#Dancing Ledge Productions

[mattsangel]

𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒔 (𝒏𝒐𝒕) 𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒚 | 𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉… you slowly start avoiding being home and your boyfriend notices, resulting in an argument.

ballerina!reader x undergroundfighter!matt, angst, crying, cursing, fighting, mention of violence, lowkey toxic matt

2.7k words

“when are you coming home?” , ���are you back yet?” , “it’s getting late, where are you?” , the three questions that you heard the most coming from matt. you didn’t know if he was asking them out of genuine concern or just to be the controlling boyfriend he had become, although you tend to think it was the second option. he wasn’t like this when you met him, when you fell in love with him. but the once loving and thoughtful boyfriend that he was had vanished some months ago.

youtube wasn’t paying nearly as much as it used to for matt and his triplet brothers, their prime time was long gone and their audience had moved on to the next big thing, leaving them with no choice but finding a side hustle to get by. while chris and nick had found some decently normal jobs, chris working for a music production company while nick found a photography gig, matt had had a harder time finding a job. nothing seemed fitting enough for him, going from modeling to graphic designing for video games he couldn’t seem to find the right fit for him.

you supported him through the whole process, using your free time between college and rehearsals to help him look at thousands of job offers online. your earnings as a dancer and matt’s savings couldn’t support you guys forever, and you both knew that. it wasn’t long before matt got frustrated and abandoned his quest for work, choosing to go for something a little more easy. and illegal.

on a random friday night a few months ago matt had come home late, with busted knuckles and a slight cut on the top of his lip. he kept insisting that he was fine, to stop asking questions, until he snapped at you to leave him alone and stop being pushy about it. the next day, the two of you got into an argument, then matt finally admitted to have turned to underground fighting at a nearby private club.

you tried your best to reason with him, telling him he didn’t have to put his life on the line to keep you guys afloat with money, that you could manage to get more opportunities for bigger ballet productions and get a better earning or that he could simply find a safer job. he didn’t want to hear any of it though, his decision was final and you couldn’t do anything to change his mind.

at first, matt just seemed exhausted and in pain every time he’d come home. you did your best to try and support him, taking care of him when he got home and doing everything in the house to ease his mind. the more time passed, the more matt came home with an attitude, cursing at you and getting mad at the slightest thing being off, on top of that he had started drinking. his constant yelling and controlling behavior is what drove a ledge between you two, and it wasn’t long until you couldn’t take it anymore.

late night dance practices became an almost daily thing. you did not want to be home. from the moment your classes ended, until late at night you’d be at the dance studio. the older, cold lady that had been teaching you ballet for the better part of your life took a notice in how often you’d stay late, in an empty studio either dancing, rehearsing or doing your homework, pointes, sewing kit and textbooks splattered everywhere across the floor. one night she finally decided to ask you about it, and after explaining to her that things at home haven’t been easy, she took it upon herself to always reserve an empty studio for you to hang out in for as long as you needed. that place easily became your new safe place, and you were barely ever home anymore. 

it took matt a lot longer than you wished it would to realize that you weren’t ever really around anymore. it was almost always past ten pm when you’d walk in, careful to not make much noise and tiptoeing to your guys' shared room. you’d put your things down and take a shower, heading straight to bed and avoiding any attempt at small talk that matt would make, knowing it almost always ended with him getting pissed. he was rarely mad at you, but whatever it was that ticked him off, he’d take it out on you. the nights that you were home before him, you’d already be fast asleep when he walked through the door.

for the first few months, he did believe your countless excuses; that you just got more busy on a production, that you stayed at the library late to study for exams, that your instructor made you stay at the studio longer, but the more time passed, the less he believed you.

it was monday night and for the first time in what felt like forever, matt was seated at the kitchen table with two plates of food when you walked in. it took you a minute to process, but when you did look up at his face a sudden gasp left your mouth. his white tee was covered in platters of blood and dirt, his lip was bleeding and a black eye was starting to form on his left eye. he looked worse than you’d ever seen him.

you took a step toward the table, walking slowly not daring to look him in the eye.

matt cleared his throat, “you never answered my text.”

you finally look up, almost shocked that he spoke this softly to you. “sorry, they had me stay a bit longer at the studio”, the lie rolled off your tongue easily.

he nodded slowly, “right”, he paused for a second, “they have you doing this a lot lately.”

you wondered where he was going with this, but chose to answer short, not wanting this conversation to go where all the others before went, “i got a role in a pretty big production, i have to put in a little more work to keep it”. that wasn’t a total lie, you did score a leading role in the swan lake production taking place at the local studio next spring and there was a lot of work to put in.

“you didn’t tell me that”, matt said, “i don’t know why i’m surprised, you never tell me anything anymore”.

a frown takes over your face, “that’s not-”

matt suddenly interrupts you, “it is true. don’t play dumb”, you can tell he’s getting agitated, “you’ve been avoiding being home, or anywhere near me like the plague, y/n.”

you shake your head, not really knowing how to answer because you know that he’s right. you’ve been doing everything in your power to avoid him, not because you don’t love him, but because you don’t love who he’s become. the short-tempered, always angry at everything matt that sat in front of you was not the same matt that you knew and loved. he felt like a stranger.

you chose to sit down in the chair opposite of him, not sure how to approach the conversation that you knew was necessary to have, “i don’t want to argue, matt.”

he huffs, shaking his head lightly, “i just want to know why you’re never home. we haven’t spent time together in months, hell i can’t even remember the last time we fucked, not that it matters.”

you swallow hard. “you’ve changed matt, and i don’t want to blame it all on you but i can’t recognize you anymore,” you let out a shaky breath, tucking some hair behind your ear, “you’re always getting mad, raising your voice at me for no reason. you know i can’t handle the yelling.”

matt looks down at his lap for a split second, “i know i’ve been loosing my temper lately, but this can’t be the only reason why you spend all of your time away,” his blue eyes fixates on you, “is there someone else?”

the gasp that leaves your mouth is loud. you can’t believe that he’d think you’d have met someone else. 

“no, god no. there is no one else, i promise matt,” you look up at him, “i can’t bear the constant being mad and fighting. every time i come home, you’re moody and hurt, i can’t handle that.”

you feel the tears start to gather in your eyes, and try to blink them away but there’s no use. you feel your face getting hot and your hands are sweating, this conversation might’ve been needed but it doesn’t mean you’re enjoying it.

“being hurt is part of my job, y/n. i can’t prevent it from happening and i can’t stop fighting,” matt says, his voice raising slightly, “the money is good and i’m doing this for us, you have to understand that.”

this has you getting up from your chair, “don’t put this on us matt. you had a choice, you could’ve worked a normal job, but you chose to put yourself in this position,” you pause, taking a deep breath, “and i don’t care if you make millions, no amount of money is worth your life.”

“i don’t know in what kind of fairytale you think we’re in, but believe it or not, we need money to keep having a roof over our heads and food on the table.” matt is still sitting, in an almost nonchalant matter.

this sets you off, because if there is one person here that is painfully aware of this, its you. within  seconds you're out of the kitchen, speed walking towards your guy’s shared bedroom. in a hurry, you grab your baby pink duffel bag from the closet and throw it on the bed. your grabbing whatever clothes you have in sight, as well as your cosmetics bag and your charger. by the time you’re going over to the bathroom to grab more stuff, matt waltzes in.

“what are you even doing with that?” he says looking around at the mess you’re making, grabbing and shoving everything you can fit in your bag.

you spin to face him, your hair whipping him in the chest, “i can’t do this anymore,’ you say brokenly, “i can’t keep watching you get hurt and taking it out on me anymore.”

his face soften slightly, “angel, come on don’t do this,” he reaches towards you but you step back, not feeling strong enough to have him close. “where are you even planning to go, uh?”

tears of rage starts going down your cheeks rapidly, your hands are slightly shaking because he does have a point, you have nowhere to go. your family lives hours away and you wouldn’t know who else to turn to. and he knows it.

“i’ll figure it out.” you let out harshly, pushing past him towards the bathroom.

matt follows in tow, almost desperate to have you stay, “you can’t leave, y/n.”

you keep grabbing things from the vanity, not daring to look at him knowing it’ll make you even more emotional, “why, uh? i can’t keep living like this, i feel like a disturbance in my own house,” you keep going, “everything i say ticks you off, you’re always raising your voice and belittling me.”

at that, he stays silent. “you’re never affectionate with me anymore. you don’t pay attention to me, we don’t even act like a couple anymore.” you wipe your cheeks, “you’re always in pain, i know it’s uncomfortable but you don’t even let me help. you just tell me to leave you alone. it’s killing me, matt.”

“is this really how i make you feel?” matt whispers quietly.

you finally turn to look at him not expecting to see his glassy eyes and a pained expression forming across his face, as if he’s been stabbed in the chest. he’s holding his breath waiting for your answer, already knowing it.

“yes,” you say in a small voice, leaning against the marble counter.

suddenly, matt turns around, muttering a barely audible sorry and leaves. seconds later you hear the front door close and his car speeding out of the driveway. sliding down the wall to the cold tiles of the bathroom, you let out a sob that you didn’t know you were holding. 

you stay there for what feels like hours, just sobbing with your face in your hands, still clad in your light pink leotard and a pair of grey joggers, sitting on the cold floor. after a while, exhaustion takes over and you slump over, falling asleep.

you feel yourself getting lifted up, causing you to stir and rub your eyes. “matt?” you ask, visibly confused.

“shh, go back to sleep,” matt says, dropping a kiss on your forehead and setting you on the clean bed and putting the covers over you.

you sit up, “where did you go?” you take a good look at him, he’s definitely not wearing the blood splattered shirt from earlier and his face is cleaned up, making him look a bit less disheveled.

matt sits on the edge of the bed, taking your duffel bag from earlier and putting it on the floor, “i went to see nick and chris. i needed their advice.”

this peaks your interest, “advice on what?”

“on how to make you stay.” he’s looking at you with so much purpose, “i’ll put in the effort, i’ll go back to therapy and learn how to deal with my emotions, but you can’t leave me.”

suddenly it hits you. you see a glimpse of the matt you’ve been missing. the matt you fell in love with.

without leaving you any time to speak, he continues, “i’ve been the worst boyfriend ever lately, but i promise, i’ll keep myself in check and i’ll fix this. just please, give me the chance to do it.”

he hesitantly put his tattooed hand on your thigh, and for the first time in months, you feel relaxed because you know that he meant every word he just said.

“you can’t let it get this bad again matt,” you cover his hand with yours, “love is not easy, we both know it, but you have to let me be there for you.”

he nods fast, “i know. i was just in so much pain, and it made me feel weak because i see you suffer every day, dancing until your feet are bleeding and your ankles ache and you never complain.”

“you can’t compare yourself to me, baby,” you lift yourself on your knees, passing a hand through his dark hair, “and you can’t keep me from taking care of you. that’s what i’m here for.”

he puts a gentle hand on your cheek, caressing it tenderly before speaking up, “i’m so sorry for treating you like this my love. i hate myself for making you feel this awful.”

you lean in, pressing a sweet kiss to his plump lips and leaning back to look into his eyes, “i know you matt. i know this wasn’t intentional.”

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” he tugs you onto his lap, hugging you to his chest and letting out a breath of relief.

the two of you stay like this for a while, bathing in each other’s embrace until matt speaks up again, “congrats on that big production, baby.”

a huge smile takes over your face, “you won’t even believe what it is.”

his eyebrows shoot up, “what is it?”

your eyes are sparkling as you tell him that you’ll be performing as the lead in swan lake for all of next spring.

“no way,” he shakes his head, smiling at you like a fool, “this is huge, you’re a star.”

you tackle him onto the bed, smiling and being so happy to have your matt back.

© mattsangel

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆; this lowkey sucks, i’m just getting back into writing fics as i was previously writing on wattpad! i really hope you guys like this one, let me know if we want more of ballerina!reader, i love writing her as i am myself a ballet dancer and it feeds my delusions lol. don’t forget to leave some suggestions for either blurbs, headcanons or oneshots in my asks! love you all x

[hypersonic04]

Fresh Out The Slammer: Part One

circa 2019. ross is 29, its the notes era. imagine graham norton ross. there's a lot of waffling because I feel like I need to get back into the swing of writing, and also set the scene because this is going to be three parts! so apologies for that. i've missed you all so much and i'm just glad to be posting something for the first time in ages. i hope you're all okay i would love to hear what you've been up to in the, like, five months i've disappeared into the abyss for. I'M WAFFLING AGAIN. sorry. okay. fresh out the slammer! enjoy. i'm nervous. okay.

Word Count: 2,848

Part One: 'Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you.'

Who were you supposed to call on nights like this? The question seemed to be the only thing your brain circled back to as tears streamed down your face, a sob caught in your throat, heels harsh and loud on the pavement, even over the chaos of muffled bars. Your 28th birthday, stood outside a club that you were probably too old to be at in the first place, phone vibrating with 'where r u???' - who were you supposed to call?

Your birthday didn't feel very worth celebrating when you looked back on the year you'd had, your freshly shattered heart stinging as a very raw memory of being walked out on a week earlier seared itself through your memory. He'd always been a dickhead, the kind of boyfriend who'd told you that he was the best thing to ever happen to you, or that the whole writing thing wouldn't work out, but what did you have if you didn't have him? He'd been a pillar in your life since, well, forever. He'd shown you your favourite holiday destination, your favourite wine, your favourite book - were you just a product of him? The thought panicked you. No, you were cool. You had loads of interests, and friends, and hobbies.

The one thing he'd not shown you was something you'd kept a secret from him.

Your favourite band.

Even now, your stomach twisted as you recalled him and your youth, nights tangled up in bed sheets and clumsy hands on sticky dance floors, the mere thought of his recurring aftershave sending a wave of nostalgia over you as you perched on the ledge, lighting up a cigarette. It'd been years since you'd spoken to Ross. Now that you thought about it, it was probably around the same time Charlie had come on the scene, private-schooled, 5'9, biology-studying Charlie. You'd ignored Ross' messages inviting you to their gigs out of guilt for Charlie (his ego would have been well and truly tarnished), reluctantly un-followed him on Instagram when there'd been questions asked about him, tried to pretend that there wasn't an invisible tattoo of his hand prints at your waist, the memory of his fingertips forever stained in your hair, remnants of his kisses on your starving lips. Nothing has ever come close to Ross, and you'd be lying if you said that when Charlie had been away for work, you'd replayed the reels of your nights together in your mind.

You looked at the time - 3:17.

His number probably wasn't even the same as the one you had in your phone.

You leaned your head back, looked up at the sky, squeezed your eyes shut. There's no way you were about to do this. He probably thinks you're a weirdo anyway, cutting contact like he'd been a random one-time snog in a club. He might not even be in the country, for all you knew, with his world-famous band and world-famous records and most likely world-famous girlfriend. You'd not thought about that up until now - his girlfriend. Perhaps non-existent, probably existent. Jealous curled up your spine, a sick feeling settling in your stomach.

It was like your hands weren't your own as you scrolled through your contacts, brain on auto-pilot and suddenly feeling 20 again, stood outside a bar at university, ringing him to come and get you. The picture you'd set all those years ago was still the same somehow, and it made you swallow heavily - his head pressed next to yours, hair swooped to one side and probably wearing a Hollister polo. You both looked so young. It stopped you in your tracks, almost. You thought of how different things could have been if you hadn't ran away from everything, panicked and settled down like you thought you'd wanted, let him go on tour with the band and forever have the 'what if' hanging in the windows of your newly-purchased house with Charlie. What a success that was.

You pressed it and waited. It rang. And it rang.

As if you'd thought he'd pick up. It probably came up as an unknown number. You felt daft as you held the phone to your ear, tears stinging at your eyes again. The only person you'd thought to call.

Your stomach dropped when the ringing came to a halt and you could hear crackling.

And then his voice. Sleepy, low, tired.

Familiar. Warm.

"Y/n? Can you hear me?" he repeated as you stood in silence, lips pressed together at the sound of his name down the line.

"Ross," you managed to choke out, running a hand through your hair.

"Is everything okay?" he sounded concerned and you could hear his footsteps across what sounded like a hardwood floor, pacing.

"I just..." You looked up again, swallowing. "I'm so sorry."

"Y/n/n? What's going on?" Coming to a halt, his voice softened.

"I'm in Manchester, and I guess I'm kind of lost? I don't know, it looks different than it used to, and I'm on my own. I don't know why I called, you're probably not even here, are you?"

There was silence from across the line for a second and you squeezed your eyes shut. If he didn't think you were crazy before, he definitely did now.

"No, I'm here. I'm in my flat." He said softly.

"Oh, right," Your head was spinning. "I'm sorry for bothering you, I just-"

"Whereabouts are you?"

You breathed in sharply.

"I'm not sure, it used to be that bar we went to every week, but it's changed now, it's a kebab shop, I think." You glance at the neon sign, voice shaky.

"Are you staying in a hotel or anything? I can order you an Uber, or-"

His voice crackled down the line.

"I was, but I've lost my friends, and I've had a drink and I can't call Charlie and I don't know what to do." Your throat feels tighter when you say it all out loud. "I don't know, I called you because it was the only thing I could think of, but it's fine, I can-"

"Stay there," you can hear him moving around, "I'm leaving now."

It felt like an eternity between him hanging up the phone and arriving, perhaps because all you could do was think about how you've ended up here.

The car pulled up slowly and your stomach dropped, the window rolling down and his smile visible as he ducked his head.

It was like your feet were frozen to the ground for a second. His lips curved at the sides, hair messy and just as dark as you remembered it, but his eyes were older. They creased at the corners a little, slightly darker, a bit more tired. It wasn't just you who'd been trying to figure things out since you graduated, exhausted by the demands of post-graduate existence.

"Just move that, sorry." he mumbled as you opened the car door, throwing an empty water bottle onto the backseats. His eyes seemed immovable for a second, like he was having the same thought process as you. You felt intensely vulnerable for a second, and suddenly remembered the ladder in your tights and the mascara stained cheeks that faced him.

"God, it's been so-"

"I've missed you-"

You both started at the same time, an airy laugh escaping as you let the silence consume you.

He started the car without another word. It took everything in you not to stare, or cry, or say how much you'd missed him and how sorry you were that you'd abandoned it all. Instead, you kept your gaze forward, drinking in the streets you'd traipsed as a student.

"We're here." he glanced at you, pulling up outside an apartment block.

"Oh, you didn't need to bring me here, it's okay, I think there's a Premier Inn up the road." You furrowed your brows at him, shaking your head and starting to rifle through your bag. "I've got my card, it's fine, I-"

"It's fine." He said with a slight smile, shaking his head. "You can stay at mine. 'Will be nice to have the company."

You smiled at him softly, in the way you might smile at a cashier or your boss. It felt strange, transactional, like maybe there was a void between the two of you. You'd put it there.

"Thank you." You said quietly, following him out of the car and up the steps.

The lift was creaky and you closed your eyes for a second, the tiredness hitting you. The past two weeks had been a lot, and you'd thought a night out might fix everything.

His flat was just as you'd expected it to be. Records and CDs and books on every available surface, a scattering of guitar picks, some empty mugs, a weeks' worth of unopened post.

"Is it just you that lives here?" You asked as you stood awkwardly in the kitchen, watching him as he put the kettle on and grabbed two mugs. A Macclesfield FC one, and a souvenir one from Germany, it seemed.

He nodded with a hum, glancing at you. "You can get comfy, it's fine."

The fluorescent kitchen light felt exposing as you slid your heels off, placing them neatly by the door with your bag. He handed you the cup of tea promptly after and you followed him into the living room. It was spacious, yet the sheer amount of stuff everywhere made it feel lived in.

"Why couldn't you ring Charlie?" he asked after at least five minutes of the two of you pretending to watch whatever random Top of the Pops repeat that BBC 2 had shoved on for the 4am slot. He looked at you intently, but his tone was calm, simply wondering.

"We've split up." You looked down at the mug, mouth drying out. "About a week ago."

"I'm sorry to hear it." He said after a beat, looking back to the TV.

"Don't be." I shook my head, lips pursed. "Wasn't as good as it seemed, all that house-owner, engaged shit."

His gaze softened, but you could sense his sadness for you.

It's strange, to sit in a room with someone you once slept with on the regular, thought you were going to marry, like people do when they're 19, and feel like you know nothing about them. You could mentally draw him, the identical placement of the birthmark on his right hip, the exact colour of his eyes, yet you couldn't identify which bedroom was his in this flat, or what he'd had for tea the night before.

"I'm sorry for calling you at this time." You said meekly, looking back at the TV.

"I was awake anyway, it's okay." He glanced at you. "It was nice to see your name on my phone."

"I'm sorry for not calling sooner, then." You corrected your earlier statement, watching as his lips tilted into the oh-so-familiar smile your fingers had traced over countless times.

"I missed hearing from you."

"I missed hearing from you, too."

The silence was deafening, almost claustrophobic as you inhaled deeply. His eye contact faltered, skitting back to the TV, blinking heavily. You wondered what he was thinking, whether memories of you under him were also still as fresh in his mind as if they'd happened yesterday.

He downed the last of his tea, sitting forward.

"There's a spare room across from mine, down the hallway. Feel free to get a shower, use some of the clothes in those drawers, whatever you need."

"Thanks." You placed the half empty mug next to his on the coffee table. "Do you have any paracetamol or anything? I can't really hack hangovers anymore, even if it is just a couple of cocktails."

"Could you ever hack hangovers?" He teased as he stood up, walking into the kitchen. You blushed - so he was thinking about those mornings, too.

He handed you the box to take to bed with you, showing you the bedroom.

"There's a clean towel in the bathroom," he pointed to the on-suite, "I'm just in here if you need anything." His neck craned to look into the bedroom behind you, pointing to the bathroom and drawers, but you could only look at him. His tan skin, his tousled hair, neat, tidy beard, the chest hair that poked from the top of his t shirt.

Standing across from each other in the hallway, you could see into his bedroom. Light green sheets, a book next to his bed, a pair of jeans thrown over the end of the bed-frame. You wanted to know him again. To know him, and his life, and his body. Charlie was superficial - his lavish proposals, extravagant holidays, Instagram posts declaring you as 'the love of his life' and lonely nights spent waiting for him to get back from a boys night out. Ross was everything. He was 'picking you up at 3am', remembering how you liked your tea after 7 years apart, dark eyes and curls and haphazardly strewn clothes and empty beer cans on bedsides and you.

"Thank you, again, for letting me stay over." you looked up at him, his gaze already fixed on you.

"It's not a problem."

A second passed before you turned on your heel, a shaky nervous hand reaching for the doorknob.

"Night," You said, with a small smile.

"Night."

You closed the door and watched his turn away, broad shoulders disappearing into the opposite room.

The shower was hot, steaming up the bathroom, as you turned it on. You'd dug out a stripy t-shirt and some joggers you could roll up from the back of the wardrobe.

You tipped your head back in the shower, letting the hot water run over you. The shower gel lathered against your skin, and it felt symbolic, to be washing away the day, the thoughts of Charlie, the fake smiles of your fake friends in fake, pose-y bars. Ross had always felt real to you, the realest thing in this city. He'd been brutally honest with you when you'd needed it, soft with you when he knew he had to be. The memory of your fight flashed into your mind - the last day before you went back home after graduation, tears in his eyes, down your cheeks, raised voices and a final, slammed door. Your eyes opened quickly as you remembered how you'd told him you wanted stability, not to follow his 'silly band around the world'. You hated yourself for it, even now. He's been hurt, like it had meant nothing to either of you, the way you'd got into your car and drove back to your parents with blurred vision, Car Seat Headrest blasting through the stereo as you fled the scene.

You thought about him laid across the hall. Was he wide awake? You tossed over onto your side, duvet pulled up to your neck. It must've been about 5am. You willed yourself to just fall asleep. The sound of floorboards creaking forced your eyes open, but they hushed as soon as they'd chorused through the flat.

The smell of coffee was the thing that roused you from your sleep. So I did sleep, you thought.

His back was to you as you entered the kitchen, the rustle of the TV and clanging of utensils echoing off the walls.

"Morning," You yawned, smiling as he jumped and turned to you. His gaze trailed up and then back down for a second, the sight of you in his clothes clearly taking him by surprise.

"Did you sleep okay?" He smiled. His hair was flat on one side, sleepy eyes, crinkled t-shirt. You nodded, heat rushing to your stomach at the sight of him. "Did you?". He just hummed in reply, pouring water in the mugs.

You sat and ate scrambled eggs on toast. You talked about work. You discussed the rugby, each other's siblings, old uni friends. It felt comfortable, and right, and you had to catch yourself when you stared at him for too long and began to picture doing this every morning.

"We leave soon, though."

"Leave?" You asked, sipping your orange juice.

"Yeah, for tour." He looked up at you from his plate. "Next Wednesday."

Next Wednesday, for tour.

You felt silly for thinking your lives would be sewn together seamlessly, that you would fit into his world like you'd never left.

There wasn't much conversation after that, and it was like you could read his mind for a second. He'd said that to warn you, to prepare you, because he too was imagining this as a constant. This wasn't going to work, and you both knew it. You wanted it to, desperately, and when you left his flat that morning, your eyes welled like they had that fateful day in 2011.

You'd hugged him tightly before you'd left, his arms around your waist firmly, yours around his neck. He was going away for a year, touring the world, and you were going back to your mum and dad's, because where else could you go?

[gaybananabread]

Hii! I hope I'm doing this right 😅

The amazing digital circus, Lee Jax! Ler ragatha!

Banana,oranges,lemons please!! :3

Absolutely fine if your not able to do it but just a request :D

(oh no I forgot something 😅😭 Can the most focused on spot be the ears please!! Super sorry!)

Fruit(s): Bananas, Oranges, Lemons

You’re all good, Anon! Jax is such an ass and I’m here for it (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠◡⁠`⁠). I’ve been pretty sick this week, so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes or quality issues (ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ). Fair warning, the bunny man is quite the prick in this because I like bickering. Thank you for requesting, and I hope you Enjoy!

Lee: Jax

Ler: Ragatha

Summary: Jax is being a total brat, sassing and picking on all the other characters. Ragatha has enough, giving him a lesson on manners he won’t soon forget.

Warnings: none! This is a tickle fic, so if you don’t like that, scroll away!!

The Amazing Digital Circus was…an interesting place, to say the least. If one could get over the fact that a likely-sentient AI entity ran a digital fairgrounds that nobody could ever escape from, their minds twisting and going down a deep spiral of paranoia and uncertainty until they lost their sanity, it was kinda cool. That first part was a pretty big hang-up for most, though.

Jax, however, had grown pretty used to the madness. He had his wit and sarcasm as a coping method. Why worry about your own misfortunes when you can laugh at someone else’s? The rabbit took every opportunity he could to quip, snicker and poke fun at his fellow characters. He got on everyone’s nerves. 

His antics really got to one being in particular: Ragatha. 

She felt as if she could tear his ears off some days. Jax would always bully the others, but he had been horrible that day. Pomni was still getting used to things; the poor thing didn’t need another reason to fret. His jokes were only putting everyone on edge, and that jester was already on a narrow ledge… It needed to stop.

“Wow Gangle, I didn’t know you could actually do something productive. Color me shocked.” Jax hovered over her, looking down at the ribbon being’s drawing. It was some sort of fan art, though he couldn’t name the media. It didn’t look that accurate, and he wasn’t that much of a nerd before he put the headset on… 

Before she could think to be shocked at the half-praise, he quickly put the dickery in his words. “Shame it’s too trashy to make out whatever you drew. This place is enough of an eye-sore as is.” 

The tears on Gangle’s mask rippled as she sniffed, trying not to let his mean words get to her. It didn’t really work; she’d put a lot of effort into that… She clutched the drawing to her chest as she ran away, her mouth line quivering. Jax just chuckled, not really caring that she ran off. It was just a joke. Not his fault she couldn’t take it.

Ragatha put her hands on her hips, marching over to Jax. He rolled his eyes, preparing for the lecture. “JAX! What is wrong with you?! Gangle worked really hard on that! You…you need to quit being such a jerky prick!”

The wide smirk stuck, though his eyes widened slightly. It was hardly a solid insult, though coming from such a typically passive-aggressive person, it was surprising. Didn’t know she had it in her…heh.

Jax’s snarky smirk returned, his eyes forming amused crescents. Hello, new source of entertainment… “Relax, dollface! Crybaby’s fine. Just havin’ another pity party.”

She scoffed, letting her typically suppressed temper show. “Seriously? You told her that those amazing drawings were trashy! Why are you such a bratty bully?” Her tone was as curious as it was disappointed. Eugh…

“I’m not a bully. I just say what I see; not my fault you babies can’t handle the truth.” Okay, maybe he was going a bit further than he normally did. He was bored, and the banter was actually amusing. As long as he danced on the right side of the line, he’d be fine. “Like you. I mean, I get this place knows our minds or something, but it really nailed you. Trashy scraps and frayed yarn.” 

This little…ugh! He was bringing out a side of Ragatha she didn’t know she still had. “Oh really? And what’s that make you, cotton tail? A bargain bin, carnival prize knock-off?”

Jax actually chuckled; finally, someone fun. “Nah, I’m just better. Taller, good-looking, not made of sewn together *boink*. I’d say it did me right.” He smirked, leaning in and getting to her level. “You found a nice 1830’s girl yet? They’re all about raggedy scraps.”

Oh, that was it! She glared, her upper lip curling as she reached for him. The lanky jerk leaned away just in time, taking off in the opposite direction. Okay, so it was possible to make her mad…totally worth it. 

Ragatha chased after him, going over revenge plans in her mind. She normally tried to avoid conflict, but Jax was out of control. Rabbit stew seemed delicious, even if it would only be a simulation… 

Jax tried to find literally any not-obvious spot to hide, but everything was ginormous and solid, a vengeful Ragatha on his heels. He just ran for his life. He might’ve made it, too, if he hadn’t tripped on something. “What the-” He went down, face-planting on the bouncy floor. Gloink…of course. He could’ve sworn it smirked at him, even though they had no mouths.

The doll was on him in seconds, quickly pinning him to the floor. For fabric and stuffing, she was pretty strong. Before he could think to fight back, his arms were pinned above his head, the girl straddling him and blocking his every escape. “W-woah doll! At least buy me dinner first!” That one was kinda stupid, but it was there.

The smoldering glare that comment received finally shut him up, if only for a moment. So many ideas, so little time… But she couldn’t do anything to hurt him. One, it wasn’t physically possible, and two, she was better than that. He still needed some kind of shove in the right direction… Ohohohooo, that’s perfect.

“I think you need to learn some hard lessons, Jax. Respect for your friends, and when to shut up.” The tone of her voice was surprisingly playful, even if it had a serious edge. He didn’t know whether to be scared or relieved. 

He wasn’t sure what she was up to. That is, until he felt one of her mitten-esque hands on his stomach, wiggling into the furry surface. Unable to bite his lip, giggles slipped past his defenses, greeting the smug doll. “W-whahat the *bloink* ahare you dohohoing?!” 

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m showing you what happens when you’re a snarky dork.” Ragatha smirked, keeping his hands pinned firmly above his head. “W-whehen dihid you gehehet strohohohong?!”

She tsked, trying not to take offense to that. “You need a filter, Jax. Apparently Caine’s isn’t enough. My way is a bit more…hands-on.” Ragatha went to town on his belly, digging her fabric fingers into his midsection. 

Squealing, twisting and turning, Jax tried anything to escape. He might’ve had the height advantage, but when it came to strength and endurance, he was surprisingly out-matched. Also, apparently very ticklish. Shocks across the board.

Jax kicked his feet, the pads thumping against the floor. She cooed, teasing him further. “Aww, guess you really do live up to your character, Thumper.”

The tickling wasn’t even the worst part, though it did come in a close second. It was the teases. He honestly didn’t think she had it in her, but *sproing* he was wrong. Ragatha squeezed his hip, making him jolt and squeal. “R-RAHAhagathaha!” Okay, make that a tie.

His laughter, to Ragatha, was honestly adorable. Who knew a jerk like him could be so ticklish, much less have a laugh like that. It was bright, bubbly and uncontrollable. Hearing her friends laugh, no matter how rude, was something special. She could listen to it all day, though she didn’t quite plan on going that far. 

While the silliness wasn’t hurting him, his pride was being battered to bits. No matter how much he wriggled and writhed under her, he couldn’t manage to break her hold or knock her off. Beyond that, she just had to keep exploring his spots. “Youhuhu lihittle- GYAAAHAHA! NAHAT THEHEHERE!” Like that one.

Ragatha's eyes widened as she rubbed the base of his ear, not expecting the spot to incite such a reaction. She wasn’t complaining, though. “Geez, Jax. These floppy ears are so sensitive! I have got to tell the others.” The doll switched between each ear, making sure neither felt left out. They twitched and flopped, but couldn’t avoid her skilled hand. 

Even though he was the most prideful of all the characters, her tickling was really pushing his limits; he just couldn’t take any more. Abandoning his ego for a moment, he cried out. “O-OHOHOKAHAY! IHI’M SOHAHAHARRY! P-PLEHEHEASE NO MOHOHORE!” 

She took that as her cue to quit, releasing his arms and climbing off him. The rabbit man immediately curled into himself, giggling like a toddler. She did notice, however, that he was still wiggling slightly, his closed eyes moving as if he had a twitching nose. He was clearly happy, though she bet he’d never admit it out loud.

“Y-youhuhu…youhu’re dehehead!” The threat would’ve been a lot more menacing if he didn’t look and sound like he’d had the time of his life. “Uh-huh, sure. Just try to be nicer, okay Giggles?” Ragatha pat his head, walking away and going to find Gangle. Knowing her, she would need similar treatment, though for very different reasons. 

Jax took deep and giggly breaths as he tried to calm himself. That was…wow. He didn’t even think stimulation like that was possible in the Circus. Then again, Caine did say the only thing he couldn’t control were their minds. How his mind felt right then…he’d rather not talk about it. Her plan had worked; he’d definitely be thinking about that encounter for a while. Maybe not for the intended reasons, though…

[slutforelliealways]

What if?

Elliexfemme reader

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

"So, tell me about her." Charlie had a plain look on his face. The man who'd been your overpriced therapist for years had started becoming more of a overpriced divine light.

"Who?" You snap out of your trance.

"The girl." His English accent brought a softness to his voice you wouldn't hear if he was from America.

"Oh," your fingers intertwine, "there's not much to tell. We were, then we weren't."

He cocks his head. "That's it? Am I really supposed to believe that?"

"I don't know, I'm not sure where I would even begin."

"At the beginning of course. How did you meet her?"

"Is this seat taken?" You whispered as you tapped the shoulder of a stranger.

They turned around, and it was just love at first sight. Her green eyes widened at the sight of you, her freckled cheeks turned a bright pink, and her lip with a scar across the top curled into a smile. "No, by all means!" She pulled the chair out for you. "How do you know the bride or groom?"

"My mom is best friends with the bride's mom, I'm her plus-one." You roll your eyes, "and you?"

"Groom is my best friend, I didn't bring a plus one." Her arm rested on the back of your chair. "So, does the plus-one dance?"

"Maybe, you any good?"

"Was she?"

You sigh, "she was incredible. Of course that was because of the extensive dance classes she took as a child. Joel-"

"Who's Joel?" Charlie scribbles in his notebook.

"Her father, sort of."

"Was he kind?"

You smile. "Joel was kind to his family."

"What happened after the wedding?"

"So," Ellie passed the chocolate ice cream cone to you, "what's a girl like you doing in a town like this?"

You licked the cone, "I'm just visiting. I've been on tour for the past four months."

"Tour?" She turned her body toward you, "you in a band or something?"

You looked down at your feet, "I kind of am the band. I sing, and when I say tour I mean I've been going to different bars in every state and paying them to let me sing."

She reached for the cone, but instead of putting it to her lips she placed it against yours. "Lick," you complied, "good." She pulled her legs up and sat criss-cross on the stone ledge, "I assume you're wanting to actually make money no?"

"I mean, yeah who wouldn't?"

"You write your own music?" She licked the cone.

"I do."

"Sing me something," she rested her head on her knees and continued with the cone.

"No!" You nearly shouted.

"Why?" She asked nonchalantly.

You shrugged,"I don't even know you."

"A line then."

You took a deep breath, "dancing with the devil, how could an angel be evil; I never learn from my sadistic mistakes." You opened your eyes and Ellie was still licking the cone.

"Did she like the song?" Charlie on the edge of his seat, "well?"

Next thing you knew you were in a studio meeting Ellie's band members, allegedly she was a fairly popular artist and Joel was the producer. He had a successful production and management company and had started and maintained a lot of celebrities careers. He was strict, had the band record the same three seconds over and over again; but it worked.

"They sounded fucking incredible!"

Charlie scribbles in his notebook again. "And then what?"

You sat on a loveseat and watched the band go on for hours. Ellie sang until her voice went out, you closed your eyes when she would belt and felt the vibrations in your chest. It nearly made your toes curl when she'd hit the note perfectly, just raspy enough to bring a sexy touch to each song. She wore a cut off t-shirt with a black leather vest covered in patches from what seemed to be every country she'd been to.

Dina was on the drums, her palms were all patched up in blood stained white bandages. She'd wince every couple of hours and you'd watch as one of her bandages would turn a crimson shade of red. Her curly black hair was tied back into a messy ponytail, she had thick purple eyeliner around her eyes and glitter on her cheeks. She was a rockstar through and through.

Jesse was more muted, the quiet bass player; but that didn't mean he lacked talent. His fingers were covered in another set of blood stained bandages, he was able to keep a straight face through the pain but you could see the bandages needing changing by the hour. He had blue jeans and a sweater on, nothing flashy but the way he played was so incredible you couldn't believe you were near the sound.

"Her turn," Joel pointed to the corner you'd been hiding in.

"Me?" You looked up from your little notepad you'd been writing lyrics in.

"Who else?" His brother Tommy exclaimed.

You stood up from the red loveseat, "alright. Which one?"

"Whatever got Ellie thinking you deserve a shot," Dina scoffed as she walked out of the studio.

"Be nice Di," Jesse smirked toward you, "don't worry. She's just jealous."

You kept your head down and stepped into the recording studio, the eyes of everyone burned into you. But Dina wasn't watching you, you followed her gaze and caught Ellie's eyes. She had the gentlest smile on her lips, "you got it," she mouthed.

"Whenever you're ready kiddo, we just need to see what we're working with here." Joel's voice was raspy like Ellie's, he spoke softly into the mic. "I'm gonna have Tommy play a sample for you so you've got some backtrack."

"How'd it go?"

You laugh, "I totally choked. Couldn't get a single lyric out, Dina laughed her ass off and Joel looked ready to pop an artery." A smile crept at the memory.

"This is a fond one for you," he observes.

"It's an early one, all of the early ones are beautiful."

"I choked my first time too."

You looked up from the drink in your hand, Jesse was next to you sipping on some kind of dark liquor. "Huh?" You replied.

"My first time behind the glass, I forgot how to play. Joel almost threw me out of the studio." He snickered, "you'll get it soon enough. You've managed to peak Ellie's interest, so you have that in your favor."

You sipped your drink, "well I'm glad."

His demeanor changed, he shifted in his seat and leaned in toward you. "Be careful little one, this ain't all shits and giggles."

"Little one?" Charlie scribbles.

"Kind of a nickname, it stuck."

Ellie kept you in Los Angeles for months working your songs into the album, you got used to the workload quickly and kept up with Joel's demanding routine as best you could. Before you knew it the album was complete, and on the shelves within days. You took some time to yourself in your hotel room that night, you'd gotten a copy for yourself and you sat on your bed listening to your voice and your songs over and over again. Paid close attention to how well Dina kept the tempo, and how strongly Ellie's voice conveyed every emotion you wanted to show. A knock on your door snapped you out of your trance, you peeked through the peephole and smiled at the guest.

"I brought champagne," Ellie wiggled a bottle and flashed two glasses, "it's been on ice since this morning."

"Come in," you muttered.

She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, "I've been so impressed with you these past few months. You've really come out of your shell." Ellie put the bottle down on the little glass table by the edge of your bed. "You have a lot to offer," you watched as her eyes traveled up and down your body, "what can I give you in return?"

"I hadn't really thought about it," you whispered as you inched closer toward her, "but I'm sure I'll come up with something." You pressed your lips against hers, but right as she pressed hers back you pulled away and let the tip of your tongue glide across her lips before you stood up straight and reached for the bottle. "Pour me a glass?" Your lips formed a pout.

"You know," Ellie stood up and grabbed the champagne out of your hand, "you might become a problem for me."

"Why?" You smirked.

She popped the top, poured the champagne into a glass and handed it to you. "I don't typically celebrate an album drop, like ever."

"I'm lost."

You chuckle, "yeah I was too. But... it made sense later."

"What did?" Charlie scribbles.

"Everything."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------This is clearly very Daisy Jones coded, I'm working on Pt:2 to my other story don't worry, but I've had this one sitting in my drafts for way too long. Hope you enjoy as always, love ya!

[meandhisjohn]

" Richer and Deeper"

We are in for a ride!

Yes!

Read a bit more insights coming from the writer, producer and the cast.

This is really informative and once again a great read.

@colourfulwatson @martinfreemanspotter @sannapersikka @safedistancefrombeingsmart @whatnext2020 @compact-and-beautiful @apazwtsn

[thinkingimages]

A Derek Jarman film with music by Throbbing Gristle Derek Jarman used some of his 70s home movie footage to produce this wonderful piece of exploitational avantgarde cinema. Actually the original material has been slowed down to a speed of 3-6 frames, then Jarman added colour effects and the pulsating, menacing score by Industrial supergroup Throbbing Gristle The result is a piece of art not to dissimilar to Jarman’s painting work in using found footage as elements of memory and mind that resemble ideas reflected in the Cabala and in C.G. Jung`s writings about an archetypical past that is hidden in everyone of us. The first, In the Shadow of the Sun (1974-80), was originally put together by Jarman himself in 1974 from re-shot Super-8 material including footage from The Art of Mirrors and Journey to Avebury, amongst several others. The film was eventually blown-up to 35mm and premiered at the 1981 Berlin Film Festival. The focus on ritual, mysticism and obscure alchemical symbolism links it with the work of Anger. However, Jarman’s preference for the work of Carl Jung and the “white” magician John Dee, is quite distinct from Anger’s invocations of the “black” magician Alistair Crowley. – Jon Behrens

Extending the recent pagan theme, Ubuweb posts Derek Jarman’s determinedly occult and oneiric film, In the Shadow of the Sun (1980), notable for its soundtrack by Throbbing Gristle. This was the longest of Jarman’s films derived from Super-8 which he made throughout the 1970s between work as a production designer and his feature films. He never saw the low resolution, grain and scratches of Super-8 as a deficiency; on the contrary, for a painter it was a means to achieve with film stock some of the texture of painting. Michael O’Pray described the process and intent behind the film in Afterimage 12 (1985):

In 1973, Jarman shot the central sequences for his first lengthy film, and most ambitious to date, In the Shadow of the Sun, which in fact was not shown publicly until 1980, at the Berlin Film Festival. In the film he incorporated two early films, A Journey to Avebury a romantic landscape film, and The Magician (a.k.a. Tarot). The final sequences were shot on Fire Island in the following year. Fire Island survives as a separate film. In this period, Jarman had begun to express a mythology which he felt underpinned the film. He writes in Dancing Ledge of discovering “the key to the imagery that I had created quite unconsciously in the preceding months”, namely Jung’s Alchemical Studies and Seven Sermons to the Dead. He also states that these books “gave me the confidence to allow my dream-images to drift and collide at random”. The themes and ideas found in Jubilee, The Angelic Conversation, The Tempest and to some extent in Imagining October are powerfully distilled in In the Shadow of the Sun. Jarman’s obsession with the sun, fire and gold (which spilled over in the paintings he exhibited at the ICA in 1984) and an ancient mythology and poetics are compressed in In the Shadow of the Sun with its rich superimposition and painterly textures achieved through the degeneration “caused by the refilming of multiple images”. Jarman describes some of the ideas behind In the Shadow of the Sun:

“This is the way the Super-8s are structured from writing: the buried word-signs emphasize the fact that they convey a language. There is the image and the word, and the image of the word. The ‘poetry of fire’ relies on a treatment of word and object as equivalent: both are signs; both are luminous and opaque. The pleasure of Super-8 is the pleasure of seeing language put through the magic lantern.” Dancing Ledge p.129

John Coulthart

[afrobeatsindacity]

IWD: The Sparking Women Of Afrobeats

It's March again, which means International Women’s Month and another opportunity to celebrate women pushing the boundaries for productivity and creativity in all fields in every corner of the world. In Nigerian music, the last few years have seen a bold contingent of creative women advance the borders of what is possible for women in music, even in Nigeria’s patriarchal society. The music scene is still far from having an ideal balance of male and female stars, but considering the male-orientedness of the industry’s artists and background players, this group deserves even more praise for their ability to rise above all obstacles and occupy the section they do now. In doing so, they become a shining light to women in every field, an encouragement that women can rise to the top and pull down age-long barriers. Here are ten women, cut across generations and genres, who are lighting up the Afrobeats scene in 2024.

Tems

Tems rocketed to global fame with “Essence” and remained there via collaborations with Drake, Future and Rihanna, and brought her entire discography with her in this terrific journey, as a result of which even her most obscure releases from the past have been showered with millions of streams. But fans rightly want more, and as they await a debut album from the singer that will no doubt release this year, she’s kept them satisfied: “Me & U” and “Not An Angel” released last year, spinning her AfroRnB, Pop and Dancehall influences into spicy mixes, and allowing her balance gracefully on the ledge where she can appeal to both her Nigerian and western audiences. Tems is one of Nigeria's brightest revelations of the 2020s, and her album should confirm her status as a force in world music.

Tiwa Savage

The No. 1 African Bad Girl ruled African music through the 2010s, and was front and centre of the high-powered, dance-ready movement that we now know as Afropop. Now, she continues to advance Nigerian pop through its Amapiano era, entertaining a new generation with as much vim and vigour as she did with her Pop duo of “Kele Kele Love” and “Love Me, Love Me” over a decade years ago. Her royalty status in African music is beyond doubt, but she continues to prove it anyway, and with last year’s singles “Pick Up” and “Stamina” she kept pace with the rest of the industry, proving that the golden years of her career may actually be in front of her.

Asa

Asa is by now a household name in Nigerian music, being a practising artist for longer than some of her newest fans have been alive. The honeyed songstress made her breakout in 2007 with her self-titled debut album, the Cobhams-produced ethereal piece that introduced the key parts of her artistry: her melodious voice, guitar-strung melodies and her soulful writing. Seventeen years and 5 albums later, the Paris-born vocalist continues to captivate minds while adapting to changing times in Nigerian music, and her last album, V, highlighted her growth and reiterated her effusive songcraft, tapping into more modern Afropop while holding firm to her sonic identity. With the release of her latest, “Odo”, this year, Asa proves that she still has a lot to give the industry she helped build.

Yemi Alade

Yemi Alade, the self-styled Mama Africa, has lived up to that moniker in the ten years since “Johnny”, her explosive Afropop banger, announced her to the country and continent in 2014 as an instant star. Apart from her emotive music and its magnetic appeal to the dance floor, she has won hearts across the continent for her energetic performances and her very impressive polyglotism. She has come to represent a symbol of strength, excellence and femininity for African women, and with her latest release, the Mamapiano EP, having arrived in December, she shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.

Simi

Simi’s high-pitched, sonorous voice is instantly recognisable for any keen follower of Nigerian music. She made her debut in 2014 via a series of catchy, playful singles—“E No Go Funny”, “Open And Close”, and “Jamb Question” and its Falz-featuring remix, before diving into the romantic depths, a field her vocals were always made to excel at. Her eponymous debut album arrived in 2017, bringing the arc of her introduction to a fitting close, and since its release, it has been an unstoppable upward journey for the songstress. Her most recent offering, To Be Honest, consolidated on her growth even further, as she scripted tales of life, love and friendship into one coherent package, and its reception proves her place in the music scene remains secure.

Niniola

Nigeria’s queen of Afro-House gets a lot less credit than she deserves, but Nigeria’s Amapiano-directed era, borrowing heavily from South Africa, was foreshadowed by her genre-bending “Maradona” way back in 2017. Two albums, 2017’s This Is Me and 2020’s Colors And Sounds established her position, as she tried her hands on a number of sonic experiments between Afropop, South African House and Dancehall, and brilliantly pulled off most of them. Years later, she remains at the forefront of innovation and genre-morphing in Nigerian music. Amapiano’s saturation in Nigerian music means it is no longer an effective means of standing out, but Niniola’s capacity to execute it with exceptionally high levels of quality means she will never have to be worried about her legacy.

Teni

Teni, the other half of the Apata singing sisters, is cut from a different sonic cloth. She delights in the tonic flavour of conventional Afropop and its ability to soundtrack the most heartfelt songs. She released a number of tracks between 2016 and 2018 to moderate impact, but it was her breakout single, “Case”, blending tender emotion into fast-spinning beats, that gave Teni her grand introduction as a purveyor of the romantic. Other singles, like the reflective “Uyo Meyo” and “Askamaya” displayed yet another side to her. Her recent album, Tears Of The Sun, was a comeback of sorts after a period of downtime, and with it she immediately thrust herself back into the limelight.

Fave

2021’s “Baby Riddim” was a game-changer for Fave. It was the means with which she made her mainstream journey, and even now it is easy to see why the audience found it so irresistible. 3 months later, she capitalised on the newfound fame to release Riddim 5, her debut EP, weaving heart-strung writing into an AfroRnB sonic template to excellent results.

Her releases in the period since then have been somewhat sparse—only two songs of her own in two years—but she has made up for it with a number of well-delivered features. Her latest, “Belong To You” is a marker of her undying talent and promise.

Qing Madi

It may have gone under the radar, but Qing Madi had an exceptional 2023. She began the year as an underground artist, secured (and brilliantly delivered on) a dream collaboration with BNXN, built on that momentum to release a brilliant debut EP, and is now watching as “American Love”, a track off it, is pushing to become her biggest song yet. The 18 year old singer is making an organic growth fueled by addictive hooks and clever writing, and now looks to be one of the industry’s brightest stars of the future, poised to follow in the examples of the other women on this list.

Bloody Civilian

Bloody Civilian is on her way up. The 26-year-old made giant strides in 2023, logging in her debut EP Anger Management in June and returning in November with Anger Management: At Least We Tried, a special remix version that featured stars like Joeboy, ODUMODUBLVCK and Fave. Her music is a special blend of Nigerian and foreign sounds, allowing her to draw from a wide pool of sonic influences and still create cohesive projects. She is still firmly in the ones to watch category, but her trajectory places her to rank beside Nigeria’s elite in the not-too-distant future.

This article was written by Afrobeats City Contributor Ezema Patrick - @ezemapatrick ( X )

Afrobeats City doesn’t own the right to the images

[f4y3w00d5]

And to finish up for the night here is my brief description of Every Song in Danger Days: True Lives Of The Fabulous Killjoys, by My Chemical Romance

Okay so basically  this is their most recent album, 2014, and it follows the Killjoys as they fight against BL.IND (Better Living Industries) who seek to ELIMINATE all  individuality. (Spoiler: They die saving The Girl in the music video for SING) 

Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na) - 

Upbeat!!! Dancing!!! Fast!!! You jump around screaming about doing crime and partying and sex!!! I love it!!! (you should listen to it after Look Alive Sunshine, which is the intro to the album and its just Dr D speaking, and at the start of Na Na Na, it goes ‘THE FUTURE IS BULLETPROOF! THE AFTERMATH IS SECONDARY!! TIME TO DO IT NOW AND DO IT LOUD! KILLJOYS, MAKE SOME NOISE!!!’) 

Bulletproof Heart 

Uh so this is sorta less fast and stuff but its SO cool and idk how to describe it but its sorta jaunty? First song I listened to by the band!!! (Fav part is ‘and tho, I know, how much you hate this. Are you gonna be the one to save us? From. The black. And hope-less feelin. Will you meet ‘em when the end comes reelin? Hold, your heart, into this darkness. Will it ever be the light to shine you out? Or fail. And leave you stranded? I aint gonna be the one left standin. You aint gonna be the one left standin, and we aint gonna be the ones left standin!!!’) 

SING 

Aaaaaaaaa this ones so cool, took a bit to grow on me, its mostly slow and repetitive but the BRIDGE ‘Cleaned up corporations PROGRESS! Dyin in the PROCESS! Children that can TALK ABOUT IT livin on the WEB-WAYS, people movin SIDEWAYS, sell it til your LAST DAYS, buy yourself the motivation GENERATION NOTHIN! Nothing but a DEAD SCENE! Product of a WHITE DREAM! I am not the SINGER THAT YOU WANTED BUT A DANCER! I REFUSE TO ANSWER! TALK ABOUT THE PAST SIR! WROTE IT FOR THE ONES WHO WANNA GET AWAY! ……. Keep runnin.’ 

Planetary (GO!)  

Okay so like omg. I love this one. Everythings amazin. Starts off slightly slow, and then starts movin faster around the verses? AND THE VIBES!!! Ive got a few favs and ill save them here (I love the way theyre said too-) ‘Ladies and gentleman, truth is now acceptable! Fame! Is now injectable, PROCESS THE PROGRESS, This core is critical, faith is un-a-vail-a-ble, Lives, become incredible-‘ and also ‘Youre unbelievable, ah, so unbelievable, ah, you ruin everything, oh, you better GO HOME! Im unbelievable yeah, im undefeatable yeah, LETS RUIN EVERYTHIN, BLAST IT TO THE BACK ROW- they sell presentable, young! And so ingestible! Sterile and collectable! SAFE, and I cant STAND THAT! This is a letter, by word, is the beretta, the sound, of my vendetta against, the ones that PLANNED IT!’ So uhhhhhhhhh yeah lol 

The Only Hope For Me Is You 

Likeeeeeeeee holy SHIT this one just sorta- idkkkk- ‘Where? Where were you when, all of the embers fell? I still remember them… covered in ash. Covered in glass. Covered in all my friends, I still… think of the bombs they built- IF THERES A PLACEEE THAT I COULD BE, THEN ID BE ANOTHERR MEMORY, CAN I BE THE ONLY HOPE FOR YOU? BECAUSE YOURE THE ONLY HOPE FOR ME! AND IF WE CAN FIND WHERE  WE BELONG, WE’ll Have To make It on our own!! Face all the painnn and takeee it on, because the only hope for me, is you alone…’ its one of the slower ones tho 

Party Poison 

This one starts in Japanese for some reason??? Its hard to explain… another fast and dancy type one ig, but sorta raw-er?  Its sooooooo weird- not one of my favs but its semi popular 

Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back 

Okay so idk how to describe this really- sorta gives Only Hope type thing but faster and sorta rockier? Idk. My fav parts tho!!! ‘Get offfff the ledge, and drop the knife… Not a victim of a victims life! Because… this aint a room fullla suicides- WE’RE BELIEVERSS I BELIEVE TONIGHT-‘  OH AND ONE OF THE MORE POPULAR LINES PEOPLE KNOW ‘Ill tell you well how the story ends, where the good guys die and the bad guys win… (WHO CARES?)- THIS AINT ABOUT ALL THE FRIENDS YOU MADE, BUT THE GRAFFITII THEY WRITE ON YOUR GRAVE-‘ then the last two ‘Im the only friend that makes you cry! Youre a heart attack in black hair dye! So just save yourself, and Ill hold them back tonight….’ And ‘We can live forever if you’ve got the time- YOU MOTHERFUCKER (OHHHWHOAAAA) Youre the broken glass in the mornin light! Be a burnin’ star if it takes all night!’ 

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W 

OHOHOH APPARENTLY THIS ONE IS TO SOOTHE THE KIDS WHEN THE NUCLEAR BOMBS HIT AND GET THEM INTO THE SHELTER!!! (yes there are nuclear bombs, its post apocalyptic lmao) I love the bridge- ‘Love, love, love wont stop this bomb, bomb, love wont stop this bomb, bomb, love wont stop this… bomb……. Run, run, bunny, run. Run, run, bunny ruuuuuuuuuuun’ One of the slowest in the album also 

Summertime 

Okay so this is prolly my fav? Idk how to describe it tbh….. I know what it describes for me buuuut you don’t wanna hear me be weird about people……. Ill just tell you my fav parts (that I relate to!!!) ‘Terrified of what I’d be, as a kid from what Ive seen… Every single day when people try and put the pieces back together, just to smash them down… turn my headphones up real loud…. I don’t think I need them now…. Cos you stop the noise!!!’ 

DESTROYA 

………………fucked up robot song where you scream and moan. What else is there to say? (the porn bots In the story worship a ‘god’ called Destroya who will supposedly come save them) 

The Kids From Yesterday 

I love this one too. Sorta slow ig. Nostalgic maybe? ‘Well now, this could be the last of all the rides we take…. So hold on tight and don’t look back……… we don’t care about the message or the rules they make…. Ill find you when the sun goes black…..’ 

Vampire Money 

Dance!!! Sex!! Upbeat!!! Fast!!! ‘Three two one, we came to FUCK-‘ and my other fav line ‘and get your finger on the trigger tap the barrel of the gun! Hair back, motherfucker, jet black, SO COOL-‘ 

@terrencetheshark14 you might be interested in my weird ass mcr related ramblings

[colourfulwatson]

Filming gets underway for BBC’s The Responder 2

(…) Some exciting new additions to the cast of the second series include Adam Nagaitis (The Terror; Chernobyl), Bernard Hill (Wolf Hall; Lord of the Rings (Theoden) Titanic) and Ian Puleston-Davies (Tin Star; Pennyworth).

Speaking about the latest series, Tony Schumacher said: “Throwing myself back into the world of The Responder has been such a ride over this last year or so. Gathering the characters old and new around me has been a delight, and finally getting to see these people brought to life by so many incredible people fills me with genuine excitement. I just can’t wait for you to see them too!”

Toby Bruce, Executive Producer for Dancing Ledge Productions, added: “It’s such an incredible joy, and privilege, to be back working with Tony’s magic scripts, continuing the stories of characters we’ve all fallen in love with. Martin Freeman as Chris, and Adelayo as Rachel, both have the ability to be emotional lightning rods and we couldn’t be more excited to bring them, and the rest of our amazing cast, back together.”

Lindsay Salt, Director of BBC Drama, says: “Series one of The Responder gave us a bold and thrilling new take on the police drama, winning five-star reviews and millions of fans on BBC One and iPlayer in the process. It’s a joy to once again partner with Tony, Martin, Adelayo and such a fantastic team to see what’s next for Chris and Rachel.” (…)

Some comments and new names for The Responder 2!! 😁❤️

First discovered on instagram here

[cultfaction]

Review: Platform 7

Review Platform 7 Platform 7 is a British four-part psychological thriller television series based on the 2019 novel Platform Seven by Louise Doughty, adapted by Paula Milne, and developed by Dancing Ledge Productions for ITVX. It was released on ITVX on 7th December 2023 and is now being shown on ITV. It stars Jasmine Jobson as Lisa Evans, Toby Regbo as Matthew Goodson, Yaamin Chowdhury as Akash…

[saintsmith]

The descending lift was claustrophobic. The landsaint was becoming an under-landsaint with every jagged tug towards the bowels of the earth. She kept her breath steady and long so as not to panic. A Dromag attendant in the opposite corner of the lift had his arms crossed, and she could feel his hot breath, and smell its pungent spiciness.

The light approached from beneath, piece-by-piece with each pull of the chains. (The bigger cities had automatic lift mechanisms, but these were still hand-cranked.) The landsaint must have begun to hold her breath when the light first appeared, because it escaped in a single burst once they reached the lift’s landing below.

The attendant opened the brass-barred door, letting in more light from the landing. “This floor,” he mumbled, well-practiced but bored, “Market. Shrine.” He stood on his tiptoes to check the landsaint’s irises. “You know this. Blest day, saint.”

The landsaint stepped out of the lift, which immediately began to ascend to pick up more visitors to the city’s belly. 

She hated the air down here. Dry and stuffy. Even when the air was cool, it felt hot. She was going to finish her work here and return topside, as soon as possible.

Two half-halberd-wielding Greshtal guards let her through with a nod. The landsaint returned the gesture curtly. Beyond the guarded brass door was a deep-dug city of stone, four stories high, stone stairs winding up and down the sides of stone buildings to stone balconies giving landing for brass doors, wooden planks from surface trees filling in gaps and forming crossings where the stone streets were narrow. Blackflame lamps kept the streets and stairs lit, but the closer to the roof, the darker it became. Up there, tall shadows danced. Only Dromag were short enough for the low ceilings in these reaches, but children of all types daredeviled from ledge to ledge.

The lower two levels were purely commercial, various shops and stores and groceries and boutiques lining the streets and dazzling passersby with brightly painted signs and intricately-woven tapestries. The two levels above were for the homes of the merchants. But not all who did business in this district lived here. Many commuted with their stalls and carts from the lower residential levels via the bigger, industrial lift by the main gates of the surface town.

The landsaint scraped past pedestrians and took in some of the shops and stalls. She saw a smithy selling blades –

– but the smith couldn’t call them blades. It was illegal in this jurisdiction of Kolqust for most tenvo to carry weapons larger than a work-knife. But many smiths circumvented this restriction by selling sharp scraps of bronze that almost looked like blades, but by the precise wording of the law couldn’t be called weapons. All it took was some string, resin, and a suitable length of wood to manufacture a “self-defense implement” at home. The landsaints politely ignored these loopholes; it was their job to enforce laws, not argue them.

– a wooden sign, painted with the words “mostly-meat sausages” (in smaller script beneath: “accepting chit only”), indicated such meats were hawked at the rickety stall where it hung by a lanky Dromag –

– those words being all the butcher needed to claim to bypass a law regulating the use of mineral additives in such products. Dromag had sturdy teeth and hardy stomachs, and could handle a little clay or limestone in their mixed meats. (During ancient times of poverty, clay was a common food source for the Dromag, earning them the now rarely-used sobriquet “clay-eaters.”) Aajakiri and Greshtal, on the other hand, could not digest these things. But when the prices were this low, a chipped tooth or a little indigestion was worth it.

– in a dim corner, lit by an array of colored paper lanterns, sat the waterpipe lounge –

– where the only smoke of griidc could be found in these times, as individual possession and consumption of the narcotic by claypipe had been outlawed by the state about a decade ago, much to the dismay of the large smoking subculture of Kolqust. Begrudgingly, tenvo would pay to smoke in these lounges for an hour, taking up their hoses around the communal waterpipe and allowing the smokemaster to supply them with their fix.

– a beautifully engraved storefront advertised “Oshr’s Fine Jewelry.” Through the open arches of the facade were rows of glass-protected counters bearing precious jewels, rings, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, torques, tiaras, and more. In the back, at a counter operated by Oshr herself, a beautiful face-painted Aajakiri, were displayed the finely cut, delicately-faceted receptacle gems for spirits, future thoughtstones –

– illegal to fill without saint sanction, but not illegal to cut and sell beforehand. Only saints or temple priests are allowed to capture spirits or sell thoughtstones.

The landsaints brow-plates flexed as she listened vaguely in the direction of the jeweler’s shop. Something tickled her brow-plates, and she focused on it.

It spoke of mastery. It spoke of a job well done, a product complete. Satisfaction – of the mind and the chit-purse. A deal. A transaction. A bargain sworn.

The landsaint squinted at Oshr. Her neck gleamed with a brilliant ruby. Personal thoughtstone. Not for sale.

The landsaint’s brow-plates resumed a neutral position as she carried on down the street. Finally she reached her destination: the town shrine. Its set of concentric walls were beautifully engraved and brightly painted, the outer ring etched with the laws of the priests of Raam. The landsaint ascended the radial stairs, passing one circular gate as she did, leaving behind the first circle, representing Uodh, the Void. The next ring depicted the victories of local saints throughout history – this circle represented Uorh, the Word. She passed its gate, leaving her one more circle to pass – Eilh, the World – displaying the triumphs and tribulations of Raam before he ascended to bring the day. Its gate had a door, which she slowly pushed open to enter the outer sanctum, where only priests and saints could pass.

A fairly reverent tenvo, the landsaint closed the door tightly behind her. She had expected to be greeted by a priest as soon as she entered, but none appeared; all that welcomed her was the floral scent of welic incense smoke wafting from censers hanging from the high rafters. Taking a left, she walked the circular corridor, lined with shelves bearing sacred scrolls, tomes, and tablets, until she came back around to the Eilh gate. She doubled back, but stopped as she met the Raam gate, a tightly shut door to the inner sanctum, halfway down.

Her brow-plates widened, and she swallowed deep. The door of the Raam gate was of plain wood, ornamented only with a single sacred symbol etched in gold in the center. Hand shaking, she reached out for the handle…

The door burst open from the inside, and a priest rushed out. It was Jark, coadjutor of the shrine’s chief priest. The landsaint’s hands were safely behind her back, but she did catch a glimpse of the black velvet curtain behind Jark shifting – the last barrier between unsanctified eyes and divinity.

“Imreb!” snapped Jark as he nearly ran into her, clutching his chest with his large Dromag hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you, Holy,” Imreb replied.

“You’ve been waiting?” stormed Jark as he pushed Imreb from the Raam gate. “I got so tired of waiting for you that I went ahead and joined the other Holies for evening communion!” He made a show of straightening his beard. “Where have you been?”

“Capturing a fallen spirit topside,” Imreb explained in a rush, flustered. “For young Kheloz.” She patted the collection case on her belt.

“Ah, young Kheloz…” mused Jark, still stroking his beard. “I remember being as young and curious as him…”

Imreb wondered if Jark had, in a past life, been a miner, or logger, or wrestler; he had a sturdy physique, and was tall for a Dromag, coming halfway up Imreb’s chest. He was this shrine’s first Dromag priest – they usually selected for Aajakiri with keen brow-plates. But Jark had somehow formulated a roundabout mystical way of interpreting thoughtstones; his rate of success was high enough to be dependable.

“Nevermind that,” Jark said, taking a seat at a bench wedged between two shelves. “Have a seat, landsaint.”

Imreb obeyed, sitting next to Jark. “What troubles you, Holy?”

Jark reached into a pocket of his robes and retrieved a small sapphire thoughtstone. But Imreb didn’t need to attune her brow-plates to hear it speak.

It spoke of tears. It spoke of wailing, weeping. Wet eyes and running noses too pitiful to look at, but demanding attention regardless.

“It’s leaking,” said Imreb, having to fight back her own tears from sympathetic reaction.

“As I suspected,” Jark said with a nod. He extended a massive hand to show Imreb the stone. “See the facets, here? Asymmetrical. Imperfect cut.”

“Where did you get this?” Imreb asked, her brow-plates receding into their sockets, trying to distance themselves from the pained thoughtstone.

“One of your knights confiscated it from an Aajakiri thief. Not sure the original source.”

Imreb leaned forward. “Which knight?”

“Confidential, I’m afraid,” said Jark with an apologetic smile raising the corners of his whiskers. “But it’s not the only such thoughtstone I’ve been delivered. It’s a pattern, now.”

“‘Illicit manufacture and sale for profit of thoughtstones,’” quoted Imreb from the legal code. “Could likely append ‘improper treatment of a spirit’ due to the poor gem quality.”

“Precisely,” agreed Jark. “An investigation is in order. Too delicate for a knight. You’ll handle it personally.” He handed Imreb the thoughtstone, which she quickly pocketed to silence it. “Start with talking to Oshr, the jeweler.”

“You suspect her?”

“Raam, no. Her handiwork far surpasses this. Don’t even suggest that, she’ll just be offended. Be discreet with her. Don’t let on too much.”

“With all due respect, I know how to conduct an investigation, Holy.”

“Of course, Imreb, of course,” said Jark with a gracious nod. “Go. Do what you must.”

Imreb nodded and stood to leave the shrine. “Wait,” said Jark as she was halfway to the Eilh gate. 

Imreb turned back. “Yes, Holy?”

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but…the knight who brought me that thoughtstone told me they suspected you. That’s why they brought it to me instead of you directly.”

Imreb’s eyes widened, her brow-plates spreading apart. “Holy, I-I…”

“Don’t worry,” said the Holy with a wave of his hand. “Mortals can be easily mistaken. Would I have discussed this with you if I believed you were the culprit?”

“I suppose not, Holy.”

“Relax, and do your duty, saint.”

Imreb nodded and left the shrine.

- - - - -

Imreb knocked on the arch bordering Oshr’s shop as the jeweler nearly finished shuttering it. Oshr spun around, eyes and brow-plates wide, clutching her chest. She exhaled sharply when she saw Imreb. “Saint! A pleasure. What can I do for you?”

“Evening, Oshr,” smiled Imreb. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind…but first, why are you so startled? What troubles you?”

“Oh, nothing,” said the jeweler with a dismissive wave of her hand. But a flutter of her brow-plates indicated she was lying. Imreb copied the flutter to show she caught on. “Okay,” admitted Oshr. “You are my landsaint, after all…” Oshr looked around nervously before coming closer to Imreb and whispering, “Lately, I’ve noticed suspicious youths leering at my wares from a distance. I don’t see them now, but I’ve seen them the past few nights, around this time. I worry they’re planning something drastic.”

Imreb, a good, stoic landsaint, kept an even expression even at this alarming news. “Do you know these youths?”

“No, no…but…is there anything you can do?”

“I’m afraid not,” Imreb sighed, “without any hard evidence. But I’ll assign one of my knights to keep watch down here at night. Would that make you feel safer?”

“That would be wonderful, landsaint,” said Oshr, smiling wide, her hands clapping together, and her brow-plates raising. “Now, sweet landsaint, what was it you needed?”

“Let’s speak on that inside,” said Imreb, gesturing through the gap still left in the storefront’s shutters.

Oshr nodded and led Imreb inside, closing the shutter behind them. Oshr stood behind the counter at the back as Imreb leaned against it from the other side.

“Allow me to begin by showing you something,” Imreb said. From her coat pocket she retrieved the leaking sapphire thoughtstone, her brow-plates clenched so as to ignore its speech.

Oshr reacted to the thoughtstone’s wailing immediately, her brow-plates seeming to nearly pull away from her face. “Raamfire,” she moaned, “what are you showing me, saint?”

“Confiscated faulty thoughtstone, as you may have guessed.” Imreb set the sapphire on the counter between them. “What can you tell me about its manufacture?”

Oshr futilely covered her brow-plates with one slender hand and delicately plucked the sapphire between thumb and forefinger. She rolled the cut stone between her fingers, eyes scanning the facets. “Yes,” she said, squinting, “there are some obvious flaws here. Rather glaring, honestly. What novice cut this?”

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me,” Imreb sighed. “Do you know any local…amateurs or enthusiasts?”

“Well…there’s of course the topside jeweler, Glaa’ib, but while insufficient to my skill –” she made a sour face “– he is not this bad…I believe he took on an apprentice lately, but I heard they had a falling out. Not sure what happened to him.”

“What was his name?” Imreb asked.

“Oh, I’m not sure…Something like ‘Druugam’ or ‘Mogram’ or…something. I’m sorry, saint, I only know through hearsay from customers.”

“Don’t worry, Oshr. You’ve been very helpful.” Imreb held out a hand to take back the thoughtstone. Oshr quickly thrust it forward, grateful to be rid of it. The landsaint put it back in her pocket, silencing it and pleasing the two Aajakiri’s brow-plates.

“Blest day,” concluded Imreb as she opened the shutters and passed through the gap.

“Blest day, saint,” responded Oshr, who resumed the process of closing up shop.

Outside, Imreb looked up at the shrine at the end of the street. A solemn group of the faithful gathered around the outer Uodh wall: some kneeling with small prayerbooks in hand, counting out repetitions on their rosary belts as they mumbled the words of ancient saints; some ran their fingers reverently over the gold-inscribed engraved laws of the wall’s surface; others partook in heated ritual debate over the dictates of the priests and Raam himself.

Imreb gazed down the rings of the gates and tried to imagine what lay beyond the last, the Raam gate, that she almost caught a glimpse of earlier. She offered a prayer to that vague image and made her way topside to return home for the night.

[star-my]

berserk tiger - iii. interlocution

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Kim Seo-ah (OC)

Rating: PG-13

WC: 2.2k

CW: characters discuss their relationship (ew, emotions), author's questionable sense of humour leaks through, character is tipsy/has a hangover

A/N: No beta so feel free to point out typos or give concrit. Compliments are always nice. Moodboard photos are taken from Pinterest, edit is mine.

| Series Masterlist & Description | Masterlist | Ao3 |

Taglist (open): @bangtan-famiglia-net@bangtanwritershq @veronawrites

Seo-ah awoke to the sound of birds chirping, the melodic twittering floating in through the window opened a crack.

The heavy curtains were pulled, but a sliver of sunlight made its way through the slit in the middle, showcasing the fluff dancing in the air over her toes.

Covering a yawn, she got out of bed and stretched, noting the wrinkle-free blankets on the other half of the bed. Either Yoongi had made his half when he left or he’d never joined her in the first place. She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

The shower in the ensuite was large and had far too many spouts for one person, or even two. Lately, Seo-ah had taken to using soap when she washed her hair, figuring she could save the cost of hair products, so she hadn’t brought any with her. She helped herself to the ones on the ledge, inhaling the ginger and mint scent with a pleased hum.

Showered and dressed, she headed to the kitchen to make breakfast and found Yoongi and Jinah cleaning up the island together.

A hint of pink showed on his ears and across his cheeks, and Jinah had a far-too-familiar smugness about her. Seo-ah squeezed her eyes shut, then stepped forward with a cheery greeting.

Yoongi greeted her, seemingly relieved, and Jinah gave her nothing but a pleased smirk. “Your plate is under the dome on the table,” she nodded. “We debated saving you some since you’re such a layabed, but decided you do enough to merit a holiday, so I made you a bowl.”

Seo-ah considered calling her mischievous little sister out on her veiled statements but decided she wasn’t prepared to deal with what that would unleash.

“You could’ve woken me up,” she protested, pulling out a chair and taking the chopsticks Yoongi handed her with a smile.

“No, you deserve to sleep in, unnie. Besides, now I can catch up on knowing my brother-in-law!”

Seo-ah choked on her rice. Jinah was Agust D’s sister-in-law, and was calling him oppa. She needed a nap, or maybe more of last night’s whisky.

“I’m glad my two favourite people are getting along,” she managed.

Jinah smiled serenely and Yoongi made his escape. 

~~~

Seo-ah’s phone buzzed. A text from Yoongi.

Min Yoongi: Can you come to my office?

A moment later, another text popped up.

Min Yoongi: The one in my home, not downtown. It’s the second door on the right off the living room.

Yes, because Jinah had gotten the tour before her, busy as she was having a panic attack on the floor of her new closet, and now she had to pretend to know where everything was.

Kim Seoah: Okay, be there in a minute.

Jinah waved her goodbyes, heading off to school, which Hoseok was driving her to, and Seo-ah waited until the taillights disappeared.

She knocked lightly on the door twice.

“Come in.”

Yoongi’s office was neat and clean, with nothing superfluous about it. Shades of grey and black, with some red thrown in for colour. The carpet was a swirl of red and black, and she immediately diverted any further thoughts about the colour schemes.

Two chairs stood in front of his large wooden desk, one a soft wingback and the other an uncomfortable-looking metal. He nodded at the soft chair in a gesture to sit down, so she sat, folding her hands nervously over her knee.

Yoongi’s long fingers pushed a small rectangle across the clear space on his desk to her. “This is yours.”

She picked it up. It was a credit card. She glanced at him. 

“It’s connected to the account under your name at my bank. Use it whenever. I told you I’d pay you for the jobs you take for me, so I’ll automatically deposit your wages there.”

She opened her mouth to refuse it, then closed it again.. She’d literally married him for his money, why would she refuse it now that she was married? Besides, she would be earning it herself, with her acting challenges. She’d quit her job at the pawn shop, intending to get a job closer to her new home. She needed income somehow, for when their contract was over.

“Thank you.”

She opened her mouth to ask him about the sleeping situation, but remembered his flusteredness this morning with Jinah’s teasing, and thought the better of it. But they were married, and they should talk about it like the adults they were. But the sheer awkwardness! Asking your spouse if they were going to sleep with you, even just in the literal sense!

“Spit it out,” he said dryly, noticing her internal struggle.

He asked. Here goes nothing.  

“What were your thoughts about us sleeping together?”

The arm supporting his chin slipped off his chair’s armrest.

“It didn’t seem like you slept in our bed last night,” she mentioned, hoping to help the conversation along. Horror dawned on her. “Was I sleeping on your side?”

He huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to disturb you. We’re still somewhat strangers and I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with a man who’d just admitted he’s a criminal getting into bed with you.”

“We should have discussed this before we got married,” Seo-ah agreed, hoping her cheeks weren’t blushing as red as she felt. “And I apologise for anything my sister may have said this morning.”

“It’s alright. She reminds me of some of my men’s relationships with each other.”

“That’s good.”

“So…you want us to share a bed?”

“I think it would be the easiest thing to do to keep up the ruse, yes,” she said, praying that the blush covering her face would abate. “What if Jinah finds you sleeping on the couch one night, or wherever you slept?”

“I’ll just tell her you kicked me out because we argued,” Yoongi joked. “You have a point. As long as you’re comfortable with it.”

“I brought it up, didn’t I?”

He nodded his agreement at her point. Seo-ah had just felt the flames of awkward embarrassment fade when he turned back to her.

“About our physical relationship–we’ll be required to be somewhat tactile with each other, at least at the VIP events. Holding hands, my arm around your waist, et cetera. Will you be okay with that?”

Seo-ah let out her breath, uncertain if she was disappointed or not. “Yes, that will be fine. We’ll probably have to hug sometimes when Jinah catches us, she’ll find it weird if we never touch. I’m often touching her, just little things, you know? It’s important to me.”

“That will be fine. Is there anything else we need to settle?” “I don’t think so…oh, what are the most important things I should get when I go shopping later? The basics for surviving a society event I might get invited to?”

Yoongi frowned in thought, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not sure, but I know someone who will know.” Pulling out his phone, he texted someone, his thumbs flying over the keyboard.

“She’ll be here in five minutes.”

Seo-ah waited patiently as Yoongi worked in silence, glancing around the utilitarian office and out the half-window wall.

It afforded a lovely view of the porch and circular driveway, so she saw when a black car pulled in and a woman stepped out. She was wearing a blush-pink pantsuit and white stilettos, a white coat over her shoulders and a cherry-pink bag in hand.

A minute later she appeared in Yoongi’s doorway. “You called, boss?”

“You made it,” he said flatly. 

“Unfortunately for you,” she snipped, turning to a bewildered Seo-ah.

“Yah, be nice. Seo-ah, this is Kim Miran, my second-in-command’s wife. Miran, this is my wife, Seo-ah. She needs the basics for surviving elite society’s scrutiny.”

Miran hugged her quickly, stepping back to squeal in delight and clap her hands. 

“Yoongi, I take back every mean thing I said about you. Come on, Seo-ah, let’s shop until he’s broke!”

Seo-ah pulled back, looking to Yoongi for help. The traitor waved her off with a resigned smile. “I trust you to hold Miran in check, Seo-ah!”

~~~

The floorboard just outside their bedroom creaked, making Seo-ah wince as she opened the door. Sneaking in is fine as long as you don't have two dozen bags on your arms making your width impossible to quietly and efficiently move through doorways.

The soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table revealed Yoongi sitting in bed, arms crossed as he stared her down like she was a bird and he a cat. Heh, he was rather catlike, wasn’t he. Imagine calling him a cat to his face. He’d probably be offended it wasn’t a lion or something.

She giggled at the thought, still standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Did Miran take you drinking?”

Seo-ah tried to raise her hand to pinch her fingers together, but they were full of bags. “Just a little,” she giggled. “I didn’t make you broke though.”

He sighed and got out of bed, revealing the fact that he was wearing nothing but boxers, something that made her hastily avert her eyes to the ceiling.

He chuckled at her preserving his innocence and took one armload of bags from her. The sudden change in balance made her tip into him, sending him sprawling on the floor. She landed on him with an oof, all the air blown out of her lungs.

He stared up at her, his petal-pink lips open in surprise. Seo-ah glanced back up at his round eyes. He really did look like a cat at that moment, and she couldn’t help the giggle that sneaked out.

Yoongi moved her off of him and stood up, letting her laugh on the floor as he hauled all of her now-spilled bags to the closet. “I’ll let you sort those out tomorrow,” he announced, coming out and standing over her as she still laughed.

“I’m glad to see you’re a giggly drunk and not a talkative drunk, but I imagine you’d prefer to giggle in bed with me since you were so concerned about it this morning.” He leaned down, grabbed her wrists to pull her up and hauled her over to the bed.

Seo-ah’s giggles stopped abruptly as he manhandled her between the covers, surprisingly gentle for a big bad mobster. She stared at the strands of hair that fell over his forehead. They looked soft. Was it his spicy shampoo?

The hand that he wasn’t tucking under the sheet smoothed the loose hairs back. He paused and glanced up at her.

She ran her fingers through his hair again. It was as soft as it looked. She hoped her hair would be that soft if she kept using his shampoo. 

“Do you like this?” she asked, scarcely above a whisper. 

He nodded. She kept finger-combing it for several minutes, until he finally straightened.

“Good night, Seo-ah.”

~~~

The dull throbbing in her temples was the first thing Seo-ah noticed when she awoke. With a belaboured sigh, she pushed herself up against the headboard.

The glass of water on her nightstand caught her eye. It was still cool. She drank it in three gulps, her mouth drier than a desert.

Stepping into the closet after her shower, nothing but a towel around her, she saw all the bags stacked neatly in a row on her side as the previous night’s memories came back. With a groan, she stepped past them to pull on some old, comfy clothes before facing her husband.

Really? Petting his hair like the cat Drunk Seo-ah was reminded of? Shivering with cringe, she stepped into the kitchen. It was empty today, with her meal again under the metal dome keeping the dishes warm. The bowl of hangover soup was the first thing she reached for.

Once her dishes were washed and put away, she headed to Yoongi’s office.

“Come in.”

She peeked in cautiously.

“Good morning, Seo-ah.”

“Good morning, Yoongi. I’m sorry about last night, if I made you uncomfortable or anything.”

“It’s fine,” he brushed it off. “It’s good you got along well with Miran. She can introduce you to people in society more naturally than I can. And she’ll be a good friend, in general. I’m sure she and her husband suspect something, but no one in my ranks can know that we’re looking for rats. Just…be careful what you say.”

Seo-ah nodded. “I’ll do that. And don’t worry about last night. I was able to spill our story and she didn’t sense anything off about it.”

“Good job. Did you get everything you needed, or will you be going out again today?”

Seo-ah thought about it. “Almost everything. I’ll just be out for a couple hours if Miran is free now.”

“Alright, be safe. When you get back, we should discuss bodyguards.”

“Okay. I’ll text you when I’m back.”

He waved her off and she texted her new friend.

Kim Seoah: I thought of something I need to shop for

Kim Miran: Say less

Kim Miran: Be there in ten!

[lifestreamsblog]

Foamstars: Splatoon is Tired. Try Square Enix.

(Click here for image source)

Before I begin, let me preface this by saying I have never played the single player story modes in any of the Splatoon games. My experiences are all about generic Turf War mode, so this has coloured my experiences.

When I first played Splatoon, I was amazed by the fresh concept, the brilliant mechanics, the unique spin on retro-future (replace “synth” with “punk,” and you’ll get the idea), and the unbelievable music. It was like the 90s met the mid-2010s in every way, and it was glorious. It was the most refreshing online shooter I’d ever played, and I couldn’t get enough. I could hardly wait for the sequels.

Then came Splatoon 2. It felt like more of the same, with a few minor changes and additions that made things better, but it felt like the same old song and dance.

(Click here for image source)

In short, it wasn’t fresh any more.

Not long after this, we got the first Splatoon-like: Ninjala. Being free-to-play, it was accessible to anyone with an internet connection and an online play subscription. I thought it was a great concept, but I let this one pass me by; I never played it. I was too afraid of the potential for toxic microtransactions, and beyond that, I felt it strayed too far from the concepts that made Splatoon so great.

Then we got Splatoon 3. Ugh. This one was a mess. They made the hub world gargantuan, and added lots of extra stuff to do. On the surface, this sounds great, but it just makes the game a confusing mess. They added gimmicks like being able to decorate a locker, but it’s purely there for your enjoyment only. It’s fun for the first ten minutes, but the novelty wears off fast (this is coming from someone who loves novelty).

Last but certainly not least: the mechanics. They’re abysmal at best and downright awful at worst. The balancing for every single weapon has been completely borked. Even if you use a weapon you are very used to using from past games, you will have to re-learn it because they changed all of the balancing. In short, nothing works properly when it comes to weapons. The absolute worst is how they weigh Splatfest results. The scoring system and its metrics are so out of whack, that the team that worked the hardest could potentially lose a Splatfest, or get absolutely no credit at all in the end.

In short, Splatoon has Jumped the Shark. It is worlds away from the original product, and it has lost everything that made it special, and replaced it with tonnes of meaningless rubbish padding.

That brings us to tonight, when I saw this:

This is the reveal trailer for a Splatoon-like called Foamstars, currently in development by Square Enix, to be released on PS4 and PS5.

Let’s begin with the aesthetic. It’s retro-future again, but this time in the synth way, making it very fresh, especially for the target market of Splatoon, which cut their teeth on a punk retro-future aesthetic.

(Click here for source)

I finally saw my classic Splatoon gameplay again (unlike with Ninjala), this time with a twist: instead of ink, you shoot foam. And instead of the foam just sitting there, it creates hills and ledges if you shoot it right, making gameplay dynamic.

In addition, tonnes of new subweapons, all of which feel like an homage to Splatoon classics. It’s as if 岩田さん (Iwata-san) had come back from the grave (Splatoon was his baby).

Long story short, Foamstars is the game I’ve been waiting for! This will be the killer app for the PS5 as much as Splatoon was the killer app for the Wii U. This game has finally prompted me to begin saving for a PS5, and I will be pre-ordering both the PS4 and PS5 versions of this when they are put up for pre-order. Time to watch news about the game’s development like a hawk.

It’s time to throw away your tired old Splatoon 2 and Splatoon 3, and pick up some Square Enix magic, along with a PS5~

[makoblue]

@scorching-passion -- "It's your experience. You're the expert, I'm just along for the ride."

“Have you considered getting off the ride?” Cloud asks, a growl roughing at the edges of his question as the rear wheel squeals and wobbles underneath the sudden additional weight at the back of his bike. 

This isn’t the first time their paths have crossed, but it’s a first for him to encounter someone fucking crazy enough to leap off some ledge Planet knows where onto a moving bike streaking through Midgar’s arterial expressway. He barely had time to brace and steady his mount by the time he registered Roche’s shadow dropping down overhead with a deranged peal of laughter. The only thing that stops Cloud from taking a swing at Roche with the Buster Sword is the fact that the SOLDIER perched behind him hasn’t drawn his own weapon.

Roche seems more interested in play as opposed to fight…or doing his job in any capacity for that matter, and perhaps that puzzles Cloud most of all. Satisfied with his threat assessment, Cloud’s nose wrinkles as he looks down and to the side in the gap under his arm where he can see Roche crouched along the curved, stiff shell of the fender behind the pillion seat with a slaphappy grin. 

“Tch. Whatever. I’m not responsible if you fall off.”

Running additional errands for Tifa keeps him productive and pulling in additional gil between Avalanche’s bombing missions can’t hurt. Gil is gil.

“What do you want?” Cloud glances over his shoulder, sharp, steely, at Roche as the wind whistles past their ears and he weaves his bike seamlessly between rusty work trucks, weary commuter sedans, and the occasional lorry that rattles loudly on it shocks in passing. “Told you before, ‘m not interested in dancing.”

[blondcs]

𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇 𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝟐𝟗: 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚

how was the challenge ? what was the most memorable moment from it for you ?

“the challenge kind of sucked. and like, we didn’t even win. i don’t know, my head just wasn’t really in the game, but i think everyone else enjoyed it. maybe if i actually got to kiss someone,” it’s pointed, as if production was the one that kept her rooted in place and not her own second-guessing. either way, she’s salty about the whole thing, the pointed prompts, the lack of attention, all of it. “

is there anyone you have chemistry with or see yourself wanting to get to know better ?

“i’m all in for dante right now.” well... is she? for the most part, presumably. “he’s so fucking hot and like, sensual and romantic.” she’s speaking with her hands, her shoulders rolling in a sort of half dance that feels sort of italian in itself. “i wasn’t really expecting to jump right into anything, but... i don’t know. he’s kind of hard to resist, and like, i feel like exploring things with anyone else means risking things with him, so... yeah. it’s easy to get kind of lost in him when we’re together.” it’s the rest of the time that could be a problem. “he just seems like a really good guy.” 

do you see your fellow islanders hitting it off with anyone ?

“rhys and i are obviously hitting it off.” then for good measure. “kidding. i think he and seb have a thing, but i thought seb and angel kind of looked like they were vibing. although callie and angel were getting kind of cozy too, but she slept with charlene last night who i think has a thing for naomi—like, why else would she have sucked her toe?—but she obviously slept with angel. it’s a little messy right now. lots of overlap, except for romi and jude. they’re kind of all in and all over each other.” the petty part of her that’s jilted by jude and still irritated with romi for dropping the ‘max’ bomb just barely swallows down the ‘it’s gross’ that’s burns on the tip of her tongue.  

did you share a bed with anyone ? how did that go ? do you think you’ll share with them again ?

“dante and i shared a bed last night, which was—yeah. it was good.” she aims her smile at her lap. “yeah, i don’t know. i’m a little worried he’s too perfect, but i’m trying to like, talk myself off that ledge. what is ‘too perfect’ you know? what, would i prefer someone more fucked up?” yeah, kind of. “i just... it feels so easy with him, which is kind of scary, honestly. like, i’m sure i’ll fuck it up sooner or later.”

what do you think is going on at the other villa ?

“fuck you guys,” she laughs, a bitter roll of her eyes. “i miss like, the vibe of everyone together and i miss josh but like, in a past tense way. like, i miss what we were before everything got so messy when i still had this sort of romanticized ideal of what we could be. and that’s sort of dead in the water now, isn’t it? he probably hates me.” her lips purse to one side, looking off thoughtfully. “i hope he’s not grafting anyone, but not for my sake. i’m just kind of like... i’ve resigned myself to the fact that i can’t have him, right? so after all this it better be because naomi gets him. like, if some bitch swoops in and sweeps him off his feet that’s so fucking annoying. i’d hate that. fuck him either way, though. he should’ve let me graft max in peace.”