#the world is not ready

[lucifhers]

No exaggeration on the moans?

Better than having your lotto numbers called

[injacksoncage]

new adrianne lenker album is dropping this friday if you even care

[always-is-always]

Jungkookie & NYC

Since he’s performing live on Friday in New York, that means he’s going to be hopping on an airplane soon...  I’ve started watching the K-media outlets on YouTube, as they usually give a head’s up about airport departures, hours in advance.  

It’s so exciting to have Kook come back to the States and to perform in such a mainstream gig.  I mean, it’s GMA, which is as bread and butter as you can get.  I don’t watch it (don’t watch TV), but am happy for him.  There will be literally millions of people seeing him who would never have had the opportunity otherwise.  Many of them probably have no idea who he is, or who BTS is. 

This very well may be a major launching pad, for Kookie.  I’m kinda on the fence as to whether I feel like it’s a good thing, or not.  I honestly don’t want to see him getting too Westernized, you know?  There are some powerful people who would eat him alive, if given the chance.  Hollywood and the Western music industry can be that way... ooops... I digressed....  🤷‍♀️

Hopefully, we will get to see him depart ICN, since we probably won’t see him arrive in NYC.  Unless there are ARMYs there to greet him (which is another double-edged sword).  

It is a BIG week for our Jungkookie.  BIG.  In many ways, this is bigger than anything he has done, outside of his performance at the World Cup.  I’m not sure that the world is ready for him.  

I hope he has lots of protection around him during his time in the States.  We all know how bonkers some of the fans can be, at American airports.  Not to mention anywhere else he may go, while in NY.  Lots of prayers/intentions for protection for him, on all levels.  Especially energetically.  (that’s were all the yuckiness is) (he probably needs a good smudge!  lol!!)

Anyway... We are counting down to the 14th.... I can’t wait!!  💜🐰💜

[ur-fave-is-texan]

Knives Chau is Texan!

[neko-naruto]

Imagine everyone in ur country turned into cats

Call that Canyada

this post would get you trampled by moose in a rural town between Ontario and Manitoba

[jrueships]

Magic after running from one new authority figure to another so he can shed responsibility from his actions when his consequences catch him anyway: 🥺

[poke-is-a-dork]

Finally. Concrete proof that I did not hallucinate this moment

⌛🌀DIMENSION 20: TIME QUANGLE 🌀⏳

The VODs from the Dimension 20 UK & Ireland Live Tour are coming to Dropout - starring Brennan Lee Mulligan, Ally Beardsley, Emily Axford, Brian Murphy, Zac Oyama, Siobhan Thompson, and Lou Wilson!

The first two shows will be released September 12th & 19th - with the remaining shows arriving in December 2024!

[angstitty]

Music is music to my ears

Fanfictions are a ballad to my heart

Books are an ode to my brain

Pens and journals are a bridge to my senses

Sometimes even

The world is a choral in my body and the birds are metal screaming in the mic

I wish to hear the pond and the rain

Pounder my brain but all keeps ringing, a beat

With the noise of being

you feel

[ohposhers]

i think as a society we do not appreciate how epic vector is enough

[hansoeii]

Do you think of me?

[cythaeria]

For the strilonde girlies out there

If anyone is curious, roxy and rose are depicted as trans women and dirk as a trans man!

[rrr-mmmm]

[noxcheshire]

I am sick, dizzy, and can barely think but you know what would be WILD?

If the DC universe was an echo of Danny’s world. What if the continents of their planet shifted enough where Amity is now in New Jersey and had then become Gotham.

And when Danny died underneath the portal a part of his death fractured and imprinted itself into those various worlds. One of them being Gotham, where Danny’s home ironically used to be where Wayne Manor used to be.

So just imagine it, you’re coming back from patrol, grimy, sweaty, and with questionable intentions by dressing as an overgrown bat when suddenly the lights dim. It dims and brings darkness, only enough light to catch the beady marble eyes of the bats you fear.

And then electricity jumps in the middle of the room, flinging itself around like an agitated snake in wide open circles.

Everyone is backing away, some weary, some cursing, some just half way out of their own suit.

And then a child — barely as old as your youngest now, flickers to life before you, screaming and screaming, wailing in pain as the scent of burning flesh mingles into the air. You can see the boy, black hair and blue eyes that underneath the bright light that burns them is causing black to turn white, and blue to turn green.

The electricity crackles and when the boy is about the drop, limp, certainly lifeless, he vanishes as if nothing had ever been there.

But he comes back, he always comes back, in the moment of calm and in the moment of despair, echoing that painful wailing of death.

It’s so wrong.

It’s very, very wrong.

It didn’t even matter anymore why the boy showed up, only that this moment of pain continues to haunt the cave of heroes.

Continuously haunting, even as some whispered apologizes when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as some provided songs of comfort when the boy appeared. Continuously haunting, even as stories of Gotham are told and promises (though uncertain and flimsy at best) are spoken to the wailing boy who always drops fast and disappears just as quickly.

Always, it was the same.

Until one day it wasn’t.

The electricity crackled like it always did. A spark, and then a calamity of light. And the boy would be there, uncurling himself into a tense position as he would wail.

But not this time.

Instead the boy curled himself in the air, calm as can be, almost as if he were sleeping. Even the electricity that they have learned to dance away from was calm, gentle, like ocean waves.

And when the electricity vanished, the boy did not, instead dropping to the floor where Dick was quick to catch him, grunting in preparation of weight only to show alarm at how thin the boy truly was.

On that face that has haunted them all for months is just a boy, sleeping, and scarred. A boy breathing very slow, slower than what they would like, but here in the physical realm with them.

Dick brushed back bangs of black hair, and slowly, ever so slowly, glazed blue eyes stared back.

[moondirti]

working at a hardware store, you're too familiar with the odd customer. couples who come in with specifications so detailed, you can only imagine they're for kink purposes; women old enough to be knocked out by the fumes of the paint they purchase, looking to remodel after their husbands passing; men on the verge of a mid-life crises, more devoted to their lawns than they are their families. and though it takes a couple hours of dedicated customer service to get them out the door, satisfied with their purchase, that comes with the job that sees you paid. so it's not so bad. generally fine.

a one and done sort of thing.

(of course, that's because none of them hold a candle to this freak.)

cargo net, nylon cordage, duct tape, disinfectant. all that's missing is a shovel, and the police wouldn't fault you for calling this purchase in.

"moving?" you ask, tongue lashing against your best interests in face of the oppressive presence across the counter. a monster of a man, almost too big to fit through the store. thick arms and neck, a healthy serving of fat over every muscle, filling the space of his shirt beyond what it was sewn to handle. the camo balaclava is both ridiculous and an essential component to the intimidation he strikes in you, framing a set of eyes that squint at your remark.

(jesus, you didn't think people like him existed in real life.)

he looks like he's about to bite back, but decides against it.

"hunting." he says, then nudges the objects towards you like he has somewhere urgent to be at 10 pm. but okay, fine, you can take a hint. you scan the suspicious list of things and tally up his total.

"uh, 85 quid. thanks."

"bloody extortionate." the man mutters, stacking his purchases upon one, curled arm, before throwing a pink note your way.

nonplussed, you don't notice the offence immediately. the matter of payment is instead superseded by his offhand exit, his shoulder shoving open the door, head bowing to shrug out. and you watch as he walks across the parking lot, long strides taking him there in three steps, and watch as he slips around the brick perimeter. only then does your stomach settle.

but at that point, it's far too late.

50 pounds stare smugly up at you.

that asshole underpaid you.

by the grace of the gods (your manager), your shift ends soon after. it's a wonder you manage to get to your car at all, migraine splitting your skull in two. though it should be doing something to alleviate the pain, all your body wants to focus on is the lightened bulk of your wallet, now missing 35 quid after paying the difference out of pocket.

you take the time once you're seated to smash a fist repeatedly onto your steering wheel.

"fucking fuck! cock sucking bastard, son of a bitch!"

the screaming, though cathartic, drills your sorrows further into your head. you're temporarily blinded when your head slams back onto the headrest, phosphenes overwhelming your vision. little stars, ropes, knives and dots dancing over the windscreen.

it's a miracle you're able to discern the eyes in your rearview mirror as real.

"well, which is it?" the brute from earlier derides. his hand comes over your jaw, big enough to trap the whole lower half of your face in his grip. tucks his pinky under your chin, too, the makeshift muzzle keeping you from biting. it's all you can do to breath — long, filtered gulps of air, the space between his fingers smelling of salt. something sticky smears onto your nose. "am i a bastard, or the son of a bitch?"

not a one and done thing, then.

[ditzybat]

steph: emo fuck

jason: i am not emo

steph: you have daddy issues, two toned hair, wear copious amounts of leather, and i heard you belting a horrible rendition of a trophy fathers trophy son yesterday - just accept your fate

jason: … man my singing is beautiful youre just trippin

[asha-mage]

A SVSSS fic I want to write one day is Airplane and Shen Yuan being ejected from the System and sent back to the mundane world, but with the difference that Shen Yuan's 'edits' to the story have been retroactively applied to PiDW and as a result it's gone from 'top story in a hyper specific web culture niche' to 'international sensation with a Netflix adaption in the works'.

Keyly, PiDW is still told largely from the PoV of Luo Binghe- so neither he nor the audience is at all aware that it's now Isekai story. Instead it's billed as this heady romantic drama about prejudice, the passage of time, and redemption- where a big part of the appeal is trying to piece together the otherwise enigmatic Shen Qingqiu's motives.

Was he harsh on Binghe initially because of he sensed/knew about Binghe's demon heritage (as it's now possible to find hints that he may have in fact known all along)? Or because he saw Binghe's potential and wanted to do the tough-love training thing? Or was it because he was trying to chase Binghe away from Cultivation because he knew it would lead Binghe to misery one day? Did he throw Binghe into the Abyss because he was genuinely shocked and disgusted by the Demon reveal? Or because he knew Binghe would be killed if he stayed and he was trying to 'protect' him? Or was it because he genuinely wanted Binghe to fulfill his demon Emperor destiny and thought a clean break would do it? The fandom has no idea but lovvvvvves arguing about it.

This all leads to things coming full circle, as Cucumber, sounding like an absolute insane person, is left to rant online about how the obvious answer is that Shen Qingqiu was Isekai'd earlier in the story and replaced by a completely different person- a theory which is mocked to the point of memery, and leads to Cucumber being dunked on endlessly, no matter how much evidence he brings up or how many essays he writes.