#dis cos tang

[highbrasshighkass]

If anyone asks, Cal decides hazily as he tries to stop the blood oozing from his shoulder, it was definitely BD-1’s fault. Cal has an encounter with more of the local wildlife on Bogano. Obviously it doesn't go well.

could it be? me finally writing another fic after lifetimes and lifetimes? anyway

[aflyingfinn]

quit instinctively holding hands when you get scared!!!!!!

[mouthtotheclouds]

Hello, Wynne was Harrowed at 16 and Vivienne was Harrowed before then. Literally just offering up children to literal demons with absolutely NO knowledge of what they're going into.

[pondslime]

subterranean

FANDOM : house of wax (2005) PAIRING : bo sinclair x afab!fem!reader RATING : explicit 🔞 WORDCOUNT : 3.9k

Reader POV. Basement fuckery. He tells you it's to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. You end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

Crossposted on A03 here.

⚠️ Stockholm Syndrome. VERY dubious consent under duress. This was supposed to just be porn without plot. But then I lost my goddamn mind. Oops. Decent amount of weird prose. Depersonalization and derealization. Pet play (but make it weird and kinda metaphorical). Collaring. Forced boot riding. Vibrator and anal plug use. Bondage/gagging/edging. Bo at his absolute WORST (his natural state), being smug and mean and awful. Dirty talk dialed ALL the way up. Extremely dehumanizing and degrading language. Mind break elements. LOTS of backhanded praise. ⚠️

You always got too comfortable.

A lifetime before—when you were first here—you sat on this mattress with him, swallowing down mouthfuls of cold beef and carrots. You can remember the soup swirling in the can, murky and brown like a puddle of stagnant rainwater. He hadn't bothered to warm it up for you, but it hadn’t mattered. The food was something. Sometimes it felt like everything.

You licked the broth off the spoon as he plugged another tape into the VCR.

“One of my favorites.” He told you. Of course it was. Every movie he showed you down here was one of his favorites. Every can of soup might be the last. It was always the same things, over and over.

That’s when you started to lose track of time, you think—when you’d started to cling onto all that nothing.

Time wasn’t all that bad of a thing to lose, was it? Who needed it when his thumb was rubbing against your knee, stroking up your skin? The soup was cold, and his hand was warm. You traded one for the other and you liked it.

Funny. Thoughts like that always felt like they came with an or else tacked at the end.

A chunk of potato sat unpleasantly on your tongue—almost bitter, gravel in your mouth. Just like everything else, you swallowed it down.

He pressed play, his fingers drifting up your thigh. The TV quality was fuzzy, interrupted by the occasional flicker of static. Sometimes the films he chose would start in the middle of scenes. You’d get brief glimpses of things he’d recorded over—the triumphant blare of a talk show theme cutting off mid-note, dropping you in media res. He always assured you that you weren’t missing anything. At least that was one thing he didn’t bother lying about.

The movie wasn’t why you remembered that day, though. It was because of something he’d asked you.

“Where’d ya’ grow up?”

You hadn’t known what to say. He never asked you things like that. Your confusion only deepened when you turned towards him. There was no tension in his jaw, no furrowing of his brow. He looked, for the first time, wholly and startlingly calm.

When you failed to answer, he leaned forward and switched the TV off. He never did that either.

“Tell me ‘bout it. Whatchu do out there, anyway?”

You always regret not lying to him.

The world had shrunk down so much in the time you’d been in the town that it almost felt like you could gather it up and stuff it in your pocket.

You think about home. It looks different now.

Spidery tendrils of dust cling to the gaps between the balusters. It’s so difficult to get light in the house. No matter how many windows you open, there are always corners lost to shadow.

It’s strange how you could be up there one day, replacing the bulb under a fringed lampshade—and the next, you’d be tumbled back underground.

Just last week, you were lying on the couch in the living room.

The dog had padded into the room. She’d been gone for the better part of the day. With the doors unlocked, she went wherever she pleased. It had worried you at first, but it didn't anymore. She'd never leave town. She knew better.

At least, that’s what he’d said.

“Come here, beautiful.”

Jumping up, she curled into the space beside you. You wrapped your arm around her, wrinkling your nose. She reeked terribly of dog, stale corn chips and dirt and musk. You wondered if she might let you give her a bath now that you were in her good graces. It took a while to get there, but she came around. In a manner of speaking, the same thing had happened with you.

Pretty funny, huh?

Earlier, you'd been thinking about the puppies in the pet store window. Did she know about them? Slumbering away behind glass and dust, forever only a couple breaths old. Click. A switch was flipped, and they were as alive as they would ever be, nestled on newspaper shavings. On days like this, did she ever make her way down the hill to see them?

“Girls don’t last in this town.” You murmured, scratching behind her ear. “Just me and you, yeah?”

With a huff, she buried her head in the crook of your neck. It seemed like she was done listening to you.

That was fair, really. Half the time you weren’t even saying what you were really thinking anymore—and when you did, you weren't entirely sure that you made much sense. So much of yourself was locked up in your head and you kept forgetting where you left the keys. It all got clogged up inside your skull and oozed out of your mouth in a trail of sickly platitudes. You were just so thankful, so grateful.

“Sorry.” You whispered. You were always sorry for something, and sometimes you even meant it.

The rays of light were receding off of the arm of the couch, crawling up the wall. Your thoughts filled the living room. You could almost see them floating through the air, bouncing off each other like bubbles. Fleeting, effervescent things, popping as soon as you tried to track their paths. When you turned your head, you could smell his cologne. It was his jacket, hanging discarded over the couch cushions.

For a sudden, terrifying moment, you missed him.

That’s when you said the prayer. You didn't know where you meant for it to go. You guessed it was for whoever was around to hear it. Most days it was him and some of the time it was his mother. Both choices rang false. If God was still in this town, it was here, caught in these beams of light. Or maybe God was the dog heavy on top of you, her breath a rhythmic rumble against your throat.

Maybe you wouldn’t last long. Maybe it was all just wishful thinking.

Today, Bo fastens the collar around your neck. The leather feels heavy against your skin.

He tells you it’s to keep you humble. It’s really just to keep you scared. The distinction doesn’t matter. All the light bulbs you screw in will eventually need to be replaced. Wiping away the dust only gives way to more dust. You'll end up here again and again, knees biting into the concrete.

This almost feels more like his room than the one he sleeps in up at the house. Here, you can feel him more than anywhere else. There's more of you down here too. Real, tangible parts of yourself. Look around. There you are in the stain on the mattress, the blood crusted on the vinyl.

Welcome back, baby.

You keep your gaze on the ground, searching for something to bore your eyes into. Your eyes land on his shoes. Flecked with dirt, they bear obvious signs of wear. There’s a sizable hole in the toe of one of them. You focus in on that as he readjusts the collar, tightening the strap around your neck.

Embarrassment heats your cheeks as you hear him click the leash into place. Even without looking up at him, you can picture the expression on his face. It isn’t a good one. You still can’t decide if he looks more or less like himself when he screws his face up like that.

Tugging roughly at the leash, he forces you to look up at him. Wrists bound; your hands flex uselessly against your back.

“Please—”

Without warning, he sticks his fingers into your mouth, forcing them to the back of your throat. You choke, your hands flexing in panic behind your back. When he pulls them out, you cough, eyes watering.

“Now, normally I like hearin’ you, baby.” He says, smiling down at you. His face is a discordant thing. All American, boy next door. A slice of apple pie that someone put a cigarette out in. “But you know somethin’—”

He crouches down in front of you, still smiling. You watch him silently, shifting anxiously on your knees.

“I never did meet a dog who could talk.” Reaching over, he flicks at the metal ring on the collar. “Feels wrong.”

Dropping the leash, he gets to his feet, striding away. You crane your neck to the side as he rustles around behind you. After a moment, he lets out an affirmative grunt.

Quickly, you pivot your head back to the front. Making his way back to stand in front of you, your eyes flash to the item in his hands. Seemingly amused by your concern, he dangles it in front of you.

It’s a ball gag, shiny and black—noticeably a hair newer than the rest of the junk down here. Maybe he bought it just for you. It’d make a pretty lousy gift, but then again, he was always shit at stuff like that.

He had an incredible knack for getting you shit that you never asked for. Everything came with conditions, a laundry list of provisos and conditions that you didn't remember signing up for. Everything he gave you was actually for him.

“Open up, baby.”

Before you can think to do as he asks, his thumb forces your mouth open, pressing down on your teeth. You sputter as he forces the gag into your mouth, securing it around the back of your neck.

“That’s better, yeah?” He asks, grabbing hold of the leash again.

You stare up at him, exhaling tight bursts of air through your nose. You tilt your head a bit, working your jaw around the ball. Your teeth rest uncomfortably on the rubber.

“You been so good today, think we outta give that pussy some attention, huh?” He smirks. “Whatchu think?”

You whine, the noise coming out in an embarrassingly wet gurgle. Spit runs out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and trickling onto your neck.

“So cute.” His voice is syrupy sweet. He can play at authenticity, but never with you.

He kicks your thighs apart with his foot, nudging the tip of his boot between your legs. His eyebrows shoot up expectantly as he nods down at you.

“Go on, then.”

Disgust is an old friend. She disappears for months at a time, only to show up unexpectedly as if no time has passed. She’s back again, turning your stomach around in her hands. You tilt your hips down. Rubbing yourself against the tip of his shoe, you wonder if he’s doing this for old times' sake.

Rocking forward, you imagine a glossy magazine cover. You could see him on the cover of one. He does have the face for it, when he bothers to put it on.

Bored? 50 Ways to Keep the Spark Alive!

Your jaw is beginning to ache. Bo's hand strokes softly at the top of your head. You hate that the pressure against your clit almost feels good. Your mind unhelpfully supplies more article titles, bubbling up in your mind in obnoxiously curly lettering.

10 Mouth Exercises For The Modern Woman. Have You Tried Screaming? It’s All The Rage in This Town. Once You Start, You Won’t Want to STOP!

“That’s it.” He grins. “What a little slut.”

You look up at him pleadingly, another dribble of spit running down your chin.

“Always got told ya’ shouldn’t let dogs up on the bed.” He muses, the amusement plain in his voice. “But you been on your best behavior, huh?”

Last week, you fell asleep on the couch. You woke up somewhere else.

It was dark and you were pressed against something warm. Not the dog, not the light. Those were both gone. His jacket hanging off the side of the couch, maybe. But it was moving now, and so were you.

“Gotta getcha to bed.” He’d muttered, carrying you up the stairs.

You lay across Bo's lap, the side of your cheek against the dirty mattress. You shudder, your legs shaking.

“Pretty girl.” Reaching over, he tugs you up by the leash, forcing your head back.

Every breath you take seems to make your muscles clench around the plug in your ass. He works it in and out of you slowly and you gulp, shallow breaths whistling out of your nostrils. Every time you jolt forward you can feel him press against you, hard against your belly.

“Hey. What’s wrong, baby? That hurt?”

You nod frantically.

“Huh. Funny…'cuz I don't think it does. You wanna know how I know?” You feel him spread you open, fingers dipping into your pussy. “You’re wet for it, baby.”

He pushes the plug deeper, and your head spins at the sensation. A warbling moan pitches out of your mouth as you feel it sink fully into you. You shiver uncontrollably, whimpering around the gag. Saliva gathers on your tongue, and you feel it spill out of the side of your mouth, pooling under your cheek.

“Good.” He rumbles out, stroking his knuckles along your back. “That’s my good girl.”

You squeeze your eyes shut when you feel him nudge something between your legs. With a click, the vibrator buzzes to life. You let out a startled cry as he strokes it along your pussy.

“It’s nice, huh?” He chuckles. “Don’tchu act like I never gave you anything.”

The vibrator teases against your clit in short bursts, pressing down just long enough to leave you panting before he pulls it away. Almost enough, not quite. You arch back uselessly, chasing after that glittery warm sensation. He laughs a bit, holding the vibrator just above your clit.

You can feel the edge of pleasure, but it’s nothing more than a distant dull thrum. He keeps you hovering over it for what feels like forever, squirming over a feeling that’s hardly there. You bite down on the gag, your sob watery and muffled around the rubber.

“This body’s all mine, girl.” He murmurs, running his thumb down your spine. “I ain’t gotta make it feel good.”

With a hum, he rests the vibrator fully onto your clit. The sensation you’ve been chasing envelopes you, shimmering through your core. Nasally, high-pitched whines escape you in quick, desperate succession.

“But I do, don’t I? ‘Cuz I’m just so sweet.”

You open your eyes, staring up at him in bleary gratitude. He presses down on the plug. The discomfort has crested over and all you feel now is loose and pliant. You moan around the gag, your eyes fluttering.

“You like having somethin’ in your ass while I play with this pussy?”

And you nod, humming out your agreement.

“Mmm-hmm? Yeah?” He teases, mimicking your garbled reply. "That's good, baby. That's real good. Reckoned I’d fuck your ass today, but that pussy’s gettin’ nice and wet for me. Whatchu think? Which hole you want fucked?”

You mumble incoherently through the gag.

“All of ‘em?” He exclaims, the grin evident in his voice. “Well, ain’t that real sweet. Good answer, baby.”

He keeps talking, but it’s getting harder to focus on what he’s saying.

“Next crew that comes through here—maybe I’ll tell ‘em I got a slut who needs breakin’ in. You spread those legs so nice, sure you’d fuckin’ love it.”

The image flashes through your mind. Hands everywhere, laughter and heat and friction from a kaleidoscope of people destined for death. You’re in the middle of all of those faceless people—a tribute to be used up, one last meal for a parade of living corpses.

You’re all destined for the same end, but theirs is closer than they know. Yours is prolonged, tied around touches and salt.

Bo would be in the corner, lighting another cigarette—watching, because he’s always watching. Mouth twitching into a smile because he’s right again. You’re exactly what he thinks you are. You’ll keep your eyes on him because you can’t look at anyone else. After all, if it isn’t his hands, could you even feel it? Would it even count?

The panic is sudden and hot, twisting inside your chest. A desperate little whine builds at the back of your throat.

If I’m everybody else's, I can’t be yours.

“I’d have a hard time sharin’, though.”

Relief. The vibrator pulses against your clit and your eyes go unfocused.

“’S funny. Gotchu down here—and nobody knows.”

Between your legs, your pussy feels pathetically wet, sloppily sliding along the vibrator. You almost wish he’d keep you like this forever, jolts of pleasure lapping hungrily between your legs.

“If there’s even anybody out there lookin’ for ya’…” He muses. “Wish they could see ya’ now, huh? Don’t think they’d feel bad for you, baby.”

Pleasure rolls dizzily through you, electric licks of sensation as he rubs the vibrator against your clit. The rubber in your mouth is an anchor, it feels good on your teeth.

“Betchu thought you were really somethin’ out there.” He chuckles. “How’s it feel to find out you ain’t? Feels good, don’t it?”

You open your eyes and nod up at him, panting out your agreement. Through the haze, you see him smirk. It’s a cruel, cold thing. You’re all full and useless, but he doesn’t need you to say it, because he knows. Thoughtlessly, you shift in his lap, trying desperately to spread your legs wider for him.

“Nothin’ but a little fucktoy.” He coos. “That’s all you are, baby. Want you to remember that.”

He doesn’t need to worry. You remember everything, except what counts.

“Good girls cum, baby. They can’t help it.”

You’re hurtling higher and higher, the pleasure battering against your brain. That’s where the memories are, where the time used to be. It feels better to fill it with this. But then again, you’ve known that from the start.

“Go on, baby. Cum all pretty for me, yeah?”

And you do, a million times over.

He keeps the vibrator pressed firmly against your clit as you tense up, your hands clenching into tight fists behind your back. Your orgasm is a bone-deep shiver, wracking your legs with uncontrollable chills. The pleasure throttles through the last of your coherency, prizing a desperate noise from your throat. Maybe it’s a word. It might be his name. It might just be the time. Maybe this is how you find it again.

The buzz of the vibrator goes dim and far away as he holds it against you. You’re twitching somewhere above it. Each involuntary movement you make brings with it a new hiccup of sensation. Around you, the room seems to spin—whirling into a terrific blur of green and yellow.

It can be beautiful down here, if you squint.

When he lifts the vibrator off your clit, you pitch forward, warbling out a dizzy laugh behind the gag. You wait for the sound of the wand powering off. It doesn't come. Behind you, the buzzing is a low, incessant drone. You’ve barely managed to ground yourself when you hear it kick up a notch.

Click.

The sheets smell like all the thousand versions of you, each one answering questions she shouldn’t. Four walls surround you and they feel like they’re collapsing down on all sides. They could be made of plaster or stone, but they might just be something else. Your limbs, your heart, your mind, him. Separate appendages, but all linked. All part of the same crumbling structure.

A scream builds at the back of your throat as you feel him set it back on your clit.

“We ain’t done, baby.”

Your sleep is deep. Quiet. Only one dream.

Bo’s sitting on the edge of the bed, an inky blot in the gray morning light. He makes a move to stand up and you grab onto his arm.

“Go back to bed, angel.” He murmurs.

It almost sounds real enough.

When you wake up, you're alone. You try the door and find it unlocked.

Figures.

Upstairs, the shop is empty. There’s a can of unopened Coke on the counter. You crack it open and take a sip. Lukewarm bubbles of carbonation fizz over your tongue. God, he really was shit with gifts.

Walking up the hill, you catch your reflection in the window of a sedan. You look haggard, your hair a raggedy clump around your shoulders. You try the handle and it cracks open easily. Crawling into the dirty belly of the car, you wince as you lower yourself down into the seat. You sit with one leg dangling out, absentmindedly studying the dusty speedometer.

There are cars in other towns, parked on different streets. There are places without dust. There are always other futures. Sometimes you turn down the wrong road, and sometimes you die. Sometimes you don’t.

That’s just the way these things go.

You imagine the town collapsing in on itself like a pop-up book. There’s Bo, frowning down at it. He seemed like he’d been the type of kid that wasn’t allowed to check those kinds of things out from the library. He’d bring them back with pages ripped out, scrawled with pen marks. Pilled white card stock where faces used to be.

God, you’re miserably sore. It’s impossible to narrow down the ache to a certain part of you.

Lifting your leg into the car, you pull the door shut. The dust inside tickles your nose. Unthinkingly, you reach up, your fingers brushing against the metal buckle of the seatbelt. The sting is sharp and immediate. You pull your hand away with a hiss, your hand smarting. When you reach for the seatbelt again, you’re careful to avoid the clip.

You buckle yourself in. Click. Alive again, now more than ever. Wrapping your hands around the steering wheel, you close your eyes. The leather is hot against your palms, and it hurts a bit. Just a little. That’s just the pain again, but you don’t really mind. It’s something you can keep. It’s all yours.

Nothin’ you can’t handle, girl.

That’s what he said last night. Afterwards.

You were laying with your head in his lap, the itchy crust of dried spit against your cheek. It was then that you decided that you were so ugly that you had to be beautiful. You had to be worth looking at. You’d rolled over on your back, looking up at him through swollen eyes. That’s when he said it, so low and quiet that you almost didn’t register it. There’d been a an edge of pride to his voice.

Nothin’ at all.

A lick of pleasure thrums between your legs and your eyes flash open. You unbuckle the seatbelt and scramble out of the car, ignoring the pain that sings through your limbs.

Things like that? They always came with an or else tacked at the end. You remember that, don’t you? You couldn’t have forgotten.

Looming above you, the house is a dark blot of ink against the blue sky.

There were no collars for dogs in this town—they didn’t need them. They’d always find their way back home, pawing at the door for some scraps. The only leash is the one that exists in your mind. You can almost see it, trailing off your neck and up the hill, looped messily around the front doorknob.

You were going to die here with all that wetness between your legs, begging him to take out more of you with his teeth.

It's like he said.

You don’t need to tie up a dog if it loves you.

[chcrryade]

⠀EVERY  TIME,⠀I  MAKE  IT  SO  OUTRAGEOUS!  ˚ ◯ ⁺⠀⠀⸻⠀⠀Born out of just the right mix of spite,  desperation,  and greed,  CHERRYADE  ( 체리 에이드 )  are a last-ditch attempt—a withered hand clawing its way out of the grave—at boy group fame for their managing company JAGUAR.  Following their previous list of tragedies,  the seven-piece ensemble  (cobbled together with more members that weren’t even signed to them to begin with that those that were)  seemed to be yet another set-up,  another failed venture that would last a year or two at the very most before a scandal ripped them apart from the inside out and they were shoved aside to make room for the next five minutes of fame JAGUAR were chasing.

However,  they seemed to be the ones that broke the mould of those that had come before them.  Wrapped in an almost artificially sugary-sweet concept with the uneasy-on-the-eyes colour scheme to match  (although the contrasting tang of their sharp personalities cut through the façade more often than not),  CHERRYADE saw success after their debut release ‘DOUBLE DIP,’  a five-track mini album that made everything seem a little bit more real,  proving all those that had been calling bullshit wrong.  They were here,  and they were hopefully here to stay—for better or for worse,  completely uncaring of whether people liked them or not;  as was per with all of JAGUAR’s attempts before them.

They were  (predictably)  not without scandal,  and allegations were thrown at them not long after debut for both their less-than-stellar treatment of their fellow idols in the industry and having loose lips when it came to secrets that weren’t always their own,  but surprisingly there was nothing to be heard about infighting this time around.  Some said they were just the ones that managed to get along,  or they had turned over new leaves, but others theorised that they were all still horrible,  and this time had simply united to wreak their havoc on their mutual enemies instead.

Still,  despite the articles and the fan videos and the general confusion of the crowds at all of their shows while they wondered if they should be throwing rocks or waving their lightsticks in time,  CHERRYADE persevered.  Next was the full album ‘TASTE TEST’ in March 2022,  one that,  despite the more suggestive nature of the songs within,  was another that was met with widespread success.  Everything seemed to be going swimmingly—until the November 2022 one-time-only reunion of JAGUAR’s first and only co-ed duo JUST4U,  who ran from 2009 until 2016.  Another explosive scene of theirs erupted right in plain view,  for everyone to see,  more insults thrown and glass smashed.  An apology  (that,  although was signed by Seungdae,  no-one believes he actually wrote a word of—witnesses said he was egging them on,  if anything)  was released after the media got ahold of the story,  and after that all things JAGUAR  (and by proxy,  all things CHERRYADE)  seemed to fall quiet for a while.  No comeback was announced,  nor rumoured,  nor..  Anything.  It took the leader of the seven himself making a stand and asking for something to be done for any more moves to be made,  and not terribly long after—May 2023,  to be exact—the mini album ‘SWEET (SOUR)’ was dropped.

It seemed the hype hadn’t died down at all,  as fans were just as excited as they’d been for the previous two releases,  and the attention was back in full swing.  Next came the second full album ‘CLUB SODA’ in November 2023,  and most recently the mini album ‘LEMON ON ICE’ in April 2024.  Allegations and accusations have followed them all throughout their careers,  ranging from bullying to drug use to renting rooms in love hotels to the countless rumours of infighting that seem to crop up every two weeks.  But CHERRYADE just keeps on pushing,  not paying any mind to any article that drags their name through the mud for the nth time. 

They have yet to take the title of JAGUAR’s longest running group  (as that crown still belongs to the aforementioned duo JUST4U),  but fans are hopeful and non-fans are more..  Curious.  One journalist described them as a group that was a little like an incoming car crash—you don’t know how things are going to end up,  but you still don’t want to look away.

So,  whether you’re dancing along to their  (admittedly catchy)  discography,  or praying on their imminent disbandment,  CHERRYADE will be here to welcome you all the same.  Grab a gumdrop and make yourself comfortable,  because it’s almost certain that you’re going to be here for a while.

⁺⠀ෆ  ⠀›  ⠀ ᶻ .ᐟ  BACK2BASICS…

GROUP NAME⠀☆⠀CHERRYADE  ( 체리 에이드 )

LABEL⠀☆⠀JAGUAR

DEBUT DATE⠀☆⠀AUG 1,  2021

DEBUT RELEASE⠀☆⠀DOUBLE DIP  ( MINI-ALBUM )

CONCEPT⠀☆⠀COLOURFUL,  SUGARY GOODNESS!

GREETING⠀☆⠀CRACK,  FIZZLE,  POP!  WE’RE CHERRYADE!

FANDOM NAME⠀☆⠀SODA BOMBS

⁺⠀ෆ  ⠀›  ⠀ ᶻ .ᐟ  LINEUP…

KIL DOYEON⠀✶⠀‘98  LEADER MAIN DANCER

DUAN ‘JALEN’ JIEYANG⠀✶⠀‘97  MAIN VOCALIST DANCER

JEON HAEIL⠀✶⠀‘99  LEAD VOCALIST LEAD RAPPER

QIAO YIJUN⠀✶⠀‘01  MAIN RAPPER CENTRE

HWAN ‘GOGO’ MINHUI⠀✶⠀‘02  MAIN DANCER VOCALIST

AHN JAEHEE⠀✶⠀‘02  MAIN RAPPER VISUAL

LEE HASUN⠀✶⠀‘03  MAIN VOCALIST MAKNAE

⁺⠀ෆ  ⠀›  ⠀ ᶻ .ᐟ  DISCOGRAPHY…

AUGUST 2021⠀‘DOUBLE DIP’⠀MINI ALBUM

MARCH 2022⠀‘TASTE TEST’⠀FULL ALBUM

MAY 2023⠀‘SWEET (SOUR)’⠀MINI ALBUM

NOVEMBER 2023⠀‘CLUB SODA’⠀FULL ALBUM

APRIL 2024⠀‘LEMON ON ICE’⠀MINI ALBUM

[justforbooks]

Tony Lo Bianco

American actor who fitted naturally into the 70s trend for gritty crime thrillers as a brute with a twinkle in his eye

The American actor Tony Lo Bianco, who has died of cancer aged 87, specialised in hoods and heavies, often played with an uncommon twinkle in the eye that suggested he was in on some grim private joke. “I guess I’ll have to do a nun next,” he said after a run of such roles.

There was never any doubt that he meant business. “If you encountered Tony in a deserted alley at midnight, you’d be inclined to hand him your wallet before he asked for it,” wrote a US newspaper in 1978.

With his conspiratorial manner, imposing stare and tractor-tyre eyebrows, Lo Bianco fitted naturally into the 70s trend for gritty crime thrillers. As the mobster Sal Boca in The French Connection (1971), he is pursued by the New York cop “Popeye” Doyle (Gene Hackman) for his role in buying a massive shipment of heroin. The Seven-Ups (1973) reunited Lo Bianco with his friend and French Connection co-star Roy Scheider, and gave him a bigger bite of the cherry, this time as a shady police informer in a camel-hair coat and sharp hat.

His first major role had already proved he was more eccentric than any rent-a-thug. In The Honeymoon Killers (1970), which was inspired by real events, he played the silver-tongued Spanish con-artist Ray Fernandez, who embarks on a murder spree with a lonely woman whom he tries to swindle. Martin Scorsese was sacked as the film’s director for dragging his feet, but the end result (with the composer and librettist Leonard Kastle stepping in after Scorsese’s exit) has a sizzling, unwholesome B-movie tang, due in no small part to Lo Bianco’s oleaginous presence and his rapport with Shirley Stoler as his partner-in-crime.

Most of his finest screen work was done in the 70s. He was a police detective investigating seemingly random murders in the supernatural horror God Told Me To, and an injured, suicidal former rodeo rider raising his young sons in Glory Days, AKA Goldenrod (both 1976).

Bloodbrothers (1978), in which Lo Bianco was all gruffness and gristle as an Italian-American construction worker pressuring his recalcitrant son (Richard Gere) to follow in his footsteps, was especially dear to him. “It’s very close to my heart,” he said. “I know the characters like I know my family.”

In the same year, he was a surprisingly genial crime boss opposite Sylvester Stallone in the union drama F.I.S.T. “Sure, I could have played [him] as one more Italian thug,” he reflected. “But does the world really need another overbearing, obnoxious, obvious slob to dismiss or look down on as some kind of buffoon?”

Lo Bianco attributed his facility as an actor partly to his upbringing. “Coming from an Italian family in a big city, my emotions were always close to the surface, ready to live life fully, to give, to laugh and cry without holding back, without strain.”

He was born in New York City to Carmelo, a taxi driver, and Sally (nee Blando). One of his teachers at William E Grady high school suggested he give acting a go, though his early passions were largely sporting ones. As a teenager, he tried out for the Brooklyn Dodgers, and was also a Golden Gloves welterweight boxer. “I guess you’d say I was a borderline delinquent. It was the 50s, Elvis time, leather jackets, a time for being tough.”

Years later, he would step back into the ring to play the boxer Rocky Marciano in the television biopic Marciano (1979). He returned to the same story, again for TV, in Rocky Marciano (1999), this time as the gangster-turned-promoter Frankie Carbo opposite Jon Favreau as the prizefighter.

Lo Bianco studied acting at the Dramatic Workshop in Manhattan in the late 50s, and founded the Weekend Theater there in order to gain experience. “I built the sets, the stage, and put in the lighting. I got it going.” He did the same in 1963 with the Triangle Theater, where he also served as artistic director. It was here that he first met Scheider.

He accumulated numerous credits on television, including a recurring role between 1971 and 1973 as a doctor in the long-running soap opera Love of Life, and on stage: in 1975, he won an Obie (an award for an off-Broadway performance) for his portrayal of a fading baseball star in Yanks-3 Detroit-0, Top of the Seventh. He also won a Tony for playing the tormented longshoreman Eddie Carbone in A View from the Bridge in 1983.

Appearing in the Italian caper Mean Frank and Crazy Tony (1973) immediately after his success in The French Connection, Lo Bianco seemed to be spoofing his own image when it was still in its infancy: he played a none-too-bright crook who idolises a legendary gangster (Lee Van Cleef). But the actor re-asserted his authority on television in the anthology series Police Story (1973-76). He was one of only a handful of cast members who appeared in more than one episode. Even more unusually, he was on the right side of the law this time.

In Franco Zeffirelli’s mini-series Jesus of Nazareth (1977), he was Quintillius, who advises Pontius Pilate, played by Rod Steiger. A year later, also on television, he starred in The Last Tenant as a man dealing with the increasing needs of his senile, irascible father, played by the acting guru Lee Strasberg. In the 80s he won plaudits for a TV adaptation of Paul Shyre’s play Hizzoner!, in which he starred as the New York mayor Fiorello La Guardia. This spawned several spin-offs, including La Guardia and The Little Flower, written by Lo Bianco and performed by him across the world at the start of this century.

Notable later roles include a mafia boss in the lighthearted, 30s-set Clint Eastwood/Burt Reynolds vehicle City Heat (1984), a corrupt property developer in John Sayles’s ensemble drama City of Hope (1991), the ivory-haired mobster Johnny Roselli in Oliver Stone’s Nixon (1995), and yet another intimidating gangster in The Juror (1996), with Demi Moore and Alec Baldwin.

Like Robert De Niro, for whom he was sometimes mistaken, it seemed there was nowhere left to go but comedy after playing so many crooks. Having parodied himself at the very start of his film career, Lo Bianco did so again in Mafia! (1998), also known as Jane Austen’s Mafia!, a send-up from some of the team behind the Airplane! and Naked Gun spoof series.

Though he directed to acclaim on stage, he made only one film, the slasher movie Too Scared to Scream (1984). His final picture was Somewhere in Queens (2022), starring and directed by Ray Romano, in which Lo Bianco played the main character’s standoffish father.

He is survived by his third wife, Alyse (nee Muldoon), a writer, whom he married in 2015, two daughters, Yummy and Nina, from his first marriage, to the actor Dora Landey (Anna, a third daughter from that marriage, died in 2006), a brother, John, and six grandchildren. Both his previous marriages – the second was to Elizabeth Natwick – ended in divorce.

🔔 Anthony Lo Bianco, actor, born 19 October 1936; died 11 June 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[eggplant-crusader]

My three "Sol saves Kom but Anemone is badly hurt to the point that half of her body is covered in her scales" AUs I'll probaly never write because life is a cage:

Sol has to live with the burden of knowing they did that to Anemone, it's fucking awful, Anemone doesn't blame them but Sol can't come clean about how they knew what they were doing, so they drift apart. When the Helios arrive a less supremacist Anemone doesn't get dragged in, and is in fact treated like shit. Sol and her bond over their rebellion to the new government. Eventually Sol brings Anemone on expeditions, where they show her enough to convince her that they have memories of past timelines, and they come clean. It's a fucking blow, but Anemone comes to terms with it, and helps overthrow Lum and sign a peace with the gardeners. Anemone grows to be an explorer/diplomat, helping Dys and Sol, and keeping an eye on the more dangerous colonists.

Sol dies saving Kom. Tangent looks after the half-dead dead Anemone, because it's her job, and the two sort of get used to each other's presence during Anemone's long hospital stay and rehab. When Anemone is finally discharged, Tang starts seeking her put because she enjoys their conversations and she finds that she thinks more clearly after them. Anemone meanwhile feels lost, and starts going out on expeditions. She replaces Sol as the one to meet and bond with Sym, and she learns to love the planet. She eventually manages to convince Tangent to join her. Tangent is forever changed by the experience, she realizes she doesn't want to harm the ecosystem and also oh fuck, she's in love with Anemone. She completely panics about her project, and destroys it all, which forces her to go on the run, helped by Dys of all people (Dys is friends-ish with Nem), not before telling EVERYONE what they were planning. Cal and Anemone especially freak out (Cal is Nem's bff in all these AUs, at least eventually), and start planning a coup. Anemone is fucking spiraling though, because Tang is OUT THERE and she's IN HERE were she can't help and oh fuck, she's SO FUCKING IN LOVE WITH THE MOST WANTED CRIMINAL IN THE COLONY. The coup fails, because they can't get Marz to agree (Cal is sort of the Sol replacement as leader in the city, and they don't see eye to eye) and without her they can't get the votes. Cal and Nem are thrown in jail because without Sol they're a bit too loud for Lum. As the final Glow attack is imminent though, Dys and Tang arrive to break them out with his guile and her science. They also bring the overseer's final deal with them, and the four of them crash the council with it. Lum is about to go ballistic when Marz (who got a place in the council post failed coup for siding with him) knocks him out from behind. They vote to try to negotiate. They succeed. Marz becomes governor, but her transitional government is replaced by Cal's and/or Tammy's, who are a better fit for dealing with the gardeners. Meanwhile, Tang becomes a field scientist, trying to better understand the planet so that humans can better coexist with it. Anemone joins her as her guard/forager/assistant/pillow. They basically live in tents. Dys joins them sometimes when he's not too busy with his alien boyfriend.

Marz catches Sol preparing for the glow attack, and realizes Sol isn't planning to come back. Sol plays dumb, but their last words to her are to look after Nem. After the attack, Marz visits Nem while she's healing a few times, but they can't get along and eventually she gives up. Then again, the Helios show up, Nem doesn't fit in, and bonds with Marz over their mutual distaste of Lum and co. They're not friends, but Marz recruits Nem to be her muscle, and Nem is happy to. This includes trying to figure out wtf Dys is doing because he's sus af, among other things, but is mostly about making the Helios look bad and looking intimidating next to Marz. Nem finds out about Dys and Sym, brings it to Marz, convinces her that they can use this to improve life in the colony AND take down Lum. Marz begins a slow negotiation with Sym, basically playing a game of telephone where she tells Nem who tells Dys who tells Sym who tells the Gardeners. It takes YEARS, but during that time, Nem watches Marz grow more and more invested in the people and become more and more determined to make the peace work for the sake of the planet and everyone, and that makes Nem's devotion switch flips on. She becomes the ultimate badass hyperloyal bodyguard, and Marz sort of takes her for granted until the day Marz overthrows Lum and is attacked, Nem jumps in front of her and she think Nem just took a bullet (or sci fi bullet equivalent idk) for her and oh fuck, if Nem is dead she's going to literally murder everyone. But Nem is fine, except now Marz won't let her do her job and keeps fuzzing over her and what is WRONG WITH YOU you're the governor now, you need me more than ever, DAMN RIGHT I NEED YOU, furious making out ensues. They completely wreck the governor's desk (or sci fi desk equivalent idk). You know the rest. Peace signed. Gay Dys. Marz becomes first galactic empress, Nem is her loyal bodyguard and also wife.

In all of these, Nem lives a long, happy, and relatively peaceful life where she is not consumed by hatred for the Other and does not spiral into a cycle of violence that ends with her dying young because I couldn't sign a fucking peace deal for some fucking reason what the fuck am I doing wrong I can't take this anymore aaaaaaaa

[mariacallous]

(New York Jewish Week) — The corner of Ludlow and Rivington streets in New York City is now officially known as Beastie Boys Square.

The co-naming of this Lower East Side street corner — where the shop featured on the Jewish rappers’ second album, “Paul’s Boutique,” once stood — was the result of a 10-year effort spearheaded by Leroy McCarthy, an activist who has successfully lobbied for other New York City streets named in honor of rappers, including Notorious B.I.G. and the Wu-Tang Clan.  

Hundreds of New Yorkers packed the downtown intersection Saturday afternoon for the official unveiling of Beastie Boys Square. Though some kvetched about the humidity and the unexplained 80-minute delay, the Gen X-heavy crowd — plus a smattering of their offspring — was a respectful one, singing along to years’ worth of Beastie Boys songs played on loudspeakers as they waited for the ceremony to begin, and for the appearance of the two people everyone had come to see: Adam “Ad-Rock” Horovitz and Michael “Mike D” Diamond.

Horowitz, Diamond and Adam “MCA” Yauch, who died in 2012 at 47, formed their highly influential band in New York City in 1981. Though they started as a teenage punk band, they eventually pivoted to hip-hop — and after their first rap album — 1986’s “Licensed to Ill,” produced by fellow Jewish hip-hop fan Rick Rubin — produced a series of hits, the Beastie Boys became household names. 

The group followed up with 1989’s sample-heavy “Paul’s Boutique” — featuring the photograph of the Lower East Side street corner — which flopped upon its release but is now widely considered a masterpiece. Their next albums, 1992’s “Check Your Head” and 1994’s “Ill Communication” were cultural juggernauts, and four more albums followed.  

All three Beastie Boys have Jewish backgrounds: Horovitz, 56, grew up on Park Avenue, the son of playwright Israel Horovitz and a Roman Catholic mother. Diamond, 57, grew up on the Upper West Side; his father, Harold, was an art dealer and his mother, Hester, was a famous decorator and art collector. Yauch hailed from Brooklyn Heights, the only child of Frances, a Jewish social worker, and a non-Jewish architect.

In 2004, the group gave a very Jewish interview with Heeb magazine, in which Yauch disclosed he was trying to get his Uncle Freddy to teach him some Yiddish “so I could work some Yiddish lyrics on an album.” Diamond said he was raised by “a Barney Greengrass family,” referring to the famous Upper West Side appetizing shop.

Following Yauch’s death from cancer, the group disbanded. So, on Saturday, anticipation crept up alongside the mercury in the thermometer as the crowd waited to catch a glimpse of the remaining Beasties. 

But first, local politicians had things to say. Kicking off the speeches with a “mic check” or two was Manhattan Borough President Mark Levine, who put the Beasties’ Jewishness front and center.

“I was 16 when ‘Licensed to Ill’ came out — it was like a thunderbolt came down and struck me,” he said. “Now, I know these guys didn’t advertise it, but trust me: Every Jewish kid in America, we knew they were Diamond and Yauch and Horowitz.”

“Were you a Jewish kid in America back in the 80s and 90s?” Levine shouted to the crowd, and many — including this reporter — cheered back. “Yes you were! Personally, that was the first moment I realized there was maybe a faint hope that I could be cool. It didn’t work out, but I still have hope.”

As it happens, the Beasties have a few Jewish lyrics in their stable, including biblical references, a shoutout to Ellis Island, and Ad-Rock’s line “Well I’m a funky-ass Jew and I’m on my way/ And yes I got to say f— the KKK” on “Right Right Now Now” from the 2004 album “To the 5 Boroughs.”

Three other local politicians spoke: Assembly member Grace Lee and City Council members Carlina Rivera and Christopher Marte, the last of whom Levine credited with making Beastie Boys Square happen.

“You have no idea how hard it is to get a street renamed in New York,” Levine said of Marte. “He did it.” 

The activist McCarthy’s initial proposal for Beastie Boys Square was rejected by Community Board 3 in 2014 because the name change didn’t meet requirements. McCarthy was subsequently barred from reapplying for the name change for another five years. His renewed proposal was approved in 2022 with the support of Marte and other local politicians. In 2013, a small Brooklyn playground was named for Yauch. 

At last, it was time for the main event, and Horovitz and Diamond took to the stage while the crowd cheered. Horovitz, who said he “brought notes,” spoke first, exclaiming that he didn’t realize other people would be speaking. “Sorry if I’m saying what they said,” he said, thanking McCarthy and “everyone who loves Beastie Boys music.” 

“I don’t really understand why, but I know that I love it, so in a way that makes us kind of friends, right?” he added. “Like we bonded over these weird records, so thank you.”

He also thanked New York City, not only for the street renaming, but “for teaching us what to look at, what to listen to, what to wear, how to love, how to live.”

Next, Diamond took the mic, thanking the crowd for coming despite the heat. “Everyone is so dedicated, willing to put in the work to show the love, not only for this band, but, I think, everything we came from, coming from New York City.”

After giving a shoutout to his deceased parents, Diamond also expressed his love for New York, saying that the Beastie Boys couldn’t have come from anywhere else. “Growing up here in New York City and hearing all this incredible music, being all this incredible art, being around all these incredible people — this only in New York City,” he said. “So thank you so much, y’all.”

He concluded his remarks with moving words for Yauch, whom he described as their “brother on this amazing journey.” The crowd responded with chants of “MCA! MCA!”

But Horowitz, who appeared to get a bit verklempt as he concluded his speech, arguably summed up the meaning of the event best. 

“We walk around these streets and we don’t really think about who they’re named after, like Ludlow Street, Irving Street, Father Demo Square,” he said. “But it makes me really happy to know that some kid on their way to school 50 years from now is gonna pass by this and look up and be like, ‘What the f— is a Beastie Boy and why do they have a square?’ Just like I did when I was a kid, looking at Perry Street, Charles Street, wondering what it’s about.” 

[circumference-pie]

Wordplay in Xie Wanqing's fate poem

One of the things that confused me most in Love Between Fairy and Devil is why our protagonists insist that Xiao Run has to be the destined lover and murderer of Xie Wanqing, when the English subtitles only say she has to die at the hands of her "beloved," which could be Dongfang Qingcang, right??? Easy! Why do they lose all hope when Xiao Run doesn't follow their plans?

The TL;DR is that there's a bit of ambiguity in Xie Wanqing's fate poem, and xiao-Lanhua and co. interpreted it a little too literally, while the Netflix subs gave us the more abstract meaning.

Here is the crucial line, according to Netflix subs:

Then she meets her beloved who understands her well

In Chinese, it is

偏逢萧郎解语人 pian feng xiao lang jieyu ren

In particular, the two characters 萧郎 or Xiao-lang, superficially mean "a man whose surname is Xiao," the same Xiao character as in Xiao Run. This line could conceivably mean, "Then she meets Mr. Xiao, who understands her well," which is how xiao-Lanhua and friends interpreted it.

However, if you search for Xie Wanqing's fate poem on the web, you'll find lots of posts in Chinese explaining that 萧郎/Xiao-lang is actually a poetic way to indicate a woman's beloved. It has origins in multiple historical figures surnamed Xiao, but the definitive usage is in a poem by Tang-dynasty poet Cui Jiao, in which he laments that his lover, a maid, was purchased by another man, and alludes to himself as Xiao-lang [See https://www.gushiwen.cn/mingju_576.aspx]. Hence "Xiao-lang" became a way to refer to the person a woman loves. And as we see later in the show, the Netflix subs are actually right in interpreting "Xiao-lang" as "beloved," and not an actual person named Xiao.

To draw an English parallel, I think it's a bit as if the poem had mentioned a person named Romeo, and there just happened to be a guy named Romeo in the vicinity. I, as a viewer with a modicum of English literary education, know that "Romeo" can be a general epithet for a loverboy, but a thousands-years-old immortal with no connections to the human world might not.

That's not the end of the wordplay in the fate poem, though it is the most important. Here are some small things I found on the rest of the lines:

半世锦绣半世尘 ban shi jinxiu ban shi chen Mine: Half a lifetime of splendor, half of dust Netflix: Half a lifetime of glory, half a lifetime of dust Notes: The word 风尘, meaning prostitution, literally breaks down into "wind-dust," and the 尘 (dust) in the poem probably alludes to this, according to https://www.douban.com/group/topic/273507772/?_i=8820568QDrpMtA.

一舞惊鸿倾鹿城 yi wu jinghong qing lucheng Mine: The elegance of a beautiful dance overwhelms Lucheng Netflix: A magnificent dance stunned the whole Lucheng

韶华等闲随烟柳 shaohua dengxian sui yanliu Mine: A beautiful spring thoughtlessly follows the budding willows Netflix: Her beauty is just like the willow's Notes: https://www.douban.com/group/topic/273507772/?_i=8817957xu4lIgj suggests that this means Xie Wanqing is unhappy with her life and fate despite her status as Lucheng's number-one courtesan. https://edu.iask.sina.com.cn/bdjx/6fnw1wJF5xw.html explains that 烟柳 yanliu refers to the time when willow trees are covered in tender budding leaves that are not yet green, giving them the appearance of being shrouded in smoke.

凭栏元夜闻笛声 pinglan yuanye wen di sheng Mine: Leaning on the railing, she hears a flute on the night of the Lantern Festival Netflix: She hears the flute on the night of the Lantern Festival

断肠几欲飞仙去 duanchang jiyu fei xian qu Mine: Grief-stricken, she almost flies to the heavens Netflix: She is heartbroken and wants to end her life Notes: 仙去 is a poetic or figurative way to say someone dies, but also literally means "goes to the fairy realm," a nod to Xie Wanqing's real identity as the fairy God of War.

偏逢萧郎解语人 pian feng xiao lang jieyu ren Mine: Unexpectedly, she meets a man surnamed Xiao who understands her Netflix: Then she meets her beloved who understands her well Notes: Discussed above.

缘定花朝丝萝梦 yuan ding huazhao siluo meng Mine: Fate ordains a dream of marriage on the second month's fifteenth day Netflix: They are destined to be together

红烛剑影断芳魂 hong zhu jian ying duan fanghun Mine: The shadow of the sword in the light of the celebratory red candle cuts the young woman's soul short. Netflix: Her husband kills her on the wedding night Notes: https://www.douban.com/group/topic/273293366/?_i=8819367xu4lIgj agrees with me that this does not necessarily mean the groom will be the killer.

[evilsexy]

maybe try consuming stuff that's nutrient-dense and requires little to no chewing? like, protein shakes, chocolate, etc etc

it could help for the hunger without worsening the mouth tired

ya i’m already eating 1200 calories of the high protein huel every day on top of everything else to meet my targets but it’s soo dis cos tang

[giaoduc-nhc]

Trẻ tăng động có đi học được không? Giải đáp

Một trong những câu hỏi phổ biến mà nhiều phụ huynh quan tâm đó là liệu trẻ tăng động có thể đi học được không? Đáp án là hoàn toàn có thể. Việc đưa trẻ bị tăng động đến trường học không chỉ mang lại lợi ích lớn cho sự phát triển của các em mà còn là một phần quan trọng trong việc hình thành nhân cách và kỹ năng xã hội,

#tretangdongcodihocduockhong #tretangdong #giaoducnhc #giaoducchuyenbietnhc #nhcvietnam #nhcacademy

Link tham khảo: https://giaoducnhc.vn/tre-tang-dong-co-di-hoc-duoc-khong-4869.html

[rottmnt-hc]

Main TMNT Iteration for my blog

Read tags for more info

Oroku Saki and Hamato Yoshi are half brothers, they were good friends but Saki's mother hated Yoshi's mother and Yoshi by extension.

Saki and Yoshi have a Yakuza father, he wasn't doting but he also wasn't emotionally available. He actually loved Yoshi's mother but was in an arranged marriage to Saki's mother.

He treats the kids the same (he loves them but he's emotionally constipated), he's cold towards Saki's mother. (She's a bitch)

Yakupops gives the title of boss to Saki because he showed interest in it and Yoshi has taken up acting.

The two fall in love with two different women, Tang Shen for Saki and Gumo.

Saki's mother sold Yoshi to Gumo, who had been dating him and fell in love, but she has to go by the rules of summoning. She has to make him suffer.

You guessed it she's Big Mama!

She tearfully tells Yoshi what happened and reveals that she couldn't tell Saki.

Saki's mother had killed Yoshi's mother and their father, then she was caught and executed.

Years down the line Tang Shen died during child birth and Saki swore to find his brother at all costs.

He began to grow an empire.

Police, Politics, Schools, Gangs, you name it, he's delved in it. Soon mystics came up, and he met and recognized Gumo.

He did research on deals before hand, warned by many yokai, and didn't blame her for Yoshi.

During the time prior mentioned, Yoshi fought and honed his skills. Never hating his brother but missed his family. He didn't even hate Gumo.

Soon fighting became to much and he stopped, he was kidnapped by Baron Draxum.

You know, mutegan was made with his blood and experimented on turtles with a year or two of each other.

The first was a Florida Softshell Yoshi named Donatello, Second was a Pond Slider he named Leonardo, the two being months apart and already two years old by human standards. A year passes when they joined by a Spotted Box Turtle that was named Michaelangelo and another two years when surprisingly and egg showed up. It was apparently a map turtle.

Draxum decided to take the other three for training, already mutated the egg and going for the five and four year olds.

Soon Yoshi gained the will to fight then.

He escaped and for their protection locked the babies in a cage with the egg and told the oldest two to protect them.

He managed to defeat Draxum and destroy his work before taking the cage and running to topside.

He couldn't return home, because during the fight he touched the ooze and was scratched by an escaped rat. Thankfully since the oozed was made of his DNA, he was partially mutated.

Gumo had already been in contact with Saki and found out what happened to Yoshi and about Draxum.

Later the egg hatches and he names his new daughter Rachel, though his boys jokingly call her Raphael.

Though Leo decided her name should be Rose and Yoshi agreed.

The duo assumes he died.

At this, Saki began looking into dark means of getting his family back and his daughter was being co raised by Gumo.

Saki slowly became corrupted by dark mystics and trapped within his own mind. Years later he became Shredder.

He soon learned of a mystic armor that Yoshi's mother protected and decided this was a step to bring back his family.

[girlfox]

kuro is familiar with pain. it doesn't get much easier with time, but he knows what to expect, what to prepare for. ahri is perhaps the best thing that's happened to him since he was cursed. since his 'god' stole death from him. she's beautiful, and clever, and a light in his life-- teeth and claws and hunger included. all of it. and he knows that even without his immortality, he would not hate her for her nature. it is what she is, a creature, wild, and enigmatic. he loves her he thinks. he loves her so much, yes that's what it is.

" i'm okay. " his voice is wet and rough, but he's breathing. the blood remains but his wounds are already gone. " i'm okay, see? i told you once before i could not die, didn't i? " his hand as found hers, slippery fingers tangling together. despite the apparent horror, this feels right. " i'm not mad-- " pushing himself up, just enough that he is just a little closer. " i promise. it's okay. "

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄? her breath is raspy, scratching from her throat and slick with the tang of copper. it heaves from her chest, up and down, in time with the rapid beating of a drumbeat heart. what have you done, sweet creature? hadn't you promised long ago not to let yourself slip into the darkest depths of yourself, swallowed whole like a dark lagoon, tinged with moss and dead fish, bottomless, bottomless— when ahri's vision unblurs itself, she sucks in a sharp and loud intake of breath, as if she'd just awoken from a bad dream.

her hands are shaking, violently. she forces her gaze down to them, but it feels like turning her head through a thick sludge, each movement screaming against her: don't look. they're saturated in dark red up to her elbows and her knuckles are bone white as fingers clasp the fabric of his torn shirt. " kuro ... " she whimpers out, voice barely above a weak, trembling whisper. a frail noise drags out of her, on the verge of a wail, and unleashes her grip, moving the heels of her palms to visage in a fruitless attempt to wipe away the copious amounts of blood. it only smears further, compounded by the thick wash of it on her face and throat.

tears sting at her eyes. " i ... i didn't mean to, i thought i— i could ... i'm a monster, " the taste of his flesh brands itself into the fox's tongue and she knows she'll never be able to remiss the memory of it. it'll haunt her, ahri thinks, until the day she dies; and how far away that day is, and how long she'll be burdened by the taste. it's deserved.

kuro's fingers entwine with hers, but she doesn't return his weak hold on her. she can't. ahri's body is revolting against itself, shaking with the sinking realization that she'd just lost herself to her urges once again and tried to eat him, kill him. what if he was capable of death? what if he couldn't simply undo the damage she'd done? he tries to soothe her, but it falls on deaf ears. the fear and anxiety is crushing her to her core.

" it's not okay, " ahri squeaks out. " i would have killed you, " her voice is trembling with desperation. it fights to be understood that she is dangerous, that she is not worth the pain and the maiming. " i'm— i— i'm sorry, i'm so sorry, kuro. you have to leave me, you— you can't stay. " her sentiment echoes an ancient memory: that he must leave, because despite herself, she cannot bear to be the one to give him up. she's a prowling beast in sheep's clothing, waiting for the day it remembers it has teeth, and he's the sacrificial lamb.

finally, her mouth curls into an unrepressed scowl, and ahri leans forward, releasing his hand and instead wrapping her arms around him. she realizes her hair is knotted and matted and wet with blood as it catches between them. it smells divine, and the very thought revolts her. big, ugly tears spill down her face and the fox tremors against him, burying her head into the space between his neck and shoulders— ahri wonders if she would have torn into the softness of his flesh here, too, if she were to lose control again. despicable thing.

her words come out muffled and broken, " please, go. i don't want to hurt you again, " the dichotomy of her pleading words and her arms around him are ironic at best, but she's always been a bundle of conflictions. but what is one to do when their heart and their instinct are in direct opposition of one another? she thinks he smells like the soil on a dewy morning underneath the blood, and it makes her chest pang, because she's never quite intertwined home with another person like this.

[sketching-shark]

Is their two *Tangs* in LMK like I remember that in the end of JTTW that the monk separated from his body, but what if his body just kept on living. Its kinda like when Heracles died and his divine half went to Olympus and his mortal half went on to guard Hades.

Anon I am not even kidding when I say that is literally the coolest and most metal explanation for Tang Shifu's whole thing I've yet encountered. It could be the basis for some really interesting stories about identity, morality, and even questions about what's left behind after "the end" of a journey if Flying Bark goes in that direction.

TBH I had almost forgotten about that scene near the end of JTTW where Tang Sanzang & co are taking a boat across a massive river to reach Spirit Vulture Peak where the Buddha resides, which is ridiculous of me because at least in the 2012 Anthony C. Yu translation it's a wonderful mix of spiritual delight and body horror. To quote the work itself:

"As they [the pilgrims] all stood on the gunwhale, the Buddhist Patriarch gently punted the vessel away from shore. All at once they saw a corpse floating down upstream, the sight of which filled the elder [Tang Sanzang] with terror.

'Don't be afraid, Master,' said Pilgrim [Sun Wukong], laughing. 'It's actually you!'

'It's you! It's you!' said Eight Rules [Zhu Bajie] also.

Clapping his hands, Sha Monk also said, 'It's you! It's you!'

Adding his voice to the chorus, the boatman also said, 'That's you! Congratulations! Congratulations!' Then the three disciples repeated this chanting in unison as the boat was punted across the water. In no time at all, they crossed the Divine Cloud-Transcending Ferry all safe and sound. Only then did Tripitaka turn and skip lightly onto the other shore. We have here a testimonial poem, which says:

Delivered from their mortal flesh and bone

A primal spirit of mutual love has grown.

Their work done, they become Buddhas this day,

Free of their former six-six senses' sway."

---

So you do essentially have a scene in Xiyouji that has the Tang monk looking at horror at his own corpse as it floats away, yet this is ultimately portrayed as a good thing because it was only through separating himself from his earthly flesh that he could complete the journey and become the Buddha of Candana Merit. So if you're continuing that into the legoland story, just imagine what a blow that would be to Tang Shifu if he finds out he's not Tang Sanzang's reincarnation, not even a regular man with a soul like any other, but is just the Tang Monk's abandoned earthly flesh that somehow developed a will. And since I believe there should be more done to maintain the moral complexity of the og classic in even its silly cartoon retellings, there's the open question over whether Tang Shifu as Tang Sanzang's abandoned body would even really feel he has the right to feel abandoned, given that A) Tang Sanzang had no idea that he would even be parted from his earthly flesh as part of becoming a buddha and B) The whole POINT of going on the journey was to get Buddhist scriptures that would allow for the redemption of countless damned souls...

[granvarones]

in the vast universe of hip-hop’s fifty-year history, certain songs stand out for their musical brilliance and place within pop culture and their profound impact on how we eulogize the lives of the loved ones we lost. among these iconic tracks include pete rock & CL smooth’s “they reminisce over you (t.r.o.y.),” geto boys “six feet deep,” puff daddy’s “i’ll be missing you,” coolio’s “gangsta’s paradise,” cuban link’s “flowers for the dead,” and bone thugs-n-harmony’s deeply moving 1996 chart-topper, “tha crossroads.”

emerging in the early 1990s, the trail-blazing cleveland, ohio group achieved multi-platinum status several times under the guidance of mentor and west coast gangsta rap pioneer eazy-e. the group’s distinctive style was an exquisite fusion of rapid-fire flows, gripping storytelling, and melodic doo-wop vocal harmonizing that set them apart from the prevailing sounds of their era. their 1995 magnum opus, “E. 1999 eternal,” cemented their standing in hip-hop, and solidified their legacy.

“E. 1999 eternal” arrived in july 1995 to critical and commercial acclaim. while the lead single, “first of the month,” became the group’s first top 20 hit on billboard’s 100, it was the yet-to-be-released track, “crossroad,” an elegy for a friend lost to gun violence, that quickly generated buzz. when the song was released as the album’s third single in 1996, it had been reworked as a tribute to eazy-e and rechristened “tha crossroads.”

eric “eazy-e” wright co-founded ruthless records and the west coast hip-hop group NWA in 1987. the group’s 1988 album “straight out of compton,” which included the still relevant “fuck the police,” propelled gangsta rap to the forefront of commercial viability and is widely regarded as one of the most influential albums in hip-hop history. eazy and ruthless records continued to impact hip-hop landscape with the signing and global success of bone thugs-n-harmony.

on march 20, 1995, four months before bone’s “E 1999 eternal” was released, eazy-e stunned the hip-hop world when he announced that he was dying from AIDS complications. in a statement issued through his lawyer, eazy courageously stated, “i’ve got thousands and thousands of young fans that have to learn what’s real when it comes to AIDS. like the others before me, i would like to turn my problem into something good that will reach out to all my homeboys and their kin, because i want to save their asses before it’s too late.”” eric “eazy-e” wright died six days later on March 26 at the age of 30.

released in april 1996, a year after eazy-e’s untimely death, “tha crossroads,” debuted at #2 on billboard’s hot 100 before topping the chart for an astonishing 8 weeks. the emotional and spiritual tribute to their friend wally, uncle charles, eazy-e, and other family members, resonated with listens who themselves had experienced loss due to AIDS and gun violence. “tha crossroads” was anchored by a music video that provided a powerful visual to song’s chorus, “see you at the crossroads, so you won’t be lonely,” and offered hope, reminded that those lost to AIDS and gun violence would find solace in the afterlife.

the legacy of “tha crossroads” highlights hip-hop’s extensive history of amplifying social issues, including HIV/AIDS. in october 1995, urbanAID 4 lifebeat hosted hip-hop’s first AIDS benefit concert at new york city’s madison square garden. the now legendary roster of performers included run DMC, the notorious big, wu-tang clan, salt ‘n pepa, mary j. blige, brandy, and to name just a few. the concert also featured video testimonies from people living with HIV and a video message from bone thugs-n-harmony.

“see you at the crossroads, so you won’t lonely.”

“tha crossroads” is a heartbreaking hymn that envelopes you. it is a song about remembrance without making those lost too saintly to reach, touch, feel, and mourn. the song is about personal grief. it is about communal grief. it is testament that hip-hop has the power to inspire transformation and compassion. “tha crossroads” is a song that serves as a comfort for the grieving and dead – a reminder that a reunion will be at the crossroads.

“’cause i know ima meet you at the crossroads.”

[fourturtleloved]

Based on an AU me and some friends came up with.

Long story short, Tang shen died before Oroku saki and Hamato Yoshi's rivalry went from brotherly to toxic and hateful, causing them both to go on a vengence soree against Shen's murderers. After she was avenged via accessive murder spree, yoshi felt empty where Saki felt vindicated. Yoshi went to find himself while Saki rebuilt the foot clan and became Shredder.

Eventually, Hamato Yoshi would up in new york, got gooed with his pet turtles and became a rat mutant trying to raise 4 turtle tots. Oroku Saki wound up in New york after he lost contact with his found brother, started building the foot clan US branch There and eventually found Yoshi and hos new sons, welcoming him in.

Over the years, different branches from Shredders empire welcomed and co-raised each of the brothers, either eventually becoming replaced by them, or having them be their official successor.