#Trap Brasileiro

[fuckwallpapers]

[guilseranewsblog]

Tz da Coronel - Amanheceu (Feat. Neyriellen Ferreira)

ESTREIA TZ DA CORONEL - AMANHECEU FEAT. NEYRIELLEN FERREIRA

Já podes fazer o “download” na Guilsera News da nova música de “Tz da Coronel” intitulada “Amanheceu” que conta com a participação de “Neyriellen Ferreira” confira no link abaixo. Artista: Tz da Coronel Feat. Neyriellen FerreiraTitulo: AmanheceuGenero: TrapFormato: Mp3Ano: 2024

[carolsantosart]

Redbubble shop: Carooolarte.redbubble.com

[evilthotiana]

I hate Abstract Hip Hop African Music Afrobeats Alt-Country Alté Alternative Dance Alternative R&B Alternative Rock Alt-Pop Ambient Ambient Dub Ambient Pop Ambient Techno Americana Art Pop Art Punk Art Rock Avant-Garde Jazz Ballroom Baltimore Club Bedroom Pop Blues Boom Bap Brazilian Music Breakbeat Breakbeat Hardcore Bubblegum Bass Caribbean Music Central African Music Chamber Folk Chamber Pop Chicago Drill Chillout Chillwave Classical Music Cloud Rap Conscious Hip Hop Contemporary Folk Contemporary R&B Country Country Soul Dance Dancehall Dance-Pop Deconstructed Club Deep House Detroit Techno Disco Downtempo Dream Pop Drill Drill and Bass Drone Drum and Bass Drumless Dubstep Dub Techno East Coast Club East Coast Hip Hop Electro Electroacoustic Electronic Electronic Dance Music Electropop Emo Emo Rap Experimental Experimental Hip Hop Experimental Rock Film Soundtrack Folk Folk Rock Footwork French Hip Hop Funk Funk brasileiro Funk Rock Future Garage Gangsta Rap Garage Punk Garage Rock Ghetto House Ghettotech Glitch Glitch Hop Glitch Pop Grime Hard Bop Hardcore [EDM] Hardcore Hip Hop Hardcore [Punk] Hardcore Punk Hip Hop Hip Hop Soul Hip House Hispanic American Music Hispanic Music Horrorcore House Hyperpop Hypnagogic Pop IDM Indie Folk Indie Pop Indie Rock Indietronica Industrial Industrial & Noise Industrial Hip Hop Industrial Techno Instrumental Hip Hop Jamaican Music Jangle Pop Jazz Jazz-Funk Jazz Fusion Jazz Rap Juke Jungle Krautrock Math Pop Math Rock Memphis Rap Microhouse Midwest Emo Minimal Synth Minimal Techno Minimal Wave Modern Classical MPB Neo-Psychedelia Neo-Soul New Wave Noise Pop Noise Rock Northern American Music Nu Jazz Outsider House Plugg PluggnB Plunderphonics Political Hip Hop Pop Pop Rap Pop Rock Pop Soul Post-Bop Post-Hardcore Post-Industrial Post-Punk Post-Punk Revival Post-Rock Power Pop Progressive Breaks Progressive Electronic Progressive Pop Psychedelia Psychedelic Folk Psychedelic Pop Psychedelic Rock Psychedelic Soul Punk Punk Rock R&B Reggae Regional Music Rock Shoegaze Singer-Songwriter Slacker Rock Slowcore Smooth Soul Sophisti-Pop Soul Soul Jazz Sound Collage Soundtrack South American Music Southern African Music Southern Hip Hop Southern Soul Spiritual Jazz Spoken Word Synth Funk Synthpop Tech House Techno Traditional Folk Music Trap Trap Soul Trip Hop UK Bass UK Funky UK Garage UK Hip Hop West African Music West Coast Hip Hop Western Classical Music Wonky

[kazsas]

e se os dreamies fossem brasileiros?

peço mil desculpas pela demora nas postagens, mas isso só aconteceu por motivos de: trabalho e senac.

juro pra vcs que eu tô pra ficar maluca tendo que estudar e trabalhar ao mesmo tempo com folga só no domingo e quarta

마그

queria cursar nutrição, mas acabou sendo estudante de música na UEL; já passou mal dentro da aula quando viu o spfc perder um jogo; ficou bêbado na primeira calourada e acordou com metade da cabeça raspada; estudou em escola católica e era representante de classe; os parentes canadenses o chamam de Mark, os avôs coreanos de Minhyung, mas em terras londrinenses ele é o Marquinhos.

런쥔

é o crush do departamento de letras da UNINOVE; todo começo de ano vai pra Jilin ver os avôs; todas as festas de aniversário tinham o tema do zoboomafoo; vai na liberdade comer guioza e chorar de saudade da família; o maior soft de boy do ig, só posta foto conceito; seu apelido na infância era jack chan.

제노

posta vídeo de academia e thirst trap; cursa educação física; faz freela de modelo quando não tá atolado de trabalho da facul; não ironicamente colocou na bio "o tal do neno"; o crush da escola, faculdade, academia, estágio, rua, bairro, cidade, ...; fama e pegador mas ainda é apaixonado na crush do 7° ano; o maior sonho da infância era ser protagonista da malhação

해찬

criança encapetada com roupa do homem aranha e sandália que pisca; fugiu de casa com 12 anos pq tinha brigado com a mãe, foi parar no cidade alerta e encontrado 2 semanas depois no Peru; faz vídeo de comédia pro ig e tem mais de 5M seguidores; faz curso técnico de marketing; flamenguista surtado que chora em todo jogo; dizia que ia casar com a Maísa

재민

outro aspirante a tiktoker; carioca safado; toda sexta-feira de noite posta "onde é a boa hj?🤪"; todo mundo no ensino médio jurava que ele ia ser pai na adolescência (até ele pensava que ia ser mesmo); cursa economia e é líder da atlética; já foi em todos os bailes possíveis e imagináveis; já perdeu metade do salário do estágio no jogo do tigrinho

첸레

é o seu primo rico; estudou em escola particular a vida toda; largou a faculdade de advocacia no terceiro semestre pra fazer mochilão; foi uma das crianças gênios reveladas no Raul Gil; paga de homem de negócios no ig, mas no close friends faz a trend de make drag; cria de condomínio

지성

youtuber de asmr, @/andrep4rk na roxinha e yt; cursa engenharia da computação na estácio; posta trap nos stories; de vez em quando posta uns vídeos dançando ou jogando; hitou no tiktok com a trend do "desabafo do dia meninas"; foi ator mirim pra comercial de natal da cacau show; o famoso eboy meio nerd

muito obrigado por ter lido até aqui!! peço mil perdões caso a escrita esteja uma bomba😭

opiniões, pensamentos, acréscimos, elogios, ameaças, recomendações ou qualquer outro tipo de comentário são bem vindos!!!

[kyuala]

Oi amg! se os meninos conhecem a música brasileira, qual você acha os artistas e os gêneros musicais que o cast ia gostar? Tipo um mpb, bossa nova, rap , funk

oiii meu amor! ai obrigada pela ask 🤭 acabei fazendo alguns como se eles já fossem brasileiros mesmo mas vamos lá vamos pensar 💭

meu deus o enzo ia amar mpb e bossa nova é a cara deleeeee essas coisas 😭 vou ficar devendo artista específico até pq eu mesma não conheço mto mas ele prefere os originais das antigas e não os novos ☝🏼 vejo mto as divas aki do site falarem dele com belchior e confio mt nelas!!

o pardella curte tudo e mais um pouco com este homem não tem tempo ruim!! mas sou APAIXONADA na ideia dele com estilos bemmmm populares que dá pra ir em qualquer buteco e dançar agarradinho ☝🏼 então fica aqui meu voto pro samba (prefere original tbm, tipo um fundo de quintal, um zeca pagodinho sabe?) e pro forró (aqui vai qualquer uma mas ctza que ele ama um aviões e um falamansa ‼️)

a gente fala mt do matías com funk mas já que é pra colocar ele na skin de enzo cria de condomínio paulista vamo logo meter um rap nacional e principalmente trap! desculpa mas isso é a cara dos mlk mandrake playboy branco aki de sp e cito como fonte incontestável o story dele com música do sabotage ☝🏼 o sonho dele é casar com uma tasha tracie e o artista nº1 no spotify wrapped 2023 dele foi o veigh xau (coloco o lain nessa categoria aqui tbm - com o adicional de que ele AMA um brega funk e dança todos!)

o fran vcs vao me desculpar mas tem uma carinha de quem ADORA uma diva pop! nao acho q ele tipo chegue a ser anitter ou sonzer ou algo do tipo mas ta sempre antenado nos lançamentos das maiores da cena do pop br (e das menos mainstream tb! tipo a marina sena, a duda beat) e tem um carinho especial pela cena e cultura drag!!!! ama uma vittar e uma gg e AH cito aqui tbm o fenômeno cultural BANDA UÓ 🗣️‼️ sabe várias coreografias e se joga mtoooo nas baladas qdo toca as que ele conhece

o kuku é um grande enigma pra mim 😭 ia falar que pra ele td ta bom nao tem preconceito nenhum e tbm escuta de tudo que vc colocar PORÉM acabou de me ser revelado aqui em sonho que ele por ele mesmo escutaria bastante rock nacional!!!! gente pensa comigo, ele tem uma carinha de quem adoraria pitty, skank e principalmente os clássicos, ama um titãs, um capital inicial, um legião urbana, paralamas 💭 é a CARA dele !!

pro pipe acho que diria quase o mesmo que pro matías (apesar de achar que trap/rap combina mais com o matías mesmo) então ficamos aqui com o funk!! tb curte mto um rockinho nacional (herança dos pais dele) mas no off pra ele não tem mta frescura ou mto segredo ele ouve o que tá bombando e nao eh mto de artistas mas sim de playlists ☝🏼 todas que tão tocando atualmente nos rolês que ele cola ele ta escutando, é apaixonado por um mega (principalmente se for sampleado de hit gringo anos 2000) e ta com aquariano nato no repeat desde que estourou 💭

apesar de tbm ser MUITO do funk também (sabe vários passinhos e manda sem vergonha alguma na rodinha fodase) o simón é mto do PAGODE meu Deus do céu!!!!!! agora imagina vc aqui comigo um simón td alegrinho de cerveja, te puxando pela cintura com um sorrisão mais bobo q tudo e te recitando a letra de camisa 10 da turma do pagode junto com a caixa de som já meio prejudicada que trouxeram pro churrasco entre amigos 💭💭💭💭 FALA SÉRIO MANAS este homem GRITA a energia romântico cafajeste e putífero que apenas o pagode exige e exala!!!! e ele não tem mta frescura tbm não viu? curte os mais novinhos e atuais mas pra ele nada supera os clássicos de 1990/2000/2010 do exalta, da turma do pagode, do sorriso maroto, do pixote 🛐 tbm não nega um sambinha e vê o zeca pagodinho como figura paterna

o rafa e o santi me passam vibes de que adoram um vocal feminino (os amantes de mulheres q nois gosta 🤭) então não sei mas me veio marisa monte (e tribalistas ‼️) e outras divas da mpb na cabeça!

o della corte tbm me passa mto vibes de um rockinho nacional mas vou ignorar em favor do meu headcanon favorito: della agroboy do centro-oeste que adora um sertanejo 🛐💭 pode ser um modão das antigas ou um universitário mais recente que nao interessa ele ta curtindo e cantando todas as letras junto! ama dançar agarradinho também, tem um fraco pelas de corno e sofrência (apesar de ser tão de boa e cabeça firme na vida amorosa dele q nunca nem passa por isso) e não aceita que discordem que a rainha de tudo é a marília (e ta correto! 🗣️)

o blas já temos uma noção pela playlist brazuca dele rs então eu encaixo ele quase nas mesmas categorias que o kuku e o matías: ele ouve de tudo um pouco quando ta com os amigos mas ele mesmo não é mto chegado em tudo não - conhece e curte mto rock clássico dos anos 80 por conta dos pais e cresceu ouvindo charlie brown jr, mas daí acabou conhecendo bastante rap e trap (principalmente os mais atuais - tudo culpa do matías) por conta dos amigos e hoje praticamente só ouve esses 3 sons

é isso vidas espero q tenham gostado! 😘

[viajandopelomar]

FANFIC NERIS (NESTA X ERIS)

Hey guys, I'm writing a Neris (Nesta x Eris) fanfic on AO3, and I've decided to use Tumblr as a means of promotion. That's the only reason I created an account here, it just took longer than I thought to finally post on the site.

But anyway, in this post is chapter one, the prologue. I've decided to post the entire prologue, and the next ones will be excerpts from the chapters.

And this is the link to the fanfic in English:

You can also read it in Brazilian Portuguese (PT BR) here:

🇧🇷 Você também pode lê-la em português brasileiro (PT BR) aqui:

But I recommend that you read it on the AO3 website, so that you can comment and leave your opinions for future readers. And there's also space for chapter notes.

So you can do whatever you want with this post. Maybe comment on the same thing as the website 👀, because that attracts more people. That's if you want to, of course.

Happy reading!

Summary:

A rewrite of ACOSF where Nesta Archeron doesn't allow herself to be molded so easily and was as I imagine her to be.

Not content with being dragged to the top of a mountain against her will, Nesta will have to be patient with her plans. She sees no other loophole in prison than a marriage proposal to the heirs of Autumn.

Neris (Nesta x Eris).

⚠️Todos the rights to the original work belong to Sarah J. Maas⚠️

PROLOGUE

A ✨ ridiculous ✨ intervention

— You come under our jurisdiction the moment you spend our gold, and not a little, on wine. — Amren challenged her. Nesta turned to look at Feyre, who nodded.

— So you made me come here for a sermon?

Feyre's eyes softened.

— No, it's not a sermon. — She glanced at Rhysand, still trapped in an icy silence by the fireplace, and then at Amren, rabid like an animal.

— My life is none of your business and will not be the subject of any discussion.

Rhysand growled. She hated how they all looked like animals, it was just another reminder of what had been ripped away from her.

Cassian leaned forward in his chair, and Nesta held Rhys's gaze, inserting the challenge he hated so much

She would die just not to bow to him. None of them. Rhysand was aware of this and he hated her terribly. Even Amren had a certain respect for her, but not Nesta. She hadn't been taught to bow, anyway. Not to a fairy who loved to feel superior to her.

— That's enough! — Feyre exclaimed to her husband. — I told you to stay out of it. Go or stay, but keep your mouth shut. — Rysandy crossed his arms again, but remained silent. — That goes for you too. — said Feyre to Amren. The female cleared her throat in protest, but then curled up in her chair. Her sister turned to her and settled on the sofa, squeezing the velvet pillows. Feyre swallowed as Nesta turned to her.

— We have to make some changes, Nesta. — I said to her — You... We.

Where the hell was Elain?

— I take the blame for going so far, for letting things get so bad. After the war with Hybern, with everything that was happening... You... I was supposed to be by your side, helping you, and instead I wasn't there, but now I'm ready to admit that it's partly my fault.

— Your fault for what? — Nesta hissed.

— For you and the shit you do. — said Cassian. He had said the same thing at the Summer Solstice. And now, as before, Nesta was hardened by that insult, that arrogance... — Look — Cassian continued — it's not about moral failings, but...

— I know how you feel, Nesta — Feyre interrupted. Nesta blinked. It's time to make some changes. Starting now.

— Keep your savior spirit out of my life.

— You don't have a life. — said Feyre. — And I'm not going to sit here and watch you destroy yourself without doing anything. — she placed her tattooed hand on her heart, as if that gesture meant something. — After the war, I decided to give you time, but it was the wrong choice. I was wrong.

— Really?

— It's time to stop. — Feyre murmured in a trembling voice. So unprotected, with all her weaknesses exposed just in the tone of her voice — The way you behave, the apartment and everything else, it's time to get out of here, Nesta.

— And where do you think I should go? — Nesta replied in an icy tone.

Feyre looked at Cassian. Who, for the first time, wasn't smiling.

— You're coming with me. — said the sorcerer. — To train.

— What?

— At the end of this meeting, — Feyre clarified, you will move to the House of Wind. — And he pointed with his head towards the palace carved into the mountains at the eastern end of the city. — Rhys and I have decided that every morning you will train with Cassian at the Illyrian camp, Refuge of the Wind. And after lunch, all afternoon, you will work in the library under the House of the Wind. The apartment, the dirty taverns... It's over, Nesta.

— I'm not moving into the House of the Wind. — said Nesta. — And I'm not going to train in that miserable village. Least of all with him. — She gave him a venomous look.

— You have no choice. — said Amren, breaking the oath she had made to Feyre a few moments before.

— You do the thinking — Nesta challenged her.

— Your apartment is being emptied as we speak. — Amren continued. — When you come back, it will be empty. Your clothes have already been sent to the House of the Wind, although I doubt they'll be any use in your training at the Refuge of the Wind.

— You can't do this to me. I'm not a member of this court.

— But you have no problem spending this court's money. — refuted Amren. During the war you accepted the position of Emissary. You never resigned, so the law still considers you a member of the court. — An almost imperceptible movement of Amren's fingers and a book flew towards Nesta before falling onto the cushions beside her. — Page two hundred and thirty—six, if you want to check.

She wouldn't. Such a law was ridiculous, Rhysand couldn't go around locking up anyone he liked just because they worked in his court. And Nesta hadn't even done that.

— Here are your options, girl. — said Amren, lifting his chin.

Nesta noticed Feyre's gaze on her husband: the agony in her sister's eyes, Rhysand's barely contained anger at the pain his partner felt because of it, as if she were still a child who needed her father to interfere in her affairs. Poor Feyre.

— Option one. — said Amren, raising a finger. — You move into the House of Wind, train with Cassian in the morning and work in the library in the afternoon. You won't be a prisoner. But you won't have anyone to fly or cross you into the city. If you want to go, go ahead. If you have the courage to face the ten thousand steps of the house. — Amren's eyes flashed in defiance. — And if you can scrape together a couple of pennies to buy something to drink. But if you stick to this plan, after a few months we'll reassess where and how you're going to live.

— And the other option? — Nesta spat.

— You go back to the human lands.

— And those would be my only options?

— I... — Feyre recovered before saying the rest — I'm sorry — and straightened her back. — Yes.

Nesta lifted her chin.

— I refuse. — she declared. Amren opened his mouth, but Nesta didn't allow him to interrupt. "I didn't spend the court's money, I spent my own. How long do you intend to hide my inheritance? I haven't received a single penny, so I just assumed that the money was being deducted from my sum. And if you insist on saying that I'm a servant of your court, High Lord — she stared at Rhysand, observing all the tension in his clenched jaw. This one would surely be dead by now if she weren't his precious companion's sister — You also owe me a year's worth of back wages. Add some interest on each month and then deduct my expenses. That's what I should have done from the start, since I wasn't compensated for my efforts at the meeting of the Grand Lords, let alone for being the temporary assistant to their healers. I would appreciate proper compensation for my efforts. I believe that all my expenses over the last year have been within the budget I am owed.

Feyre's eyes were red and her mouth pressed together. Perhaps she expected everything to happen quickly, but Nesta wouldn't give in. She hadn't given in before the cauldron and the king, so why should she before those pompous fairies who thought they owned the world? Cut thieves, Nesta reminded herself. Thieves of cuts and destroyers of cuts. Feyre had no capacity to judge Nesta's actions.

Rhysand looked angrier than ever. Good, she thought. Get on top of me and prove yourself.

— If that's all they had to talk about — Nesta stood up — I'll leave.

—You're going to sit down. And you will listen. — Rhysand said.

— You're not my High Lord. You don't give me orders.

— That's enough, miss," Amren interrupted, his voice abrupt and almost frothing with anger, ignoring Nesta's sober lucidity. — You will do as you are told. You have no choice in the matter, you've already proved how irresponsible you are with your own money.

— And you've proved how hypocritical you can be. — Nesta shot her eyes towards Feyre, who was almost curled up against the cushions, barely holding back her tears — Can't you see how unfair all this is?

— I...

— It was you who dragged me into this mess, into this horrible place. It's because of you that I have this body," she gestured to herself, "that I'm stuck here. And you still dare to say that the way I live this immortality crap isn't a life? Whose fault is that, then?

The blow was accurate, because Feyre cringed and now she no longer wore the High Lady's shield. Feyre was back to being Nesta's little sister. She could have taken it hard, but she didn't give a damn. Feyre wanted to arrest her and drag her off to a warrior camp to be like her. Nesta wasn't a savage like Feyre, and she wasn't the type to take orders quietly either.

Cassian's words earlier had been foolish when he had said so arrogantly that Feyre had needed him to fetch her because she was too busy. So busy that she was laughing with her family right up until the moment Nesta entered the room. Her sister could barely hold a conversation with her unaccompanied, Nesta couldn't imagine Feyre taking an active role with her title.

— That's enough. — Feyre gasped, her voice shaking. She swallowed, but didn't back down. — That's enough. You'll move into the House of Wind, you'll train and work, and I don't care what poison you spit. You're going to do it.

— And how exactly do you intend to do that? By getting into my head and forcing me? Be my guest. — she had the impression that Feyre was holding her breath — because I'm not going to do any of this on my own. In fact, that's what you do, isn't it? You and your husband. You get into the minds of those who don't show obedience and make them give in. He's known for things like that, so I'm not surprised you've become the same.

A tear trickled from Feyre's left eye. Nesta liked it, although she wasn't proud of it. It was Feyre who had started it all, so let her bear Nesta's brunt.

Rhysand was closer to Nesta than she remembered. He had moved, either to attack her or to grab Feyre away, she couldn't choose between the two alternatives. Feyre was quick to get up and shoo the others away, claiming that she wanted to speak to Nesta alone. One last sentimental attempt. Rhysand's mutter about waiting in the corridor didn't go unnoticed, as if that shiny shield wasn't enough.

Nesta wanted to shout that she had been in Feyre's life for over twenty years. Rhysand had arrived last year, and since he had, Feyre had been killed and then dragged into a war, and by extension, Nesta and Elain had also had to be taken to war. Perhaps he was the real problem.

Nesta kept her spine straight, her back aching with effort. She had never hated anyone as much as all of them at that moment. Except, probably, the king of Hybern. They had talked about her, judging her incapable, out of control, and...

She took a breath, steadying herself. She wouldn't be the one to break the silence. Feyre fiddled with her wedding ring, looking down at her lap.

— I... I'm sorry.

— You never cared before. — said Nesta. — Why now?

— I told you: it wasn't that I didn't care. We—all of us, I mean—we've had several conversations about it... About you. We... I had decided that giving you some time and space was the best thing. — Feyre said carefully, her voice breaking — By the way, I was hoping you'd get better on your own. I wanted to give you the space to do that, since you lash out at anyone who gets too close, but you never even tried.

Maybe you should try a little harder this year. Cassian's words, spoken on an icy street a few blocks away, still resonated in Nesta's mind after nine months. And then her anger had broken out of her, because Feyre had been foolish enough to ask for another blow.

— So what? You hold silly little meetings, debate about me in my absence, about what I do with my money, and you expect me to be quiet? You're the only one who loves to be taken from place to place at will, Feyre.

— All you've done is use our money. — Feyre continued, too desperate to think straight.

— My money, Feyre. My money. Not Rhysand's." Another flash of sorrow. Nesta's blood sang with the blow.

— But they don't know that!

— It's not my fault anymore. You kept it from me, didn't you? Take the consequences of your actions, sister.

— You spent five hundred gold marks last night! — exploded Feyre, getting up quickly and pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. — Do you have any idea how much money that is?

— I do, but do you? — Feyre stopped and looked at her for a moment, feeling the splinter. — It's my money, how I spend it is none of your business. Get your nosy nose out of my life.

— You don't have a life! — Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was when the bill arrived this morning, when my friends, my family, heard about it?

Nesta didn't like that word. She never liked it. And now Feyre spat it out every chance she got, as if living with snarling animals was something to be proud of.

— Blame the person who humiliated you, then. I didn't read the bill. And if it was meant to affect me, tell them it didn't even come close. All he did was make you shed your precious tears.

Nesta restrained herself from mentioning that she had never intruded on how Feyre spent hours in the hay with Isaac Hale. That would be too low, even for her.

Feyre stopped in the middle of the room, her face blotchy and red. She stared at Nesta in surprise. As if she had made the biggest revelation of the last year. Feyre swallowed, turned around and took a deep breath. A futile attempt at calm. Nesta attacked once more, so that Feyre wouldn't have time to understand what had been said. She would ignore everything when Rhysand wiped away her tears, anyway.

— And this is all about saving your reputation, anyway.

— It's about the impact it can have on me, Rhys and my court if my fucking sister spends all our money on wine and games and does nothing to contribute to the well—being of this town! If we can't control you, then what right do we have to rule anyone else?

— I'm not something you need to control.

— That's why you're going to train at the Wind Refuge Camp. You'll learn to control yourself

— I won't.

— Yes, you will, even if we have to tie you up and drag you there. You'll follow Cassian's lessons and do the work Clotho asks you to do in the library.

In this, she remembered the soldiers' hands squeezing her, restraining her futile attempts to break free. She also remembered the dark depths of that library, the ancient monster that inhabited it. They had saved themselves from Hybern's henchmen, yes, but... She refused to think about it.

— Are you going to tie me up like Hybern did? Now you've gone too far. I didn't know I was being held hostage again.

Nesta was sure to spit out all her hatred and bitterness. The result on Feyre's delicate face was fantastic. She just hoped Rhysand wasn't feeling Feyre like the snarling dog she was. He couldn't kill her now. She wasn't finished.

A boiling rage flowed through her veins, so strong that Nesta could barely hear the real fire in the fireplace near where Feyre walked. She was grateful for the roar in her head when the sound of crackling wood was so similar to that of her father's broken neck that she never lit the fire at home.

Feyre was crying now. The tears were coming down and Nesta felt a little satisfaction at seeing them. She waited a moment before continuing.

— You had no right to lock up my apartment, to take my things...

— What things? Some clothes and some rotten food. — Nesta didn't have time to ask how Feyre knew this, when her sister added, her voice weak. — I'm going to declare the whole building uninhabitable.

Nesta blinked in disbelief. She couldn't help laughing.

— You can't do that.

— I already have. Rhys has already visited the landlord. It's going to be demolished and rebuilt as a shelter for families still homeless after the war.

Nesta held back her impulse and took a deep breath. One of the few choices she had made for herself, snatched away. But Feyre didn't seem to care. And what's more, demolishing the building meant that the other residents would be evicted too, right? What a great way to show that you care about the image of the High Lady.

— You're going to take away my house and lock me up just because I don't want to follow your orders? — Nesta spat disdainfully — Once the man you loved locked you up because you didn't want to be quiet and obedient like he told you to be, didn't he? So you're going to do the same to me?

Feyre sobbed, collapsing into the armchair. Nesta would have cared, if she hadn't heard from her own sister that she was to be contained in a house ten thousand steps above the ground, and taken to a camp where the species was repudiated even by her beloved husband, who had grown up among them. It makes sense, Nesta thought. The Illyrians hate Rhysand too.

And all because Feyre couldn't separate his image from hers. Feyre should show herself to be concerned with the politics and history of the territory instead of spending her afternoons painting and her mornings decorating mansions, if she really wanted to have a good image among the fairies. Being crowned by Rhysand didn't give her the power she could gain. Feyre was just giving a shallow and useless excuse.

But Nesta gave her sister no rest.

— And where is Elain? Or is she too good to take part in this discussion, as you said yourself? — There was absolute, icy silence, except for Feyre's whimpering. — Does she know that you intend to throw me into human lands? Because that's what I prefer to being confined with that brute.

Feyre raised her face, unrecognizable. She was destroyed and Nesta felt nothing but satisfaction. At least she would die knowing that she had done a little damage.

— She—she'll see you when she's ready — Feyre massaged her chest and stood up again, walked in circles again and when she finally pulled herself together, she faced Nesta — Elain is busy packing her things.

Nesta raised an eyebrow, the wave of fury returning even stronger. That's what Amren meant by an empty apartment, then.

Nesta jumped up from the sofa.

— Has she become the puppy that breaks into apartments on your orders now?

Feyre cringed, but Nesta ignored her, hurrying towards the exit. She could hear Feyre's crying voice calling her, but she didn't listen. Nesta didn't care that during the war with Hybern, her own fragile bond had formed with Feyre, forged because of common goals: to protect Elain, to save the human lands.

Nesta didn't bother to answer, she was at the front door before Feyre reached her, and her screams mixed with Rhysand's angry voice, although she didn't understand what he was shouting. Nesta was still in the garden when a red—faced and wet Feyre came through the door, accompanied by her husband and Cassian.

— Nesta — Feyre cried, and Nesta swallowed her own. It was she who had received the sentence, so why was Feyre the one falling apart as if she was being sentenced to death herself? — P—Please, this is for your own good.

— Was being confined that good for you?

Rhysand growled, taking Feyre in his arms.

— You still have a choice, Nesta. You can go to the human lands if you prefer," he said with a honeyed smile, but his hands trembled with hatred as he cradled a trembling Feyre to his chest.

Nesta laughed scornfully, swallowing her tears.

— Would you take me? I'd stay...

— NO!

Feyre and Cassian shouted, the latter taking hurried steps towards her. Feyre tried to pull her arms away from Rhysand, staring at her sister with an even more devastated face. Nesta couldn't hide her melancholy smile. She also hated it when that stubborn tear ran down her cheek as she faced Rhysand. He seemed almost pleased with the result.

— But I've never had a choice since I got here, have I?

Strong arms took her before any more tears fell. But she still saw Feyre's face contract into a sob. Good.

There was nothing left to unite them now.

[amethvysts]

acho incrível o fato do simon hempe realmente ser do país errado tipo ??? ele obviamente é brasileiro carioca flamenguista fã de pagode, funk e trap a cereja do bolo das festas da zona sul (mas imagino MUITO o divo sendo fã louco até hoje pelo baile da espanha, colômbia e o da gaiola), inclusive, tem uma música q eu acho a CARA do simon o nome é gaiola é o troco escute pfvr pois ela é 100% hempe coded

fontes= eu diva carioca

outra diva carioca in the house ☝️ gente, o simón é muito carioca, ele só não sabe disso! vocês literalmente não tem ideia do quanto eu já pensei no simón!br kkkk

eu só sei que ele é nascido no subúrbio, mas é frequentador da zona sul por associação porque todos os amigos dele da faculdade (ele é da puc!) moram por essas bandas. apesar de ser do pagode, também curte muito funk — e adora um baile charme!!

aliás, gaiola é o troco foi a trilha sonora dele lá pelas bandas de 2019 (essa é tão festa de xv coded). principalmente porque ele é a letra da música personificada. inclusive, preciso de um edit do simón com ela vem do mc livinho pra ontem! e digo mais: faz um vuk vuk tá até hoje nas mais escutadas do spotify dele.

[miguelsolano]

o rock in rio virou um festival multicultural?

eu, como apaixonado por música desde que me entendo por gente, fiquei decepcionado com muitas das atrações do rock in rio deste ano. porém, o repúdio generalizado das pessoas pela inclusão de bandas de pagode, axé, trap e outros estilos, diferentes do que o nome do festival propõe, pode nos ensinar uma lição importante: não basta ser bom apenas no que faz, é preciso excelência em tudo!

muita gente reclamou que teve ivete sangalo, isa, jão, gloria groove, luísa sonza, ferrugem etc. mas, apesar de eu também concordar que não é um evento propício a tais estilos, não se pode negar que os espetáculos apresentados por todos esses artistas condenados pelos fãs do rock foram surreais! palcos lindos, trocas de roupa e de cenários, nada de playback, interação total com a galera… ou seja, apresentações realmente dignas de um festival com o porte do rock in rio. os palcos de ferrugem e gloria groove, por exemplo, foram uma obra prima! coisa de cinema! e, honestamente, eu nunca sequer tinha ouvido uma música de ambos até a transmissão pelo canal multishow. me dei a chance de conhecer e, apesar de continuar sem apreciar os estilos, fiquei embasbacado com o nível da produção. até onde eu vi, nenhum artista internacional superou a produção dos brasileiros. quem chegou mais próximo foi katy perry, porém, pecando em diversos aspectos (sobretudo na afinação e no uso excessivo de playback e backing track).

outro ponto a se destacar é a soberba da maioria das atrações principais. a impressão que dá é que esses artistas de palco mundo se acham especiais o bastante pra se preocuparem com cenário, interação, iluminação, figurino etc. como se apenas a presença física deles já fosse suficiente pra justificar o cachê, desprezando a necessidade de uma produção primorosa pra agradar o público em todos os sentidos. essa arrogância não se vê em nenhuma atração nacional, muito pelo contrário, é uma alegria gigantesca estar em contato com o público, mesmo com um cachê infinitamente menor.

na boa, eu fiquei muito mais impressionado com os palcos de ferrugem, ivete sangalo, iza e gloria groove do que com os de joss stone, charlie puth e ed sheeran. iza, inclusive, fez o show sob sérios riscos de dar à luz em pleno palco, tudo pra não deixar de fazer parte de um momento histórico. enquanto os brasileiros capricharam em efeitos especiais e entretenimento, as atrações principais só colocavam luzes e fogos meia-boca. o palco de cindy lauper foi lamentável: um power point atrás com o nome dela estampado e só, coisa que qualquer banda de casa noturna faz. o palco de charlie puth, também, outro exemplo terrível. o show pareceu uma longa passagem de som. enfim, não é sem motivo que os artistas brasileiros estão "roubando" o protagonismo do rock. estão assumindo a dianteira porque eles colocam a alma no palco, diferentemente dos gringos que se acham seres superiores aos meros mortais brasileiros. o artista brasileiro gosta de palco, de gente, de muvuca, de festa. qualquer oportunidade que tiver de fazer uma bela algazarra, ele fará. e todo produtor de evento quer o melhor pro seu festival, obviamente.

apesar de ed sheeran ter feito uma baita apresentação dentro das condições que propôs, achei de um menosprezo enorme fazer voz e violão num festival gigante e imponente como o rock in rio. pra mim, essa decisão só deveria ser aceita caso a filosofia da banda já fosse essa, pois o dono do festival contrataria sabendo se tratar de uma atração acústica. não sendo isso, nada justifica não trazer uma banda de apoio pra pra incrementar o show. ah, mas os fãs adoraram o show de ed sheeran! fãs nunca foram nem serão parâmetro em debates críticos. a idolatria os fazem achar tudo sempre lindo.

por isso que o sertanejo e o pagode têm crescido tanto no brasil. porque esses estilos não entregam apenas músicas, mas um espetáculo teatral completo! o mercado da música mudou completamente, modificando sobretudo os fãs e a forma de consumo. os artistas precisam entender que não podem mais somente comparecer e executar; precisam construir algo realmente grandioso (taylor swift é um exemplo disso) ou serão deixados pra trás aos poucos, sem motivo aparente.

o público de antigamente se contentava com qualquer coisa (e eu me incluo nessa parcela). já os consumidores de música de hoje precisa de um baita motivo pra sair de casa e prestigiar seu artista preferido ao vivo, visto que muitos shows estão disponíveis na internet, em qualidade absurda. atualmente, muita gente prefere ficar assistindo ao show em casa, no conforto do seu sofá, com som e imagem perfeitos, vários ângulos de câmera e nada de empurra-empurra do que se esforçar pra ir num show e apenas ver o artista de longe, do tamanho de um grão de areia. feliz ou infelizmente, é assim que muita gente raciocina hoje em dia e os festivais, como sempre, vão acompanhar as tendências.

que saudade eu sinto dos shows do iron maiden, com o gigante eddie passeando pelo palco; dos shows de michael jackson e madonna, artistas completos que sempre viram a música como entretenimento para os ouvidos e também para os olhos. percebe-se que a coisa está realmente complicada quando um apaixonado por rock escreve uma opinião a respeito de um dos maiores festivais de rock do mundo elogiando os shows das bandas de pagode. que fase…

[theabyssal]

Calma, eu tava lendo os asks e eu percebi que você falou português em um deles e falou algo como: "[...] Urso, which means bear in Portuguese". TU É BRASILEIRA??? ABRAÇOS DE MINAS! Anyways, I'm excited for the next update. I'm playing as two characters: One is a F!MC Death called Margaretha and the other one is a M!MC Death called Katran. I want to make Margaretha kind of like a sweet Death in the past who became crazy from all these years of torture in the future, like, they would begin to see everything just like a game and begin to believe that pain (and their prison too) is the only true place you're free, and everyone who's outside of it is trapped. (Sounds like a familiar character to you?)

And then there's Katran, that I want to make like a calm MC, kinda distant and stoic but is a sweetheart to his loved ones, specially his kids and spouse, and then after years of torture he will be seeking revenge for those who wronged him. And even though he feels sad and betrayed by Sol's betrayal, he isn't able to blame him for it and his love for him does not disappear, not even a bit. (Of course, he concludes this after gathering his thoughts to understand what he should feel towards Sol and after breaking down due to his betrayal, which is not something he would allow himself to do normally)

Do you have an approx. of the month or the date of when the next update might release? Thanks! And continue your hardwork! <3

Sou Brasileiro com muito orgulho!!! Hahah, um beijo de Goiás queride!!

That feels really familiar, yes. My own Death is a combination of your two characters which are awesome btw!! 🤩

Thanks for the ask!! 🖤🖤

[joselialopes]

“And when I first showed him my scar, he said it was interesting. He used the word ‘textured’. He said ‘smooth’ is boring but ‘textured’ was interesting, and the scar meant that I was stronger than whatever it was that had tried to hurt me.”

BIOGRAPHY | CONNECTIONS | MUSINGS | PINTEREST | SPOTIFY

STATS

Name: Joselia “Jo” Lopes Silva Faceclaim: Bruna Marquezine Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman & she/her Sexuality: Pansexual Age: 30 Birthday: June 3, 1993 Zodiac: Gemini sun, Leo moon, Virgo rising Education: BSW, UC-Riverside Occupation: Addiction Counselor (Social Worker) Neighborhood: Bighorn Hills + open-minded, adaptable, passionate - hot-headed, flaky, impulsive

BIOGRAPHY

tw: drug mention, alcoholism, abortion

also tw I say “daddy” one billion times and I’m so sorry that’s just what Joselia would say

Daddy was always a free spirit. He and Mama married young– him 17 and her 16– and he promised her the world. He painted a beautiful picture of a long, successful career as a football player, a big move to America, and a life where she seldom had to lift a finger. But Gisele Lopes Silva was always more grounded than her husband. She didn’t want all of that, really, just a man who loved her and happy kids. Still, Daddy was determined to shoot for the stars and, in the end, he landed pretty close. Roberto Silva qualified for the Campeonato Brasileiro Series at 19 and he swore up and down it was a straight shot to US Nationals from there. Mama got pregnant with Roberto Jr. that winter, 1984, and five years later in 1989 they had Miguel. With two babies, Mama’s asking Daddy to retire and get a real job graduated from passing remarks to deadpan questions to begging. 

They were doing okay, what with Grandma helping with the boys while Mama worked, but Gisele was wise. She knew it wouldn’t last long. Besides, she’d rather have Daddy around the kids than him be some big, international soccer star. It was a fight she didn’t have the energy for but every now and then, and Daddy became an expert at weasling out of it– bringing home expensive gifts, magazines about life in America, VHS tapes of sitcoms. Money was tight, though, and it was Daddy’s magic-making that made the room dividers in the living room that hid Jr.’s cot feel enchanted, like a portal to another world instead of a family bursting at the seams. In retrospect, Jr. says Mama resented him even then. She was caught in the trap of working all day in the factory and coming home to cook and clean, all the while the boys tugged on Daddy’s pant legs and clamored on top of him and asked to hear the story of his trip to San Fransisco for the hundredth time. 

Mama says that having Joselia in 1993 changed everything. She was finally getting somewhere with Daddy– touting the baby, the only girl, as the reason why he should quit chasing this crazy dream and get a real job. Settle down and give them all the life they deserved. Of course, the very next year was the beginning of the San Jose soccer club. The Earthquakes wanted Daddy on their inaugural team, and Daddy leaped at the chance to move to California– the land of opportunity. According to Daddy, getting recruited to the U.S. was the best thing that ever happened to him. Mama was just grateful that he finally got a kick in the ass to make something of himself. In 1994, the family migrated to San Jose to start their new life. 

Daddy always talked about those first few years like they were something out of a fairytale– all blue skies and palm trees and balmy breezes. Long days of doing what he loved, coming home to a slice of Brazil in Mama’s cooking and Jr.’s singing and the artifacts they’d managed to bring with them. Mama isn’t so romantic about it all. Sure, it was nice to not be so strapped for cash. But it was lonely, she says– hardly anybody else spoke Portuguese, and Daddy was alright with his English but Mama struggled. She could hardly make it through trips to the grocery without aid, and she missed her mother. But, Daddy was happy, which had been the point all along, right?

Daddy’s first season with the Earthquakes was a building year– at least, that’s what all the players would say when they would crowd around the kitchen table, drinking and talking and making messes that Mama stayed up well into the night cleaning up. But the kids loved it, crowding around the table with wide eyes and hanging on every word they said. It was this way that Joselia learned English; When her kindergarten teacher wrote home and asked where she’d learned to say “damn it all to hell!”, Daddy just laughed and laughed and laughed. 

Season two was better. By the end of it, everybody was talking about the Earthquakes, and Daddy was even named in a couple articles as a player to watch. That was 1996, a year he still calls the best of his life. Joselia remembers the whole family travelling to LA and Washington, DC and Dallas to see Daddy play. It was exactly what Daddy always promised– traveling the world, staying in fancy hotels, a balanced diet of stadium hot dogs and room service. Even Mama loosened up on their trips, had a glass or two of champagne and got giggly. It was like they were really in love, then. Life should’ve been like that forever– and it would’ve been, if Daddy hadn’t gotten injured.

Three games before the end of the 1997 season, an ill-timed slide tackle caused Daddy’s leg to break in two places. Mama, Jr., Miguel, and Joselia were watching from home, and everything instantly devolved into chaos. Mama screamed and immediately called the neighbor to come watch the kids while she rushed to the hospital. The three kids planted themselves in front of the TV, watching any and all coverage they could find on the local channels, and praying to every saint they knew. 

Daddy put on a brave face, at first. He had high hopes, unreasonable expectations that he’d be as good as new after surgery. But then came the minimum two years of physical therapy, and by the time he was in any condition to run again, they were so far behind with medical bills that Mama put her foot down. He had to get a job– they had to get back on their feet before he started his crazy training regimen. His old teammates still came around back then, and one of them even pulled some strings and got Daddy a job as a daytime bartender at a pub near the training facility. 

But there’s always a point in time where the sympathy runs out. People can’t hold pity forever. The guys stopped coming around, Coach stopped inviting him to closed practices. Mama was never gentle with him– she said that was that, it was time to move on. Find a new dream. Joselia wouldn’t know until much later, but underneath all of his bravado, Daddy was incredibly sensitive. He didn’t take to normal life well, and started mixing his pain meds with a few too many drinks. At first, it was an inconvenience. He would get too drunk and forget to pick up Jr. from school, he would leave Miguel an hour or two longer after school than he meant to. Most nights would end in whispered arguments behind Mama and Daddy’s door– Jr. learned to press a glass to the wood young, but he’d never tell Miguel and Joselia what was said unless it was really bad.

It got really bad when Joselia was in middle school. Jr. was twenty-one and still home, fulfilling the role of oldest child and peacekeeper while he saved up for college. Plus, the income he brought in from his grocery store job helped keep them afloat when Daddy overslept and missed his shifts, which was becoming more and more frequent. Jr. kept them together, with Miguel’s help– they would divide and conquer, Jr. going to Daddy and Miguel going to Mama. But when Daddy started gambling and they lost the apartment, Mama was done. 

Joselia was thirteen when Mama moved them into a new apartment and refused to give Daddy the key. Jr. had to drag her, kicking and screaming, refusing to leave Daddy behind. She’d let him in at night, and Mama would wake her up yelling every morning that she woke up to discover him on the couch. He can’t be trusted! she would say, pleading with Joselia to keep him out. Everybody else had enough of his broken promises, except Jo. She loved him so much that she moved with him to Philly at fifteen, pledged the next decade of her life to following Daddy around, dreaming big dreams with him and picking him up when he fell.

It was difficult leaving Mama and her brothers behind, but Joselia was so hurt that they could be so cruel to Daddy that she buried the grief under anger. Life with him was the same as always– high highs and low lows. On good days, they’d catch a game in the city and share a hotdog and Daddy would tell Jo-Jo all about how he was gonna become a soccer coach. If you can’t do, you teach, he said, and she believed him. She always believed him, and that belief carried her through the bad days, when he would stumble home angry at four a.m., cursing her Mama and her Grandma and the world, vomit dribbling down his chin and too-heavy footsteps.

It took an extra year, but Joselia graduated high school. Her part-time waitressing job became full-time, and her steady paycheck made up for the weeks and months that Daddy was out of work. Mama sent money every couple months with express instructions not to let Daddy touch it– but she always did, and he always blew it on a scratch-off or a round for all his friends. He was chaos personified, but Joselia wasn’t afraid of his self-destruction. Mostly, she was afraid of who she’d be without his fantastical tales and his believing the best in her and his promises that he’d take care of her, one day. 

Joselia met Matthew Foster in Philly, at a show for some grungy band she was just drunk enough to enjoy. Their whirlwind romance felt like home– the ups and downs, the unbridled passion and the teeming rage felt like what Joselia reckoned love was supposed to be. Daddy wasn’t consistent or stable, and he loved her more than anybody in the world– So must Foster. Midnight screaming matches faded into afternoon picnics and so on. He never said so, but Joselia knew he loved her– he showed it dozens of ways, whether by making the best food she’d ever eaten in her life (aside from stadium hotdogs, of course) or by buffing out the same dent in her car over and over from the damn apartment gate. 

They were young and dumb and it felt like everything. Daddy hated him and loved him, depending on the day– and when things were going right for everybody and the three of them drank and watched Daddy’s old matches, well, that was the best feeling in the world. It was after one of those days and a couple of Foster’s custom-made cocktails that they decided to get married at the courthouse. They didn’t have a ring or a dress or a care in the world, and somewhere in a box covered in a thin layer of dust, Joselia has a picture from that day: her in one of Foster’s button downs and a Dodgers hat, him in his usual tshirt and jeans combo, all bright smiles hanging off one another.

Being married didn’t stave off the fighting at all. If anything, it made it worse– gave them each more ammunition to launch at each other, and made it a hell of a lot harder to untangle from the mess. They fell into a familiar pattern– a couple of good days, maybe a week, a fight where they swore they were broken up for good this time, and a couple days later they’d make up. Anything was fair game on these breaks– and it’s not like Joselia had a ring or anything to stop her from seeing other people, so she did. Nothing that stuck, but a couple one or two night flings before she surrendered to Foster’s gravitational pull again.

When Joselia found out she was pregnant after a week “off”, she panicked. She wasn’t going to tell Foster, she was just going to take care of it on her own– but they had such a good day, and she was half convinced they could make it work. They were perfect, they only fought so hard because they loved each other so much. He bolted after that, and in retrospect, she couldn’t blame him. Joselia still harbors that hurt on especially lonely nights, revisits the feeling of waking up and seeing his shit gone, the days-late realization that she’d never see him again.

But it was okay, because there was always Daddy to take care of, and with no Foster and no baby to distract her, Joselia poured all of her energy into him. She was twenty-five and working the same waitressing job she’d had since graduation, spending her weekends taking care of her drunk father– and with nothing else in Philly, reality stung. She started to resent Daddy the same way Mama always had– she resented being the stable one, she resented not being able to fall apart because it’d hurt them both when that’s all she really wanted to do.

A decade late, Joselia’s breaking point finally came when Daddy wrapped her truck around a streetlight. He survived, thank God, but he had a broken arm and a couple of years in jail and mandated therapy. With no other choice, Joselia made her way back to California and turned up on Mama’s doorstep, tail between her legs. The rush of apologies for years of hating her, of thinking Mama was selfish and wrong for abandoning Daddy, was crushed in her mother’s arms. She was home, for real this time, and reconnecting with Mama and Jr. and Miguel helped Joselia figure some things out.

It wasn’t perfect, and she still felt an unreasonable degree of protectiveness over Daddy– they kept in touch, between letters and phone calls– but Jo decided to enroll in college. Better late than never. She started at UC-Riverside and declared Social Work as her major, staying home with Mama until she graduated at 29. It was a big deal, because Jr. had enlisted at 22 and Miguel had gone to trade school. Joselia was the first in their family to graduate college, a fact that Daddy cried about on the phone the morning of her graduation– a fact she still holds with pride.

Her fresh start extended to Colorado Springs, where Joselia took her very first “real” job a year ago as an Addiction Counselor for a nonprofit serving unhoused and at-risk individuals. It was Jr.’s idea, originally, and Joselia ended up loving it– finally her life experience was helpful with something, and the tough love she always should’ve given to Daddy was a requirement. It’s such the perfect fit, in fact, that she was promoted after only a year and transferred to the Providence Peak location. Joselia was hesitant at first to leave Colorado Springs and the comfort of Jr. right down the street, but it was high time for her to forge her own path. She made it up to Philly one more time, to visit Daddy and to clear out the rest of her shit from a storage unit, and is now settling into her new routine.

[lunjaehy]

sou meio eclética e mesmo ouvindo kpop ainda sou a maior fã da recayd (tenho até foto com eles) ai por causa disso eu nao consigo tirar um nomin bem fã de musica brasileiro (mesmo apreciando de tudo eu quis dizer em um sentido mais atual como funk ou trap)

ps nesse blog em pt eu VIVO por nct, svt em br au e mais nada, então só imagino um jeno bem fã assim trap br e o jaemin mt fã do mc livinho vou morrer

só imagina o jaemin (em sua forma canalha) do lado do maior gostoso do Brasil (estou aberta para discussões) VEYY

[guilseranewsblog]

Mc Poze do Rodo Feat. Chefin - Ordem do Mano

Já podes fazer o “download” na Guilsera News da nova música de “Mc Poze do Rodo” intitulada “Ordem do Mano” que conta com a participação de “Chefin” e produção de “LB Únino” e Portugal no Beat. Artista: Mc Poze do Rodo Feat. ChefinTitulo: Orden do ManoGenero: TrapFormato: MP3Ano: 2024 DOWNLOAD-MP3

[cristianocrodrigues]

TRAPPED INSIDE é um jogo point and click focado em história, de terror, cheio de puzzles e 100% brasileiro.

A solidão pode ser uma prisão fria e escura! Junte-se a nós em Trapped Inside. Siga a campanha no Cartase para não perder o lançamento:

https://www.catarse.me/trapped_inside

#GameBR #JogoIndie #topdown #TerrorGame

#PointAndClick #GameDesenvolvimento

#IndieGameDev #PuzzlesGame #TrappedInside #HorrorGame #JogoBrasileiro #CampanhaCartase #Crowdfunding #JogosIndependentes

#GameDeTerror #JogosDePuzzles #characterdesign #gamedesign #artgame #clipstudiopaint #xppen

[frankbedbroken]

frankcore march 2024 update!!

a Lot more guitar music based than last month (this could be bad or good, you be judge) but it's mostly a back and forth between different styles of electronic and assorted flavors of rock and punk, with a few pop and rap outliers here and there. for the electronic chunk of the list, it's mostly composed of (as ever) the more percussion-driven styles of electronic: dreamy and chill breakbeat courtesy of eris drew, uk bass/electro/post-club mutations from little snake (that whole 20/20 ldn comp is solid stuff, still prefer the halftime sound from their earliest releases, but this is nothing to scoff at either), heavy hitting hard (h)drum from ahadadream, priya ragu and skrillex, d.silvestre and company pushing the gnarliest side of funk brasileiro to its more brooding limits, maddeningly catchy garage and uk hip hop crossover presented by kwengface and joy overmono, a whole section of different footwork offerings from sinistarr, heavee, dj clap and anysia kym, two portrayals of modern drum and bass sounds with dbridge presenting his signature minimal ventures, and machinedrum and tinashe bringing one of my favourite liquid dnb / r&b crossovers in a minute, and finally, the return of the french prince of darkness, mr. gesaffelstein, doing a heel-turn from the unsufferable dreck that was his previous album and diving head-first into 80s synth punk / ebm / minimal synth revivalism by way of daf and two lone swordsmen, and it is a much, much more welcome addition to his repertoire.

for the guitar side of the list: yeule's cover of broken social scene, taking the indie rock original and twisting it into an ambient / glitch pop piece, indie pop ventures from casiotone for the painfully alone (instantly recognizable band name, for sure) and alucinaciones en familia (first time there's an uruguayan project on this list! there may be more over the course of the year, my goal this year is to listen to as many albums and eps from local artists as i'm able to), hauntingly pretty and poppy neo-psychedelia bliss by broadcast (i definitely need to get into their stuff as soon as possible, i've really liked the few songs i've heard from them so far), everyone's favourite shoegaze-etc band mbv with a hit from the pre-loveless days, a very of-its-time yet very compelling emo-pop track by further seems forever, a strange yet impossibly interesting and singular blend of screamo, bedroom and twee pop as well as math rock(!) from your arms are my cocoon, and a hard-hitting and emotionally raw final blow by post-hardcore / alt rock project tenemos explosivos, the band behind my favourite album of 2022, whose discography i should definitely dive more into in the future.

as for the rest: the two solitary rap cuts in here, firstly a cut from the most recent schoolboy q project (much like gesaffelstein, a very clear improvement when compared to his last album) and later on, corroded and destructive trap and industrial crossover courtesy of shapednoise and moor mother, two artists very keen on sonic experimentation, delivering a mystifying experience every time; a strangely familiar and comforting blend of 80s synthpop and 90s soul by way of more modern indie production in the nourished by time track, an impeccable piece of electro-disco / synthpop from juliana gattas, vocalist of miranda!, one of the best pop acts from latin america, and produced by alex anwandter, also a name to watch if you're interested in pop from this side of the globe, and finally: kylie minogue with one of the best pop songs of all time, never gets old.

the one non-spotify highlight this time around is volt mix do bruxo by chediak, taking a cut from one of the most boundary-pushing scenes in all of funk brasileiro, the enya-sample-led baile do bruxo by tropa do bruxo, a collective of various mcs and djs spearheaded by ronaldinho of all people, and flipping it into a homage to the earliest forms of funk, more initially inspired by electro and miami bass. it bangs, what can you say

tube it!!