#Reality Music

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

The ring was small and silver with a single emerald embedded in the metal.

It wasn’t something flashy, it probably cost less than the smallest gem from his vault all together.

But it was perfect.

Which made it so heartbreaking to turn it down.

“Dick.. you know me so well.. I wish I could take this ring, i really do.”

Dick was still on one knee in the little apartment, but he put the small box down on the floor as he asked.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

Danny let out a bitter chuckle,

“The US government.”

[melanthaeunomia]

Do y’all ever reread an old unpublished fanfic you wrote and then get invested on the storyline but get sad because you never wrote the next part of it, just me?

[royalphantompain]

[phonographica]

David Vorhaus – Virtual World (1993)

[slyratex]

DUMB

I had always been a smart guy. IQ 180, an all As student, summa cum laude graduate, one of the youngest scientists in my faculty.

That is, until I was challenged by one of the jocks from my old school to listen to his favourite song. I had always looked down onto him for his simple taste in music and now he dared me to listen to it without giving in to the beat. ‚You cant judge what you don‘t know, right? That‘d be so stupid!‘, he mocked me when I hesitated, not knowing what I could gain from listening to something else than Mozart or Vivaldi.

I couldn‘t leave this challenge without reply, so I took the bet and listened to that tune of some guy called ‚Timmy Trumpet‘. https://youtu.be/D4m737SW2yc?si=upG5zB5Y_HKoKA9y After just one second I knew I hated this style of music. But I had to keep going to not lose the bet, so I decided to just endure this test.

‚I play my games, you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Yes, that‘s me.

‚But I don’t wanna know it, rather focus on the fun!‘

Yes, that‘s him.

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

I‘d definitely do that.

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

Did they have to repeat it so often? I just counted 26 times! Well, I think that‘s because the typical audience of that supposed ‚artist‘ can‘t memorise more lyrics than that. But just as I was thinking that, an image of said artist flashed before my eyes, looking at me as if he was swearing revenge for insulting him.

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

34! I caught my feet going with the beat and instantly stopped it. No chance he was winning this bet!

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

55! I suddenly felt like I had forgotten something. But I couldn‘t figure out what it was.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

76! I recognised that strange feeling was connected to a drop. A drop? A drop of what? A drop of temperature? No, it was actually getting rather hot and I felt the urge to pull of my shirt.‘

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

97! Was it the beat dropping? Hell, yeah! Timmy Trumpet always dropped the beat like a pro! I didn‘t even know what dropping the beat meant, being new to all this, but who cared?

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

118! I suddenly realised what was dropping, but it was too late. With every ‚dumb‘, my IQ was dropping down! Something told me it had to be… like… half a point per repetition? Damn, that sounded like math… how many ‚dumb’s had there been? Divided by two… damn, this is hard… and subtracted from… and… 121!?! That‘s barely scratching the mark for being highly intelligent! Come on, this has to be a bad joke!

‚I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

123. A jerk. One, two, three. Just a jerk. Yeah, these are numbers I can work with. A jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb. I couldn‘t stop going along with the lyrics while my old class mate smiled at me like a silly jerk.

‚I’ve got a worth in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

128 ‚dumb’s and my IQ dropped down to 114, only one standard deviance over average. No, I can‘t let him do that to me! I’m special! I have a worth in the world of the smart and educated! I‘ve got inventions to create and discoveries to make!

‚I won’t be the one you want!‘

Right!

‚If you can’t be one with dumb!‘

Oh, damn! I have to be one with dumb! Wait, that doesn‘t even make sense grammatically!‘

‚Cause I’m just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

134! Ha! One, three, four! Haha! Did I forget one number? Hahaha! Who cares? I‘m just a jerk!

Suddenly I found myself singing out loud along with the song:

‚I play my games you work away the day! You’re blowing up your brains for something smart to say!‘

Stupid nerds wasting their time with work and learning when there are weights to be lifted, parties to be held, holes to be filled!

‚But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun!‘

They‘re the stupid ones. I‘m the genius, because I don‘t waste time trying to be one!

‚So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!

And my jerk bro joined in, both of us jumping and partying like idiots:

‚Dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb! But I don’t wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

169! Hahaha! 69! So good! I laughed. I didn’t even know why. I just had fun. I didn’t even count anymore. And the beat dropped, and my IQ dropped, all down to 95, and we dropped our shirts and showed off our jock bodies. And while all of it dropped down, Timmy Trumpet bowed down, as an artist having finished another masterpiece.

And I bowed down in front of him, thanking him, laying my drained out IQ points to the ground before him, giving my life to him to never have any goals again than getting swole and partying half naked to his great songs.

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

And as the song faded, my favourite song from my favourite artist, my thoughts faded into simplicity, my IQ settling at a comfy 85, one standard deviance below average, right before the beginning of a light learning disability. Not that I was interested in complex stuff like that anymore. Or even able to comprehend it. All I knew was that I had reached the jerk spot, that sweet spot right between your everyday stupidity and concerning imbecility, where I was still able to manage my daily routine and training plans, but was assured to get a headache from hard stuff like… doing equations and reading science stuff. So I think I‘ll make sure to stay far away from that shit from now on!

I put the song on repeat to make my IQ click into place and lock it where it was to make sure I‘d never lose that silly happiness and fun a jerk like me enjoyed. And I proudly sang along:

‚Call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!‘

[lingrimmart]

Lazy and Roui are two music nerds who love talking about their favorite genres and arguing about music history.

But neither of them had any talent for playing or making music. If they did, they would start their own band, for sure.

A release from our Patreon! ☆

[blogalahezy]

[wovenvessel]

[alwaysformike]

ִֶָ𓏲࣪ 𝐒𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐘 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒🫐༉‧

when a nosy and hateful interviewer attempts to woe michael by tearing you, his fiance, down, he must show her that you are not to be tested.

chat i'm cooked this is my first michael ff 😔💪 i actually hate this tho 😓

jk in all seriousness heyyy pyt, how u doin love? content warnings : fingering, public and risky sex (ish?), suggestive content, bitchy interviewers, michael being TOOO FINEEEE

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆. it filled the room, worming the void of sound into every inch of the space. you sigh, desperate for someone to speak, for someone to fill the emptiness.

of course, it was your choice to come with michael to his interview. but, in your defense, this one was definitely different! it wasn't like you had never been to one with him before, but this one seemed to have something tense in the air.

michael, your fiancé, was hunched over a table. his hand ghosts the paper, signing off on which questions he allows to be asked. if it wasn't for the unyielding stare on you, you may have stayed like that for the rest of the night. just simply observing your love.

you look up, eyes darting around. they land on your starer, a lady. a clipboard in her hands, she is glaring at you. your eyes crinkle in confusion. her lips quirk up into a seductive smirk as her green, cat-lined orbs dart to michael.

it is then, you realize, that she is trying to say what her mouth will not. you attempt to wave this off by raising a arched brow and looking her up and down. she snickers to herself coldly. michael looks up, wandering what the noise is but she has already gone back to writing on her clipboard. the two of you make eye contact, and you shrug at him.

something was off with this woman.

you try to understand, perhaps she was just simply a fan.

but in the deepest corner of your mind, you can't unsee the way her lips turned up into a cruel smile. the way she seemingly mocked you, glowered at you.

the interview has started. you only came, thinking you'd be off to the side to watch. but the lady from earlier, ( sofia, as you've learned ) insists that you join. michael argues her suggestion at first, but when you see her taunting grin, you can't help but agree.

you stare at her, eyes daring for her to try something.

she clears her throat. you can tell she's up to something. her introduction is long-since over and she's ready to ask questions. "michael, i've seen you've brought your lovely fiancée here with you today. so, how did you two meet?" she exaggerates the word 'lovely', eyes batting at michael much more sweetly than they were to you.

he launches into the story of how you two met, specifically at the 1984 grammy awards. its a long story, one he's told far too mant times. you zone out, hands fiddling with your lacy skirt. your squint your eyes, desperately observing sofia. you try to make out her face as she smiles fondly at michael.

"right, love?" he asks you. you're too busy watching how sofia's face changes, how her eyes go dreamy and then snap back to a startling glower at you.

"huh?" you realize he had been speaking to you. "oh right! um. what was the question again?" you smile shyly. he grins, his eyes going up.

"anyways, back to you, mr michael." the interviewer points out. "if you could change one thing about her, what would that be?"

oh.

it finaly clicks what she's doing. you gawk at her in disbelief and then pull your face back disgustingly. lucky for you, michael is not stupid. he sees the pointed looks sofia has thrown to you, sees the puzzling looks you throw back.

all hell would break loose if he wasn't being filmed right now. quickly thinking, he points out how far you are from him. "little one, come closer. you're so far." he scoots your chair closer to his, throwing a small smirk at sofia. "back to the question, nothing. absolutely nothing."

you blush slightly and look back towards your snarky interviewer. her face has flushed red in embarrassment, her plan seemingly backfiring. "of course, mr jackson." his hand wanders to the small in your back, gently rubbing.

you are glad the table is there to cover the way your hands fiddle in your lap, attempting to wave off his affection. she continues on with her insufferable questions, each one meant for michael himself. she never seems to pay much mind to you, until her gaze is steady on you.

michael has moved his hand down to your hip, and you can tell sofia has began watching his actions towards you. this time, it is you who is smirking.

"mr. jackson, as much as we all adore the happy couple, may i suggest we leave affection for the bedroom?" she chuckles, thinking she must've cracked him up with the way his lips turn up into a smile.

what she misses, however, is the cheshire appearance to it.

"thank you for that lovely advice, however i think i'm more than welcome to touch my fiancée." his hand is lowering, and you gulp.

"well yes, mr. jackson. just simply a recommendation." she tries to play it off with a bat of her eyelashes, grinning seductively at him.

you feel heat rush to your face and something has snapped. "we only take recommendations from people that actually matter to us, thank you."

the room is silent, her face flushing up once more with embarrassment. michael, whose wandering hand is now on your thigh, squeezes tightly.

"of course." she mumbles, trying desperately to hide the roll of her eyes.

she continues on with her questions, never once addressing you or even looking your way. you resist the urge to grin with pride.

the hand on your thigh is moving downwards, and you are glad the table is there to hide it. he's hiking your mini-skirt up, hand sliding between your legs. the heat, once in your cheeks, is now in your stomach.

your teeth tug at your lip, desperately attempting to hide the up-coming whimpers and pleas.

you heard it here folks, michael jackson was an utter tease!

his hand gently rubbed your inner thigh, just mere centimeters from where you needed him most. though he nodded along to the questions and answered when necessary, you could see his mind was elsewhere.

your eyes float back over to sofia, and you hear her throw another quip to you, a small one that would typically go unnoticed, but you caught it.

you always did.

but you resist the urge for gasp when his slender fingers finally make contact with your clit, rubbing slow and painful circles. you look up, your eyes watching how he's smirking knowingly.

oh, so he knows what he's doing.

you want so desperately to whine and beg for him, but he knows you all too well. he looks down at you, eyes meeting yours and presses his fingers into your clit.

all in once, hes pinching and rubbing your clit. massaging it in fast circles that seemed to never end.

you were close and he had barely even touched you yet. then his fingers were pushed inside, going in and out at a rate faster than you could comprehend. you were sure someone would notice soon, and bit your lip as you tried to push his hand away discreetly.

he simply pulled his fingers out and slapped your hand away. then he was back in, going faster and deeper than before. moans threatened to escape at any given point.

and then it happened, the coil in your tummy breaks and you're letting go. juices seep over his hands. he grins wildly, playing it off as though he was laughing at one of her jokes.

but her eyes look over to you, brows furrowing in confusion. you reach over, simply knocking her clipboard off the table.

"oops," you shrug. she leans down under the table to grab it, and looks up. his finger is still in your puffy pussy, hand dripping in your aroma.

she come back up, her face twisted in anger. this time, it is you who smiles sweetly at her with batting eyelashes.

that is how the rest of the interview goes. her glaring at you both now, not just you. michael catches on, a smile dancing on his lips the entire time.

the interview is over. she's cut it short. whether because she was too angry to continue talking, or because she looked as though she may faint.

the three of you stand up. "thank you so much for coming, you two. it was definitely a pleasure." she keeps things cold and curt.

"you as well, ms sofia." michael smiles charmingly at her, reaching over to grab her hand and press a kiss against it. you curl your face back into shock, brows raising in rage. it is then, however, you notice that he has grabbed her hand with his own sticky, mess filled hand.

she looks down, presumably realizing this two and drops his hand like it's the devil's book of lies.

"well, i certainly hope you had fun. i know i sure did." you say to her, rosy-lips pulling up into a charismatic smile.

masterlist

tags:

[summersreality]

If you want an amazing self concept, you should listen to Megan Thee Stallion and Lizzo.

Thot Shit, Tuned in Freestyle, Megan’s Piano, HISS, Her, Kitty Kat, BOA, Not My Fault, Neva Play, Good As Hell, Truth Hurts, Pink, About Damn Time

If you want to enhance glamour magic, you should listen to Ariana Grande and Sabrina Carpenter

pov, positions, Dangerous Woman, Into You, just like magic, break up with your girlfriend I’m bored, thank u next, 7 rings, yes, and?, Espresso, Please Please Please, Taste, Feather, Looking at Me

If you want to connect to the dreamy part of yourself, you should listen to MARINA

Venus Fly Trap, Oh No!, Man’s World, Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land, Primadonna, Bubblegum Bitch

[cleolinda]

In the UK, since this is the website with the reading comprehension. It's moved up to #4 on the U.S. chart.

I remain fascinated that THIS, the song that didn't even make the album and got released a year later as an afterthought, is the song that's blown up. ("People like the song that's the kind of song that people like," imagine that.)

“Too Sweet” replaces “Take Me to Church” as Hozier’s highest-charting hit in the U.K. He broke out in a major way more than a decade ago with that religious-leaning cut, which became a global smash. That cut peaked at No. 2 in the U.K., as well as in the U.S.

I'm yelling

2. "religious-leaning"

[explodingstarlight]

spent a month mashing two of my long term hyperfixations together into an AU, bone apple teeth

I wouldn't consider this a crossover as much as an inspired AU because autism brain drew parallels between the two narratives and I think it would be fun to explore the earlier years of the apocalypse, before the world is absolutely decimated (alongside many of the resources), before the fam loses Donnie and Raph, et cetera. I have Plans™

Paying homage to this iconic panel from The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: National Anthem:

Still finalizing each of the bro's code names, but here are the initial drafts and close-ups of their designs:

Riff-Raph

Donamite

Antimatter Master-Plan

Magic Mic

[laundrybiscuits]

Eddie’s doing some dumb trick with a couple of wooden spoons, clever hands making them move through the air in improbable ways, and Steve’s about to bite his whisk in half. 

He’d thought for sure that Eddie would be going home the first week; Edward Munson, 29, bartender/musician from Brighton with mismatched tattoos and wild hair, seemed like exactly the kind of pretentious asshole who would flame out early with some ill-advised hipster experimentation. If Steve (28, social worker from Indiana, USA) had been a complete asshole, he’d have said that Eddie didn’t have the fundamentals. That he was all sizzle, no steak. 

It’s a good thing Steve’s not a complete asshole, because Eddie’s been blowing the technicals out of the water so consistently it’s actually pretty fucking embarrassing. His signatures and showstoppers are making a very respectable showing too, except for the time he tried to incorporate some fresh pandan extract and fucked up the liquid ratio, leaving him with a dripping mess that Mary’d declined to even try. 

Afterwards, Steve had seen him leaning against a tree and struggling to light a cigarette. Steve went over for no particular reason, flicking on his lighter and holding it out like a peace offering. Eddie looked at him warily, but bent over the offered flame. 

“Can’t believe I made it through this one,” Eddie said after a moment, white smoke curling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I feel like that every week.” Steve leaned against the tree next to Eddie. It was a big tree, the kind that’s probably been growing in this field since before England was even England. 

“Nah, but—c’mon, you know what I mean.”

“You had some bad luck with your showstopper. Happens to the best of us, man. Your signature hand pies looked sick as hell.” Steve’s own hand pies had turned out pretty well, so he was feeling generous. It had only been the third week; plenty of time for Steve to snag Star Baker, though even by that point, Steve had been getting the creeping feeling that he was being a little too American about the whole thing. Everyone else seemed to think competitiveness was some kind of deadly sin. It was—actually kind of nice, to get the same kind of nerves he’d always gotten before high school basketball games, but know that he wasn’t really fighting against anyone except himself in the tent.

Anyway, the very next week, Eddie had done some kind of kickass gothic castle with a shiny chocolate dragon and gotten Star Baker for the second time. Steve had clapped him on the back, appropriately manly. Eddie had pulled Steve into a real hug, arms tight around Steve’s shoulders and his whole lean body pressed up close and warm. It had only lasted a moment, and then Eddie had bounded over to Mel and Sue, both of whom he’s been thoroughly charming since the get-go. 

Steve thinks that when this season—or, uh, series—airs, no matter where Eddie places, the entire country is going to be just as charmed. Eddie’s going to get whatever kind of cookbook deal or streaming show he wants. Sponsors will take one look at that handsome face and charismatic grin, and a whole world of possibilities is going to open up for Eddie. 

Steve’s not in it for any of that, of course. He’s here kind of by accident, because Robin pushed him to apply, and it’s a goddamn miracle he’s been holding his own. Hell, it’s a miracle he’s in this country at all. When Robin had started looking at the Cambridge MPhil program in linguistics, she’d said wouldn’t it be great if and he’d snorted, yeah right, like I could ever get whatever job I’d need to move to another freaking country, but then—well. Things had happened the way they’d happened, and now Robin’s almost finished with her degree and Steve is taking time off from the London charity he works at in order to be on Bake Off. 

He’s told all this to the cameras, plus the stuff about how baking started as a way for him to connect with the kids he used to babysit in Indiana, blah blah blah. He thinks it’s probably too boring for them to air, but he gets that they have to try to get a story anyway. 

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, is probably going to be featured in all the series promos. Steve is rabidly curious about what Eddie’s story is, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to just ask. It should be the easiest thing in the world. They’ve got kind of a camaraderie going, the two of them; a bit of a bromance, as Mel’s put it more than once. 

It’s true they get along pretty well, and the cameras have been picking up on it: on the way Eddie’ll wander over to Steve’s bench like a stray cat whenever they get some downtime, how they wind up horsing around sometimes, working off leftover adrenaline from the frantic rush of caramelization or whatever. There’s the time Eddie had hopped up on a stool to deliver some kind of speech from Macbeth, of all things, and overbalanced right onto Steve, who had barely managed to keep them both from careening into a stand mixer. Sue had patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Well, boys, that’ll be going in the episode for sure.”

They both get along with the other contestants just fine, of course, but they’re two guys of about the same age with no wife and kids waiting at home. It’s only natural that they’re gravitating together, becoming something like friends, Steve figures. It’s pretty great that he’s getting at least one real friend out of this whole thing.

It would be even greater if Steve could stop thinking about Eddie’s hands in decidedly non-friendly ways. With all the paperwork he’s signed, he can’t even complain to Robin about how Eddie looks with his sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos on his forearms, kneading dough and grunting a little under his breath with effort. Steve had almost forgotten to pre-heat his oven that day. 

Two benches away, Eddie fumbles the spoons he’s been juggling with a clatter, and he bursts out laughing, glancing over at Steve like Steve’s in on the joke. Steve grins back, heart twanging painfully in his chest, and thinks: well, fuck. Guess this is happening.

[minoharus]

we're gonna kick your ass

and then we're gonna

[eternal-forever]

HOW TO START MEDITATING

Hi if you don’t know me I’m jonah I work with the void state, meditation, manifestation, and shifting awareness.

I’ve gotten some questions on how to start meditating so here’s how to start if you never have before or are not sure what to do.

To start out meditating put on some calming music and sit/lay in a comfortable position

(make sure you’re not tired or if you are make sure u won’t fall asleep)

Then try to clear your thoughts as best you can. (Don’t push your thoughts away just let them drift. It’s ok if you are having trouble with it)

Then just chill for a while letting your thoughts drift (idk how to explain it)

And stop once you feel like you have calmed your thoughts/are bored

(it’s best to aim for at least 10 minutes but don’t set an alarm. You will just be waiting for the alarm to go off the whole time.)

When you are coming out of your meditation start with just moving your hands slowly then opening your eyes

For me meditation is all about calming my mind so try your best to do that.

You should try to meditate at least every 2 days but it’s best to every day. (But don’t force yourself to if you’re not feeling it)

After a while of doing this and learning how to quiet your mind it should become easier for you to get into a meditative state.

I hope this helps!!