#and can be dynamite on the pitch
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grandgartsbyofficial · 1 month ago
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And another team lets FafĂĄ go. He really must have such a toxic attitude if Vancouver's letting him go after the season he had. It says he's in negotiations but still confirming the suspicions I had after NSC let him go last year
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good-chimes · 2 years ago
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Proposing:
Grand Unified Scarian Theory
a single, overarching Scarian romance arc across the whole Hermitcraft and Life series as well as a primer for anyone curious about the early seasons.
We start with NEIGHBOR MEET CUTE in early Season 6:
Season 6 begins in a peaceful pirate bay. SCAR, an established hermit just beginning his third season, is happily making pirate caves. Into this tranquil scene comes GRIAN.
Grian, fresh-faced and new to Hermitcraft, picks a sea-themed base location right next to Scar’s pirate caves. He gets himself set up and starts his base. Even someone like Grian can get newcomer nerves, and he spends the first few weeks desperately trying to act like a normal person instead of the horrible gremlin he really is.
(Some hermits are taken in by this. Doc and Xisuma give him pity diamonds, something that—after getting to know Grian—they noticeably never do again.)
The only person exempt from Grian’s just-a-little-birthday-boy act is Mumbo, whom Grian already knows, clearly has a puppy-crush on, and pursues relentlessly.
Grian and Scar don’t interact much at first. Grian sees Scar for the first time while passing by his base. Scar instantly falls in one of his own caves and dies.
Grian panics.
Grian: I DIDN’T DO IT!
Scar, intrigued by his new neighbor, makes some overtures of interest:
1. Scar leaves a fully enchanted trident at Grian’s base as a welcome present. This is a generous gift for the cute neighbor you have a crush on and frankly the most normal thing either of them do in the entire years-long relationship.
Grian goes ‘huh!’ at the trident, never finds out who sent it, and immediately forgets the whole thing.
2. Scar entertains Grian’s traveling-salesman pitch and buys his overpriced armor boxes.
Multiple jokes about the size of Scar’s wallet. Grian clearly pleased by the transaction.
3. Scar makes Grian a complementary in-joke build (Spongebob’s house by Squidward’s house).
This delights Grian immeasurably for five minutes until he turns back to his prank war with Mumbo.
(Poor Mumbo. Clearly immensely fond of Grian but not sure he wants to be in a relationship with a lit stick of dynamite. This is very understandable.)
By this point Scar obviously kind of clocks that Grian is insane about Mumbo. This isn’t much of a leap. The entire SERVER is aware that Grian is horribly in love with Mumbo.
Ah. That’s okay. Scar backs off a bit. He recognizes when he’s not really in with a chance.
Maybe this thing he has with Grian is just going to be a friendship, and that’s okay! Having a crush is fun even if you’re not going to do anything about it. Scar is going to build some shops about it and be normal.
Both of them are going to be very normal.
FLIRTING (First Stages) – mid-Season 6
Both of them immediately forget to be normal.
Grian has started a detective agency and has no mysteries to solve. Scar instantly invents a cookie-based mystery supervillain called the Jangler and leaves Grian a series of tantalizing cookie-based puzzles for enrichment in his enclosure.
Grian has invented a game where you kill people with rockets. Scar volunteers to get murdered. Both of them are delighted.
Scar and Cub’s business empire is incidentally crushing Grian’s startup venture. There is no reason for this to be so flirtatiously charged.
At this point all the hermits move to a new village because of the Minecraft update. Grian starts a who-can-build-the-tallest-house war with Mumbo and Iskall. Scar notices and starts doing the same from the other side of the village.
It quickly gets so wild that Mumbo taps out (Mumbo does not do well with intensity, would rather just not, thankyouverymuch), and it's only Grian, Iskall and Scar.
Scar builds a wild giant plant eating his rocketship, and then a castle in the sky, and an enormous version of himself firing a canon at Grian's house. This is the first time you can really see Grian trying to hold in shrieks when he flies back in to see what Scar has done while he's gone.
Grian’s interest has been caught. He’s gone from barely seeing Scar to checking on him regularly. What’s our good friend Scar up to? What’s Scar done? What is Scar going to do next?
FLIRTING (How To Catch Your Crush’s Interest By Building A Secret Government Facility) – late Season 6
What Scar does next is put on a snazzy military uniform, team up with Doc to steal the time machine Grian invented last week, then, in the most effort someone has EVER gone to to get Grian's attention, spend weeks on end building a fully-functional 'Area 77' military base and containment facility to stop him getting it back.
Turns out this works beyond Scar’s wildest dreams.
Grian INSTANTLY obsessed with breaking into Scar’s base and retrieving his time machine.
Grian persuades Ren into forming a hippie camp with him next to the base and spends weeks entirely fixated on Scar. Meanwhile Scar, who is starting to really understand how to get and keep Grian's attention, builds more and fancier infrastructure to keep Grian out. This is also where Grian really starts looking at Scar's art—the insane cliffs Scar has build around his new hangers—and awkwardly not quite managing words, because it would be very embarrassing to just outright say the word beautiful, and Grian’s a very normal and non-embarrassing person.
In the climax of the season, Grian-the-hippie breaks into General Scar’s base.
Nobody can say that Scar making himself a top brass general and Grian making himself an anti-establishment flower power hippie does not end up with plausibly-deniable not-making-out Grian-provoking-Scar-into-holding-him-against-a-wall.
but.
BUT.
This is Hermitcraft. It’s temporary. Scar and Grian both know it was a bit. A bit they both got super into, sure! But a bit. Not weird at all.
(“Sure, mate, not weird at all,” Mumbo says, after all of this is over. “Then why are you making it SOUND weird Mumbo you’re the WORST”)*
(“Sooo....” Cub says, and Scar says, “I know. I know!”)*
*not canon but you can't tell me it didn't happen off screen
FLIRTING (But What About
) – early Season 7
Okay, so that was weird, but Grian is definitely still in love with Mumbo. The Mumbo pursuit is going great and Mumbo definitely doesn’t look nervous whenever Grian turns up with a new idea. Grian is going to get Mumbo to fall in love with him and they will marry in the spring and have a dozen beautiful children redstone contraptions.
Grian attempts to make it more official with Mumbo. Surely they have been flirting long enough, they are ready for the next stage! This is in no way a reaction to Scar becoming a weird wizard in a way very unsettling to Grian and building the kind of wild organic tangled forest build that Grian is fascinated by but can't even begin to comprehend.
Everything is very under control in Grian's life. He's now official boyfriends with Mumbo. They live together and have a messaging system and everything.
Mumbo announces he’s moving out.
It’s-not-you-it’s-me
You’re
 you’re moving out? Grian says, in the smallest possible voice.
We’ll still have the messaging system, Mumbo says, unconvincingly.
FINE, Grian says, I’m moving out TOO.
Mumbo moves out.
Grian deals with this in the healthiest possible way. He invents a mayorship and attempts to give it to Mumbo.
Grian is Mumbo’s self-appointed campaign manager so Mumbo has to be round him ALL THE TIME, it’s for the CAMPAIGN, Mumbo.
Mumbo, a man who doesn’t deal well with pressure or responsibility, is maybe not the ideal choice for mayor, something that has escaped Grian entirely.
Mumbo builds a robot and attempts to palm off all responsibility for decision-making onto it. Grian immediately calls it their son.
Grian puts his moustache all over the server.
NO other hermits support them for mayor (except Scar, from a lost bet, who Grian has continued to have intensely weird flirtations with while all this is happening)
Things reach a fever pitch. Election day arrives. Mumbo doesn’t want this actually but try telling Grian that. The entire MumboGrian edifice that Grian has obsessively and wildly build has reached an unsustainable pitch and finally comes tumbling down around them.
Mumbo votes Scar for mayor.
Grian votes Scar for mayor.
Mumbo disappears for several weeks to do some nice soothing redstone and calm down.
FLIRTING (Civil War) – late Season 7
Everything has calmed down now. Scar is mayor. Mumbo is...somewhere. Grian is going to work on his base normally.
Grian has a new project. He wants to build in the new nether biomes. He builds a huge and echoing and obsessively inverse version of his huge and echoing and obsessively symmetrical mansion base. It's very impressive. It's totally hollow. There's... no one else here.
Grian decides that okay, he is going to bring PEOPLE here.
He invites Mumbo, because he hasn't seen him in weeks. He invites Bdubs, because Grian above all loves genius. And he invites Scar. Because of course. Everything major Grian does now, Scar is an of course.
Bdubs shows up! Generously builds Grian's entire mansion interior. Mumbo shows up. Builds a tiny upside down disco shack.
Scar does not show up.
Scar is being mayor! Scar is a very busy and important man! Scar has spent the last few weeks obsessively replacing every single goddamn mycelium block in the shopping district with beautifully tailored grass and making trees whose flowers are diamonds. He's also got his own megabase going on. For once Scar has so much to do it's even enough for Scar's ambitions, which have never been small.
He does not come when Grian calls.
Grian is Not Happy.
This is the point where Grian starts a steadily more unhinged campaign of leaving Scar invitations. He makes little tailor's dummies of himself and delivers them to Scar's house. He sets up a tea party of three grians in a secret space under Scar's mayoral throne. He hangs himself in effigy on the tip of Scar's megadrill build. Normal behavior.
And then when Scar still doesn't notice, he puts a tiny bit of mycelium back on one of the streets of the shopping district.
This starts
 THE MYCELIUM WARS
Scar attempts to contain the growing mycelium patch with warning tape.
Grian spreads more mushroom spores.
Scar brings in his allies to help contain the growing mushroom patches.
Grian digs out an underground rebel HQ, recruits several rebels, and declares himself Motherspore.
Mayor Scar stares into a camera and uses his most velvety baritone to proclaim he will hunt down Grian and the mycelium resistance and bring them to justice.
Grian sets loose mushroom-spreading sheep.
Mayor Scar obsessively searches for his base.
Grian and Impulse build several decoy bases and trap them.
Mayor Scar employs Mumbo to strip-mine every block of the shopping district with redstone tunnel-borers.
Eventually Deputy Mayor Bdubs, having his own thing with rebel Etho, tricks all of the resistance into ender-pearling into jail.
Scar gets to threaten to pour lava on an imprisoned Grian for ten minutes straight and they’re both enjoying this so much.
Grian: Scar! SCAR! Scar Scar Scar no Scar no Scar no listen Scar
Scar: Yes?
Grian: 
Let’s take this somewhere else.
They ‘take this’ to Scar’s beautifully-appointed mayoral office. Grian sits on the arm of his chair (I don’t know what to tell you, this is on-screen canon).
Grian: So I know how to end the war.
Grian: We have to play minigames and make personal bets.
Grian: And Scar, Scar, if you lose

Scar: Yes?
Grian: 
 you have to help build my base.
Entire room: [stunned silence]
Etho: Is this what it was about the whole time, Grian?
So! That happened. And the thing is, they could both mentally pass off the area 77 general/hippie stuff as Just A Fun Bit That Got Very Intense.
They can't do this with the mayor/motherspore stuff. They are basically making out on Scar’s chair. The resistance have noticed. The mayoral staff have noticed. EVERYONE has noticed.
Scar is into it. Scar is going along with it. Scar knows he’d had a crush for a long time, and he isn't scared of swimming with a huge wave, never mind where it's going to break. Scar has always embraced the rush. With Grian, you never know what’s going to happen next.
Grian has always loved being around Scar because there’s so much going on that you don’t have to think. Grian doesn’t have to think until everything’s calmed down. It's not until now that he stops and realizes
 could this be
 something.
(Maybe it already is.)
And then, by whatever eldritch mechanic you personally favor:
3rd life begins.
HEAD-OVER-HEELS – Third Life
In the tiny claustrophobic stripped-bare world of Third Life, Grian makes a choice. Grian thinks, for once very, very clearly: what if it wasn't a bit? What if it was real. What if Grian took every explosive piece of who he was and handed it over to someone he's—okay, he'll admit it—someone he's been obsessed with for a long time. What if that heady sparkle he's been seeing in the corner of his vision is true. What happens if you grab it with both hands?
Scar—surprised, bemused, amazed but wrong-footed—almost doesn't know what to DO with this.
Scar is so used to Grian layering all his obsession behind a thick layer of irony and drama and second-guessing and schemes. ‘Sure we can make out but only if I'm trailing mushroom spores and you're wearing that sash.’ ‘I'm only here because Mumbo's not around.’ ‘It’s not a thing.’ ‘It's not real.’
But it is real.
And, for once, Scar hears a tiny alarm go off in his brain. Scar knows Grian better than anyone else does, by now, and even he doesn't know where this ends. Grian is a force of nature and Scar has never been his unfiltered target. But Grian's throwing himself into this, throwing himself at Scar. And Scar always says 'yes.' 'Yes, and.' 'Yes, let's'. Scar never wants less of Grian. Scar has always taken what he can get.
But with that warning bell, Scar does try to keep that slight layer of dramatic distance, even in this new world where you can die and not come back, even if they don't know if they'll get out of this alive. Scar doesn't fully buy into Grian's second-in-command-devotion, he forces a space for Grian to still be the Grian he knows, some kind of safety vent (‘here's a bee on a lead’). And it could be a lot of reasons, but part of it is
Grian's head-over-heels, for once, and Scar has the unfamiliar feeling of needing to be the one to look where they're going.
Because where they're going is: the last two, all their friends dead, not knowing if there's any way to survive but knowing their friends haven't come back, and at that point Scar takes off the very last of his brakes and the very last of his reservations and says:
For everything you've done for me you can kill me.
(I want this. I want it to be you.)
This breaks Grian absolutely and completely.
And not broken in the fun way! Grian is too far in. Grian let go of Mumbo, who was safe because Mumbo never let it get too far, and he took a risk on Scar, and now Grian is discovering that he didn’t even know what risk meant. Grian is in emotional pain he never suspected existed. Grian has let himself put all his gambling chips on someone who wasn't SAFE and he has lost.
Grian has LOST SCAR and he has LOST HIMSELF and he has FOUND OUT HE CAN BE HURT and he is never going to be the fucking same again.
Scar is in the pond with Grian’s sword at his unresisting neck. And Scar is going to die, and Scar (damn him damn him) has turned it into: he's going to die for Grian. Now Grian is hurting, he's complicit, it turns out grief is an inevitable part of love and beauty, this is all it's taken for Grian's worldview to fall apart in pieces he can't pick up, and Grian has no defenses against pain so there's obviously no way to cope except to beat Scar to death in a cactus ring and jump off a cliff.
AFTERMATH – Season 8
They wake up in Hermitcraft.
They wake up in Hermitcraft! Scar is delighted to find out they just reincarnate, after all that!
Sure, they've all got some lingering trauma but Scar has never let that stop him from doing anything. Scar thought that whole thing went well! He just about dares to think...romantic...? Maybe...?
Grian is Normal to him.
Grian is so fucking normal. it's like. s6 normal.
Scar is. kind of. confused.
Grian is NOT acting like someone he had a romantic death match with.
(Grian is falling apart, but if there's one thing Grian has proved in his building it’s that he’s SO. fucking. good. at facades.)
(Don't go round the back.)
Neither of them are ready for the death game to repeat.
DIVORCE (Traumatic) – Last Life, Season 8
Second death game. Grian deals with his trauma super well by isolating Scar, stealing all his friends, tricking a life out of him, dropping his horse in lava, forcing him into an extortion death loop, then abandoning him and—just as a bonus—murdering Mumbo as well.
This time it’s Scar who comes back falling apart.
A theory that seems plausible: Scar’s old friend Cub picks him up, puts him back together, gets him on his feet. What we do know is that Cub moves in next to Boatem, where Scar is still living with Grian, and incidentally builds an enormous dripstone megabiome that is coincidentally very hostile and might murder you upon landing if you're someone who flies a lot, or happens to be a bird.
There’s a hole with an endless dark void between Scar and Grian’s Boatem bases. They built it together. It’s around this time they both keep repeatedly falling in it.
DIVORCE (But When It Was Good It Was So Good) – Season 8, Double Life
Then the moon gets big. Gets close. Gravity breaks down and that should be the end, should be a way out of this terrible spiral they're in, surely they're better without each other—
Grian turns up at Scar's base and says: Scar. Build us an escape pod.
—and Scar does.
They go out together. Both of them can feel the pull back into each other’s orbit but they’ll die if they acknowledge it. At the end of it all, the void, the protective suits, the unbearable gravity of falling into space together, of holding each other until another uncertain end. They're nowhere but they're in it together.
Is this a good time for another death game? Of course. How much worse can it get.
Double Life, and this time Scar keeps his distance. My soulmate is this allay! My soulmate is my cat! I don’t need a soulmate. Oh—it’s Grian? This whole time? Hahaha. How funny.
Grian: Soo
 do you want to base together?
Scar: Do we have to?
Grian: It
might be nice
?
Scar is wary.
He has been burned.
But the pull is still there. The pull is always there. You can’t forget Grian, but you can blunt the edge of him on your skin. Scar is here to take care of these cat-pandas. Grian can do what he likes.
Cheated of Scar’s full attention, Grian tries to tempt BigB into a pale imitation of the Scarian folie à deux (BigB is a genuinely nice man who does not deserve this).
The rest of the server turn red, one by one. Grian and Scar are the last greens. BigB is audibly nervous when Grian proposes a red-green alliance, even though BigB is the red, he has the power. But Grian can’t escape the rest of the server, and the red hunt begins.
Grian and Scar, hunted—trapped at the top of flaming towers, jumping from heights, chased down like foxes at bay, crammed into boltholes with their hands over each other’s mouths, Grian shrieks and laughs and falls back on Scar and Scar catches him and they’re both as alive and elated as they’ve ever been. Scar dies once to Ren and BigB’s zombies and Grian murders both BigB and Ren in revenge (BigB was right to be nervous). Grian has another unhinged murder plan underway when he dies for the last time.
This whole time, Grian was hit in the face by remembering that when it's good, it's so good.
Scar isn’t surprised. Scar has known that forever.
Back in Hermitcraft, its not magically fixed. They’re not innocent any more. But every time Grian looks at Scar he remembers: when it’s good, it’s so good.
And Scar never forgot.
DIVORCE (We’re In Love And We’re Not Done Yet) – Season 9, Limited Life
By now we're into Season 9. They’re still alive. They always live, they always start again, and the other one is just there. Being, infuriatingly and magnetically, them.
Grian is thoroughly annoyed by Scar’s new allegiance to King Ren, but he keeps coming back to Scarland anyway. Scar, I made you an obstacle course. Scar, stand here and get squashed by this anvil. Scar if you don’t do something I’m going to start a resistance.
Grian pretends King Ren doesn’t exist and he has more important things to do, and pretends this so hard that he incidentally invents a mad science robot pulls them all through into the Empires dimension.
Scar, assuming Grian is doing his own thing, shacks up with Jimmy.
It takes Grian three weeks to notice and be shriekingly outraged.
Scar we’re doing a project. Scar you can’t spend all your time with Jimmy! Join my cult. Get in my shrinking machine. I made you an enchanted netherite bow. I need your allegiance. (Another real quote).
Scar teases Grian for weeks then instantly abandons Jimmy when the choice comes down to him or Grian.
Fourth death game—they’re used to this, now. Nothing too intense. Nothing too weird. Grian can’t help murdering Scar.
At this point, Scar is starting to read it as: I love you.
And that’s how we get to the current Scarian dynamic we know and love of you're the worst and I'm the worst and we've divorced a few time but we still like each other so fucking much.
It's been years. They've killed each other every possible way. These two characters are in love and they're not done yet.
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elvhensinner · 8 months ago
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Fuck Around & Find Out
Kwon Eunbi smut 4.2k words Tags: Honeymoon sex, (Just got) Married, "Soft" & "Wholesome", Roleplay, Musk, Bondage, Very thick Eunbi T/W: Noncon, R A P E, Mindbreak A/N: I had a hard time proofreading this so pardon some doodoos and lack of eloquence at some parts ✌
"Hey there, hubby." Eunbi squeals at that last bit, unable to contain herself as she welcoms you to the honeymoon suite. You linger at the full smile she had on before your eyes devour tonight's entrée.
You think back to all the pictures you have of her. You can't imagine any one of them topping your view tonight; Kwon Eunbi in her wedding lingerie.
A fine white mesh barely obstructs the sight of her legs.
A garter belt that connects her girdle to her thigh highs.
The thinnest of lace straps holding up her lace bra.
Asides from 'wedding night', you detect a theme for her attire: 'Clothes so tight that she's popping out', evident from plump parts of her body constricted here and there, practically eating the straps enveloped by the pudge of her body.
'Dummy thicc' worthy of the name. You couldn't wait to rip off what little clothes she had.
Tonight truly was a magical night, for besides finally getting married, tonight of all nights was when she finally decided to succumb to your bondage kink.
“Nnngghhhh” Eunbi whines, snapping you out of your trance. Squirms, even, probably from the lack of action on your part. “Hubby, I don’t know if I could hold this pose any longer without combusting.” There it is, her fluffy demeanor that contrasted her dynamite body. You remember why this is the first time she's agreed to this. Her legs attempt to cover her crotch area, but all it does is tighten the ropes around her shins.
“Seriously, I’m dying of embarrassment here. M-maybe you can take a picture so it could last longer.”
You take out your phone and fill the silent room with the sound of camera shutters. All angles of her beauty splayed out were yours to capture.
Once you leaned in closer. Your nose was immediately enchanted with her fragrance. Probably lotion. So elegant and warm. Almond shea body butter, if you remember correctly. Probably even applied a little extra, judging by the sheen of her skin. You get carried away and produce an audible sniff, making her giggle.
You've had enough. Her scent was the final nail in the coffin. The heat in your loins dictate your movement. In A Flash, your monkey suit drops to the ground.
“Are you ready to start, hubby?” she didn't need to ask twice. With just your boxers covering you, you bring your knees up to the bed and inch your way between her legs.
Your raging hog was already aligned to her crotch area, ready to rip off all the fabric in between should it need to, until she interrupts you with a clear of her throat.
“O-oh you must be the plumber
 M-Mister plumber, could you give me a hand?” She pled with such a submissive, squeaky voice, stopping you in your tracks.
You were fully aware of her roleplaying kink, but you didn't think she'd bust that out tonight. 'Happy wife happy life', you thought, getting off the bed so you could reach her side to indulge in her fiction.
“Woah, what's happening here?” You said with a distorted, indistinguishable voice. Her nose flared, probably due to the comedic pitch you chose.
Getting her bearings back, Eunbi gets back in character "Well.. you scared my boyfriend... he thought you were my dad so he fled."
"Mmhm... and he's the one who tied you up?
"Yeah, b-but only 'cause we were trying something out... Could you help untie me?" she said in the tiniest, cutest voice. Even roleplaying she cant help but be all soft.
"Sure, sure" you said, as your fingers finagle the rope securing her arm.
"He's a lucky fella for you to agree to this." Once you’ve had your fill of hearing her whimpers and her small voice thanking you for untying her, your hands abandon its play pretend and lightly touching her arm. Tracing her wrist down to her arm. This made Eunbi twitch in 'shock'.
"Well it seems like your boyfriend's not coming anytime soon, so maybe I could replace him-"
"No please." She says in panic "I just really need to be untied."
"Mmhm sure you do" Your hands travel to her exposed tummy and rub her mid section sensually, making Eunbi bend her body to avoid the plumber’s curious hands.
“S-sir
 could you please just focus on untying me?”
You filter out her words, too busy with groping the glory of a tied up Kwon Eunbi. You decide to tease her main attraction; her boobs. A pair so voluptuous that merely pinching her bra strap and tugging on it caused them to sway around with gravity.
It was moan after moan for Kwon Eunbi, clearly enjoying this too much. She dives deeper into fantasy:
“No mr. plumber. Those... those are for my boyfriend.”
“Ngghh.. I wore this for my boyfriend, but the filthy plumber’s the one enjoying it”
“Please don't do this. I dont want to be a disloyal girlfriend."
Spitting out more and more words push you past your tilting point. You pry a finger on her bra strap and —unlike the playful teasing from before— you retract your hand hard, making it snap. With her tits in the air, you dive in.
“S-sir sir sir, please unhand my ooohhh fuckk
. please, not my boobs, they’re my boyfriend’s favourite”
“Mmmh I can see why” still by her side, you had to make do with just one tiddy. Your hand grips and kneads, focusing between fondling her globes, and using two front fingers to flick her nipples to kingdom come, earning bigger and throatier moans from the tig bitty lady.
“He must be the luckiest man on earth to be able to fondle these tits every night. Do I fondle your boobs that same way your boyfriend does?”
“Fuck, I love this so much, baby-”
“E-ehem” you try and snap her right back into sticking with the script.
“I-I mean no. You don't do it the same way as my boyfriend. He usually kisses me while he fondles me
” her mouth tilts to your direction, already expecting your lips to touch hers. You fight off every instinct to give her plump, cherry-colored mouth a good frenching. You had other plans to escalate your night together.
"Y-you're not gonna fuck my face, now, are you mr. Plumber?.." She says, knowing full well that that was always how these nights of lust begin.
"Fuck it? Naaah, I'm gonna paint it." You reposition, having her beneath your wide-spread legs. It was too much for you. The lingerie, the roleplay, everything. You didn't mind an early exit, you just knew that your cock is gonna start ripping your boxers if you don't take it out and jerk it until your sweet release.
"Noooo my boyfriend never paints my face. Please don't do it mr. Plumber, sir. Anything but that, I hate ittttt." with your knowledge of her preferences, you knew she kinda meant that. 'I guess I'm fulfilling two of hubby's fantasies tonight... but he better pay me back later' she thinks to herself.
She hears your wet cock being jerked just above her face. Wanting to encourage you to make her eat your dick instead, Eunbi extends her neck to reach your member with her mouth. She only manages to place small kiss on it, however. This makes her she gasp and break character "Oh my..... You're so hard that its throbbing so so thick, baby."
You didnt have time to reply, your prejac instantly jets out to warm Eunbi's face. Wanting to respond in a manner that's genuine to the roleplay, Eunbi sounds out 'distress' and 'no's', but at the same time.
You moan through your high and finish covering every inch of her face with white. Eunbi's tongue curls to your dripping cum to get a taste of your addicting cum, but
"You must have skipped the pineapple juice tonight, huh, hubby?" she breaks character yet again, but this time you pay no mind, you had your heart set on which hole to paint next.
"I hope you like missionary." You knew she liked it. Loved it, in fact. Her doubts wash away with how her heart skips a beat. Her giddiness skyrockets when you remove yourself from bed and position right between her tied up legs.
Hiking her panties to the side, you make quick work with clipping your fingers inside her cunt to search for her beloved pleasure spot. Once you find her rough spot, you double, triple, down on it. Even using your bicep to bring her to bliss as fast as you can.
Kwon wails at this point. Slowly breaking her voice to show you how much she's close.
"You remember how I got into my bondage kink?" you suddenly ask out of the blue
"Y-yeah... mmmmhnnngghhh" Eunbi's cunt was a freeflowing faucet of wetness at this point "Your friend-- fuckkk-- he told you all about it and-- and..." she loses herself in pleasure, so much so that she slurps the mixture of drool and cum weighing down near her chin. "And you've been into it ever since-- Tell him I said thank you."
With one hand you continue murdering her cunt, while another reached up towards the tits you love.
You knew exactly how she liked her chest being played with: Using your index and middle finger to play with her nipples. Similar to rubbing a clit. Exactly the same fashion you fondled her breast a few minutes ago. Such knowledge over this woman was how you knew that her contorted face wasn't one of pleasure, but of discomfort.
You were all the way hard again, in a position to penetrate her soon. This makes you feel excited —finally this honeymoon suite will see some real action. This idea couldn't help but excite you, turning your gentle massage into an eager peppering. Using your thumb and index finger, you pepper away at her nipple. You were amazed at their elasticity. Too amazed. You tug and tug to no end, wanting this night to never end.
“Oh my
 mr. plumber, that's not how my boyfriend usually does it... ughhh..... fuckk.... you’re so different from him and
 Fuck
. mr. plumber’s being so rough with my tits. My boyfriend... h-he loves to treat me soft, but youre doing such a better job” She said in the most unconvincing of tones.
"Oh my.. you're ruining my body mr plumber- ohh.. oh-okay... wait.. fuck... ZUCCHINI"
You were surprised, she uses her safe word. It was quite a while since she had used it, but you knew exactly what it meant, so you retract your hands.
"Aww but we were getting to the good part, little miss helpless girl."
"You can drop the fake voice... ah fuck.... that one was.... that one was a little too much, Paul" She finally states a name. After her confusing mixed usage of mr. Plumbers, babys, boyfriends, and hubbys, it was quite refreshing to finally hear her mouth produce a name. Eunbi was panting, and had sweat building up on her forehead. She was set on wanting to throw in the towel with fulfilling your fantasy.
"Help me take off my blindfold." She said.
Not wanting this to end, you place both hands on her chest to pleasure her nipples the right way "No... nngghhh, Paul, its not about my tits. You've been acting weird all nigh-" she was interrupted.
Eunbi feels an inch of your cock enter her, as should husband and wife on their wedding night. Fireworks go off in your head, feeling her perfectly primed pussy on her wedding night. You were stunned. At a loss for words. This was amazing, until Eunbi had to ruin it with grunts of pain.
"you're not Paul......" she asks with labored breaths, trying to accommodate your size
"Shhhh with how well I know your body so well, I might as well be-"
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU???" Eunbi starts to squirm, trying to get you off. You give her the respect of seeing who you really are.
"Let's just say, Paul's had pretty loose lips recently."
"What the hell do you mean? Who the fuck are you?! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME. PAAAAUL! PAAAUL, WHERE ARE-" you grab her cheeks with one hand, squishing them to make her stops.
"How the hell do you think I know how to touch you?"
"Paul put you up to this?" Eunbi had pleading eyes looking up at you.
"Well yes and no... In his defense he was just trying to brag about how much 'you melt from his touch'. With accompanying pics and videos, I might add. Your man sent one too many pictures that it wasn't hard to track you down. You'd be amazed by how easy it is to find things via reverse image search. From that point, its simple math. Tux + Wedding + some alcohol for good ol' Paul."
"Where's, Paul?" she said in an assertive voice
"Shhh, its not polite to talk about other people in bed. Don't worry, with how much I know about you, you might as well continue roleplaying."
"Untie me, you pig." she says
"Not a chance, cow" you grip her tits hard, making her nipples bugle out off the gaps of your fingers. With some micromovements, your skin teases her nubs of sensitivity, making her go still.
"You... you're the reason Paul suddenly wanted this out the blue..." she pieces together.
"Hey, Its not my fault he's such a copycat. But hey, I ain't complaining"
With a clear painting, Eunbi's brain fires off at every direction, feeling every emotion, and wielding rage like a steel hammer. Eunbi doesn't care if you tease her nipples anymore. With all her might she sways her body, powers her limbs, screams at the top of her lungs, everything she needs to get herself out of the ropes she put on herself. This made you unhand her and simply sit back.
"I don't see what the problem is. I know your body. Just pretend I'm the same size as your new husband's and it would be like I'm Paul-"
"You shut your mouth. Your cock is nowhere as big as Paul's." she bites back, not even bothering to take a gander at the snake between your legs before continuing her struggle.
It was quite a sight, the woman who left nothing for your imagination was squirming in vigor, producing a sight of nothing but pure sex. The way her tits sway and her pussy clenches was magnificent in and of itself.
With the lack of intervention from the outside world, it seems like Paul wisely paid extra for the soundproofed room. Easing the final worry of your crime.
You give Eunbi a chance, sitting down in between her legs and allowing her to walk out should she succeed in breaking free.
With a smile on your face, one of the reasons you loved bondage unfolds itself in front of you.
There was nothing more delicious than seeing the fighting spirit of a woman. Mustering what little ounce of hope they could, wishfully thinking that Yes. I can get out of this.
You thank the heavens for convincing Paul to opt for the premium ropes. They were certainly holding their own against the thrashing of a grown woman.
You palm Eunbi's pussy, making sure that each one of her struggles would cause her thick labia to grind agaisnt your hand.
"For someone who claims they wanna get free, you sure are grinding your pussy on my hand hard. Hahahaha" Eunbi has grown deaf and numb from your games. She only had one thing in her mind right now.
Your phone camera reads 30 minutes. Watching her go through the motions of anxiety and action has lost its charm. With a final attempt to break free, Eunbi flexes all her muscles to no avail. She drops her limbs, defeated.
You hear her huff and puff, probably exhausted from her hour long clenchings.
Having your fun, and having little to no action for yourself for the past half hour. You get back up on your knees and close your phone.
"Hey, A for effort." you said, laying flat on her body as you hug her, cusping her cheek and looking at her straight in the eye. The fury in them lights a fire under you. Your first attack shall be on her neck. Diving right in, you inhale her scent and mix her sweat with your saliva.
She smelled so good just earlier, but now she reeked of her natural musk. It was like her profuse sweating pushed all the fragrance out of her skin.
With how hard you pressed your face to her body, you could feel the pores on her skin. From her jaw to her armpit to the area around her boobs, you had to make sure you inhaled every essence of her porn body. Your exploration took you to every curve of her torso, every divot, every crevice, smelling the fear and pheromone that pierced through the lotion she wore for Paul tonight. Eunbi squeals to no end, graciously adding background music to your manic deed.
"Where are my manners" Your hand glides around her top, gathering spit and sweat. Well lubricated, you insert 3 fingers inside of her in an instant. Eunbi's body tenses up and makes your hear the beautiful sound of ropes tighten once more.
"You sick fuck" she says in a weak voice, obviously trying hard not to give you the satisfaction of her moans. You knew her body, so you knew how to touch her.
"They say that some rape victims often forget everything that happened to them due to the trauma. Here's to hoping you don't forget how good I am in bed." you laugh, as you continue to violate her birth hole.
After teasing her; bringing her to the edge and then stopping, edging and edging and edging, you decide that its time for your own pleasure.
'Missionary, her favorite.' You think back to Paul's notes, as you take position. “Now lets see just how deep I’ll get"
You lay your cock on her, your base rests on her entrance. while the cockhead all the way up, sizing up how far you'll reach. Eunbi’s eyes almost pop out upon looking down and seeing how the tip of your cock easily reached her tummy.
"Please... stop..." she said as you got off her and aim your cock on her leaking cunt.
"You should have told your husband that." You take your phone and show you all the pictures and videos that Paul had been sharing to you all this time. The delicious trust that he had for you was endearing. Or was it ignorance? Perhaps the anonymity made him think he was bulletproof.
Distracted from your phone, was the best time to pierce Kwon Eunbi, “Don’t worry. If it wont fit, then I’ll make it fit.” Applying pressure, Eunbi groans and starts to let you hear her weeping.
"Heey hey..." You comfort her pretty little head, wanting her to calm down before you say "Remember to open those legs wide for me, Eunbi. I’m not as big as your husband, remember?” you chuckle, a glint of mercy shows from your joke, one short-lived as your patience grows thin. You spread her legs yourself, so far off to the point of pain.
You wanted her to be tight, you wanted her pussy to grip your dick so hard that it could turn to diamond. But what Eunbi had in store for you? Was much. Much. Better.
Your cock laced with precum only had to push past her puffy labia. From then on, your cock was a key that perfectly fit the lock of Eunbi's pussy. Amused, you leave her pussy, and try entry again. Paul's woman weeps from this, again and again you repeat your actions, as if she were built for nothing but your amusement. Seeing her, you wipe her tears and give her a smile. With your cock withdrawn from her depths, you nod your head, as if asking a question. Eunbi shakes from left to right. You sigh and exit her tasty cunt. Looking like you were discouraged.
Such a ploy paved the way to seeing her fill up with hope and drain back out. You weren't letting go of this one. Eunbi's pussy has got to be one of the fattest pussies you’ve ever pounded. Her pussy was perfection. The little bend of your cock allowed you to grind your swollen cockhead to what little gap her filled pussy had left.
Eunbi started to ease her agitated expression. In fact, the both of you did. It felt Like Heaven for the both of you that you two had a couple of dumb, mindless faces.
"Heey, look who's here. Its your hubby~" you snap her out using another one of your ploys, a bait she gladly takes as her head flicks to the door.
Your free hand guides her head to face yours. “He's in front of you, silly~"
"No no, you're not-" you spit on her face
"Yes I am. Go ahead, call me hubby”
“n-no
” preparing to spit once more, you decide consent was nonsensical at this point.
“But wifey~" disregarding her disapproval, you go ahead and steal the moniker from their relationship “Its our honeymoon~”
She had nothing but eyes filled with fear and tears whilst staring up at you. You slow down your ravishing, eventually putting it to a halt.
From the moment your cock entered Eunbi, you've been noticing how much her volume increases whenever your cock kisses a certain part of her insides.
Face to face, you watch her react to your ace in the hole. Its not like your were jackhammering her. No. You simply pressed your cock hard on her special place. Same position, same angle, full sustained strength. You swear you could feel her wall bumping outwards with how much your cock was pressing on it.
Like a madwoman, Eunbi shouts with the entirety of her being. The escalation from calm to panic was exquisite, from her eyes shooting open to her screech pushing past her throat.
"NOT THERE! OH PLEASE DEAR FUCKING GOD NOT THERE!!!"
she screams lies past her teeth. Eunbi's reaction was so visceral. As if possessed, her body lifts off the bed, not mindful of her arms and legs secured. You graciously accompany her upwards, making sure to stay connected.
Her disgruntled moans were continuous, leaving a constant gap on her mouth. An invitation you gladly accept, sucking out both breath and spit; as if you needed anything more to remind you that you own her tonight.
Cock in. Mouth together. Your fingers reclaim its rightful plush throne atop her boobs.
Your core was about to give out with your current position, still applying pressure on her sweet spot. A few more swipes on her nipples were all it took for you to finally reap her sow. It looked cute, the way she orgasms. A muscle from the V lines of her hip spasms in and out. Your cock was compressed to no end when Kwon Eunbi's cream tries and tries to push your member out of her. Her condensed nectar engulfs her cunt and then your cock.
"Hu...bby....." Eunbi finally says, with her body still suspended mid-air. The line between love and hate fades, and along it, Eunbi's sanity. Nevermind the fact that she was calling for help, you choose to believe she's finally yours.
You guide her bum back to bed, seemingly necessary with how her face and body froze, and her pupils vibrate. After much consideration, you decide it was time to meet Eunbi in heaven. Your hips only had one goal: To resume fucking her. Thankfully, bucking your hips forward didn't make her squeal anymore. No whines nor moans were left. Just anguish 'love'.
It seems like she's finally broken 'warmed' up to you. Without restraint, you fuck her glorious pussy, still ladened with her own cum, bottoming out so hard that what little voice she had left couldn't be heard over the squeaking bedframe.
"Since Paul loves these so much. I'm gonna help them grow. Even. Bigger." You grip her tits. Grip. Truthfully, no word will ever do justice to the roughness your hands show her tits. Using them as handles, you chase after your orgasm. Wanting to finally pay back Paul for all the times he's sent you pictures of Eunbi, each one leading you to this moment. A gift that will reveal itself 9 months later. A gift that will make Eunbi's already-bountiful bosom blossom. The gift of life.
Lights almost go out as your virile cum pushes past her cunt and squirts straight into her womb. It was fireworks. The perfect punishment to Paul's mishap.
You lay in bed. Using one of Eunbi's meaty arms as your pillow. She was still tied up, but that didn't stop you from cuddling the woman as if she were yours. You look below, thankfully, hiking her panties as high up as the fabric can hold prevented your baby batter from leaking out.
You trace her belly, excited about how much larger it will be in a matter of months. Looking at her face devoid of emotion —no will to live whatsoever— you give her a kiss goodbye, and a rub on her head for doing a good job at being such a good toy for you tonight.
You leave, with your number on her phone, and her state a shriveled husk of a woman.
You pass by the room you had put Paul in before making sure he was drunk as all hell. It wasn't even locked. Bastard was just out of it.
You scoff. Walking a little taller as you think to yourself
'Fuck around and find out.'
Reason why I wrote this smut: For the Nth time, my close friend has bragged about his "catch of a girlfriend". I didn't think jerking off to his gf's pics (the ones that he himself sent) was enough of a punishment, so I wrote a fic about it too. As I'm writing this, I am intoxicated with the idea that everyone who jerked off to this fic is in a way jerking off to his girl 😋 Whenever I was stuck in this fic, I was totally thinking of how I'd fuck his girl.
Welp this certainly took a dark turn... I am honestly shocked at myself with how this one turned out. And I say "turned out" because this had a different draft and story line before I moved it over to Tumblr to polish it. I think the pressure of not wanting the storyline/ending to be same the as Doggy Cam's (where its revealed that the idol actually likes) got to me. Lol! But hey, at least I got noncon off the list now! Hoping to move on to a fluffy smut after this cause it was legit "...oof what did I write" for me by the end of this one 😅
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amarynthian-chronicles · 5 months ago
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Practical Solutions to Complex Problems
Writer Y/N: boys, emergency meeting. It seems we have encountered what is widely known as the dreaded Writer's Block. Any practical solutions are welcome and I encourage open dialogue.
Sun, smiling slyly: Worry not, my love. I just so happen to have some leftover dynamite somewhere in my chambers. It is my own special blend of nitroglycerine and glitter glue. We shall blow that Writer's Block to sparkly pieces!
Y/N, blinking at him, then pouring themselves their fifth cup of coffee in the past hour: I am not even surprised anymore. Next?
Moon, contorting his limbs as he begins to climb on the table, high-pitched giggles filling the room: I say we hunt this wretched Writer's Block down in the dark forest where nobody can hear its screams, tracking it through the sound of its heart beating and the nectar of its Fear. When we finally sink our claws in, we shall feast on its flesh till not even an echo of its existence remains.
Y/N, patting Moon's head and listening to him purr: Thank you for your invaluable input. Next?
Eclipse, casually reading a fashion magazine, one leg crossed over the other: I stole a bulldozer last week and I am positively certain that I can learn how to operate it within approximately two minutes of practice. I can easily pulverize this "Writer's Block" you speak of, what is the fuss even about? Skill issue, my love.
Writer Y/N:....you know what, we'll try all three options and we'll see what happens.
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portraitsofguilt · 2 years ago
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𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐌𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 — ellie williams
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— “glance at the thought i want you.”
synopsis — ellie has a new thing she wants to try out with you or scissoring with ellie! content warning/s — female reader, nsfw content, scissoring, kissing, praising, inexperienced! ellie
a/n — these finals are having me stress over every breath i take, so i am taking away ellie’s rn, enjoy :)
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“SO WEAK WHEN YOU MOVE LIKE THAT.”
ellie’s body was sprawled across the bed like a work of art, her perky tits bounced softly as you rolled softly as you rolled your hips against hers. light gasps came from her lips as your clits met, grinding together slowly. your mouth waters at the sight of her under you and your animalistic fantasies of absolutely devouring her right here never were hard to contain.
there have been talks between the two of you, maybe more like ellie threw up the idea of scissoring and you almost choked on your spit as she bluntly voiced her demands. when you could talk instead of falling in and out of consciousness you agreed that you can try and fill the blanks in for her fantasy.
of course, you accepted, why wouldn’t you? she was all over you the second time she asked, kissing and biting your exposed skin while attacking you with her questions.
“are you doing ok?” you ask, reaching a hand down to caress her face. it was hot, almost fooling you that she was riding a high fever and her cheeks were red like cartoon dynamites, ready to blow any second.
she nods quickly, biting her lower lips to suppress a moan. ellie would hate to admit it out loud how much she is enjoying herself in this position and the delicious stimulation on her clit. she didn’t think this kind of standing could be as satisfying as having your tongue please her and she is seriously considering changing her favorite stimulation.
“f-faster
” she mumbles, her thighs trembling already. her heart was racing and she swore it would jump out of any second with the way you moved your hips against hers.
“you are so good ells, such a pretty messy pussy you have for me,” you exclaim with a high-pitched moan following your statement. you pull her thighs closer to you and quicken your pace as more praise falls from your mouth.
ellie’s eyes close as she soaks up your words, whimpering softly. her body trembles and her walls clench around nothing as her high nears and she finds it embarrassing.
“m’cumming- cumming!” she squeaks, her thighs trying to close as her hips spasm against yours. all her shame quickly dissolves, her mind only able to concentrate on the spine-arching pleasure her body is being wrecked by. she saw stars, shining brightly and blinding her as her orgasm eat her whole.
you gave her a few rushed nods, not being able to form words as you too were nearing the edge. you can feel the small, unfortunate space between the two of you get even more slippery than before, the wet sounds of your pussy lips getting louder.
ellie was just coming, her pupils were blown like she was high on drugs, and her brain was gushing out of her ears. you followed her soon, your head falling forward and your hands slipping between the two of you. the pressure in your stomach was unbearable and the release your fingers provided was heavenly.
you choke on the air in your lungs before collapsing down next to ellie. your hand tries to find hers, fingers lacing together and bringing them up to your lips to place a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.
“can we try this, sometime again
” she started, a too quickly taken breath stuck in ehr throat forming a bubble. “soon?” you muttered a quiet ‘yes’ while your other hand was looking for the blanket to pull over the both of you.
ellie rolled onto her side, her eyes searching for yours as her free hand came to push the stuck strains of hair out of her face. her expressions might not have been too telling as in the dim lights it looked as if she was quickly back to a blank look but no. from a closer angle like yours with her lips slightly ajar, the warmth radiating from her hot cheeks and the thin sheen of sweat covering her naked body there was no inquiry she had enjoyed herself.
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yuzuyoon · 5 months ago
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Lily, as someone with knowledge of singing and vocal technique, I'm hoping you can answer something I've been thinking about since I watched the mini-doc about the creation of Muse.
When Jimin and his crew go back into the bedroom--it's almost midnight, at this point--Jimin says, with some uncertainty, I believe--that the key they've chosen is "quite high." Two keys ahead of the original! Later, the guitarist asks him if he's going to sing it higher and then nods approvingly..."that's art."
But is it really better to sing in such a high key? Would it not have sounded as good in a slightly lower key? Is it the reason for the auto-tune so many people are complaining about?
I thought about this while listening to Be Mine. There's that one line that seems excessively high--so high I feel like it might attract any dogs in the vicinity. Do you think it needs to be/should be that high?
Btw, whatever the key, Be Mine is one of those songs that is deceptively difficult to sing, isn't it? People aren't talking enough about Jimin's vocal prowess here.
i want you to listen to two things. first, listen to the original version of dynamite. then listen to this version:
youtube
now tell me which one sounds more like a bts song. the original dynamite was a song in quite a high pitch, and many people agree that the version in a lower pitch sounds more like a bts song.
this concept applies to all songs. some songs sound better at a higher tone, some songs sound better at lower tones. im sure when considering the pitch of who, jimin took two things into consideration:
1) is he capable of singing it live (and we have seen yes he can)
2) what sounds best vocally and instrumentally
im pretty confident jimin chose the right key because of one main reason: it fits perfectly into jimin's vocal sweet spot
we all have vocal sweet spots when we sing and they're not all coherent. for example, i'm really comfortable in my lower-mid range and my high range, but i struggle when it comes to mid-high range. jimin's sweet spot seems to be that very high falsetto/mix that he does in the who prechorus
who is a challenging song to sing, but jimin chose it because he knows his voice and he knows what sounds good. i believe, had he chosen one of the lower pitches, we wouldn't have gotten that resonant note. (jimin also seems to be so proud and confident of his vocals now after taking those lessons and he's been showing it off a lot. a challenging key would the perfect opportunity to show off something he's proud of)
because i love making videos to try to explain things, here's one of who in different keys so you can get a feel for why jimin chose to have to song be that pitch:
im pretty confident the original pitch sounds the best.
now for be mine: yes the prechorus for this song is also absurdly high. like absurdly. the real test on if that was the right key choice for this song is if jimin can sing live (fingers crossed the bonus clip has be mine in it). based on the who performances, i am so confident he can
and yes, be mine is challenging to sing because youre reaching a spot where its hard to even use a falsetto to reach those notes. jimin and i have similar high key ranges and its so incredibly difficult for me to get to those notes and make it sound nice. jimin really saw people ranking him at no. 4 for vocal capabilities in bts and decided to come for his rightful no. 2 spot as a lead vocalist. all the kudos to him, that is a power move if i ever saw one
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tomuchabotme · 24 days ago
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It's not even just Jimin's songs, in this live alone Jungkook mentioned multiple other songs being too high for him to sing. But he does seem to have a specially hard time with Jimin's songs and parts. Like when he complained about Dynamite being too high because of Jimin and Jin. Or when he said the same thing about Angel Pt.1 and Filter after trying (and failing) to sing those songs. And there are times where he doesn't directly say it's hard for him to sing like Jimin but you can tell. Like when he sung Jimin's part of Magic Shop and lowered the pitch to make it easier or when he sung along to Letter and not only lowered it but kept skipping parts too.
And we keep saying Jimin's solo songs and his parts in BTS songs are super hard to cover because his voice is so unique and he can sing so high but self described vocal experts online keep talking shit. None of these people acknowledge that Jimin's songs are much harder to sing and therefore much easier to mess up then other idols' songs. Try singing Love Me Again or Friends and then try singing Like Crazy or Who and then tell me which one is harder? I mean, I've seen at least two different idols struggling to cover Who and I bet some of their fans have talked shit about Jimin in the past. We also all remember how every trainee and their mother covered Lie and not a single one managed to do it justice. And let's not even talk about those poor guys in those survival shows the producers had to have been setting up by making them try to sing Jimin's parts in BTS songs. So if other idols make mistakes less often than Jimin is either because they're lip syncing or because their songs are easier to sing. Like, it would be almost impressive if Taehyung managed to mess up performing his boring songs when all he has to do is stand still like the non-dancer he is and sing in a monotone.
But the thing is that Jimin's doesn't even actually make mistakes more often then other idols, he just gets 'criticized' for it more. Other idols can mess up all the want, nobody gives a shit, but if Jimin has a problem with his equipment or is sick and then makes a mistake for even a second people are going to be bringing that up for the rest of his carrer while pretending like those moments aren't an exception and ignoring how most of the time he sings without a problem. And the other BTS members don't get this treatment the way that Jimin does. Do you know those performances (plural because it didn't happen only once) of Magic Shop during 5th Muster where Taehyung's voice kept cracking while he was trying to sing his part of the bridge? And the funniest thing is that him messing up is immediately followed by Jimin absolutely killing his part and even holding the high note for longer than he does in the studio version (just like in The Truth Untold where he added that high note and changed it every time they performed and kept going off for no reason other than he could). It's such a stark contrast, I really would keep my mouth shut if I was a Taehyung stan.
Even though Jimin's songs are so hard to sing (on top of him having to dance a full choreography while singing at the same time) Jimin actually doesn't make mistakes that often. If he did then people wouldn't have to keep using the same few 5 second clips over and over again. BTS performed Fake Love a minimum of 100 times and the only time the "I'm not hating, I'm just giving an honest critique" crowd talks about is the one where he had an issue. And notice how those people haven't said a single thing about his Muse performances even though those are the more recent ones and instead they keep spamming the encore clip that is almost 2 years old at this point. How are you going to claim to be 'unbiased' and 'objective' when you only talk about the negatives? That's the definition of being biased, specially when you consider that those negatives are the minority and there are way more positives you are purposefully ignoring. These type of people honestly piss me off more than the ones that admit they're just hating. Like, if you're gonna be hater at least own up to it.
well, jk has never been that perfect singer they want him to be. he has a nice voice and is a good vocalist, but they created a narrative around him that he is the best vocalist out there and never miss a note that he can't fulfill. last year, he struggled to sing his own songs. and that narrative also got him, that's why he was saying sorry after some performances.
you are right, jimin has some mistakes like every other idol has but kpop stans don't care about it they just want to hate. they are never critical when it comes to him.
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deepdisireslonging · 6 months ago
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Necklace
The Reader is drenched in a sudden downpour. She has to borrow some dry clothes. Ricky likes seeing her in his things, and makes sure she know it in the most intimate way possible.
Pairing: Ricky Starks x Reader
Warnings/Promises: SMUT, boss/underling dynamic (consensual), oral (female receiving), P-in-V, Ricky’s hand as a necklace/light choking, cream pie
Word Count: 3330
Note: Holy shit, this is filth. Can you tell I miss seeing this man on my screen on Dynamite and the like? Also, I used to work at a place that sold those snap-sided joggers. They were murder to keep on the hanger, and probably annoying in practice. But in theory... inspirational.
Bonus: the gifset that inspired this fic
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There’s nothing like getting caught in a New Orleans humidity shower. The weatherman can warn all he likes. They’re always sudden. They come out of nowhere. And you are guaranteed to be soaked in seconds.
Which was why Ricky laughed in your face when he finally answered his door.
“Sorry about that.” He stepped to one side so you could drip your way into his house. “I was on the back porch when you rang and—”
“Mhmm. Sure.” You playfully shot him a glare. There was a bucket by his door for such occasions. You rung out your shirt into it. Even having been in the deluge, you were still surprised how much water came out of the fabric.
“Strip.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Ricky laughed and stepped back. “You’re soaked through. Leave your clothes here. I’ll be back in a minute with a towel and some of my things.” He quickly kissed your cheek on his way out.
To his credit, he didn’t peek when he brought back a brightly colored beach towel and an extra set of his training clothes. The sweatshirt was oversized and would have been coverage enough. But Ricky’s house was equipped with that Louisiana AC. You knew the second you stepped into the living room, as damp as you were, you’d freeze. His long track pants were the kind that had snaps up the side. Easy to get out of for runners before meets, and for wrestlers before matches. You made sure they were snapped together at least as low as your knee, leaving the rest of the fabric to sway. As for your underclothes, you added them to the pile that you tossed into his dryer. When you stepped into the living room, you almost thought to snap the track pants down to your ankles and to ask for socks.
You sat on the edge of the couch where you could reach the coffee table. “Why do you keep your house so cold?” At your fingertips was all the paperwork planning and plotting out his next couple of feuds. You picked up the one closest: a half-baked plan to take revenge on Big Bill for abandoning him to join Jericho.
Ricky settled next to you in matching snap-pants and a tank top. “Because it’s hot outside. And it’s better to freeze the humidity in the house than to try and survive it. Trust me.”
“Whatever you say, boss.”
He bumped his shoulder into yours. “Don’t call me that.”
“Whatever you say. Boss.”
For the next two hours you two fleshed out the plans. Especially that first one with Bill. Together you came up with how to initiate the feud. The number of matches and how many weeks Ricky would take up screentime. You tweaked the climax fight, suggesting parallels to their tag matches, and adding moments to deal with Jericho at ringside. Bill liked you, and liked working with you when he and Ricky were a team. So, you had no reservations about pitching him some ideas later for promos and such.
About forty-five minutes into planning was when you noticed something hanging from Ricky’s neck. It was that little gold cross pendant. With the way he was leaned forward, it dangled into thin air. And your mind wandered. The pendant dangling in your face as he filled you, whispering the dirty things he was yet to do to you. But you had cleared your throat and moved on. There was work to do.
About twenty minutes after that, Ricky had released some of his snaps; up to his mid-thigh. Your mind wandered again. Riding that thigh. Rolling your hips as best you could, but his hands guiding your hips. All the while his mouth working miracles on your throat. But you shuffled the papers in your hands and moved on. It had been ages since you two had enjoyed each other’s company. And today didn’t have time for another fling.
Around the two-hour mark, he was animated and working through one of the promos you’d outlined. His hands moved through the air like punctuation. He didn’t speak at ring-volume. But you could still hear the passion in his voice. He ran through it a few times; adjusting where he added emphasis here, or lowering his voice instead of raising it there. All the while, you couldn’t take your eyes off his hands.
How they gripped the air. How his fingers splayed wide, or curled, or any other series of movements that made you shift in your seat.
He was oblivious. Until he came to the end of his run-through. “How was that?” When you didn’t answer, he finally glanced over at you, still holding up his hands where they’d been. “Hello?” Ricky’s slow grin spread as he followed you gaze. Bringing his posed hand closer to your face, he finally snapped his fingers. “Now, Ms. Y/L/N. What have I told you about objectifying me?”
Startled, you stammered. “I’m- I’m not objectifying you.” Clearing your throat, you sat down one stack of papers to pick up another. “I was
 deep in thought. That last run was good. The pause was better than the last run.”
“Mhmm. Sure.” Ricky darted his tongue out to wet his lips, catching you staring from the corner of your eyes. “We should take a break.” Slapping his hands on the tops of his thighs, he ignored the way you jumped and headed towards his kitchen. “What’cha want? I made lemonade yesterday, or there’s always Coke
”
“No,” you squeaked. “I’m good.”
His silence lulled you into thinking he was long gone. You glanced over the sheets you picked up. Another half-baked feud. Wouldn’t take much to work it out though. Oh, but you’d have to call- You gasped as Ricky’s hands gently landed on your shoulders, sliding down your arms. They kept traveling down until Ricky could lean comfortably and press his cheek to yours.
“Perhaps you’d like a different kind of break?”
Your breath stuttered in your chest. All you could manage was to shake your head.
“Are you sure?” He nuzzled his nose behind your ear, smiling when you let out a shuddering sigh. “We’ve been working so hard. You deserve to take it easy.”
“To take what easy?”
Chuckling, he smiled against your cheek. “Mmm. I can think of at least one thing.” He began to kiss under your jaw. And to squeeze your arms still caught in his strong hands.
You tried, “it’s too hot-”
“You’ve been freezing since you walked in the door.”
“I wonder why that is?” you teased, glancing up at him. “Mr. Starks
 have you been planning this since the beginning?”
He inhaled deeply, bobbing his head to one side in thought. “Not entirely. But I do feel bad that you got all wet,” he drawled. “Maybe I want to make it up to you.”
His kisses traveled from one side of your neck, back under your hair, to the other side. He stretched a hand across your chest to run over your collarbone. When it reached your other shoulder, you leaned into the forearm that caught under your chin.
“We should get back to work,” you breathed.
“We should.”
His hands caught your wrists where you tried to disengage yourself. Taking both into one hand, he held your arms to one side so the other could play with the neckline of your borrowed sweatshirt.
“People talk enough as it is.”
“Do they?”
“You’re my boss.”
“And what about it?”
His roaming touch dipped under the fabric to feel how your chest heaved.
“You’ll – you’ll stretch out the neckline.”
Ricky growled in your ear. “Does it feel like I give a damn?” He searched for your bra strap so he could snap it against your shoulder like he usually did. But all he could find was your flushed skin. “Where – where is it?”
“In the dryer with the rest of my clothes.”
“Hmm.” Sliding his hands under your arms, he lifted you up to sit on the back of the plush couch. He turned you around so he could slot himself between your thighs. To keep you from toppling backwards into the seats, he wrapped his arms around your waist. Which brough you nose to nose. “Tell me again. Whose been planning what from the start?”
Your lips trembled, and your hands flexed where they rested on his biceps. The hunger to kiss him as deeply as you were able was growing. “I wasn’t planning anything. I was just trying not to catch a cold.”
His lips ghosted over yours. “Alright. Then let’s warm you up, shall we?”
You met him tilt for tilt. While you leaned into his chest, he leaned towards you. It kept you precariously leaned back over the couch. The angle also further pressed your front into his, where you could feel what he had prepared. You dug your hands into his hair. Lightly dragging your nails across his scalp pushed his moan into your waiting mouth, and rolled his hips into yours.
“Ricky—”
“Hmm?”
“Need you.”
“You’ve got me.”
You had to roll your eyes. He knew he had you. But, like when you first started working for him, he didn’t have a more distant plan. You did. “No. Need you
 on something flat.” Though he resisted, eventually you were able to push him away.
His head tilted to the side. “Flat? Like
 the floor?” He wasn’t averse to the idea and was strongly considering taking you across his whole house when you spoke up.
“I was thinking somewhere more comfortable. Like
 your bed?” Taking his wrist, you began to lead him that direction.
But he spun you, pinning you to the wall outside his bedroom door. “This is flat.”
“It’s vertical.”
His heated gaze across your skin took on a wicked gleam. Gently, he smoothed his thumb over your bottom lip. Softly he noted, “when has that ever stopped us?”
He had a point. There was that time in Nashville when he filled you against a bathroom stall wall in some honky-tonk. Or Toledo. When he was so jazzed up after his match that you didn’t make it to his dressing room, using some dark spot in a hallway. Or San Antonio. Where he ate you out while you were pinned to the inside of your hotel room door. You had held both hands over your mouth to keep from waking the whole floor. And there were so many other times. Most of them clandestine and hidden from the rest of the roster. But here of late, Ricky was less and less prone to hiding his feelings for you.
While you reminisced, Ricky’s hand slid up your front to around your neck. His thumb and forefinger squeezed lightly at your sweet spots to bring you back to the moment. His mouth hung open. With his eyes greedily drinking up how your body reacted to the memories. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip.
“No,” you murmured, “it’s never stopped us before.”
Just as you leaned forward to kiss him, he leaned back with a smirk. He dragged you the rest of the way into his bedroom. His mouth was all over before you finally toppled onto his sheets. He kept you pinned there, at the foot of the bed, instead of letting you shimmy your way up. Pulling the neckline of his sweatshirt to the side, he sucked what would turn into a dark mark into your skin. It would only be a little difficult to hide. His fingertips toyed with the bottom edge of the fabric.
“I like you in my sweatshirt. Maybe the next show, I’ll make you wear one of my t-shirts.”
“People might talk.”
“Does it look like I give a damn?” He smothered you with a deep, possessive kiss. But trepidation stilled his movements. He leaned back. “Do you give a damn?”
After a pause, you smiled. “Not in the slightest.” You dragged him back down to you. When you broke away for air, the cross pendant was dangling in your face. You were dazzled by it. Arching up, you nosed at it, making it spin, and caught it between your teeth.
Ricky watched you, enraptured. When he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, the cool metal draped across the side of your face. His hands finally travelled up your torso under his sweatshirt. Flipping up the fabric, he was finally rewarded with one of his favorite views. His hands, warm and trembling against your skin, slid up to cup under your breasts. He kneaded them, squeezing them and rolling the buds between his fingers. You arched into each touch and shift. You twirled your fingers into his hair. With the way Ricky had his body leaning over you, you couldn’t roll your hips into his. So there was nothing to relieve the growing desire between your thighs.
The kiss Ricky placed between your breasts stole your breath away. As did each following touch of his lips to your skin as he traveled down your body. He drifted fare enough down that your hands lost their grip in his locks.
The you heard the snaps.
One by one, Ricky worked his way up one leg, then the other, to help you out of his trackpants. Soon, only the four paired snaps kept the fabric attached around your waist. Instead of releasing you, he began to kiss up and down the inside of your thighs.
You groaned out, “Ricky—”
“Hmm?”
“Please
”
He smirked against your skin. “What, Cherie?”
Inwardly, your groan stretched out. He was planning something. Probably your sex-led demise. With a whimper, you thought about begging. “Why are you taking so long? I thought-“
“I said we needed a break. Maybe it needs to be a one-to-one break. We worked for a couple of hours, so now I can take a couple of hours to take care of you.”
With a groan, you fell back into the sheets. This man could accomplish a lot in just ten minutes. And infinitely more with hours to spend.
Distracted by that threat, you didn’t hear the last few snaps. Or feel Ricky smoothing his hands up and down your thighs. But when he dove in to flatten his tongue against your sex, you gasped loudly. His ministrations were just as loud. You covered your mouth so you could hear his pleased sounds.
“Nuh-uh,” he warned, leaning his head against the inside of your thigh. “Wanna hear you. Come on. We don’t have to hide here.”
Again, you thought about that time in San Antonio, pinned to the door inside your hotel room. But you also thought about that one time at the Buck’s summer party when he bent you over the bathroom sink while everyone else was outside watching the fireworks. And New Years in Atlanta. Counting down the seconds when everyone would shout, trying to time it to cover up your own shout of release.
Ricky was thinking about those times too. Among others. His devouring of you quickened. Eyes drifting shut, soon the only thing firing in his mind was the taste of you on his tongue, the sound of you on his sheets, and the pulsing of you around his curling fingers. You tried to warn him of your incoming release. But he knew you to well. He saw the signs. And sped up his movements until you fell apart. He grinned, hearing you cry out his name. Your release, he did his best to taste every drop of it. But now he couldn’t ignore the overwhelming presence of his own pressure. He let loose the last remaining snaps on his pants to give himself room to breathe.
But when he stood up, your thighs clamped down around one of his. Ricky watched as you slid your slick up and down his thigh. He leaned into it. When your whines finally passed through the haze glazing his view, he reached out to thumb over your clit. Here was another one of his favorite views. Looking up there was another. Your hair was slicking to the side of your face. Your eyes were closed. Your mouth open, panting and making the most adorable sounds. All for him.
“Ricky,” you breathed, cracking open your eyes, “need you. Please.” You held out your hand.
He slid his hand into yours. And slid his hard length between your folds covered in slick. Still sensitive, you shivered. But he kept moving. Each thrust of his hips sparkled your every nerve ending, while he frantically chased the sensation of you. You, just like this; already sexed-out and wanting more from him. More that he was very willing to give.
You clawed your free hand his bicep as he filled you. The stretch of him blurred your vision. Once he was completely surrounded by you, he braced his forearms on either side of your head. The necklace around his throat dragged across the valley between your breasts. Cool at first, it soon warmed. As if warmed by the friction of it moving across your skin. Or maybe it was warmed by the friction of Ricky filling and pulling away from you, and filing you.
Nose to nose, you tried to remember to breathe while Ricky had his wonderfully wicked way with you. He was whispering things into your forehead, and into the curve of your neck. But you could only catch every third word or so. “Mine,” and “so good,” and “perfect” and “mine.”
You also tried to keep your eyes open. But that was futile until he pleaded with you.
“Come on, baby. Let me see you. Open your eyes. So close. You gonna cum with me?”
All you could manage was to nod and rapidly blink your vision into focus.
Which is when he reached between you and heavily circled his fingers over your clit. Vision blurring again, it whited out at the corners. You dug your nails into his back, whimpering his name.
“There you are,” he said. “There’s my woman. Only mine.”
He kept moving.
You gave up trying to match rolling your hips to his pace. Ricky would be done when he was done with you. And that could be forever. But he wanted to see you.
Ricky’s hand gently settled at the base of your throat. The barest of squeezes helped you focus.
“Come on. Baby. Stick with me. Almost there.”
His grip tightened the closer he got. Your breath came out tighter and tighter. Each pant was shorter, desperate for air and his release.
As his pace statured, he let you go. Your whole body reacted to the influx of oxygen, and carried Ricky down into a spiral of relief. He did his best to not crush you underneath as his arms gave out. But you didn’t have a care in the living world. You were thrumming. And full of him. And glowing from the inside out. He heaved himself to one side, curling you into his embrace while you both caught your breath.
After a few minutes, Ricky got up for some running shorts. He came back with a warm towel, cleaning you up with a gentle tenderness. He also gently removed the snap-pants from under your body. Teasing, he tsked, “oh, no. You’ve made a mess of my runners.” He tossed the pants to one side and stood between your thighs. “I’m out of other things for you to wear. Whatever shall we do?”
You pushed him away so you could stand, if a bit wobbly at first. Staring him down, you tugged down his sweatshirt till it, barely, covered you ass. “We go over more paperwork.” You reached up to adjust his necklace so it didn’t hang sideways. He was close behind when following you back to the living room. And it didn’t take two hours the next time for him to lose composure and ravage you again.
***
Fanfiction Masterlist
Wrestling/WWE Masterlist
34 notes · View notes
madhatterbri · 6 months ago
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Out | W.O.
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Summary: could you write about being reader and Will Ospreay ( who are married and bring their kids to AEW Dynamite beach break) and Will tells reader that he wants out of the Don Callis family while his kids watch his match against Daniel Garcia.
Author's Note: This storyline is going to hit so well. My body is ready. I added a little to it. I hope it's cool.
Requested by: @sunrise28sblog
Taglist: @plentyoffandoms @hotgirlgraps
"I want out," Will told his wife. They leaned against the wall in the locker room. He was wrapping tape around his wrists. "I am not like him,"
"You are a good man," Y/N assured him. Will smiled briefly and ran his fingers through his hair. Their sons chased each other around the room. High-pitched laughter bounced off the walls. "What are you going to do?"
That very question weighed on Will's mind ever since Sunday. He had to do something. He wasn't like the rest of them. Will always wanted to win fair and square. The distraction by Don Callis cost him. He would never say them out loud to Y/N, but he knew it to be true.
"I am going to talk to him. See if I can leave my contract early," Will answered. He saw his wife visibly tense. Don Callis wasn't always one to be nice. Especially when it came to someone leaving their contracts early.
"I will support you in whatever you decide," she promised and kissed him. The kids stopped running and started to make grossed out noises.
As expected, Will met up with Don Callis. Kyle was also with them. The air was thick, and tensions were high. Don seemed to be okay until he saw Y/N. A smile appeared on his face.
"Don't stray too far away from Will here, Y/N. He has some enemies here. We wouldn't want you becoming collateral damage. Kyle, I need you for something," Don ordered. Kyle looked between Don, Will, and Y/N. As Don walked farther away, Kyle scurried after him.
"What was that about?" Y/N asked. "Everything seemed to be going really well,"
"I'm not sure. I gotta get to my match, love. See you and the boys soon,"
The boys loved to see his dad fight Daniel Garcia. Despite his exhaustion after Forbidden Door, Will managed to pull away with the victory. He comforted Danny and made his way to the back to reunite with his family once more. The caution Don Callis gave to his wife laid heavy on his mind.
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forestlingincorporated · 16 days ago
Note
I’m pretty new to Megaman, so I haven’t gone through all of the canon media yet but I am enjoying your comics so
 what’s NOVAS, what’s up with, and why is it bad?
Aaah, Novas Aventuras de Megaman....
Novas was a licensed Brazilian Mega Man comic book developed by EstĂșdio PPA and published by Editora Magnum in the 90s. It's well-known for being... bad. The kindest words I can use to describe Novas is "edgy" and "unprofessional."
I'm interpreting this quesion to be not just "what is Novas" but also "WHY is Novas" so I did a little bit of research to get you a full answer, and not just my horrified reaction to it.
The book was published not long after the Ruby Spears cartoon. Apparently the book's early writer and editor, José Roberto Pereira and Sérgio Peixoto had been in touch with Character Toy Trade, who licensed Capcom products to Brazil. Upon hearing of the Ruby Spears release, Pereira and Peixoto pitched a comic to Editora Magnum.
Apparently, they wanted to do this so badly that, to convince Magnum's execs to enter a publishing deal, they offered to work... for free, earning nothing for the first ten or twelve issues.
While it's not unusual for a comic run to use multiple artists and contain varying art styles throughout, most of THIS title was drawn using unpaid labor from fans solicited through the magazigne it was published in, Animax, and it shows. Readers were prompted to submit their art tests to the publishers, and out of those the best of the lot was selected. To participate, the candidate had to send 6 pages of comics, 2 in pencil, two finished art and two colored. Contributing artists were compensated with a copy of the published issue to use in their portfolio. Quite literally working on spec for exposure.
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Most of it is, simply put, not the quality you expect from a publisher. Fair is fair, though, and I would be remiss not to aknowledge that some of these artists went on to be very well-respected comic artists, such as Daniel HDR (who did MM2 and 16, and has now worked for Marvel, DC, Dynamite Ent. and Image Comics, was the winner of DRAGON AWARDS 2020 - BEST GRAPHIC NOVEL for Battlestar Galactica: Counterstrike, and is the CEO of DĂ­namo EstĂșdio art School in Brazil) and Érica Awano (who got her start with MM4, and now known for her works related to the Tormenta universe and has recieved the TrofĂ©u HQ Mix).
The art... is the least of their issues, though. I've read plenty of webcomics where the art began, let's say, amaturish, but the story and writing more than made up for it. I can't say the same is true for Novas.
It's baffling that Pereira and Peixoto fought to have this book, given neither of them appeared to give a single shit about the source material. My understanding is manga and anime was very popular in Brazil at the time. I'd call it a cashgrab, but they weren't paid for most of it. Editor-in-chief SĂ©rgio Peixoto admitted neither he nor Pereira had ever played a Mega Man game before and all they knew about the story was some information they got from someone who played the games. Further more, despite the first two issues including promotional art from Ruby Spears and official art from the games, including a large centerfold poster that remained for two additional issues, Pereira believed Ruby Spears was "very bad." He didn't think much of the games' plot either, what little he knew of it.
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Pereira's distaste for American media and adaptations is painfully obvious within the text of Novas, which takes the time to address the audiance to soapbox about imported media. This is, in part, done in a self-depricating sort of way, but seems to be the driving force behind the decision to even make Novas. Peixoto admits Character offered them "the original Megaman manga" (the Shigeto Ikehara "Rockman" manga, I believe) but he turned it down to do a Brazilian-made book. They wanted Megaman to be drawn by Brazilians and in the manga style - very fixated on being a "manga" rather than a "comic." Despite apparently knowing the product is low-quality, Peixoto appears to be proud to have "made 16 editions of the first manga magazine created entirely in Brazil, using a world-famous character."
I suppose that's the tipping point - "a world-famous character." No care for Megaman, no, but care that he's famous. Pereira apparently had every intention to have his own OCs take over the book after Megaman got readers in the door - apparently intending to kill off the megaman characters in graphic ways - but he left the project after #5, citing that he couldn't actually write his "own" story and... well, lack of payment. Peixoto wrote number 6, and Orlando Tosetto Jr. was brought on to do 7-16.
The desire to provide opportunities for local writers and artists is admirable... in theory... but... hardly anyone got paid and it's not exactly a book I would be proud to have my name on.
But enough about Novas' unpaid labor, quesionable motivations, and poor research. The writing is just... bad.
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The plot is all over the place. There are so many dropped plot threads, tone shifts, continuity issues, and retcons in only 16 issues, it'll make your head spin. It reads like a 15-year-old boy made a megaman comic because he thought there should be more swearing and naked girls.
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The least of the writing's issues stem from the fact that they barely knew the plot, so character backstories, personalities, relationships, etc. are all over the place. Forte/Bass is named "Slasher" and he takes on a Protoman-type role as a Light bot and sibling, while Protoman is implied to be this mysterious mastermind-type character pulling strings behind the scene, Roll used to be human and is super special for some reason, Rock's an asshole, and X is a horny whiney pissbaby asshole...
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It's crude.
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It's bloody.
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It's horny.
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Sometimes downright disgusting.
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And one can't ignore the incest.
There are... MUCH more egregious panels, I'm trying to keep it tame. There's a LOT of pointless nudity, including a scene near the end where they're kidnapped and tied up but only the women are stripped naked... for no discernable reason, I can't even say it's because their kidnappers are being disgusting, because they're not, even X is behaving himself for once.
I'd love to say the incest was an accident, but it's not, they actively call each other brother and sister.
Occationally the comic veers into dark topics, but the ever shifting tone and oversexualization makes it hard to tell how I - the reader - am supposed to feel about it. While I'm busy being horrified, I can't help worrying someone's getting off on child abuse and murder.
Maybe this kind of misogynistic gross-out shock-value was funny at the time. I've seen a few people remark on this comic's run fondly, saying they liked it when it came out. I can't imagine ever thinking it was good.
If anyone would like to know more about Novas without subjecting themselves to reading it, Mechanical Maniacs does their best to summarize.
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passivenovember · 2 years ago
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wait until you taste me
--
Max says the dumbest shit in the world. 
Billy forces himself, tooth and nail, to give the grace he never got to touch with his own two hands. She’s a teenager. She’s dumb and her nature is rose-colored. Heart-shaped fillers slipped covertly in that delicate space behind a splash of blue.
Her head is filled with hot air. Good intentions. Speckled with delusions that are charming when she’s not so reckless, and.
Billy doesn’t want to smash her hopes on ground in front of her.
Life will, eventually. 
Life always does, but. Billy figures he could try and be the storm wall that protects her garden of wonder.
He gets over that real quick when she can’t do the same in return.
When she bats her eyelashes and says, “I’m glad you and Steve are friends, now,” at Sunday dinner the week before Spring Break.
In front of everyone.
Billy thinks her head is the size of the Hindenburg. She’s full of helium and she’s flying too close to the sun.
Neil tucks a wad of flavorless peas into his mouth. “Who’s Steve?” He asks.
And immediately, Billy’s walls shoot like salt pillars from the ground. 
He weighs his options. What would happen if he got up from this table and ran? If he tucked Steve Harrington and his name and his reputation and his memory into a plastic bag and disappeared.
Billy’s got delusions of his own. 
He’s full of quilted daydreams, stitched from every moment Steve has ever looked, smiled, laughed at one of Billy’s jokes. The thread is golden, the color of every late-night promise  to drive Billy across county lines. 
Billy’s delusions are plushy-soft comfort he’s not ready to bring out of the closet.
So he takes a sip of water. “Steve,” Billy says. “He’s. Steve Harrington.”
Neil leans forward. “Harrington?”
“Yes sir,” Billy wills his voice not to crack. 
He’s reluctant to spoil this part of his exile. To call the hounds in, bloodthirsty, to trample and tear the thing he’s clutching like a spot of gold to his chest. He digs his heel into Max’s foot under the table and wishes he wasn’t in his Saturday lounge-around clothes. He yearns for his boots, to break a bone. Eye for an eye, to somehow cancel the marrow that’ll splinter in his face when Neil finds out the truth.
“Good family,” Neil says. Every syllable lands like crystalized hail. They clink and roll and clatter all around the dining room. “Might be a good influence.”
“He is good,” Max says happily. She kicks back. It stings. “Billy and him–”
“He and Billy,” Susan chimes, and Billy thinks how ironic that Susan would choose now to become a real person when she’s usually set dressing. 
Reanimation, just to fire a canon and contribute to the sinking of Billy’s battleship. 
Billy dabs his mouth with a wadded-up paper towel. “May I be excused?”
Neil’s eyes snap to, and for a single, terrifying moment, Billy thinks he remembers. Carlos. The Pier. California. He wasn’t too drunk, he wasn’t irate, he remembers–
But Neil. He nods, brows knitted with faux worry. “Everything alright, son?”
He only lives up to Billy’s expectation of him when it’s deserved. When Billy’s done something besides breathe, one inhale after the next. 
“Just tired,” Billy says. Wonders what would happen if he ran.
–
Max says the dumbest shit in the world. 
She’s a chick. She’s a girl with an attitude the size of Missouri and a tongue that can pierce the skin, and that’s where their similarities end, careening over the mouth of a cliff into nothingness.
Billy learns early on that if he wants any peace at all he’d better tune her out just short of plugging his ears with cotton and bloody fingertips and dynamite, so when the wailing reaches a fever pitch he can blow his head off and float far away from here. 
Sometimes, though, Max’s scowl will clear and it’s like the Oracle is speaking through her.
You know, this garbage disposal noise you call music actually rocks. Or, I’ve been thinking about piercing one of my ears. It looks cool on you, I guess. And, when Billy needs to hear it most, your dad’s such an asshole. 
She’s a wrecking-ball with no awareness of her swing.
And when she speaks, it’s not the same as I understand. 
It’s not, I look at Neil, I see the way he wishes you were dead and I get it, now. Why you’ve always got a lit match in your palm, ready to burn the world to the ground. 
When Billy least expects it, Max’s words are daybreak. Filled with light so blinding Billy's a bug under a microscope, slowly catching fire. 
Two days before spring, Max slams out of her bedroom while Billy’s working on his bench press.
He hardly notices.
He’s floating, a little. Like a balloon. He’s listening to the new Tears for Fears album because Steve’s obsessed with it, and he’s pretty when he’s excited, and Billy’s a sucker for the plush, wide-lipped smiles that drip like gold from Steve’s face. “They’re good, Bills. They’re like if Halloween and Valentine's day had a baby.”
Billy’s stuck in a ground-hog day memory of the way Steve’s hair flopped into his eyes when he promised, “They’re like us.”
And. 
Billy’s not paying attention. He’s at least twenty shoulder-presses in, he’s smiling, he doesn’t really notice when Max’s heavy, sock-feet steps don’t carry on through the living room, and that’s his first mistake.
Before Billy knows what’s happening, Max looms over him.
He feels, like the distant brush of a spiderweb on his back, Max glaring. Searching his face. 
But Billy’s a ship lost in a sea of brown eyes.
He almost can’t find it within himself to be pissed that he can smell the peanut butter on her breath, almost, but then Max says, “You know Steve wants to kiss you, right?” 
And Billy sits up so fast that he almost knocks himself out on the barbell. 
“Woah, you’re bleeding,” Max steadies him, brows pinched with concern. “Are you–”
“You can’t say shit like that.” 
“I’m just pointing out the obvious.” 
Immediately, something warm starts to trickle over the right side of his face. “Shit,” He says, at the same time Max howls, “Oh, god, you’re bleeding–”
“What the fuck did you think would happen?” Billy tries not to move his head too much. He grips the edge of the bench until the leather splits like canyons until he’s sure the pads of his fingers will separate, too. 
“I’m sorry,” Max babbles, “I didn’t mean to–”
The house is silent. 
Beyond the throbbing in his skull and past the strangled, nervous way Max is breathing while she waits for him to strangle her to death, there’s nothing. 
All of Hawkins might as well be gone. Deleted from the page like a bad line of poetry. Billy wonders what would happen if the drapes parted from the window. Would anything stare back at him? Streets and mailboxes and cloud-covered skies. Would the black cosmos would press hard against the glass, would their refuge of plaster and slate would crumble under the weight of the universe–
“They’re not home,” Max says. Every space monster to his roost.
Billy nods, wincing at the pain that fries and curdles behind his right eyebrow. 
Max steadies him. “Shit, do you need some ice?”
“Don’t need ice, I need a rag,” Billy says, “And a beer.”
“You don’t need a beer.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m serious,” Max tells him, arms crossed. “If you have a concussion the last thing you want to do is get drunk–”
“I’m not gonna get drunk off one beer, shitstain.”
“Billy.”
“Max,” Billy snarls, working to push his voice fifteen octaves higher until they sound exactly the same. 
Max lopes furiously down the hall, returning a second later with crisp, beaded PBR in one hand and a wet rag in the other. Billy dabs his brow with the scratchy fabric, knowing Neil will reem him later for getting blood all over Susan’s good cloth. 
Billy can’t think about that, now. 
He reaches for the PBR and Max tugs it out of reach.
“Max–”
“I’m just. In biology, we’ve been reading about fetal alcohol syndrome.”
Billy feels like he got pushed in front of a train and whacked his temple on a railroad spike. “I’m not a fetus.”
“No, but our bodies are still developing,” Max says, like Billy’s an idiot. He’s thick and dumb and ridiculous for not paying attention in eighth-grade science class and knowing that the legal drinking age is twenty-one for a reason.
Billy doesn’t give a damn about that. “You made me split my brow, dipshit.”
“That’s not really my fault,” Max bargains. “I was just saying that Steve–”
Billy yanks the beer from Max’s hands. “Shut up,” He insists, nails burrowing under the pop-top, but just as Billy’s about to crack the seal and give himself over to the only thing in the world that would soothe his agony, Max is on him. 
“I’m worried about your brain,” She says, just short of tackling him off the bench, and.
Well.
She hollers. When she’s keeping secrets. When she’s trying to get her way. And Billy squints his eyes, ready to reiterate she has nothing to worry her stupid redhead over and it’s not really her place to worry about him, anyhow–
“You might have a concussion.”
“And you might have a death wish.”
“What’s it taste like, anyway,” Max wonders. “If it’s so good. It looks like root beer.”
“It tastes like piss.”
“Why do you drink it so mu–” When Billy glares, sharper than a new glade, Max bristles like a porcupine, “Look, I’m sorry I scared you–”
“You didn’t scare me,” Billy snaps. Spiders scare him, locked jaws and missed curfews and slashed tires scare him. Not little red-headed stepsisters who can’t mind their fucking business. 
Billy wants to throw the PBR at her.
Steve scares him. Steve–
Billy presses the can to his eyebrow, instead, hissing through his teeth at the feeling. 
Max’s shoulders drop, “Thanks for not drinking it,” She mutters, and it’s so sincere, so steeped in the sisterly worry Neil’s always preaching about, that Billy can’t swallow the question that bubbles up his throat like strawberry perfume. 
He has to know, “Why do you think Steve wants–”
“Whenever he watches you talk he always gets that look on his face.”
“What face?”
Max’s sneakers sing on the hardwood, dragging like nails against the chalkboard in Billy’s mind that’s been scrubbed clean and scribbled with Steve’s name, over and over and over again. “The blank one. You know, like when boys are about to kiss you and every thought flies out of their head like–” 
“How do you know what that face looks like,” Billy demands, stomach turning over on itself when her freckles burn away in shades of red. 
“Lucas–”
“God, that’s sick.”
“Don’t be an asshole. Just because Steve’s a loser and you’re a raging dickhole with a face only a mother could love–”
Billy winces, his molars grinding. It has nothing to do with the pain. Nothing to do with split brows and annoying sisters. “You’re one to talk, I can’t even look at you without wanting to Ralph.”
Max rolls her eyes. Deflates. “Sorry,” She says, soft and small, and.
She’s eyeing the PBR. Neil would kill Billy if he ever found out, but.
Billy cracks the beer and hands it to her. “Get lost before my head stops swimming.”
–
Steve’s fridge has the warmest light Billy’s ever seen, but maybe Billy’s just high. 
The glow cuts him from marble. He’s the work of artists long dead, the picture of beauty. Billy sways against the kitchen sink, feeling very much like he could fall asleep to the soft harmony of ketchup bottles and pickle jars making a grab for the fairytale prince.
It’s Friday. Just before spring break. They’re staring down a two-week barrel of nothing but lazy mornings and hazy midnights and each other. 
Miles and miles of nothing but this.
Billy’s excited. He could live forever in this moment, and the thought bubbles laughter out of him, surprised and happy. 
Steve looks at him, startled out of thought. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
Steve smirks, and. His nose is perfect in the refrigerator light. Billy never noticed before. He re-shelves a jar of olives, the fancy cheese-stuffed kind, and tugs a hand through his hair. “What are you even hungry for?” 
“Whatever you want,” Billy chews on his thumbnail, stomach churning. 
“Nothing sounds good. I don’t think I’ve got food in here, anyway.”
Billy watches him open a bag of sliced cheese. Is so warm and content he could fall asleep next to the bread box. “What do you call that?”
“Not food.”
“It’s food.”
“It’s ingredients, that’s not the same thing,” Steve pulls a slice from the bag, folding it a million times until it splits evenly down the middle. 
“It’s food, Harrington, it’s a whole meal,” Billy smiles in spite of himself when Steve nibbles on one half and holds the other, grinning, out in front of him. “No, I’m not–”
“Don’t even try it, Hargrove, I know you get the munchies when you’re stoned,” Steve wiggles the cheese at him, eyes big and brown and as expectant as they are beautiful, so.
Billy pops the cheese slice and eats it without tasting anything. 
Steve watches him, unblinking, “Well, what do you think?”
“It’s cheese.”
“Yeah, but you’re not full, right? Because there’s only more of that if we stay here.”
“Where else would we go?” Billy frowns, not getting it. The cheese is better than the single-packaged shit Susan gets from Melvalds. It’s smoky, and aged, and Billy could polish the whole bag if he wasn’t worried about the cheese farts. 
Steve fiddles with the corner of the bag, avoiding Billy’s eyes, “We could go out–”
“Close the fridge. You’re letting all the cool air out and now our dinner is gonna spoil.”
“Our dinner is not a bag of cheese,” Steve grumbles, but he hip-checks the door, collapsing onto his elbows in front of the paper towel dispenser. He tugs at his hair until it looks like it hurts, until his sprouting laugh lines disappear, and Billy hates it.
He wants them back.
He swims through the fog, trying to think of something funny to make Steve smile, but Harrington’s already pushing away from the counter, frown deep-set. “Why don’t you ever wanna eat anything when you’re here?” He demands.
And Billy can’t say that it’s the fault of his kid sister. That her insane, paranoid ramblings about love and blank expressions have gotten under his skin, and now everything Steve does feels like the start of something else.
Billy can’t admit that he wants it to be something else, so. “I eat popcorn sometimes.”
“I’m not talking about snacks, I mean real food,” Steve says. He studies Billy’s face, “Do you get your energy through photosynthesis or something?”
Billy laughs, loud and sudden. “No, I just–”
“I could cook for you.” Billy almost brains it on the spotlessly tiled floor because Steve’s eyes get bigger, somehow. Sparkling with earnestness. Steve shuffles, hands on his hips. “I want to cook for you,” He says, like it means something else entirely.
And whatever it is. Billy can’t handle that. 
He bristles, says, “I don’t feel comfortable eating anything that costs more than the house Max and I live in,” Hoping it’ll sink the lifeline Steve’s trying to throw him.
“It’s just organic shopping,” Steve shoots back.
Which. “Huh?”
“It’s got like, less sugar. And preservatives, or something,” Steve shrugs, tongue darting pink and swift across his cupid’s bow. “My mom does the shopping when she’s home.”
Billy frowns. “Well, I’m not eating half of your mom’s paycheck. What will you eat?”
“You know, making dinner for you means I’ll get some, too,” Steve says. A smile tugs lazily at the corners of his perfect, clever mouth, and Billy is swallowed by anticipation. 
There’s nothing he loves more in the entire world, probably, than seeing the subtle birth of each smile. The way Steve paints them on as if he were writing secret letters addressed to Billy, slipping them between the folds of conversation so Billy is surprised whenever they unfurl and bloom like tulips in the springtime. 
Steve’s eyes hunt over his face, “You’re sure you’re not a plant? A sunflower?” Steve asks. He scoots close, fingers reaching to tilt Billy’s head toward the kitchen light, “Look like one to me,” He says, and.
Out of nowhere, his face goes carefully blank. His eyes land somewhere and stick, like the spindly legs of a fly to trapping paper.
Steve is watching Billy’s mouth.
He’s leaning forward, he’s–
Somewhere, in the back of Billy’s mind, Maxine bangs on a door labeled No Admittance, hollering about the way boys look when they want to kiss you.
It scares Billy, how much he wants it.
How much it would kill him if it never happens. 
“I’m not a fucking plant,” Billy says, shrugging away. He stares wildly around the kitchen, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. “This kitchen is disgusting.”
Steve watches him, quietly amused as Billy pretends to find something on the counter to scrub. 
Billy works a damp paper towel over every inch of the counter, putting an island between them so Steve doesn’t have the chance to swoop close. Get his hands on Billy’s face. 
Those fingertips would send sparks flying.
Billy would char and burn and bubble over, so.
Steve watches him for a quiet moment and Billy avoids his eyes, terrified of what he’ll find when he has to stop scrubbing the counter. “What are you doing?”
Eventually, the marble will come away on the paper towel. “Cleaning,” Billy says. “If we’re going to eat a bag of cheese in here, it’s gotta be spotless.”
“Wanna go to Benny’s?” Steve asks.
Billy stares at him, then, stomach growling on command. 
Steve’s answering smile is brighter than the harvest sun. Billy could sprout into fields of marigolds, he could be picked and kept forever in a vase on the fireplace mantle. “I don’t want you to feel like you’ve gotta clean up after me,” Steve tells him.
Guilt, sharp and swift, pangs in Billy’s stomach. He wants to insist that it’s no bother. That he’s used to cleaning up after Max and sweeping away the delicate bits of himself that clatter to the ground. And even if there were fruit punch stains all over the marble, the remnants of Steve living everyday in this house, Billy wouldn’t mind cleaning up after him.
Billy wouldn’t mind taking care of him.
Steve shuffles around the island, smile sheepish and cute. “C’mon, we can have pancakes.”
“I want chicken strips.”
“Alright.”
“And a double chocolate rootbeer float with ranch–”
“For your ice cream?” Steve teases, “That’s disgusting.”
“For my fries, asshole,” Billy shoves him playfully, “Do you want to feed me dinner or not?”
Steve rocks away and lands closer, cheeks red like strawberry ice cream, “I want to do a lot of things for you,” He admits quietly, and.
That face is back again. 
Billy wants to pull away, but he’s caught. Steve catches him, hook and line, says, “Billy–”
And Steve kisses like he’s never done it before, but has always wanted to try. Like he’s been waiting his whole life and every one before that for Billy. For this moment. High spring nights and empty stomachs and yearning, soft as fresh soil.
His fingers thread into the curls at the base of Billy’s skull.
Their knees bump together, Billy grabbing onto Steve’s shoulders to stop from falling back against the trash can.
The kiss opens up.
Gets sloppy and good and Billy could live here forever. His lips could swell and melt into Steve’s and it would be perfect.
Steve pulls away, but he stays close. Their lips brush on every desperate breath. “Sorry my kitchen is disusting,” He says.
Billy can’t think straight. “I’ll clean it for you.”
“Let’s stay in,” Steve says. He kisses Billy’s jaw and both eyelids, licking slowing into his mouth.
Billy throws the paper towel in the garbage can.
For the first time in his life, he’s full.
--
For an anonymous donor! I hope you enjoyed this drabble :)
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wwenhlimagines · 1 year ago
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Corn Maze/Haunted House with hook ?
Fall Fluff Prompts
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Growing up in the midwest, you always found October to be one of the best months to hang out with your friends. There was so much more to do than any other time of year, and you enjoyed every bit of it. One part that your boyfriend Hook didn't quite understand your fascination with was the corn mazes. Being from New York, he wasn't used to going to some random corn field at night and trying to find the way out for fun. However, you were so excited to go to one, so he happily took you to one.
He drove the rental car to a corn maze near the next Dynamite location, and you both got out with your hoodies, jeans, and comfy shoes on. He apparently didn't do his research well enough to know this one was a haunted corn maze. You saw the sign, and you smiled to yourself, hoping he didn't catch on until you were already into the maze far enough.
The wind was starting to make it a bit chilly, so you cuddled into Hook's side as you started walking into the maze. "Don't worry, baby, it's just corn, right?"
You try to stifle your giggle by making it sound like a shiver. "Yes, but it's chilly out here. I need you to keep me warm."
He smiles and wraps his arm around you, and bear hugs you from behind. "I can definitely help with that. Maybe we get lost in here on purpose for a bit, and I can really warm you up."
You see some slight movement ahead of you and prepare yourself for Hook's reaction. Suddenly, you hear the chainsaw, and the person dressed up as a zombie jumps out in front of you. Hook's grip on you tightens as he jumps back slightly, and a high-pitched squeak blares in your ear.
You start laughing so hard you double over as Hook holds your waist, still trying to catch his breath from the jump scare. "What the fuck? I thought this shit was just a maze of fucking corn."
You turn around and hold his face in your hands. "You didn't see the sign that said Haunted Corn Maze, did you?"
He groans and throws his head back in frustration. "Fuck, I wouldn't have brought you here if I saw that."
You kissed his neck as you hugged him and tried not to laugh. "As long as you keep me warm, I will protect you from the scary bad guys."
He groans but kisses your forehead, "Fine, but this never gets out to the lads. They will torture me if they find out."
You kiss his lips and nod before turning back around, leading him through the rest of the maze. You both jumped at a few places, but overall, you had fun, and Hook survived his first corn maze adventure. "So, are we making this an annual tradition now?"
Hook glared at you as you settled back into the car. "Why the hell do you find this shit fun? Is getting lost and scared in the middle of a corn field the only fun thing to do in the midwest?"
"No, but it is definitely the most exciting part of the year. Next year, we can stick with pumpkin patches and hay rides if you want to enjoy the non spooky stuff."
"You are lucky I love you so damn much. Otherwise, I would have left your ass out there."
"You wouldn't dare to leave a damsel in distress."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah... can we just go back to the hotel and warm each other up like I suggested?"
Your hand squeezed his thigh as you kissed him. "What are you waiting for?"
His head snapped to the road as you drove away from the corn maze and towards the warm bed waiting for you both to return.
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Tags: @730hook @99hook @hookswifeeyy @hooksredrum @hooks-martin @legit9thlunaticwarrior @plentyoffandoms @im-just-a-mississippi-girl
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dalekofchaos · 7 months ago
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AEW Women's Blood & Guts pitches
I think doing two Blood & Guts in one night is unrealistic, especially when there is no story, stables or build up, but there is 6 weeks, so who knows? But ideally I would wait to do it until sometime in late August or in the Fall to do Women's Blood & Guts, specifically October just so we have an excuse to bring Abadon in lol.
Pitch 1. Team Statlander vs Team Willow
Simply put this is the best way we can do it if we wanna make the July 26th deadline.
Team Statlander
Kris Statlander
Deonna Purrazzo
Skye Blue
Anna Jay
Tay Melo
Team Willow
Willow Nightingale
Thunder Rosa
Hikaru Shida
Riho
Abadon
Pitch 2. Team Mercedes vs Team AEW
At some point Mercedes turns heel and forms a stable. Let's call it Moné Industries, cause she needs to be CEO of something. Kamille and Megan Bayne debut(Kamille who's been signed for a year and Megan who's been signed for months) I would add Kiera Hogan and Nyla Rose into the stable.
Team Moné
Mercedes
Kamille
Megan Bayne
Kiera Hogan
Nyla Rose
Team AEW
Toni Storm
Mariah May
Britt Baker
Jamie Hayter
Hikaru Shida
Pitch 3. Team AEW vs ROH
Fuck it. Let's just do an invasion. I need an excuse to put Athena on Dynamite and not stay marooned on fucking ROH and it ends with the winner taking all 3 belts and becoming a Triple Crown Champion.
Team AEW
Toni Storm
Mariah May
Mercedes Mone
Britt Baker
Jamie Hayter
Team ROH
Athena
Billie Starkz
Queen Aminata
The Renegade Twins
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lou-struck · 2 years ago
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Aren't They Perfect?
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Katsuki Bakugo x reader
Inspired by the Greek myth of Pygmalion and Galatea
~You get hit with a quirk that makes a marble copy of you. But is that all it really does? 
~This is my Submission for @dark-mnjiro's Taste of Divine Rush Collab. LINK HERE
WC: 4.3k
WARNINGS: Lots of swearing, Mental health is discussed heavily, reader has low self esteem to begin with but it is twisted into obsession thanks to the quirk, multiple voices in reader's head, reader passing out, injury, intentionally skipping a meal, really creepy marble statues, reader goes temporarily crazy. 
A/n: This fic is inspired by Ovid’s epic tale of Pygmalion and Galatea, but it is not a retelling. The projection of the reader's feelings in a way gives life to the statue. 
There is just something so innately adult about walking through the bustling city streets holding a drink carrier. A few people spare you a glance and step out of your path so you do not spill the sweet caffeinated liquid. 
You can see the tall tinted windows of your boyfriend’s Hero Agency off in the distance. It’s a bit out of the way from your usual commute, but Katsuki had forgotten his wallet on the kitchen counter this morning, so you thought it would be best to drop it off for him as well as a cup of coffee and an overpriced croissant from the cafe’s display case.
Noble intentions aside, you are mostly just stopping by to see his grumpily handsome face before he has to go out on patrol.
The doors part for you as you are overwhelmed by the high-pitched shrieks of what looks to be a whole class of elementary schoolers, who look so excited to be visiting your boyfriend’s hero agency. It’s a bit unnerving to see dozens of children just wandering the office halls. Field trips may be normal occurrences for other hero agencies, but this is Dynamite’s Agency we are talking about. Katsuki Bakugou isn’t known for his child-friendly language. 
Speaking of child-friendly language, you spot a frazzled middle-aged woman with bright orange hair and an electric blue dress who mouths what can only be an f-bomb as she runs around trying to wrangle all the students. 
But when they see you, a new face in the building, many of them stop in their tracks and begin to wave at you and smile with gap-toothed grins. 
“Hi there, I’m Ovid.” a little boy with long black curls poking out from underneath his red baseball cap says, stepping forward. “Are you a hero?
You shake your head, “Nope, just dropping something off for Dynamite.”
At the mention of the explosion hero, they look excited and start looking around, chattering amongst themselves.
You shoot the lady from earlier (who must be their teacher) a sympathetic glance as she tries to calm down the once again rowdy students who seem to have forgotten you were there.
Head off down the sunlight hallway; the office seems like a second home after all the hours you have spent with Katsuki. There are little touches of you all around the building, ranging from the artwork you have picked out to the blooming houseplants that rest by the tall windows. 
The blinds inside his office are drawn, which tells you he is inside, most likely reading one of the romance novels he keeps hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk. 
As you push open the door, you hear the slight crinkling of pages and the closing of his desk drawer. The familiar noise made you smile; you were right.
He looks up quickly from his desk, ready to yell at whoever disturbed his peaceful morning, but quickly clams up when he notices just how sweetly you are standing in the doorway.
“Did you really have to sneak up on me like that?” he asks, stepping out from behind the desk, “I almost blasted ya into next week.”
“Your poor sidekicks, do you treat all of them like this when I am not here?” You laugh, raising an inquisitive brow at the solid wall of muscle and spiky hair in front of you.
“Only the dumb ones,” he mumbles, and you really aren’t sure if he is telling the truth or not.
“You have visitors,” you hum, holding out his pastry and drink for him to take.
“I don’t wanna deal with any damn brats this morning,” he grumbles, taking a deep swig from his coffee cup. You smile at his words, knowing that he was the one who signed off on allowing the elementary students to come visit his agency.
“I got your wallet,” you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out the heavy black leather pouch. 
“I know,” He smiles wickedly, taking it from you and tossing it carelessly behind him. “I knew you would bring it over when you saw it.”
Wow, did you, a full-grown adult, really leave your wallet behind just so I would take the time to visit you at work?”
“Yeah, so what?” he shrugs, casually wrapping his arms around you. And you think to yourself just how childish he can be sometimes. Maybe he should go and spend some time with the elementary schoolers downstairs for a bit.
Your gaze drifts to the clock on the wall. “Oh shit, I gotta go,” you say, twisting out of his grasp easily, not spilling a drop of coffee as you do so. 
“You know,” he pouts, puffing out his cheeks and exhaling, “you wouldn’t have to leave me so much if you just got a job here.”
You smile softly, having had this conversation at least a dozen or so times since he opened the place, “If we worked together, we wouldn’t last. You’re way too bossy.”
Although you say the words teasingly, you know that’s not the reason why you don’t want to spend more time with him; Even since you started seeing each other, there has been this little voice in your head nagging you and telling you something you are sure everyone else says. 
‘Katsuki Bakugou is too damn good for you, and everyone knows it.’
But you have been trying to fix that little problem by doing whatever you can to better yourself. You are up for a promotion at work, and if you get it, you could be seen as more worthy of the Hero.  
“Bossy?” he states, pulling you from your thoughts, “I’m only bossy when these extras don’t know what they’re supposed to be doing.”
He opens the door for you and leads you down the hallway from which you came. Glancing in the reflection of the dark conference room mirror, you see a million and one imperfections. 
Does he see them too?
From down the hallway, you hear the teacher from earlier calling after one of her students. “Ovid, come back here.”
Turning head, you see the little box with the red baseball cap rushing down the hallway. 
“Mr. Dynamite, Mr. Dynamite,” he calls, smiling happily. “Check out my quirk.” a soft gray light begins to crackle at his fingertips as he runs towards the two of you. 
It is just so adorable to see the little guy trying to show off his quirk to his childhood hero; you smile. But Katsuki’s eyes widen in concern.
“Hey, slow down. Stop running before you~” he starts to stop the boy, but it is too late; the pair of little feet rushing towards you trip over themselves, sending him crashing to the ground and his quirk directly at you. 
Your coffee hits the ground before you do

~
You are awakened by the soft sound of the hospital monitors checking your vitals. Everything feels a bit fuzzy as you try to remember what exactly happened to put you in this condition. 
The last thing you remember was Katsuki walking you out of the agency and then one of the kids
.
Oh, right, you got hit with a quirk

You stir just a bit as the feeling begins to return to your body. You don’t know why, but your limbs feel as heavy as stone. At your movement, you hear a breath that is not your own. 
Katsuki sits right next to the hos[ital bed, his crimson gaze staring at you intently. “You’re awake.” The relief is evident on his features as he looks you over. “How do you feel?”
“Like a million bucks.” you rasp, stretching your arms and sitting up. “How long was I out?”
“A few hours,” he replies, watching your movements carefully. “That brat was lucky his quirk was harmless.”
“Oh my god, is Ovid okay?” you ask, remembering the red-capped child. 
Katsuki scoffs, “Brat’s fine; he was just crying until the ambulance came to get you. 
“But?” there is something else he is not telling you. 
“The kid’s quirk is called Sculptor,” He sighs, “It’s supposed to be harmless, but he can make marble copies of the things he hits with it.
You nod carefully as your still-tired brain processes what he had just said, ‘So there is just a big marble sculpture of me in the middle of your agency?” you ask awkwardly.
“Nah, I had the sidekicks drop it at home until we decide what to do with it,” he says, and you grimace. 
Why would anyone want a marble sculpture of someone like you?
“Is it big?” you ask, brushing the thought away.
“It’s fuckin life-size, you gotta see it.” he laughs, the sound ugly and boisterous like a hyena as it echoes off the white walls, but it’s cute in its own way.
“When can I leave?” you ask, already thinking about how you can get the new decoration out of your hair. You heard that there are repurposing centers that can recycle the material for a low cost.
“Right now,” he smiles, helping you out of the bed. Your legs are shaky, but you are excited to get home. “I called your work, and you are off for the rest of the week, so take it easy and take a seat.” He pulls out the wheelchair from behind him and gestures for you to sit in it.
“Do I really have to do that?” you ask, looking between him and the chair, “I feel fine.”
He sighs. “It’s some damn hospital policy; they won’t let me take ya if I don’t wheel you out.”
You playfully roll your eyes and sit in the chair, it doesn’t take long for you to be discharged, but before you leave, one of your doctors stops you. 
“If you start to feel anything strange at all, don’t hesitate to come back. The child responsible is currently having his quirk reevaluated, so if anything comes up, we will contact you.”
“Thank you,” you say softly. “If anything changes, we will let you know.”
The doctor nods before leaving the two of you, taking a whole group of residents with her.
“Hey,” Katsuki asks en route to the car, “Are you sure you’re okay? You had me scared for a second.”
“Please don’t worry, I’m fine,” you say now, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Are you going to go back to the Agency when we get home?”
“Hell no, you dumbass,” he yells in the usual Katsuki fashion, still opening the car door for you like a gentleman. “I ain’t leaving you after you’ve been in the hospital.”
“I’m fine,” you huff, climbing out of the chair and into the passenger seat. 
He ignores this and drops the chair off at the front of the hospital, handing it to a flustered-looking nurse and stalking back toward the vehicle. 
No doubt ready to get rid of you

The ride is uncomfortably silent for both of you. But as you drive down the road, you can’t help but feel drained. Especially after you pass the agency where this whole mess started. 
Your mind drifts to what must’ve happened right after you collapsed, and you clench your fist to hide your embarrassment.
You never have been a pretty sleeper; you probably don’t look that much better unconscious. You hope you weren’t too messy to deal with.
“Hey, we’re home,” he says, pulling into the garage. “Can you get out by yourself?”
You nod and slide right out of the seat.
“Tell me if you’re gonna pass out again,” he says clearly, still worried about you. 
He shouldn’t waste his valuable time thinking about you.
You walk to the door, Katsuki hovering behind you just in case you faint again. Your body feels a bit weak, but you wouldn’t tell him that. 
 If you seem like too much trouble, he may not want to be with you anymore
Or worse, he feels forced to stay with you.
You look back at him and give him your most convincing smile. “So, where is the statue?”
“The extras put it in the living room,” he answers.
“Does it really look like me?” you ask?
“I dunno; I was too worried about you to look at the damn thing.” 
Walking into the living room, you are almost blinded by the large white statue that sits right in the middle of the carpet. 
“Wow,” you say, approaching the base and running your hand along the arm of the statue. It’s smooth to the touch and soothingly cool against your kinda clammy hands.  
“You weren’t kidding when you said it was life-sized.” squinting, you get a closer look at all the little details in the marble. Everything from the coffee in your hand to the aglets on your shoelaces was turned into solid marble, but when you look at the face of this ‘copy of you,’ you don’t see a resemblance at all.
It looks plain, not like you at all. It actually looks kinda beautiful. Almost as if Pygmillion carved it out of stone himself, like in the Greek myth.
“At least it’s not naked,” you say dryly, earning a chuckle from your boyfriend in response. “But other than the clothes, I don’t think it looks like me.”
He looks a bit confused and looks between you and the statue, but you feel his gaze rests longer on the statue than on you. “It’s a damn copy, but you’re not made of stone, so, of course, it looks different.”
You shake your head no but say no more on the subject. It’s tiring to try and correct him when you know he is just trying to be nice to you. 
How could you ever look like this statue? Where are your pores, your scraps, your moles and bumps? 
You could only wish to look like it. 
The frown still sits on his face in your silence. “Well, come on, how about I make us some dinner, and we can watch a movie later or somethin?” he offers. Quality time is rare between the two of you, but for some reason, you feel like you don’t deserve it tonight.
“Umm, actually, I’m not feeling too great; I think I may just go to bed,” you mumble, stepping away from him.
“Not even dinner?” he calls as you walk into the bedroom. 
“I’m feeling kinda nauseous,” you lie, ignoring your quietly growling stomach. “I think it’s a side effect from the quirk.”
“I’ll make you some damn soup,” he says, “You need to eat somethin.”
Why is he pressuring you so much? Everything would be so much easier if he just let you go to bed. 
He doesn’t have to keep pretending to care about you.
“Katsuki,” you snap in a much louder voice than you meant to. “Just let me go to bed, it’s been a long day, and I just want to not feel like shit.”
He flinches a bit at your unusually harsh tone but stays where he is. “Fine,” he snaps back. “Excuse me for trying to help you. You’re just damn ungrateful.” His words hurt too.
But they are deserved. 
You really are ungrateful.
You just need to give him space.
Heading into the bedroom, you lie down and close your eyes. In the darkness, you lay there for a long time, just thinking about how much of an inconvenience today has been for Katsuki. He had to take the rest of the day off to take care of you, leaving him with what you can only assume to be mountains of paperwork.
Not to mention, You probably terrified those poor kids, scaring them for life. The doctors wasted a bed on you when you were completely fine.  
They should’ve just left you on the floor of the agency. You were far enough to the side you wouldn’t have been in anyone’s way.
A few tears of frustration well in your eyes; they can’t even fall properly. Dripping onto the dark pillowcase in fat, unsightly blobs.
The door opens a crack, and Katsuki comes in. 
Sneakily you wipe away your tears and act as if you are sleeping. You don’t want to say anything else to him that you regret. You’re as stiff as a board as he brushes his teeth, does his skincare routine, and changes into his sleep sweats.
The dip in the mattress tells you that he is in bed with you.
His breath is shaky, and even with your eyes closed, you feel him looking at you. 
You wish he wouldn’t. 
It could give him bad dreams.
You feel his warm, soft lips kiss your forehead tenderly. The act of intimacy makes you want to sob into his chest, but you stay composed.
You’ve always been an ugly crier.
“Goodnight, babe,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair carefully behind your ear. “You really scared me today, but I’m glad you’re okay.”
He lays back against his own pillow, and it only takes a few minutes for the soft sound of his snoring to fill the room, but you stay awake, reflecting on his last two words.
‘Are you okay?’
~
The night has been long and restless. Despite how tired you feel, you cannot for the life of you fall asleep. The stress from the day pricks your skin like needles making you feel stiff and tense.
Usually, when Katsuki’s arms are wrapped around you, you are out like a light but now

You are just thinking about how uncomfortable he must be
Your body is too warm and clammy to be soothing
You look at him, sleeping peacefully, and sigh deeply. The intake tugging at your heartstrings in sorrow.
He probably would prefer it if you were made of something as cool as marble.
Just through the crack in the door, you see the bright white of the statue. Its milky white face visible in the moonlight.
They’re looking at you

What an odd pair the two of you must make, The Hero and the Zero. 
It’s too much; you can’t sleep in this room tonight. Carefully you twist your way out of Katsuki's Caramel scented embrace and replace your form with a long body pillow. His brow furrows, but you are sure he’s fine. 
He’ll sleep better if you aren’t near him. 
Your feet carry you out the bedroom door and out into the living room where they are waiting; the pleasant smile on their poreless face greets you as you lay down on the faux leather couch next to it.
The moonlight illuminates their pearly white features giving them such a heavenly glow. 
You could never look that angelic.
You don’t understand how, but the statue even makes your clothes look as if they belong in a museum. Tired eyes rake over each and every last detail of the marble until sleep finally comes to you. 
~
“What the hell are you doing on the couch?” a voice asks, pulling you from your dark and dreamless sleep. Your eyes shoot open and immediately come to rest on the statue. 
Can it speak now?
You look to it for answers, but Its lips remain sealed in that mysterious little smile.
“Y/n, can you hear me?” the voice asks again. The sound coming from behind you. You reluctantly turn away from the work of art and see Katsuki. 
“Mornin Suki,” you say softly, looking up at him with lidded eyes.
You hate the way your voice sounds so early in the morning.
“I said, what the hell are you doing on the couch?” he says; he looks so hurt and confused. 
Did he want to be the first one to see it this morning?
“I couldn’t sleep,” you reply, “It was too warm with the two of us, and I didn’t want to wake you with all my tossing and turning.”
“Then why didn’t you sleep in the guest room? It’s creepy to be out here layin’ next to that creepy statue.”
Creepy? This statue is perfect. It’s better than you will ever be; how can he so easily insult it. 
What does he say about you behind your back?
“You’ve been acting strange,” he says, looking at you with concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?”
“I’m fine, just tired,” you say, using the same excuse you gave him last night. “I couldn’t sleep; I think I’m just gonna lay down and go back to bed.”
You should’ve just said that, but of course, you and your big mouth had to add one more little comment.  
“God knows I could use some beauty sleep.”
Your words seem to echo through the apartment, but your stature gives you a little smile of approval. What you said is true, but why does Katuski look so mad?
You are beautiful.” he says, stepping closer. He looks at you with such a sickenly pitiful expression, and he doesn’t touch you at all. He just stares.
You stay there in silence until his phone starts to ring. He answers it at the first chime.
No doubt waiting for an excuse to be away from you
“I have to take this; I’ll be right back, okay,” he says, putting the phone to his ear and leaving the room.
Alone again with the statue, you give it your full attention once again, turning your head to admire it from a different angle.
How could he say it is creepy?
 He settles for you; why doesn’t he just enjoy the You that You could never be?
It’s then you catch a speck of dust settled on the tip of its nose in the sunlight. 
It’s dirty

It has a flaw

Maybe he hates it because it reminds him of you

You are filled with a desire to fix it, rushing to the storage closet to grab an armload of dust cloths to wipe the whole thing down.
It needs to be perfect

At least one of you does, or else

You are sobbing by the time you reach its base. You frantically clean the surface, wiping your hand over every inch. Your head is pounding, but through your sobs, you hear something else, 
Screaming?
Cheering?
It’s all the same now.
You are pulled away roughly from The Marble perfection, and you shriek as you are carried farther and farther away from it. Only when the bedroom door closes fully, and it is out of your sight, do you realize that Katuski was the one who pulled you away. 
He drops you gently on the bed but positions himself between you and the door, his muscles a wall of their own. 
“What are you doing?” you gasp, already trying to rush past him
“I’m helping you,” he yells back, throwing the two of you down onto the bed. This time he refuses to let you go.
He must really hate touching you like this. 
But if you clean the rest of the statue, he may love you again.
“I need to see it,” you cry, squirming in his hold, your nails scratching down his forearm hard. “I need to fix it. It’s so dirty; that’s why you don’t love it.”
“I don’t need to love a damn statue,” he hisses at the pain but still holds you closer. “I have you, and I am trying to help you.”
Help you? Is that what he calls it?
Isn’t he trying to leave you?
The fight leaves your body, and you lay limp against him. Your eyes look up at his face expecting to see anger or disgust in the depths of his crimson gaze, but you see that somewhere in your struggle, he is crying too.
“Can’t you see?” you ask in a broken whisper, “They’re perfect; if you don’t want them, then you would never want me?”
His arms wrap tighter around you, physically shaking from the restraint he has placed on his own emotions. More than “They are not real, it’s just a damn statute y/n, I don’t want them. Please, let me talk to you.” Through your exhaustion and distress, his words manage to reach you. You nod softly, not having the energy to do anything else but realize something else.
Not all your thoughts are your own

“Thank you,” he says gently, “I just got off the phone with the teacher of the kid who hit you yesterday,” his eyes scan your face, making sure you are listening to him. “That Ovid kid’s quirk is more complicated than they realized. It does more than just make statues of the things it hits; it can mess with people’s heads if they stay too close to their own statues.”
You blink slowly, shaking away a melancholy fog you didn’t even realize had settled over you. “I-It’s the quirk?” 
He nods, holding you a bit gentler. “Yes, we gotta smash the damn thing, and you’ll feel better.”
“Smash, the statue?” you repeat. 
‘Why would you do that?’ The voice masquerading as your innermost thoughts of insecurity asks, trying to coax you back into the fog. But this time, you won’t let it.
“We are going to fuck that shit up.” he chuckles, wiping away your tears. “So you think you can do it?”
You nod, “I think so.”
“Atta girl.” his hand flies up to ruffle your hair as you giggle, weakly trying to hit it away.
As a man who appreciates some good old-fashioned destruction, Katsuki has a few sledgehammers just lying around. Once the two of you have some protective eyewear on, you are ready to head back to face the statue.
As you approach it, you take one last look at its face. 
You see the familiar curve of your nose and chin.
“It kind of does look like me,” you say as your boyfriend puts an encouraging hand on your shoulder. 
“You’re way better than this hunk of rock.” he laughs wickedly. The sound fills you with your daily dose of dopamine.
“You’re right,” you giggle, “Let’s smash it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Tagging: @enchantedforest-network
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fromtenthousandfeet · 4 months ago
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The fact that people only talk about Euphoria and still with you for JK but for Jimin every army knows the roster of lie, serendipity, filter and promise. I genuinely do not care which member is the "most famous" because for example currently Sabrina Carpenter is more famous than Olivia Rodrigo but OR will surge up again with her next album release and in the end I enjoy listening to them both. This comparison stuff is idiotic. But I genuinely laugh when people say JK is better than Jimin - because by what measure? Jimin has better songs and has more iconic performances. I guess people could say JK has better vocals but I'm gonna be honest that's highly subjective. It's not like we're dealing with a Beyonce or an Adele here. JK's level of vocals can be found in any SM groups vocalist. I'd say Jimin has the edge with vocal colour and JK's vocals are getting more bland with every passing year (why's his voice on still with you better than anything on golden?) while Jimin's getting better and better with vocal control which was the only area JK had a clear edge over him. Man is coasting by because he's the company favourite and has 11 years of company narrative pitching him as the main character but somehow Jimin's still keeping up with half the tools and half the support.
I suppose JK has a bigger army of femcels who want to f*ck him as fans and loser kpopies are also by his side. Poor Jimin missing out on that demographic of fans - very sad. But JK better hide his girlfriend better in the future because his crazy brood of fans may lose it if he ever decides to get into a public relationship. Ask kth on how quickly your fans turn on you for the cardinal sin of not being single or screwing your bandmate.
Old asks! This one is from August 5th.
Hmm. What to say? I don't like Jungkook's voice. I just don't. I didn't like it in Dynamite, and I don't like it now. When listening to BTS songs I find myself waiting for Jungkook's parts to end. I'm not sure what it is about the quality of his voice that bugs me, but it started long before I lost all respect for him during chapter 2. It feels too forced, maybe? He tries to use power to make up for a lack of emotion? A little too nasal? (Pro tip - address your food sensitivities to clear up your allergic rhinitis). My dream is for someone who is good with Garage Band, or another music app, to put JK and Justin Bieber singing the same notes side by side. I think the difference in quality and tone would be interesting.
I've said this a million times already, but the US is NOT lacking in exceptional singers. This country isn't suffering from a Jungkook deficiency, or a K-pop deficiency for that matter. What made BTS stand out in the first place was their original music and the impressive choreography/performances. Jimin's lovely, clear singing voice (plus the growls) and insane dance skills have always been central to BTS' success. There is definitely a precedent and passion for performers like Jimin, though. We love a good song and dance man!
Based on the few photos I've seen from JK's exhibition in Seoul and the upcoming I am Still, it looks like HYBE is leaning hard into the sex symbol concept. Lots on naked chest and abs. Lots of tatted, pierced bad boy stares. And what else is there? There's no artistry to focus on, unless you're super into his dancing style. I hope that works out for Jungkook and HYBE. Like you said, there's a demographic within the fandom that's completely down with lusting after him. To each her own, I guess.
Jimin will shine no matter what. He has integrity, artistry, sex appeal, and sings with emotion. Don't sweat Jungkook. He'll have his fans, of course, but I don't think he'll ever have the loyal, committed following, let alone the media attention, Jimin naturally attracts. Look no further than the difference in their birthday celebrations in Korea. One is a national holiday, the other is definitely not.
P.S. OMG, I can't wait for Jungkook's girlfriend reveal. A good chunk of the fandom will need psychiatric help.
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leupagus · 2 years ago
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More Ted Lasso spoilers
So. Sam's storyline in 3.07.
Don't get me wrong, I'm always thrilled with Toheeb Jimoh gets more to do on this show — he's absolute dynamite in this episode and they should just give him the Supporting Actor Emmy now and save us all some time. And Nonso Anozie was an ABSOLUTE delight, just like he is every time he pops up — his scenes with Jimoh were just pitch perfect in every way. (Ola and Rebecca just staring awkwardly at each other... perfection.)
BUT. The racism endemic within Britain's government and within its football culture is not something you can introduce in one episode, have a heartwarming moment about, and then move on from with a couple of pep talks. Ted Lasso has shied away from actually addressing the bigotry that Sam, or any Black footballer at Richmond, would face (and that actual Black footballers do face). To have it half-heartedly nodded to in this episode felt too pat, too one-and-done, and I'm incredibly disappointed with the writers for not respecting Jimoh or the material enough to give this the space that, say, Keeley's new title or Nate's romantic journey have been given this season.
That Jimoh is a good enough actor to sell that killer of a scene was not in doubt — but in a show that does not show a lot of traumatic violence against its characters, the trauma of the restaurant's destruction by racist nazi types felt like Sam's real role in the episode was to suffer, nobly. And that did not sit right with me.
This is, obviously, so far outside my lane that I'm on the like, access road in a fucking go-cart beside the highway. But while everyone was amazing in this episode, I'm left with a bad taste in my mouth over what other traumas Sam will have to endure rather than what victories he will be allowed to enjoy.
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