#homme singe

[fredchabot]

HUMANMONKEY Acier brut

[godspeedmajortom]

I’m fascinated by how variations of Sea Power's “Want to Be Free (Remix)” provide a musical theme for death and endings that follows Harry and his foils throughout Disco Elysium.

The first place you hear it is as “The Field Autopsy” while inspecting the Hanged Man’s body. It's barely recognizable as the original song, though. It's sluggish and muddy and bilious. The piano melody has been lowered and sustained to an ominous funereal organ and combined with deep strings. A lilting viola line in the lush layers of the original "Want to Be Free" is isolated here and contrasts with the low organ, rising like the stench off a corpse. If you do the autopsy first thing as Kim suggests, Harry – freshly, grotesquely awakened from his apocalyptic bender – is not in a much better state than a corpse himself.

The music underscores a visceral scene of death and decay, our introduction to the Hanged Man, the first of Harry's foils. Both Harry and Lely are agents of state-sponsored violence as a cop and mercenary, respectively. They bear similar physical scars from the neglect of the systems they grew up in. They both desperately want to escape the horrorshow of their lives, using drugs and dark fantasies to cope with the terrible things they see and do but finding little more than self-destruction in the nihilism. The Bloated Corpse of a Drunk taking the Hanged Man's place in Harry's first night dream makes their connection explicit: you should be dead, Harry. This may as well have been you.

The next place you hear a variant of "Want to Be Free" is in the washerwoman's shack in the fishing village. “Live With Me” is wistful and melancholic. The gentle piano and cooing vocals evoke the wind and waves on the bay, an escape calling outside the salt-rimed shack. But this is a place of death, or at least its potential, as the return of the high viola from "The Field Autopsy" reminds us. This is where Ruby hid when Harry's arrival made her fear for her life, where she contemplated killing herself if things got even worse. This is where Harry can end up if no one vouches for him at the RCM tribunal finale, where his wounds will grow infected without medical care, where there is little left to do but return to drinking and wait to die.

But true to the song title, the shack also offers Harry the possibility of learning to with himself as he emerges from his bender. Here is a mirror free from the damage and trauma of attempting to destroy himself where he can reflect on who he was and who he wants to become. He can choose to keep or let go of his past coping/defense mechanisms like his facial hair and The Expression. He can choose to embrace or reject the self-defeating fantasy of fascism. The shack marks a midpoint of the game, when the hangover has worn off but before the case is closed. So "Live With Me" scores the balance between potential endings: abandonment or acceptance, relapse or recovery, death or life. Harry breathes in the sea air, breathes it back out, and takes another step.

I didn’t realize this until a recent replay, but “Live With Me” also plays when you visit the Working Class Woman to notify her of her husband’s death. Since this is an optional sidequest, I understand why they didn't create original music for it. But they didn't reuse "Rue de Saint-Gislaine", the song for the rest of the Capeside Apartments (including the Smoker on the Balcony's apartment when you talk to the Sunday Friend). The Working Class Husband is another mirror for Harry who has met his end, and "Live With Me" plays to mourn him.

Victor Méjean died from an accident while inebriated, a fate that also could have befallen Harry on a previous drinking binge. The striking thing about Victor's death is how easily he could have been overlooked and forgotten. He died at the end of a pier in a fenced off, abandoned part of town. His wife wasn't concerned about his days-long absence. It's only by virtue of Can Opening and Jamrock Shuffling that Harry will know about or find him. Victor literally and figuratively died slipping through the cracks – of the rotted boardwalk, yes, but also of any sort of social safety net. This is what happens to alcoholics in Revachol. This is what will happen to Harry if he continues drinking and hasn't built his own personal safety net with Kim or Cuno to prevent the RCM from abandoning him. As Harry informs Billie of her husband's death, it's only natural for him to think of his own possible endings, and the soundtrack reflects that.

The final version of the song you hear is “Burn, Baby, Burn” blasting from Sad FM on the boat ride to the Sea Fortress to find the Hanged Man's killer and Harry's last dark reflection: Dros, The Deserter. Dros shares Harry's penchant for clinging to political ideology to give meaning to his life and obsessing over women he can't be with. He lives in bitter isolation, refusing to move beyond the failures of the past, his personal shortcomings and the evils of the world alike. He's emblematic of yet another possible outcome for Harry: not literal death, but despair-induced stagnation that leaves one living like a ghost in the mortal realm.

By the time Harry gets in the boat to the island, his fate at the end of the game is set. The RCM (specifically Jean) has all they need to decide whether to accept or abandon their prodigal lieutenant-yefreitor. Should his former partners leave him, Harry can return to the shack and the circle of drunks who have also given up on life. Or he can return to the island, where he would take Dros' place as the creepy old man haunting the fortress, scaring children, and staring at the mainland with longing and resentment. But even if Harry returns with his unit to Jamrock, simply resuming his old life will not keep him from returning to the depths of despair. The RCM broke him; the RCM will not save him. Neither outcome helps Harry become a person he truly wants to live with.

"Want to be free/It will last forever/Eternally," croons the boombox on the boat. The lyrics echo the self destruction that Harry sought before the game's events: freedom forever from pain, the ultimate release of death. At least that's what the Ancient Reptilian Brain would see in those words. But there's tension in the lyrics as the desire for freedom and exhortations to "burn, baby, burn" repeat. The bridge offers an alternative vision of verdure not consumed by the disco inferno: "And the trees are green and overhanging/Feather-light, free, and everlasting." Perhaps a less moribund future exists for Harry, even if only in the next world, as a new person.

[wildoute]

[hvbris]

𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 with the beta editor not saving up any tags with caps in them, I'm saving them all again in lower cases only!

caesar (ladies and gentlemen; your master of ceremonies; caesar flickerman!) cassia (i'm the queen of nothing; i'm the king of the world) lucy gray (the show's not over until the mockingjay sings) effie (let's go show them what real beauty looks like) primrose (let me stay gentle) tigris (baby's all dressed up with nowhere to go) clove (vincere aut mori) clarice (have the lambs stopped screaming?) hannibal (i am having an old friend for dinner) wednesday (if i wanted to kill my husband i wouldn't get caught) morticia (black is such a happy color) scully (i'm afraid to believe) mulder (the truth is out there) eve polastri (they told me you were a killer) hélène (moi si j'étais un homme je serais capitaine) harley (i'm crazy but you like that i bite back) captain hook (it's not such a wonderful thing to be young) eleven (friend don't lie) viktor (i am not a villain) voldemort (there is only power and those too weak to seek it)

[daddy-long-legssss]

hi, i'm stupid.

You want to fuck that old man so bad it makes you look stupid

[everything-begins--ends]

rewatching Crime en Série because i love Jérôme as Keller. watching Keller left the words “je m’appelle Keller et j’ai des cours à faire” then gone. you may think oh boy he’s gonna get destroyed badly this time too. NON!! ten minutes later the person he’s fond of is giving him french kisses

oui Keller my boiii quelle surprisee 🥰you are not like any other Jerome character

[taehub]

homme fatale

Taehyung likes you. He likes you and he likes drugs.

taehyung x reader

wordcount: 4.6k

tags: thick dick taehyung, mindless fuck zombie reader, finger fucking, choking/suffocation, unprotected sex, cum stuffing, squirting, pain and pleasure, anal, hole swapping  warnings:  dubious consent, maybe could be considered non con, coercion, drug use, non-sober mindless fucking, don't like it, don't read it.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

───────

A vacant look, eyes blurry and head thumping to the bass bouncing off the walls. Your drink is sweet but nowhere near as sweet or deep in your stomach as the voice drifting through your ears. You can feel the wisps of his hair tickling your cheek, a soft melody loud and clear against you despite the booming music. 

“Wanna have some fun?”

You don’t pause the bliss in your body to answer, your hands reaching out to grab his sweat soaked shirt for the 30th time in the past ten minutes. You barely remember him approaching you, but you do recognize his face.

A regular on saturday nights, much like you. Always watching, stolen glances, but never shared words or dances. Until now, at least. 

He allows your tight grip on him, staying close enough to feel his lips against your ear lobe as he repeats the question, keeping his own hands on your waist as he sways along with you and your drunken dance. 

“Hm?” He encourages an answer against you, pulling back slightly to admire your already-vacant eyes from the drinks upon drinks you’ve ordered without his help. He’s counted. You’re on your fifth drink and he can almost taste the sweet alcohol through your scent.

Anyone can see how drunk you are. 

“And do what?” You sing your words out to him, unsure of if he catches it due to the way your voice hits your own ears.

Slurred, distant, barely audible over the music playing. 

“Wanna burn with me?” He continues with a smile in his voice, tone sharp and clear still against your ear. Still a sweet sound. Luring, something you would follow into the darkness. 

“Burn with you?” You manage to get out, your body becoming still as you stand with him in the middle of this dim lighted club. 

He nods, tilting his head at you with a smirk, eyebrows arched and dangerous regardless of the expression he gives to you. His eyes shadow deep in this dim lighting as he does it, and all you can do is let him grab your hand, leading you gently from the floor and balancing you through each stumbled and clumsy step. 

Only when he gets you towards the back of the club does your mind begin to spin. Likely due to your lack of moving now, unable to match the roller coaster in your brain, you feel like you’re going to fall. Off of something, onto something, into someone. 

And into someone, you do fall. But, Taehyung catches you all the same, letting you lean into him with your back to his chest as he moves one arm to his back pocket to present a handful of colorful candy. 

Candy?

You look at the array of colors in his hand with confusion, well aware somewhere in your mind that this is a bad idea. Already, you’ve surpassed your limit of drinking for reasons only known to you. Your reckless behavior never ceases though, as the devil on your shoulder shouts “Do it! It’s just this one time! He’s hot anyway!” 

“This one–” Taehyung pulls you closer, wrapping an arm around you just so he can grab a singular pill from his palm. “Will make you feel like you’re flying.” He continues, uncaring and seemingly bored with that particular skittle-shaped substance. “But this one…” He grabs another, his voice now fond and encouraging. “Will make you feel like you’re burning.” 

Well, there’s no question as to which one you should take. 

You nod against him, following his enthusiasm for the hellish little pill. He feels a slight chuckle rise in his chest at your absent-mindedness. He thought it would be much harder than this to get you in his arms. He takes it upon himself now to tap the pill against your lips, holding you flush against him in a tight hold. 

“Open up,” He whispers against your hair.

You do it on instinct, tasting the tips of his fingers behind the sweet coating of the pill. You suck the flavor into your mouth all the same before gulping it down dry. Taehyung then spins you around to face him, and all you can do is blink up at him, seeing that his pupils are already dilated. They are so dark that they almost appear to be black, like a demon or some sort of otherworldly entity. Somehow, he looks sexier. 

“Now, come.” He says, grabbing your hand again and guiding you back, back, back, into a space in the club hidden by three doors and a hallway. 

You didn’t know how deep this building goes, but apparently others do. Each room is filled with different dimmed lighting, bodies, laughter, and moaning. 

Somewhere, deep in your head, you feel proud to know this space exists. Taehyung must have been here several times before, as you pass room after room only to end in one that’s velvety and comfortable. Your drunken state sees two of everything, but only one of Taehyung with his close proximity to you. Clinging to you as if he’s a child, chuckling against your neck as he holds you in a suffocating hug against him. 

“Close your eyes, let it hit you first.” 

You’re well aware that taking pills by mouth means it will take at least thirty minutes to hit, but there’s something in your gut washing over you, making you feel warm. 

Too warm, too fast.

You were already sweating but now, you feel almost cold with the amount of moisture against your skin within this tight hold. 

“Ah–” You groan, trying to push Taehyung away. You feel like you’re suffocating already, like you need to crawl out of your skin. 

“It’ll pass–” He soothes you, holding you even tighter. 

───────

“Oh, pretty, you look so warm.” Taehyung’s voice echoes in your head, bouncing off the empty walls behind your eyes and amplifying the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. 

You’ve overdone it. Taking an unknown substance isn’t something you’d never do, but taking it from someone you’ve never once spoken to before tonight, despite recognizing him? It’s new, and it’s terrifying. 

Your blood was already boiling over from heat as you danced with him, now it feels as if you’re filled with nothing but steam. The intense sticky feeling against your skin feels restricting, and with him staying so close, equally as heated as you are, you can imagine you must look like a mess along with it. 

It’s like you’re melting, with your fingers gripping at your skin as you try to get out of it, only for the pads of your fingers to slip with no grip to them at all. You need ice, or snow, or to be anywhere but in this hot room with nothing but fire to feel. 

“I know, it’s scary the first time, isn’t it?” Taehyung smiles knowingly, tugging at your sticky black sweater, the rips and holes in it doing nothing to help you cool down. “Let me help you.”

Thinking straight isn’t on your agenda, only panic as you feel new sensation after new sensation take you by the throat. It’s not that it feels bad either. It’s just that it feels so good you can barely stand it. Like you’re going insane. Like you can and will do anything you want without consequence. 

You breathe in deep, feeling your sweater being tugged at by the blurry man, and instantly lift your arms. Relief overwhelms you when the cold air of the room hits your glistening body, goosebumps rising as Taehyung continues to undress you. Each drag of the fabric on your skin feels like heaven, and the air that hits it after feels even more heavenly. 

He smiles a wicked grin, pulling you up from the slippery leather of the sofa by the chains attached to your shorts, luring you straight against him. 

You can hear the chains rattling as he unclasps them, the weight of them lifting from your hips as his fingers go straight to your button and zipper. 

“Yeah.” He confirms for himself as he feels the entirety of your clothing dampened by sweat. “You’re burning up, baby.”

You nod, each removed clothing item cooling you down by the minute until he’s got you standing in front of him in just your bra and panties before he lets you fall back on the couch. You watch him with drowsy eyes, a smile perking up at your lips with the way your body is now hit with a wave of cool, calming euphoria. 

He lifts his arms in front of you, standing tall and proud in his black clad outfit, hair sticking to his forehead, v-line on his pelvis peeking from under a shirt too short for his torso. You stare at his skin, longing for it, wanting to clamp your teeth down and feel how warm he is compared to you. And he’d probably let you, if his now naked chest and shaking hands holding himself over you are anything to go by. 

“Looking like you wanna eat me up.” He whispers in a snide tone. Knowing you’d probably do just about anything he asks of you. “With a mouth so pretty, I think I’d let you.” 

You moan at a phantom feeling of heaviness in your gut, feeling like you’re being touched from the inside out. He’s just hovering, watching you, maintaining eye contact. 

Pupils blown and so wide, he can’t help but let you drink in the image of him as he does the same for you. So much to see in you, with that dumbed down little head of yours. He knows what you’re thinking and how you’re feeling, after all, he’s felt like this countless times. So many times he’s learned to control it himself now. 

You’re lost in a world of new pleasure, and he’s the one who gets to guide you through it. Like a brainless pleasure zombie, breathing, warm, pulsing in your flesh. A tight and wet hole all for him, any of the three if he so pleases. You’d please too, as he remembers begging for it much like you’re about to. 

Before you realize it, your eyes are welling up with salty tears. You don’t know why, but perhaps you’re just too overwhelmed by the jolts of pleasure shooting through you. Still, he’s not touching you. It feels like your body is on the verge of an orgasm every minute or two, skin shivering through the heat and your mind seeing everything in bursts of colors with each deep breath and thump of your heart. 

“Ahh–” You sigh out, your hips jutting up against nothing and no one, and still he just watches. 

Mostly because Taehyung, too, wishes he could crawl out of his skin, only he prefers to crawl into yours. He may be in more control through experience alone but his brain is also fogged, he is also needy, despite knowing he’s the one who needs to be thinking straight, you make it difficult.

Thinking straight isn’t that big of a deal though, because the act is mindless. To fuck is mindless. There are no instructions, not for him anyway. You though, you will be told how to look, what to do, how to feel, and you will listen easily. No fighting, not with that pretty heaving chest of yours, and that dripping hole between your legs.

Ah, he wonders if…if you were sober, would you still want him as badly as you do now? Would he need to make sure you’re burning or flying first? Because, fuck, he’s wanted you for weeks. Never did you approach him though. This was his only option. Wait til you’re drunk, fuck you up more, then make you want it.

He basks in the way you yearn for it. For him is what he tells himself, knowing you’d be this way towards just about anyone if it were someone other than him who is doing this to you. That's how the pill works, anyway. He will play pretend though, and let the euphoria whisp you both away. 

And he watches, and he watches. The way you hump up against nothing, failing to grip anything with both your needy hands and your dissociated little head. The sight is more beautiful than the first day he saw you. There, on the dance floor alone, ignoring everyone around you, ignoring him. 

“Ahh–” He mimics you. “That’s right baby, say ahh.” 

You do, feeling as if each released breath pushes you more and more over the edge, making your insides feel less tight. Ahh, ahh, ahh. Constant groaning as your body writhes for something, for anything. 

Taehyung inspects your open mouth, feeling a heavy twitch run from the head of his cock straight to his balls and it takes everything in him not to pull it out and stuff your mouth full. Instead, he slides his fingers in, slowly, deeply. So far down your throat that he’s shocked you don’t gag. You just lap at the underside of his fingers, blinking up at him, letting your throat restrict around them. Needy, wanting more sensations to bask in. 

He moans in response to that, looking at you with the same heat pooling in every end of his body. His fingers feel heavy, soaked in your spit and vibrating against your moans. 

“Gag.” He demands, jutting his fingers in further, scissoring them open to try and get that numb feeling in your body to react. He wants to see you struggle for him.

You do gag after that, though you were unable to feel any pain. His fingers press sensitive areas so deep, pressing the back of your tongue down before flicking his fingertips up and making you gag again, and again. 

Until your saliva is bubbling out around your fingers, until his cock is weeping in his pants to feel the same sensation his fingers have right now. 

Maybe he should do it. 

The sound of his zipper being undone feels like a roar of thunder, your eyes shooting down to the action as he fucks his fingers in and out of your mouth a few more times, his eyes not leaving the way your lips suckle around them. You see a blur of his cock whip out, leaking, angry, pulsing as he holds it in one hand and takes a short step towards you. 

There, he places himself right in front of you, one leg lifting to the couch at your side, the other standing right between your legs as he pulls his fingers from your mouth and instantly finds purchase in your hair. There, he guides you forward before you can even comprehend what’s happening, and he’s parting your lips right on the head of his cock and pushing in. 

All the way in.

Until it hits the back of your throat and your eyes roll back swallowing around it in a gag. Your lips are stretched out impossibly wide, they feel like they could split at the corners if he were to circle his hips. 

And his moan that fills the rooms booms louder than any sound you’ve heard tonight. Loud, drawn out, rattling deep from his chest as if it’s a sound that tore through him to get out. His hand in your hair tightens when he holds you there, pressing his hips forward to fit himself impossibly deeper into the wet hole, and he just stands there feeling how you struggle. 

“Fucking perfect–” He groans, standing in place and relishing the way your throat jerks him off. He doesn’t need to fuck it, you’re fucking him right now. “This throat, so wet.” 

He breathes through his nose, throwing his head back and still holding yours down on him.

“Tight little hole.” He pulls out just an inch, and fucks back in, fitting himself somehow tighter into your mouth. Letting you gag, feeling the way the wet walls hug, choke, and stimulate all parts of his cock, leaving none of him neglected. 

You know you can’t breathe, even when you try to use your nose, but somehow that doesn’t bother you right now. You’ve felt suffocated this whole time, it’s actually difficult to recognize when you’re actually suffocating. Taehyung glances down again, noting the whites of your eyes and the way little veins start to burst. That vein on your forehead indicates that you can’t breathe, and he’d do well to let you. 

But he doesn’t. Not yet anyway, as he tilts your head back by the hair and watches you. The way your eyes are just as wet as your throat, and how you continuously swallow around him, fingers gripping at nothing and everything at the same time. He knows tilting your head back like this only makes the suffocation worse, but goddamn does it feel even better. 

Short, tight thrusts bruise you as he continues, dark eyes fixated on how open your mouth is, and the way your eyes stay wide and open to look back at him. He knows you can barely see him though, too dissociated to recognize what you’re letting him do, too dissociated to put a name to a face, or to really care about the consequences of this. 

Finally, when your hands that were trying to grab at him fall to your sides, he pulls out with a wet, sloppy sound. Holding the base of his cock with his free hand and keeping your head tilted back with the other.

Your mouth is wide open for him, throat still constricting as if it’s still trying to pleasure him, and he smiles at you still. Leaning down just slightly to lick against your top lip just to see you chase his mouth now. And you do. As if none of that just happened, you chase him for more. He knew you would, feeling you try to lick back at his small, intimate gesture, whining all the way until you reach it.

It’s a mess for you in your head right now, so much so that you barely recognize that you throw him off balance as you chase. To the point you knocked him back, both of you falling to the floor with you on top of him. And fuck, he knows what you’re gonna do.

He remembers what he did the first time he felt like this and managed to find himself on top. He couldn’t fight you off if he tried.

You writhe all the same though, just like you did when you were under him, just like you did when he had his cock in your throat, and he feels every wiggle, press, and vibrate of your skin right now. You slide up and down, chasing his lips, seemingly not sure what to do with yourself. Tongue lapping at his cheeks, into his mouth, tasting the sweat on his forehead. You’ve never felt so hungry for this before, and you can’t help yourself. Each movement bumps his cock, it skews your bra, letting your tits fall out and against him, it draws moans out of both of you. 

Mindlessly. 

Perhaps he could stop you and take back control, seeing you grow more and more vacant. To a level he’s never seen anyone reach, to a level he’s never been able to reach. You’re really trying to take from him?

“You have no idea how pathetic you look right now.” He hums out, feeling the way your hot tongue slides all across his face and neck. “So helpless, weak. Just gonna take whatever I give you?”

You hum back in delight at his offer, nodding, repeatedly letting out moans of “mhm” and “please.” 

“Yeah.” He encourages it, slipping one hand up to your tit and pinching hard at your nipple. You arch your back at it, lifting from him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in a wave of pleasure. “All you’re good for is to make me cum, isn’t that right baby?” 

You cry out as he pinches again, his fingernails digging deep against your nipple. The goosebumps rise against your skin repeatedly, non stop, and all you can do is nod more aggressively at his words. 

Instantly, you’re dizzy, seeing stars as he shoots up and against you, pulling at your bra so hard that it singes your skin. His mouth is instantly on your nipple as he presses forward, tipping you back. Your head hits the floor, rattling your brain inside and forcing the stars already in your eyes to double. 

Still, you moan at it, letting your lips fall open under him as you lick out into the heavy air in the room. You don’t feel it at first, the way his fingers play with you the same way they did with your mouth. He slides three into you at once briefly, and then–

“T-thank you,” You mumble, feeling the head of his cock press past his fingers, plunging all the way in as he drops his head to yours. 

“Thank you?” He chuckles before flexing his abs, twitching himself intentionally inside of you as a means to stretch you out. “For what, baby, what are you thanking me for?”

He pulls back, thrusting in again with a pointed, harsh press. 

“Thank you–” You mumble again, feeling everything all at once. The burning in your gut, the thick and hard cock fucking you open, the way your clit radiates with heat– “thank you, thank you, t-”

He fucks forward again, faster now. Loud slaps fill the room as he stares down at you with a hold to his breath, seemingly unable to fuck you fast enough, hard enough, deep enough. And still you’re babbling appreciation, repeated words of “th-th-th-an-thank-you, than-k you, thank y-yo-you” 

Each time he bottoms out, you stutter, you moan, you lick out like a demon in heat. As if this still isn’t enough despite the force behind his hips. Despite the thanks, despite it all. 

He tears his fingers out of you, keeping pace with his cock, and instantly sticks them into your ass instead. The tight fit squishing all three fingers together, but oh, that choked sob you let out is music to his ears. Sobbing now, and still thanking him. 

His fingers press in, his cock fucks so deep, and then…you gag yourself. So needy for it, to be filled at all ends, you shove your own fingers down your throat and beg your mind to pretend it’s him. It’s him. It’s him.

And you believe it too, with the way you fuck your own mouth so painfully, drooling all over yourself as Taehyung basks in the imagery. 

“Just like that.” He encourages you through a released breath. 

“Gag on it.” 

And you do, forcing your fingers deep, gagging around them and sputtering moans through wet gasps. He manages after that, pulling out of you entirely just to fit his cock somewhere else, staring down now at your gaping cunt, needy and pulsing open, loose, dripping. He watches the way it flinches when he pops the head of his cock into your ass, grabbing both of your legs and bending them to your chest. Wide open, every part of you. 

Open and wet. 

He fucks forward painfully now, feeling the dry heat of your ass clench him so tight he feels like he’s being strangled. Your moans go quiet at that, fingers falling from your lips in a silent scream of pain. He likes that. He likes that you’re this gone, he likes the way your ass clenches and tries to push him out. But he loves seeing this pussy so empty. So, so empty. 

Taehyung glances up at your face for a moment, so curled into yourself all for him to fuck, and he sees you in full. The way your eyebrows furrow and eyes pour out those salty little tears. You’re loving it, he can tell. And, back down his eyes go, right back to your needy cunt. 

“Every part of you fucking whines.” He breathes in disbelief, sucking the saliva in his mouth to the tip of his tongue and feeding it to your pussy. He watches it, the way it drops in and slides down the abused hole. And then, his hips move freely. 

The slide of his precum slicking up your tight ass and allowing for a deeper, more pleasurable fuck now. He doesn’t mind the small amount of blood he knows thats there, he doesn’t think you do either, especially when your entire body clenches up with a loud, pornographic “Fuck!” coming out of your chest, followed shortly by a “Yes! yes! yes!”

It drives him on, as if it hyper-focuses him on what he’s doing. He thrusts forward, fast, hard, pushing your legs into your chest so painfully that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning, your pussy is hot, and your clit…neglected. 

Still, it’s in you. You feel it wanting to push out, and you can’t help it when you do. 

Taehyung watches the clench, the way your pathetic cunt shakes in front of his eyes and the other hole clenches him so tight that all he can do is force himself into it and hold it there. A splash hits him then, without comprehension he acts, pulling out of your ass so fast and shoving right back into that drenched pussy of yours, quivering, squirting all over yourself for nothing but the pain he’s giving you. 

“Messy, messy.” He coos. “Gotta plug you up.” 

His voice is far away as your body shifts with his movements, seemingly trying to literally plug you up with his cock. Forcing the pressure inside of you to sit, as if you can only explode to get rid of it. And still your legs shake against your chest. As if you’re not burning now, you’re freezing. Shivering, feeling ruined, but so, so good.

“All the way.” He adds, unable to hold back his own orgasm. 

He tenses up, pressing impossibly deeper and letting all of his cum spill out and into you. Holding you there, both hands wrapped around your thighs and forcing your pussy against him even harder. You feel each pulse of it, every drip, spurt, and shiver of his cock inside of you. And he stays like that, moaning filthy words that you can’t comprehend, sweat dripping onto you. You want nothing more than to stick out your tongue and catch every drop of it like the first rain of spring, but you can’t, not when you’re essentially locked in place like this. 

Still, he doesn’t move. His cock stays stiff and painfully hard even after his orgasm as he grunts, now muttering to himself words of “every drop. every, last fucking drop.”

He means those words too, letting your quivering body milk it out of him, all of it until he very quickly pulls out and cups his hand at your cunt, as if to keep any from spilling out. 

“Cross your legs.” He demands now, like you’d consider fighting him on it. 

You try, but your body is weak, and you’re still shivering. He helps you, or rather, forces you. Using both hands to cross your legs before quickly grabbing your hand to replace his. He picks out four of your fingers before uncomfortably skewing your hand, shoving them into you and pressing your hand hard. 

“Good.” He hums. “Stay like that.”

You’re not sure how long he’s going to leave you here like this, but it’s not like time matters too much to you right now. You don’t even know what day it is anymore, or where you are. You don’t care either, even as you hear the heavy door slam and silence overtake you. 

───────

[europeansculpture]

Max Söllner (*1929) - Double tête (homme et singe) - Memento Mori, 2003

[farfallasims]

"Well, my boyfriend's in a band, he plays guitar while I sing Lou Reed..."

Ft. "The Blaze Collection" & "Homme" by @sentate

[mrschwartz]

Alex Turner for Rumore Magazine (September 2013)

Seventies Heads and Modern Loves or I Don't Know What I Want But I Surely Want You

by Elia Alovisi

Until he opens his mouth, Alex Turner looks like he stepped out of the Nevada desert. Leather loafers, a belt, slicked-back hair, sunglasses. But as soon as he starts talking, between “summat��� instead of “something” and “me” instead of “my,” he transforms back into a boy from Sheffield who grew up on cocktails and DJ sets. The discrepancy between the way he looks and the way he speaks is strange: you would expect a cocky and arrogant rock star, but instead you have before you a relaxed and thoughtful boy who carefully measures his words, but does so with a smile and not a frown. The lyrics of AM, the fifth album of his band, mainly revolve around difficult and elusive women. There are many questions. “Do I want to know?” “Are you mine?” he says; “Why do you always call me when you’re high?” she says. There is no shortage of desires: “I want it all,” “I want to be yours.” Absent, however, are the answers. We tried to get a few out of him.

How was it to be back at Glastonbury as a headliner five years after the first time?

Fantastic. Absolutely wonderful, this time it was very natural. Everything was harder in 2007, we had done a lot less shows and had a lot less songs. Now we have learned to move better.

After the experience of Humbug, you collaborated again with Josh Homme.

Yes, Josh is on Knee Socks, towards the end of the piece. We gave him carte blanche and he decided to sing a sort of counter-melody that reminds me a lot of Bowie.

Are knee socks your favorite piece of underwear on a woman?

[Laughs] What do you think?

If she has the right legs.

Exactly, yes. The best is the garter. But then they would not be Parisian anymore, right? And then they are thicker than women's stockings. However they are not my favorite underwear, I go with the push-up.

In the lyrics of Arabella you talk a lot about the universe.

I wanted to use that linguistic palette to try to describe a woman. There are many songs that use those sorts of words… galaxy, interstellar, constellation, things like that, but usually they are used just for the sake of being used. Instead I wanted to make them an active part of a description, they are images that I find very interesting. In England, on the BBC, there is this program called Wonders of the Universe, with Professor Brian Cox. And it is one of my favorite programs [smiles, pleased].

Barbarella also pops up in the text.

Yes, although I haven't read practically any of her comics and I've only seen a small piece of the movie. I don't really like B movies. To know her, you just need to have seen a poster, that's all you need. I just used her to make a comparison with the costume she wears.

How does the suite you sing about in Fireside relate to room 505 in Favourite Worst Nightmare?

Yes, I’m talking about a suite in my heart… or in her heart? Well, in someone’s heart. Room 505, in my mind, is something very concrete. I wrote that song on a train between Philadelphia and New York, my girlfriend was in a hotel waiting for me and I just wrote about that [Turner’s voice becomes increasingly whispered as the sentence progresses]. In Fireside, however, it’s all figurative.

So how much of your real self is in your lyrics and how much is just imagination?

There's no rule, sometimes there's a lot of me in the lyrics when you least expect it. I put little secrets in them. What I try to avoid is that people who listen to one of my songs say, 'oh, he's talking about that girl'. You know when you read a novel and, somehow, in your mind you see its characters with the faces of some of your friends, or your favorite actors? That's where I want to get to with my music, I want it to be like being in front of a story, not the evidence of two people with a name and a surname who are kissing. It's up to the listener to give them both a face. When I write I pretty much always have someone or something in mind, but it doesn't really matter.

How did you come up with the idea of ​​using John Cooper Clarke's words for I Wanna Be Yours?

We wrote most of the songs on this record on a four-track that I got for my birthday. I spent a while recording ideas on it, sometimes we'd loop a bass and drum melody for five minutes and the fact that it was on tape gave it an incredible color. Then I'd sit there with headphones and a microphone humming melodies, or making up silly lyrics to start coming up with ideas. One day, while I was jamming, the words I wanna be yours came out and I remembered that they were the title of one of his poems. I thought it would be cool to use someone else's words – and especially his, I'm a big fan of his. It's one of my favorite songs on the record, the lyrics alone make it different from anything we've done before. And then I love the juxtaposition of the slow, sexy, flirtatious music and his words.

The party you talk about in No. 1 Party Anthem seems a lot more laid back than the ones you’ve talked about in the past, like the house in This House Is A Circus.

That’s true, but the parties we go to are still pretty messy. They’re just twice as long.

Am I supposed to be imagining some sort of indie celebrity party?

Indie celebrity party? [Laughs.] No, no, no. The slow tempo of that song gives it a bit of a Los Angeles feel. It’s a city that I’m told is very similar to what we’re portraying on the new record, and I’m starting to think that might be true. Not that it sounds like the Eagles, you know.

It's like your sound is becoming more and more American.

Yeah, maybe. There's something special about that part of the world. Everything that came out of California owes something to '70s rock, the spontaneity of those rhythms also comes back in West Coast hip-hop. But then came the fucking '80s and… a lot of fucking bands that don't fit into that theory. I think there will always be something English in our sound, it's something we can never detach ourselves from.

How much does Sheffield still mean to what you do?

Well, you know… [he taps two fingers on a tattoo on the inside of his arm: the Yorkshire rose and underneath it the word “SHEFFIELD”].

There are three songs on AM whose titles are questions.

You don't notice things like that until you sit there and write the titles of the songs one after the other. I hadn't noticed until then, there are also a lot of wanna.

The protagonist of R U Mine? is wrapped up in a certain western imagery, you portray her as “a lone cowboy riding in an open space.” And in All My Own Stunts you talked about “watching cowboy movies on gloomy afternoons.”

I love the western style. The leather ties, the belts… Hey, look at this one I’m wearing! [He stands up and shows me his leather belt, turning his back: it has “TURNER” engraved on it, on either side of the horseshoes.] A friend gave it to me for my birthday, this year was really nice, between this and the four-track. I also love western movies, especially the ones about Butch Cassidy. I also love Ennio Morricone’s soundtracks, obviously.

How do you usually celebrate your birthdays?

They’re nothing too devastating. I have a birthday in early January, everyone is still recovering from Christmas and New Year’s, so the average response I get is usually “forget it.”

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High? brings back the drunken text messages you mentioned in The View From the Afternoon.

We've all done that at least once, come on. Those lyrics might have come off the first record, but the music is fully invested in what we're doing now. I just wanted to write something simple.

While we're on the subject: when was the last time you got bounced at the entrance of a nightclub? It's not like From The Ritz To The Rubble anymore, is it?

Shit, that was like four weeks ago! [Laughs.] We were in Stockholm, we were trying to get into an area of ​​the nightclub and there was no way we could get in.

What are those Mad Sounds you're talking about?

That song is about those moments when you put on a song and it's like it's talking about exactly how you feel. It's a song about those songs, and I hope it can become one of them. I get that feeling from some songs by Lou Reed, John Cale, or Harry Nilsson. It's like sometimes they really understand how I feel, and you're like, "What the fuck..." and you almost tell them to go fuck themselves.

The point where the song explodes is when you start singing a series of ooh-la-la-la. What is the la-la-la moment that sticks with you the most from the music you listen to?

Definitely the do-dodo-dodo-do-do-do-do from Walk on the Wild Side by Lou Reed.

By the way, who came up with the idea of ​​calling a song The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala? What does that mean?

It came up one day when we were making up names for guitar pedals – sometimes they have crazy names. The Blond-o-Sonic Shimmer Trap  would be perfect for a fuzz, for example. The Hellcat Spangled Shalalala, however, comes from a bar we hung out in a lot while we were writing the previous record. The room was full of glitter and there were a lot of weird chicks all winking, like cougars.

The lyrics to Snap Out of It revolve around hypnosis. Do you think there's any real power behind it or is it just persuasion?

I've never been hypnotised, but it all seems pretty real when you watch hypnotists on telly. There's this show in the UK where this guy, Derren Brown, gets people to do all sorts of things. Crazy stuff like, "rob someone!" Nothing I'd want to be involved with.

In I Want It All you say, “Leave me listening to the Stones 2000 light years from home.”

I’m actually a Beatles guy, no doubt. But I like them both, I saw the Stones at Glastonbury and it was great.

Don't you think it's better for a band to go at the top of their game than to keep going and going and risk having nothing left to say?

What the Stones have managed to do is really extraordinary. I mean, they're seventy years old and they're still on stage. It's very difficult to have an opinion on something like this because I don't think I've reached that level yet. I'm very excited about the new album, we've reached the point of being a good live band and, speaking as an artist, I think I've reached a certain excellence this time. I want to build on that, explore new things. We still have a lot of places to go.

I think the main difference between AM and your previous albums is the small amount of guitars.

This time we didn't want to sound like four guys playing in the same room, while that's exactly what we wanted to sound like in Suck It And See. We immersed ourselves in a more minimalist idea. The guitars are perfect, sometimes they don't even sound like guitars from the way they're played, or from the effects we put on them. They sound a bit "spacey," they would be good for the stereo of a flying saucer. Then we came out with some bass and drum parts perfect to be played at full volume through the speakers of a car. We also worked much more with the vocal lines, especially with the choirs.

There are actually a lot of songs where you put backing vocals and backing vocals, especially One For The Road.

Matt, Nick and I do them. Jamie is the only one who doesn't want to have anything to do with them. It all started with R U Mine? , the part where we all start going: [hums the backing vocals]. As soon as we tried that part we realized how good it sounded, we especially liked the fact that it was something we hadn't done before. So we just went for it.

[tinglingfuckingsensation]

Un Ami (Ennio Morricone, Daniel Beretta) || Renée Lemaire x Eugene Roe x Babe Heffron

(Translation under the cut)

Si le ciel entend ma prière, If heaven hears my prayer,

mes amis ce soir je chante, my friends tonight I sing,

pour toux ceux qui n'ont rien, rien sur la terre, for all those who have nothing, nothing on earth,

pas d'amis pour les attendre, les comprendre chaque jour, no friends to wait for them, understand them every day,

leur donner un peu d'amour. give them a little love.

Le bien et le mal se ressemblent, et les hommes s'y laissent prendre, The good and the bad resemble each other and men let themselves be taken (fooled)

Je ne sais plus quoi faire et il me semble, I do not know what to do anymore and it seems to me that hell is on earth,

Les amis qui m'entourent, des amis d'un jour. The friends that are around me, friends for a day. Le bien et le mal se ressemblent et le ciel s'y laisse prendre, The good and the bad resemble each other and heaven lets itself be taken (fooled)

Un ami reste toujours un ami quand la vie n'a plus d'amour, A friend will always stay a friend when life has no more love.

Depuis toujours ma prière c'est d'avoir sur terre Since always my prayer has been to have on earth, Le dernier soir de ma vie la main d'un ami On the last evening of my life, the hand of a friend,

Pour dire adieu a la vie, les yeux d'un ami. To say farewell to life, the eyes of a friend.

[thestrangestoneofall]

Hot take; Spy would approve of Sniper and Scout, and I have written fanfic to demonstrate. Also I will do my BEST to not butcher French

Key: Sp - Spy, Sn - Sniper

Sniper had just finished his daily ritual of sighting his various rifles, lugging his Remington on his shoulder. He heard a telltale woosh sound, like a heavy breeze blowing past him.

Behind him

He spun around-

And saw the friendly spy.

Sp: Jumpy, mon ami?

Sn: I really wish you wouldn’t do that…

Sp: Habits die hard, non?

Sn: what’dya want, snake?

Spy held out his cigarette case in offering, a solid row of bougie handrolled smokes Sniper wasn’t going to say no to. He took one, careful to not break the seal of the paper against the fabric keeping it still. Spy clacked the case shut and offered a light. Sniper craned his neck forward, but held a look of such palpable suspicion it could’ve snuffed out the match

Sn: You’re bein awfully nice

Sp: Smokes are a good ice breaker, I wanted to speak to you d'homme à homme.

Sn: Normal talk, please

Sniper took a long pull on the cigarette

Sp: I know about you and my son, bushman.

Sniper coughed through his nose, singeing his nostrils with smoke before falling into a cpugj mf fit. He waved the smoke in his face away as he found his breath again

Sn: And it wasn’t from Jeremy, was it?

Sp: Non. I knew.

Was Sniper suprised? No. He knew Spy would find out, even without the watch or the kit. He took another drag, a smaller one, blowing it off to the side as Spy took one out for himself

Sn: Yeah, guess you can’t hide anythin’ from someone good as you…

Sp: I approve, by the way.

Sniper offered him his light, Spy refused with a simple hand wave and lit another match.

Sn: Whatdya mean you approve?

Spy took a hit and held it for a moment, then breathing into the open air above

Sp: You’re not a drunk, you’re not a psychopath, and you’re patient enough to deal with him. Everyone else here lacks one of these traits. Plus, I respect a man with an eye for details

Sn: What’s wrong with Mick? He’s not that old is he?

Sp: Mikhail would strangle him by day 3. And also him and Herbert are hopeless for each other, I known it. Just look at them looking at each other.

Sn: You catch all the real small things, huh?

Sp: Oui, it is my job.

Sniper grunted as he finished the cig, tossing it down and stomping it out

Sn: Well, glad you-

When Sniper looked up spy was gone. He thought he heard the dress shoes clacking against the flooring somewhere, but wasn’t sure.

Sn: … fuckin’ snake…

[birdieardley]

HEAR ME OUT!!

Regulus "I am french" black but he's a singer. He's trans and started singing before transition and got very famous, especially in France cause he's singing in French.

And he doesn't want to come out because he's a celebrity and scared and then slowly does, with Sirius helping him (he hasn't seen his brother for years) AND WITH JEGULUS!! (James and Regulus used to date when they were young and when Regulus hadn't transitioned and then slowly get back together)

And, Regulus sings Pomme's songs:

(click on the song title to open Spotify)

Adieu mon homme (Jegulus coded)

On brûlera (him being gay)

Dans mes rêves (black brothers angst/fluff)

De quoi te plaire (him being trans, thinking James cannot love him anymore)

Pauline (James dating girls)

Je sais pas danser (him struggling with everything cause he's trans)

Chanson for my depressed love (could be bartylus breakup)

Grandiose (thinking about his life with James when he was younger)

When I c u (One of his only English songs, about James) "I miss you, I miss the sun, I love you, more than I can say" JEGULUS!!!

I could do that for hours.

Please listen and translate the songs, I swear it's worth it!!!

I'm french so it's canon btw

[hermesserpent-stuff]

Look. i love creed. but he is messy to write. he never knows what he wants exactly.

logan and him are AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Remy opens the door the the brotherhood house and makes it three steps in before he is tackled to the ground. Remy yelps and is slammed with a wall of aggression, worry and… possessiveness.? Is that even an emotion?? His brain spins as he hears sniffing and growling beside his ear.

Oh.

Sabretooth. Who… apparently doesn't like the smell of Logan. 

“Why do you stink of the runt?”

Sabretooth growls and before Remy can form a reply to the fangs that are near his ears, Logan is growling.

“Maybe because I drove him home, Creed.”

Remy feels anxiety and rage leaking from Logan and his brain feels very assaulted by the large waves of emotions that crash against him. 

“Maybe we all calm down, non?”

Remy tries to get out, squirming a bit. Sabretooth pins him a little more firmly and Remy goes still. He is not wiggling prey. He is not being strapped to a table. He is pinned by Sabretooth, who he sort of knows, and not by mental powers from a vile scientist. He takes a deep shuddering breath while the two ferals keep growling deep. he needs to achieve calm or he's gonna spark again.

Remy begins to hum, long and low. He fills his mind with his brother's singing and piano playing. He lets his body relax, letting go of all his tension. Sabretooth makes a snuffling noise. 

“Sabretooth, I'm fine. I had a bad day at school and Logan found me in the aftermath of my powers gettin’ loose. He brought me home. Don't claw him up for bringin’ me back.”

Remy says carefully and calmly. Sabretooth meets his eyes and sniffs again. Sabretooth slowly shifts back. 

“Fine.”

Remy sits up but stays sitting, looking at Logan. Logan is still tensed, ready to fight.

“Logan, do you gotta be growlin’? You stepped into his territory. Invited by me, mais he wouldn't know that.”

The teen starts swiping at the dirt clinging to his clothing. He feels a flash of confusion from both but they both back down a bit. Remy nods to himself.

“Fine.”

Logan huffs.

“Perfect.”

Remy chirps back and slowly rises up. His back hurts a bit from hitting the ground so hard.

“Did you have to tackle me so hard homme?”

Remy asks, rubbing his back. Sabretooth looks a little contrite in his eyes but gives a huffy snort. 

“Don't come home smelling like an enemy then.”

“Fair enough. You catch anythin’ today?”

Remy starts to walk towards the house. 

Logan interrupts before Sabretooth can speak. 

“Kid… Are you okay? Really?”

Remy scrunches up his nose and turns, one hand on a hip. He can see Logan looking over the old house that is a bit battered. A bit in disrepair. Remy can feel judgment rolling off of Logan. Sabretooth puffs up a bit.

“I'm fine Logan. You don't gotta be askin’ that every time you see me. Im fine. Mon petits are fine. Everythin’ is fine and I need to take a nap.”

He gently puts a hand on Sabretooth’s arm. He hopes the man will not snap at him. Sabretooth shifts a bit so that Remy is now safely behind him. Remy blinks at this. What? 

“Leave runt.”

Logan looks at Sabretooth and steps back just a small bit. Enough to be a concession but not a submission. 

“We need to talk Creed.”

Sabretooth snarls. Remy crosses his arms. 

“I'd rather fight.”

Sabretooth shifts forwards and Remy makes a noise.

“Don't you dare be fightin’ near the house!! We got a hard enough time with accidental powers goin’ off!”

Remy says, letting his irritation be heard loudly. 

“Victor.”

Logan says head bending slightly. 

Sabretooth huffs and bends his head slightly. 

“Fine. We’re just gonna talk, pup. Go inside.”

Sabretooth steps towards Logan and Remy isn't sure what is swirling off of both of them.

“Sabre’ooth?”

He asks, hesitating a little. He is not going to leave the person helping him feed the household alone with a potential enemy. Sabretooth turns his head and chuffs at him. 

“I caught some rabbits and left them in the kitchen. I'll come help you after I talk to Jimmy here.”

Remy slowly nods.

“I'm trustin’ you. Yell if it comes to blows. I’ll fight with you.”

He says, touching Sabretooth’s arm and then walking inside. 

--

Creed is a little pleased with the last thing Remy says and finds himself surprised at that. Huh. Seems like he has a pack now. One of the main reasons for his panic and rage when smelling Logan’s scent mixed with Remy’s was worry that something had happened to the pup that had taken pretty good care of him. Creed finds that he likes being looked after and having someone eat his hunts and appreciate them. And Creed knows that he hates sharing. So Logan daring to be around Creed’s newly forming pack is annoying. 

“What do you want runt?”

He growls. Logan huffs but gestures away from the house.

“Show me your territory boundaries. You are planning to stay long-term, arent you?”

The words are clipped and tense.