when I got involved in music myself, when the summer before my first year of high school, I took up the guitar. At ten or twelve years old, I listened to what was playing on the radio, and that wasn't like the music that dad was making, so his music didn't interest me. In time, when I started discovering more complex music, rock, I started to enjoy his stuff.

My friends, who I'm still in a band with, introduced me to Big Foot Mama's music and tried to convince me that Črni tulipan was a totally awesome song. Then, for a while, I was like 'Oh, awesome, dad!' At first I didn't even care that he had been with the Big Foots, then I couldn't believe that he had left the band, it seemed horrible to me, but now I completely understand why he did it, and I really like what he's done since leaving," he tells us.

Chantal used to watch fans screaming in front of Big Foot Mama's stage, now she can relive those scenes at her son's concerts. "The screaming never bothered me, I always thought it was fun and interesting to watch. Nowadays, Miha and I often talk about how we're experiencing the same moments from another perspective.

Where Miha used to stand on stage, Kris now stands, where I used to stand in front of the stage as his girlfriend, we now stand together, but everything else is the same - the music, people screaming, girls going crazy, all that. I think that's great and I couldn't be more proud of Kris, of his band, and of course also of Miha and everything they achieved back then. We do sometimes truly feel like history is repeating itself, though."

However, some things did change from the time Gušti was starting out in music to today. Social media arrived, and these days, if you're not on it - you don't exist. "My kids and wife help me with social media, I'm not very good at it. Before they help me out, they always explain how clueless I am and that I should engage with it more and get with the times.

I'm not interested in these things, I can't find my footing in this world, but I know that it has to exist. I have Instagram, Facebook, and after they get done criticising me, everyone helps me out," says Gušti, while Chantal adds: "We have to help him to prevent something worse."

Apple the dog will also keep her paws crossed for Gušti at EMA next Saturday. Photo: Jože Suhadolnik/Delo

Joker Out take care of the social media themselves; "we have the natural advantage of having grown up with this, and it is unfortunately an integral part of the music scene today. We couldn't achieve much without Instagram. Well, after Facebook, Instagram is also almost 'out' now, so we have to start thinking about TikTok, which seems horrible to me," Kris tells us.⁵

His younger brother Maks is also part of Joker Out's story as a roadie. "It started with me helping the roadie, bringing water, putting away the cables and so on. Of course they didn't pay me, it was all in the family. Then I took over the merch, selling T-shirts and other things, which is pretty fun, it's a lot of work, but it pays off," he tells us, while Kris laughs, adding sarcastically: "Well, it doesn't pay off for him, because we still don't pay him."

Joker Out released an album (Umazane misli) recently, while Gušti says about his new one: "To me, having released quite a few albums already, the most important thing is that there is music. And there is music, I release a single or two every year, and once there's enough of them, there will also be an album. When that will happen, I don't know. Since I've never sung, I'm still figuring out the best direction for my vocals.

To put it bluntly…

Even before the pandemic, which devastated our music industry as well, Gušti and Siddharta's singer Tomi Meglič already found a recipe for these weird times, a cycle of 1on1 concerts: "During the Covid times, Tomi and I had 30 gigs, which was probably by far the most among all Slovenian performers. Seated, distanced gigs were possible. They were very well-attended before Covid already, and then it just kept going.

To put it bluntly, we were lucky bastards. It was just a pity that we couldn't put as many seats up for sale as usual and the pay reflected that, but at least we could play." I already joked with Tomi in a recent Nedelo interview that the format suits Siddharta's and Gušti's aging audience, who - judging by myself - finds it harder and harder to stand for two hours and longer. Gušti laughs: "It's true that it's mostly people our age who come, faithful fans of Siddharta and Big Foot Mama, there aren't many young people."

Putting together the repertoire gave them a lot of trouble, because together - they have too many hits. "At the beginning, the format was 14 songs with an encore, seven of his, seven of mine, which we immediately filled up. I chose his hits, he chose mine. The problems are arising now when we should freshen it up, but we don't want to lose any of the songs." At the end of March, the 31st, Gušti is also planning a solo concert in SiTi Theatre with a new team. "I will do a half unplugged, half electric version, and I will keep that up afterwards."

Unlike Gušti, the Jokers were hit by the crisis at the start of their musical journey. "At first, we planned to release the album on the 1st of April 2020, with a concert in Cvetličarna following on the 9th of April. A month before, everything closed down and fell apart. We rescheduled everything for May, then for October, and finally for next October. We also rescheduled the album release. Firstly because we weren't completely happy with it yet, and we also didn't see the point in releasing it, only us not to be seen anywhere for a year and a half.

Then people would come to a concert and wonder where anything new was, because they would already know everything. In a way, we were happy to delay everything. That way, a lot of the pressure was released, or stretched out over a longer period of time.

Covid seemed very inconvenient at first, we felt like we fell off the horse, but when we look back, it was a very productive time for us. We made some radical changes, in the music, in the line-up and in our way of thinking, and it shows. The tension was mounting before the concerts in Cvetličarna⁶ and that's why they were much more cathartic in the end," says Kris.

They have just renovated their rehearsal space and started working on the new album, which they have promised for September. That is also when they're planning a big concert in Križanke, before that they have summer concerts, including some outside of our borders. "We will try to get a gig in Serbia, and we will also release a song in Serbian."

The damage that was done to the music industry is huge, despite some bright exceptions. "The consequences will drag on for years. A huge part of the industry fell apart, and many found work elsewhere. Not musicians, not the people we see on stage, but the people in the background, as well as those who worked for publishers, in the distribution chain..." Chantal reflects.

A nomad in the house

Because of the uncertain situation, she hasn't visited her homeland for two years. "Maja and I are hoping that we can finally travel there on the 17th of February, so we're already half in isolation. The last time we were planning to go there was in September, but then Kris got sick, and then I did too. I'm hoping and knocking on wood that we can finally do it. In the meantime, my sister visited us twice, and at one point, Transavia also cancelled the flight connection between Ljubljana and Amsterdam, and I would've sooner made it around the world than to Amsterdam."

Kris visited his Dutch relatives, as well as his girlfriend and a friend who are studying there, for one week immediately after the Cvetličarna concert. "At that time, he called home to say that there were no restrictions there and he didn't need to have a mask on at the store, meanwhile here, everything was a lot more strict. When he came back, things relaxed a lot here, while over there the restrictions got stricter," says Chantal, who hopes that travelling will soon be something regular again and they will be able to visit their relatives more.

Since Kris just mentioned his girlfriend, I ask him whether it wouldn't be better for sold-out shows if all members of the band appeared single. "I have no reservations about publicly saying that I'm in a relationship, even though other band members might say differently. Our singer Bojan would say 'Kris got dumped by his girlfriend..." at every concert before a song I wrote when I once had a broken heart, but he didn't mention that it was four years ago," he laughs.

"As young girls, we used to wish that the boys on stage were single, but now I prefer to watch guys like Miha who are in a long-term relationship, because it means that they actually know something and have something to show for themselves," Chantal concludes wisely.

Maks and Maja have not been drawn into the music world (yet). "I did kind of pick up the guitar last year, but I quickly lost interest because I have too many things going on in my life to focus only on one. I can play a few of dad's songs, and I might turn to the guitar again at some point," says Maks, and his proud mum adds: "Maks is very skillful with the computer, he edits music clips and is working with various musicians.

Of course it started with Joker Out and Gušti, but now he's also working with Challe Salle⁷, Nipke⁸, he's making various videos for Spotify and has his own business. He's our businessman. All three of them are very creative, not only in the field of music, which is interesting. Maja, for example, draws incredibly well and is constantly making art."

All three kids are artistically gifted, say the proud parents. Photo: Jože Suhadolnik/Delo

They handled home schooling successfully, and as the family businessman and second year high school student Maks says, "I've found that being at home is better for me. The trip from home to school and back is time-consuming. If I'm at home, I have a lot more time left that I can use for myself."

Kris finished practically half of his studies remotely: "For the first year and a half, I was at the faculty and saw 250 students in one place in large halls, which was fascinating to me. With each new year I progressed to, there were fewer of us, and at the end there were about 40 of us left. Lockdown came at the right time for me.

All the lectures were recorded and I didn't have to get up early, I didn't have to take the bus at half past six in the morning, I could sleep in as long as I wanted and then watch the lectures. Because the professors speak slowly, I could set the speed to 1.5 and I wasn't losing time."

"I think we're all well-adapted to remote work," says Chantal, who is a veteran of it, "I've been working remotely for five years for the international school SAE, School of Audio Engineering, which used to be in Ljubljana as well, but shut down in 2016. Now I work for them in the international space. During lockdown, we were all happily rolling around the house and we were having a pretty nice time.

The happiest one, however, was Apple, who had company all the time." Gušti smiles: "I'm the only one in the house who doesn't have his own room, except for our bedroom. Whenever I needed peace to create, I retreated there, or I waited for example for Maja to go to her gymnastics practice so I could go to her room, or for Kris to not be home so I could go there. I'm the only nomad in the house."

When I last spoke to Chantal and Miha about ten years ago, we also talked about their filmesque love story which, with three small children, wasn't always easy. "I often got home at five in the morning, hyped up, with a good concert behind me, and Chantal placed a baby who hadn't slept all night in my arms. I was searching for that line, how to satisfy my rock'n'roll side on the one hand, and be a good husband and father on the other. I didn't always succeed, but I'm trying," says Gušti, who now sees his first-born backstage at concerts too.

Chantal, who speaks Dutch to her family as well as to Apple at home, has not grown fond of Slovenian cuisine even after 23 years: "I'm sorry, but that is really not for me, cabbage, sausages, blood sausages, dumplings… Luckily I now have kids who, apart from Kris, support me in this. Slovenia is developing though, and you can also get more and more Asian food here, which we really like and used to eat every other day back home, since my dad is originally from Indonesia." She says that Slovenians are very close-minded in some respects: "The attitude towards anything foreign is still pretty problematic here."

Maks adds the finishing touch: "If Slovenia was as developed socially as the Netherlands is, it could make a lot of progress as a country. I'm talking about the relationship between different cultures, who work together in the Netherlands, like water that always finds a way, while here, they are very separated."

¹EMA is the Slovenian national selection for Eurovision

²Bežigrad is a neighbourhood in Ljubljana

³Polona Kasal is a Slovenian singer; her and Gušti performed as a duo called "Gušti & Polona" for a few years

⁴You can watch Gušti and Leyre's performance at EMA 2022 here.

⁵Joker Out have, in fact, had to start thinking about TikTok since then. As you probably know, you can find them on TikTok here.

⁶You can watch the Cvetličarna concert with English subtitles here on our YouTube channel.

⁷Challe Salle, real name Saša Petrović, is a popular Slovenian hip hop singer, known for being very focused on being a good role model for his younger fans. One of his big hits was Lagano.

⁸Nipke, real name Boštjan Nipić, is a popular Slovenian rap/hip hop singer. He's part of the Dravle Records publishing company and collaborated with Bojan in the song Jst mam sam sebe rd.

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#kris guštin #kris gustin #joker out #miha guštin - gušti

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