#i will stream better in a minute just let me loop one more time
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jmdbjk · 2 years ago
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Take Two. My song of the summer.
Let's get it!
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[hits pause] Also, JK in his motorcycle pants in the Seventeen tiktok has brought me back to this:
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Thinking about JK tooling around Seoul on his motorcycle... my brain:
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Back to Take Two... Lesss gooooo!!!!
The opening bars of acoustic guitar conjure a road trip vibe... top down/sunroof open/windows down/wind blowing through my hair freedom to go where ever. Young forever.
Hearing all of their voices blending, harmonizing, and JIMIN! His background vocals, ad libs throughout are sending chills through me all the way to heaven!! AND HIS LOWER REGISTER! We got it all.
And all of them showing up in force does my heart good...
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I truly hope this vibe is part of their future music. I think it might because I can see Yoongi playing guitar while the rest sit and sing on these stools... a live performance is coming, I just know it!
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God I miss them so much.
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gilverrwrites · 2 months ago
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idk if this is too weird or dark but I’ve been thinking about Arkham Knight Jason and Slade ruining Jason’s replacement by brainwashing her or feeding her Ivy’s aphrodisiacs, so every time one of them walks in the room, you’re ready to please them. You learn to automatically open your legs or get on your knees when you hear heavy boots approaching wherever Jason’s keeping you. Jason films a lot of it too, like when Slade will find a spot on the floor and you’ll immediately move to straddle him, grinding a little as you lean down to suck the old man’s tongue.
Related posts: one, two, three, and four.
WARNING: NON-CON/DUB-CON, brainwashing, corruption, degradation, spit. Just, these two should come with one of those toxic waste symbols on their heads.
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Oooohhhhhhhhh, Ivy’s aphrodisiacs but not telling/gaslighting you into believing it's all on you, you just want them so fucking bad. You're lucky to have them to take care of you. Your body isn't betraying you, it just knows better. It's your base instincts telling you you're not meant for heroism, you're meant for fucking these nasty, dirty men.
That's why you feel so flushed whenever they're in the same room as you, that's why you can't help opening your legs and bucking your hips when they look your way, that's why just the graze of their gloved fingers on your cheek makes you cry in frustration, makes you beg for more.
"You should be so fucking grateful, letting you ride our dicks." Jason likes to taunt, with his face buried in your bouncing tits, finger in the flesh of your hips. "Where would you be without us? Still at Batman's beck and call. Waste of a perfectly good slut."
There was a time when you would kick and scream whenever you were even left alone with Slade. He used to tease you, threatening to bind and gag you, knowing full well he much preferred the thrill of the fight, preferred taming you the hard way. Now, now he just whistles and you're at his feet like a good little bitch in heat.
"I don't think a minute goes by where you‘re not thinking about this cock being inside you. Is that right?" He'll coo as he holds you steady, cock pulsing in the back of your throat, making sure you choke on him until tears are streaming down your pretty face. When he finally lets you go, you know to say 'Yes, sir." If you want him to keep using you.
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Also, anon, I gotta say, the image of Jason filming while you grind in Slade, sucking his tongue, fingering his silver chest hair, just being a good girl for that filthy old man is sending me and has been since I read this like WHAT.
Jason jacking off to the whole display, spitting the vilest shit while you grind a stain into Slade's pant leg with your disgustingly wet pussy. “You like that, you needy whore? Old mans barely even touched you and you're creaming all over him.
Feels good, right? Letting your body do what it wants, take what it needs?
Oh just you wait ‘til I get my hands on you baby, you're not gonna know a word that isn't ‘fuck’ and ‘please’ by the time I'm done.”
Slade doesn't even care when Jason calls him an ‘old man’, not when you're sitting pretty, drooling on his fingers and begging for a good fuck.
"You look so good getting fucked like that, pretty girl." "She feels fucking good, you like that don't ya?" "Yeah! Yeahyeahyeah yeah, please don't stop." "Oh, don't worry, you nasty slut, I'm not stopping anytime soon." "Now smile for the camera bat-brat, this is going out to all of Gotham. Say 'Hi Batman!' Ha, blow him a big kiss baby."
And you're so fucking out of it from the pheromones or just, the euphoria of being bent and twisted and praised and degraded and railed just right, or whatever reason, that you do exactly that; With Jason's fist in your hair, his spit on your face, a smile on your lips. You flutter your lashes, waving limply into the lens as you say 'H-hi Batman! MuWAH!'
Shit, what if when they're not around they have all the footage Jason took playing on a loop wherever they're holding you. Intermitted with clip/photos of you pre-capture To remind you of how far you've fallen.
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4doras · 1 month ago
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friends or forever
10) she wants that cookie
✿ you and anton flirted all the time, everyone knows it’s just jokes and teasing, but what if one of you aren’t joking anymore? or, are you both?
taglist is open
a/n. MAYBE little angsty… i’m never sure about me writing other genres than fluff 😭
masterlist ✿ prev ✿ next
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more under the cut!
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you grabbed the bag of miscellaneous stuff anton left in your brothers room. “i’m leaving!” you called out to your brother.
the walk to anton’s place was a mere 10 minutes, so you decided to walk there. once you reached, you had to climb up the stairs to the 7th floor.
you knocked on anton’s door, once; no answer, twice; no answer, but a muffled noise erupted from inside, third; the noise of feet scurrying towards the door filled the whole apartment.
what you didn’t expect was that a girl would be answering the door.
“hello?” the girl said, though it seemed more like a question. it was much past the afternoon, it was way more into the night. “sorry, i’m looking for anton.” you played off any discomfort you got from seeing a girl in your anton’s house. you never felt protective over anton, especially knowing he wasn’t yours, but why did your chest tighten at the sight of a woman in his house? “oh of course, let me get him.” and the girl disappeared, looking for anton.
“y/n? i thought you were coming over tomorrow.” antons hair was messed up, his cheeks were pink, and he seemed out of the loop. how he usually looked after you two cuddled. “eunseok wanted me to drop this off, it’s stuff you left.” you handed him the bag and quickly went back to standing awkwardly in front of his door, but instead of the door, in front of him.
you were about to leave until you turned around, “also,” anton poked his head out of his door. “we don’t have to go out if you wanna stay with your girlfriend. it’s no problem, anton.” you flashed a small smile before fleeing.
your eyes were full of sadness, one blink and your cheeks would be streaming with tears. anton had a girlfriend who wasn’t you, and you couldn’t help but feel hopeless. the only person who truly loved you, found someone who displaced you. someone who was better. better than you.
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taglist: @yoursyuno @enhacolor @gacktsa @parkwonbinie @ioveritual @delinalovesenha @intakstars @ant-onie @molensworld @wonychu @nctsshoes2 @pxnklover @kcharlyy @dodot04lover @gyvnexe
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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 1 year ago
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Lights Out - Daniel Ricciardo
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<word count - 1347>
You had just been sat on the couch, watching some TV when everything shut off. The lights went out, the TV turned off and you were left in total darkness. The only light source you had was the moonlight streaming through the windows. 
The storm outside had been going on for a few hours, so you thought you'd steer clear of a blackout this time, but you were unfortunately wrong. 
You grabbed your phone from next to you and immediately turned the torch on. You didn't like the dark at the best of times, but when there was no light available to you, it scared you more than the darkness normally would. 
Sitting, paralysed in the dark with only your phone torch to comfort you, every bolt of lighting that shot through the sky sent shivers down your spine. Every rumble of thunder rumbled you as you sat there, unsure of what you could do. 
Around half an hour had gone by of you, sat in the dark, willing the power to come back on, you heard a knock at the door. This sent pure fear flooding through your veins. No one should be out at this time of night, during a storm, during a power outage. 
You walked to the door and looked through the peephole, relief instantly washing over you. With a smile, you opened the door to see Daniel stood there, a glow stick necklace looped around his neck. 
"Sorry to show up unannounced, but I know you hate blackouts and I thought you could use some company. Plus, I brought enough glow in the dark stuff to supply a whole kids party," he laughed, the wind from the storm ruffling his curly locks as he stood there. 
You let him in the house and guided him over to the couch. "OK, so, in Daniel's bag of tricks, we are starting with... Drum roll please," he said, rummaging through the bag as things rustled and clinked together.
You clapped your hands on your thighs to make the drum roll sound, and he pulled out the first of his surprises. "Now, you can match me," he smiled, handing you the freshly opened packet of glow sticks that he had brought.
Pulling them out of the packet, you used the connectors to make yourself a matching necklace, as well as a bracelet. "Here, I made you one too," you said, handing him the glowing band before cracking your necklace as it kicked into life and illuminated into different colours. 
"Why thank you," he said, slipping it onto his wrist, "Are we ready for the next item from Daniel's bag of tricks?" He asked, stuffing his hand back into the bag. 
"Always," you smiled. He'd only been there for around ten minutes, but he was already making you feel better about the storm. "Next up, we have... Beach scented candles!" He exclaimed, doing jazz hands with the candles in his grip. 
"Don't worry, I also brought a lighter," he said, setting them down on the coffee table and lighting them up. The orange flames danced in the darkness, and they lit the room up with a warm glow. "Anything else in the bag of tricks?" 
"I have these colourful torch things that my nephew left last time he was at mine," he said, handing you a few different ones with different coloured bands around the handle. Switching one on, the light wasn't the same, yellow light that torches normally emitted, it was pink.
Testing the other ones, they were all different colours of the rainbow. "I have one more thing, but I'm saving those for later," he told you, but you were already satisfied with what he had brought already. "Thanks for this, I really needed it," 
"No problem, there is no better way to spend a blackout than with my favourite person," he said, poking you in the stomach and tickling you. "Daniel, stop it," you choked out between fits of laughter. As he carried on tickling you, you could barely speak since you were laughing so hard. 
You were lying down as he leant over you, still poking you in the sides and jibing at you. 
"Daniel, please," you cried, trying to push him away, but he was too strong. In retaliation, you started poking him in the ribs as well, and he immediately doubled over and rolled off you, giving you the upper hand. 
Straddling his sides, you carried on tickling him, "OK, I surrender, I surrender," he cried, putting his hands up in defeat. "That's what I thought," you smirked, smugly. 
"Now I didn't think this was how this was going to end," Daniel winked at you, and you jumped off him, blushing profusely. You would have thought you had gotten used to his suggestive, yet playful, comments, but they still made your cheeks red regardless. 
You took a minute to catch your breath, when Daniel spoke up. "Are you ready for the final phase of my master plan," he said, leaning back on the couch.
"Of course," you smiled, and watched as he sprung into action. He went to the basket in the corner and took out all of the blankets in there. Then, he swiped all the pillows off the couch and onto the floor. Finally, he went down the corridor and into one of the spare bedrooms, raiding it of the pillows and blankets in there too. 
"Right, we're making a pillow fort," he announced, standing and looking at his mountain of blankets and pillows. You secured three corners of the massive blanket to the three corners of the L-shaped couch you had, and then used a lamp to make the fourth corner. 
On the sides, you draped over the other spare blankets to make the walls, and the rest of the blankets were kept inside the pillow fort for comfort. You scattered the pillows around stood beside Daniel with your hands on your hips, gazing triumphantly at your work.
"You got any snacks?" Daniel asked, pulling his laptop out of his bag. 
"Yeah, I'll go get them," you said, taking a candle off the coffee table to go to the kitchen and raid your snack cupboard. When you got back to the lounge, you couldn't see Daniel, but you could see the light from his computer in the pillow fort. 
You went through the curtains and saw the glow in the dark stars he had stuck on the roof of the fort. "You like it?" He asked, scrolling through his laptop to find the next movie in the series you had been watching together. 
"I love it!" you gasped in awe. It was like he had plucked the real stars from the sky and stuck them on the roof of your pillow fort. "This is perfect," you smiled, crawling through the fort and taking a seat next to Daniel on one of the pillows. 
"I try," he sincerely smiled, the light from the fake stars reflecting in his eyes. It was like the night sky had been captured in his irises. You snuggled up next to him as he started the film. "We don't have to carry on watching this, but I thought it'd be good to finish the series," he smiled.
"Yeah, it's about time we finish it," you said, resting your head on his shoulder as he draped a blanket around your shoulders and his, making you even cosier. Under the blanket, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.
Every now and then, the lightning cracked in the sky and he pulled you closer to him as you tensed up. There was nothing better than spending the worst of times with the best of people. You spent the rest of the night, watching movies and munching on snacks until dawn rolled around and the power eventually came back on.
When it did, you turned all the lights off and closed the blackout curtains to make it dark again, because you prefered the glow of the glow sticks and candles, and you didn't want to lose sight of the stars on the roof. Not yet, anyway.
A/N - This one is dedicated to the love of my life @lipringlrh, I have missed you a tonne, and I thought I'd welcome you home with a bit of Danny Ric 💖. If anyone has any requests, feel free to message me or make a submission. Love you all!
|masterlist|
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munson-blurbs · 2 years ago
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Eddie 🎸/ Farm 🐄 / water gun🔫
A lil best friend!Eddie for you, bb 💚
Warnings: none, one sex joke but that's it. It's all fluff.
WC: 867
--
“Wait, hold on,” Eddie says, putting his hands up in disbelief. “Are you saying you’ve never been on a Slip ‘n Slide?” 
“‘M serious, Eds,” you promise, fiddling with the hem of your shorts. You’re sitting up against his bed in front of the oscillating fan that’s providing little relief from the summer heat. “My mom was super strict. She took one look at Mel Gibson holding a gun in a movie poster and said ‘no way.’”
He chuckles incredulously, shaking his head. “Next thing you’ll tell me you never had a water gun fight.”
“Well…” 
“Y/N!” Eddie jumps up, mattress springs creaking underneath him. “You’ve seriously never had a water gun fight?!”
“It’s really not a big deal,” you protest, but you’re also embarrassed. Your mom never let you do anything fun, and you’d always felt left out among your friends. Even now that you’re an adult, she still tries to tell you what to do. 
Eddie remains stuck on your lack of water gun experience. “Huh,” he says finally. “We’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?” He extends his hand to help you up from the floor and you take it, a puzzled expression on your face. “C’mon, you trust me, don’t you?”
“Absolutely not.” But the smile on your face gives you away, You and Eddie have been friends for years; if you can’t trust him, who can you trust? “Now, where are we going?”
His chocolate eyes narrow and he stares at you intensely. “The seventh circle of hell!” he exclaims, deepening his voice to match his Dungeon Master persona. You’re clearly not going to get an answer from him, so you sigh and follow him to his van.
~
Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are standing in the toy aisle at Melvald’s. Eddie’s intently perusing their water gun options, tongue poking out between his lips in sheer concentration. He plucks a red one from the shelf and examines it before putting it back. “Entertech makes these battery powered ones, but I don’t see them here.” He grabs the red one again and hands it to you. “Will this suffice?”
“Sure.” You’re not a water gun connoisseur, but it seems fine to you. 
Eddie grabs the same model in blue and heads to the register. When you pull out your wallet, he gently pushes your hand away. “I got this.” He hands the cashier a crumpled ten-dollar bill and turns back to you. “Are you prepared for the most epic water gun fight this dinky town has ever seen?”
You roll your eyes but play along. “I was born ready, Munson.”
~
You’d assumed he would take you back to Forest Hills trailer park, so you’re thrown for a loop when he brings you to the farm adjacent to Merrill’s pumpkin patch. It’s quiet during the summer, with autumn obviously being their busiest season. It’s the perfect place to engage in some teenage debauchery without getting caught. Plus, as Eddie excitedly points out, they have a hose you can use to “reload your weapon.”
“Okay, assume your position,” Eddie announces once you’ve filled the water guns. “I’ll count to three and then the games can begin.” You hide behind a tree as he counts. “One…two…”
“Three!” you yell, pulling the trigger. A stream of water hits him square in the chest. You can’t help but giggle at his shocked expression. “How did you not see that coming?”
“I thought you played by the rules,” Eddie says with a pout. “I should’ve known better. Always such a troublemaker.” With that, he aims his water gun at you and sprays it over and over. He gets careless after a bit, and he accidentally gets water in your eye.
“Ow!” you shriek, lowering your weapon and covering your face. As soon as he realizes that he’s actually hurt you, Eddie comes trotting over worriedly.
“Hey, hey; you good?” he asks, tugging gently at your hand to get a better look at your eye. He’s let his guard down–the perfect time to strike. You smirk and fire back at him. “Oh, you are so dead!” he sputters, though you notice he’s more careful about where he aims.
The fight lasts until the two of you are laughing too hard to stand up, drenched from head to toe. As you traipse back towards his van, you thank him. “This was a lot of fun. Feels nice to just…let loose, y’know?”
Eddie nods. “Same. Plus, now you can tell everyone that Eddie Munson made you wet.” He waggles his eyebrows, grunting as you elbow him. “Shout it from the rooftops, baby! Eddie Munson got you soaked!”
“You’re such a perv!” you retort, contorting your face in mock disgust. Before he can refute your claim, a booming voice startles you both.
“What are you kids doing out here?” Chief Hopper shouts, slamming the police car door and hustling over. Eddie starts to walk faster, but you’re in the mood for trouble. “This is private property!”
“Sorry!” you call back. “Eddie Munson was just making me wet!” Eddie’s jaw drops open, and he practically yanks you into the van. “What?” you ask, feigning innocence. “You said to tell everyone!”
--
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itsjusthockey · 2 years ago
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Last Night In Anaheim - Trevor Zegras
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Can you believe it? My page will finally not be a Jack Hughes fan page. Keeping sending requests, I love them.
Thank you for all the love and support! You’re all so kind and it makes my night every time I get a message.
!!!!WARNING!!!!: This is not a fun fic. I wrote this as a challenge to see if I can do angst and to hurt my own feelings and I was successful. I was having a really bad week and no better time to write sad emotions then when you’re sad.
Anyway, I’m better now and there is so many happy ones coming, so don’t worry.
wc: 2,364 (credit to gif maker)(please don’t steal my work)
Please let me know your opinions. I was hesitant to post this, but I decided I liked it.
————————-
Today would be your last day in Anaheim, and that notion alone was enough to shatter your heart into a million pieces. This feeling wasn’t one you were a stranger to, and as often as it was coming around, you didn’t know if it would ever fade.
You stare hard at the bowl of cereal in front of you, staring at the few fruit loops floating in the cascade of milk and wishing you didn’t feel this way. You continue to stare until you hear the noise of Trevor getting out of the shower, and within a few minutes, he’s strolling into the kitchen, making small talk with you.
He’s not stupid, he knows something is wrong, but he thinks that it's better if he doesn’t push you. So he doesn’t. Instead, he grabs his practice bag, kisses you on the forehead, and heads out the door, promising he’ll be back soon and you’ll spend the rest of the night together.
You watch him go, and when the door slams shut, your heart cracks again.
With him gone, you start to think about him. People like Trevor don't come around often. Once in a lifetime, maybe, if you're lucky.
He’s a special type of person, who loves with his entire being, and you’re just the lucky girl he chose. You know you love him, too; you’re painfully aware of that fact. You love everything about him. You love his smile that makes your knees go weak, his laugh that you hated at first until it became utterly contagious, and his dramatic personality that is sometimes so outrageous, but you love it anyway.
Before you know what you’re doing, you’re packing. You’re not going to run away, that would be worse than what you know you have to do, but you also know better. You know that if you pack now, he won’t have time to convince you to stay.
You knew this wasn’t fair; you knew that it wasn’t his fault, and you knew that you loved him more than almost everything else. But you also knew that if you continue to love him, it was going to continue to destroy you.
You look at the clock; it’s only 3:00 in the afternoon. He’ll be back at seven. In the meantime, you’ll begin to grieve because heartbreak is an odd experience. At 4:00, you wish you could hide from the sunlight streaming into the windows. At 4:30, you feel unstoppable and decide that maybe you’re just in a slump, and this will pass. Around 5:00, you're crying in his room, silently, hoping that this won’t actually kill you. At 5:30, you're kneeling in front of the toilet because you feel nauseous. At 6:00, you grow brave again, and you feel like you can manage. At 7:00, just before you know he’s coming back; you're exhausted from this emotional roller coaster, and your brain is unsuccessfully trying to regain control. When it hits 7:15, and you hear the car door outside slam shut, you wish you could feel anything, anything but this.
When he opens the door, you’re sitting in the place where he left you, and goosebumps flood his skin. He lets the door shut behind him softly, and he takes you in. You don’t seem outwardly sad, but when you meet his eyes, he feels like he’s missed something, and he knows he’s about to pay for it.
When his eyes bore into your soul, and he picks you apart layer by layer, you can’t help but think that he’s the perfect guy, through and through.
Even so, you can’t lie to yourself; that’s just the way of things. You know that if you could try to convince yourself that the pain is just deception, the scales will balance out, but every feeling will bubble to the surface eventually.
“We need to talk.” You whisper.
It’s four words. But they hold the weight of the world, and Trevor knows it. So he drops his bag, walks over, pulls out the stool opposite you, and sits down.
When you bring your face to meet his, he sees a tear roll down. He has the urge to wipe it away, but he pushes it down as he waits for you to speak, even though he desperately doesn’t want to know what you’re about to say.
“I’m leaving.” You breathe out. “Tonight.”
His mouth goes dry.
“No,” he almost pleads. “You’re not.”
At this point, your tears are falling freely. You hate yourself for doing this, but you also love yourself enough to know this is what’s best for you and him.
“I have to go.” You tell him. “I’m falling apart, and you can’t fix me.”
At your admission, tears start falling freely from his own eyes, and rage starts to build in his heart.
“What is that supposed to mean (Y/N)? We have been so good, baby, haven’t we?”
The last two weeks play through his mind. You had come to stay with him, and he’d loved every second of having you here. He loved when he’d wake up, and you’d be curled up next to him. He loved when you were there after practice to tell him that everyone else sucked at hockey except him, he loved that you’d taken over his bathroom with all your products, and he loved that when you were here, he felt complete.
So how the fuck did he miss that you didn’t feel the same?
“Trevor.” You can see him spiraling in his own thoughts, so you pull him back to you. “I love you-“
“No.” You see his own heart breaking behind his eyes. “Don’t start. Don’t give me a breakup speech, don’t give up on us.”
“Trevor.”
“Don’t give up on me.” He begs.
A sob falls from your lips as he speaks, and you wish you could explain that it wasn’t him. It was all you. You wish you could explain that you need to figure yourself out. Because you owe it to him to love him as deeply as he loves you.
So you try, you take a deep breath, and try.
“I love you, Trevor, more than anything, but I need time to figure things out. Something,” you pause. “In my heart isn’t letting me be at peace. And you don’t deserve that. You deserve someone who knows what is happening with their own heart. You deserve someone to give you all the love you deserve, you deserve-“
“I know what I deserve, and I deserve you. Isn't that the whole point of love? Sticking with someone even when times get tough? What's the point of telling someone you love them if you're going to leave them? What's the fucking point of love if you're just going to let it go?”
His words burn, and you want more than anything to forget about this. To crawl across the table and let him hold you. Let yourself believe that he can mend the hole that has been in your heart for the last few months. You want to believe that you deserve him, that you’re it, but you can’t.
Trevor abruptly pulls himself from the table and storms in the direction of his room. You’re quick to follow behind.
He scans his room, then the bathroom, then the closet. He begins crying even harder than he realizes that everything is gone. The clothes in the closet, the products in the bathroom, the extra shoes on the floor next to his. All the things that you’d brought were gone, packed into the suitcase you had brought.
“Do you even care about me?” He asks quietly.
He knows the answer, you know he does, but he’s hurting, and he wants to make you say it.
“You know I do.” You choke out.
You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to chase off the cold and the sudden emptiness. Trevor sucks in a hard breath, then speaks again.
“Then why are you breaking my heart?"
You shrink back even further, wanting to crawl deeper within yourself. His question goes unanswered. You don’t know what to say.
Trevor doesn’t know what to say either. He knows what you both have is love, but as he is replaying the last few months, he realizes that he is seeing a perfect illusion.
He sinks to the floor, and you follow suit, sitting about four feet away from each other. You’re both so close, but you’ve never felt further apart.
“Can we at least talk about this?” He croaks.
“You’ll convince me to stay.” You whisper. “And I can’t stay. I won’t do that to you.”
The anger flares up again in his chest.
“You don’t get it.” His head snaps up to you, his eyes are red from crying, and his lip shakes. “You’re the best thing I never knew I needed.”
You both sit there and cry for what feels like hours. You don’t say anything, and neither does he.
When you finally have enough courage to speak, he beats you to it.
“I’m not letting you go tonight.” He states.
“Trevor, I-” you start.
“No.” He interrupts. “It’s late, and I’m not letting you get on a red eye or stay in a hotel room alone.”
You want to argue. The last place you want to be is with him. Just looking at him has you wishing you could wither away.
He gets up from the floor without another word and starts grabbing a few things, including a pillow and a throw blanket, from his bed and heading to the door.
“What’re you doing, Trev?” He cringes at the nickname but stops anyway.
“You can have the room; I’ll stay on the couch.”
He leaves the bedroom, and you begin crying again. You want to go back in time; you want to go back to when you weren’t a mess.
When you pull yourself from the floor, you decide the only thing you can do is get ready for bed. So you mindlessly pull out your skincare and begin your routine.
You don’t make it thirty seconds before you’re crying again. You are thinking about all the times you’ve done your night routine with him and how it was always your favorite part of your day.
It’s late when you leave the bathroom, and you listen for him outside, but it’s silent. You climb into the bed, breathing in the all too familiar and comforting scent of him, and you feel yourself sink deeper into yourself. You had spent most of the day crying, and you feel as though you have no more tears to give, but they begin falling anyway.
Soon, your whole body is wracked with sobs, and you’re trying to contain it, but you can’t. Tears are soaking Trevor’s pillows, and your world is burning down around you, but you know it’s what’s best for both of you.
You don’t hear him until he knocks, and you still.
“(Y/N).” He calls softly. “Can I come in?”
You know you shouldn’t let him, but you can’t help but feel like you owe it to him and yourself to let him in.
“Sure.” Your voice is rough, and you cringe when you hear it.
He twists the doorknob and enters the dark room, and before you know it, he’s climbing in next to you, not daring to touch you, but still there.
You both sit in silence, tears falling from both of your eyes. You think he maybe fell asleep because his breathing is steady, but then he breaks the silence again.
“Tell me I mean something to you.”
You want to scream suddenly. You wish he knew how much he meant to you. You wish he could understand that he has made you a better person in so many ways. You wish he knew there wasn’t a time when he wasn’t on your mind. You wish he knew that the distance was killing you and that you could barely breathe when he wasn’t around you. You wish knew that you loved him so fucking much, but you had to heal yourself before you broke him too.
“You mean everything.”
Silence. Nothing but heavy silence plagues the space you’re in.
A few minutes pass when Trevor speaks again.
“Can I hold you? One last time? Please.” He whimpers.
You nod in the dark, but he must’ve felt it because he’s pulling you in. His grip is iron tight on you as if he’s afraid you’ll try to leave him in the dark. He knows that you have to go, he doesn’t get it, but he knows that he trusts you. He trusts you to understand your feelings, and if you were pushing him away, he knew it was because you didn’t want to hurt him.
However, he wished that you knew that he didn’t care. He would rather be hurt by you every day than not have you at all. He wished that you knew that he would let you leave tomorrow, but he wasn’t going to let you slip away. He wish you knew that you were it for him, that you were everything.
You wait for him to fall asleep, and when he does, you let your mind wander, knowing sleep isn’t an option for you. Instead, you think about your entire relationship. Everything that you’d been through together. You hated to do this. You hated it. But it was the right thing to do.
You have to let him go.
So you will. However, you decide to let yourself have this last night. You cuddle closer to Trevor and relish in the feeling of being in his arms. You count his breaths and let yourself think, just for the night, that you’re okay. So that’s what you do; you lay there, go over every precious memory you will hold onto forever, and enjoy being here with him—this one last time.
Tonight will be your last night in Anaheim, and tomorrow you’ll leave. The very thought of that breaks your heart all over again, and you wonder, deep down, if you’re going to make it.
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ceilingfan5 · 2 years ago
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Setting Z would be really funny for Barry Bluejeans
“Hurry up and figure things out, before I get fired from a second morgue. Please?” Barry Bluejeans is near tears, or violence. Or maybe just sitting on the floor. The buttons are all very close to each other on his mental keyboard.
“The please is a nice touch,” Kravitz acknowledges pleasantly. “I don’t think it’ll work, but I appreciated it.” 
“Hush your vibes,” Taako says, putting his hands to his temples and cocking an eyebrow intensely. “I’m getting a message from the afterlife.”
“Taako, you don’t have to do the act for us,” Barry complains. “We know you aren’t psychic.” 
“Says who! I’m offended. Let me at ‘em. I’ll prove it with my hands tied behind my back!”
“Use your hands to solve the murder, maybe,” Kravitz suggests wryly. He leans against the metal of the Fridge and jumps, probably because it’s cold as fuck. Barry makes that mistake like three times a day. 
“Or don’t, don’t touch the body, I swan to John, Taako, I know I owe Lup a favor but-”
“More than just a favor, mon ami!” 
“Not bad enough to get fired and arrested in the same day!” Barry starts pacing again, you know, so he doesn’t have to spin that violence/tears/floor roulette wheel. What a variety of options he has for himself! “Your stupid act may have the cops fooled, but I’m-”
“What, a genius?” Taako puts his hands on his hips. “Look at this man.”
“Ex-man,” Kravitz suggests.  
“Oh yeah? Good for h- oh you mean dead.”
“Taako, Robbie is going to be back any minute. I can’t just have people in here! Especially,” he gives Taako a Very Serious Look Tee Em. “If they aren’t being helpful.” 
“I’m so helpful. Notice, in fact,” he gestures like he’s about to do some woo-woo psychic bullshit, but thinks better of it. “That he has been frozen.” 
“Like a corpsicle,” Kravitz suggests. 
“Kravitz,” Barry says, strained. “You’ve gotta stop. I’m going to get an ulcer.”
“Fuck you man, Kravitz is patently amusing.” Taako points a finger with intent at Barry. 
“Well, I’m about to be hilarious. Find out why our corpsicle is freezer burnt, or you’re fucking out of here.” 
“Ooh, he said fucking,” Taako whispers behind his hand to Kravitz. Kravitz snickers. Barry grips the table and gets ready to lose it, it either being his patience or his livelihood, when Taako gasps. 
“What,” Barry asks, so tersely it doesn’t deserve a question mark. 
“Peas!”
“Peas?”
“Peas.” Kravitz nods like he knows about the peas. In fact it appears that the only guy out of the legume loop. 
“E-lab-or-ate.” 
“This guy worked for the frozen food factory,” Taako says, all in a rush, bouncing now that he’s figured it out. “Oh my god, call that bitch of a cop, I’ve figured it out.”
“Tell me now! You can do your goddamn Sherlock reveal later!” 
“Oh my god,” Kravitz says. “He worked in the chicken nugget area, but he was found in the frozen peas.”
“So this could only mean one thing!”
Barry glowers at these two idiots, not least because he very much wants to be in on their Sherlock Bullcrap. 
“What?” Taako snickers. “You didn’t figure it out?” 
“You know, I do a lot for you two wingdings,” Barry starts. “After all this time, you’d think- Wait. Hang on.”
“He’s getting it,” Taako whispers to Kravitz. 
“This is great,” Kravitz says behind his hand, entirely audible. “Way better than pharmaceuticals.” 
“Hang on, fuck, hang on. This isn’t the chicken nugget guy. This man is a twin.”
“Bingo.” 
“The banker twin?”
“The banker twin.” 
“Oh my god.”
“Bingo bango, even.” 
“He froze the peas guy’s assets–”
“And the peas guy froze him.” 
“Jesus fursuit wearing Christ,” Barry says, deciding to finally sit on the floor. He can’t control the words that start streaming out of him. “You- you guys know that most deaths that come in here aren’t like, fun little mysteries? Like you’re aware it’s mostly heart attacks and shit? Like, this is entirely unrealistic, and honestly since you two have started doing this-”
“Shh, Barry,” Taako says, getting out his phone. “We’ve got a scene to pull. For fame and glory.” 
“And about a hundred fifty bucks each,” Kravitz adds. 
“Oh, it’s one hundred now,” Barry says, pulling it together enough to flash them a bitchy smile. “You want my help, you’re paying for it.” 
“Aw, damn it,” Taako mumbles. “You were right, Krav.” 
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micamicster · 9 months ago
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I Knew I Loved You Before I Met You
Have a Bucky scene! This is supposed to be the b-side to whatever much more serious story I was writing in Sam's pov (link to that snippet). As I will probably never finish these please don't take them seriously <3
Also this isn't canon compliant but Marvel isn't real you know
~
Sometimes he thinks Sam is the only good thing about the future. Sometimes he thinks that Sam’s everything good about the future. If there’s a difference between those two thoughts, he doesn’t have any better words for it.
When he’d first met Sam—well, depending on your definition, they’ve had several first meetings. By one definition he’d either ripped his steering wheel out through his windshield, yanked him out of the sky, or tried to put him through a wall face first. Bucky doesn’t really remember those ones. He just has to go off of the (obviously exaggerated and totally unreliable) versions Sam recounts when he decides to seize the opportunity offered by the question ‘how did you two meet?’ and make Bucky squirm.
If Bucky doesn’t remember it, he thinks it doesn’t count. Maybe it’s the first time Sam met him, but the first time he met Sam was during the year Sam and Steve were chasing him.
A year of drawing smaller and smaller circles around them as they sighed and fought and slept and drove and kicked the frozen rocks in the Hindu Kush or the Smokey Mountains, squinting into the sun like it had any clues to give them, anything at all. The first time Bucky met Sam, it had been through a rifle scope.
He’d met him in the air. Watched him from a hundred paces upwind twisting against the blue, soaring, looping around the sun. Sam eating tacos in the passenger side of a jeep, laughing at Steve’s beet red face and playing it off like he wasn’t coughing on the spice himself. Teaching Steve to fist bump, complete with explosion noises. Rumpled and serious over stacks of files in a diner, too late or too early for company. Dark eyes tracking bullet paths from sniper rifles he didn’t place, cautious in the face of Steve’s leaping optimism, watchful where Steve throws a wave or salute, reserving judgment. Sam.
Sam says these don’t count. Meeting someone according to Sam, who is casting himself as an authority on the subject, involves walking up to them, introducing yourself, getting their name, and shaking hands. “Two people gotta be involved! The time you watched me choke on an m&m through my bedroom window and didn’t even intervene, ain’t meeting, Boo Radley. It’s called stalking, and I’m adding it to your rap sheet.” Sam marches over to the poster paper hanging off the bathroom door and scribbles on it.
Bucky follows him, glowering. “By that definition, I’ve never met anybody.”
“By that definition,” Sam mimics. “Man, don’t give me that poor-little-orphan-boy act. What, they didn’t have handshakes in the 30s? Didn’t have names? ‘Never met anybody,’ You’re so full of shit.”
“Never met anybody important,” Bucky concedes, for the sake of the brief moment where Sam blinks at him. Sincerity always catches him off guard. Bucky has to be careful not to overuse this tactic or risk diminishing returns, but it’s worth it for his startled, wide eyes, the barely noticeable hitch in his stream of words.
In that moment of silence he leans over Sam’s shoulder to read the additions to the list. Stalking, and Watched me coughing for a full minute and didn’t break in to give me the heimlich. “I thought you were for prison abolition.”
“I’m not asking for jail time, I’m asking for reparations. I coulda died, man!”
Bucky lets his face go dour and gloomy in response to the teasing, a look that never fails to increase Sam’s enjoyment of a situation.
“Look out, Eeyore,” he says gleefully. “Your face might stick that way.”
“Too late. It froze like this in cryo.”
Sam’s delighted cackle is loud enough to attract Natalia’s attention, and Bucky carefully suppresses his reaction—his face might look blank and intimidating to others, but Tasha can pick out a mockable emotion at a hundred paces.
Her attention is enough to distract Sam, rerouting him into the kitchen where he starts fussing with the coffee pot. Bucky trails after him to hover silently in the doorway like an Eeyore balloon at the Thanksgiving Day Parade, avoiding eye contact with Natalia. She thinks she’s so fucking funny.
Good things about the future: Drunken noodles from Royal Siam with fresh basil and lime, extra spicy the way Sam orders it on movie nights. Losing at spades to Sarah and Cousin Jay, Sam blaming him for their downfall every hand of the game. Cass facetiming him from the kitchen table in Delacroix, history homework all spread out in front of him, both of them ignoring Sam shouting, ‘amnesiac, A-M-N-Something-S-iac, definition ‘he don’t know shit,’  you’re better off trying wikipedia,” from the couch.
“Man, just ask me.” Sam doesn’t bother turning around, but his amusement is palpable in the set of his shoulders, the back of his neck.
He sighs. “Who’s Bo Rad Lee”
The crinkle at the corners of Sam’s eyes, when he wears his smug stupid face. That’s a good thing about the future.
~
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writingmochi · 5 months ago
Text
an honest review of romance: untold purely from musical observation (not proofread because i'll post the proofread on rym n aoty)
opening remarks: hiyya! so i'm only posting this here cause i know that if i post late then it will not be relevant lol just make this an outlier. live update: it's going well. pretty productive when it comes to writing and others so i think not posting is a good thing in a way that it calms me to focus on other things.
okay, so, i'll be starting the opening remarks by genuinely saying that this album concept is all over the place. from the action concept short movie, to the romance reversed-to the boys i love before concept, to the title track being produced by jvke. yes, the golden hour singer jvke that i heard that song so much i'm actually tired from hearing it (sorry...) i actually have a theory as because two of the last covers made by enhypen are jvke songs and it's a weird coincidence that they decide to have a song produced by jvke after it and they all took time to coordinate, so maybe it is planned? hmm
anyway, i've heard the snippet of the song in two times speed when i listen to the medley on youtube + the first 10 secs of xo. so i have some sense of what it will be. honestly, i don't have that big of expectation for this release cause i'm tired of seeing kpop idols making comebacks, especially with enhypen cause they still haven't finished the fate+ tour :( also it's ridiculous just how many of the songs are under 3 minutes istg at least make it sound completely like aespa's supernova
cause i don't wanna be a debbie downer, let's get to it!
1.moonstruck: the title is actually beautiful like ngl it's surprising that there is not a kpop song with this title (another one of my favorite song titles this year is ten's nightwalker and i have expectations about that song.) good first impression on it imo
sonically, i actually expect this type of song when remembering the concept trailer they did. a love song that seemed to transcend space. this song is the type of song i expect from the dark blood album, especially with the regality concept and this sounds regal. that fading ending is such a cop out honestly. should've just finished with like a big outro to make a better first impression of the album (cause it is an lp, not an ep). i can acknowledge that it is captivating, but the beat is too stagnant for it to capture and hold my breath in a way. good song but could be better especially towards the ending, like making it a reprise of the intro is good enough, not a fade out :( on second listen, the beat reminds me of a much ethereal version of closer by nine inch nails and i think taking the electronic elements of closer to make the ending much more intriguing could be good, or just a guitar solo at the end cause i hear a few guitar melodies a few layers down the instrumental
2.xo (only if you say yes): hug and kiss, huh? good to know that they consider my consent lol
this is a title track? what? no, really i'm genuinely baffled. okay, also funny that i mentioned consent in the line before to then be met with a lyric of "don't say no" from the song *eyes*
i can hear the jvke influence on the song, the bedroom synth-pop type of song that is played in that 24/7 chill playlist live stream on youtube, especially with the synth color. they seem to try to mimic a vocoder effect by splicing the os in xos. i do like the vocal mixing of the members here but i think how rhythmic the instrumental is makes it fade back until there is a few punches of the synth melody line. heeseung's vocal timbre tho fuck yeah fucking sexy. and it seems that all members have a pretty fair distribution cause i can catch every voice.
but what is that fade out at the end? istg this song is made to loop or some shit (which is the way i'm listening to it currently) but ngl, for a song that is a love song that is trying to convince me to kiss them, it hasn't convinced me fully. gosh i would love to hear more of the synth breakdown at the end and make it like a full bridge before another chorus enters; embrace the electronic jazz feeling of the song! imo this song has the same premise of replay by shinee but it's anti-climactic. like for real, you don't convince me to allow you to kiss me @ enhypen. also on the fourth listen, i am actually already getting tired of this song, fuck me.
3.your eyes only: "for your eyes only~ only for y-" sorry ekhm i had to sing the james bond theme out loud cause it is one of my fav bond intro song lol. i'm straying. let's continue lol
wow, this song is SHORT! 2:20 wow. i'm laughing cause i love the vocal inflections that they are doing. like their half-ass direction for the vocal is making it more fun for even a short song. but the mixing, for real, it's messy like the high eq on that drum can be lower so that it doesn't create friction when i'm listening to the song. like i think there is an interesting thing at the back of the instrumental, especially with the guitar and bass but the drum mixing is too loud that it doesn't let me hear the string sections and instead just makes this wall of instruments. i can imagine this song going places ijbol but hmm... okay. also a proper outro not a fade out! that's a plus for me
4.hundred broken hearts: ooh the 80s new wave synth is back, tho a bit slower than the usual new wave like a flock of seagulls or tears of fears.
the song feels quick even with the slower bpm, maybe because it's just repeating the verses and choruses. it is a definitely sadder version of blind from their dark blood album. i like that the bass in th songs has this wrap effect (it creates this womp womp type of effect). the guitar strumming with the high synth sprinkles creates this funk aura to it. i also like the vocal mixing here and i can hear every member's voice perfectly without it sinking into the instrumental. though, this is something with their b-sides recently, and what i believed that they've been inheriting more and more by making a song that feels incomplete especially that freaking fade out outro like ughh make a good impression about the outro ffs. unless the album is a concept album with in between song transitions that make sense, fade out on a track doesn't make sense unless the song told me it makes sense and it is not. stop :((
5.brought the heat back: from the title, it seems like a summer song. from what info i got from a billboard video promoting this album, it seems to be a disco song. let's see how accurate it is.
ooh this song's good. this song's good! i like how it is mixed, the headphones panning of the instrumental and on sunghoon's voice in the bridge. tho i don't consider this as disco, i could consider more as synth funk in a way. the producer really told them to have fun with this song and, genuinely, i am having fun, especially with those little synth breakdowns in the post-chorus. i know that it is possible for an under 3-minute song to still make it completely. they also are doing the vocal chopping that they've done in xo but this one has a purpose in being a substitute of the synths and guitar as the percussion beat change to be a bit of trap beat.
that sudden stop in the last chorus. i love that it was spoiled between the post-choruses and verses, so the listeners aren't surprised. and then a more emphasis on the bass in verses to increase those funk feelings. i also love how the song gradually rises towards that explosion of the last chorus and outro. truly, one of the best b-sides of theirs from their past 3 releases. this song is like a combination of upper side dreamin and go big or go home, but mixed better.
6.paranormal: okay a hyper-pop-punk-trance hybrid about paranormal love what the fuck?
the synth of this song's verse has the same color and textures to the ones i heard from disasterpeace (especially since i just finished hyper light drifter and it is eerily similar to the synth used in its soundtrack), which i like so much cause it has that certain crunchiness to it. i also like how this song has a freaking outro yay! that's a chant-like outro in the end that seemed to be led by sunoo cause that's the voice that seems to be put in the middle. the percussion seemed to take the lead during the chorus that it stacks on top of the guitar line, which i would love to hear more. but with how it is made. i do think the pop-punk aspect of the song is meant to be dimmed so it can make it more trance. imo, it's a good text painting to the song especially with the idea of paranormal as something outside of normal. like the guitar is meant to be that paranormal thing that is trying to seep into the normalcy of the trance beat, especially since i have also associated the synth color used in the verse with fantasy and supernatural courtesy of disasterpeace who makes soundtracks to a horror supernatural movie like it follows.
7.royalty: we are getting the funk back with this song, though more upbeat than hundred broken hearts and it returns back to the songs like your eyes only.
i do like the guitar chords, but when you hear the same 4 chords in varying volume levels, i'm gonna feel bored. idk why but this song reminds me of a maroon 5 songs as it has the same poppy type of vibes to it, especially with it having a bit of tropical essence to it. i also don't like the repeating part in the chorus like it feels forced imo. other than that, i don't have anything to say cause it is a pretty typical summer-like song that is meant to be a piece of background music when you ride a car or something. it doesn't electrify me like brought the heat does as it is a bit more mellow.
8.highway 1009: okay fan song with anniversary dates (i see you too star 1117)
ngl i don't really like a song that is forwardly promoted as a fan-song cause, honestly, they're gonna sound the same. the same sappy type of song. and this song perfectly captures the sappiness of what i mentioned. i also heard the engene surrogate part for the song. i know this song is meant to be put in concerts. but, tho i don't like sappy fan songs, sometimes they have this hopeful undertone to it (think bts' we are bulletproof: eternal and svt's thanks). but i think the song is sappy for the sake of it being a fansong. good and complimentary in lyrics but mediocre in instrumental. like, i don't think that this song could stand alone as a song without mentioning that making it a fansong is the thing that makes it special.
and of course for the fansong, every member participates in lyrics. but i didn't expect to see heeseung in the producer seat in this song. so a round of applause to him cause producing a song is hard and i acknowledge it. i could hear a few of hee's types of music and i can interpret what he meant by fansong through this. so yeah...
9.xo (only if you say yes) (eng. ver) ft: jvke [long-ass title]: so as i'm writing this, it is day 2 of me listening to the song since it's release yesterday, and where i hear xo for the first time. the xo ooo part got stuck in my head, but only that part. so i can be addicting but only that part, idk about the other so...
of course, with jvke being here, he has the verse to himself. of course, it is his song tho cause he gets the royalty of it. tho i like the english lyrics better especially the difference between "don't say no" to "don't let go", which is in the same vein of "uh you say that you only do that when i say yes? but here you are pushing my boundaries" and it is not forwardly pushy like the korean version. it actually makes me wonder if kpop idols could make a song outside of love songs or flex songs cause that's the only song (especially hybe artists) can only make...
also, i'm not one for music videos anymore (unless it captivates me like the new aespa mvs), so i've seen gifs on it on tumblr and the choreography scenes seem so out of place like it is just a place to showcase the stage outfits they're gonna wear throughout promotion eras.
closing remarks: when i think more about the concept and how it, along with the songs, seems to scatter around and only have little cohesion with it mostly have romantic songs. i realized the reason why it makes me think that way: pandering.
this comeback is trying to pander to every type of engene out there. from those who like soft songs, the ones who can't move on from dimension: dilemma (aka me), to those who likes dark blood with a song like moonstruck, one of the concept photos, and the concept trailer. in a way, it makes every fan feel seen yet it makes their artistic integrity much looser, especially with their concept hopping. and it's interesting that the most pandering comeback they've done has a main theme of romance.
having been on tumblr as a writer and looking from a helicopter view of the kpop sphere, i do believe that engene is one of the most delulu 4th gen kpop fandoms out there and it's pretty creepy to think about that belift sees that and decide to "yup, let's make a come back pandering to that. let's each and every type of engene delulu" but it loses the sense of cohesion between the songs. like what does the comeback want it to be?
in my humble opinion, xo is the weakest enhypen title track i've heard (currently a tie with blessed-cursed). the inclusion of it as a title track is ridiculous. i rather let this comeback into the same model as what aespa and newjeans did: make xo a pre-release to the album and make the title track different. or make xo its own single like txt's back for more. i think that because it has the inclusion of jvke aka #325 musician in the world based on spotify, makes it title track worthy and, i hate to break it to you, it's not. it's also interesting how enhypen's song is also trying to pander to the 5th gen fans, making it more dreamcore where many of the fans i know would love to hear more of the artists who don't chase trends like kiss of life or riize.
i also think that the enhypen brand is also losing its sense of self with the last few comebacks. it especially saddens me knowing that they have one of my favorite debuts of all time yet they still seem to change the foundation of what their group wants to be. enhypen brand is to connect with people, and then what? i think the word "pandering" that i mentioned plays a lot of role in enhypen as they seemed to pander to what the fans would like, they seem to pander for western validation like what hybe artists are doing, they seem to pander to any concept that seems to benefit them and is trying to tie up the vampire concept into that, like make it make sense. is the vampire concept supposed to be set in a world like real life? if they have powers in their webtoon, why do they use guns to fight their enemies?
overall, i think is a pretty okay comeback. lots of the songs feel like fillers but heeseung tho. heeseung's vocals are so sexy like he is rising to be my favorite enhypen vocalist besides jay. like hmm scrumptious.
final ranking:
8.xo (only if you say yes): underwhelming as fuck (mid 4/10)
7.your eyes only (low 5/10)
6.moonstruck: promising yet doesn't reach its maximum capability (low 5/10)
5.hundred broken hearts: embrace the new wave ffs (mid 5/10)
4.royalty: we want more funk! (high 5/10)
3.highway 1009: like the instrumental, very stagnant tho (low 6/10)
2.paranormal: good to know i have a enhypen fic with a playlist including disasterpeace *eyes* (high 7/10)
1.bring the heat back: more of this! omg omg omg (mid 8/10)
overall release score: 6/10
small conclusion: i sure do have expanded my music palatte so much that i could pinpoint the genres they're doing
so here's more songs you might like if you like these certain tracks:
moonstruck: closer by nine inch nails (mature and sexier and very much explicit)
xo: replay by shinee (same premise lyric-wise), velours by anomalie (the song has a bit of jazztronica influence to it and, ngl, heeseung will devour this type of music)
hundred broken hearts: the killing moon by echo and the bunnymen (pretty slow new wave)
brought the heat back: cosmic girl by jamiroquai (i realize that the synth in brought the heat has some acid jazz influence so here is a funky acid jazz song)
paranormal: title and the last general by disasterpeace (for the synth texture), space mulan by bebe yana (for the hyperpop trance), pluto by xdinary heroes (for the pop-punk)
highway 1009: moving on by bts (ngl pretty similar imo)
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popculturebuffet · 1 year ago
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September Striketacular! (Last Exit To Springfield, Canada on Strike, Lucky Strike and Blue Collar Scrooge Reviews( Comission for WeirdKev27)
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Hello all you happy union supporters and welcome to a very special event for this labor day weekend in honor of those brave souls in the WGA and SAG who are striking right now to create a better future for media: The SEPTEMBER STRIKETACULAR!
For those of you somehow out of the loop, Back in May the WGA went on strike for the understandable asks of better wages, better residuals for their work in the streaming era, and limits on AI to prevent Studios from using them as half assed replacements. Naturally this being Hollywood, the CEOS all bellowed no from their stygian towers and it was strike o clock.
Things esclated in July when SAG-AFTRA, already fully supporting the strike since it started and having similar needs, went on strike. Since then it's been mostly a stalemate. AMPTP has gone to the bargining tables a few times, but mostly with offers that don't even attempt compromise and attempted to shame them into accepting said offers. They've also flat out said they want to drag it out till "People start loosing their apartments and houses"
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Thankfully unlike the previous writers strike, this one.. is working. While AMPTP is digging their heels in like the spoiled chlidren they are, support seems to be pretty much unanimously in favor of the striking workers. Not only that SAG has gone out of it's way to encourage it's wealthier members to donate to the strike fund to allow the members living on a more paycheck to paycheck basis to not "loose their houses and apartments" with The Rock giving a 7 figure statment. The AMPTP tried a counter narrative of it being wealthy elites.. and it seems to have utterly failed. All the blame on any delays in production and any possible content droughts.. is on the AMPTP.
So with AMPTP not seeming to give up the ghost any time soon, Kev had the brillliant idea to look at a bunch of episodes centering around strikes, letting me do most of the choosing while he made with the money. So I choose ones that fit the themes of this strike. So join me as I go thorugh some classic episodes of Simpsons, Ducktales, and Daria and a classic-ish episode of South Park to disect this strike, why i'ts important while also spotlighting some good episodes. And honestly while october is mostly full and november is getting that way, if this goes on i'll defintley be doing this again. Probably not as well made but frankly if AMPTP drags this shit out past halloween as they plan, they deserve the mockery. Four fresh and full reviews under the cut!
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Last Exit to Springfield (The Simpsons) Last Exit To Springfield is an episode that for the longest time.. I never wanted to rewatch. See as a kid my little brain focused mostly on the braces part of it, and thus Lisa being forced into clunky awful braces, tormented by her doctor and told by a camera man "there is no god" and was likely a depressing slog. I foollishly assumed for YEARS chlid me was right and avoided it when possible.
So what changed? Simple, another critic. A few months ago I got introduced to simpsons youtuber TheRealJims via one of fellow youtuber ToonrificTariqs videos. Once I checked him out I was hooked on the guys positve nature, great takes and deep dives into simpsons, from showing the history of characters, to digging into weird questions like "who REALLY shot mr burns" and "what's up with Kearny's age?", to just reviewing episodes.
I mostly either agreed with his takes or could at least respect them... until we got to season 4 with one that puzzled me due to my childhood biases: he ranked Last Exit #1, citing it's rapid fire humor..a nd also revealing da lot of simpsons bits I truly loved, including one of my all time faviorites:
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Just this two minute scene alone from HOmer's confused tone, to him repeating it despite it being pretty clear from context what a hired goon is, the guy straightining his tie and of course burn's justification of "I prefer the hands on touch you only get with hired goons". So with this new info I decided to at least give it one more try. And as you can probably guess by the fact it's in this collection, I did a full 180, crazy, thinkin bout the way I was.. and more importantly the years I wasted not watching this episode multiple times a year. Last Exit went from one of my most hated episodes to one of my personal faviorites.
Does this mean the dentist stuff played better to a 30 year old me versus baby boy me?
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I got a few laughs this time: I love how all the dentists tools are horribly named and how casual he was about it, the laughting gas thing is fun and the book of british smiles is stupid enough to wrap around to being funny. I also absolutely loved the refrence to the burton batman film. So great.
But the stuff with LIsa herself.. still didn't work for the most part. Or marge, as the guy shouting LIAR to the nicest character in the show because she.. lied about her baby using a pacifier, isn't QUITE funny enough to make the bit work. Likewise his projection of lisa's teeth if she dosen't wear braces is needlessly mean. One of the co writers REALLY hated his orthdontist and it finally made all of this make sense. It's just not very good.
I will share some fun trivia I got from this episodes oral history though: they approached two diffrent guest stars for it: the first was Clint eastwood whose exact response was "Hell No". I half assume they brought up Paint Your Wagon years later out of spite. Or because they love gay polyamorus cowboy icons, Whose to say?
The other is more intresting and was more game, Psycho's Anthony Perkins. He was totally on board, but his failing health sadly meant he died before they could get it all worked out.
The thing is though while Lisa needing braces sets off the plot and gives homer a reason to get involved at all, it's not a huge part of the episode. We get a photographer responding to her smile with "There is no god" later, which I gotta admit has grown on me for the deliver and lisa joining in the protest sans braces, but it's mostly there for setup and to give the episode some emotoinal weight: We care about the strike because we care about lisa. It's why the episode needs it's weakest part: because nothing else would work as well without geninely weight behind homer's fight.
The real meat is the core conflict: the head of the union has mysteriously been buried in a football field somewhere, so Burns, being what your standard greedy ceo acts like when no one's looking, wants to gut their benifits starting with the dental plan.... just as homer needs it. So Homer, after taking a bit to put "Dental plan!" "Lisa needs braces' "dental plan" "Lisa needs braces' "Dental Plan" "Lisan needs braces" together into the right conclusion, ends up becoming head of the union despite it paying nothing.. unless your crooked (Woo-hoo!)
Really from the moment Burns enters musing on a childhood where his grandfather could have a boy taken away for stealing "atoms", and with said boy having warned him about uninons ("If only we'd listend to that boy instead of walling him up in the abandoned coke oven") , this episode pivots from depressing story of lisa getting braces, to one of the series finest farces. It's really a looney tune if bugs bunny was too stupid to notice anything happening to him.
As a result the episode is DENSELY packed with jokes. We have classics such as "Now do classical gas!" , "first thing tomorrow I'm gonna punch lenny in the back of the head!", "The blurst of times?!", "Where's my Burrito?!" (A personal faviorite), "it was the style at the time", along with less noted gems like Homer's weird Godfather fantasy sequence ("Mmmm organized crime"), Marge's hair getting chopped off by burns hellicotper, burns really needing to stop ending with the basement, homer being so clueless he assumes Burns trying to butter him up is Burns hitting on him, and what' sbecome my faviorite joke of the episode...
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Every second of this is gold and it's hard to decide if homer screaming and then cheering or burns getting an "opneing tirade" nad his casual response of "yes thank you kent.
And this bit also underlines how well the episode gets labor disputes. It has some rough edges, the frequent mob allusions, the idea that most uninons are crooked, a lot of that is horribly out dated. But the core of it works: Burns isn't cutting benefits for any practical reason, he's cutting them to save them an extra penny; this whole strike, the money lost, burns various backfiring attempts to stop it, is simply because, like the current strike, someone wants to greedily horde money and the workers simply want want's fair. Burns tries most common strike tactics: breaking it up, sending goons to break it up, trying to make threats to the public at large. And while this being the social media age the former two aren't really in the AMPTP's book , Paramount at least trimmed a tree to take away shade from the strikers, while the "starve them out" tactic is just as petty. It also gives us even MORE great gags from Burns hose mishap, to him and smithers having a dandy time togehter as they run the plant, to the afformentiond abe simpson rant of legend. Burns is potrayed as cartoonishly evil.. but it speaks to the episodes strength that none of it is out of the bounds of reality for a change. Even trying to replace them with "loyal robot workers" is exactly the kind of threat the AMPTP is striking against. So yeah Last Exit is both a fantastic episode in it's own right.. and a great episode on unions that's held up well. Now for one that hasn't exactly held up so good.
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Canada on Strike (South Park)
Canada On Strike is an intresting one as it's the only one of today's episodes directly about a previous strike.. and said strike is one that's vitally important to the ongoing one. COS was Matt and Trey's commentary the 07-08 writer's guild strike, the predecessor to the current one. And while South Park has had episodes that's incise takes were AHEAD of their time (the brittnay spears episode), or who despite the direct subject still have plenty of relevance (The bar), Canada on Strike falls into the category of "Has aged aabout as well as hot cheese on a glacier being set adrift because it's not your friend guy". It's not "Reinforcing harmful myths about trans women using a randy savage parody" bad mind but it's a reminder that while Matt and Trey sometimes hit an issue right on the head and do it perfectly like any person they can really, really fuck up. Also not remotely fun fact: i wasn't kidding that really is the episode.
In this case Matt and Trey , while sympathetic to the writers involved.. were not at all on board with the 07-08 writers strike, and outright said their concerns were overblown, particularly wanting residuals for internet content... after having just made a large deal for future streaming residuals for THEMSELVES long before streaming was viable, which still pays off to this day.
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Creators were aware the internet wasn't FULLY monitizeable yet, but with itunes and amazon starting the digtial episode market, they could see it was the future. And given we now live in a world with about 80 streaming platforms and where family collectively subscribes to NINE as of this article, not to mention countless free ones and on demand services like Vudu, they were right on the target. As said in a speech by writer Harold Gould.
Soon, when computers and your TV are connected, that's how we're all going to watch. Okay? Those residuals are going to go from what they are towards zero if we don't make a stand now. ...
And you know what THEY DID. I know part of this is hindsight, but the fact remains they knew exactly what they were fighting for... and had to fight for it again. And even then they were also fighting for DVD residuals which were a bigger industry then and still exist enough to have been worth fighting for now. Matt and Trey were talking.. straight out of their ass thinking this was a fight over nothing.
Instead they portray the rest of the strikers (here as candains) as people caught along on the tides who just want to get back to work instead of people fighting so they can get paid fairly for work, and the leadership as a cluless asshat , steve abootman who has no idea who he's fighting for. The ONLY thing they get right is that the amptp, as one scene has the World's Natoins wondering if they can make otowa into an amusement park once everyone's dead from exaustion and hunger. Matt and Trey aren't REMOTELY sympathetic to them.. but their not to the strike itself either, just the people involved.
The other part of the plot.. is just horribly dated. The boys do a viral video based on a real viral video, aforementioned what what in my asshole, to get money only to get nothing. A bunch of dated at the time and even more dated now memes figh tto the death, our heroes get nothing, and matt and trey don't understand that montization from films and shows that were being SOLD online is diffrent from monetization of free content, which didn't exist yet and weirdly lump them together. The more I think about this episode the worse it gets and that's NEVER a good sign. I can only hope that like they've done in the past with Manbearpig, they make an episode that's an apology for this one.. and that transphobia shit. Seriously
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This episode is an important cautionary tale though: because I watched it as a teen and didn't know that creators could be *gasp* wrong about things, I assumed they were right and the wga strike failed on it's own merits. It's a dangerous thing to put an idea out there when you know young people are watching and might belivie it. Just saying. IT's worth it if you can do it right.. but you have to or you'll just end up hurting people in the future.
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Lucky Strike (Daria) And now we've gone from an episode I used to hate and absolutely love, to an episode I used to like but now hate.. to an episode I loved before and was reminded why I loved it so much.
Fun Fact: This was one of the first episodes of daria I ever saw See I got into the show via finding the first movie and the thing I keep missing the chance ot cover most, Daria: Is it Fall Yet?, which had two bonus episodes that helpfully set up the film and it's sequel Daria: Is it College Yet? that one ALSO had two bonuses, if a bit looser linked. Lucky Strike was one of them.
Why is this important? WHy didn't I just watch the seris in full? Well ti's simple: I couldn't. I didn't know you could find stuff like this online, and the dvds hadn't come out yet. I know because I got the complete series with some of my high school graduation money. I still own it. SO all I had were recaps online and these 4 episodes and 2 films.
And honestly while Lucky Strikes work even better with 4 seasons wroth of build up to it's conclusion.. it was a great early episode to watch on it's own and is one of Daria's best. Hands down. Rewatching it reminded me of so many great jokes.
Loudspeaker: Attention Lawndale Students! Jane: Is that the voice that tells me to kill and kill again? Daria: No. Satan's voice is lower and has a british accent.
The episode itself follows a teachers strike and shows it off really well. IT's probably the best teacher's strike i've seen in a cartoon and most strike episodes are teacher's strikes. It's a high bar. It points out how those in charge can deny a fair proposal.. simply because they don't want to. Ms. Li, the school's principal and money hungry tyrant, tries to bribe the teachers with a new coffee machine instead of a fair 5% raise. What helps the episode is like Mr Burns.. Mrs. Li is portrayred realistically for a company head despite being over the top petty for comedy purposes. If you haven't seen Daria, Mrs. Li is a horribly greedy person whose worried more about avoiding a lawsuit or getting the school, and herself, money than actually FUNDING said school or helping the students. Highlights of her dickery include: Punishing Daria for NOT selling Choclate to a woman who had severe health issues, forcing Mr. DiMartino, lawndales super stressed teacher and as we learn here union rep, to go on a casnio night the school was having despite having a gambling problem and him TELLING her this, selling the school out to a soft drink company, and finally at the top of season 2 censoring Daria and Jane's piece on anorexia then trying to punish them both for breaking in and vandalizing it. I saved that one for last as while ti's one of the earliest.. it also has one of Ms. Li's bigger compuances and one of the series finest moments.
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So the episode both does a good job from context (the coffee machine dosen't even seem that fancY), and from history telling us "yeah she has the money she just won't pay it" just like the AMPTP, and just like them tries to villanize the striking teachers for darring to.. want actual money for having to deal with the kind of students who go to lawndale. It's a fair request. Ms. Li just won't pony up. It also heavily focuses on something the other episodes don't: scabs. South Park has a one off gag about scandivanivans I honestly forgot and simpsons just has smithers and burns do it in an entirely wholesome and hilarous montage. Here we see the scabs effect on the school.. and it isn't really good for the most part. Daria's class gets an elderly woman who calls her Darlene instead because Daria "Sounds like a hippie name" and seems to think she's teaching kindergarten, and is so out of it she FORGETS Darlene isn't daria's actual name when Daria leaves when called on the loud speaker ("I'm going to get daria"). I do love how she calls kevin QB thanks to his catchphrase though. Admitely I was worried this character would grate.. but forgot she's really only in about 2-3 minutes of episode total so she's there JUST long enough to work.
The other teacher... is just plain creepy and pathetic. We have Ken for Quinn's class. Ken is a pedophile. Him trying to groom tiffany is played as a joke. That said.. I do like that it , intetnionally or not, serves as a deconstruction for this kind of character in teen shows like this: in many , as iv'e found out via various retrospectives and watching them with my own eyes in some cases, have the pedophile teacher as a cool guy talking about game stop who woos one of the characters and is treated sympathetically.
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Here Ken TRIES to be that.. but the fashion club don't take to it: Sandy is annoyed, Quinn dosen't get what's happening and Tiffany, who he's directly trying to groom.. is Tiffany, so dense no light can get through to her and thankfully no pedophiles. The scene itself is INTENDED to be funny but is just uncomfortable. While ti's mildly played for laughs that just don't work anymore, I can still respect that they throughly treat ken as a creep, treating his pedophila as
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The next scene however is comedy gold. The Morgendorfers have dinner and Daria's Mom helen is doing what she tends to do when Quinn talks about her day unless i'ts plot relevant: Just kinda goes mhmmm. What makes the scene work though is as Daria hears the story she gets up... so that by the time we get to "Ken" stroking Tiffany's hair and Helen FINALLY getting the memo that "OH SHIT MY DAUGHTER'S BEING TAUGHT BY A PEDOPHILE AND HER FRIEND COULD BE GROOMED AND ASSAULTED" she ask sfor the phone.. and daria has it at the ready. It's just such a nice visual gag I tried to do it justice but can't. It also just works because Helen.. takes it super seriously and it shows how all too easily a parent can miss the signs of grooming. It also shows how this shit should be handled: the fucker needs to be sacked and Ms. Li does.. then goes further down the moral sewer as she not only clearly only did it for a lawsuit.. but tries to BLAME helen for doing it. "We wouldn't be in this fix if it wern't for your mother" "Yeah. Hire one pedophile and she gets all bent out of shape"
This leads to what the episodes REALLY about and what the strike was really for: Ms. Li asks daria to be a scab teacher for Quinn's class. She refuses at first, as anyone should.. but eventually buckles because it'd make Quinn miserable. She's still sympathetic though: she gives the class her best despite having every reason not to and she's 17 at this point. OF course she'd priortize bugging her sister over striking and it's nice that none of her teachers really seem to hold it against daria. Plus frankly if Daria refused Mrs. Li woul dlikely of found some way to try and railroad her into it anyway. As you heard when Helen evicerated her Daria undeerstandably wanting to withdraw her work was met with a hell no.
The result is pure comedy gold. Helen and Jake don't really object: Helen is happy Quinn now has access to her teacher 24/7 and Jake, my boy and sharer of the name and the stress and anger issues, is happy to have model train time. God bless this trainwreck of a human being. We also get Daria adressing her as "Class" at breakfast just to piss quinn off and threanting to fail her for funsies.
That said Daria DOES take the job seriously.. or as seriously as Daria can at this point in her life. THat is to say we still get even more comic gold with my faviorite being who she refers to Jamie, Joey and Jeffy, three meatheaded jocks who take turns dating quinn and fighting over quinn, as "Jamie, Joey or Jeffy" no matter which one she speaks to. Which
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I can't either. I could look it up but they only LOOK diffrent. They don't act diffrent. We also get some nice bits here and there like one of the j's actually impressing her with his interpretation mercutio was into romeo ("Even if your thoguhts on keeping him out of the shower were a little close minded) and figuring out their talking romeo and juliet in the first place because he describes Romeo as a stalker. The real meat character wise though is with Quinn, daria's sister. For those less familiar with the show, from the first episdoe to this point, Quinn has always come up with some excuse for who daria is: her cousin, foreign exchange student, etc. Sandy, her main rival and head of the fashion club, thehir shared clique, saw through it pretty quickly, and tends to hold it over her head when possible without spilling the tea.
Here's where that reaches a breaking point: Sandy wants Quinn to tell Daria to give them all good grades, and as usual implies she'll drop the hammer if she dosen't. Daria naturally. has no intention of doing this when Quinn asks that night. Also Tom her boyfriend is here for a scene. Hi tom. I'll get to you again someday. What's telling though in how far both characters have come.. is how Daria responds "Why are you defendign the stupid quinn, your not one of them?" Quinn assumes she's going to do bad too.. but when talking to Jake, finds she actually knows this stuff.. and the confidence to just try her hardest herself , come what may. While she didn't get the message at first... she realizes Daria ACTAULLY belivies in her. She wouldn't say it directly.. but the setiment is there and it shows how far both have come: Daria can actually compliment her sister easily, if roundaboutly and Quinn has the confidence to try being smart without doing so just for attention.
So naturally Sandy fails, and Quinn finally admits Daria is her sister. And what happens with her other friends, the aformentioned Tiffany and Stacey, who gets a LOT of development this season but is weridly out of focus this episode and I should probably do a special on at some point in herself.. take it fine. They also saw though it and were just being polite to Quinn, who clearly didn't WANT to admit Daria was her sister and Sandy, who they assumed didn't know. It's a perfect payoff to the series biggest running gag and a nice moment of character growth.
As for the actual strike stuff we're here for what's neat is that it isn't just.. thrown away. It becomes the b-plot once Daria becomes a teacher, halfway in no less... but it's not forgotten: We get some fun bits with Jane and Trent, jane's slacker brother as Trent gets asked by cheery sunshiny mr. o'neil to help make a protest song, while Jane gets roped by the art teacher (and the only teacher she reallly likes and who supports her) int ohelping with signs (And has "the scab) sign her a note to get out of class. ).
The main attraction here though is Mr. Demartino. I mean it usually is, he's the best, but after apparently botching the last time they struck, he refuses to give up when the teachers get worn down a bit and spends an ENTIRE NIGHT negotating and not backing down. The best bit is easily:
Ms. Li: Don't think you can intimiate—intermolate—don't think you can scare me with your threat to picket naked!
Mr. DeMartino: You think I'm bluffing?! This is Goodwill polyester I've been sweating in all night. I want to picket naked!
Ms. Li: All right! A two percent raise and a space heater for the teacher's lounge.
Mr. DeMartino: (tugs on collar) Boy! It's getting hot in here!
That last line lives rent free in my head. The delivery is so good. And... Mr. D gets a RARE victory. I mean he still has his shitty job but he actually WINS the strike and gets ms li to sign in her delrium. Granted his confidence boost dies the moment he has to teach kevin again but still it's a nice little victory for a guy who life is determined to kick in the crotch till he has an ulcer and dies.
Lucky Strike is excellent: if you haven't watched daria it's a good episode to try it out and if you have it' sworth a rewatch. It's hilarious, gets striking down well, and has a lot of great character stuff. As I said one of the series best.
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Blue Collar Scrooge (Ducktales0 This one came late in the process as we WERE going to do Squid on Strike.. but remembering this existed, it fit the themes of this strike better and was another half hour show so we went with it. It's also the only episode in this special I hadn't seen before.. and while I'm the one who brought it up.. I was also dreading it
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See this episode centers around amnesia and i'm not a fan of amnesia episodes most of the time: they usually go thorugh the same beats of the person acting diffrent, being diffrent and ocsasionaly being tricked into thinknig their completely diffrent. It just gets old after a while. There are exceptions, such as bloom county's take on it
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Usually though I hate these kinds of episodes.. so it was an utterly plesant suprise to see Ducktales 87, a show I've mostly thoguht of as "okay"... do a REALLY intresting take on it that also handles the plight of the working person with tact for the most part.
What makes it truly work.. is rooting it in character: Scrooge is doing his usual thing making a suprise interaction on his skateboard factory
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And I love the joke of his employees just.. humoring him as they alwasy know when it's happening. This episode is REALLY funny and it's something that suprised me as outside of .. a certain moment
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I never think of DuckTales 87 of being a paticuarlly funny show but this episode man. Lots of nice gags. The owner gives the boys one on the house which they sneak back after Scrooge says "they have enough toys". And somehow he's STILL the better guardian than donald
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God I missed these ducks. Anyways Scrooge gets conked on the head with it a ways from home and ends up with Amensia. And weirdly.. it's not even as much of a stretch as it should be that no one finds him and he goes unoticed. Scrooge dosen't have his top hat, cane, pocket full of miracles or nifty specs. He just has his coat, and thus looks like any other old man and thanks to his amensia defaults to alan young's regular voice. Also alan young is southeren apparently
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Yup. And we get some actually good amnesia gags: Scrooge calling his usual accent silly, having no luck with money and in a bit that's both kind of funny but also sad looking for himeslf on milk cartons.. and getting thrown out because the guy thinks he's teling a joke despite having been dead serious.
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Anyways he finds his way to fenton's mom's garbage. Fenton.. dosen't go home because he's looking for scrooge. Okay that one's a bit more of a leap in logic as you think he'd at least go home to tell his mom he wont' be or call, but hey everything else checks out: scrooge is lost in a big city without anything ot idefnity him other than his neat sideburns. It stands to reason that unless the nephews, mrs. b, Fenton or Webby if she was in this episode saw him face to face, it woudln't be that easy for someone else to and as Fenton later poitns out they can't exactly tell the police or anyone who'd wrap this up as it could sink his buisnesses till he's found. And given how this episode ephasies he owns most of Duckburg that's a LOT of people who end up out of a job.
Anyways she's worried at first because EWWWW HOMELESS.. god the 90's were shitty to homeless people. and the 2000's. and the 2010's and present day. At least media is nicer? A little? Anyways, he compliments her dinner and we get another great bit as she makes sure he's single and asks if he has a pulse.. and him checking it is just great. It'd be the best pulse checking joke of all time if this didn't exist
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And is it mildly creepy Fenton's mom is hitting on any avaliable man? Yes. Is Fenton's mom the best character here? No. Is it mildly classit to use tv dinners as a symbol of the working class. A little.
But weirdly.. their romance works fo rme. Scrooge with his amnesia is sweet to her and Mrs. C , while clearly into him because again he has a pulse, geninley tries to help, is touched when he later uses his days wages to take her out for dinner as thanks, and helps him when he has a hard day working at the skate board factory as he can only remember skateboards and his boss just.. takes the guy in because why not. It shows how some workplaces will just take every body they can get..a nd then abuse them as lunch break is literally just a minute. Which if employers coudl do that they would. It's why we need strikes and unions.. as this special has shown if an employer CAN get away with something they will. Scrooge plans to sell his factory, putting everyone in it out of work for a profit before his skateboard to the head. and to Mr. Trumpcard. I mean if you can sell your workplace to trump you truly are without a soul.
Scrooge's does show as this scrooge. .is an intresting what if: He's Scrooge if he never got his big break with the goose egg nugget. He has all the work ethic, gumption and desire for money as the regular scrooge but without the greed, cynisim and selfishness he picked up along the way. He's a kinder gentler scrooge whose happy to splurge on a pizza to make someone who was nice to him happy and who ends up leading a strike at work after Scrooge's own secretary leaks the sale to the one at the skateboard plant. He's got the fire, as he ironically grows to hate himself even before the strike, it's just better directed without any prodding or a loved one in danger.
This gets the attention of ... Fenton who dresses up as scrooge to keep the deal going and then has to go attend to the factory and get sso lost in the role he thinks he IS scrooge leading to a hilarious and engaging showdown.. and Scrooge getting his momeroy back and stealing his clothes off fenton
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What I like though is the symbolism here> It's about as subtle as a brick, but it works: Scrooge literallys ees himself an dhow he was acting... and through his amensia learned what it was like. They never overly focus on that last part and that's why it works: thorugh his time not knowing who he was, Scrooge got in touch with his routes and stopped being AS corrupt an asshole. It's a true problem in labor disputes: the people at the top lack emptathy and just want money, and it was easy to put scrooge and someone who thought he was scrooge breifly in the villian roll as those are two of his biggest flaws. Even once he snaps out of it he has to be glarred into giving them a dollar an hour raise.
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He dosen't even abandon Mrs. Crackshell which is nice. She assumes he will.. but he still has his soaps and the two walk off together. Does this go anywhere? No. But should it if the show comes back. And do I want to think about this relationship beyond how cute it is because it'll lead me to some very dark and horrifying places? NOPE.
Bluecollar Scrooge restored my faith in 87 ducktales after the mini series burned me out on it. It's funny, has a good message, is well animated and while a bit of a stretch, it's just far enough to work without being frustrating. So all in all a good crop of episodes and one dud. Not bad at all. Support the strikers, fuck the AMPTP and thanks for reading.
PS: I almost didn't metnion the greatest scene in comedy history. Behold.
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part three of the Vast!Jon AU that is taking over my life
Have some Martin.
Danny Stoker is part of this, now?
Yes, EVERYBODY HAS TO CRY. Shut up.
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Martin’s frilly, pink apron is almost too saturated on camera, but he knows that’s how the viewers love it. He’s even added a pop of lip gloss today, a shade between the apron and the hearts it bears.
“Now, you’ll know it’s done in two ways,” he says, donning his thick oven mitts - wildly orange, but the hearts on them match his apron exactly. “First, the smell. You’ll recognize it after you’ve baked this recipe about six times. There’s nothing quite as good as these orange-cranberry muffins when they reach this stage, and if you’re in a place where you can smell it, it’s incredible. Fortunately, there’s a more reliable, less woo-woo way, too.” He waggles his eyebrows and gives a brilliant smile.
It’s his on-camera smile.
And his applying-for-jobs smile.
And his meeting-new-people smile.
It is sweet, and hopeful, and his eyes aren’t quite closed, and his chin is raised, and it comes across as open and kind and not quite vulnerable enough to invite hurt.
Sure, some people try, but they're trolls, and he just blocks them.
“Behold: your secret weapon!” And he brandishes a toothpick.
Tim laughs off-camera.
Danny mutters something like, “Yeah, they’ve never seen that before.”
“Yeah, well, maybe they haven’t,” says Martin, turning to them for the briefest moment before smiling back at his livestream. “The toothpick is your greatest weapon - well. After learning how to fold instead of stir, anyway. Look, this little guy can tell you if it’s ready, better than a thermometer, or knocking on it, or whatever else you've been told. Let me show you. Now, I know from the smell that the muffins aren’t ready, so I get to show you what it looks like when they’re not.”
He does.
The muffins need a few more minutes, and that is perfect, because he shows the camera how batter clings to the toothpick.
“Time for an awkward cut,” he says, and then there is an awkward cut.
Because there’s nothing to do until the damn muffins are done.
Fortunately, everybody loves the wait for it animation: a tiny version of him with anime eyes, huge, red curly hair, a chef’s hat, and his ubiquitous apron, prancing back and forth from the counter to the stove in an unending loop.
“You’re nearly there,” says Tim, who gets it, who understands why Martin is fucking distracted today.
No one who didn’t personally know Martin would know.
Anyone who does know him could clearly see he is a mess.
“I,” says Martin, and doesn’t finish his sentence.
Jon’s plane went down. That is all anyone knows. That is all anybody can tell him.
Neither tears nor manipulation will bring more info, and so Martin must wait.
He is not okay.
“Ready?” says Danny, keeping them - as always - on schedule. “Three, two….”
“Look at this!” says Martin a moment later, drawing a clean toothpick from the middle muffin. “Now, we’re talking. Oh… everyone, I wish you could smell this.” 
And he does one of his little moans.
Those moans are what made his channel.
Someone tried to make #BlackwoodMoan work for a while (like that movie with Samuel L. Jackson), but the fan base rose up and declared Martin too good, too pure to be associated in such a way.
#MartinMoan is the hashtag.
There are gifs.
It’s a high sound, sweet, freakily innocent, and it somehow brushes against every illicit desire any human has ever had for anything. He’s seen compilations of it, clipped together in a tapestry of embarrassment.
He doesn’t mind, exactly? 
He did make the sound on purpose. He knew it was effective because it actually got Jon flushed and stammering, and damn near nothing else did.
Martin had merely underestimated just how effective it would be out in the great, wide world.
“They’re perfect,” he says, and takes the time to show the camera the light golden muffins, speckled with red - a perfect batch of orange cranberry baked good from scratch. 
The stream ends with him opening one up, peeling the cap off with indescribable satisfaction, adding a tiny pat of butter, and indulging.
The eye-roll is a thing too, like a hungry shark, but that one doesn’t have a hashtag.
“Recipe in the description,” he mumbles, sounding like he’s been fucked within an inch of his life. “My team will answer any questions. You have got to make this. We’ve also included dairy and gluten free options. Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life.”
Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life. He’s ended every single video with that since day one.
Since before Tim and Danny joined him.
Since before he had the courage to tell anyone he was doing this, even Jon.
As always, he means every word.
This time, however, when the camera light blinks off, he bursts into tears.
#
“He’s got to be okay,” says Tim, who knows Jon, thinks he’s funny, and appreciates how much Martin loves him. “We haven’t gotten a list of deaths, or anything, and they have to release that, as far as I know.”
“They do have to,” says Danny, who barely knows Jon, and doesn’t really like him, but certainly wants Martin to be happy.
“Only to next of kin,” Martin points out, and sniffles.
Tim and Danny both pause.
“He doesn’t have you listed?” says Tim.
“I’m his friend. We’re not anything. Of course he doesn’t,” Martin snaps, and feels bad for it immediately after.
Tim and Danny give one another that look.
“Right,” says Tim. “Not anything.”
Martin rubs his face.
Danny gives Martin a side-hug - too strong, like a mountain man, but well meant. “He’s going to be okay. Have faith.”
“The plane went down.” Martin’s voice is… cold. Almost mechanical. A tone he’d never use with anyone who didn’t know him well. “It hit a gods-damned mountain. What am I supposed to have faith in?”
“Love?” says Tim.
“Actually, yeah. Love,” says Danny.
Martin gives them a look.
They look back. Two brothers, good friends, who’ve been part of his show and part of his life and helped him navigate the mess with his mother and helped him work out his feelings for his childhood friend and now want to help him work through potential grief.
Or his potential… faith, maybe?
Martin can’t seem to fall either way - acceptance of Jon’s death, or hope for his survival. He’s left at a lurching, ugly crossroad with no name, the sign worn beyond legibility.
He sniffles.
“Gonna be late,” says Tim.
“Yeah,” Martin sighs, because somehow after everything, he still has to go to work.
Patreon helps. The baking show definitely makes things easier. But it’s not enough to support his mother. Full-time care facilities aren’t cheap.
Martin tries to smile. “Good thing I’m in the kitchen, right? Don’t think I’d do so well facing customers today.”
“You would, though,” says Tim, and pats him on the shoulder. “Never seen anybody fake it as well as you.”
“Gee, thanks?” Martin says, dry.
Tim ruffles his hair. “Come on. Let’s get the lead out, or… I dunno, something punny.”
Danny never tries to pun. He also has no sense of timing. “I’ve been thinking of taking another job,” he says out of nowhere.
“What, now?” says Tim with fond exasperation.
Martin latches onto the subject change like a leech as he hangs up his apron. “What? I thought you were getting promoted.”
“Yeah, but kayaks just aren’t doing it for me anymore,” Danny says, and ignores when Martin rolls his eyes, reaches into his wallet, and hands Tim a fiver. “I’ve been thinking a lot about supernatural stuff lately, you know? All the things we can’t explain, but every culture and every society has them, all the way through history. And you know, the chances of that are pretty slim, because it’s not like there were fax machines in the stone age, and - ”
“So what’s her name?” says Tim.
Danny looks constipated. “What do you mean, what’s her name?”
“It’s always some date who gets you into a new interest. Come on, Danny, it’s been like that since secondary.”
Danny shrugs. “Caught me. How about I let her explain? We can do dinner tonight.”
“I don’t…” Martin starts.
They both look at him.
“You are not backing out,” says Tim.
“I’m supposed to see my mum,” Martin mutters.
“And it’ll be done in about fifteen minutes when she can’t stand you anymore and throws you out,” says Danny, who really has never had Tim’s charm.
Tim smacks him.
“Hey!”
“No, he’s right,” says Martin. “I’ll come.”
“Good. You’d better, or I’m taking some of this one’s leftover mountaineering gear and hogtying you to the back of my bike,” says Tim.
That image actually gets Martin laughing, which he didn’t think he could do today.
The brothers leave first.
Martin’s flat is tiny. Uncomfortable. Distinctly not sound-proofed. He has one window, room for his lovely kitchen setup, and three folding chairs or a Murphy bed, but not at the same time.
Somehow, when the Stokers are there, it never feels crowded.
It doesn’t with Jon, either, but that’s different.
All kinds of different.
Martin locks up, sighs heavily. Somehow, he has to get his brain in gear to handle four-star sous-chef work tonight, and he’s really not sure he can do it. Antoine can be such an ass, even on the best of days, and he always seems to know -
“Excuse me,” comes a voice.
Martin yips and drips his satchel.
“Sorry about that,” says the man, sounding not remotely sorry. Sounding, in fact, deeply amused. “You are Martin Blackwood, aren’t you? Little different without all the getup,” he says, absolutely cheerfully.
He’s some sort of sea captain?
Outside his flat, which is scary as fuck. “Hi?” says Martin, attempting to pick up his bag without taking his eyes off the guy. “Um. Can I help you?”
“Actually, I can help you,” says the man.
Maybe a fan?
Maybe a sicko.
Martin is very still. “Right,” he says, noncommittal.
The man laughs.
It’s… it’s a really good laugh. The voice is good all around, honestly; so is the expression, and body language. This man isn’t aggressive; taller than Martin (which is unusual), he keeps his hands in his pockets, leaning slightly away, as though determined not to violate his space. “I can tell I’ve spooked you, which isn’t what I was trying to do.” 
Martin can see no reason to be unnerved by this man.
Martin cannot escape the feeling that he should be, though. “Then why’d you track down where I live?” he says.
“I didn’t. I saw you by accident.” The man points. “Heading over there, to the Tube. But it works out, because I actually do want to talk to you.”
“Right,” says Martin.
The sea captain smiles. “Nice and cautious. Good! Let’s not drag this out, eh? You won’t have heard of me because I like it that way, but what I do is help out independent talent. People like you, in other words. Here.” He holds out a business card.
There’s a QR code on it.
Martin takes it, carefully avoiding contact. “Right,” he says.
“That’ll tell you all about it,” says the man. “I won’t scare you any longer - really am sorry about that.” He’s absolutely not sorry, and it shows.
Martin is damned good at reading people. It’s how he’s survived. The fact that he can’t get a bead on this guy is scaring him even more than the sudden appearance. “Sure.”
“Have a good day, Martin,” says the man. “I look forward to your email.” And off he walks.
Martin looks at the card. It says, Lukas Entertainment. That’s all.
It’s thick cardstock. Raised lettering. Definitely expensive. 
Martin looks back up, but the man is gone.
Martin’s gut says there is no way he made it to the Tube that quickly.
Martin’s head says he’s being absurd, and just misjudged how long he stared at the card.So that was freaky, he thinks to himself, and is already texting Tim about it before he gets to work.
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monkey-network · 7 months ago
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My GOATED Tier Albums
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Music is awesome. It is a form of creation that people experiment with, creating melodies that can make you emotional beyond belief. Except Weezer. For the past year I listened to a ton of albums, mainly because I have a job that doesn't require much thinking. From this, I've recognized albums that above everything possess eternal sauce. I'm talking favorites that make you wanna sing 'em in the rain, love when you're in pain, imagine yourself getting head on a train. I naturally haven't listened to every artist and genre in existence, but these stuck with me for more than a simple good time. Let's get the obvious one out the way
To Pimp A Butterfly (Kendrick Lamar)
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MVP Track: How Much a Dollar Cost
On its own, this album just fucks for nearly 80 minutes straight. Everyone knows this, a 16 track stream of unapologetic Blackness that dives into all of what Kendrick has seen in the black community outside of his music-making. You get funk, jazz, soul all into a comprehensive story of his life in Cali vs his time touring in South Africa. When paired with Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City though, you see a darker story that I say is like part 2 of Stephen King's IT. There's the remorse and turmoil exposed by an older Kendrick of the haunting experience from his adolescence, like TPAB is about how he was too lucky to survive that moment in M.A.A.D. City. This album is just strong beginning to end, like it's a given to say this.
Nonagon Infinity (King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard)
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I've listened to plenty of King Gizzard before I could say this album is perfected adrenaline. The direction each song goes is always satisfying where it's like I can't pick a real favorite one without loving the rest of them. It's even better when there's no cuts between song while you can hear every one seamlessly play into each other like an interconnected nonagon and for it to loop back around is the cherry on top. I love how it's able to change course without ever losing the momentum like 'Mr. Beat' clashes so hard with the others but they fit it at the best point. Again, this album is the most fist pumping shit I've ever listened to.
Die Lit (Playboi Carti)
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MVP Track: R.I.P. Fredo
I'll admit, back in grade school I treated trap, sound and mumble rap like I did Pepsi as a child. Disgusted and dismissive like "it's not real rap". Overtime, mainly thanks to Spongebob, I got over my prejudice and gave it more a chance. I'm not the biggest fan, but stuff like Pop Smoke, Yeat, Uzi, and Carti I got on my MP3 for the long mile. It was last month where I finally got Die Lit, and man the vibes of this are immaculate. This album just makes you wanna work out, do 10 sets on the weights to the rhythm. I'm more into lyrical strength when it comes to rap but this helped me that the beats and the hooks can be just as bumping. It honestly has everything I would've loved getting into trap music.
MM.. FOOD (MF DOOM)
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MVP Track: Rapp Snitch Knishes
When I talk lyrical strength, I always think of MF DOOM may he continue to rest in peace. He wasn't just hot with wordplay, he knew how to bend the flows to his will. This, Madvillainy, and Mouse and the Mask are my top 3 DOOM albums, but MM FOOD takes the cake (hah) in being the perfect balance of the fun and power that goes into his music. I love that it isn't just a concept album about food, but a story told with the old Spider-Man and Fantastic Four cartoons. I grew to love the intermission where it's a sample soundbite bonanza; felt like Dumile was having the most fun here. I say you get the best of all the previous albums here, and to me it's the most replayable record.
IGOR (Tyler the Creator)
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MVP Track: Are We Still Friends
This is where I enjoyed the album off the bat, but loved it more after hearing Tyler's entire library. I love that IGOR exists not only on its own from his typical rap work, but as his own character and not just a persona. Like TPAB and Nonagon Infinity, I can't pick a favorite track without every other carrying each other. This album is emotional sauce, exploring the ugliness and majesty of romance and heartbreak. A lot of these type of albums I feel are tonally the same passive aggressive, sugarcoated upbeat kind of stuff; that's why I can never get into Taylor Swift and the like. This hits different. I've heard nothing like I Think, New Magic Wand, I Don't Love You Anymore, all capped with still the greatest closing number I've ever heard. This is Tyler's magnum opus, hands down.
Making Mirrors (Gotye)
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MVP Track: Save Me
Gotye was not a musician I expected to enjoy but Making Mirrors IS that good. It's a beautifully uplifting streak of tunes that reminds me of George Michael especially in the first half. This of course has the billion dollar single 'Somebody That I Used to Know', but this ain't even his best song. 'Eyes Wide Open', 'Save Me', 'Bronte', 'In Your Light' offer more euphoric sounds that literally ascends you. Almost every song feels like those scenes in movies where everyone's dancing in the church. It honestly sucks Gotye retired his solo career after this record when this felt like he found his footing. There's possibility of him returning after his time with his band The Basics, but I'm not complaining. Dude made a record I never thought would love as much as I did.
Scatman's World (Scatman John)
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MVP Track: Only You
I got more to say about this album on a later date, so I'll keep it brief. This was the biggest eye-opener of music for me. You got a man that sings like a jazz enthusiast and have his best album be Eurodance and techno. It never feels like a gimmick too while his lyrics aren't an overall strong suit. It all just makes you happy, have a real pep in the step, with a great range of tone that makes it easy to go back to. And I will NEVER forgive the internet for warping my mind over the word "scatting".
Thick as a Brick (Jethro Tull)
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MVP Track: Childhood Heroes
Best for last. This is the first album for me where you might as well say this is just two 20 minute songs. On a personal note, this helped lifted my spirit after 2017 basically destroyed me emotionally and mentally. The energy and flow felt unlimited like you could feel this was THE project for the band. Both parts ending with 'Childhood Heroes', all time favorite song of my life. They, by extension this album, is emblematic of old time childlike wonder. That gave me both the strive and relief to move forward, the song exhibits that energy every time I hear it. This album is a GOAT of personal expectations.
I've loved thinking about music this year. These albums mean a lot in how unreal they can feel listening, a streak of passion that are like the planets aligned when they dropped. These have also helped me branch out to other artists and albums to see if they can reach the strengths of this list.
But lesson of the day is always have your GOATs, cherish them to your life, and in conclusion...
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theboysfromaustin · 7 months ago
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May 29, 2005
Kazuo sank into the hotel bed face-first, fresh out of the shower.  Ian toweled his own hair off, “I’m sorry about today.” “Neither of us knew he would show up.  Maybe I should have expected it.  He loved her, he never loved me.”  Ian hung up his towel and crawled into bed, straddling Kazuo’s back, tracing his tattoos before running one finger down the thick scar that slashed across it.  Kazuo sighed, quivering slightly under Ian’s touch, “He tried to hit Anders…I should have killed him.” “You said he gave you this scar…” “Yeah.  I’m surprised he didn’t give me more.  He got good at not leaving any more permanent marks.”
Ian leaned down, kissing the nape of his neck, “How bad was it?” “Terrible.  I was terrified of him.  Everything I did was wrong.  I was wrong.  I was a failure.  I was a scapegoat for his rage,” Kazuo turned his head so he could look at Ian, “That’s why I refuse to be like him.  I grew up scared of someone who should have protected me, so I have to be better.  The first time he really went after me, I got that scar.  I got it because I was a child…kindergartener…a little boy who wanted to visit his mother’s grave.  A mother whose funeral I missed.  A mother who I couldn’t mourn properly.  He left me in the car, I got out, and when we got home…”
Kazuo’s vision went misty, “He shoved me into the apartment, then got a belt.  He pulled my shirt off and shoved me against the wall.  That first strike, I screamed, and he kicked me, telling me if I made any more noise, he’d…he’d…” Kazuo gripped the sheets, “He’d put me in the ground with my mother…Ah, Ian!” “Sorry, I…I just…” Ian raised his hands, nails having left indentations in Kazuo’s skin.  “I don’t know how I kept quiet.  Like I said, it went on for about 10 minutes.  He only stopped because he needed a cigarette.  I lay there in my own blood, thinking I was actually going to die.”
“I’m sorry…” “Huh?” Ian had tears streaming down his face, “Kensuke and I could have helped…He was afraid the courts wouldn’t see him as fit due to his age…especially since Yukiko died not long after your mum…” “Ian…” Kazuo reached back to gently touch him, “For everything I endured, it was worth it, because now I have you.  And Anders.  I’m a dad, and I can prove that I’m not a monster like my dad.” Ian lay down, covering Kazuo’s body with his, their cheeks pressed together.
“After his cigarette, he told me to put my shirt back on.  It was a white He-Man shirt, and it immediately turned red.  He took me to the hospital, and I’m shocked he did.  I had to get stitches.  Lots of stitches.” “How was he not arrested?” “It was 1989.  I think he intimidated the nurses and doctors, all he knew at that point was anger, “ Kazuo sighed, “The only reason he took me home was to have a punching bag.  My face was barely healed.  After that, he’d hurt me in ways that wouldn’t leave marks that were too obvious.  Ian, he…”
Kazuo shut his eye, ashamed, “His favorite place to hit me was in the right side of my face.  Because I couldn’t see, and scars don’t bruise.” “I’m going to kill him.  With what you’ve told me, no jury would ever convict me.” “Hey, no,” Kazuo rolled, Ian moving to let him, “You’re not going to jail.  Ian, my dad is a miserable, self-hating, hate-filled old bastard that’s tethered to an oxygen machine.  Every day is hell for him, and he fucking deserves it.  I won’t let you throw away our life to kill someone who’s far more miserable walking the earth.  I need you.  Anders needs you.  Maureen needs you.” Ian relaxed, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I want to protect you.” Kazuo looped his arms behind Ian’s neck, “You do a great job of protecting me.  I love you, and…” He pulled Ian’s head down for a kiss, “Thank you for bringing me home.  I wasn’t sure I’d ever make it back.”
Ian leaned it to kiss him again, “Anything for you.” “You were worth it.  And thank you for loving my mom.  She’d be glad to know I found you.” “I would have done anything for her, and I’ll do anything for you.” “Mmmm, you’re a good man.” “You want to get room service?” “Yeah, and uh, I kind of told Anders to go nuts and order whatever he wanted.” “I’d say I’m not worried, but I remember being a teenage boy and my mum complaining about how much I was eating.” “Are we spoiling the boy?” “Nah.  We should probably get dressed.  One of us, at least.  I want to sit on your lap and eat a slab of beef.” “I’ll get dressed, I know you like to lounge in the buff.” “Good man,” Kazuo kissed his nose.  Ian grinned, getting to his feet, “You know, you need to remember one thing - I’d do anything for you.”
“Anything?  How about…”
“Yeah, I can do that, after we eat.”
Kazuo grinned, pleased.  Life was good now.
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such-a-random-rambler · 2 years ago
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@oneyeartowrite
I had such fun writing this! Thanks for letting me play, and I hope you like!
John Tracy is a sliver away from dead. When they haul him in from the harsh emptiness of space his heart barely beats, his chest is still, his eyes are closed and face slack behind the blood splattered visor.  
It’s been six minutes since EOS cut off a small spluttering cough – the only sound he’d transmitted since the explosion – and point blank refused to reestablish the connection. A promise, she said. He made me promise. 
In the far-too many minutes since John’s lifesigns nosedived Three has been silent except for a few words of command, hands tight on the controls and shoulders tense. Alan has scrubbed away tears more than once so they don’t interfere with his ability to pilot and no-one comments, save to tell him to hold the ship steady while they manouver John on board. It’s not that the others aren’t affected, that they don’t feel the same despair. They’ve just learned the hard lessons of how to hide it better when the uniform is on.  
With John on the med-bed, suit stripped to a ragged pile on the floor and blood splattered helmet thrown into a corner somewhere in disgust, they can really see the bruising and shrapnel tarnishing his pale skin. It’s a haunting image that imprints on all three of them, the type that chases off sleep and creeps up on you in quiet moments. One more to add to the collection. 
Virgil is in charge in the back while Alan makes a graceful turn to point them back towards gravity and atmosphere and hospitals, com-link wide open so he’s still in the loop as he flies. Under careful instruction Scott manages the intubation, easing the tubing smoothly down into John’s windpipe on the first try. He stands ready to switch on the portable ventilator, practicality vibrating with his hand poised over the button. There is no point turning it on just yet, not until Virgil – with Gordon at his side with the equipment - has stabilised the piece of shrapnel, vented some of the air from John’s chest cavity, drained some of the blood from his lungs. 
It’s messy and rushed and should really have been done with a proper medical degree, but this is the opportunity Virgil begged for. While the others searched infinity for their brother, Virgil had spent the flight time working out how to save him. A steady stream of data from John’s suit, filtered through the epic power of EOS’s processing and endless replays of the accident itself, combined to become a near perfect understanding of John’s injuries and a hastily put together plan. This – this flurry of tubes and tape and needles and compression bandages – this is what he promised John he could do, what he let John die tortured and alone for, and Virgil’s not about to let the lack of optimal medical facilities get in his way. He’s not breaking his promise today.  
The work is frantic, EOS issuing updates based on her newest scans and the more precise readings from Three’s equipment. She monitors and calculates and guides Virgil’s work, but doesn’t tell them the odds of survival, the chances of a full recovery. She has learned that the Tracy family don’t like being told they are attempting the impossible. She also has a growing file of instances where they succeeded anyway, seeding hope in the capacitors of her heart.   
Virgil’s blood coated hands are shaking by the time he gives Scott the nod and wipes them on the cloth Gordon has ready. The machine wheezes into life, the hydraulic hiss of air under pressure not comforting enough when it’s one of their own relying on it.  
Virgil slides the wall into a crouch, wrung out and exhausted. Wordlessly Scott hands him a drink, squeezing his shoulder firmly. Well done, that gesture says, you’ve done everything you can. Gordon sits next to him, shoulders touching, pushing a celery crunch bar into the other. He gives Virgil a very pointed stare until he takes a small bite.  
The inevitable question can only be put off for so long – they ache to know but fear the worst. Until they check John is neither surviving or dying, but locked in a paradoxical limbo of both and neither. He would probably approve. 
Scott has to clear his throat to speak clearly: “EOS, any changes?” 
“His condition is critical, but stabilising.” 
John Tracy is a sliver away from dead, but that’s enough to save him.  
Don’t Cough
Straight up, this comes with an apology. I’m whumping John, I’m more than whumping him. This could read as a death fic, but my headcannon says John survives. 
This is a dark fic! A depressing one, but apparently I’m the kind of person who writes them when they’re having a bad day.
Warnings: Suicide: John contemplates removing his helmet to save himself from a longer, more painful death. 
Character Death: John is in a lot of trouble, and his brothers are not going to get to him in time. It ends on a cliffhanger, but I will say, Virgil takes the ‘chance’ given to him and he comes through…<3
I may write them rescuing him in the future.
And the cuddles afterwards.
Please read the warnings and the tags.
This fic is sad, and painful.
***************************************************************************
There’s no way he’s going to last. John knows it. He’s dying and they’re not going to get to him in time. He can hear them through the comms in his helmet. Well, he can hear Scott’s reassurance and knows the others are inside thunderbird three with him.
They’re desperately trying to get to him.
Scott’s demands of ‘hang on’ and ‘stay with us’ grow more frantic.
Keep reading
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sluttywonwoo · 3 years ago
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take it off || k.mg x reader
Pairing: mob!mingyu x fem reader
Summary: as much as you hate to admit it, jealousy looks good on your fiancé 
Warnings: swearing, light smut (18+)
Word Count: 1.8k
a/n: reworked this old blurb originally posted on my tom holland fic account ( @wazzupmrstark )
Masterlist
“Mingyu, slow down,” you said with a sigh, trying not to roll your eyes.
“What was he thinking?” Mingyu spat, not acknowledging what you had just said. He gripped the steering wheel even harder.
You watched as his knuckles began to turn white and rubbed his arm soothingly. “Baby, take a deep breath. Relax.”
He just shrugged you off and cursed at the car in front of him.
“Don’t fucking tell me to relax.”
“It’s not a big deal, Gyu.”
He actually turned his head towards you and looked at you this time. “You’re joking.”
You shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve had worse.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
You winced, knowing you’d probably made it worse and that Mingyu was likely now picturing the grimy hands of ill-intentioned strangers all over your body.
“I should have him killed,” he snarled.
To most, that threat would sound completely ridiculous or utterly insane, but your fiancé was the head of the Seoul mob-the South West branch anyway- and he was no stranger to violence. Having someone killed would be as easy as snapping his fingers.
You scoffed to call his bluff.
“You think I won’t?” he challenged and you groaned.
“You promised you were done with that.”
It’s true, one of the conditions of your engagement had been that Mingyu agree to put the more sinister side of his business to rest, and although you trusted him, in all honesty, you weren’t sure how well he was upholding his end of the deal.
“I’d make an exception.”
“Well don’t. I don’t want some poor guy’s blood on my hands.”
At that, the car screeched to a stop right in the middle of the freeway. The cars behind you honked and flashed their lights at Mingyu as they maneuvered to avoid a collision.
You huffed in frustration, wanting to bang your head against the dashboard. This was exactly why you didn’t like for Mingyu to drive himself: he pulled dangerous shit all the time like this. Literally, all of his other men had drivers who took them places and you desperately wished Mingyu would hire someone, but he insisted that it was safest if he was the one driving (yet here you were in the middle of the highway).
“You could’ve fucking killed us!” you shouted, more annoyed than anything.
Mingyu took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. But y/n, he’s not just some poor guy.”
“He was trying to get a rise out of you, Gyu. He fucking hates you, of course, he’d go after me, and he was drunk.”
Mingyu narrowed his eyes at you, foot still pressed firmly on the brake. “That’s not a fucking excuse, you of all people should know that. Why are you trying to defend him?”
“I’m not trying to defend him, I’m just saying he doesn’t deserve to die. Can we please just get home?”
Mingyu relented and put the car back into motion making you breathe a sigh of relief.
Even though he didn’t say anything else you could tell his mind was still going a thousand miles a minute. You watched him chew at his lip in silence and wondered what was going on in that beautiful head of his. Nothing good, you could be sure of that.
Mingyu’s mind was darker than most. Occupational hazard. He carried so much pain that you hadn’t known about when you first met him. He’d let you in slowly, keeping you at arm’s length for months, until he almost lost you. And then he knew he couldn’t keep things from you anymore. It was still a challenge to understand his thought process sometimes, but you liked it that way. How could a ruthless, power-hungry mobster also be the most loving, family-oriented person you’d ever met in your life? How could someone who dropped a grand on a dinner like it was nothing secretly rather spend one more night picnicking with crappy Chinese food on the bedroom floor in your old apartment? You couldn’t think of an answer, and you didn’t want to.
The guy at the bar tonight had been some rival of Mingyu’s. You hadn’t seen him before, but you could tell because when Mingyu got up to get the two of you more drinks he swooped in and laid it on heavy. He looped one arm around your waist and placed his other hand on your knee and began attempting to seduce you. Sure, you were uncomfortable but more than anything you were angry. And tired. Tired of being used as bait, something to get to Mingyu.
You didn’t want to make a scene so you listened to the asshole talk about how much better he’d treat you than Mingyu until your fiancé eventually returned with your drinks in hand, face beet red, eyes dark with anger.
The man, you never caught his name, left the bar with a broken nose. Mingyu left with bruised knuckles. You’d thought it would end at that, but of course, once Mingyu got started it was hard for him to stop. It was a gift in the bedroom, but a curse in the rest of your life.
Then, so softly you almost didn’t hear it, Mingyu broke the silence in the car and said “I know what he said to you,” and it all clicked.
Normally, a hand on your shoulder, thigh, ass was enough to set Mingyu off, but combine that with the filthy words he’d undoubtedly overheard spilling from the man’s lips… no wonder all he could see was red.
“Mingyu, I-“
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t want to start something.”
“Start something? Is that true? Or do you think he’s right?”
“No, of course not.”
“Do you think he can satisfy you better than I can?”
“Mingyu!”
“Well do you?”
You shook your head and rubbed your thighs together, fighting a shiver. As irritating as Mingyu’s jealousy could be, the effect it had on you was even more infuriating. The man could already turn you on without doing anything and whenever he started acting a little jealous it was game over for you. It was pathetic, really.
“Why the fuck did he even think it was okay to look at you, let alone touch you?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged finally settling in to play the game. “These big dudes with huge muscles just think they can have whoever they want.”
Mingyu whipped his head back towards you. “What did you say?”
You ignored him. “I mean he definitely wouldn’t be as good as you, but he could do some damage.” Mingyu was full-on glaring at you now, and you wanted to tell him to keep his eyes on the road, but you couldn’t give up so fast. “I mean, just one of his hands could probably wrap around my whole neck. Like they were giant, and you know what they say about guys with big hands-“
“Do you think this is funny?”
Any sane person wouldn’t even think about taunting Mingyu like this, not with his reputation, but you couldn’t be sane to be with someone like Mingyu anyway, and besides, you knew he was a big softie at heart.
“A little,” you admitted. “You look really hot right now.”
He really did. His hair was tousled with silver highlights from the moonlight streaming in through the windshield, his tan skin was flushed with adrenaline, and his white button-up was unbuttoned just a few times to show off his collarbone. You bit your lip. You were so fucking weak.
“That’s not going to work.”
“No?” You quirked an eyebrow and leaned over the console to see that he was already more than half hard in his dress pants. “Because it looks like it’s working.” You reached over and began to palm him through his trousers, smirking when he cursed and rolled his neck at the contact.
“Y/n, if I have to pull over, you’re not going to be able to walk for the next week.”
Oh no, that’d be horrible you thought to yourself and rolled your eyes. He had to know that’s what you secretly wanted, right? Right? Why were men so stupid?
Either way, you took your hand back and moved it up under the hem of your dress to where you were feeling a little desperate for some friction. You sighed deeply when you rubbed yourself over your panties, not even surprised at how wet you were.
“Fuck,” you hissed out and hiked your legs up onto the seat so you could give Mingyu a better view.
“Stop that.”
He said it so forcefully that you froze, fingers hovering over your panties, about to pull them to the side. Then you smiled.
“No.” You went ahead and did it anyway, slipping two fingers inside of yourself easily.
You weren’t one to defy Mingyu often, especially when it came to what he asked of you in the bedroom, but you knew how crazy it drove him and just couldn’t resist.
Mingyu groaned, trying and failing to maintain an angry expression. His eyes betrayed an absolutely sinful lust that made you want to melt and you wished more than anything he’d just pull the fucking car over.
“Fuck, Gyu,” you gasped, “I wish these were your fingers, you’re so good with your fingers.”
“Yeah? You sure you wish they’re my fingers? Not someone else’s?”
You shook your head vigorously. “Never. You’re the only one who knows how to make me cum that hard.”
“Is that what you want? To cum hard?”
“God, yes,” you moaned, pumping your fingers in and out of you faster.
“Take off your dress.”
“What?” you weren’t sure if you’d heard him right, you were still driving down the highway after all.
“You heard me. Take. It. Off.”
Not wanting to push your luck any further you didn’t hesitate to listen this time and pulled the loose fabric up and over your head.
“Good girl,” he praised and you whined. You were still wearing your bra and underwear and as much as you’d love to flash oncoming traffic, you hoped Mingyu wouldn’t ask you to take them off.
“You can touch yourself,” he said and you complied, knowing it was more of an instruction than an allowance.
It felt good, really good, but you still wished it was him instead of you.
“Fuck, darling you look so beautiful like that, God, I can’t believe I get to marry you.”
“If, you stop, killing people,” you managed to get out through gritted teeth and Mingyu laughed.
“I’m not going to kill him, baby. I made a promise. You’re too important to risk losing, even if he is a fucking prick.”
You whimpered, the mixture of complete head-over-heels love you felt for Mingyu and pleasure making you crumble.
“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, reaching over and taking you by the wrist, stalling your movements just as you were about to fall over the edge. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll forget you ever met that asshole.”
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inkykeiji · 4 years ago
Text
the clock is ticking, running out of time
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characters: shigaraki tomura
genre: smut and angst
notes: AAAAAAH HAPPY BIRTHDAY TOMURA!!!!!! sorry i seem to write angst for all of my faves birthdays ehehe. this is technically set in the touya-nii universe!! | title cred: birthday by katy perry
warnings: 18+ minors dni, cheating, implied stepcest/pseudo-incest, toxic relationships, the slightest hint of degradation, noncon/dubcon video recording, extreme feelings of guilt
words: 4.4k
synopsis:
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not,”
“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”
A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.
“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together. Sweet breath wafts over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”
And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.
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You shouldn’t be doing this.
That’s the thought that’s been looping through your head for the past forty-five minutes, for the entire bus ride from Touya’s apartment to Tomura’s, for the walk from the bus stop to his condo complex, for the thirty-seven seconds it takes him to answer the door.
You shouldn’t be doing this.
But you want to.
It’s been months since you’ve seen him last, months since you spent the night with him, months since you’ve spoken to him at all.
4:06. The glowing numbers glare up at you from the screen of your phone, unable to stop obsessively checking your phone, mentally calculating the time you have left over and over again, even though you’ve already meticulously planned this outing down to the very second.
It’s rare for Touya to be out for an exact amount of allotted time, but when he mentioned that he had a three hour full body check up with his doctor that just so happened to be scheduled on Tomura’s birthday…Well, it was too convenient for you not to seize the opportunity.
The door swings open, breaking you out of your thoughts, and your name leaves his lips in a gasp, crimson eyes searching your face in disbelief. A beat of silence passes before he speaks again. “What’re you doing here?”
“Wanted to see you for your birthday,” you say simply with a shrug and he blinks several times, still staring at you incredulously. “You didn’t think I forgot, did you?”
And for a moment you’re terrified you’ve made a grave mistake, terrified that he doesn’t want you here, that he thinks the risk is too big—Touya will murder the both of you if he finds out—too dangerous, his body gone rigid in the doorway, breathing stopped.
But then a brilliant smile is splitting his face, and he’s pulling you into his arms, crushing you to his chest as his fingers curl in the material of your dress.
And you—you practically collapse against him, sighing out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. He still smells exactly the same, just as you remember—like cheap cigarettes and watermelon bubblegum.
The scent evokes thick unfurling remorse, sinking heavily in your stomach, the mantra you’ve been repeating to yourself for the past few days immediately flowing through your mind, a desperate attempt to reassure yourself, to reason with yourself, to justify this decision.
Because you both deserve closure, don’t you? After everything that’s happened? After leaving him without a trace, without so much as a phone call or a quick text to at least let him know you’re okay?
Because Touya’s cheated on you how many times throughout the first six months of your relationship? One more teeny tiny instance of infidelity—the last one, you promise yourself—shouldn’t hurt, so long as he doesn’t know about it.
Right?
Really, this does nothing to dispel the culpability churning in your chest. No, Tomura’s bright boyish smile does that all by itself, sincere in the way it’s stretched across his face as he tugs you inside.
And...And suddenly, none of it really matters. Not in that moment, at least. Suddenly, all of those statements are rendered true; Tomura does deserve this. Suddenly, you realize just how much you’ve missed him.
“I have to be quick, I’m sorry,” your voice cracks under unexpected emotion, but Tomura doesn’t seem bothered by it at all, ecstatic over the fact that you’ve come to visit at all.
“That’s fine,” he’s saying as his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing with surprising gentleness, eyes shining and wide as they follow his touch, as if he can’t believe you’re here, can’t believe you’re real.
It has your heart shattering in your chest, jagged shards puncturing your surrounding organs, burying themselves deep within you, never to be dug out. A lump lodges itself in your throat, voice frail and full of spit as you speak around it.
“I missed you so much,” the words rush from between your lips without your permission, and Tomura pulls back, smile fading as his gaze searches your face.
For a moment, you can tell that he wants to berate you for disappearing without any contact at all, can see it shining clear as crystal in his eyes as they narrow, as eyebrows knit and his nose scrunches, and you nuzzle your face into him. Guilt, a different kind than that which Touya evokes—this type lighter than the dense acidic guilt that sticks to your insides like thick tar any time sapphire sears through your mind, this type bitter and saturated with melancholy—roots in the pit of your stomach.
“I—I’m sorry I haven’t been able to text,” you mumble meekly, tears pricking your eyes. “Touya—”
“It’s okay,” he cuts you off with surprising softness, fingertips still trailing up and down your spine. “I figured. Uh, how is he? Like, how…How was he?”
The brand of those five letters, now fully healed, scald your flesh, blistering bright and hot as if you had just been branded again. With your bottom lip sucked between your teeth, you contemplate just outright telling him—he’s going to see it eventually either way, but you’re worried about ruining the mood a little too early.
No.
Better to rip it off like a band-aid, to get it out of the way now, instead of interrupting your birthday festivities later.
Your chest swells with a deep inhale, exhaling the words slowly.
“He was…” Livid. Furious beyond belief. Deeply hurt—distressed, distraught, dismayed. Visibly shaken up. In more pain than you’ve ever witnessed before. Terrified. “Upset. Naturally.”
Tomura waits for you to continue, speaking after a few moments of silence. “And?” he prompts, knowing Touya didn’t let you get away with a mere verbal warning, knowing you have more to say.
“A-And—” you bury your face against his neck, hot tears leaking from your eyes and staining his skin as they squeeze shut tightly, forcing the quivering words from your throat. “And he—He, um, he branded me,”
“What?” The word is just a huff of breath as large hands curl around your shoulders, yanking you from the sanctuary of his body so he can scrutinize your face, flashing crimson flying across your features. “He what?”
“His name,” you whisper, eyes still shut, face screwing up in distaste, the words bitter on your tongue.
“Where?”
“My ass,”
“Let me see,”
Eyes snapping open, your head begins to shake, motions cutting off when your stare meets his glare. Reluctantly you turn, flipping your dress up as you bend over a bit, pulling your panties down just enough to show him the slightly raised letters etched into your flesh forever.
Save for the soft, choked noise that sounds in the back of his throat, silence blankets the room, atmosphere suddenly stale and suffocating.
You glance back at him after a few beats, when your chest is beginning to burn from holding your breath in your lungs, and the sight that you are met with has your chest tearing itself in half, ribs caving in, giving way to the deep, dark ache swirling at the very core of your body.
Crimson eyes gleam in the setting sun, a thick layer of tears catching in the golden rays streaming through the window. It’s almost pretty in a way, brilliant ruby that shimmers and shines in the waning beams, practically glowing. But those beautiful, beautiful eyes are transfixed on your bare flesh, unblinking stare etching itself into your skin much like the letters Touya left behind.
His chin trembles just a little, front teeth sinking into his bottom lip in an attempt to halt it, head nodding in minuscule motions, barely noticeable, almost as if he’s confirming something to himself, affirming some unsaid thought sailing through his mind—almost as if he’s blaming himself.
“Fucking bastard,” he spits, though the words are wobbly, lacking heat and coated in sticky saliva. Using the sleeve of his black shirt, he wipes at his nose almost aggressively, quelling it’s twitching as he exhales harshly, nostrils flaring, before he sniffs twice and rolls his shoulders back, gaze finally meeting yours.
“It’s fine—”
“It’s not,”
“I didn’t come here to talk about Touya,” you say gently, letting your dress drop down as you straighten up. “Let’s—Let’s not think about him right now, okay? Today is your day, and I want to focus on you. Forget about Touya,”
A deep frown mars his face, his nose twitching again. It looks like he wants to say more, but then your hands are on him, roaming across his bony chest and sliding into the tufts of silvery-blue hair at the nape of his neck.
The glittering scarlet lace barely obscured by your thin dress singes itself into your flesh as his palms cascade over it, tracing every dip and curve of your body as they slide down to grope your ass.
You had bought the set for this occasion specifically—using cash you had stashed away, of course; Touya regularly checks your bank statements and credit card—with the intention of letting Tomura keep it, as a present.
“It’s hard to buy a gift for someone who already has everything,” you’re continuing softly, gazing up at him through your lashes, so close your noses nearly bump together, sweet breath wafting over his face, a tongue darting out to lick at his lips, as if he’s trying to taste it. “So I thought…I thought the best gift I could give you is me,”
And suddenly, Touya’s wiped from his mind.
He surges forward, foreheads bumping together from the strength, and crushes his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, nimble fingers curling in the hem of your dress and yanking, pulling the material from your body in one erratic motion.
He’s just as enthusiastic as he was all those months ago, large hands settling on your lace-clad hips as he guides you—back, back, back, stumbling over your own feet a little as he shoves forward, teeth clacking as his tongue tangles with yours, interspersed drool pooling at the corners of your lips.
A soft cry of surprise leaves your lips as he roughly spins the two of you so he’s the one reversing, collapsing in the overstuffed gaming chair abandoned near his desk and hauling you down with him, wheels rolling against the hardwood from the force.  
His lips are plush and chapped, kisses messy with strings of viscous saliva, and you’re reminded of how fun kissing Tomura is, playful giggles spilling from one mouth into another consistently breaking the flow as eager hands paw and pull, snapping the clasp on your bra and haphazardly discarding it, your fingers toying with the silver button of his charcoal jeans.
“Get on with it already,” he groans, impatient and entitled as ever, exactly how you remember, hips rutting up into you clumsily as hands travel up your torso to knead your breasts much too hard. And even though it shouldn’t, his predictability inspires a burst of intense warmth in your chest, burning bright like a tiny sun, heat seeping into your blood and flooding your veins as more involuntary giggles pry their way out of your mouth and into his.
“Think that’s funny, huh?” he asks, and although his eyes are fierce and sharp as they scrutinize your face, there’s a playful little grin decorating his lips, slender fingers tweaking a peaked nipple and snickering at your resulting yelp.
“Just missed you, s’all,” you mumble against him, lips dragging along his jaw then trailing down his neck, tongue peeking out to give kitten licks at self-inflicted scars and tugging pathetic little half-whimpers from deep in his throat, rough and uneven as he tries to swallow them back down.
There isn’t enough time for thorough prep, your only form of foreplay consisting of his cock being rammed down your throat—just get it fucking wet, he had demanded—hips stuttering as he desperately tries to keep from bucking while your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in spit.
“Fu-Fucking stop, or I’m gonna cum,” Large fists tangle in your hair, trying to yank you off his cock with a pathetic little whine. Gaping pupils outlined by a fine ring of scarlet observe the way your shining lips pucker around his girth as your mouth slides up, grip on your strands already loosening as his chest heaves, completely absorbed by your actions, breath escaping slightly parted lips in sweet little puffs.
A little tongue flicks against the slit as you reach the tip, placing an obscene openmouthed kiss to the head before pulling away completely. Your mouth hovers an inch above it, allowing a large glob of sticky saliva to dribble from your mouth onto the head, then kissing it again, pressing slippery lips to heated silky skin.
“Jesus Christ,”
The curse is nearly a moan, and you look up from your place between his thighs, batting your eyelashes and offering him a tiny smile. His eyes glitter as he gazes down at you, chest rising unevenly under the force of ragged breaths, a thumb swiping across your cheek in a manner that’s almost awestruck, as if he can’t believe you’re here.
“Get on my cock,” he orders a moment later, when the aching between his legs draws him back to reality, hips jerking up in reflexive, instinctive micro-movements, gleaming cock bobbing with the action. “And take your fucking panties off,”
It’s a little awkward and a lot uncoordinated, trying to maneuver yourself onto his lap while he slouches in that ridiculous gaming chair, unable to quell the way his hips prematurely thrust the moment you’re hovering over him, legs folded and cramped on either side of his thighs.
Pathetic little whimpers leak from your lips as his slick cock stretches your ill-prepared hole, cunt stinging as it struggles to adjust to the sudden breach, your nails digging into the lean muscles of his shoulders as a hiss is spit between clenched teeth.
But the moan he emits, deep and satisfying as you sink down on him, how his eyelashes flutter shut and his head knocks back against the headrest as he bottoms out, long ivory neck and prominent Adams apple on display, and the way massive hands grip your hips, fingertips digging into your soft flesh as he forces you to begin bouncing almost immediately, make it all so worth it.
Because he’s still so pretty, lids lifting a moment later to reveal dazzling ruby gazing at you in an almost voracious manner through thick dark lashes, glued to your face as he memorizes every micro-expression that transforms your features, the way your eyes roll back and eyebrows twitch, the way your mouth forms around those cute little gasps of his name that his rough thrusts punch from your chest.
“Did’ya miss my cock?” his breath is already coming out in short little pants, hips grinding urgently against yours, lacking any kind of finesse or rhythm. “B-Bet’cha did,”
“Uh-huh,” your head nods jerkily, hips rocking just as desperately into his as if to confirm your statement. His cock is pretty, too—a darker pink than Touya’s, half an inch shorter but just as fat, thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.
“Dick drunk already?” he teases, and you’re positive his voice was meant to be more rancorous, but the large grin it’s spoken through, as if he’s proud of himself, chest nearly swelling with it, dilutes it, disintegrating the bitter shell that was supposed to coat the words. His tongue clicks, fluffy tufts of hair bouncing a little as he shakes his head. “What would your precious niichan think?”
You don’t answer—can’t answer—because it’s already so much, uncoordinated thrusting almost teasing in a way, the head of his cock unintentionally grazing that spot buried deep inside of you, the fleeting sensation mixing with that of the taboo, of the naughtiness of the situation, mewls spilling from your lips.
And you wish, so desperately, that you could take your time, that you could enjoy such amateurish gyrating, crude movements giving way to sloppy squelching that makes your stomach swoop and cunt throb as your clit glides against his pubic bone, but the mention of niichan reminds you of your finite amount of time and you lean back, soft palms finding the edge of his desk, fingers curling tightly around it.
Tomura’s bare feet planted on the hardwood keep the chair from shifting as you begin to really ride him, starting with slow, hard rolls of your hips that have cute little grunts hitching in his chest, bright eyes darkening as they watch, lids drooping a little, your movements increasingly gaining speed with each rock forward of your hips, leaning back against the desk and using it for leverage.
Blunt nails bite into your skin, and you want to remind him not to leave marks, but the words won’t keep their shape as they gurgle in your throat, evaporating into moans that break with each rough buck of his hips.
He finds a rhythm with you quickly, though, your lust-hazed mind dully noting that he’s better than before, the thought conjuring sudden, fierce spears of jealousy that slice through your chest, jaw clenching.
“Fuck, you—you’re still the best I’ve ever had,” he practically whines out, like he’s reading the thoughts on your face, but his voice is genuine, strained and hoarse with the confession. “Will probably always be the best I’ve ever had,” his sentence fades into a growl, almost as if he’s angry about it, hands squeezing your hips.
Nevertheless, you’re unable to stop the little smile those words paint across your lips, giggling breathlessly as bubbly warmth tingles in your chest, a sense of shameful pride rushing through your veins.
“Yeah?” he seethes in a huff, eyes narrowing. “Bet you’re proud of yourself for that, little slut,”
You are, you’re nodding, tongue rendered useless as his hips piston into you, cockhead repeatedly slamming against your cervix, reaching deeper and deeper and deeper the further you lean back, until the sharp edge of the desk is cutting into your back.
“I know you are,” he sneers, callous tone emphasized by his brute force as he fucks you. “V-Vain little bitch, happy she’s ruined me—ruined sex for me, forever,”
It’s getting harder for him to speak now, words punctuated by half-baked whimpers and swallowed, stifled moans, the sentiment under his speech accentuating pleasure for the both of you, dirty humiliation only making everything that much more intense, heady and addicting as it intoxicates your bodies, your minds, your souls.
“S-So the least you could do,” he begins in a keen, pace faltering as he squirms under you, yanking his phone from his back pocket. “Is give me something to—ah, Christ—remember you by,”
You should tell him no. You should cease all bouncing on his cock the moment he presses that little red button on his screen, the moment the flash next to the camera turns on, signaling it’s recording. You should.
But you don’t. You don’t, because he’s right. Because that guilt returns, seeping up through the floor of your stomach and spreading to your other organs, chest tightening as it reaches your heart. Because you took something from him, something he’ll never be able to get back, purely for your own selfish gain, just to get back at the man you love, and that isn’t fair. That will never be fair.
Instead, you look straight into the lens, hips beginning to ride him almost viciously, pushing out your chest further, bouncing tits on display as they heave with your lewd moans of his name, begging him to fuck you, begging him for his thick cum, and oh please, Tomura, please, give it to me, want your cum so bad, need your cum so bad, please!
He chokes on his own groan, the hand holding his phone beginning to shake slightly as the other finds its place on your hip again, his own thrusts pumping wildly as he spits expletives through gritted teeth, your pathetic little mewls egging him on.  
“G-Gonna cum?” he whines out, almost as if he’s begging you to say yes, the needy canting of his hips indicating that he’s about to, too, crimson searing into you as you nod messily. “Fucking do it, then, cream all over my cock like the good little whore you are,”
And you’re powerless to stop the loud cry that rips from your throat as your cunt clenches around him, only half of his name escaping in a yelp before your own shuddery gasp cuts you off, choking a little on the intense inhale, air sharp as razors as it rushes down your throat.
He follows less than a second later with a ferocious growl of your name, potent cum filling your aching little cunt, phone clattering to the floor as both hands grip your hips and force you to continue milking him until both of your bodies are shivering from the overstimulation.
You collapse against him, sweaty body melting into his, muscles quivering in exhaustion. Long arms encircle you, cradling you to his chest in a way that’s almost tender, phone laying forgotten a few feet away.
It’s just as nice as it was the first time, being swathed in his embrace, a gentle sigh slipping from between your lips. Nimble fingers trail up and down your spine, pressing into the notches, tracing the smooth, soft plains of your skin.
“Wish you could stay,” he mumbles into your hair, so quiet you nearly miss it—would have missed it if not for the vibrations in his chest.
Me too.
You want to tell him, want to express the same sentiment, to make it known that you desire the same thing, but the words tangle in your throat, that sticky brand of guilt that is specifically Touya refraining them from leaving your lips, yanking them back down into your chest with painful hitching breaths every time you try to speak.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until Tomura coos, pulling back a little to cup your face and tilt it up, big thumbs swiping across your cheeks as they catch glistening teardrops.
He doesn’t say anything—there is nothing to say—instead dipping his head to press his lips chastely to yours in the softest kiss he’s ever given you, mumbling his thanks for the birthday present a moment later.
There’s so much more you want to say, so much more you want to ask, but there’s no more time, opting to kiss him again in response, praying that it conveys all the things you can’t, all the things guilt won’t let you.
And then you’re scrambling off of his lap, collecting your dress off the floor and hastily pulling it over your head, turning back to find Tomura standing, holding out his hand, soaked lace in his grasp.
“Keep them,” you whisper, curling his fingers into a fist around the dainty material. “Happy birthday, Tomura,”
   ✰          ✰          ✰            
You have forty-five minutes before Touya arrives home—that’s cutting it close, you were supposed to have a full hour, but Tomura’s arms were so warm, his gently rising chest so inviting, his entire aura so comforting, that you had allowed yourself to indulge, just for a moment, to let your eyes slip shut and exhale a soft sigh of contentment, snuggling into his embrace and inhaling his distinct scent deeply, holding it in your lungs for a moment, wishing it would stay, wishing it would stick to the gummy walls, take root and find a home there, wishing you could keep a piece of him with you, always.
The water scalds your skin as you step into Touya’s glass shower, hands instantly reaching for Touya’s bodywash and squirting a generous amount in your palm.
You lather your entire body with it, until every inch of your skin is covered in foamy white suds, until your flesh has been scrubbed raw, the sharp scent—something woodsy and musky, like a crackling campfire of burning hickory wood, smoky and sweet—enveloping you entirely, stinging your nose.
It sticks in your throat and invades your lungs, as if cleansing you from the inside out, and you choke on it, are suffocated by it, little gasps and coughs falling from your lips while nails claw at your neck.
That dull ache returns as you rinse your skin, throbbing incessantly at the very core of your body as you watch the last remnants of Tomura swirl around the drain, infused in the soapy water.
It shouldn’t hurt this much, you’re thinking to yourself as your fingers massage shampoo into your scalp. It shouldn’t, but it does, a painful lump lodging itself in your throat, expanding a little more every time you try to reason with yourself until it’s gagging you.
Something stings your eyes—soap from the shampoo as you rinse it from your locks, or maybe the potently fragrant scent from Touya’s bodywash, you try to convince yourself, that lump sprouting tiny spikes and viciously slicing into the gummy walls, that lump forcing saliva still containing traces of Tomura to collect in your throat, that lump reminding you that you’re a fucking liar.
It’s fine. It’s fine. Touya doesn’t need to know everything, does he? What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? And it was only a one time thing, wasn’t it? It’s alright, isn’t it?
These are the questions that cycle through your mind obsessively, running laps in your skull as you absentmindedly towel off your dripping body in your niichan’s bedroom, the gentle buzz of your phone snapping you out of your reverie.
For a moment, you’re terrified it’s Touya, texting you to tell you that he knows, you little slut, scrambling to snatch it off of the nightstand as trembling fingers hastily unlock it.
It isn’t Touya.
It’s Tomura.
best birthday present of my life, hands down. thank you. i love you.
The resounding slam! of the front door has your entire body flinching violently, the heels of Touya’s heavy boots thumping against the tile as he kicks them off mingling with his smooth voice as he calls your name.
It’s with watery eyes and painful little sniffles catching in your chest that your quivering thumb jabs at that tiny little trashcan in the corner of your screen, watching through blurry vision as the entire conversation disappears into the ether, gone forever—though those three glowing words that concluded the text are etched into the very tissue of your brain, where they will remain, forever.
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