#his live performances are SO FUCKING GOOD

[inthedarknessofnight]

Thinking about struggling musician Eddie who makes a living singing and playing guitar in a Metallica tribute band.

Thinking about bartender Steve who thinks tribute bands are the cringiest, most insufferable things to ever exist.

Thinking about Robin, his coworker, who made a bet on the very first day of their new job that Steve would eventually hook up with someone from a tribute band.

And the thing is, he almost makes it. Three years and he’s got a completely clean track record. Well, at least until the night some random Metallica cover band’s frontman has Steve questioning his sanity from the moment he sets foot on stage. Because Steve is mesmerized. By the way his lithe figure moves under the bright stage lights. By the way his fingers slide deftly along the neck of his guitar. By the way his voice permeates the room, filling the air to the point where Steve thinks he must be breathing the music into his lungs. And then, the motherfucker has the audacity to take off shirt his mid-performance, putting on display a well-curated collection of tattoos. Steve feels like an ancient deity has descended from the heavens and decided to play fucking Metallica, on a fucking Tuesday, in the shittiest fucking bar in all of Inianapolis. Well and truly distracted by the action on stage, Steve doesn’t register the glass slipping slowly out of his grasp, until the damn thing has hit the floor and broken into a thousand pieces. When he turns to examine the mess, Robin is already there, broom in hand.

“You might wanna think about closing that mouth, dingus. I don’t think you drooling all over this pristine countertop is good for business,” she says with barely contained laughter, quickly sweeping the shards into the dustpan.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he retorts, rolling his eyes, suddenly very aware of just how much he was staring. Instinctively, Steve shakes his hand to drive away the haze, grabs a new glass, and tries his best to focus on the task at hand.

It isn’t until the final number of the evening that Steve’s resolve truly crumbles. He’s all but managed to tune out the goings-on around him, which is why he nearly has a heart attack when he suddenly finds himself face to face with the beam coming straight from the main spotlight.

“Can we- Yes. Perfect. There he is,” says a low voice coming from the very center of the stage, followed by a cacophony of loud cheers.

And… Oh no.

“What the-,” he mutters, a hand flying up to shield his eyes from the blinding light. That’s when he sees him.

“Hey, pretty boy behind the bar. Get me some whiskey up here on this stage, will you?”

And Steve is so so so incredibly fucked.

He stares dumbly for a few seconds. Having seemingly lost any and all ability to think independently, Steve brain shifts into autopilot, causing him to grab the full bottle of Jack sitting on the shelf behind him, stroll towards the stage as if possessed, accompanied by the sound of cheering, which only grows louder with every step he takes. He climbs the steps leading onto the stage. As soon as he reaches the top, he finds himself face to face with…

He’s so close. For a brief moment, Steve wonders if he knew prior to this moment that a person can be this beautiful. They’re chest to chest. The guy is ducking his head to whisper something to Steve, his breath hitting the sensitive spot just below the ear as he does so.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, his like voice smoke, and milk, and honey, and all things Steve wants to breathe in, and drink, and savor. He plucks the bottle from Steve’s hand, ringed fingers grazing his.

He winks at Steve as he takes a few steps backwards, a devilish smile playing on his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he tips his head back, opens his mouth, and begins pouring the amber liquid until it spills over he edges, running down his neck and the length of his torso. After what feels like hours to Steve, the guy finally swallows the remnants of the drinking in his mouth, immediately leveling Steve with a dark gaze.

“Now you.”

Positively transfixed, Steve realizes a little too late that he has, in fact, missed his window to flee, and is headed head-first for whatever public humiliation the guy has in store for him. A strong, sure hand grips the back of his neck, long fingers tangling into the hair at the nape, tugging ever so slightly.

“Open.”

It’s not gentle. It’s a thing of lust. A command. Steve feels it in his bones. And he can’t look away. His body is not his own when he gives into the pull of the musician’s hand, his jaw going lax, mouth automatically falling open. The guy brings the bottle up to Steve’s mouth, pouring in a generous amount. Before Steve even gets the chance to swallow the liquid already burning its way down his throat, the bottle is being shoved rougly into his hand, the guy bringing his other hand up once again, only to press the palm under Steve’s chin, forcing his mouth closed. Forcing him to swallow. Steve nearly chokes.

“Good boy,” he says with a wicked grin, before pushing a spluttering, coughing Steve back in the direction of the stairs, causing him to nearly topple off the stage. The guy laughs maniacally into his microphone and the crowd goes wild, the drummer already counting them into the final song.

Still bewildered and absolutely dumbfounded by whatever just happened to him on that stage, Steve chances one last glance in the singer’s direction as he descends the stairs.

This time, however, he isn’t met with a sultry, dark look, or one of the guy’s infamous mischievous grins. Instead, he finds a pair of soft brown eyes staring back at him, and plush pink lips curved into the dopiest, most endearing smile Steve has ever seen.

…

By the end of the night, Steve has found the love of his life and Robin is collecting money from nearly every employee at the bar, sporting a smug, I-told-you-so expression on her face.

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

nonidol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader

2.3k words, fluff, comfort, reader is sick, technically a college au, light swearing, mentions of food, mentions of cold medication, tbh i know i advocate for platonic fics but i am also just a girl. so he does pine a little lol, slice-of-life-ish, barely proofread

a/n: there is like no plot, i just am feeling ooey-gooey about svt rn heh :') been watching so much gose recently and it's healing my soul

Yoon Jeonghan was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. “Oh my god, you're sick,” were his first words to you when you opened your apartment door. His voice was droning, perfectly unimpressed, but it masked the concern attempting to skirt its way to the surface. 

“It's not that” —your sorry attempt at denial crumbled like a house of cards as you turned away to cough into your elbow. The taste of metal lingered in the back of your throat and you winced, reaching into your bag to grab your water bottle. After swallowing down a generous helping, you said to him without looking him in the eye, “I'm fine.”

Jeonghan blinked. “That's really cute,” he replied with a thin smile. “Back inside.”

“But Jeonghan—”

“No.” He grabbed you firmly by your shoulders and steered you back into your apartment, his body waddling in behind you because of your balking in the doorway. He kicked the front door shut, shucking his shoes off with uncanny accuracy into an empty space on the shoe rack. “Shoes off, Yn-ah. Don't start an argument you won't win.”

You grumbled under your breath, but did as you were told. All the while, Jeonghan smoothed a hand over his jaw, performing mental gymnastics. How did you get sick? How much time did he have before he needed to get to campus? Could he reasonably make you soup before he needed to leave for his exam?

The first question was easy to answer. He internally smacked himself—last night: your runny nose, the vitamin C powder you added to your water, your shivers on the walk home from the library. Oh, fuck. He should have driven. Why did he make you both walk in that cold?

Guilt coursed through him as he directed you back into your bedroom. 

It was a quarter to 8, meaning he didn't have time to make you ramen and make it to his exam before the doors closed. 

“I have so much shit to do today” —another horrid cough rattled through you, and Jeonghan frowned to himself as he snatched the extra blanket out of your closet— “I can't… Hannie, there's so much I need to—”

“I know, Yn-ah,” he said softly, eyes sad and tender as he bundled you up in three layers until you were likely unable to unwrap yourself. He perched by your side, his palm grazing over your forehead to take your temperature. Hot. Not good. “But if you don't take care of yourself now, it'll only get worse.”

He glanced at his phone. Five to 8—he still had fifteen minutes. It was a blessing that you lived closer to campus than he did. 

“I hate when you're right,” you muttered. The lower half of your face was tucked beneath the edges of your blankets, so all he saw were your tired, glaring eyes. 

He smirked to himself, a fuzziness warming his chest. So petulant. “You always do,” he mused. “What did you have to do today? I'll try and help out as best I can.”

Your glare softened at the corners and your eyes flitted away from him. “It's okay. I'll deal with it all when I wake up. I—wait.” Your eyes shot wide open. “You have that exam today! You have to leave—what time is it?”

“Yah, I'll make it,” he laughed. “Worry about yourself.”

“You literally said last night that you were worried about failing—”

“And now I'm worried about you,” he countered. Satisfaction brought an impish twinkle to his eyes as you scowled at him again. “But fine, I'll leave if you insist.”

He rose from the edge of the bed, picking his backpack up to sling over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

With his back toward you, he could allow himself to grin. “What was that?” he called back innocently. 

“Don't fail.”

He huffed out another laugh as he reached the threshold of your bedroom doorway. Jeonghan wondered briefly if he should coax that thank you out of your mouth again, but he really did need to leave. It was awful. Everything in him was ready to throw away this exam to stay here with you. “Go to sleep, honey. I'll see you when you wake up.”

Three hours later, Jeonghan shouldered his way into your apartment, his backpack on his shoulders, his mind far away from that disgusting exam he finished, and his hands occupied with a grocery bag of items he picked up on his way here. When he left earlier, he had swiped your keys on the way out so he could let himself back in without waking you up. He dumped those very keys onto the table by the door, the gazillion key chains attached to the one carabiner clattering inelegantly loud. 

He glanced over at your closed door, hoping he didn't just wake you up. 

With a little less noise, he abandoned his backpack by the couch and made his way over to the kitchen. While he had made it in time to his exam, it had taken more willpower to center his attention on the exam itself rather than letting his mind wander to all the things he wanted to do after he was done. The to-do list spanned about five items: buy cold medicine and orange juice, decide on what food to make you, buy the ingredients for that food, persuade your TA to let him pick up your graded essay (that one, he saw on a sticky note by your desk), and come back to take care of you. 

(If the TA grading his exam took note of the small list he'd jotted down in the top corner of page five, no they didn't.)

There had been several ideas of what he could make you once he was free. He had stared at the row of vegetables in the produce department for a good ten minutes before he decided on something less usual. He could make instant ramen, but that didn't seem like the healthiest option for him to feed you. There was also seaweed soup—did he have the time to go to another store to find what he needed? No. 

His next great idea was something simple, but delicious: chicken noodle soup. 

Jeonghan rummaged around your cabinets, locating the things he needed—cutting board, knife—he opened a door and sighed to himself. So you did have pasta already. Great. 

He examined the box of dried elbow macaroni and compared it to the bowtie pasta he'd picked out. “Mine’s better,” he muttered, shelving your macaroni and bumping the cabinet closed. 

In the largest pot he could find, he brewed up a hearty chicken soup, using the bones from the rotisserie chicken he bought to add more richness to the broth's flavoring. Every carrot, onion, and celery stalk he sliced, and every piece of chicken he shredded, was done deftly and with great care. This was for you, after all, and if this soup could help you get better, then he would make it the best damn thing you'd ever tasted. 

There were plenty of things Jeonghan didn't want to do or weaseled his way out of, but he could be running on one hour of sleep, and he would still haul his ass up to make kimchi from scratch if you asked him to. 

He was stationed behind the stove, tasting the soup for adjustments, when he heard your bedroom door open. 

Jeonghan peered over his shoulder and smiled at the bundle of blankets waddling your way out into the main room, your hair sticking up in odd places, and your eyes still at half mast. “Good morning, sleepy head. How're you feeling?”

“Meh,” you said hoarsely, clearing your throat. You squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. “What're you making? It smells nice.”

“Hm? Oh, I made you some soup. Go take the medicine on the counter and sit down; I'll bring you a bowl.”

As he reached over to grab another pinch of salt, he heard you tearing open the box of cold medicine behind him. 

A moment passed by of quiet, but his heart leapt straight into his throat as he felt a soft weight rest against his back. “Thank you, Hannie,” you murmured, forehead pressed between his shoulders. 

There were about a dozen things running through his mind at the moment—things he could say, things he could do. He was an ounce of willpower away from melting on the spot, but the heat rising from the soup pot kept him upright. “Aish… thank me by getting better, okay?”

You hummed in acknowledgment and lifted yourself off his back. When you hobbled away to sit down at the table, Jeonghan couldn't brush away the feeling that the spot your head had rested was now cold. 

“How was the” —cough— “the exam?” 

Jeonghan glanced over at you as he carefully ladled soup into two bowls. He hummed, “Could've been better, but can't really do anything about it now.”

“I'm sure you did good,” you replied, holding out your hands like a kid waiting for their turn to get candy from a jar as Jeonghan made his way over to you with the soup. “You always say you did bad when you actually scored in the top ten percent.”

“Careful, honey, it's hot.” Jeonghan continued to hold the bowl even as you cupped it in your hands, until it safely reached the table. Only then did he seat himself down adjacent to you. “Yeah, well, you always said I should be more humble,” he joked.

You picked up your spoon and gestured at him with it. “Humility and lying are different things,” you said pointedly. “Anyways, thank you. This looks really yummy.”

“I don't lie,” he drawled with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned his cheek against his fist and watched as you took a spoonful and gently blew on the hot liquid. The delight that lit up your face was enough to make him happy for a century. He inclined his chin. “Good?”

“Very good. Sometimes I forget that you're good at cooking, too.”

“Not like Mingyu though,” he chuckled and brought a spoonful up to his lips. 

You shot him a look. “You don't always have to compare yourself, Hannie-ah. I'm not talking about Mingyu right now.”

Maybe I just want to make sure, he thought, then brushed it under that large, metaphorical rug in his mind. Jeonghan gave a half-hearted shrug. 

Your mouth flattened into a displeased line. His grin widened. 

When the both of you finished as many helpings as you had the appetite for, Jeonghan graciously offered to wash the dishes. He practically anchored you to the couch by wrapping you in yet another blanket—it was a double-edged sword; you were quite cute like that and he had half the mind to ditch the dishes. Once done with his task, he plucked out a dose of cold medication to take for himself, as well. 

You eyed him from the couch as he swallowed the pills with a glass of orange juice. “Did I get you sick already?” you asked, your voice having become more nasally from your stuffy nose. 

“Not yet,” he said, “it's just preventative measures since I'm gonna be hanging around you.”

“You're not leaving?” 

Your words were one thing, but the way you peered over the back of the couch at him and the upward intonation in your voice told him something else. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the couch with his juice. “No, I was going to help you finish your work for the day, but if you want me to leave, I—”

“Only if you're not afraid of getting sick,” you said quickly. 

He sighed with an air of melodrama. “I suppose I can stay after all.” He brought out his laptop and the essay he finagled from your TA, vaguely mentioning something about his careful white lies in order to accomplish his mission. It was truly something only Jeonghan could pull off and get away with. 

The first item on your to-do list was to send out a couple emails. 

Jeonghan felt the weight of your head fall onto his shoulder, and he glanced down at you in amusement. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased, his fingers paused from the email he was typing out while you dictated the wording. 

You shifted your head. “No, I'm still awake. Do you think this sounds too bubbly?”

“It’s not too bubbly,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “But the thing is you're not this agreeable in real life—aish! Haha, hey! Don't hit me!”

He could imagine your cute, little scowl. “I am incredibly agreeable.”

“Yes, yes.” Jeonghan lightly pat your head. “You're very lovely, Yn-ah.”

You chose to ignore the impish tone in his voice. It was what he wanted you to do anyway—believe that he thought you were lovely.  

It was difficult to parse out how much time passed, but at some point, the TV was turned on to a random channel playing some 90s sitcom, and his laptop was ditched on the coffee table. Jeonghan's legs ended up sprawled across the length of the couch while your layers of blankets covered both of you. Your head rested comfortably on his chest as he continued to watch TV in silent contentment.

Jeonghan was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact that you took the wrong cold medicine. The box he bought had both daytime and nighttime meds, the latter of which contained melatonin to aid with uninterrupted sleep. He didn't say anything earlier when he realized, but it wasn't like he could say anything now. 

He glanced down at your face, his hand cupping the back of your head with too much tenderness for friendship. You were asleep; there was nothing he could do, no jokes to make or fun to poke. 

Him, his thoughts, and you. 

But this was fine. He was happy and warm like the perfect bowl of soup filling an empty stomach, and he had no intention of leaving until he knew that you were better. As his eyes slowly drooped closed, he sank further into the blankets and your hold, soul nourished.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed <3

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @floatingpluto @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @bless-311 @leaz-kpop-life @fluorescentloves @thesunsfullmoon @haechansbbg @kpopjackie @jundundun @http-gyu @mars101 @moonyswolf @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @thecarnivaloflies @p-d1ddy @thatonedemigodfromseoul @foivetimesthecharm

[itsabouttimex2]

I have a feeling season 5 very very much changed up LSO!MK and, to put lightly without any curse words, screwed him up.

He was meant to be a sacrifice.

So what does that mean for his poor little Clover? Would they be a sacrifice too, or made to be something worse-

He kills Nüwa.

I’m not even joking. I think this event would be the one that finally makes MK fucking snap. If he went through hell to restore the world, stabilized it, then came back to live on and continue protecting it, found a light in the form of his student, and then learned that they were planned to have the same lot in life that MK did even after all his agony and suffering?

MK would rip apart seams both spatial and temporal to return to her unchanging and ever-same realm of gray, ready to perform an act of god-slaying that history would inscribe to it’s annals in terror.

Of course, she could be making you as an apology! As some form of cosmic “penance” for putting him (and so many before him) through such an awful life of sacrifice and loneliness, for creating him in the first place. It’s not impossible that you simply are a custom child for the man, meant to be loved and cherished and taught, raised as his own as a carefree and happy little darling.

He would… grudgingly make amends, and forgive her, understanding that she was sincere in trying to soothe his loneliness and sorrows, allowed to move on from the past with you in tow, a beloved child and student and not a to-be sacrifice for the “greater good.”

Otherwise… MK would soundly kill her with his own two hands, shred out whatever powers she had with his own two hands, and forcibly merge them with his own- and then every last drop of that is going right into protecting his kiddo. If that means dragging them (and all his friends) into her little gray realm and keeping them there forever?

Well, so be it- only tarnished hands can build golden roads.

[merakiui]

The way Ernesto has been rotting my brain since the event ended needs to be studied cuz I’ve been thinking of sleezy Ernesto tricking you into being a new hole for a glory wall he’s got going on to make a quick buck since those rowdy boys never say no to a perfectly good set of wet holes available to fuck and use as a cum dump

AAAA FREE USE HOLE!!!!! OTL wondering what "important role" you're meant to play as it's presented to you as something grand. It's the mystery (and a helpful nudge from his UM) that leaves you stuck in the wall with your hole(s) facing the world..... orz hehe maybe Fellow decides to try you first just to break you in or to test how good of a hole you really are. After all, those snooty brats from that Night Raven College will want only the finest, so you'd better be a good hole for them, he's telling you while he fucks into your tight warmth.

You try to tell Fellow you're not so sure you can do this anymore, but it's difficult to get a word out when his cock is stretching you open. You almost don't want him to leave. You have no idea what any of those guys are like!! What if they're terrible? T^T but Fellow assures you it's all well and good. They won't do anything that goes against park rules and if they do... :) besides, you're the only one who could do this! He knows you're going to perform wonderfully.

Having to endure the afternoon getting stuffed by so many different guys.... cum drooling out of your abused hole(s), your voice hoarse from crying out in pain/pleasure and moaning so much. One of them was scoffing about how the others just don't know how to take care of things. Such brutes... another was going on about how he'd like to bring you back to his dorm so his dorm members can enjoy your company! Maybe you can just live there, he said with bright laughter. :D another guy was whistling about how sensitive you are. Sticking three fingers into your hole just to watch you flinch and tighten up out of instinct, giggling to himself over how cute you're being. Another drizzled some sort of sticky syrup over you and had a swell time licking you clean, his tongue flashing into your hole and curling in ways that were just right. Etc etc~

You lost track of how many cocks and fingers and tongues were spearing you open, but by the end of it you have to lean on Fellow for support, tacky from a day of sex. He's brushing your hair aside and cooing at you for a job well done, draping his blue coat over your shaky form. <3 now allow him to reward you for your excellent work.

[idontlikeem]

hi! i'd like to talk about losing. you don't have to read this if you don't want to, but i wanted to write it, and guess what, it's my blog. i just like this team a lot and i'm feeling a little maudlin about my guys and a little sick to fucking death of the shit i'm seeing all over kingdom come from 'fans'. so here we are.

So You Became A Fan Of A Living Legend But The Hockey Team Is Bad: a commentary.

look. this is not the most fun i've ever had watching hockey, and i'm quite sure a lot of people feel the same way. the penguins are bad this season! they were bad last season too, but there's something very special about the extent to which they are shit right now. and those are not fun games to watch.

but here's the thing: who cares.

like, idk. there's so much god damn negativity surrounding this team and its performance right now, and i'm guilty of contributing to it as well, because yeah of course i'd rather watch a team win in decisive fashion most nights. of course i'd rather dream about may and june and the stanley cup. of course i want to watch that happen again for my favorite players. like, duh.

but. it's probably not going to. not if these players get what they want, which is to play together on this team until they're ready to retire.

and you know what? that's fine. if they're fine with it, who on earth am i to not be?

i think we all have the same reaction when we see idiots online saying things like 'sid doesn't deserve this trade him to a contender'. and that's because we are smarter and more refined fans who understand that what sidney crosby DESERVES is to select how and where and when his career ends. is it on a team that sucks? then that means being here is more important to him than getting that fourth cup. staying with geno and kris and the penguins as a whole, never putting on another NHL logo, is more significant to him personally than another victory. and isn't that special? isn't that worth celebrating?

of course we know all of that because we're better at being fans than the uncles online who are writing weird fanfic in their heads. but. guess what that comes with:

losing.

and losing badly, in the case of this season.

i am here to tell you that sitting and bitching about it helps no one. right now, what we have to watch and celebrate is our favorite players still playing at a high level. they're still doing cool stuff on the ice. and they're doing it TOGETHER. this is what they wanted. so your options are either to hate it and sit in negativity about it each and every game, OR readjust your mindset and learn to enjoy what we have while we have it.

we are watching myth-making happen live. we are watching living legends play hockey. this is a privilege and an honor and it's not something most fanbases get EVER. and we have two! can you believe it?

there are things i would have rather seen done differently over the last couple of years. as far back as 2019 there were moves i disagreed with and changes that could have been made that perhaps could have extended their window. and of course the 2022 series against the rangers, that was a very good team that got hit by injuries at the absolute worst possible time, and probably that was their last chance as a core to compete. it's frustrating to watch that stuff happen when you have no control over it.

the pittsburgh penguins were high-end competitors and contenders for seventeen years straight. that's insane and unheard of in this league. they're not anymore. and the price you pay for almost two decades of dominance is...being bad. when you're competing you trade prospects and draft picks for win-now players. sometimes those work out, most of the time they don't. with the amount of winning this team has done, even the trades that didn't work were worth it, because it meant they were trying.

there are no fanbases who are going to feel bad for penguins fans right now. that's also why we're getting so much attention from the national media. people aren't used to this team being as bad as it is, and people like watching downfalls. that's fine. most of those fans have never watched their team win, and most of them never will. so if their joy is coming from sidney crosby's team being bad....well, love and light, you know?

and we shouldn't feel bad for ourselves either. this is what happens. this is how it goes. this is the price for the band staying together.

i dunno, guys. this is a disjointed rant. it's just so effing hard to be kicked in the nuts everywhere you go with unrelenting negativity. it's on twitter it's in the articles and yes, it's here too. but if you can't be a fan of a team when they're bad, then i'm sorry but you're not a fan of the team (or certain players), you're a fan of winning. and NO team wins all the time every year. that's not how sports work.

we are lucky. at least, i feel lucky! don't you? gosh, sidney crosby scored his 600th career goal tonight. evgeni malkin is over 500 goals on his career. can you believe that? it's amazing to watch.

and it's going to be over in less than two years. do we really want to waste it by wishcasting something that's not going to happen instead of enjoying what we DO have?

if the media bums you out, don't listen. don't read the articles. don't go on twitter. dry your tears on the stanley cup banners that sid and geno hung up—there are three to choose from!

[sepetajmikolikomehoces]

Okay, I have finally recuperated after yesterday's getting home-snafu. In the process of trying to get to the train station, I ended up missing my train and the only available options was either paying an assload for an evening train ticket or a slightly smaller assload for an even later evening train ticket.

Smaller assload it was.

Anyway.

Good GOD what a weekend. Putting it under the cut.

I have been so hyped about seeing Kuumaa since we got tickets in February and fucking hell if just the prospect of seeing them hasn't carried me through this year amidst finalizing my divorce and dealing with the aftermath of that on top of work and school.

The friend group I have been so lucky to be welcomed into realized that four of us would be going to Kuumaa, and when we found out Kä would perform at Tullikamari the day after we all realized we could go and bought tickets, deciding along the way to make a pikkujoulut-weekend of it complete with secret santa and everything.

Kuumaa are just... insane live. I had some expectations, but I was not ready for Johannes kicking us off with a very stripped down version of "Tarkotin sua". Everything after that was just highlight after highlight. Some of the songs from their earliest album were slightly unfamiliar to me, but still fucking slapped. Bawled my eyes out during "Luotan tulevaan" as predicted, had chills down my spine for all of "Tuiki tuiki" and felt like my soul was soaring as 10 000 of us sang along to "Ylivoimainen". Insane, and it took me a while to land from that experience and fall asleep later.

Saturday was Kä day with my beloved potatoes @frikatilhi @harmaanoita @punanenmarli @meerkathideout and @maladroitoracle. Gifts were exchanged, Marli also got an additional late birthday/early Christmas gift in the form of a Fisherman's rib cardigan, and my lovely meerkat got their very own Jure sweater.

This was probably the absolute chillest pregigging ever, and I want to do this every time. We piled six people into a car meant for five and went and had pasta dinner at a place near Tullikamari, then showed up just as doors had opened. Still got an excellent view, and holy shit, THE GIG.

So many people have already talked about how incredible the gig was and I can only echo the sentiment. "Ready to go" is the fucking BEST opening song, Kä was so happy all throughout the gig, the yapping was A+ and I fucking died when we got "Rock Rock" AND "Menestynyt yksilö" on the setlist. Getting "Urheilujätkä" after some chanting was just the cherry on top, and of course Jesse was missed, but if nothing else, this is proof of how beloved he is.

Had the most fucking Fenno-Swedish encounter post-gig. Guy comes up to me and meerkat and this happens:

Guy: Hey, are you from [region X]?

Me: ....yeah?

Guy: I FUCKING KNEW IT, I COULD TELL. Where from, north or south?

Me: Well, technically neither???

Guy: No, no, you're either from the north or the south!

Meerkat: How about "secret third option"?

Guy: The fuck does that mean?

Meerkat: [explains]

Me: Yeah, so I am from [place]. Hence "secret third option".

Guy: OH FUCKING HELL.

He then turns around and yells for his friend. Who is also from the same place as me (though apparently doesn’t live there anymore). We spent five minutes just making sure we weren’t related. We weren't. But still. Can't go fucking anywhere without finding some sort of connection to home.

Six people, a five seat car repeated on the way home, and we first spotted the Kä bus coming towards us, screamed a little, then had to immediately freeze because we passed a police car. Then realized five seconds later the Kä bus was a little ways behind us. Exit pursued by the Kä bus.

Can't thank my lovely potatoes enough for this weekend, and I hope we can do this again (not necessarily with back to back gigs involved) very, very soon.

[familiarscars]

Lost In Control | Bad Omens | CHAPTER 10

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Bad Omens X ex-girlfriend and singer!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. You and Noah had a difficult ending, but you still need to support each other for the band.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). melancholy, ex-boyfriends, difficult relationships, alcohol abuse, swearing, drug addiction, violence.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind, and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin, July 24, 2017

Bad Omens left Richmond.

The previous year had undoubtedly been the most hectic of your lives. After months of hard work and merging all your ideas, you presented the tracks to a record label that seemed interested in the band's concept, and they suggested releasing your first album.

Since then, you’d been on a constant quest to make a name for yourselves on the road, playing shows in small venues for crowds that weren’t always the most engaging, and posting YouTube videos with the label’s support. Every bit of creative input came from your minds, and it was impossible to disagree when the synergy seemed to resonate with each of you.

A simple stage at Warped Tour felt monumental to you all, and naturally, you gave it your all the moment you stepped in front of the audience for the first time. Each time you heard more voices singing along at your shows, it warmed your heart in a way you couldn’t quite describe.

The chaotic routine was bearable because, to you and the guys, it felt like fun. Every performance outdid the last. You and Noah danced, jumped, whipped your hair, spun around, played with your voices, dove into the crowd, and teased your friends as they played. It was impossible not to feel at home when you were with them.

"Thank you so much, Warped Tour!" Noah said, breathless, a hand over his chest in gratitude.

"You made this afternoon so special for Bad Omens!" you chimed in as everyone gathered beside you. "We’ll never forget this!"

The crowd applauded, and you all exchanged glances, your eyes shimmering with emotion. It happened every time—those butterflies as if it were the very first show. Linking arms with Noah and Ruffilo, you all bowed deeply in gratitude, smiling wide. Folio tossed his drumsticks into the air, and Jolly followed with his picks before you all exited the stage, exhilarated and one after another.

"THAT WAS FUCKING AMAZING!" he yelled, startling you as he grabbed you from behind, lifting your feet off the ground and stumbling with your steps backstage. "Have I told you you were great today?"

"Only about a thousand times," you laughed, trying to dodge his desperate kisses on the side of your face as you shrank your neck.

In the distance, you could hear the crew dismantling the stage while you all drifted apart, each clutching a bottle of water. The guys greeted members of other bands and received praise for the stellar performance as you watched the hustle and waved at most of them. The adrenaline still surged through your veins, bubbling as intensely as your breath.

Your eyes met Noah’s just a few feet away. He seemed utterly oblivious to what the other band’s vocalist was saying, so focused was he on you. That familiar glimmer in his eyes was routine by now, and the soft wind barely stirred his long hair, lightened by the day’s glow.

It had been two years this month.

Two years of spending every day together from sunrise to sunset, and your stomach still fluttered whenever you caught his lips curving into a shy smile, as if it were your first date. The one that never actually happened thanks to the rain.

But you’d never been so grateful for it, for introducing you to him in his best and most vulnerable form. Just one look like the one he was giving you now—when your bodies collided against the damp ground after a dance without music—and you’d decided you needed to be his.

Since then, everything about the rain had become your shared trademark.

"Hey!" Jolly’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. "There’s a radio team interviewing some of the bands performing today, and I managed to get you and Noah into a quick chat with them!"

He seemed thrilled, and his energy was infectious.

"That’s fantastic!"

"Yeah! I think it’s a great idea, and they’re already waiting!"

At the exit from the backstage area, near the trailers serving as dressing rooms for the bands, a crew stood with cameras, microphones, and a panel displaying the radio’s logo. Rock Radio was the main and most respected source for the genre, and the chance to speak with them falling into your lap was too good an opportunity to miss.

"This is my first introduction to Bad Omens, and I have to admit, your sound is incredible! How does it feel to play a festival for the first time?" the interviewer asked enthusiastically, directing the first question to Noah, who looked just as excited and still buzzing with post-show adrenaline.

"Surreal!" he began, gripping the microphone a little too tightly. "I couldn’t ask for better company when the entire band works so hard to be unique. They’re responsible for every single one of those claps, and we all feel like we truly deserve to be here after so much dedication to make this happen!"

"Amazing! The vocal alternation is truly fascinating, and you both execute it so naturally—it’s like you’re one!"

"None of this would happen without the most talented person I know." As he finished, you felt your face gradually warm as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a hug. "It’s crazy, but I really see her voice as part of mine, and I feel like I could never do this alone. Without her, I’m just Noah."

Your attention instinctively turned upward, catching him smiling at you from the corner of his eyes. The interviewer pursed his lips, speechless for a moment, before refocusing, his gaze now entirely on you.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, smiling wide at you. "It’s undeniable—your voice is so unique, unlike anything the genre has seen before, especially when paired with the riffs and growls. Bad Omens has been around for two years, but do you still face challenges as a female vocalist in this space?"

"Well, ignoring some criticism doesn’t make it go away. I always try to filter whether the feedback is about my work or something I can improve…"

"Impossible, when she’s so good," Noah interrupted, tilting the mic toward him for a second.

"If it’s not…" You reclaimed the mic, shooting him a playful side-eye. "I do my best to disregard it. Honestly, the band has built a great fan base—open-minded, respectful, and always supportive of what we propose. That’s important to me because it helps me see if we’re on the right path."

"Impossible because she really is that good!" The interviewer couldn’t hold back his laughter, nor could you, as Noah cut in again, swiping the mic to emphasize with a raised finger.

"There’s no doubt who your number one fan is, huh?"

"We’re an excellent duo! I don’t think I could have done so well if he hadn’t believed in me first." Your eyes briefly wavered as they met his, then turned back to the interviewer, your teeth lightly biting your lower lip. "I owe Noah all the confidence in myself that I’ve been learning to embrace over time."

Butterflies danced in your stomach, fluttering back and forth. Your hand gripped the microphone tightly, nerves taking hold as you faced a camera and answered questions about yourself for the first time. Talking about him remained one of your favorite topics, and bringing him into the context of the interview made the atmosphere less tense.

The interview had been incredible, good enough to make it on the air, and a pleasant sensation tingled across your skin. Things were heading in the right direction, and you felt... happy.

The guys were gathered, helping the crew load the instruments into the van. Noah was coiling some cables, and the others signaled to each other to pick up the pace. Smoke escaped your lips as you watched them work like a colony of ants preparing for winter, flicking the ash from your cigarette onto the ground.

"We have exactly four hours to get to the next venue," Gerard approached, speaking on the phone as he handed you a flyer. It had the band's name and the time of their set later that night at a bar a few miles away. "The crew left another outfit for you in the dressing room. Change on the way."

"Wait." You called for his attention, and as he turned back to you, he put the phone aside and faced you completely. "What do you mean, another show in just a few hours?"

"This slot opened up to open for a friend’s band. They had hired someone else, but something came up, so I suggested you."

"We just performed, and doing this again in a four-hour window is too much for us!" Your fingers crumpled the flyer into a small ball before stuffing it into the pocket of your shirt. "If I’m not mistaken, you’re supposed to let us know when you're adding something to our schedule."

Gerard let out a loud sigh, scratching his left eyebrow with his index finger before leaning in to meet your height. His breath reeked of alcohol, his eyes bloodshot with some irritation, and his nostrils flared.

"Sweetheart, your memory should also remind you that your band is nothing right now. If you really want to make it, you need to stop dragging your feet," he growled.

"How about you get on stage and scream into a mic for two straight hours? Do that, and then tell me who’s dragging their feet!" Your voice was steady as you stepped forward. "Now, let’s talk about something interesting since you want to turn this into a business meeting, Gerard. What’s the revenue from the merch sold today at the festival?"

"Sales weren’t that great," he snapped back. "There’s still plenty of inventory left, which, by the way, is in the van."

"Along with the extra stock you brought without our permission?" Your eyes narrowed. "Am I wrong, or did you bring more pieces to intentionally create this excuse of poor sales to report the wrong figures?"

This wasn’t an empty accusation. You had taken advantage of your friends’ distraction after the interview and wandered around the festival until you stopped at the merch booth. Every single Bad Omens item had been sold, even though, suspiciously, the booth had been placed far away from the main crowd, almost as if it were meant to go unnoticed.

"You’re so insolent," Gerard muttered, shaking his head. "The revenue split will be discussed when we’re back in the office. You should get over yourself because if I really wanted to steal something, it wouldn’t be from someone as irrelevant as you!"

"Like your son’s band?" you shot back with a lazy smirk, watching his expression darken. "That might be a good option to take our place tonight because Bad Omens won’t be playing again today!"

"Everything is already set for this show, and your tantrum won’t change that. You don’t get to pick and choose jobs when your band is trying to make it, and you all signed a contract obligating you to appear at any event the label sets up!" He jabbed a finger at your chest. "I don’t care if you’re tired or if this pushes you to your limits. You will perform, and for every off-key note, I’ll dock your pay if you don’t do this show with the most enthusiasm of your life. Understood?"

That damn contract.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gerard pull something from his pocket—a small packet with a single pill inside. Discreetly, he slipped it into your hand, clamping it shut with his own, holding your fist tightly.

"If you can’t handle the routine you signed up for, take a little incentive," he growled, tightening his grip to focus your attention. "But don’t forget—you’re required to give me a stellar performance no matter what you use to get there. See you in four hours."

Abruptly, he released you and sniffed sharply before walking away, leaving you alone with the unfamiliar object. Your eyes carefully studied your palm. Inside the packet, the light pink pill was small, marked by a single line across the top. You’d always hated taking medication, not even for headaches. The taste was awful, and your body took too long to dissolve this kind of stuff.

Outside the packaging, you kept studying that thing between your fingers. It had a rough texture and no discernible smell.

"Ready to go?" his voice startled you, and in an impulsive gesture, you shoved the pill into your mouth, swallowing it immediately. The bitter, unpleasant taste lingered on your palate, scratching down your throat. Noah watched as you slowly turned toward him, narrowing his eyes. "Hey, what's with that face?"

Noah chuckled, touching the tip of your nose with his finger to dissolve the strange expression you were making.

"Nothing." You forced a smile, squinting to hide the unease caused by that peculiar taste clawing at your throat. "Shall we?"

Growing up alone had placed the weight of solving every problem solely on your shoulders. There was no one to share the burden; wherever you looked, you only saw yourself. Crying for help or seeking support from someone wasn’t an option—your four walls reflected only one face: your own. The most painful part was having to build your own ground while learning to walk, with no support, no safety net—just the obligation to take firm, flawless steps.

Even surrounded by people who genuinely cared about you and wanted the best for you, something deeply rooted in your subconscious insisted that the problems in your life were exclusively yours. No one should cross that line. For you, relying on someone felt like selfishness; it was your responsibility to be strong enough to bear everything on your own, never asking for help.

The stage lights flickered in hues of orange and purple, creating an atmosphere that wavered between the real and the surreal. You stood at the center of it all, draped in a dark dress that clung to your body like a second skin, paired with high vinyl boots. Every movement felt calculated yet disconnected, as if an invisible force was pulling you into a parallel reality. No one noticed the peculiar gleam in your eyes—a reflection of whatever was coursing through your veins.

The first note left your throat like a whisper laced with melancholy. Your voice was flawless, slightly drawn out, as if trying to trap each syllable in the air before releasing it. You sang in a rhythm that fluctuated—sometimes slow, sometimes almost provocative, as if each verse were a confession. There was no fault in your pitch, yet something about the melody felt unusual—heavier, more intimate.

"Are you okay?" Noah asked discreetly during the intro of the next song. When your eyes locked onto his, a distorted vision took over—he seemed blurry, almost comical. "Hey, are you okay?"

"Of course I am!" You playfully shoved his broad shoulder, noticing his expression shift, though something prevented you from fully identifying it.

Surely, he was having as much fun as you.

Your steps, however, were a different story. Slowly, you crossed the stage with movements that defied balance, teetering between sensual and erratic. Each gesture carried an exaggerated languidness, a broken grace, as if you were dancing alone in a world only you could see.

"Are you with me tonight, aren’t you?" Your voice came out honeyed, laden with an unsettling charm, as your eyes scanned the crowd with a gaze that blended sweetness and debauchery.

Your sweaty hand gripped the microphone like a lover, pulling it closer to your lips as you laughed softly—for no apparent reason. “Ah... It’s so good to see such beautiful faces staring at me. You’re all so gorgeous. You have no idea how much…” The last word came out almost like a moan, leaving the audience caught between discomfort and fascination.

The beats of the music seemed to synchronize with whatever was happening inside you. As the song progressed, your movements became freer, more erratic, as though each note was guiding you further from where you were. But no one knew—or maybe didn’t want to know—that there was something more to this night.

You were the star, and even under an influence that made the world spin in strange ways, you were too perfect for anyone to question it.

“What the hell was that earlier?” Noah’s tone carried a sharp edge, and you froze before him. In your mind, ever since you left the stage, nothing had been wrong. You were a star. “Are you hearing me?”

“Why are you talking so loudly?” Your body leaned backward, and he caught you before you could collapse onto the table with the water bottles.

Noah leaned closer to your mouth and sniffed—a gesture you clearly misinterpreted as you tried to kiss him, only for him to turn his face away.

“There’s no smell of alcohol, so why are you acting like this?”

“STOP BEING SUCH A BORING!” you shouted suddenly, wrenching your arm free from his grip. “Holy crap, you’re so annoying sometimes! Why can’t you just enjoy things without ruining the fun all the time?”

He stood there, analyzing everything coming out of your mouth as if looking at a stranger. Your heartbeat was so fast it felt like your heart might burst from your chest at any moment.

“What kind of joke is this?” he asked, stepping back when you tried to approach. “Why are you treating me this way?”

“When you try to fit me into a box like I’m just a piece of a Rubik’s Cube, I feel…” you began, but the words seemed to die on your lips as sweat trickled down your temple.

“You feel?” he pressed, his tone firmer. “Say it!”

“Suffocated.”

For the first time in two years, you saw him look at you with different eyes. They didn’t shine with the fervent passion you were used to seeing, nor the euphoria of your presence. Noah’s eyes held disappointment.

“I heard some shouting outside and thought it was strange coming from you guys…” Ruffilo’s voice cut through the tension as you both stared each other down. “But you’re just joking around, right?”

“We’re definitely not,” Noah replied without taking his eyes off you.

Sniffling to regain his composure, he stormed out of the backstage area as swiftly as a gust of furious wind, leaving you and Ruffilo in a painful silence.

⭑ @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard ; @iluvmewwwww75 ; @anarchydomainglory ; @foliosgirl ; @lma1986 ; @chey-h ; @supersquirrel1996 ; @zozaline ;

[dubacheryking]

ok yes will toastybro could NOT fucking sing when he started releasing music, this is absolutely true and i in fact kind of love it. but like no will boy can in fact sing now and i have mad respect for the vocal training he must have done over the years. also his voice is kinda sexy now</3

[et-in-arkadia]

this is such incredible advice for creating any kind of art i have to put it over here to remind myself

[fairyofshampgyu]

he’s literally so beautiful and handsome

[ruvviks]

imagine just having a normal job at club bodytalk though. you get to see so many hot people every single day and if you're lucky you even get to see some [local] celebrities

[come2coffin]

hello raleigh ritchie

[girlivealwaysbean]

spending my whole life trying and trying and trying and trying to be good enough for people who don't give a fuck about me

[flowered-mp3]

just got back from changkyun's concert :')

[heytheredeann]

biromantic asexual Illya & greyromantic bisexual Napoleon

[softerstorms]

i saw jeff live last night and i’m not exaggerating when i say it’s one of the best concerts i’ve ever been to <3