#if i say something that is completely wrong about music

[aleksatia]

You went for a drive out of the city, and during a coffee stop, you decided to break the news in a creative way. You had "Best Dad Ever" written on his cup.

🧜‍♂️ Rafayel

The drive is calm. For once, Rafayel isn’t dramatically complaining about how boring the scenery is, nor is he blasting music at full volume just to mess with you. Instead, he’s relaxed, one hand draped over the wheel, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, humming lazily to himself.

You hand him his coffee.

“Mm, thanks, cutie,” he purrs, taking it without looking, already lifting it to his lips—

Sip.

Pause.

His fingers tighten slightly.

Then—

The car swerves.

"RAFAYEL!"

With zero hesitation, he veers off the road and slams the brakes, the car jerking to a sudden, dramatic stop.

"WHAT THE HELL—" you start, gripping the dashboard.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"

Rafayel is staring at the cup like it just personally betrayed him. His eyes are huge, his fingers clamped so tightly around the cup that you’re genuinely worried it might crack.

He snatches off his sunglasses, turns to you, and—says nothing.

Just breathes heavily.

Like he’s witnessed something cosmic.

You raise an eyebrow. "Something wrong, babe?"

He flips the cup toward you, jabbing at the words printed on the side.

Best Dad Ever.

"Is this a joke?" His voice cracks. “IS THIS A JOKE?!”

You bite back a laugh. "Nope."

His entire body freezes. His brain disconnects from reality.

Then—

He LAUNCHES himself out of the car.

“RAFAYEL, OH MY GOD—”

He starts pacing.

Wildly.

Hand in his hair, fully spiraling.

"I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!" He throws his arms in the air. "MY GENES ARE TOO POWERFUL—THIS WAS INEVITABLE—"

You lean out the window, exasperated. "Can you—"

"I CAN’T BREATHE—"

"Then inhale through your nose, genius."

"I AM. IT'S NOT ENOUGH."

He stops abruptly. Whips back toward you. Marches over to the car like a man with a mission, plants his hands on the doorframe, and leans in—

"You’re serious?" His voice is deadly quiet now.

You hold his gaze. “I’m serious.”

For a second, he just stares at you.

Then, suddenly—

He laughs.

At first, just a short breath. Then—full giddy, unfiltered joy. He grabs your face, kisses you sloppy and hard, and laughs against your lips like he can’t believe it.

"I KNEW IT!" He pulls back just to yell into the sky. "I AM ABOUT TO CREATE THE MOST GORGEOUS CREATURE IN EXISTENCE. DO YOU UNDERSTAND? THIS IS HISTORIC. THIS CHILD WILL BE A CULTURAL ICON—"

You groan. "Rafayel—"

“I HAVE TO DOCUMENT THIS MOMENT.”

"—No."

He’s already reaching for his phone.

"—RAFAYEL, NO—"

"WE NEED A PORTRAIT. A MONUMENT. A SERIES OF LIMITED-EDITION ART PRINTS."

You physically reach over and grab his wrist. "GET BACK IN THE DAMN CAR."

He gasps.

Dramatically.

Hand-on-heart levels of betrayal.

"You wouldn’t deprive me of this joy?"

"I will deprive you of seeing your child if you don’t start driving."

Instantly—he’s back in the car.

Straightens his jacket. Adjusts his hair. Puts on his sunglasses.

"Holy sharks," he breathes, gripping the wheel. "I'm gonna be a dad."

You sigh, finally relaxing. "Yeah, babe. You are."

He exhales slowly.

Then, softer this time, he reaches out, brushing his fingers over your stomach—reverent now.

"You just made me the happiest being alive," he murmurs. His smirk is still there, but his voice is completely serious.

You smile, resting your hand over his. “I know.”

The moment lingers—soft, intimate, perfect.

And then—

A wicked glint flashes in his eyes.

“Ohhh,” he grins, leaning back lazily. “This kid is gonna be a menace.”

You groan. "Rafayel—"

"THEY WILL BE CHAOS INCARNATE."

"Stop—"

"WE HAVE A DYNASTY TO BUILD."

And just like that—your entire future flashes before your eyes.

🖤🐦Sylus

It’s been a quiet drive, Sylus tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, humming along to the music. He’s in a good mood. Relaxed. Smug, as usual, but easygoing.

You hand him his coffee.

He takes it, sips, lets out a pleased little hum—

And then—

The car jerks.

You barely have time to register what happened before he slams on the brakes, throwing an arm across your waist to stop you from lurching forward.

“SYLUS—”

"EXCUSE ME?!"

The wheels screech to a stop on the side of the road. A cloud of dust kicks up behind the car, but Sylus doesn’t even look at it. No—his full, undivided attention is now locked onto the cup in his hand.

He turns it slowly, his crimson eyes glowing as he reads the words again. And again.

Best. Dad. Ever.

He blinks.

Then he grins.

Not just a smirk—a full, wicked, teeth-flashing, Sylus-style grin that immediately puts you on high alert.

“Kitten,” he purrs, tilting his head, voice dangerously low. “Is this what I think it is?”

You cross your arms. “If you think it means I’m pregnant, then yes.”

He lets out a low whistle, tapping the cup against the steering wheel like he cannot believe his luck.

“Oh-ho-ho,” he laughs, running a hand through his silver hair. “Oh, kitten.”

“…Why do you sound like you won something?” you ask, already regretting everything.

He takes another slow sip of coffee, relishing it, before placing the cup deliberately in the holder. Then he turns to you.

And just—stares.

His eyes gleam. His smirk deepens. And then—

“You belong to me now,” he murmurs, voice soaked in satisfaction.

Oh. Oh no.

“Don’t—”

“You were already mine,” he continues, ignoring your protest, fingers tracing slow circles on your knee. “But this? This makes it official.”

You squint. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, leaning in until his nose barely brushes yours. “You are so trapped.”

Your breath catches.

His lips brush your jaw. Soft. Slow. Dangerous.

“Our baby,” he murmurs against your skin. “My legacy.”

Okay, that makes you snort. “Legacy? Are you serious—”

His fingers tighten on your thigh.

“I never joke about ownership, kitten.”

Your stomach flips. “Sylus, I swear—”

“I am,” he continues, voice so dangerously pleased, “about to be the most unbearable man alive.”

“You already are.”

He chuckles, dark and smooth.

Then, with zero warning, he pulls your seat lever—fully reclines it—and cages you in with both arms.

“SYLUS—”

“You think I’m letting you out of this car without celebrating properly?” His knee presses between yours. His lips hover just over yours. “Oh, kitten.”

A smug, deadly whisper—

“You’re not going anywhere.”

And just like that—you are so. Completely. Screwed.

☃️ Zayne

The drive is quiet, smooth, the hum of the engine steady. Zayne is driving like he does everything else—efficiently, precisely, with absolute control. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, his posture effortlessly composed.

You hand him his coffee.

He takes it automatically, barely looking away from the road as he lifts it to his lips.

Then—

The cup stops midair.

His fingers tighten.

His eyes flick down.

The muscles in his jaw shift.

You can see the exact second his mind starts processing.

His lips part slightly. His brows furrow just a fraction.

His eyes scan the words again, like data he needs to verify.

Best Dad Ever.

And just like that—Zayne enters full diagnostic mode.

His pupils dilate. His breathing adjusts. His shoulders tense in micro-movements.

Then, before you can speak, he mutters—

“Seven weeks.”

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s already calculating. His eyes flick to the dashboard clock—counting back the exact number of days since your last cycle.

“No, wait,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, “six weeks, five days. That lines up better with—”

He cuts himself off, his grip on the wheel adjusting, his mind racing a mile a second.

Then he grabs his phone with one hand and immediately dials a number.

You stare at him. “Zayne, what are you—”

“It’s Doctor Zayne, I need a full prenatal assessment scheduled immediately.”

“What?!”

He ignores you, listening intently. His tone is calm, clipped, entirely professional, as if he’s in the middle of a patient consultation.

“Yes, priority level one.” His fingers tap against the wheel. “Standard screenings plus full genetic panel. I also want a full cardiovascular assessment given her recent—”

“ZAYNE.”

His jaw tightens. He barely spares you a glance, still listening to whoever’s on the other end.

“No, reschedule that for tomorrow, I’ll be overseeing this personally—”

You reach over and end the call.

Silence.

Zayne blinks once, slowly, as if rebooting.

Then he turns his head very carefully toward you.

“…Did you just—”

“Yes.”

His eyelid twitches.

“You,” he says, deadpan, “just ended an emergency medical consultation with one of the most sought-after specialists in the Linkon-city.”

“Yes.”

His lips press together tightly. His nostrils flare just a fraction.

Then—the cracks start showing.

His throat bobs. His fingers flex around the wheel. His chest rises with a sharp inhale—

And then, finally, he breaks.

His entire body sags forward as he presses his forehead to the steering wheel, exhaling shakily.

“…Oh, fuck,” he mutters, voice completely wrecked.

You blink.

He takes another sharp breath, his hands gripping the wheel like he’s stabilizing himself.

“…I was fine,” he says, more to himself than to you.

You stare at him. “No, you weren’t.”

“I was,” he insists, head still against the wheel. “I had a plan. I was handling it.”

You tilt your head. “Handling it like a patient case?”

His fingers flex again. “It’s not the same.”

“Zayne.”

He doesn’t move.

“Zay.”

Nothing.

So you reach out, fingers slipping into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp—

He lets out a breath that absolutely shatters you.

Like something inside him has finally collapsed.

Then—without warning—he turns and kisses you.

It’s not like before. Not calculated, not measured, not careful.

It’s desperate.

Like he needs to feel you, needs to know you’re here, with him, real.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

“I can’t…” He exhales slowly. “I can’t lose control of this.”

Your chest tightens. “You don’t have to control everything, Zayne.”

His hand slips down, pressing gently against your stomach. His fingers splay, warm and reverent.

“…You’re right.” His voice is quieter now.

Another pause.

Then—

A tiny, breathless laugh escapes him.

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

His eyes flick to yours, golden-green and impossibly soft.

“…I’m going to be a dad.”

You smile. “Yeah, you are.”

Another shaky exhale. Then, a full-blown smile—rare, genuine, warm.

“…Shit.” He laughs again, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen this coming.”

You grin. “Should I be concerned that you can predict organ failure before it happens, but not this?”

His hand tightens just slightly over your stomach. His smirk is smaller now, more sincere.

“No,” he murmurs. “Because this—”

He leans in, lips brushing just over your temple.

“This is the best surprise I’ve ever had.”

🍎 Caleb

It’s a perfect drive—at least, for now. The sun is low, stretching golden light across the road, and Caleb is relaxed, one hand on the wheel, the other lazily resting on the armrest. He’s humming to himself, terribly off-key, completely endearing, and utterly oblivious to the bomb you’re about to drop on him.

You hand him his coffee.

“Thanks, pip-squeak,” he murmurs, taking it automatically, his eyes still on the road.

He takes a sip.

Then—

He stops.

His hand tightens around the cup.

His posture locks up.

And just like that, you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake.

The car swerves.

“CALEB!”

With military precision, he pulls over so hard the tires skid, shifts into park, and slams the brakes.

He doesn’t move.

He doesn’t breathe.

You barely have time to process before he whirls toward you, holding up the cup like it’s an explosive device.

“WHAT. IS. THIS?!”

You blink. “Uh. Coffee?”

His eye twitches. His chest rises in one sharp inhale.

Then—his voice drops to a whisper.

“…Are you messing with me right now?”

Your lips twitch. “Nope.”

Silence.

Pure, deafening silence.

Then—

His entire soul leaves his body.

He throws the door open, jumps out of the car, and immediately crouches down with his hands on his knees.

You watch in real time as a fully grown man has a complete emotional crisis on the side of the road.

"OH FUCK. OH FUCK. OH FUCK."

“CALEB, GET BACK IN THE CAR.”

"I NEED A SECOND."

“You’re going to get hit by—”

"I NEED A FUCKING SECOND."

You drop your head into your hands as he rakes his fingers through his hair, muttering to himself like he’s trying to process the meaning of life.

Then—abruptly—he stops.

Stands up straight. Spins to face you.

“…How long?”

You hesitate. “Caleb—”

“HOW LONG?!”

You sigh. “A few weeks.”

His jaw clenches. His eyes dart down, scanning you, like he’s only just now realizing that oh shit, you’re actually pregnant.

Then—he yanks open the car door, sits back down, and buckles his seatbelt like it personally wronged him.

You blink. “…Are you okay?”

“No,” he admits immediately.

He exhales sharply, presses his hands to his face, and just—

Whimpers.

Not dramatically. Not in distress. Just the most overwhelmed, overjoyed, short-circuited noise you’ve ever heard come out of him.

Then, suddenly—he laughs.

Not just any laugh—a helpless, breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, fuck.” He drags a hand down his face, his grin growing. “Oh, fuck. We’re having a baby.”

You grin back. “Yeah, we are.”

He turns to you, and something changes.

The panic is still there—but beneath it? Something warm. Something so impossibly, devastatingly soft.

Then—he moves.

His hand presses to your stomach.

Just rests there.

Like he’s afraid to push too hard, afraid to shatter this moment.

His throat bobs. His fingers spread slightly.

And then, his voice—softer than you’ve ever heard it—

“…That’s our baby.”

You nod.

His eyes flicker. His entire body tenses.

Then, without warning—

You are no longer sitting.

You yelp as he hauls you into his lap, wrapping both arms around you and crushing you against his chest.

“CALEB—”

“NOPE.” His voice is muffled into your shoulder. “I NEED THIS. GIVE ME THIS. RIGHT NOW.”

You laugh. “You’re squishing me—”

"YOU’RE PREGNANT WITH MY BABY AND I HAVE TO DEAL WITH THIS EMOTIONALLY, THANK YOU."

You let him have it.

For a long moment, he just holds you. His breath is shaky, his grip tight, like he’s trying to memorize every second of this before it slips away.

Then—he shifts slightly.

A deep breath. A pause.

Then, suddenly—

His grip tightens, and he leans back just enough to look at you dead in the eyes.

“…Okay but—what about me?”

You blink. “What?”

His ears start going red.

“I mean,” he clears his throat, gaze darting anywhere but your face now, “what about… you know.”

You smirk. “I don’t know. Clarify.”

He groans, tilting his head back against the seat. “Pip-squeak, come on.”

You hum, trailing your fingers over his shoulders, down his chest. “Ohh. You mean—”

"YES." His grip tightens on your hips. "What happens now? Do I just—" He gestures vaguely between you. "Forget about it? Nine months of nothing?"

You shrug innocently. “Well. There are other ways…”

He freezes.

His eyes darken. His jaw clenches. His fingers twitch.

“…Other ways.”

You nod. “Mhm.”

He stares. Processing.

Then, suddenly—

He grabs the steering wheel with both hands, stares straight ahead, and shifts into drive.

“Okay.”

You snort. “That’s it?”

“I have to drive us home. Immediately.” His voice is far too serious. “This is now a time-sensitive situation.”

You laugh. “Caleb, you are so—”

He shoots you a warning look, eyes still burning. “Do not finish that sentence unless you want me to pull over again.”

You grin wickedly. “And then what?”

His grip tightens on the wheel.

Then, low and dark—

“…Don’t test me, pip-squeak.”

And just like that—

You have created a monster.

☀️ Xavier

The drive is smooth, effortless. Xavier handles the car the way he handles everything else—calmly, efficiently, like he’s already three steps ahead of reality. The road stretches endlessly ahead, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence between you.

You hand him his coffee.

“Thank you, love,” he murmurs, taking it without looking, perfectly composed, as always.

He lifts it to his lips, takes a sip—

Then stops.

His fingers tighten slightly around the cup.

You watch as his eyes flick down to the message.

Best Dad Ever.

For a moment, he doesn’t react. Doesn’t tense, doesn’t flinch. Just…observes.

Then, with deliberate ease, he tilts his head slightly in your direction.

“…Very funny.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He gestures toward the cup, lips twitching in amusement. “You can’t fool me, princess. I know you too well.”

He takes another slow sip, entirely unbothered.

“This is a joke,” he continues, matter-of-factly. “You wanted to see if I’d panic. Clever, but predictable.”

You hum thoughtfully. “Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure?”

His smirk grows. “Because if it were real, you’d be significantly worse at hiding your anticipation.”

You tilt your head. “Mm. Maybe.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he shifts his focus back to the road. “You’ll have to do better than this next time.”

You shrug, lifting your own coffee to your lips.

He barely glances at it.

Then—he does a double take.

His brows furrow. His body stiffens slightly.

You see it—the moment the wheels in his head start turning. The moment his brain connects the dots.

Best Mom Ever.

Of twins.

There is a pause. A deep, soul-crushing pause.

Then, slowly, very slowly, he takes one more sip of coffee.

And immediately chokes on it.

He coughs once, hard, sharp. His grip on the wheel tightens so fast his knuckles go white.

And then—he does the single most terrifying thing he has ever done in his entire existence.

He slowly eases his foot off the gas pedal.

Not jerking the car. Not slamming the brakes. Just gradually reducing speed with surgical precision.

His eyes are locked straight ahead, unblinking.

The car glides toward the shoulder of the road in complete, deafening silence.

Then, in eerie, methodical movements,

He puts the car in park.

Takes off his seatbelt.

Reaches over.

And plucks your coffee out of your hands.

You blink. “Xavier?”

He says nothing.

Instead, he places both cups onto the dashboard.

Adjusts them. Lines them up perfectly so that the words are directly facing him.

Then—

He stares.

At the cups.

At the words.

At his entire future.

Silence.

Then, very quietly—

“…Twins.”

His throat bobs.

His hand comes up and presses against his temple.

Another beat of pure silence.

Then—

He laughs.

A single breathless, helpless laugh.

Then another.

And another.

Until suddenly—

He dissolves into a full-blown existential breakdown.

His entire body tips forward, forehead pressing against the steering wheel.

“Twins.” His voice is muffled, bordering on delirious. “I—twins. Two. There are two.”

You bite your lip. “There will be, yeah.”

He lets out a sound that is neither human nor machine.

Then, slowly—he lifts his head again.

His eyes are unfocused, like he’s calculating probabilities of survival in real-time.

Then—

His head turns toward you.

And you swear you see actual panic.

“How,” he exhales, voice quiet, shaky, “do we own two of something when we never needed to own one?”

You blink. “Xav, what—?”

He gestures vaguely at the cups.

“How do we prepare for twins if we were never prepared for a singular baby?”

You open your mouth—

"WE DON'T EVEN HAVE TWO OF THE SAME PILLOW."

You freeze. “What.”

He gestures more aggressively now, looking absolutely unhinged.

“OUR BED.” He waves toward the back seat. “THE PILLOWS. THEY’RE DIFFERENT. HOW DID WE GET TWO DIFFERENT PILLOWS? HOW DID I LET THIS HAPPEN?”

You stare at him.

“You’re spiraling.”

“I AM LOGICALLY PROCESSING THE GRAVITY OF OUR SITUATION.”

“Xavier.”

He inhales. Exhales.

Then, softer now, more real, more raw—

“…We’re going to have twins.”

You nod.

His shoulders drop. His eyes soften.

Then—before you can react, he reaches out, pulls you into his lap, and buries his face into your neck.

For a long moment, he just holds you.

No overthinking. No calculations.

Just you.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low, warm, unshaken.

“…I am never going to recover from this information.”

You laugh softly. “You will.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. And finally—finally—his lips curve into a small, exhausted smile.

“…They’re going to be terrifyingly intelligent.”

You snicker. “Oh, for sure.”

“And devastatingly attractive.”

“Obviously.”

He hums. “I will be insufferable.”

“You already are.”

His arms tighten around you, his lips brushing your forehead.

“…I’m going to be a father of twins.”

“You are.”

“…That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

You grin. “You’ll be fine.”

Another pause.

Then—

A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes.

“…Twins, you said?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yes?”

His smirk returns, sharper this time.

“So.” He tilts his head. “Shall we test for a third?”

You shove him so hard the car rocks slightly. ****** More stories here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleksa_Tia

[eremikayearner]

horror movie boy ‹𝟹 itoshi rin

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which, you watch rin’s favourite movie with him.

˖ ࣪⭑ you knew rin was a horror fanatic. anything horror related. books, manga, anime, music, and movies. especially movies.

rin, the sweet boyfriend he was, had listened to you yap about all your favourite genres, movies, shows, mangas, manhwas, books, whatever it was you enjoyed. he’d watched all your favourite movies with you with a soft smile on his lips as he held you in his arms and appreciated your excitement over such simple things.

that’s when you had proposed that you should watch rin’s favourite movie with him. oh boy, you were in for a ride.

rin had protested of course, claiming it wasn’t your style, too gorey and much too terrifying for you to handle. he even went on to tell you that he didn’t want you to think he was messed up in the head (maybe you were considering it). nevertheless, you insisted.

you’d bothered him for a whole week straight before he’d finally given in. so now here you were, in the dark and curled up on his couch with the fluffiest of blankets enveloping the both of you as you trembled in fear. the sounds of screaming, murder, blood and gore filled the room as you watched the most horrific scene unfold on the tv in front of you.

you were completely frozen in place, nothing to comfort you put the warmth and solidity of rin’s body against yours and his hands rubbing soothing circles on your arm.

peeling your eyes away finally from the screen, you looked up at rin and to your heart’s delight, you saw his pretty teal eyes completely fixated on the sight in front of him. you had never seen rin seem so fascinated and captivated by a piece of media before. his lips parted in awe as you heard another violent sound come from the tv. the light from the screen illuminated his pretty face, just highlighting the wonder and enchantment that softened his features, and you couldn’t help but think he looked absolutely adorable.

was it wrong to think that? i mean, your boyfriend was practically fawning over the most sickening and terrifying movie you had ever seen, and the only thing you could say about him was that he looked adorable? but now you saw how twisted he was and you couldn’t help but feel your heart surge with overwhelming adoration for him. to see rin so enamoured by something as simple as a movie was the sweetest most adorable thing you could ever imagine. and to think you were lucky enough to experience this side of him.

maybe rin was twisted for his taste in movies, but you might just be more twisted for admiring his unsettling oddities.

with a small smile, you returned your attention to the movie and jumped in fear once another splatter of blood erupted from a body. ever the attentive boy he was, rin pulled you closer to him and squeezed your shoulder comfortingly.

after some more blood and gore had passed, the credits had finally begun to roll. it was safe to say you were a jumpy and trembling mess after that movie.

you looked up at him, giving him a weak smile. “that wasn’t so bad.”

but rin knew you better than anyone by now and knew your lies. he smiled softly at you and it made every second of that movie worth it.

“i’m so proud of you.” he pressed his lips to the top of your head. “my brave girl.”

rin was twisted maybe, but he was yours.

your sweet and twisted horror movie boy.

[greenxgloss]

Can we get a bts fanboy headcanon?

BTS as Fanboys

themes: Idol!Reader, Gn!Reader, Fluff, angst

Gonna be completely honest im not sure if you wanted bts as fanboys or how bts interacts with their fanboys so I'm gonna do them as fanboys bc I feel like that's the more interesting of the two (I'm so so sorry if that's wrong in which case you can totally request it again and be more clear I would totally re-write it if I'm wrong)

Kim Seokjin

Jin definitely roasts other fans and claims to be a day 1 supporter.

"I literally knew them when they just posted covers online.

Jin buys all your merch, official and unofficial.

Jin spends hours watching fan-made edits of you.

Jin plays the Sims4 just to create you as a sim and then spoil your sim but forces it to write new music when you're on break/hiatus.

"Close enough. Welcome back, Y/N. When's the next album?"

Jin makes his own video compilations of your funny moments and then laughs at them for hours.

Proud of his obsession and talks about you when he doesn't know what else to talk about with new people.

Attends fan meets

Jin makes memes of the fandom's inside jokes

Min Yoongi

Yoongi buys all your albums (cd form, vinyl form etc.) just to have and collect

He writes fanfiction of you (series, one shots etc) mostly fluff but there is the occasional smutty fic, hyper erotic and juicy asf but still respectful.

He's secretly hugely infatuated but still keeps it subtle/ to himself

"Yeah their music is always in my playlists." with his usual kitten smile.

"Collaborating on something with them would be a huge accomplishment." Hed calmly reply to comments about you on weverse live.

Yoongi paints portraits of you/ makes tons of fan art but its not obvious that its fanart because he makes it look like regular everyday art.

Yoongi not only watches your interviews, he reads them, enjoying the articles far more than video interviews.

"they seem much more comfortable and open in the written interviews" hed say to himself

He's so delulu he learned all your rumoured favourite foods and how to cook them "just in case"

zones out thinking about the meanings behind your songs

Youre his celebrity crush

Yoongi doesn't attend fan meets or concerts because he a more lowkye/ private fan

just interact with the fandom

Jung heosok

Hobi writing remixes of your songs constantly

Hobi being the only one of the boys to actually be friends with you in real life

"can I get on a remix of your recent single?"

Gossiping with him about other idols

"did you hear about the scandal that group was in? they haven't even debuted yet." while tapping your hand before leaning back.

him still being a mega fan despite being friends with you

Having a yoongi and halsey dynamic

begging you to stream on weverse all the time just because he knows other fans want it just as bad.

"come on!! please just an hour. ill get you those cookies you really love.

reposting all your Instagram posts with sweet captions.

"bestie is looking so good!!!" with a ton of emojis

recreating your tiktok dances

also starts dance trends to your music and encourages people to jump on the trend

"I'll repost your video if you do this dance." big heart shaped smile.

Kim Namjoon

namjoon studies your lyrics, finds the double meanings and the word play

"reviews" and reacts to your music in YouTube videos

watches the countdown to your music being released on whatever platform (youtube, weverse etc.)

"supposedly the camera rig malfunctioned on set, that's why the camera is so shaky but they didn't re-shoot because it added to the windy scene" he'd say all jumpy and giddy like a kid on a sugar rush

has your autograph framed from the one and only time he met you

namjoon was very flustered and shy when he met you

"oh uh yeah I love your music and the double meanings in your last song."

gushes about the cinematography in your music videos

Namjoon writes questions he'd ask you if he got to interview you

Watches movies and tags you as characters that remind him of you

Park Jimin

Loves to let your music play while he's doing something and then harmonizes with your vocals

buys Vip tickets to all your events

posts your lyrics on social media

"this part omg!!!"

One time you smiled at him in the crowd and he freaked out and bragged about it for months

"they totally smiled at me last night"

"do you think they remember me from the fan meet last month?"

he's constantly talking with other fans

jimin makes bracelets with letter beads that spell your name or album names

jimin copies your makeup just because he thinks you're the picture of beauty purely in a view of admiration

he views you like greek statues.

"wow- their cheekbones-" he'd say in awh, face right up to the screen while he held a mirror and makeup brush in hands.

Kim Taehyung

requests your songs at parties and other events

begs the guys to do a cover of your songs on stage

name drops you in interviews and is always talking about you in his own interviews

has a huge crush on you and will say so proudly

"they're so pretty. Y/n if you see this, call me." with a sly smirk on his face, completely disregarding the uproar it would cause with army

Taehyung gets super shy when you say his name

Being shy despite being so confident when he talks about you in interviews

"uh- oh- the new song- yeah." while giggling

apologizing profusely when you tease him about the interviews when he comes to fan meets

Jeon Jungkook

Jungkook would write a song about you that's how down bad he is

Posts on social media in hopes you see it

Kook argues with taehyung about thinking he'd treat you better given the chance

argues with jin about being a bigger fan

picks out his outfits to coordinate with yours

kook hopes to run into you at award shows

stalks your fanpages

reads yoongis fanfiction about you

probably is the more devoted fan among the other members

sings your songs all the time, in the car, shower, while cooking, etc.

the only one of the boys that talks to you confidently

"Your style is amazing, I take inspiration all the time." while standing up straight and s soft confident smile on his lips, eye contact unwavering.

but he would never admit that he's written and released songs about you

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

sorry this took so long i was trying to get all the requests in order! i hope these were up to par hcs are usually very rushed. if you'd like something more detailed or even full drabbles id totally be down to do that. if you wanna be tagged in future works to be notified when I've posted a fic please fill out the taglist form linked below along with the masterposts

➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Taglist Form

[msschemmenti]

girl in danger - 5

a/n: this chapter was powered by stella rosa peach wine and random cult docuseries'

A throbbing pain yanked her from the darkness. It started at the back of her head, radiating outward in sharp, rhythmic pulses. She rolled her head to the side, looking for some sort of relief, and attempted to raise her hand to inspect the pain. But something felt wrong– her arms wouldn’t move. Something about the thought of being bound sent a surge of panic through her body. With her eyes still closed, she tried again pulling harder, but her wrists were locked behind her. Y/n worked to quell the rising panic and quietly attempted to take some deep breaths. There was really no part of her that could believe this was happening. One minute she was walking down the hall, now she was strapped to a chair with a strip of tape covering her mouth. 

Y/n peeled her eyes open slowly and blinked sluggishly to fight the nausea that was washing over her body. As the room came into focus, the only thing she was thankful for was the dim lights. Everything else was something straight out of a nightmare. Her office had been transformed into a candle-lit dinner setting with Matthew pacing in the corner. Her desk was clear, all of her things strewn about the floor, and a plate of chocolate-covered fruit was in front of her. With all the additional things in the office, it was clear Matthew hadn’t just done this on a whim. He’d probably been planning it all along. And that thought alone, sent a rather unpleasant shiver down her spine. 

The moment must have caught the young man’s attention because he rounded on Y/n quickly. Relief flooded his face as his eyes met the professor’s. He’d made it to her side in two steps and was grinning down at her. “Thank goodness you’re awake. I got a little worried there when I saw how much you were bleeding. But you’re awake now, which is great.” Matt raises his hand to caress Y/n’s head tenderly, “I thought I might’ve hit you too hard there for a bit.” Y/n watched in fear as he kept rambling and reaching for her. Flinching back was the only natural response after a crazed man knocked you out but the action pulled a frown from Matthew almost instantly. “You don’t have to be scared. I’ve got this all planned out. And the hard part is over! You see I’ve been dreaming of this moment since they announced your hiring. My roommate was a music major last year and he kept talking about this new professor starting last term. He was a senior and was a part of the hiring committee. Out of all the candidates, all he did was talk about you. Professor Y/Ln this and Professor Y/Ln that.  You know it was pretty annoying at first until I saw a picture of you. Then it made sense. And I registered for your music literature class that day.” 

Matt’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he recounted his plans, “That very first day of class, I knew I had to have you. When you took attendance and we locked eyes— I felt something I’d never felt before. A spark sounds cliche I know. But I know you felt it too. And then when that class ended, you said ‘I hope to see you in another class’ so I knew for sure. That’s when I hacked into the class registration site and bumped someone out of class voice so I could take it. It was full when I registered and I had told myself that if you didn’t say anything I wouldn’t try to get in but then you did. So I did what I had to do to see you again. And now we can be together, for real. Just like we want.” 

Y/n couldn’t lean any further in her chair without falling and Matt took that advantage to pull her close. He reached for the tape and peeled it back with a sinister smile. “Now that everyone is gone, we can finally enjoy some alone time.” And as the words left his mouth, Y/n’s stomach completely dropped because he was right. No one was here and no one would be here for two weeks. And who knows what Matt has planned for that time. Panic was creeping up her shoulder steadily and if she didn’t think of something soon it was sure to take over. 

When Matt was done explaining himself, he pulled the tape fully off Y/n’s mouth and turned toward the table to adjust the plates. With his eyes no longer on her, she tried to look for something useful. The dress she’d been wearing tonight hadn’t allowed for any pockets but there had to be something in the room she could use to contact someone or even use to beat the shit out of this guy. But the more she looked around the less hope she had. It looked like Matt had swept all of the things to the floor to set up this candlelit dinner table. And her purse with her phone was across the room in the corner. She was completely unarmed and being held hostage by a guy in love with her. At the very least— he was currently planning to keep her alive and she could work with that. 

Y/n swallowed the building lump in her throat and called out to the man, “Matthew, what exactly is your plan? I mean you graduate tomorrow, you’ve gotta do that right?” 

Matthew tsked like the answer was simple, “Of course, I’m gonna walk. My parents will be here tomorrow morning. I was just going to leave you here until it’s over and then we can ride off into the sunset. The world is ours.” Matt’s words continued but Y/n started thinking of ways out. If he was planning to leave her alone for any amount of time, she had a much better chance of getting out of this. While she assessed the binds around her wrists and ankles, she heard the familiar sounds of keys in the halls. The footsteps neared the office door and one glance at the clock had her sighing in relief. Gene, the nighttime public safety officer. 

“Professor Y/Ln? I saw your car out in the parking lot and came to check on you. Now, I know you got all your grades in yesterday what could you possibly still be doing here?”

Y/n nearly called for help, but the look Matt gave her from the door silenced her quickly. Matt’s eyes went wide and he pushed himself against the door to listen for the intruder’s motions. “Who is that? No one is supposed to be here.” He hissed over his shoulder. Gene’s footsteps paused and his keys jingled in the lock of the door. Y/n watched with bated breath as Matt drew his finger up to his mouth to silence her and stand out of sight of the door.

The lock turned and the door swung open revealing the older man in uniform, “Oh, there you are. I was wondering what was going on, shouldn’t you be home by now?” Gene took a step past the door, not having seen the ties holding Y/n captive yet. But at her silence, his face contorted a bit in fear. “Hey, are you o–” Before he could finish, Matt was forcibly striking the butt of a gun across the back of Gene’s head. And the officer fell to the floor. 

“What the hell Matt?!” I guess one hostage wasn’t enough.

[drawing-write]

Okay! SO, I just read through everything you posted here (which, by the way, beautifully arranged and comprehensive, I love the way you WORD-)

The themes you drew from the texts and how you link it to Odysseus and the narrative, the complexities of it all, is so freaking cool. I'm sorry I cannot express words as well as you to fully say how much I adore and appreciate how in-depth you went.

As I've said before, I have read the Odyssey, but that was long ago and while I enjoyed it, I admit I didn't understand it- at least not fully. My experience being more surface level as a casual enjoyer. You've really opened my eyes and made me so so eager to reread and catch all of which I've missed. Yap and rant all day long, friend, this is everything I wanted. I am in starry-eyed awe.

GOSH, I CANNOT SAY ENOUGH HOW MUCH I LOVE CONTENT LIKE THIS. Your genuine love and pride for this has me so giddy. The way you go about it makes it clear how much effort you put in, it's so well-thought out and loved.

(I am probs gonna be scrolling through your blog so much, I'm so sorry if you get random notifications from me hearting/liking stuff. skhkdghdh)

For the musical, I get you completely. When someone who should be knowledgeable on something you love, and clearly has passion and talent for it, yet still not grasp what makes the original what it is, freaking sucks (for lack of better words.)

I have gone through similar things seeing people who should be making something great out of a wonderful story only to take out the parts you loved the most or fail to capture the essence of the characters, story, and themes- It just sucks.

Some of my favourite things to read is historical fiction, which sorta clashes with my love for history. Because fiction often gets things wrong. (I also have pretty strong opinions on adaptations and retellings as well, I get so very angry over some things in other medias- UGH the rants I could go on about book to movie adaptions- but that is neither here or there.)

I am also a musical nerd, so I guess that's what gives me my soft-spot for Epic. I feel like I would have been more against the musical if I had delved into the Odyssey beyond surface level beforehand. Perhaps because I already grew attached to Epic I can't muster feelings of upset even though the things I dislike about it are similar to what you dislike about it. That being inaccuracies mostly.

Learning more now only brings me more appreciation for the original. (I really can't get enough of the connections you put, describing Odysseus and just how real he is, how contradictory he is. It's aaaa)

This has just been me rambling, I'm so sorry I literally have no insight to contribute to this *sobs*

Hello! I just stumbled upon your blog when I joined The Odyssey community! If it isn't too much a bother to ask, what things, reccuring themes and characterizations do you feel are most important and iconic within The Odyssey?

I am asking this mostly because I really do like your rants and opinions, I find myself agreeing to a lot of what you say, which sorta surprises me because of your clear dislike of Epic, whereas I personally adore Epic: The Musical. (I stayed away from it for a while -I was wary of retellings, adaptions and what-not- until I finally got into it like, a month ago and since, I have been listening non-stop)

So, when I came onto your posts, I was immediately drawn towards your Epic based rants and your translations. Point for point, you hit all the parts I disliked about the musical, albeit, my dislike is obviously much milder, since I still love it. I also completely understoond your stance on source material over so-called retellings since I have felt and still do feel the same about other (unrelated to The Odyssey) medias and fandoms.

If you'd like to talk, I love to hear more of your thoughts! Tell me all of what you loved about The Odyssey. Refresh my knowledge and give me your insight! I'm getting back into reading it, since I read it only once before a long time ago. I have always been more of a casual enjoyer, but now I'm really trying to dip my toes in.

(You don't have to say anything about the musical either, I just really liked your rants on it and the corrections you made on the misinformation rampant in the fandom due to preconceived notions... Sorry, I talk a lot-)

Why hello and I am quite honored you discovered me hahahahaha oh my, my once again being known for my runts huh? Hahaha XD I can see why though! I am really honored you decided to ask me such intriguing question! Hahaha how dare you! You know I am a yapper about this book! Hehehe!

I would say one reoccurring theme in the Odyssey that I rarely ever see in adaptations is the theme of seeking of knowledge. I find it so disappointing how it is literally one of the main themes of the Odyssey and yet I rarely ever see it happening. It is literally at the first lyrics of the poem:

πολλῶν δ᾽ ἀνθρώπων ἴδεν ἄστεα καὶ νόον ἔγνω

He saw many cities of men and gained knowledge from them

(Translation by me)

Odysseus was not just experiencing his homecoming. It was a cognitive trip; a trip where he learnt things and he achieved things on his way.

He didn't stop at the cave of Cyclops because he had nothing else to do or no food to go by. It is clearly stated in the Odyssey that the island of the Cyclops was extremely fertile and had many wild goats and other animals they could hunt and feed on. Odysseus entered the cave because he wanted to meet the people that lived there. He ignored the signs that showed the residents were non-human because he wanted to give a chance to whoever lived in that cave to show that they were more than what met the eye.

He met the land of Aeolia next. His stay in that land for one month was share knowledge with Aeolus. He told them his story, they also told him their own experiences, thus Odysseus knows about how Aeolus arranged the marriage of his children and all

He sent scouts to the land of the Laestrigonians and their city, he was though more prudent this time and assured a safe passage even if his comrades didn't follow his prudent stance this is what costed them their lives but one ship.

He shared knowledge with Circe, not only on the part of his trip that he needed to move on but also gained knowledge from her. One example is the mention of a cunning knot he learnt from her which he used later in his adventures. Small details like that.

He gained knowledge from Tiresias not only on how to break his curse but also on what happened the years he was away from his home.

He had no reason to hear the sirens! The sirens is exactly the manifestation of his trip being of cognitive nature. He wanted to hear them. He NEEDED the knowledge they provided! Removing that concept from his trip in any shape or form shows to me someone who does not understand the Odyssey (I know it is harsh to say but I feel like there is one part of the Odyssey that is so iconic like the 12 axes challenge and that is the sirens passage)

Odysseus learns in every part of his trip and uses that knowledge to future adventures. But what I also fail to see is how CONSCIOUS this knowledge-gain is. Of course he learns things accidentally too but most part of it is knowledge he chooses to acquire for himself.

Another theme that I do not see much is theme of fate and destiny. Odysseus is not some idiot who doxxed himself as most people use the overused joke. In fact his trip is so thick of plot that one way or another something would have happened to cause this wandering.

Troy was destined to stand 10 years (from the Iliad),

Odysseus was destined to go home in 20 (hence he needed extra persuasion to go to the war).

Polyphemus was prophesized before that he would have been blinded by a man named Odysseus (he just didn't know who that Odysseus would be)

but we also know that Odysseus was destined to meet Circe (Circe mentions how Hermes had warned her for the prophesized man coming to her isle. She probably was unaware on the identity of the man or how that man would arrive at her doors)

Odysseus was also cursed by Polyphemus that he would either never return or return alone without his companions and find misery at his home

The true line between fate and destiny and human will is very thin in greek mythology. However we also see that Odysseus tries repeatedly to change fate even if it is inevitable (see my analysis here). It is this human part of his that is so relatable! Also the fact that oftentimes in the joke people forget that Odysseus experienced the absolute horror in the cave of Polyphemus for days. Exhaustion and anger took the best of him as well as of course his ego being inflated that he had managed to take down such a powerful opponent. And of course the reoccurring misunderstanding that Odysseus never cared for anyone else but as I have also analyzed there that is simply not true. It is even stated in the Odyssey:

πολλὰ δ᾽ ὅ γ᾽ ἐν πόντῳ πάθεν ἄλγεα ὃν κατὰ θυμόν, ἀρνύμενος ἥν τε ψυχὴν καὶ νόστον ἑταίρων.

He suffered many torments in his heart out at the sea, seeking to win his own life/soul and the return of his companions

(Translation by me)

The whole trip was always about Odysseus wishing to return them all safely home. Which is also part of his tragedy and shows why he went in so many lengths to save them etc.

I am honored that someone that likes this piece of media can still understand and even liking some of these opinions. I understand that for someone that genuinely like it might be a bit annoying or tiring but yeah I guess I love the original way too much! Hahaha! And okay I understand the songs are really catchy so it can be getting into someone's head easily but I am really delighted to hear you say that! And of course to be fair there are many things one can like about the musical for example the talent of the people related to it and their passion

However ironically that was the source of my dislike as well hehe I know it is paradoxical but when I see someone with obvious knowledge of the sources and passion for something, twist the original material to THAT degree...dunno I feel it even harder. I mean of course one does not expect it to be accurate but when I hear that and yet someone claim to adapt material I would expect of course these small details changing here and there for example adding dialogs with Poseidon (that is like a must in every adaptation minus the 1968 version I noticed...like Poseidon never interacted with Odysseus but that is something every adaptation adds!) or extra scenes with Hermes or whatever or even some of the details added. The problem is that the whole plot was twisted beyond repair, basic parts of the plot that made the plot unique and beloved were thrown out the window And BECAUSE I recognize the talent of the people involved AND seeing they had the chance as they did to make not only the Odyssey available to public but also influence more people to see it and they could do it by staying respectful to the material and yet they chose not to which increased as I said my disappointment. I was also very warm when I watched the first two sagas even if they were also inaccurate because they had exactly what I describe. So yes of course I absolutely understand why people would like it. Dang I absolutely do at least on the artistic department but the way as you brilliantly stated not only the plot but also the fandom of it has been at times it really got to me more than many things

So it is really a good change to see more people see this point of view too and I respect the fact that some people like it and yet do try to see the other view too. You are very kind for saying that!

Hahahaha dude you are asking a dangerous question! Hahahaha! I can talk about it forever! Hahaha Honestly what is there to me not to love about the Odyssey? For starters the fact that it is an ancient Greek poem, something linked to my country and my history and being loved in such a great degree and continue to inspire even almost 3000 years later, fills me with so much pride! Makes me inspired to do something similar! Like not caring if I will be a celebrity but someone see my work and admire it even if they do not know who I am...someone that can see this and continue to speak on it for generations to come... Of course many writers do the same as well like classical literature and all but for the specific one I feel so much pride!

The Odyssey arguably has everything! Romance, friendship and companionship, horror and peace, war and bloodshed and also tenderness of a family, drama and comedy, adventure and domestic life even daresay sci-fi details with the Phaeakes island that have literal robotic dogs created by Hephaestus for them. Odysseus is one of the most complicated personas in all literature history and earned that position in the hall of fame. Arguably even ancient Greeks and Romans could not handle the guy with so many different opinions that paint him from hero till villain. The same guy that held back from the battle till the proper moment and then abandoned his last escape to save Diomedes in the Iliad is now sailing to the seas. The same man that took Ismarus and slay the men and took women of it as his property and mentioning it as casually as he could was also crying his eyes out in guilt upon hearing a song about Troy and the way the city fell. The same guy that tenderly held his son and cried like a baby holding him and kissing him was also the same person that slaughtered 108 men in his palace and executed their allies in less than a day. The same guy who reigned the kingdom like a father; who embraced and kissed his slaves like equals, was also undoubtedly a strong leader and king who defended his authority with iron hand and he was ready to even slay his own brother-in-law when he defied him. The same man that held back from volunteering to face Hector in the Iliad and made sure he would be the last to be chosen, in the Odyssey he armed himself ready to face an immortal 6-headed monster all by himself. The man known for his mind and cunning and indirect ways is also known for being one of the greatest warriors known. Arguably even his age being one of the oldest kings in the Iliad and yet as Antilochus said he was also one of the fastest and more agile and one of the best in spear. The most pious and religious people to the gods, favored by one of the greatest goddesses of all, Athena, and loved by Zeus was also one of those who suffered a great deal from his hubris.

This man is the absolute perfection of contradictions in one body and the way he is portrayed by Homer especially in the Odyssey where he is the protagonist is a masterpiece of emotions. Arguably Odysseus is also one of the earliest male rape victims in literature for he was not just attempted to be raped and seduced but he had to literally sell his body once to Circe and then he was being forced by Calypso. A warrior that was absolutely powerless before the gods

The Odyssey is also a great allegory of the spread of Greeks to the Mediterranean sea before the official set of colonies and the way it provides us information on how they moved around. It is also an allegory on the dangers humans faced out in the sea, how they struggled and how the families left behind also struggled with the consequences. How the power of nature can bend someone but also how human with seer will can do incredible things Odysseus survived the impossible not because he had gods as parents or hardly any help from the gods itself with the exception of Leucothea in the last adventure and of course finally Athena to the final stage. Odysseus survived because of his seer will and his need to return home. Odysseus can be any one of us; a person who struggles every day; everything can hold us down and we might have no help or very little help from others but we must keep pushing through. The Odyssey also shows us the importance of companionship and family bonds, loyalty and trust. Odysseus didn't slay the suitors because he was a mary-sue all-powerful person. He had help from three loyal slaves (Euryclea, Eumaeus and Philoetius) and his son Telemachus. He didn't do it alone. He used the help of those who believed in him and quite frankly he faced a much less bad situation at his palace because of his wife's seer will and loyalty to not abandon the throne of Ithaca to anyone till he arrived.

The Odyssey is also about how there are many forms of strength. Penelope was not less strong than Odysseus because she didn't kill anyone with a sword. She was strong for keeping more than 100 men and several parts of the household that were betraying them with her seer will and mind. Telemachus was both a fighter and someone who tried to see the best in people and that saved his life (when he spared Theoklymenos at his return from his trip. Theoklymenos was a man who had committed murder. Telemachus chose to give him a chance and in return he received the prophecy of Theoklymenos that the suitors were planning an ambush) Odysseus also learnt forgiveness in one way when he was ready to start another bloodshed by the end of the Odyssey when the families of the suitors saught revenge but Athena stopped it, making sure both sides stopped the never-ending circle of violence. Nausicaa is an example of loving someone and yet you must respect their wishes and let them go. Telemachus is an example of self-discovery... The very realistic scenario of someone not recognizing the place they left for so long and people not recognizing you back. That you have to work yourself through the very same place you left behind! Even Telemachus as a character not even knowing what to believe anymore about the father he never met, not knowing whom to listen and whom not to etc. like a realistic scenario of absent veteran fathers who disappeared a long time ago...

Honestly...what ISN'T the Odyssey?! It is in my opinion one of the most complete pieces of literature that opens the way in many things! I am really happy you shall decide to look at it more attentively and I hope you shall enjoy it because honestly it's worth it.

(My friend I do not mind at all speaking about it. I am just not a fan so I am just asking the understanding of anyone that I am not gonna be very positive about what I mention and say. However I shall try not to be hater with no reason or logic, that I can promise to try)

[liiilyevans]

Singer/Band AU

Part 4. Peep under the cut for a surprise.

When Harry heard his phone ding and read the message, the first word out of his mouth was 'shit.' He wasn't anywhere near ready to host a guest. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. After quickly buzzing the front desk and asking them to let Ron's little sister in, Harry quickly snatched his old plaid blanket off the loveseat and raced back to his bedroom to throw it on the bed. Then he closed the door. She didn't need to see what a mess his room was.

Not that his work space was any better.

He and Ron still lived in a little flat just outside of Dover. They'd looked for other places now that they could both afford it, but nothing had ever come of their search. Ron wanted to be close to his family, and Harry was not about to leave this flat as long as his best friend wanted to room with him. He figured that he only had so much time left before Ron and Hermione moved in together, shagged til she got pregnant, and popped out two point five kids.

The front room was one half living room and kitchen and one half studio. His keyboard was stuck in the corner across from the door while his guitar rack, sporting only three guitars currently, sat to the right of it. On the left side was his desk, cluttered with lyrics ideas, his desktop and two monitors, and what seemed to be a week old sandwich. Quickly, Harry snatched that and dumped it into the trash. The rest of his equipment was to the left of the desk; two mic stands and two microphones, headphones hung over the mic stand, a seat for when he played guitar, some cables running to his computer, and a partition to keep the acoustics sounding crisp when he sang or played.

Besides his desk, his studio area was mostly clean. The rest of the flat on the other hand was a mess.

Hurriedly, he scooped the trash off the counter and shoved it into the already full trash can. Then he grabbed the blue blanket sitting on the old love seat and quickly folded it, his aunt's voice shrilly ringing in his ears about making the place presentable. Everything still looked old and splotchy and like something you'd expect to see from someone who was just getting started in the music industry, not someone who'd been working at for four years and was successful.

That was when Harry heard the knock on his door.

After brushing his hands off on his sweatpants, which he realized he should have changed out of if he didn't want to look like a bum, he pulled the door open. Ginny Weasley was standing there looking up at the top of his door frame, probably at his and Ron's initials Hagrid had carved when he thought that they were moving out. Hagrid must have thought that if he put those there the boys couldn't leave.

Her eyes fell to his then, and Harry deeply regretted not putting more effort into his appearance. She was wearing denim shorts with a striped shirt tucked into the waistband. She also had an oversized denim jacket on. Her hair, similar to Ron's but not quite as orange, was pulled into a ponytail, allowing Harry to get a full look at the constellation of freckles across her nose and checks and her big brown eyes. He hadn't expected her to be this pretty.

"Hi," she said easily. "I'm assuming you're my brother's roommate and not a dumb thief who decided to open the door of the flat he's robbing."

If Harry hadn't been so shocked by her statement, he would have laughed.

"Yeah, I'm Harry," he said, stepping aside to let her in. Nervously, he ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Nice flat," she said before dropping her bag into the only chair he and Ron had. Her eyes immediately snagged on the equipment on the other side of the room, and Harry immediately felt self-conscious, a remnant he'd tried to smash from his childhood. Realistically, he knew that she was the one who should be nervous since he'd been doing this for a while, and she was relatively new to all this. However, none of the people he'd worked with had been in his flat before.

This was his personal space where he decompressed, where he knew that he could write trashy lyrics that didn't have to be perfect because no one was going to see them. It was home and only two people had shared that with him. When Ron mentioned his sister, Harry figured it would be alright to let her in here since she was his best friend's sister, but now, he felt exposed.

"Do you mind?" she asked, pointing to his acoustic Martin.

And, yes, Harry very much did mind, but something in the tilt of her head reminded him of Ron and so he shook his head no.

Ginny beamed and picked up the guitar. Harry thought it was about the brightest smile he had ever seen. After sitting down on his playing stool, she started to strum out a rhythm, which Harry quickly realized was to The Woods. He was slightly impressed that she had been able to pick up the chords just from listening to the audio recording he'd sent her.

"It's supposed to be a G there instead of an F sharp," he said when he heard the slight turn in what she was playing. A easy mistake to make if you were only playing by ear.

Ginny easily corrected herself and continued to strum, unbothered that she'd gotten something wrong. Harry wondered if she was just that confident or if she took criticism well. After a few more run throughs, Ginny stopped playing and offered the guitar to him. Thankfully, Harry took it, relief filling his chest and uncoiling his shoulders.

"Are you going to be this awkward the whole time?" she asked, her nose scrunching up.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to be this sassy the whole time?"

"I prefer sarcastic," Ginny said. "Sassy's a little demeaning, don't you think?"

Harry didn't have an answer for that. Instead, he just strummed his guitar for a few moments before he picked up where Ginny had left off.

"So, how does this work?" she asked.

"What?" Harry said absently, still trying to work out the ending melody.

"This whole collaboration thing," she said. "I've never really done this before." She said it casually like she was learning to swim or something equally as trivial. "I've only ever played with a band before and they've offered suggestions, but I've never sat down and written with someone."

"Who worked on your EP then?" Once it was out of his mouth, he realized how it sounded; like she couldn't have possibly written it herself. Shit.

"I did," she said, her eyes blazing. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

Harry winced. "That came out wrong." He stopped strumming and leaned across her to grab the lyrics he'd been working on. The smell of honeysuckle filled his nose. "These are the lyrics I've been working on." He handed them to her then grabbed a pen and handed her that as well. "Feel free to mark them up."

He moved over to the loveseat to put some distance between himself and the redhead, who looked like she still might throttle him. While she looked over the lyrics, he started to strum out the melody again. He could hear her quietly humming as she nodded her head along to the beat.

"Maybe replace 'what' with 'the things'," she said. "I feel like that's more concrete." Then she opened her mouth and sang the line. "There ain't no language for the things I've seen." Her voice was gritty and textured, just like Harry remembered it from her concert. She wasn't a smooth singer, though he was certain she could sing the notes clearly and cleanly if she wanted to. Her voice had character.

"I like that," he said. "Mark it up." She seemed surprised, but began to cross out and write in her change. She probably wouldn't have looked so surprised if she knew he kept all his first drafts on his computer and that version was just a copy.

"This next part," she said, pointing about halfway down the page. "Is this a verse?"

"Chorus," he said, changing the to the chorus melody.

She hummed. "Maybe speed that up?"

And so they went, back and forth, Ginny asking questions and Harry answering anything she asked about the song. When they were done, Harry was fairly confident that they were close to being able to record a demo. Ginny was standing up and stretching when Ron came in, dunking under the doorway.

"What the fuck?" Ron said, his eyes widening as they landed on his sister.

"Nice to see you, too, Ronald," Ginny said, rolling her eyes.

"I didn't know you were coming over," he said. "Have you been working on music?"

"No, just our making out skills," Ginny said.

Ron sputtered, his ears turning red.

This time Harry did laugh at her humor.

She grabbed her bag and waved. "See you later, Harry."

[esta-elavaris]

Had a moment today that exemplifies how my family thinks but like, in a way that’s just very sad and makes me glad I don’t think that way.

Showed a relative the amazing painting that friend did for me, and her first response was “you’d be able to sell that for some good money!!!”

Like. No????

For months I’ve discussed this creative trade with this friend, we’ve talked about what the other wants, we’ve gotten excited about it and traded progress pics as we work on it for each other, gotten stoked over making plans to get to the post office and seeing the other finally get it, and it’s just been a very wholesome and very fun project. It took six weeks for us to complete these projects, and now I have something on display in my room that makes me very happy, that’s objectively beautiful, and that I know a friend put a lot of effort into making for me and was THRILLED when I adored it.

And my family’s immediate line of thinking is “make a few quid from it lol”.

I can’t imagine the headspace it must take to go through life like that.

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

russ ballard on leaving argent:

(1974)

"Before I told the lads, I was pacing the floor all bloody night, which didn't exactly help health-wise."

"The hardest part about leaving was telling Robert Henrit, our drummer, 'cause we've always been in bands together over the past 12 or 13 years but it was just something I felt I had to do if I was going to do my own thing."

"Even at the time of Hold Your Head Up I wanted to do an album and play all the instruments and I thought hell, I don't want to reach the age of 35 and still be waiting to do something on my own. To produce my own things will give me the satisfaction of knowing that it is down to me, knowing that if anyone was going to take the rap, it would be me, whereas in a band, you can always spread the blame or credit to the rest of the boys."

"It bugged me a little bit because although Rod's a great organist, the solos particularly on my songs went on for too long in my opinion and it got me down. I thought some of the instrumentals on the album went on too long but that's the way Rod feels and you can imagine how these little differences become bigger and bigger year after year until you think, hell, I've got to do something about it."

"You can always change a situation that you are in. So many people sit around and complain and do nothing about it, whether it's in marriage or, in my case, music. But now I've changed my situation and I've always been a great believer in this method."

"I never realised this, but I was talking to Colin the other day about organ solos and he told me that he used to ask Rod in the Zombies' days if he could walk off-stage during the organ solos. Rod apparently couldn't understand why Colin was like this but I can see his point now."

"It's frustrating 'cause I'd like to do more piano and have a bash on the drums but I'm limited and it is frustrating just standing there watching."

"I reckon Argent are one of the best around at the moment and there's still room for improvement, but I think I've got more to offer on my own. We're a very close band and that's why we've lasted so long. Rod has said that we pull in different directions at times and it's perfectly true. I think the group will be better off without me 'cause he can do his thing and he won't have my influence and they'll have more direction."

"I wanna get a drummer, bass player and guitarist, preferably some good young talent who are enthusiastic. It's going to be very hard 'cause I've been in bands since I was 12 and Argent is the first band I've experienced who are totally into music. You'd always get one who was only after the birds and others who were in it for how much money they could get, so I want three guys who are into music and not into the trappings."

"I like to hear a few bum notes on an album as long as the performance is good. I find that Argent are too perfect at times, making each note too good and it doesn't sound real."

[weirdlizard26]

so bizarre to me that my love language is apparently recording music for people. how did this even happen

[david-watts]

now that I am on a computer with a keyboard and not trying to use my blunt malformed arthritic-swollen fingers which I'm certain have some form of nerve damage after consistent frostnip for literal years. I had a very strange dream last night and I think it may be one of those dreams. the ones I remember for years. the ones where... I don't think I can explain that in public without a lot of people suddenly having another reason to hate me and want me committed

[logosbot-tm]

Sometimes, I want to complain really loudly on tumblr about random shit I dislike, but I know someone would show up to tell me not to do that.

Sometimes, I enjoy when ppl are allowed to have different opinions ✨️✨️✨️ even if they're negative ✨️✨️✨️

Hell, I love hearing opinions I don't agree w. It's neat to hear what someone else thinks and why!

Yes, complain about that random ass thing, that is (completely unimportant) fuck yeah. I disagree with you, but cool that you have different point of view.

Or hell yeah, you like the thing I dislike? Awesome, tell me all about how it makes you happy.

I don't like it, bc I just don't, but fuck yeah I'll listen to your rambles.

[ccwpidsblog]

crashing out — onyakopon

⭐️: nsfw 18+ in which you learn why your fiancé retired from his old ways

cupids arrows: if you’re new here pls ignore my old post 🙏🏾

Onyakopon was the chillest man you’d ever met.

You remember the first day you met your fiancé like it was yesterday. Your puppy had slipped her leash and bolted after the two of you got caught in the rain. Mud was everywhere—on her paws, on the soaked sidewalk—and you watched in horror as she ran straight for the tall, dark-skinned man with deep waves and glistening golden grills, his baggy jeans and fresh Dunks standing no chance against the chaos she brought.

The muddy paws left stains all over his jeans, and you were mortified. You snatched her up quickly, firing off apology after apology, even offering to clean his shoes and pants. You were so embarrassed you swear you felt your soul leave your body.

But he just shrugged it off, his low brown eyes soft, paired with a small smile that eased your panic.

“You good,” he said simply, his voice calm and mellow, while you were seconds from collapsing in shame.

That day never left your mind, especially after you somehow ended up in a relationship with the man. Ony was so... nonchalant.

You yapped his ear off from morning until sundown, never running out of things to say, and he never once complained. When you accidentally knocked over his grinder, spilling his entire stash of weed, he didn’t get mad—he just kissed you on the forehead to quiet your babbling apologies. When you bleached his Chrome Hearts hoodie, almost crying over it, he shrugged and said, “It’s just a hoodie. I’ll get a new one.” And he did.

He was a sweetheart through and through. He spoiled you, listened to you, and made you feel like you could do no wrong. Even when he proposed—after three years together—it was the most emotion and the most words you’d ever heard him say all at once.

Most of your love lived in unspoken gestures. A look, a kiss on the temple, his hand resting on your knee when you ranted about your day. You always seemed to read his mind before he had to say anything. And you were okay with it—Ony’s silence spoke volumes.

So when his friends sat around telling wild stories—about your Ony chasing some guy down three blocks for stepping on his shoe—you just blinked, completely dumbfounded.

“That was not my Onya,” you said, shaking your head.

It was one of those late summer days where the air felt heavy with heat and conversation. You and Ony were at one of Sasha’s backyard barbecues—loud music, too much smoke in the air, and way too many faces you didn’t know. You didn’t mind, though. Ony always brought you along, hand warm in yours, whispering low in your ear, “You good, ma. I got you.”

But today, Ony had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. Probably off somewhere smoking a blunt to cool. You didn’t mind. Coco was leashed at your side, her tail wagging as she sniffed around, and you were content grabbing a soda from the cooler, letting the afternoon sun warm your shoulders.

Until you noticed him.

Tall, built like Ony but rougher around the edges. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and something about him set you on edge.

“Cute dog,” he said, nodding at Coco, who barked happily.

“Thanks,” you replied, polite but wary. “She’s a menace, but she’s ours.”

The man chuckled, eyes lingering on you. Too long. “Yours and Ony’s, huh? Never thought I’d see the day Ony got himself all... domesticated.”

You blinked, thrown off by his words. “Yeah. We’re engaged.”

For emphasis, you lifted your hand and showed off the engagement ring sitting proudly on your finger. Ony had picked it out himself, saying something about it being “the only rock that could keep up with you.”

The man’s grin faltered for a second before turning sharp again, something ugly flickering behind his eyes. “Man... Ony really cleaned up. Bet you don’t know half of what he used to be on.”

You shifted your weight, suddenly uncomfortable. “Do you know Ony?”

Before he could answer, you felt it. The shift in the air.

You turned to see Ony stepping up, shoulders squared, jaw tight. His calm, lazy demeanor was gone, replaced with something cold and dangerous.

“Yo,” Ony’s voice was low, sharp like a blade. “What the hell you doin’ here, Ricky?”

The man, Ricky, smirked, completely unfazed. “Relax, bro. Just catching up with your girl. Didn’t know I wasn’t allowed to say hi.”

Ony ignored him and stopped in front of you, his hand gently brushing your elbow, like he needed to feel you there, steady and safe. “You okay?” he murmured, voice softer now.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, searching his face. “Who is—”

“You don’t talk to her,” Ony cut you off, his voice sharper again as he looked back at Ricky. “Ever.”

Ricky barked out a laugh, shaking his head like the whole thing was a joke. “Damn, Ony. You really changed, huh? Wife. Dog. Family barbecues. You think this erases all that sh*t we did? Think it makes you better than me?”

You looked between them, confusion swirling in your chest.

Ricky’s smirk widened. “You ain’t gonna tell her? About Kev?”

The name hit Ony like a physical blow. His whole body went rigid.

“Who’s Kev?” you asked, your voice trembling.

Ricky grinned, ignoring you. “The one who didn’t make it ‘cause we were out there actin’ reckless. But you remember that, huh?”

It happened so fast you gasped. Ony’s fist collided with Ricky’s jaw, sending him stumbling back.

“Ony!” you cried as Coco barked wildly.

The crowd turned, the music seeming to dim as Ony’s voice rang out. “Keep my name out your mouth!”

Ricky spat blood and grinned like he’d won. “Same old Ony.”

Ony let Eren drag him back, but his face was still tight, his body vibrating with rage. He didn’t stop to explain. He just scooped Coco into your arms and pulled you out of the backyard, his hand gripping your waist.

“What the fuck was that, Onyakopon?” you hissed as you reached the car.

“Get in the fuckin’ car,” he snapped.

The tone stunned you into silence. It was the first time in three years Ony had ever raised his voice at you. Before you could argue, he lifted you off your feet, set you in the passenger seat, buckled you in, and slammed the door. 

The ride home was silent, the tension so thick it choked the air. Ony’s jaw was set, teeth gritted as his knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. You sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest as you stared out the window. Even the low hum of the engine felt deafening.

When you got home, the silence followed. Ony unlocked the door, opened it for you like he always did, and set your purse down, but his movements were robotic, like he was on autopilot. You didn’t move—just stood there staring at him.

Finally, you snapped.

“You don’t get to act like nothing happened, Ony!” Your voice trembled with anger, eyes blazing as you threw your hands up. “What the hell was that back there?”

Ony didn’t answer. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it onto the couch, walking straight to the kitchen like he hadn’t heard you.

“Don’t walk away from me!” you shouted, following him. “Don’t you dare—”

“I said it don’t matter!” he barked, whirling around. His voice was sharp and raw, cutting through the air like a blade.

You flinched but stood your ground, refusing to let him shut you out. “How can you say that? That man knew you, Ony. He knew things about you I don’t! And the way you hit him? Who was that?! Because it sure as hell wasn’t the man I know!”

Ony ran a hand down his face, pacing back and forth. “You don’t need to know that part of me.”

“Why?” you shot back, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides. “Because you’re ashamed? Because you don’t want me to see who you used to be?”

He stopped dead in his tracks, his chest heaving as he looked at you, eyes dark and stormy. “It ain’t like that.”

“Then what is it, Ony?” you pushed, voice trembling. “You can’t stand here and tell me you love me—ask me to marry you—and then keep this huge part of yourself locked away like it doesn’t exist.”

“You don’t get it!” he snapped, voice booming. “I was reckless, alright? I was a dumb kid, running around, doing shit I ain’t proud of. You really wanna hear how bad it got? You really wanna know the kind of man I used to be?” His voice cracked, his fists shaking at his sides. “I ain’t that man anymore. I can’t be.”

You stared at him, your chest tight with a mix of anger and heartbreak. “I want all of you, Ony,” you whispered fiercely. “Not just the version you think I deserve. I don’t care how ugly it gets. I’m not some fragile thing you need to protect from the truth.”

He froze, shoulders slumping as he stared at you, something breaking behind his eyes. “I’m tryin’, ma,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tryin’ so damn hard to leave that shit behind. You don’t know what it’s like, carryin’ that with me every day. Losin’ Kev... I don’t ever want to feel that again. I don’t want you to look at me like I’m some monster.”

Your face softened, tears spilling as you stepped closer. “I’m not gonna look at you like that,” you said, your voice shaky but sure. “But I need you to trust me. I need you to stop pushing me away.”

Ony’s gaze flickered to yours, the fight finally draining out of him. He let out a long, unsteady breath and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs, resting his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice rough. “I’m sorry I scared you back there. I just... when I saw Ricky talking to you, all I could think about was keepin’ you away from that part of my life. Away from him.”

You took a deep breath, the anger still simmering but softened by his words. “I’m not going anywhere, Ony. But you gotta stop keeping me out.”

He looked up at you then, eyes raw and vulnerable. “You deserve better than the mess I used to be.”

You stepped in front of him, taking his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. “You’re not that man anymore,” you said softly. “I see you, Ony. I see who you are now. And I’m here because I love you—all of you.”

His expression cracked, something deep in him finally breaking free. He let out a shuddering breath, his hands sliding up to rest on your waist. “Damn, ma,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “Stop saying that.”

Ony’s hands tightened on your waist, his eyes holding yours. “Let me make it up to you,” he said softly, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, breath hitching. “Ony...”

His gaze darkened, the tension between you shifting—charged and electric. Slowly, he stood up, his towering frame forcing you to tilt your chin up to keep looking at him. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it made your knees weak.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of promise. “Let me make it up to you, baby. I got you. Always.”

His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, his touch both gentle and possessive. You melted into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he deepened the kiss—soft and tender at first, then hungrier, like he couldn’t get close enough to you.

“Ony,” you breathed, your voice trembling as he kissed down your jaw, his lips trailing warmth along your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your neck, his words punctuated by soft kisses. “For everything. I swear I’m gonna be better. You just gotta let me show you.”

You swallowed hard, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Show me, then.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes searching yours. “I will,” he said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. “Starting right now.”

And that’s how you found yourself lying back on the bed, your body a tangled mess of need and warmth as your fiancé, lost himself in your ocean. His hands gripped your thighs with a possessive force, pulling them up and against your chest as his tongue worked in ways only he knew how to, bringing you to places you’d only ever reached with him. Every motion was deliberate, skilled—each flick, each touch of his fingers pushing you further, deeper into pleasure. His strength held you in place, leaving you no space to escape the sensations he stirred in you. His mouth, hot and insistent, tasted you, marked you, as if he couldn’t get enough, as if you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.

The pleasure became too much. Your body jerked, squirming away from the relentless skill of Ony’s tongue, but he was quicker, stronger. His grip tightened on your thighs, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His large palm landed on the side of your thigh with a sharp smack—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you freeze and gasp.

“Where you think you goin’, mama?” His voice was low, husky, as he leaned up, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. His golden grills caught the light, making him look both dangerous and divine. “Why you runnin’ from me? I’m just tryna apologize.”

Your whine came out incoherent, the words caught in your throat as his dark, smoldering eyes stayed fixed on you. He towered over you now, his body an imposing figure as he crawled over you, caging you beneath him. His breath was hot against your cheek, and you stared up at him, dazed, your vision swimming with glassy tears of overwhelming bliss.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his lips pulling into that half-smile, wet and sinful. His smooth, dark skin gleamed, catching the dim light in a way that made him almost unreal, too beautiful to belong to one person alone—but he was yours. Completely yours. “So fuckin’ pretty, baby,” he praised, brushing a thumb over your cheek to catch a stray tear.

Your body trembled as he shifted, lining himself up with slow precision. Then he pushed into you, your shared groans filling the room as he sank in deep. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he stretched you perfectly.

“My pretty fuckin’ wife,” he growled against your lips, his voice thick with possession and reverence.

You didn’t have the strength to reply—just a soft moan as your legs locked around his waist, anchoring him to you, letting him take you to where only he could.

The slow, deliberate roll of Ony’s hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you trembling beneath him. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your temple as he whispered, “You feel so good, baby. Perfect—just for me.”

You could only moan in response, your hands sliding down his back, nails raking gently across his skin. Every movement he made was precise, deliberate, and meant to unravel you. His pace quickened, his control slipping as he pushed deeper, his grunts mixing with your cries.

“Ony,” you gasped, your voice breaking. Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist, desperate to feel all of him.

“I got you, mama,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “Ain’t lettin’ go. You hear me?” His words were both grounding and intoxicating, pulling you further into the bliss he created with every stroke.

The heat built between you, your breaths turning shallow and ragged. Ony’s forehead rested against yours, his dark, hooded eyes never leaving your face. “Look at me,” he commanded softly, his voice deep and low.

Your glazed eyes fluttered open to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze made your chest tighten. “I love you,” he said suddenly, his voice raw, almost breaking.

The words hit you like a tidal wave, a sob catching in your throat. “I love you too,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your hands cupped his face.

His lips met yours in a searing kiss, his pace growing erratic, matching the desperate beat of your heart. “You’re mine,” he growled against your lips, his movements growing sharper, deeper. “All mine.”

Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight in your core until it finally snapped, sending shockwaves through you. Your back arched as you cried out his name, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Ony wasn’t far behind, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping his throat. His body shuddered against yours, his head falling to the crook of your neck as he whispered your name like a prayer.

For a while, neither of you moved, the only sounds in the room your mingled breaths and the faint rustle of the sheets. Ony’s weight was solid and grounding on top of you, his hands still gripping your thighs as though he was afraid to let go.

Finally, he shifted, pressing a gentle kiss to your collarbone before rolling to the side, pulling you with him. He tucked you into his chest, his large hand splaying across your back.

“You good, mama?” he asked softly, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“More than good,” you murmured, your voice still shaky. You tilted your head up to look at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his gaze. “I love you, Ony.”

“I love you more,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. He kissed you again, slow and sweet, before resting his forehead against yours.

As your breathing evened out and sleep began to tug at your senses, Ony whispered, “Ain’t nothin’ in this world I wouldn’t do for you, baby. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you replied softly, nuzzling into his chest. “And I’d do the same for you.”

The last thing you felt before drifting off was Ony’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your back, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss to your hair.

[rex101111]

I think Todd's video is actually the more impactful of the two for me. Like with Hbomber, that's like, his thing. He does extensive research about a specific topic and goes into great detail about it. He's in the same general "circle" as Somerton so he makes sense as someone who would like stand up and be like "hey something is WRONG here" and then just spend a very long while detailing exactly what is wrong.

Todd? Todd reviews music, albums and songs. That's his thing. Most of his videos are, at most, maybe half an hour long. His skill set and area of expertise are completely unrelated to Somerton's bullshit and yet even he can just stand up and go "something smells like bullshit" and just tear into Somerton's lies and nonsense for nearly two hours.

And most of Todd's research in that video is, by his own admission, fairly minimal. He googled, he looked up public documents, searched on forums, but nothing the average person doesn't have the time to do if something is bothering them and they want info on it. It's just testament that just about anybody can just...fact check. Look things up. It shows that there's no reason to just take things people say to you at face value if you think something is off. You can suss out bullshit by yourself.

And I just think that's a good thing to keep in mind.

Also of course when Somerton does start lying about something that Todd does have plenty of knowledge in, music, he actually gets mad and really lets the bastard have it. That's good too.

[waffled0g]

Everyone gets “The 90s” look wrong and I hate it

Couple years ago I saw these two board games at the store back to back. Well, not saw them per se, but ya know. Spied them out of the corner of my eye. And for a moment without reading the text, I couldn’t tell you which was which decade at first. Funny. Either they were in a rush to get these out the door or they wanted their throwback trivia game boxes to look uniform. I didn’t think too much of it.

Only, from then on I started seeing it MORE. Every time someone markets a 90s or 80s throwback...

Goddammit they’re identical! What??! How did we let this happen? As a 90s survivor and a designer, this drives me up a wall.

Look, I know I’m late to the party to complain about “the 90s look” when we’re just starting to get sick of the Y2K nostalgia train. But c’mon, the 90s were not The 80s: Part Two™ 

Trust me when I say that we weren’t all wearing neon trapezoids up until the year 2000. The 90s look being peddled is so specific to the tail end of the 80s and an early early part of the 90s - a part of the 90s when it wouldn’t stop being the 80s. This is Memphis design being conflated with the wrong decade.

Keep reading for a long ass graphic design history lesson and pictures of old soda and fast food.

Specifically, the look is Memphis Milano, self-named by the Italian design house Memphis Group. Starting in the early to mid 80s, they made all sorts of furniture, fabrics and sculptures that were like a Piet Mondrian grid painting under heavy radiation. Their whole deal was defying the standards of existing industrial design up to that point on purpose. Chairs had weird arches, bookcases would be in strange alien colors, unusual materials like plastic or elastic were used in place of metal or wood, that sorta thing.

Memphis quickly became the signature look for the decade. You can tell something’s influenced by Memphis design from it’s telltale trademarks:

Clashing, neon colors.

Use of diametric shapes.

Contrasting patterns like zebra print stripes, confetti squiggles and checkerboards.

It wasn’t long before Memphis Milano-inspired design was everywhere in 80s pop culture:

It was a special time, yes.

I was a kindergartener at the tail end of the 80s, so I knew Memphis mostly through the lens of kids media. Toys, clothes, games, tv shows used it like candy colored catnip. Cable channel Nickelodeon more or less adopted the Memphis aesthetic as their signature in-house style and practically built a monument to it at a Florida theme park:

I think this is why folks mistake what decade Memphis is representative of - 90s staples like Nick, Saved By The Bell, Fresh Prince - they all stayed around much longer than the design trend’s expiration date. 

Couple that notion with the fact that companies are slow followers to design trends. Something gets popular and they want to get on the bandwagon? Gotta wait for the ink to dry, gotta wait for the production molds to be made. It would take a few years for them to completely work Memphis outta their system.

Now, this is not to say Memphis is bad! Personally I’m a fan of the aesthetic, if my neon-drenched artwork wasn’t a tip-off already. But it is a trend, and trends never last forever.

So what took the Memphis Milano look down for good? This part’s up for debate, but I personally think it had something to do with this dude:

It’s that grunge music from Seattle that’s so popular with the kids these days dontchaknow.

Once Smells Like Teen Spirit hit in 1991, the Nirvana tone drove the rest of the decade. Clean geometry became weathered, grainy and organic. Bright neon pastels became more bold. Bubblegum pop music sounded fake and manufactured. Attitude and apathy was authentic. Whatever.

Things got grungy. Things got grimy. Olestra was invented.

I think the best way to visualize this transition is how Cherry Coke entered the decade and how it left it:

1992 Memphis on the left, 1998 grunge junkie on the right. Fitting that the 90s would end with a design that looked like Darth Maul’s lungs.

Okay, so what should 90s retro design look like?

Continue on to PART TWO! Spoilers: No VHS filters or vaporwave needed, but maybe bring an antacid.

[nereidprinc3ss]

early seasons spencer and bau reader undercover at a club and it’s just like. he is so flustered but also weirdly confident and do with this what you will

in which spencer reid and BAU fem!reader have to pose as a couple at a club. she's more than a little flirty. the conversation actually gets quite suggestive. he's cute when he gets flustered.

warnings/tags: discussions of sex, reader wears a tight dress and makeup and heels, discussions of blushing but r's skin color is not implied to be light, i just needed a reason to talk about sex flush LOL, if u don't visibly blush this will still read fine

a/n: I LOVE EARLY SEASONS SPENCER X FLIRTY READER OH MY GODDD thank you for this request angel from heaven I hope you all like this as much as I do teehee

The bass buzzes through the floor and vibrates your teeth. House music has never really been your thing. Neither have tight dresses and high heels while on the job—but you’re willing to objectify yourself just a little if it will lure yet another loser who likes to chop up young couples into the awaiting arms of the American correctional system. 

Or to the wrong end of Emily's Glock. Whatever comes first.  

You scan the club—it’s not your usual scene, and you can only imagine how Dr. Reid is faring. As far as you can tell this is essentially his nightmare. It’s sensory overload central even for you. 

Your eyes catch on him at the bar, tucked away from the writhing crowd. He’s standing near the end, one arm resting on the surface while the other hand is jammed in his pocket. He seems completely unaware of the several women circling closer and closer. The whole earnest and dorky but still handsome thing seems to work well for him. Or, it would, if he had any interest in utilizing it. He’s dressed a little sharper than usual—no doubt styled by Morgan and Prentiss. Hell, the earnest dorkiness and the well fitted dark suit is working for you if nobody else. 

Sometimes he just looks… edible. 

And self-discipline doesn't always come naturally to you. 

“Doctor,” you purr in greeting, grazing the forearm propped up on the bar with white-tipped nails as you insert yourself in front of him. His fingers twitch under your light touch. 

Spencer doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sink down your frame, sticking to every highlighted curve like you’re dripping honey. Or maybe he just doesn’t realize that you can see that’s what he’s doing. 

“Hi. You look nice.”

“Aw,” you smile, dulling the salacious edge to your voice, “you didn’t have to say that. Someone’s improvising.”

“I meant it. That dress looks nice on you,” he says, simply, and you hate his specific brand of charm because it’s not intentional. It’s not something he puts on. It comes out of nowhere and always knocks you on your ass when it hits—even in the smallest doses. His eyes narrow and he leans closer. You can feel the energy rippling around him like a force field as he examines you. “You’re wearing more makeup than you normally do.”

“Do you like it? Penelope ordered the wrong shade of blush and gave it to me. Supposedly it’s meant to make me look like I just had an orgasm. I don’t know if I believe it.”

Much to your disappointment, Spencer leans back, scanning the crowd for your target and speaking as if he’s only half-interested. 

“That’s not what you would look like. Sex flush deepens the color of your entire face and chest, not just your cheeks.”

Your brows knit as you contend with unwelcome butterflies. 

“Buy me a drink before you start telling me what I’ll look like after I orgasm.”

That catches his attention, and his suddenly wide eyes snap to you. If he had a drink, he’d be choking on it. 

“I wasn’t—it was a general you, I’d never—that would be inappropriate. It was. It was inappropriate. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

You lean with your back to the bar, elbows propped on black granite, and swing your hair over your shoulder. Spencer’s eyes dart back down to your décolletage and then up to the ceiling like he regrets being born. You smile wickedly. Much better. This is the way God intended for you to interact with Spencer Reid. 

“I’ll consider forgiving you. And I don’t blush. Not when I orgasm, not ever.”

Admittedly, you just want to milk the whole talking about you orgasming thing to see how pink you can make him. It’s not often you’re gifted with an opportunity to be so candid about your sexuality or flirt this unabashedly. But you are supposed to be posing as a couple. Maybe you’re just feeling extra in character. 

Instead of stumbling over his words some more, Spencer smiles with a degree of bemusement like he’s caught you in a white lie. 

His smile is so nice. His teeth are perfect, and his lips—

“Yes you do.”

Always so convinced he’s right, this one. 

It’s annoying. And kind of hot. 

“Uh, I promise you I do not.”

“Everyone blushes. It's a sympathetic nervous system activation response wherein blood rushes to your face. Your blood vessels dilate when you get flustered or anxious. Your face gets hot and your undertone changes.”

You raise your brows. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was challenging you. 

“Yeah? Wanna bet?”

“Actually, no,” he mutters, losing any bravado and casting his eyes downward subserviently. “You have a habit of proving me wrong.”

“That’s right,” you gloat, smiling wide. Someone bumps into you, and you turn around, highly unprofessional insult locked and loaded—but it’s just a drunk girl who apologizes and stumbles off. The encounter does, however, remind you that you’re supposed to be finding a killer. “Do you think this is the best positioning? He might not be able to find us way over here.”

“You think we should move?”

You look back at him and nod, holding your hand out. He looks at it uncertainly. You waggle your fingers and infuse your words with sugar. 

“Oh, come on. I don’t want to lose you. And we’re supposed to look like a couple, remember?”

Gingerly he accepts your hand. His is bigger than you’d have thought. Not nearly as freezing as your own perpetually are. It occurs to you as you grab his hand that his bone structure really is bigger than yours. He’s… tall. He is, at the end of the day, a real life adult man. His presence is palpable behind you and you enjoy the weight of his hand in yours as you tug him through the crowd, perhaps not taking the most direct route through the throng just so you can savor being able to touch him like this for a little longer. 

Miraculously you spot an empty booth and slide into it. It’s a deep alcove, shadowy and secluded at the back. That’s where you settle, against black vinyl, and where you wave at Spencer to join you. 

He lingers at the edge of the table, glancing around at the groups of dancing and drinking young adults. 

“I don’t know. Can you even see the dance floor from back there?”

“Part of it. But I’m sure he’ll be looking in the booths for couples. He’ll come to us.”

Spencer faces you again and sighs ruefully, a begrudging smirk playing at his lips as he slides into the booth and joins you against the back wall. His side is warm against yours. He smells nice. Clean. Almost herbal, like patchouli or vetiver. 

“What? You really hate sitting next to me that much?”

Spencer’s lips part wryly before he speaks, like he almost thought better of it but decided to anyway. 

“I think you just wanted a reason to get me alone and secluded so you can finally accost me.”

Your knees bump. You lean into it. 

“Accost you? That seems harsh,” you pout, leaning toward him clandestinely to undo his top button.

“I don’t see how. You are literally trying to take my clothing off as we speak.”

“I’m just increasing your sex appeal. It’ll be good, trust me. Maybe you’ll even end up taking one of those girls from the bar home. Or—back to the hotel, I should say.”

Spencer covers your fussy hands with his own sweetly, like he can sense the true jealousy simmering underneath the sarcasm, and places them in your lap. The touch lingers.

“Are you always like this?” He murmurs, voice lower than you can recall ever hearing it and twisted into the shape of a smile. 

“Only with you, Dr. Reid. Speaking of, how about you? Do you flirt with many other FBI agents on official business?”

“Just the one. She’s kind of a full-time job.”

“Shut up. I’m basically your babysitter. If anything, I should be paid extra for dealing with you.”

“Attempting to seduce your charge seems like a bad business model. There are definitely some ethical issues there.”

His hands still rest on yours. You lace your fingers with his and speak sweetly, meeting his eyes best you can in the dark. 

“I wasn’t aware I was seducing you. Do you feel seduced?”

He’s the first to look away after a few seconds pass—pulls your hands apart gently, politely arranging them back on your lap. 

“I think you’re incorrigible and a terrible influence. In all honesty, you terrify me and more often than not I walk away from our interactions a little confused.”

You clap a hand to your heart, the bare skin revealed by your low cut dress warm under your fingers. 

“Spencer… that kind of turned me on.”

He just looks at you for a moment, a hint of a smile on his pretty face, long enough to make you feel a bit nervous. 

Then he’s leaning forward, and unconsciously so are you, almost forgetting to breath when you’re practically pressed against him in this booth and he’s whispering so low and sweet into your ear. 

“He’s watching us. Right across the floor, next to the girl in the blue dress. White button up and a leather jacket.” His hand slides over yours, fingers skimming your collarbone in the process as he interlocks your grasp once more. “Keep your hand right here and lean closer. We need to maintain his interest.”

“I don’t think I can lean any closer,” you breathe, hoping it doesn’t register as nervous as it really is. You’re supposed to be the confident one who teases him. “But if you want me to sit on your lap, just ask. I won’t say no.”

He chuckles, too loud to be amorous. It’s clearly genuine. It sounds like the way his reddened cheeks always look. It almost does more for you than the bedroom voice.

“You… you are beyond help. I don’t think you could be appropriate if your life depended on it.”

Slowly you pull back so you can look into his eyes—much closer than you normally have an excuse to. They dart wildly over your face, partially obscured by the dark which cuts shadows deep into the dramatic hollows of his bone structure. He really is so pretty. 

You glance toward the man, who’s pretending not to watch you. When you focus your attention back on Spencer, sliding your hand up the curve of his jaw, you find yourself making a dangerous wish. You find yourself wishing that you didn’t have an audience. That this wasn’t all for show. That neither of you had earpieces in.

His pulse hammers under your little finger, and his lips part slightly as he doesn’t have the wherewithal to not glance at yours. He’s so unaware of how obvious he’s being. It’s cute. 

You run the tips of your fingers through the hair in front of his ear, the one sans bluetooth, pushing it back, before leaning in close once more to whisper. 

“Good thing we’re not going for appropriate. Actually—your hands could stand to wander a little more, Dr. Reid. Let me know if you need me to tell you where to put them.”

[webism]

KINKTOBER DAY THREE: bondage with nanami.

kinktober masterlist

Nanami, your other half, is meticulous and an overbearing perfectionist on the best of days. You love it about him, love the way that when it comes to you, everything has to be perfect to no fault. You love his dedication to the simplest of things, his attention to detail, you love his patience.

You don't love it when he's using said perfectionism to prolong your time being tied up. You see it in his pretty eyes, that knowing look—he's not taking his time for the sake of perfection, he's taking the time to perv on those frustrated whines that you let out the longer he takes.

Your wrists are bound at your front, a soft shibari rope wrapped around your skin. He had picked it out himself, opted for a more expensive option as it was less likely to irritate your skin—after all, you're being bound to further enjoy yourself, not to decorate your skin with marks he'd much rather leave with his mouth.

Still, he works on the rope around your waist with no sign of eagerness or a rush towards completion. Instead, he continues to watch your body in what looks like a clinical examination, hands working gracefully as he knots the rope against your skin and builds a harness, no doubt good to hold onto so you can't start to shift away once thinks become overbearing. You sit on your shared bed, eyes heavy and stuck on his face as he works—calculated ministries become just a little quicker as you pout.

"Ken," you whine, subconsciously trying to pry your wrists apart to grab at your lover. Your fingers find nothing but air, your arms bound, rendering you useless.

"I'm almost done," he says calmly, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. He finishes before any other complaints can leave your lips, though you suspect he could have been finished fifteen minutes ago if the sight of rope against your bare skin didn't send blood right down to his cock.

He stands back from where he's working with satisfaction, a pleased look in his eyes that makes you want to squirm, wanting to crawl into his lap and beg forgiveness for whatever you might have done wrong in your past life if it means he'll just fuck you already. But you keep your head up, eyes set on his.

Your legs are bound thigh-to-calf, your throbbing cunt forced onto display by your bindings—if Kento were a worse man he'd leave you like this, bound with a vibrator against your pretty clit for hours on end as he files some paperwork or catches up on the novel he's been reading.

And although the thought is enticing, turning your moans and drawling orgasms into ambient music for the house you share, he's a selfish man at heart and could never deprive himself of you—not when you're like this.

"I think you're beautiful, my love," he leans over you, brushing a cool knuckle over your warmed cheek. A flush spreads across your cheeks, warmth blooming in your belly. His touch doesn't last long, his hand trailing off your shoulder and dipping down to tug at the rope that twists around your torso.

"You're perfect, you know that?" He tries again, and pulls so hard on your rig that your back meets the mattress and, all of a sudden, your Kento is hovering over you, cock hard against his slacks. "And you know that I love you."

"I know," you nod.

His hands fumble for his belt, and he's hooking his cock out of his pants in the same breath—too eager to fully undress. "I appreciate your trust in me," he tugs at a rope around your thigh to get you just that little bit closer to him; you can feel the heavy weight of his length against your stomach—and he can see just how deep inside of you he will be soon enough, "Though I fear seeing you tied up like this… it makes it hard to be gentle with you, love."

You lean up to kiss his jaw, his lips, anything you and reach while bound so intently. "I don't need you to be gentle with me. I am at your disposal."

Something in your lilt breaks the band of resistance that holds your lover still—he groans as he presses forward, pushing into you without any preamble. You're beyond wet, he hardly feels bad for not prepping you on his tongue beforehand. He has plans of ruining you with his mouth once he's fucked you full of him. "How can I possibly deny you?"

As he bottoms out inside of you, Kento grabs the rope that binds your wrist and lifts them above your head, pressing them into the sheets and rendering you completely motionless. Try as you might, you can't move an inch—you're entirely at his lust-glossed mercy. "That's better, hm? Much easier now, yes?" He pushes deeper into you, grunting out as he fills you in. "You don't have to think, don't have to move, you don't have to anything but take me."

The words are familiar to you—you've heard them hundreds of times before. In the throes of ecstasy, they sound like a lullaby to you—though this time there's some truth to his words. A genuine lack of need to move, to speak, to try and keep your hips at pace with his. As Nanami pulls back, drags his aching cock out of you before rutting right back into your tight core, you're able to completely relinquish control.

And god is it narcotic. The ruthless pace that he sets, muscles that cord his arms keep you in place as he bullies his cock into you. His mean thrusts are occasionally broken up with an open-mouthed kiss to your waiting lips, though the world is spinning too fast for you to register much other than raw, undiluted pleasure. You barely have the voice to announce your orgasm, let alone ask for permission to cum, so when your orgasm wracks through you like tropical waves against a cliffside, your lover can't help but bite at your exposed neck in feigned disappointment.

"Oh, love," he coos, but doesn't slow the roll of his hips even slightly. "You know I don't like it when you don't use your words."

You can't, not with the way he's fucking a second orgasm into you before you've even recovered from your first. Not when you're bound so tight that you know you have no way out of his ministries, not that you want one. You haven't felt so blissed-out in a long time, and there is no place safer to lose your mind than in Kento's arms. Though there's a dangerous lilt to his voice when he leans own, thrusts sharp into your overstimulated pussy, and whispers against your ear. "You're going to wait, and you're going to cum alongside me, love."

It's all too much, your vision is near-white with hot pleasure and you worry that you'll never think a straight thought again if he keeps rendering you dumb like this. You try desperately to climb up the bed, away from his overwhelming size, but he's got an iron-wraught grip on your bindings. "Ah," he chides. "Don't run, take me- I know you can."

The moans that rip from your throat are made for porn, especially in conjuncture with his groans and bitten praises. It's not long before his ruthless pace starts to falter, and the slap of skin against bruising skin starts to stutter as your lover reaches climax.

"With me," he chokes, the hand that had held your wrists up finally falling down to rub relentless circles over your sensitive clit. You're overwhelmed, orgasm cresting almost painfully as your mind blanks and you come harder than you think you ever have before. Nanami releases inside of you, his free hand holding you as close as humanly possible through your bindings.

And once he's cum, stolen a few breaths to steady himself enough to lift himself up and look down at you, Kento Nanami fears he might be a bad man. Because with the way you look, tear stained cheeks and complete lack of freedom, he can't help the words that slip from his lips.

"You can handle another, can't you, love?"

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