#rival boys

[mywifeleftme]

322: Rival Boys // Animal Instincts

Animal Instincts Rival Boys 2014, Tiny Records (Bandcamp)

Rival Boys were an Ontario indie rock band active in Toronto from the late ‘00s to the mid ‘10s. They were a three-piece comprising sibling vocalists Lee and Graeme Rose (on bass/violin and guitar, respectively) and drummer Sam Sholdice, with a sound somewhat like Vancouverites Mother Mother on a blue day. (Whom, as an aside, I have discovered are now way more popular thanks to TikTok than they ever were at the time—they have 8.3 million listeners a month on Spotify, which is like… 38 times more than the New Pornographers.) Both Roses affect a mewl somewhere between Violent Femmes’ Gordon Gano and Sarah McLachlan, with Lee’s more powerful bellow usually taking the lead. In conjunction with the cold mountain violin that periodically sweeps the floorboards, it gives their otherwise youthful affect a nostalgic somberness. They were emphatically a rock band though, capable of kicking up a surly crunch: they didn’t have the dance rhythms of the Metric/Land of Talk acolytes who were all over CBC Radio 2 (the national public alternative music station) at the time, preferring to lope along like the Pixies.

Rival Boys were no longer a going concern by the time I moved to Toronto in 2017; I discovered them when I found a CD of their 2009 EP Life of Worry in the basement of an Ottawa house I shared with a friend who’d known somebody in the band back in high school. It was the first time I can remember coming across a group remotely in my social radius that struck me as unequivocally good. I listened to that five-song EP to death for a few years, and I still think they really nailed their sound with it; as a result, I had kind of a chilly response to their 2014 farewell Animal Instincts when I found it at a punk flea market. They’d shed just a touch of the raw-boned vulnerability that had made their loose, imagistic lyrics cling like a thin flannel against a harsh wind; a bit less bite to the guitar; a hair less heedless urgency to the vocals. The serviceable cover of Wolf Parade’s “I’ll Believe in Anything” seemed on the nose; the new rendition of EP highlight “Construction Work” didn’t make my heart stagger around like the original.

But listening to it now, I think Animal Instincts’ real sin was just not being the record I’d fallen in love with. Life of Worry is special, but there’s plenty to like on the LP. Opener “Fortune” edges the hell out of the listener before finally giving us some of Lee in full thunder; “Young and Old” is a showcase for the close harmonies, wet-eyed violin, and martial drumming that were Rival Boys’ most distinctive element; “Don’t Bloom” gives us a little of everything Lee does well, flowing from a distracted, introverted croon to a high wail that arcs like a flaming arrow at a Viking funeral. On this listen anyway, even the new version of “Construction Work” is doing it for me. There’s a nice closure to the fact that it was both among the first and last things they cut: the original with its blazing, desolate frustration sweeping into a folk reel outro that feels like transcendence; the revision more brittle, reserved, like people on the cusp of leaving adolescence behind giving it one last go, the quieter outro never quite taking off but settling into a low, churchy organ drone. It feels like a dignified goodbye.

Which the record in fact was, although it may not have been clear at the time. Graeme dropped out of the music scene altogether; Lee was quiet for a few years, but soldiers on with the very good Ace of Wands; I’m not sure what Sam’s up to these days. Time moves on—it’s 15 years since the EP, 10 now since the LP. I’m sure for the band members and their fans it feels like barely half that time, like finding a book you set down just the other day covered in dust and all your friends so old all the sudden! If ‘00s indie music can be said to have been about anything, it was surely about digging deeper into the experience of being alive, celebrating the wild joy of it while you can, making something of that. Rival Boys surely made something, and it’s nice to have something physical of it to keep.

322/365

[kilometresrufflefuck]

hear me out the other day i woke up and was immediately hit in the face with "7 year gap narumitsu in europe where phoenix kisses edgeworth in a low moment and then tries to flee and edgeworth uses mind chess on him to get the truth out of him which is a completely normal and ordinary average way to discuss your relationship"

[mocking-the-bird]

[d3rpydoods]

Idk, just like the idea of Pete and Lin being so chill that Pete can just hang off of Lin at any time, in any way without any of them batting an eye

[monstersholygrail]

Yandere!Academic Rival who always flaunts his perfect test scores in front of you just to see you go red in the face with barely restrained fury. He adores the way you huff at him, your lips pouting in such an adorable expression. The way you scream at him, claiming he must’ve cheated.

Of course, stealing answer sheets wasn’t necessarily cheating, it was just a little educational aid.

But you can never prove it which only makes you even more angry. Pushing your chest up against his and sending him a threat you probably had to spend all night rehearsing. He relishes in it. Knowing your threats are just for him. Your anger belongs to him and him alone. Just like the rest of you.

The rest of the school silently wonders how it’s always you two. Only you and him at the top. And when they look at the scores, everyone else seems so far behind.

He would, of course, do anything to remain your rival. There were no lengths he wouldn’t go. That includes hacking into the college’s database and personally lowering each and every other students grades. He couldn’t dare risk someone else becoming your rival. He wouldn’t just let you forget about him, after all!

But somehow, even with his subtle suggestions to the grade book, there’s someone who actually manages to rise through the ranks. Some pesky little nerd who’s aiming for his number one spot. Wanting to take his place in your life. In your heart. Oh well, he’ll just have to take care of him…

Especially when he sees how you treat the pathetic nerd. You don’t hate him at all. Instead you’re actually— nice to him. Why him?! What made him so special?! That nerd doesn’t know you, not like he does. He doesn’t push you to do better and be the best, not like he does. Compared to him, the nerd is nothing.

So why do you smile when you see him? Why do you laugh at his jokes? Those should be smiles aimed at him. You should be laughing at his jokes, even if they’re usually made at your expense. It’s all part of what makes you and him so perfect together.

He just has to show you that… That’s it! He’ll show you. Both of you.

The next day he sees you waiting in the hall, most likely looking for that nerd. It’s a waste of time. He won’t be coming. He saunters up to you instead, his chest tightening as you scowl at him instead of smile. That’ll all change soon. Still, he sends you his signature smug smirk, the expression a little tighter today.

“Looking for the nerd? It’s strange, I heard he suddenly transferred and just up and left school in the middle of the night,” he says smoothly as he corners you against the wall. His shoulders relaxing as you inhale shakily. A clear sign of your affections, he’s sure.

All while his scent flooding your senses will distract you from realizing any holes in his lackluster story. You really were so smart, perfect, and all for him.

“Guess he just wasn’t cut out for the competition,” he muses, pulling a kabedon on you as he rests a hand above your head, and absentmindedly picking dried blood out from beneath his fingernails.

[miyaneatworld]

fanart of satan

[mustasekittens]

get his ass cindy

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSPIDER BOYFRIENDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Marvel Rivals – Peter Parker x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be When He's Obsessed?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

It starts simple.

You're someone he meets on the battlefield—a fellow fighter, not a villain, but not a hero either. Maybe you’re with SHIELD. Maybe you’re a scientist pulled into the chaos. Maybe you’re just really good with a sword, or tech, or your fists. Either way, you're competent. Quiet. Mysterious. You don’t fawn over him, don’t praise his quips, and when he swings down to help you? You barely glance up and mutter, “I had it handled.”

He’s stunned. Not offended. Not really. Just... intrigued. You don’t treat him like Spider-Man. You treat him like a guy in a mask. Like a person. It sticks.

He thinks about you that night.

He doesn’t mean to. But he does. The way you moved, the way you didn’t hesitate to kill when it was necessary. There’s something cold and soft in you—like steel wrapped in velvet. You aren’t like MJ. You aren’t like Felicia. You aren’t like Gwen. You don’t want him. Which means he wants you.

The Obsession Brews Quietly.

Peter’s the type who knows when something’s wrong in his head. He’s not stupid. He’s hyper aware of his flaws, his grief, his trauma. But you?

You’re the exception.

He starts tracking your missions—not obviously. Not like a stalker (he tells himself). But he always “coincidentally” shows up where you’re sent. He’s cracking jokes like always, swinging around like always… but his eyes? They never leave you.

You're polite. Maybe even friendly. You laugh when he says something dumb. You save his life once—he plays it cool, but he replays it over and over again in his head like a romantic comedy scene. Your hand on his chest. Your voice. Your breath on his face.

He starts journaling about you.

“Totally normal. Not creepy. Healthy outlet.”

He draws you in his margins. Tries to guess your birthday. Your favorite food. If you’d ever date someone like him. If you’d let him kiss you with the mask on.

And then he gets jealous.

Like, real jealous.

You get a mission with Tony. Peter spirals. Tony’s rich. Cool. Charismatic. You laughed at one of his jokes. Peter snaps at Tony, nearly punches him during a spar. He covers it up, but the rage simmers.

He googles “how to stop being jealous.”

Then he googles your name. Your social media. Your apartment. He tells himself it’s just to keep you safe.

(He finds your selfies. He stares too long.)

It turns.

You go on a date. Someone boring. Normal. Civilian.

Peter sees. He watches from a rooftop.

He follows the guy home. Just to look. Just to make sure he’s not hurting you.

But when that guy touches your hand across the table, Peter's claws come out. Figuratively. (For now.)

You don’t see your date again.

Peter doesn’t do anything obvious. But your date gets fired. Blacklisted. His car disappears. He has a breakdown.

Peter doesn’t regret it. You deserve better.

He thinks about confessing.

He writes a hundred messages. Deletes them all. He wants to tell you, “I’m Spider-Man. I’m Peter. I’m in love with you.”

But it’s not love. Not really. It’s need.

He starts calling you “mine.”

Not to your face. But in his head. In his journal. When other guys get too close, when you joke with Strange, when you look at Steve like that—his fists clench. He mutters, mine. Over and over.

He starts making excuses to touch you. Casual ones. Hand on your back when danger’s near. Pulling you out of the way. Wrapping you in webbing just to “keep you safe.”

You roll your eyes. “I can handle myself.”

He smirks. “Sure. But then I’d have to live with myself if anything happened to you.”

He finally loses it when you almost die.

A close call. You’re unconscious. Bleeding. He goes feral. Webs up the attacker and nearly beats them to death before someone (probably Strange or Cap) pulls him off. He screams that it’s your fault they were too soft. That it’s your life, not theirs.

He doesn’t leave your side while you’re healing. Sleeps in a chair next to you. Won’t let the doctors near you unless he personally approves them. Talks to your unconscious body like you’re already his.

You wake up in a hospital bed, arm wrapped in gauze, ribs aching, and—

Peter is already there, sitting next to you like a sad puppy. He look like he had three Red Bulls and a mental breakdown.

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes wide behind the mask. “Hi. You’re awake. That’s—cool. That’s great. That’s amazing. You have all your fingers, right? Can you move your toes? I checked like twelve times but I need to see.”

You blink. “Peter…?”

“You remember me!” He stands up like he won an Oscar. “I mean, obviously, but memory loss was a risk, and if you woke up and didn’t remember me, I’d—well, I’d find a way to make you fall for me all over again, obviously.”

You freeze. “What?”

“Nothing. You want soup?”

It gets weirder.

He never leaves. Literally. You wake up? He’s there. You close your eyes? He’s still there. You ask for water? He’s already holding a glass. He knows your favorite snacks, your music taste, the exact temperature you like your room.

You ask, “How do you know all this?”

He grins. “Lucky guess!”

It’s not. That’s a man with spreadsheets.

You try to leave the hospital.

Peter builds a web-cocoon around your hospital bed and pushes you back inside with a single finger.

“Doctor’s orders,” he says.

“The doctor said I could walk!” you protest.

“I’m the doctor now.”

“You’re a physics major—”

“With a minor in caring for you. Lie down.”

You lie down. You’re not winning this battle.

You finally ask him what's going on.

“Okay,” you say, arms crossed. “Are you… okay? You’ve been acting kind of… clingy.”

Peter laughs, too loud. “Clingy? Nooo. I’m attentive. Protective. Emotionally invested.”

“You bought me a dog.”

“Emotionally invested.”

“You named it after me.”

Peter looks proud. “You always said you liked golden retrievers!”

“I never said that.”

He looks away. “Your neighbor did. I asked.”

You try to set boundaries.

It doesn’t work.

You: “Peter, I need space.”

Peter: “Okay. Got it. Of course. You’re right.”

(That night, you get home and find a webbed-up man on your balcony.)

You open the window. “Peter, what are you doing?”

“Space! Look! I’m technically outside. Not even touching the building.”

You point to the mug in his hand. “Are you drinking my coffee?”

“Okay, but I made it inside, and then took it outside, so it’s technically still respecting your boundaries.”

You close the window. He waves.

Eventually, you… accept it. Kind of.

He’s insane. But he loves you. Like, terrifyingly much. The man built you a custom security system, memorized your menstrual cycle, and accidentally threatened your mailman once because he “looked suspicious.” But he also makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, brings you dumplings at 2am, and cries when you kiss his cheek.

You try to be mad.

You really do.

But then he shows up with a handmade hoodie that says “Property of Spider-Man (Emotionally and Legally)” and you can’t help but laugh.

You wear it.

The moment you really break is when you're having a bad day.

Awful. Exhausting. You curl up on the couch, and he silently webs over with a blanket, a hot drink, and your favorite movie already queued up. No jokes. No chaos. Just soft hands and a head on your shoulder.

You whisper, “You’re kind of insane, you know that?”

He hums. “I know. But I’d go completely insane without you. So.”

You smile into your cup.

You’re never getting rid of him.

And maybe… maybe that’s okay.

You’d been dating Peter for, like, maybe two and a half weeks officially.

Unofficially? He’s been yours since the moment you said “hi” back in freshman chemistry. He just hadn’t told you yet. Or anyone else.

Until today.

Until this stupid mission.

You were not supposed to come. You were supposed to be home. On the couch. Watching romcoms and ignoring the fact that your vigilante maybe-boyfriend (maybe-fiancé, maybe-needs-therapy) snuck out to do superhero things.

But then the mission went south. Someone said your name over the comms. And Peter. Froze.

He dropped from the ceiling like a possessed squirrel.

“WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN ‘Y/N’?! WHERE IS SHE?! WHO TOUCHED HER?! WHO EVEN LOOKED AT HER?!”

Reed (who already regrets ever recruiting him): “She’s fine. She’s just patching people up in Medbay—”

“You brought her here?!”

“You brought her,” Reed says.

“Oh. Right.”

Fast forward. Post-mission. You’re helping Natasha stitch up a wound while Peter hovers around like a vulture with anxiety.

Natasha gives him a look. “You good, bug boy?”

Peter blinks. “I’m fine. My wife’s here, so I’m fine.”

Silence.

Natasha looks at you. You look at Peter.

Your hand freezes mid-stitch. “Excuse me?”

He blinks. “What?”

“You just called me your wife.”

Peter squints. “I did?”

“Yes.”

“I mean—yeah. Probably. Feels right.”

“Peter, we haven’t even moved in together.”

“You have a toothbrush at my place.”

“One time!”

“You stole my shirt.”

“You gave it to me!!!”

He shrugs. “Same thing. Just… marry me?”

Natasha, still bleeding: “Is this a bad time?”

Later that week, the Avengers know. All of them.

Somehow Thor is the first to approach you. He slaps Peter on the back so hard it knocks him into a wall.

“Your lady is radiant and fierce! I like her!”

Peter: “I know! I know! Isn’t she perfect? She breathes and I ascend.”

You: “Why is Captain America saluting me?”

Peter: “Because he respects you.”

You: “I’m not in the military!”

Peter: “You’re in my heart forces.”

You try to have a serious talk.

“Peter, people think we’re married. You have to stop saying that.”

He looks genuinely confused. “Why?”

“Because we’re not married?”

“But we could be.”

“We’re seventeen.”

“Age is a construct.”

You stare.

He softens. “Look, I just… I don’t know how to not love you like this. I tried normal. But you’re the best thing in my entire stupid radioactive life, and if I don’t marry you I’m gonna die and haunt your bathroom.”

You blink. “What?”

“As a ghost. In your shampoo bottle. I’ll possess your conditioner.”

You laugh so hard you snort.

It gets worse. Or better.

You start getting mail addressed to Mrs. Parker.

He says it’s a “funny mistake.”

The next day, your driver’s license shows up.

New name. New address. “Mrs. Peter B. Parker.”

“Peter—!”

“I MIGHT’VE HACKED THE DMV BUT IT WAS A LOVE CRIME.”

Despite everything… you stay.

You let him call you his wife. You tease him. You kiss him when he babbles about baby names for the kids you don’t have (yet). You roll your eyes when he sends you "wifey memes" at 3am. And when he builds a second closet in his apartment just for your stuff? You smile. You fill it.

Because at the end of the day…

The insane, obsessive, stalkerish Spider-Man loves you more than air.

And honestly?

You kinda like being his whole universe.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[starsarekind]

Moon Knight Sketchbook

Just some sketches of Marc, Steven, and Layla I did last month. When my art block is really ramping up, the best thing is to put down the iPad and take out the pens and sketchbook. Something about not being able to erase and having no undo button does wonders for letting me draw something without worrying if it's perfect :)

[littleghostblogs]

As soon as WX learns that Maxwell despises that song it’s all over.

Obviously inspired by this quote.

[iolite-moodboards]

PETER PARKER IN MARVEL RIVALS

[xrk-art]

Cucumber jumscare

Inspired by this 👇 @ouchmyghostskin

The Aftermath 🫡

[cubedmango]

the only thing i want from the dlc

[lilnightwing]

[cherinuggetarts]

I

[florateaa]

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