#I'd choose the bass

[webslingingslasher]

After Trouble spent enough time in the frat house. Would the boys find themselves singing/humming some taylor swift songs?

Like one is singing bejewelled in the kitchen while making cheese toastie while the other is humming it while doing some push ups in the backyard…

YES.

now let's just say.... IF i was choosing pain, i'd say...

peter's slamming his fist so hard down on tarrents door even he's a little surprised it didn't break through. 'turn that fucking shit off!' it's been non stop, he's bit his tongue for three days but he can't handle it anymore.

it's a constant, bass boosted, reminder of you.

'what?' it's muffled under the beatdown and screeching chorus.

'and when i meet the band, they ask do you have a man? i can still say i don't, remember?'

it's his breaking straw, he doesn't need to be reminded of his situation by taylor swift of all fucking people. he wasn't a taylor swift fan to begin with, but you've ruined her forever for him. he can't think about her without thinking about you.

the door bends under the weight, 'i said turn it the fuck off!' it swings open, all peter can hear is unfiltered bejeweled, 'sapphire tears on my face, sadness beca...' tarrent's lowering the volume on his speaker, 'what?'

'turn it down.' peter has no fight left. tarrent is blind, 'ah, sorry. it's been stuck in my head, i think you have to blame your girl for...' a wince, he understands the hostility. 'fuck, sorry, man.'

peter almost says it's fine. but it's not. nothing's fine.

'no more taylor swift, alright?' peter corrects himself, he's not a total dick. 'above a level five.' tarrent raises it just a little when peter leaves, it's enough for him to catch the end.

'i can still make the whole place shimmer...'

yeah, he's sure you can. 

#frat!peter drabbles

[chochuuya]

boy next door.

hanma shuji x fem!reader

disclaimers: hair down and glasses hanma is in mind, he calls you miss perfect, slow burn kinda, college/uni setting, mentions of weed & alcohol, you & him are of the same age, hanma shuji in general 🚬

note: please do read with precaution. more suitable for those 18+, even though the overall fic is fluff and this is a sfw blog (^^ゞ

word count: 2.2k [2262]

it’s been a few weeks since you’ve moved into a new neighbourhood, finally gaining independence and a new start in university.

the problem is, it’s anything but positive.

boom. boom. boom.

you swore that you could feel your windows pane rattle due to the loud music coming from next door.

trying to keep your cool, you found yourself in front of your new neighbour’s doorstep, apparently named hanma shuji. you shouldn’t have to be doing this. again. it’s 2 in the morning.

you knocked his door, hoping to get an answer or at least tell him to lower down his music.

there’s no response from within.

you knock a little louder and a second later, his front door swings open.

hanma, wearing only boxers, leans on the door’s frame, rubbing his eyes. his hair is disheveled and his voice is hoarse when he speaks to you.

“...what?”

unfazed by his appearance, you sighed before explaining yourself. “for the fifth time this week hanma, can you please lower down your volume? people are trying to sleep.”

he just stares at you, his brow furrowing. his gaze is... piercing and cold.

“look, i don’t really care about people trying to sleep. its friday; i have a party to throw.”

“at 2 am?” you didn’t even try to sneak a peek at his place. you would rather not.

hanma rolled his eyes.

“it's early; the majority aren’t here yet. but the ones that are here are having a good time.”

you stayed quiet, trying to process his words.

“fine, whatever. do whatever you please.”

he smirked, noticing your reaction and gives a mocking smirk.

“if you’re going to act like a grouch, go back to bed. it’s not like you’re invited anyway. i don’t like the look of you, miss perfect.”

“don’t like the way i look but calls me that.. what an idiot.” you mumbled to yourself and went back to your house, which is oh, so conveniently next to his.

he watched as you started to walk away.

“oh, you aren’t leaving already, are you? i thought you wanted to have a discussion with me.”

“what discussion? i only asked you to turn down your music, hanma.” you deadpanned. “good night.” you went back to the comfort of your own home.

he didn’t like that. the volume of the music increased again. the thumping and bass became even louder than before, probably just to annoy you.

you heard footsteps approaching your front door, and him knocking loudly. “hey, come out. i just wanted to talk.”

you opened the door a tiny bit as you glare at him irritated.

“what is it that you want now?”

“what i want?” he asked bitterly. “i want you to stop being such a goddamn prude.”

taken aback by that remark, you opened your door wider and your arms crossed.

“excuse me?”

hanma stepped forward, towering over you. his face was just inches away from yours, with your head tilted upward to look at him.

“i said, don’t be so uptight. just come to one of my parties already, you stick-in-the-mud.”

“i'd rather be sleeping.”

he was speechless and eyes widened as he looked down at you.

“you’re not serious, right? you’d rather be sleeping, rather than partying? it’s a friday night! everyone’s having fun, but you choose to be a loner instead?” his tone was dripping with sarcasm and he couldn’t help but sneer.

“yeah, so good night.” you closed your door once more and actually turned off the lights, trying to shoo him away.

“no wait, come ba—”

he tried opening your door, but it was locked.

“damn it...” he muttered to himself, before returning to his own home. the music continued to go on through the night.

the next two weeks went by without the hanma shuji hosting another party. the peace had been restored, and you started to relax...

..that is, until the following tuesday.

you woke up at the ungodly hour of 4 in the morning, the loud roaring music of another party disturbing your sleep. you covered your ears in annoyance and got up to investigate.

you knocked on his door.

there he is.. just in boxers, opening his door again. his hair was wild but still somehow looked good on him. he yawned and his voice sounded raspy.

“what do you want? it’s 4am.” he stared at you sleepily, a small smirk forming on his lips as he remembered your previous encounter.

you eyed him sharply, annoyed. “how did you even sleep with music that loud?! turn it down, hanma.”

the music started again, now slightly quieter. he turned to you and once again, he did not hold back his words as they came out sharp.

“what, didn’t your parents ever teach you to mind your own business? stay in your lane, miss perfect. nobody asked you to butt into my matters and my lifestyle.”

he pushed his hair away from his face and rolled his eyes, as if your request was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

oh, you hoped he finds his brain back there with the amount of times he have been rolling his eyes every time you both talk.

“when your loud ass music comes to my range of hearing, it is already my business hanma. you're going to be the death of me one day.”

before you could make it back into your house, he walked up next to you, looking down at you once again.

“awww, that’s cute of you to assume that i’d ever let my music be the death of you.” his voice was cold and sarcastic, but the way he said it... sent chills down your spine.

“night's still young, and my party’s just getting going. do you mind if you... join in?”

“yes i would mind.”

typical hanma looked you up and down for a good few seconds, as if trying to decide whether or not he should keep pestering you. his gaze was sharp, and almost unsettling. and to your surprise, he actually chuckled at you.

“oh come on! i’m not letting you off that easily. i want to see you let loose for one night. you need a break from that uptight and workaholic personality you’ve got going on.”

“i don’t see the point of having parties at 4 in the morning.”

he chuckled again.

“because it’s a party, (y/n). you don’t see the point? well, let me show you then. come join us.” he took your arm and held it, waiting for a response from you.

“fine but i won’t stay long.” you reluctantly followed him into his place.

“us?” you thought to yourself.

almost immediately, the strong smell of cigarette and people almost knocked you out. your eyes dart everywhere at the crowd and felt out of place.

as soon as you walk in, you notice a few people standing against various walls in the living room. there’s also people dancing and sitting on the couch, chatting away. the smell of the devil’s lettuce is overwhelming, and it feels strange to see this side of your neighbourhood.

hanma led you to the couch where he sat, looking at you and grinning. “sit with me!” he gestured to the couch.

“make yourself at home.”

you had to cover your nose and mouth with a hand or else you would start to cough like a kid. you sit next to him anyway, since it is probably the safest.

hanma laughed at your reaction, not even bothering trying to mask his smirk.

“don’t be so dramatic, (y/n). it’s just pot!” he chuckled. “here.”

he handed you what appeared to be a.. cancer stick in your eyes.

“oh no, thank you.” you declined his offer, shaking your head.

he chuckled again — he was probably quite entertained by your reactions tonight.

“oh, come on. live a little!” he raised the joint near your face, almost forcing you to take it.

“i’m leaving if you push it any further.” you deadpanned.

he narrowed his eyes, but eventually let out a sigh.

“fiiiine, you have no fun.” he said mockingly. he took a huge hit from his cig and then exhaled the smoke slowly, before grinning at you.

“how about... just have a sip of my beer, then?you can’t be that picky when it comes to alcohol, miss perfect.”

you may not be much of a drinker but you can handle it. you hesitantly took the beer from his hand— force of habit, you wiped the opening with your hoodie before taking a sip.

“there.” you gave it back to him.

he giggled and stared at you with his arms crossed. his gaze was almost piercing. he didn’t say anything for a moment, probably waiting to tease you more.

“how old are you, again, (y/n)?”

“you don’t ask a lady that, hanma.”

he laughed. “oh, shut up. that’s a pathetic response. you’re in college, right? then just tell me your age already. you’re obviously not a little girl, so just tell me and drop the act for a second.”

you were getting irritated by the minute and feeling humid too from the crowd.

“you first.”

he smirked at your response. “fine, i'm __. now your turn, miss prude.”

you swear he just knows how to annoy you every time. you rolled your eyes.

“same age then, jerk.”

“well, well. same age, huh? that’s funny, i’d think you were way older since you act like, i don’t know... a grandma?” he laughed at his own joke as he took a sip out of his drink.

the night, or should i say morning.. dragged on until you managed to escape from his party. you took the opportunity to sleep until the actual morning.

you woke up feeling fresh and did your usual routine before throwing away your trash.

you made your way to the outside bins and that’s when you notice hanma was standing next to you. he stared at you with his piercing eyes, no surprise there.

“you know, the more that i see you around, the more annoyed i get. you’re a walking headache, (y/n).” he had an annoying smirk on his face once again — his way of trying to wind you up.

“good morning to you too, i guess.” you said nonchalantly as you threw away the trash.

hanma didn’t reply to you right away, just watched you throw away your trash without a word. you noticed that he seemed... distracted, his gaze wandering from you, to something or someone else.

something was annoying him.

“you just woke up, yet you look better than i do.” he said, his voice low. even for hanma, it was an unusual comment, as if he was trying to... compliment you?

you raised an eyebrow. “..thank you?”

you would give a more.. sassy reply like he should cut down on the damn cigs and alcohol but maybe next time.

he chuckled softly and leaned up against the wall. “no problem. i’m just saying you look good.”

he stared at you for a good few seconds, then finally spoke up again.

“do you have anything planned right now?”

“not really but—”

“you want to grab a cup of coffee with me?” he asked bluntly. he waited for a response. of course, he had a smirk on his face again, as if he was expecting you to refuse and then for him to say something smart or sarcastic in response.

you couldn’t believe your own ears and looked at him as if he transformed into a different person.

“i’m sorry, what?”

he shrugged, his tone slightly softer.

“i’m asking you out for coffee.” he looked at you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “i’d like to get to know you.”

“uh.. sure, coffee it is.” you were still slightly surprised though but he asked nicely.

hanma nodded to you and if you were quick and had looked closely, he smiled to the ground. his eyes seemed less sharp than before.

“good. let’s go now.” he then offered you a hand to hold, waiting for you to accept.

“and stop acting so surprised. i’m not such a bad person, you know.”

“well, you are annoying.” you took your hand in his anyway.

he nodded in agreement, chuckling to himself. he was actually quite surprised that you accepted his offer so quickly.

both of you went and walked off together to a nearby coffee shop.

“do you have a boyfriend, or anything?” he asked out of nowhere.

that caught you off guard and almost made you choke on your own spit. you looked up to him in disbelief.

“right off the bat??”

he shrugged as he walked beside you.

“i’ve never liked beating around the bush, it pisses me off. besides, that way, i know if i have any chance of getting to know you more without stepping on some other guy or chick's toes.”

he was completely unbothered by your reaction to his question. in fact, he didn’t seem to care.

“what’s the big deal with that question?” he smirked. “answer the question, (y/n).”

“no, i don’t have one hanma.”

“i’m.. actually surprised. so, i have a chance huh?”

you scoffed. you knew that he was just trying to gouge a reaction out of you. shortly after, you two arrived to the coffee shop.

he ordered an iced coffee for himself, and got one for you as well. hanma's gaze was still fixated on you.

“so, what’s someone like you doing being single?”

oh, he isn’t wasting any time eh?

please do not steal, copy, translate, repost to other sites or claim my writings as your own. plagiarism is real!

💌 hanma for ray!! @h4nman

this is.. the longest solo character fic i've ever written. just testing the waters hehe ＼＿ﾍ(ω・｀) all likes & reblogs are vv much appreciated! ♡

#🐯 luna writes #🐯 luna's fics #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers fluff #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #tokyo revengers imagine #tokyo revenger scenario #tokyo revengers fic #tokyo revengers oneshot

[guinea-pig16]

Late Night || Part 3

This is part 3 of Late Night, so if you'd like context I'd recommend reading part 1 and part 2! Fic is below the cut, please enjoy!

______________________________________________________________

Word Count: 2,300+

Warning: angst, suggestive thoughts

______________________________________________________________

Monty’s fist shot through his mirror, shattering the glass and splitting the wooden frame, the lights around the edges flickering in a panic.

He was pissed. He was pissed beyond words.

He let out a roar and grabbed his bass guitar, lifting it above his head, he splintered it against the floor, making it let out a horrific whine.

Monty tore apart his green room. Nothing was spared from his fury. Families walking around outside were directed by Bots to steer clear of his room. Velvet rope closed off the area, a smiling Monty cut out explaining that he was resting and would be back shortly. The shredded chair that had been thrown through the plexiglass of his room disagreed.

Hours passed and Monty finally slowed his rampage. The PizzaPlex had closed by this point, and the MopBots had finally been able to come by and begin sweeping up the broken glass and splintered wood outside of his room.

He stood there amid his destruction, body heaving in air to cool his overheated gears.

Why?

Why did this have to happen to him? Why was he always second place? Why was he always the second favorite, left behind, discarded, no one’s first choice?

Why did you choose Freddy over him?

______________________________________________________________

It was after your last shift when Monty came to find you, to try and cheer you up, find out who was bothering you, and make it go away. He had reached the entrance and saw you walking away. He had just begun to call for you when Freddy appeared.

Monty had stopped in his tracks. He doesn’t know why, but he hid, and watched as Freddy spoke to you, and led you away, back to his room. He doesn’t know why, but he followed behind silently, seething as he saw how uncomfortable you seemed. He watched as the both of you entered the room, and he watched through the crack in the curtain as you professed your love to Freddy, him doing the same.

And he watched as you two kissed.

He tore his eyes away soon after.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t hear, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t feel.

It seemed as though his servos had been ripped out of his body, his metal plating wrenched open and his wiring tangled and torn. And it hurt. It hurt so bad. He shouldn’t be able to feel pain, but this ache in his chest said otherwise.

Monty slipped away from the window and silently trekked back to his room, numb. There was a word for this, wasn’t there? A word that encapsulated what he was feeling. He wracked his mind for it, but it continuously slipped from his grasp. What was it?

He stumbled into his room and stood there. He looked around at his belongings, eyes empty. His gaze drifted over his couch, his neon sign, his arcade machine, his chair, his bass guitar, and then finally, his mirror. There, taped to the edge of the mirror was a photo strip, of you and him, smiling, making silly faces, him ruffling your hair, and then you laughing as Monty slammed his head on the ceiling of the booth. Numbly, he grabbed the photo strip and looked at the last picture. 

Had he not been clear enough? All the times he hung around you during work, all his jokes, all the touches, and the looks. Had you not noticed how he would go star-struck at your smiles and laughs? How he would gaze at you in awe when you would rant about your favorite things, how he would memorize the way your eyes would light up like the brightest stars in the sky. 

Had he realized too late that he was in love with you?

Monty’s chest tightened as he gazed at the pictures of you.

Oh, how he wished to hold you… How he wished to hold you close and whisper how much he adored you, how he would do anything for you. How he wished he could look at you with all the love and adoration he holds, and see you look at him the same way. How he wished he could kiss you passionately so you would know exactly how you make him feel. How he dreams about you at night… How he imagines you… pressed against his wall… bodies so close together…his mouth on your neck, your short breaths, his hands wandering roughly. Your arms wrapped around his neck as one of his hands wanders lower, lower. The sound you would make, how he would smother it with a rough kiss… Oh, how he wished he could ruin you…

…But he can’t now…

…Because of him.

Monty’s face drew back into a sneer, his hands beginning to tremble.

Oh, how he hated him. That stupid, popular, fucking bear. It’s Freddy’s fault this happened. It’s Freddy’s fault he lost you. It’s Freddy’s fault he’s alone. It’s Freddy’s fault that he’s always second place. It’s Freddy’s fault. It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault It’s Freddy’s fault-

That’s when he snapped.

Monty’s fist reared back.

And he imagined it was Freddy’s face peering back at him as his fist connected with the mirror.

______________________________________________________________

Monty’s chest heaved as he panted, a motion programmed into him if he overheated. He looked around his room, mind finally clear from his mindless rage. He winced at the shattered window and noted his missing armchair. His couch was split in half, each part sitting in opposite sides of the room, both parts equally shredded to bits. There was stuffing, splinters, and glass littering the floor, making Monty grateful he was an animatronic and it wouldn’t hurt to walk around in it. His speakers had been ripped from the walls, one he could tell he’d put his foot through, and the other… From a glance out his window, he could tell it’d met the same fate as the chair. His curtains were nothing but rags at this point, shredded to a pulp. His vanity table had been reduced to wooden scraps, and his vanity chair had been twisted into a metal pretzel. And his bass guitar… Damn, he wished he hadn’t destroyed that… The body had been smashed to bits, the neck twisted and bent. And finally, his mirror… that was the only part of his rampage he remembered. There was a clean hole right through the center of the mirror, and the wall behind it. Monty looked at his fractured reflection in fragments left in the splintered frame.

God, he looked worn out... If he were a person, he knew there’d be bags underneath his eyes. He let out a sigh. Thankfully, it seemed he didn’t damage himself much during the rampage, from what he could tell he’d only really scratched the paint off himself.

He looked around his room again, thinking. Man… I’ve really gotta stop doing this… It’s always a pain in the ass to get new furniture… And now I’ve gotta get the window replaced, that’s a new one. I don’t think I’ve ever smashed that window before… He thought as he began to pick up larger chunks of debris to throw away. Least I can do is pick up a little for whatever sorry ass has to-

Knock, Knock.

Monty stopped and tiredly looked back at his door. Speak of the devil… He thought as he straightened and walked towards the door. Man, what even was he going to say to whoever had to clean this up? He hadn’t done anything this bad in a long time. He stood in front of his door, mulling over his words. The door slid open.

“Hey, look, sorry about the-” Monty started, and then froze. Cold washing through his senses.

You were standing in the doorway.

______________________________________________________________

You had already prepared yourself to see the worst when Monty opened his door. You’d been here for plenty of his tantrums before, so you were accustomed to seeing his room completely trashed.

But you weren’t expecting this much damage. You had to keep yourself from gasping as you caught a glimpse behind Monty.

Jesus Christ, he broke his fucking window! That shit is plexiglass! How did he manage to break plexiglass!? You thought as you quickly scanned Monty’s body for injuries, sighing internally when all you saw were some dents and scratches. Monty was still looking at you like a deer in headlights as the two of you lock eyes.

“...Um… Hey Monts… I just came to check up on you after the uh… well you know.” You say awkwardly, gesturing to the mess behind him. He turns his head to look at the wreckage, and you swear you saw him wince slightly.

“Yeah… I was just uh… Blowing off some steam…” He says, running a hand through his mohawk. You raise a brow at him.

“...Some helluva steam then. You do realize you threw your chair and speaker through plexiglass right?” You wave a hand to the outside of the greenroom where bots are currently sweeping up the broken chair, speaker, and glass. Monty stares at his feet. Your gaze softens and you cross your arms.

“Monty, what’s wrong? You know you can tell me, right?” You say softly. Ever since you started working here, you were the only one who was able to get Monty to talk about his feelings. After every tantrum, every rampage, you were there with open ears, ready to listen to whatever was bothering him. You didn’t mind, he was one of your friends after all.

Monty finally looked you in the eye again. You could almost see the thoughts running through his head as he stared at you. You observed him as he thought. He looked tired, almost defeated. You could feel sadness radiating off of him, so palatable it almost brought tears to your eyes. What on earth could have made him feel this way?

“...Y/N… I-” Monty started, leaning closer to you. But he was quickly interrupted by the sound of jogging footsteps, and a familiar voice. Before you turned around, you saw Monty’s fist tighten.

“Monty! I see you have finally stopped. Are you feeling better, my friend?” Said Freddy as he approached the two of you. You turned and smiled brightly at Freddy, unknowingly causing Monty to frown, rage beginning to bubble up once more.

______________________________________________________________

Monty watched as you turned your attention from him to the bear behind you, giving Freddy a gorgeous smile. He watched as Freddy smiled back and placed a hand on your shoulder, you unknowingly leaning into the touch. And he watched as Freddy turned those wretched blue eyes to him, them filling with concern. Oh, how he wanted to rip those eyes out of his stupid face.

“I’m fine.” Monty sneered, causing you to raise an eyebrow at his attitude. 

“...Ah, that is wonderful to hear, Monty! You had all of us worried today. It lasted much longer than usual, you see…” Freddy said, uncomfortably, shifting slightly in place. Monty glanced behind him.

Damn, how long did it last? He had blacked out during his rage, the only thing he remembered was punching the shit out of his mirror. After he saw… Monty growled lowly at the memory, and watched as Freddy subtly pulled you closer to him. You put a hand over Freddy’s, and looked at Monty, concern filling your gaze.

“Monty, what’s wrong? There’s clearly something bothering you. Come on, you can talk to us…” You say, reaching a hand out to him. 

Monty considered your hand for a moment, and looked between you and Freddy. He looked at your concerned expression, and then looked at Freddy, and was slightly surprised to see the same look. He didn’t think Freddy cared that much. Maybe… Maybe he could tell you. Tell the both of you. Maybe you would understand. Maybe Freddy would too. What if… What if you felt the same way? Maybe he and Freddy could agree to…

No.

Monty froze.

Y/N chose Freddy, remember? They left you in the dust, gone, discarded.

He shuddered slightly.

F o r g e t  t h e m .

Monty was silent for a moment, before he straightened and glared at you and Freddy, causing the two of you to take a step back. 

“I’m fine. Now buzz off before I make you.” He snarled, before slamming his door shut. He stood there and waited until he heard the two of you walk off, listened to the hesitation in your footsteps.

…Why did he do that? He was just about to talk to you, let you know how he felt. What stopped him? Monty ran a hand over his face and began to walk across his room to sit on the remnants of his couch when he stepped on something that wasn’t glass or wood. He stopped and looked down.

It was the photo strip of you and him.

He stared, and then leaned down and picked it up. He held the strip gently in his hands as he looked at the picts of you and him. There was still time to get to you and Freddy. If he ran he could catch up, explain himself. And then he knew you’d be able to help. Figure out a way where you both could be together. And maybe he could learn to get along with Freddy, if only for your sake. Maybe he didn’t have to be alone-

As if.

Y/N doesn’t care enough about you to do that. How could you be so naive?

Monty stilled, staring at the strip.

You don’t need anyone, you’re better off alone.

F o r g e t  a b o u t  t h e m .

T h e y  n e v e r  c a r e d  a n y w a y s .

Monty blinked, his vision going blurry for a moment.

Right. They didn’t care, did they?

What was he thinking?

Monty looked once more at the photo strip, and then shredded it to peices, feeling familiar rage bubbling up in him once more. A snarl ripped out of him.

Oh yeah, he remembered the that word now.

His eyes glew red as he began his rampage anew.

Betrayal.

______________________________________________________________

Hi hi hiii !! I hope you enjoyed! Sorry if this wasn't what you hoped for, or expected from me, I've been having crazy writer's block recently and have been busy with graduation stuff. I'll be working on a part 4 and maybe 5 soon though! I promise I'll get to an actual proper Monty x reader soon!

Thank you so much for your support! XOXO <3

tagged people:

@dokoni-mo @softiejae @quietlyignoringyou @johnwicks-tie

#fnaf fic #monty gator #monty x reader #glamrock monty #montgomery gator #montgomery gator x reader #angst writing #gim fic #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #glamrock freddy #fnaf x reader #fnaf fandom #glamrock freddy x reader

[psychedelic-ink]

sil!!! congratulations on your milestone, that's an incredible feat! i'd love 📖 with any pedro boy of your choosing!

y'know how when you go to a concert and you get a mini crush on the cute guy (or girl or whomever) that's standing in the crowd before the show starts? or maybe they're manning the merch table? or getting a drink at the bar? sometimes you end up talking to them, sometimes you just look on in awe. it's like, wow THAT beauty is here?? that happens to me at least once every show i go to and i'd love your take on it! either from the reader's or the boy in question's pov!

congrats again, you absolutely deserve it!!! <33

thank you so much for this request bby! I had so much fun writing it and since he is your username, I decided to go with pero 💙💙💙 honestly I could've written a whole one-shot for this

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐚𝐩

modern!pero tovar x f!reader

genre: modern au, strangers to lovers, fluff with a hint of spice towards the end

word count: 0,4k

summary: you go to a paramore concert and meet a charming stranger.

The air is charged with anticipation as you enter the venue, the distant hum of excited chatter and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the crowded space. The venue is bathed in a warm, dim glow, the stage set with instruments and microphones. As you make your way through the tightly packed crowd, the buzz of excitement heightens, and your heart quickens its pace.

There, in the midst of the eager crowd, you spot him. A complete stranger who is without a doubt one of the most beautiful people here. His presence seems to radiate a quiet confidence, his dark hair slightly tousled as if he's just stepped out of a breezy afternoon. You notice a faded scar running over his eye. His eyes scan the venue with a subtle intensity.

You hold your breath.

Your eyes lock for a brief moment, and in that exchange, the atmosphere shifts. It's as if the world around you melts away, leaving only the two of you.

But then the moment is broken. The lights dim, and the crowd erupts into cheers as Paramore takes the stage. The opening chords resonate through the venue, sending waves of energy through the tightly packed dancers. The stranger's attention is now fully on the stage and you can't really blame him.

During one of your favorite songs, your eyes meet again, and this time, the stranger offers a smile. It's a small, genuine curve of his lips that sends a rush of warmth through you.

The concert becomes a blur of lights, music, and shared moments. As the crowd jumps and screams, you find yourself lingering for a moment, not wanting to break eye contact.

But then, to your surprise, he walks toward you with a confident stride. His eyes meet yours, and without saying a word, he extends a hand.

"I'm Pero," he says with an accent. "Care to join me?"

The invitation is clear, and without hesitation, you take it.

The music intensifies, Pero's hands begin to trail down your sides, igniting a fire within you. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispers how you caught his eye and how gorgeous you are, which makes your heart race. You turn to face him, your bodies pressing together along with your lips.

The bass pounds in your chest as your lips meet, each kiss sending electric shocks through your body. The intensity between you builds with every touch, the music serving as the perfect backdrop to your desires. As the song comes to an end, you can't help but melt into each other, knowing that this is only the beginning of a wild and unforgettable night.

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero tovar au #pero tovar fanfiction #the great wall fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #on cloud 9k

[crying-fantasies]

In acceptance

Masterlist

Part 1 | part 2

"So you aren't from the stars?" Jazz almost laughs, he chooses to keep silence while smiling, maybe a snicker did get out of his voice box, looking at you and some telescope he helped to get back together, at first you didn't tell him why you wanted it so bad, but then you said: "I want to see your home, Cybertron!"

He was happy with you enthusiasm, still, he didn't want to see you sad if you, naturally, didn't find it, "Cybertron isn't there, sweetspark", and that's how your question came to be, so he had to explain.

"Cybertron is pretty far, far away" the idea made him sad, moving his servos to put more distance and make his point present and for distraction of your sadness, "we can't see it from here"

"Not even with this?" You showed him your little telescope, Jazz kept on his smile, running a digit on your little head, you were trying to make him smile, truly do it.

"If my ol' pal Percy was here, I'm more than sure he would've loved to show you" you made a little sound, hands on his armor and almost climbing on him, Jazz let you do your do, it wasn't the first time you did it and he learned to put his servos at a certain distance to prevent any accident, he was grateful in the way you shook your shoes before putting them on his armor.

"Percy seems to be a good bot" you took seat with ease, recharging on his mid section, he could feel your warm body, how you kept on looking at the sky.

"Indeed" helped you, using a digit to direct you to the correct way, Cybertron may be hundreds of light years away but that was the correct direction.

One he still remembers and will possibly never forget.

"Do you miss your home?" The lense was now directed at him, you got him thinking, he did miss Cybertron, but the Cybertron from before war.

He wasn't going to tell you about gruesome war details, you were a being born and raised on peace, Optimus would never let you or other humans be tainted by their war if he could do something about it first.

But it was happening already.

"I do, there I had a big habsuit unit with all my favorite instruments"

"Like your electric bass"

"Like my Aghartan electro bass, uhum, I'd many, an' sometimes I had time to play some, play with the cords and even reunite with friends to make music together"

It was easy, talk to you have always been easy and comfortable once the usual screaming died down, you were little then, young even to human standard, full of curiosity for the world around you and the one Jazz told you about, a world full of mechs like and unlike him, "some angry like Ratchet?" "Some like Ratch, but don't call him that, he'll get sad", and all the great things his people did, every great invention done to improve the life of every bot around "Like what Wheeljack did yesterday?" "Yes, but without the fire and the explosion"

You were full of questions he was willing to answer and you were full of attention and understanding he was grateful to have, more than once Jazz thought he was kind of making you see things way too different, in some way? He wasn't sure, but it was endearing when you tried to give him a rusting piece of metal after he told you about how he liked rust sticks and how those were famous snacks back in Cybertron.

Jazz couldn't consume it, but he was grateful nonetheless.

Time moved on, because that's what it does, Jazz left you for what seemed to be a few days, like you called it, and when he came back you weren't little anymore, well, you were indeed little, but not as he remembered while he used his servo to compare how you changed, but you didn't let him do more than use his scanner and HUD while getting away from his most physical iterations.

"Nice upgrades there" you looked embarrassed, he wasn't sure why, you had little things on your face which you tried to cover, you didn't have those before, "a nice surprise to be sure", you looked mortified by his words and he should've been prepared for your hormone induced changes and how to handle them.

"Don't lie, this is horrible" you truly disliked your upgrades, and he tried to understand your point of view, he hold a digit to you and your response was almost instantaneous, little hands taking his servo, looking puzzled when you saw a little thing on it, "What is this?"

"Just a lil' something, a comm' line specially for you, so that we can talk al' night long" he pointed to his audials, and you took the thing to your ear, at that very same moment he took on his wheels and put some distance, you looked confused for a moment but then you heard his voice directly on your ear, "I missed you, sweetspark"

Your face was red, and Jazz laughed softly at your wide eyes, looking at his alt-mode almost mesmerized, shiny by tears he knew, and hoped, were of happiness, "Happy 20 earth orbital cycles".

Your laugh made him laugh, even when you didn't do it as much as before, at least you smiled for him and he could hear your happiness from the communicator.

Then, things got darker, uglier by every mean, and he didn't want you dragged in between all the spilled energon and blood dripping from his servos, but taking distance wasn't enough, it was never enough, everything they touched, everything their war touched was indeed bound to be destroyed in front of them, in front of him, and even when Jazz wasn't there to see for himself you being ripped from life he felt it, silence filling the space around him, making difficult even his movement, radio silence and interference that he tried to keep away with every song you've said you loved in front of him or at least hummed near him, always being mindful of you and in what you could talk next time he saw you or got to call you.

But now he couldn't reach you, all he had was music, songs to fill the void, and oh boy, does he has a very long masterlist, all thanks to you, but is your very same existence that got the silence there, like a menacing presence waiting for the pause in between the words to drag him down again.

When he was a younger spark Jazz liked to think that things, even in the worst days, could take a turn for the better, well, on those days the worst that could happen to him were a disgruntled mech trying to make a ruckus in the streets and his job was to take care of it as the police, or the days he forgot to pay a bill, something that at the moment was almost extenuating or stressing at worst, daydreaming about being a musician.

Now, those things were like jokes when he finally returns to earth's surface, looking at the devastation around, at the lack of bodies or frames lacking of life or spark, everything was consumed and, at the end, destroyed with their killer.

He helps with the reconstruction, he wants to get his servos on hope and hang there for dear life, with time Primus does have mercy on him and he gets hope, finding friends he thought were now lost, humans and bots alike, he is happy while he moves with the group of founded people and bots that is getting bigger with time, helping move the debris away in search for more survivors or to mourn whoever they find too late.

It's not until he gets near your house that his hope, once again, faltered and also incremented, he has been in this place so many times, be it die or dead missions searching for cons, be it little escapades with you sleeping soundly over his chassis on his alt-mode while music is playing or singing.

Be it just you both while looking at the few stars on the polluted sky.

Is a place full of memories, some that attack him even when he doesn't want them now, not when he gets a distress signal being showed on his internal computer, almost making him go back by the surprise, last thing he thought to see when he put a pede on your city was to get a distress signal from you communication device, the very same one he gave you years ago.

He doesn't listen, Jazz is a bot with a mission once again when he gets to where the distress signal in coming from, it's weak, almost not existing, but he holds on hope for dear life itself again while his servos get the debris away, shouting out your name and expecting you to call out for his designation.

Still, when his friends get to him is to take him away, telling him that it's fine when his servo circuits are again so weak Jazz can't get back on his pedes by himself, searching for strength to raise again in Ironhide's arms that are holding him when all he finds is the almost off-line gadget, destroyed beyond repair, finally giving up it's last energy after being found and ceasing any signal.

It was nothing more than a wish, a prayer, that he would find you, and yet again he can't bring himself to smile when he has to look at his group, he feels tired, he feels so tired while looking at all the destruction and he doesn't know if he can keep going.

"Jazz?"

In all honesty, he thinks his brain module really got damaged when he hears your voice, maybe he has really lost it to this point, just like Prowl told him he would when he got first back to earth with an objective on mind, "Numbers don't look good" Prowl has always been direct with this, with him, and it's something Jazz has come to accept and be grateful for because his friend does care, "don't rise your hopes too high" he told Jazz before he smiled back at him, the light on his visor weak enough to be blow off like a candle.

"Hope is the last thing you lose, Prowler"

"Jazz, are you okay?!" You are covered in wounds, dirt and one of your eyes is almost painted red and purple around, one of your arms looks out of place with the group of survivors that looked in the same damaged state, there is dried blood on you and Jazz reminds himself to be careful, to not scare you away like the last time he saw you.

He is running away from Ironhide's grip, who let's him go happily, Jazz is indeed careful, like he has always been with you, but that doesn't stop him from raising you in the air and bring you close with a hug, shielding you from the world with his whole body, to who is he saying never endings thank you's is still a mystery to you, but you still feel every word with his intake pressed to your head while one servo holds it there and the other presses you to his chassis.

You do hug him back, at least with the last good arm you have, and that's what makes you cry in relief and makes him hug you harder.

.

In the cannon continuity Jazz's human indeed dies, being one of the victims of Unicron and it's Maximals army, Jazz does find what was left and the communicator he gave as a gift, he stays on earth like the comic and tries to cherish the past with friends that he has lost.

In this continuity, in this AU! Jazz is happy, he is reunited with his human that later on is his conjunx, he is creator of three younglings and still very much in love with his conjunx, Jazz gets his happy ending in my AU! Because I adore him and because he deserves it.

#reader insert #x reader #angst #tf mtmte #transformers x reader #transformers #transformers idw #idw transformers #transformers x human reader #idw jazz #g1 jazz #jazz x human reader #jazz x reader #tf jazz

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Random question for you bpp just for fun, if you could have each member do a cover of another members solo song what would you choose? You can include their bts solos and previous mixtapes etc since we haven't got a lot to work with for all members during chapter 2 yet.

***

Hmmm.

Namjoon -> STOP by j-hope.

Joon would absolutely body that boom bap Fugees beat. He likes to channel Biggie sometimes so I'd love to get his take on it.

Seokjin -> Joke by RM

I'm kinda convinced Jin secretly knows how to rap. He's not excellent at it, but I think he's not far behind Jungkook in skill and for k-pop rap that's pretty decent. I also want to see Jin attempt to rap Joke, for the jokes. :)

Yoongi -> Your Eyes Tell by BTS (composed/written by JK)

I want to hear Yoongi's take on this OST made by Jungkook, so a remix and/or cover that includes more rap verses by Yoongi.

Hoseok -> Filter by Jimin

If he were to rejig the beat I imagine he'd add more bass and stronger percussion to give the song an added oomph. Hobi, like Jimin, really shines on Latin beats so I want to hear his take.

Jimin -> Amygdala by Agust D

This was the hardest selection because although I knew I wanted a Yoongi track for Jimin, there were too many options still. I'm going with Amygdala but I want to hear Jimin's take on it in one particular format only - I want a stripped back, acoustic type cover with only a guitar, a loop station, some reverb, and Jimin.

Taehyung -> Somebody by Jungkook

This is the sort of song I expected on KTH1 or what eventually became Layover. Taehyung shines on pop R&B tracks and I think the first verse that starts with Jungkook's voice pitched all the way down will sound really good in Taehyung's voice.

Jung Kook -> Face-off by Jimin

I want to hear this song in his 'main pop boy' voice. That's it.

#bts #namjoon #seokjin #yoongi #hoseok #jimin #taehyung #jungkook

[freakingoutthesquares]

Poptastic Words: Alexis, Portraits: Pulp Interviewed back-stage at the Highbury Garage, 15 May 1993 Catharsis Fanzine, Issue 4 Transcription: Acrylic Afternoons

"I'm Candida. Hello. I play keyboards." "I'm Jarvis. I'm the singer." "I'm Steve. I play bass." "I'm Russell. I play guitar and violin." "Therefore Nick's the drummer." sums up Candida.

And there you have Pulp - the world's greatest pop band. A band who have "been in Smash Hits" and have even had the honour of having one of that magazine's "Single of the Fortnight". Not that Jarvis can see the band ever being as big as, say, Take That or East 17.

"I can't see too many posters going up."

Pulp were formed by Jarvis whilst at school and the current line up has been together for about five years. But why did they all want to be in a band in the first place?

"I think we wanted to frustrate ourselves," says Candida.

"We're complete sado-masochists," backs up Nick.

Is it what you all always wanted to do?

"Yeah," confirms Jarvis. "I, kind of, wanted to do it at school. I used to imagine, when I was in the school's dinner queue, that I wouldn't have to queue up if I was famous. It's not particularly true. That's what I thought it would be like but it's not."

So, after deciding he wanted to be a pop star, Jarvis went to film school. Why?

"That was after we'd been doing the band for a while but I was disillusioned. We'd been messed around by loads of record companies and the final straw was when the bass player became a born again Christian and left the band. It all seemed a big mess. We didn't actually split the band up but I thought I ought to do something else cos it's all I'd been doing since I left school and I thought my brain was drying up. I thought I ought to do something else to keep it alive a bit."

Now it's 1993 and it's going to be a good year for Pulp. Their records are being picked up on - their last single 'Razzmatazz' got Single of the Week in Melody Maker - and it is rumoured that they have signed to Island Records.

"We're with them spiritually..."

"I don't think we've signed or anything," says Jarvis over Nick.

"...we're, kind of, engaged. It's been a long engagement."

"But long engagements are the best," stresses Russell.

Why do you think it's taken so long for Pulp to be appreciated (Pulp has been around in various forms for about fifteen years)?

Steve: "It's our turn."

Jarvis: "We've been waiting in queue for a long time."

Steve: "It's like when you go to the Post Office and you want a stamp but you'll wait for everyone else to go."

Jarvis: "We're very polite y'see so we didn't push in."

Nick: "We wouldn't have that."

Jarvis: "So we waited our turn."

Did it get depressing in the meantime? "No," continues Jarvis. "There's always other things to do. If you choose to sit at home thinking, "Why aren't I famous?", then you would be quite a sad character. You can always ride your bike or something."

Did you think you'd be doing it this long when you first started?

"No. I would've been horrified. I always thought pop music was supposed to be quite instant. You didn't hang around for a decade. To be doing it for so long is very strange."

How did Pulp sound when you started?

"Awful."

"It was all feedback," explains Steve.

"Yeah," recalls Jarvis. "It was a noise. Not on purpose, or anything. It was just ineptitude. I started when I was young and we just couldn't play. We still can't play very well but I don't think that matters."

What does matter then?

"It's not what you can play, it's what you can say."

And what are Pulp saying?

"That's put you on the spot," cries Nick gleefully.

"Well, it's not that we've got something to say as in there's a big message for the world. U2 are trying to shake off that image now but before they were always doing the chest beating and coming up with their big slogans. It's not like that. Hopefully it's an accurate reflection of our lives."

In that case Pulp must lead very strange lives. The opening lines of 'Razzmatazz' were, "The trouble with your brother/he's always sleeping with your mother/and I know that your sister's missed her time again this month".

"I don't think they're seedy," states Jarvis. "They're just true to life. I think they're deadpan and down to earth. I don't think they're strange. Razzmatazz is a bit sad. Babies (the single before Razzmatazz... sample lyric: I wanna take you home/I wanna give you children) is just a thing you get up to when you are fourteen and certain things are still still taboo and you get into situations because of curiosity."

What does your mother think about your lyrics?

"I don't think she's bothered. She's not made any detrimental comments. She thinks the songs should be happier. I'd rather her take no notice actually because once I went round there at Christmas and she insisted on playing the record all the time when my relatives were there. It was embarrassing. Everyone comes up and pats you which isn't very good. Also, if you're on TV or radio at your mothers then it's very embarrassing."

"Shouldn't have your hair like that."

"Smile a bit more."

"Why don't you play some happy ones."

To get to know Pulp a little better we decided to ask each member of the band to describe the others. We allotted them one word per person. Below are the results.

Nick: Candida... petite. For Jarvis I'd say dishevelled. Steve is organised and Russ is er... too tough sometimes.

Candida: Nick's loud. Jarvis is temperamental. Steve is organised and Russell is good at business.

Jarvis: For Nick I would say... high. Candida is fluorescent. Steve is clean. Russell... I'd say feedback.

Steve: Nick is too loud. Candida is calm. Jarvis is unique and that's not a compliment. Ha Ha Ha. Russell is manic.

Russell: Nick is Jean Paul. Candida is toys. For Jarvis I'd say praying mantis and Steve I would say is a cigar.

During this game several compliments and disparaging remarks were handed out and taken with apparent ease and false stroppiness in turn. Pulp complimenting each other makes them happy, but what is the nicest thing an outsider could say about them?

"I don't know. I get embarrassed if people are nice to me," says Jarvis whilst Russell lines up the butts of his cigarettes in size order. "l find it hard to accept people being nice. I always think they' re after something."

"You're paranoid," offers Steve as an explanation. "l don't know why it is. It's like when you eat out at a restaurant, not that I do very often, but when I do I don't like the waiters always coming over and supposedly being nice. (Adopts slimey voice.) "Is everything O.K. for you sir?". I find that makes my flesh crawl. I'd rather they just give it to you and then let you eat and talk to whoever you're with."

"The nicest thing someone could do to you is put a plate of food down and walk away?" asks Russell incredulously.

"I don't mean just slap it down. Put it down, then go away. I don't want them hanging around with the violin in your ear. The niceness is a bit like that."

Do you also hate it when people are horrible to you Jarvis?

"Oh yeah. I like general blandness. Ha Ha Ha. If somebody comes up to you and says "You're great", it's nice but it's also..."

"...a conversation killer," finishes Russell.

"It's a northern thing as well," observes Steve. "In Sheffield no one Would ever go up and say, "I think you're great"."

"That's why," confirms Russell, "it's uncool. It's us that's wrong but..."

"The best compliment we get is if someone says we're alright. It's good to know that other people like you but you'd rather hear it second hand," explains Jarvis.

"The first time someone said it to us we thought we'd misheard them," says Nick.

"Do you know who we are?" adds Russell.

"Yeah," continues Nick. "l thought they'd got the wrong band."

You said earlier that you don't like people being mean to you - does criticism upset you?

"Well" says Jarvis with a pained expression, "if somebody writes something like, "He's a tall, lanky streak of piss with no discernible talent. How has he managed to delude himself for so many years?" you can't just go, "Oh, yeah. Fair enough, everybody's entitled to their own opinion"."

"Truth hurts. Ha Ha Ha." comments Steve.

"It's too bad they were right," agrees Russell rubbing more salt into Jarvis's wounds. "We do like people to like us. We're not just doing this for ourselves. We want people to like it."

"But we don't pander," warns Jarvis.

What do you think about the "Crimplene scene" which is the current press play thing? Does it bother you that you've been lumped into that?

"We started it," boasts Steve jokingly.

"I don't think it exists. It's not healthy," complains Jarvis. "No. Crimplene makes you sweat. We'd rather be the British cotton scene."

"It's true," supports Nick. "Avoid Crimplene at all costs."

"I like seventies bands like Denim. Is that the Crimplene scene?" asks Russell.

From what I've read, it's you, Suede, Saint Etienne etc.

"We used to get compared to Marc Almond and World Of Twist so..."

"If I was going to chose a scene to be associated with," remarks Steve, "it would be that one but it's not like we meet at Oxfam on a Saturday afternoon and fight over classic Crimplene. None of us like it."

"I still don't think it exists," says Jarvis persistently.

If there is a scene then Pulp are the leaders of the pack. They might not be the biggest, but they are the best. In terms of sex, glamour and everything that counts they are the only band you need to know. They leave the rest of their ilk in a trail of dust. The songs are gorgeous uplifting affairs with secret tales of suburban life as lyrics. It is pure genius.

"A lot of sexual perverts like us," offers Russell helpfully. "They write us strange letters. Post grunge and post shoe gazing there is a new sort of person on the streets and they like us. People in stripey tops quite like us."

"French people like us," announces Candida.

Do any of you ever get recognised in the streets?

"Yeah," states Jarvis. "I was saying to Russell the other day, that I've always had people taking notice of me in the streets in Sheffield - usually in a bad way. They called me names and things. It does still happen. In fact I nearly had a fight yesterday 'cos this boy decided to push me. But people have started to recognize me and be a bit more friendly now. It's strange 'cos I'm always getting ready to flinch when they come up and then they say something nice and catch me off guard."

What names did they call you?

"Because I've always worn glasses it just used to be someone famous with glasses. Elvis Costello, Buddy Holly. Just anybody who wore glasses. I used to have a beard for a bit and then I was called Rolf Harris all the time. They weren't very imaginative."

Well, those people were obviously mad. Jarvis is, without a doubt, a sex symbol for the nineties along with all the others in the band. At the gig that took place after this interview Jarvis was practically pulled off the stage by adoring females. O.K. - so we know they are attractive, but how sexy out of ten does each member of the band think he/she is?

"We're all going to say ten aren't we?" asks Candida.

"You might, but I wouldn't," retorts Steve.

"I think it changes during the day," decides Nick. "When you get up in the morning you're probably a minus. The later it gets the better it gets. If it's a good day you might peak at two."

"You just about make a two, Steve," jokes Jarvis.

"Anyone who says above seven has problems," says Steve wisely.

"You'd catch them playing with themselves in front of a mirror when you came in here," suggests Jarvis.

"That means you were about a nine in the van today, then, when we set off," says Steve whilst trying to wind up Jarvis.

"Yeah?"

"I didn't think you were a nine, you thought you were."

"Self-masturbation," adds Nick helpfully.

"That's another thing that other people have to decide upon," Jarvis remarks sensibly.

"Obviously it's nice if people do find you that way."

At this point Nick's brother enters the room and Russell starts loudly announcing that "this one goes up to eleven" if you twist the nipple and put a little shilling in the slot. Everyone has hysterics.

But, don't get me wrong, Pulp take what they do incredibly seriously. They are a deadly serious band. I know this because Nick told me four times. They are funny, the music is not. Pulp are also clever, sexy, glamorous, beautiful, talented, strange, normal, erotic, under-famous, unique, sleazy, stylish and every other compliment ever. If you feel the need to check out the high life or if you just need that extra sparkle - look no further than Pulp. They're the most fun you'll ever have.

You can write to Pulp at P.O. Box 87, Sheffield, S6 2YZ and you can become a Pulp person by sending £3 to the same address.

#pulp #russell senior #jarvis cocker #candida doyle #nick banks #steve mackey #90s #interview #printed interview

[sapphoandthepoets]

When an ancient being recruits them to stop an even more ancient evil, a college pop band must choose between their music careers and saving the world.

I've mostly been posting these guys on my dedicated instagram account (https://www.instagram.com/sappho_and_the_poets/) but it's not so good for the text-heavy info posts so I thought i'd start a blog here!

This is the 2024 lineup for the main characters of my dream project.

R'afa is a bull shark mermaid and is the drummer for the band. They're also Sappho's sibling

Sappho is a sphynx and she's the bass guitarist and namesake of their band. She's Raf's sibling

Frey is a werewolf and the lead guitarist

Katlete is the keytarist and lead vocalist!

I'll have much more to post here as I develop the story!

#art #digital art #original character #character design #personal project #lgbt #lesbian #lesbian oc

[anxious-witch]

Inertia 1

Summary: Newton's first law expresses the principle of inertia: the natural behavior of a body is to move in a straight line at constant speed. In the absence of outside influences, a body's motion preserves the status quo.

Jan choose a direction of his life the moment he walked out of his parents house and cut all contact with them. He didn't want anything to do with them, or God anymore. Even his soulmark he wished he could leave behind. But when Nace Jordan joins the band, with a mark matching his own, can Jan keep going the same way he did? Or will the force make him change a direction?

Pairings: Jan Peteh/Nace Jordan

Warnings: pretty heavy religious trauma, homophobia both internalized and just in general and for child abuse

Notes:

Ao3 Link

Okay so, several things. I will try my best to post every Saturday if my uni obligations allow me, and yes today is technically a Friday, but I was just too impatient.

This fic is listed as explicit on ao3 because there will likely be smut in later chapters and I'd rather be safe than sorry, but you can check more detailed tags on ao3 link if you are not sure about something or feel free to message me.

Big thank you to my friends @domo-no-domo-yes and @wordpuddle on tumblr for beta-reading and helping me edit this

Anyway, enjoy :)

"I etch my own face upon my wicked flesh. / I am my own devastating god."

- Rachel McKibbens, from "Shiv," Women of Resistance: Poems for a New Feminism

The first memories Jan had of his own mother were of her telling him stories every night. How, when God saw how many people came into being and how they went through their lives lost and afraid, He decided to bestow upon them a Gift – a sign of His love and mercy - that would guide them to a person who would be just right for them.

A soulmate.

Jan remembered how his mother’s soft hands gently stroked his dark, unruly hair – doing her best to tame it – as she spoke of how a Gift of his own would be granted to him in a few years, that there were some ways in which he could seek the blessing of guidance towards the right path - towards his soulmate.

That was the reason why they went to church regularly. To seek the guidance under His heavenly light. To earn His Gift.

It would take Jan quite a few years to realize that was the precise moment when the metaphorical noose was placed around his neck.

When he was around five, his mother observed a faint mark behind his ear as she was cutting his hair. She made a brief remark about it, but said nothing more. Afterwards, Jan found himself tracing its borders with his finger while trying to catch a glimpse of it in the bathroom mirror.

The mark took the form of a vaguely pear-shaped outline, devoid of color and detail. His hand continued to hover over it, occasionally touching it, as he left the bathroom and crouched behind a wall, eavesdropping on his parents speaking in not-so-hushed voices in the living room.

"You know very well what this means," his father whisper shouted, "she has to be quite a few years older than he is, if the mark is already appearing this early!"

"Let’s not jump to conclusions. If she’s two, three years older…it's not the end of the world. What matters is that she is from good, Christian family."

Jan quietly tiptoed towards his room; his heart as heavy as lead. As he lay on his bed, unable to find sleep, he decided to do what his mother always suggested he do whenever he was upset. He prayed. Prayed for a soulmate his parents would love, someone they would approve of. A soulmate that would be the closest thing to Heaven in their eyes.

It had not yet dawned upon him that his soulmate should be perfect for himself, first and foremost, not his parents.

By the time Jan started primary school at the age of seven, his mark shifted two more times. First, detail and color filled the vague pear-shaped outline, transforming it into a brown acoustic guitar, and then some years later, it shifted yet again, this time into a red bass guitar. 

The whispered conversations between his parents became more frequent, and his father's expressions grew darker and angrier with each passing day. The only thing that seemed to soothe them was Jan accompanying them to church every Sunday. And so, Jan continued to do so.

Now, the church wasn’t all bad. In the silence of the stone structure, as the walls vibrated with the echoes of the choir’s song, Jan managed to bring himself to find peace. Not to mention, God was always good in his parents’ stories. Like a good Shepherd, he always took care of His flock who believed in him, including the lost lambs. So, Jan always closed his eyes and prayed as hard as he could. 

God at least, would not forsake him.

It wasn't until Jan reached high school and cautiously asked his parents if he could learn to play the guitar, that things started to change.

Inevitably, it took quite a bit of convincing. Guitar lessons meant that Jan would have less time to dedicate towards church and schoolwork, but since Jan was always a good student who worked hard to keep his grades up, they couldn't say no.

Jan was not ready to tell them that one of the reasons why he wanted those guitar lessons was so that he could spend less time under their watchful eyes, as well as attending church services. He could already feel his father's cold rage breathing down his neck at the mere thought of mentioning it. Not to mention, he was developing a taste of his own, music-wise – something which he carefully kept under wraps, as he knew the kind of music he discovered and loved would certainly be considered ungodly.

The last two years of middle school had been rough on Jan. Matej moved out just a bit before his twenty-seventh birthday, and his sister got married and moved away ages ago. This meant that Jan lived alone with his parents, with no one to divert their attention from him, which made him long for some time to have for himself.

Being so much younger than both his siblings felt awful. It was as if he was perpetually late to everything and stumbled through things his siblings seemingly did with ease. Worse yet, ever since he started puberty, his parents began asking him about girls he liked. Jan usually brushed off their queries by stating he was more interested in math than girls. 

Yet, if he had to be honest with himself, math class often bored him. He often felt as if his brain was constantly racing ahead of most of his classmates’, the problems he copied from the board completely solved long before anyone else finished. Truth be told, instead of counting how many times he mumbled “Hail Mary” for mouthing off at the teacher, his eyes strayed towards the boy sitting in the second row. He once counted seventy-eight eyelashes on the boy's upper eyelid before the teacher called his name.

His heart didn't slow until well after he left school. After that, he never looked at the boy again. 

So, picking up the guitar served two purposes. For one, he might get closer to his soulmate and meet her while learning to play the guitar – he did hear of the oft-mentioned stereotype of girls liking musicians after all – and of course, he would also have a convenient excuse to skip Sunday mass on occasion. 

Every time anything related to homosexuality was mentioned, Jan’s breath often hitched. He felt as if he was being watched, be it by his family or his peers, or by God’s eye. As if, if he ever so much as breathed the wrong way, or moved his hand a certain way, it would be obvious to everyone. 

And Jan never, ever wanted that to happen. Not in his lifetime.

Music was, as he soon learned, similar to math in some aspects. It was all about attention to detail and carefully reading the notes. Well, it was not quite the same as math however. Math made his thoughts speed up as he focused, while he sifted through all the possible answers. With music, however, it was as if his brain and his entire being focused on a singular point – one where he could simply concentrate on the notes and the strings under his fingers alone. Everything else simply faded away when music took over his soul. 

It felt like a prayer. Like for the first time in years, he witnessed what a miracle was, and found God among the strings. 

But what really changed his mind took the form of a tall, lanky boy who took lessons from the same guitar teacher. Jan often saw him either walking out of the building as he came to his lessons, or waiting in the hallway for his turn, as Jan was finished for the day.

It wasn't until their music teacher call them up for the same session and introduced them to each other that Jan truly noticed him. 

"Jan, this is Kris Guštin. Kris, this is Jan Peteh. I wanted to suggest-"

"Wait, Kris Guštin? As in, Gušti's kid?!" Jan might have been raised in a Christian household, but he did not live under a rock, and he already developed a taste of his own as of late.

Kris sighed and Ema pursed her lips. She didn't like being interrupted. Jan grimaced.

"Sorry."

"Yes. He’s my dad. Can we please get back on track?"

Jan took a good look at the tall boy for the first time. His hair was cut awfully short - Jan's own hair reached slightly below his ears, just enough to cover up his soulmark - and he looked like he got dressed in the first clothes they found in his size, which consisted of a mock-collegiate jumper and rather short shorts.

Kris shot him a glare and Jan realized he was staring. He quickly turned his eyes back towards Ema.

"As I was saying, both of you have been my students for quite some time. I think you both are very talented and your styles are very complementary. I suggest you two get to know each other better and perhaps consider forming a band."

Jan felt his mouth fall open as his jaw went slack, but no words came out. Him? In a band? His head spun. Yet somewhere, deep inside his chest, his heart warmed and swelled with joy. A desire he never dared to voice suddenly sang. 

"With him?" Kris asked, his blue eyes widening.

Ema raised a neatly-plucked eyebrow.

"Kris. I realize Jan might not have made the best impression with his earlier interruption, but he is, along with you, one of my best students. I would not have suggested this if I wasn't certain it could work."

Kris considered him carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly at his necklace with a cross on it. Jan felt a twinge of self-consciousness, as well as a sudden urge to hide it under his shirt. Wearing it was more if a habit at this point anyway. Like a lucky amulet of some sort, protecting him from anything bad that could happen.

"How about the two of you think about it? We can have a joint session for today so you can see how you fit musically. Then, you can figure out the rest on your own."

To this, they both agreed, albeit Kris was slightly less enthusiastic, at least outwardly. Jan really wanted it to work out, but he reined his expectations. He never expected music to be more than a hobby, after all.

“How about I give you a key and then I’ll mess around a bit to find something that sounds good. You can join in if you think you have a melody that will go with mine, so we’ll see if it works. Sounds good?”

Jan nodded. Kris focused on his guitar and then slowly slide his fingers over the strings. Jan listened carefully, trying to get a feel of Kris’ guitar-playing style. 

The younger boy seemed to favor clearer, more measured and consistent tones. Jan on the other hand, perhaps partly due to the kind of music he listened to, had an inclination towards more frenetic, improvisational and chaotic playing, with more distortion. Perhaps…

The next time Kris began his melody, Jan joined in. He followed it with his own, fast-paced and improvised one. Not to overpower Kris’ own playing but simply to complement it. When they reached the end, Jan and Kris exchanged a look. Kris' suspicion melted away, and he gave Jan a shy smile. 

“That was…really good actually. We should do it again…this time, with a proper song.”

In that moment, something just clicked. It was as if Jan finally found the key to solving an equation he had been struggling with. And just as it was in math, once he found the solution to one equation, it was like finding a key to solve all equations similar to it.

“Deal.”

They did end up forming a band, even if Buržuazija didn't last very long – less than two years, in fact. More importantly for Jan, however, he gained a friend. Not that he was devoid of friends before Kris came into the picture, but the younger boy was different. He wasn’t handpicked by his parents and neither was he anything like Jan pictured a son of Gušti to be - although he did indeed take after his father looks-wise.

He could come across as mean at times, but as Jan soon learned, it was more the result of a combination of affectionate teasing and awkwardness, as well as a need for order.

His parents didn't approve, of course. Neither of Kris nor Jan spending even more time playing the guitar. But this time, Jan found himself no longer caring. He began sneaking out often, as well as lying regularly as well - making up extra classes and math tutoring sessions in order to spend more time with Kris and the rest of their band. 

It was on one such night, during a festival they were set to perform in, that Jan met Bojan. His band Apokalipsa was to take the stage right before them.

However, it wasn't Bojan's voice that made him notice him. Rather, it was the way Kris stared in his direction. Like Kris was someone that saw colors for the first time when he looked at him, his turquoise eyes staring into warm pools of deep brown.

It was the look of someone completely smitten.

Jan gently nudged him and Kris startled, looking at him wide-eyed.

"You know him?"

"Um. Yeah, we went to primary school together. It's-he just has a really nice voice, y'know?"

Even under the flashing lights, he could see the faint blush that colored Kris' cheeks. Finding someone who looked at other boys the same way he did felt...odd. It was not how he he expected to feel. Jan knew was supposed to be happy to find someone like himself, but instead he just felt disconnected. Like he couldn't quite process it.

He turned to face the stage. Bojan did have a nice voice and despite being on the slightly shorter side, when he began to sing, that impression faded away. He was larger than life and had a certain charismatic quality that demanded all eyes to be on him. Jan could definitely understand why Kris liked him.

"Don't worry though. He is not like-my soulmate or anything. Not that I have one. Just. Y'know."

Jan snorted.

"Obviously, he isn’t your soulmate. He ain’t a girl, is he?"

Silence. Jan turned to look at Kris, who stared at him with his mouth set in a straight line. He fidgeted in a way that he only ever did when he was nervous. The lights shifted in color from blue to red, painting everything in an almost menacing manner. 

"Oh. I didn't know you. Um."

Jan was confused. 

"That I what?"

"That you were homophobic," Kris said, his voice barely audible.

Jan's heart stopped for a few moments. Homophobic? The lights in the venue flashed in different colors at an increased rate now. Yellow, then blue again, then red. He began shaking his head as he felt Kris’ words cut into him like a blade.

"Homophobic? No! Why would you think that? I am not homophobic, I'm-"

He stopped himself, swallowing the word before it could pass over his lips. The forbidden word. The one he would never utter with regards to himself.

Kris stared at him, but this time he looked neither fearful nor suspicious, at least. More...curious, if anything.

"But you don't think soulmates can be of the same gender?"

It was obvious, now that Kris stated it. So why did Jan feel like he was being dragged from a very dark place into the sunlight? Like he was seeing things through a completely new perspective for the first time? As if on cue, bright green lights illuminated the stage, while Jan came to a conclusion.

He felt his heart beat in his chest like a drum, as if heralding an important revelation - something life changing. Something that he couldn't go back from.

"You-that can happen?"

Thump-thump-thump. Kris' face softened.

"Of course, it can. You don't...you didn't know that?"

Jan shook his head, unable to find the right words. Kris reached out and grasped his shoulder, squeezing it gently.

"Oh Jan..."

He was saved from whatever Kris was about to say, by the end of Apokalipsa's performance and the announcer calling them to take the stage. Jan stood up quickly and moved as if he was on autopilot. He could not bring himself to look at Kris.

Somewhere between setting up their instruments and the beginning their first song, rage slowly started to build up in him. His parents, the people whom he trusted all his life, lied to him. His father must have suspected for years. Did they not like Kris because they knew his parents weren't against the notion of homosexuality and same-sex soulmates? That Kris wasn't?

Fueled by rage and spite, Jan moved his fingers over the chords. Anger was all he felt, but said wrath radiated power. He played like he wanted his parents to hear him from their bedroom at home.

He wanted them to know how he felt. How he was breaking their rules, and that there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.

Ending the song felt like coming out of a daze. They were met with thunderous applause, and Jan felt overwhelmed, like every sensation hit him all at once. He only just managed to keep his chill until they got off the stage and he put his guitar down. He then broke out into a run, and took off.

Kris was calling his name, but he didn't turn around. He could not bring himself to do so.

He slowed down once he neared the school playground, gasping for breath. Then, he made his way towards the old swing set and sat on one of the swing seats. It was too small for his already tall frame, and he had to bend his knees quite a bit to be able to fit. 

The cool breeze lightly caressed Jan’s face as he tried to untangle the chaos that was his thoughts and feelings. For seventeen years, he believed that a soulmate was a Gift people got, and made the best out of it. That meeting the one destined for him was akin to finding the puzzle piece that would complete him. That she would make him right again. That all of these dark feelings, all these little rebellions he engaged in would become unnecessary. Irrelevant.

Jan realized with a jolt that he did not quite believe that for a long time. Deep down, he knew a soulmate couldn't fix him, or life, or even his deteriorating relationship with his parents. It was just so difficult to bring himself look at cold, hard reality. 

Lies…they were familiar, polished and smooth from many years of handling them. The truth on the other hand, was all sharp edges that made him bleed, just like the guitar’s strings did when he first began playing.

Tears slid down his cheeks, and he covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a sob, but finally, he looked directly at it. Stared at the darkness in the face and embraced it for the first time, rather than shrink back into the light. 

He had to admit it to himself that his parents loved the idea of him, a lot more than they would ever love him as a person. They only loved him when he molded himself into someone they could approve of, and someone he wasn't – and probably never was. When he was obedient, didn't ask questions and behaved himself. Like a lamb who simply followed, and molded himself to fit into their idea of what a good son was. 

And Jan was so tired of pretending. Of pretending he still believed in everything they said. In everything priests said. In the end, it was all about controlling him. 

He reached for his crucifix necklace, firstly gently stroking his fingers over the cold metal and then grabbing it with his fist. Then he pulled. The delicate chain snapped and Jan was left with a cross and a broken necklace.

He put it in the pocket, with what little faith he had left. He then wiped his tears away and got up from the swing.

Walking back seemed to take much longer than it did running away. Or perhaps Jan's racing thoughts finally calmed now that he had accepted the truth.

Nonetheless, the festival still wasn't over by the time he got back. He found Kris easily enough - he was tall enough to be spotted at a glance - in a conversation with Bojan. Kris immediately noticed him and after what seemed to be a quick apology to Bojan, made his way over to him.

"Are you okay?" He asked quietly, his eyes scanning his face.

Jan gave him a weak smile.

"I will be, I think."

Kris nodded, but still looked worried. Then he bit his lip.

"Well, actually I was just talking to Bojan and um."

Jan raised an eyebrow. 

"And?"

"He was really impressed with our performance and he...asked if the two of us would like to form a new band, with him and two of his friends? Since their guitarist are quitting after the summer."

Jan shrugged. There was no harm in hearing him out, was there? He didn't have to accept. And he did owe Kris some extra time with his crush after the whole ordeal.

"Sure, let's hear him out. I mean, not like we are making any life changing decision here."

He had never been more wrong.

Since then, Jan began distancing himself from his parents even more. He questioned everything they told him, and then stopped listening altogether. He no longer accompanied them to church every Sunday, and stopped caring about what they had to say about the music he listened to, or how he spent his time.

He slowly but surely grew his hair out, hiding his mark completely. He’d scrub it off his skin if he could.

After he turned eighteen and choose a university in Ljubljana, far enough that he would need to live in a campus dormitory or rent an apartment. Unsurprisingly, his parents protested. 

Jan told them that he was moving out regardless of whether he was accepted or not. That he would find a job and move out if necessary. 

"Why?" His mother asked, searching his face, desperately trying to find a boy she raised to obey her.

She wouldn't find him. The boy was long gone.

He reached into his pocket, where he still kept the crucifix necklace on a broken chain. He set it on the table and pulled his hand back. His heart felt like it was lodged in his throat, trying to prevent him from uttering the truth. He swallowed, then forced his words out through clenched teeth. 

"I don't believe in God anymore."

There was more he wanted to say. To explain why and how. But as soon as he uttered the first sentence his father backhanded him so hard Jan felt his lip split. He tasted iron on his tongue.

His mother gasped, but did not say a word in his defense. As always. Jan felt numb as he reached for his lip and found it bleeding. His father had never hit him before this. Yelling was commonplace, sometimes grounding and things taken away, but never this. 

It was the last straw. The final note at the end of the twisted hymn that spelled out his life’s path for the past eighteen years, one that was necessary to be play before it was finally over.

"How dare you speak to me like this, in my house?!"

Jan looked at his father straight in the eyes, without so much as a flinch. They shared the same eyes, and he briefly wondered how they ended up seeing the world with them so differently.

"Which is why I am leaving. But I'd believe in God before I'd ever believe either of you again. Only straight soulmates exist, huh? You are both such fucking liars."

Jan snarled those damning words with as much venom as he could muster. The second time his father swung at him; Jan caught his hand. They stared at one another for one long, tense moment. His father was pale, his eyes wide. In that moment, he looked older than his sixty years. Frailer. For the first time, he noticed fear in his eyes. His father was scared of him. Scared of not being able to control him, of what he was capable of doing next. 

"This is what it’s all about, isn’t it?? You-you are going through some kind of phase and you think you are gay now? That your soulmate will be a man?!"

"No."

They didn't deserve to know and yet. Jan wanted to hurt them. Wanted to twist the dagger, plunge it deeper, and let them bleed for all the suffering and doubt they put him through. He wanted them to never recover, just like he knew he wouldn't. 

"I don't care if my soulmate if a woman or a man or whatever. I don't want them. I don't want any Gifts from your fucking God, or anything from you."

His mother let out a sob. Jan let go of his father's hand and took a step back. He felt nothing and everything at the same time. It was as if he was encased in cold, cold ice. Everything that happened below the surface didn't quite reach him yet. 

The child in him wanted to draw her into the hug and tell her everything will be alright, just like she did to him, so many years ago. The person he was now wanted to spit in her face and tell her she was equally complicit and made him feel just as hopeless as she felt now for years. 

"Look at what you are doing to your mother. After everything we gave you-"

"I’ve already packed. I can go now."

Silence was dark and heavy. He felt his mother's stare. He did not look back. The two sides of him were still at war, and he didn’t want either one to win.

"Where will you go?" She asked through the sobs.

"To a friend. College is only few weeks away. They said I can stay until then."

His father slammed the table with his fist. 

"To the Guštins?! I told you that boy was cursed! He is soulless, that's why he doesn't have a soulmate!"

Jan bristled at the slight against his best friend and stared at his father in grim silence for a few moments, before grabbing the discarded crucifix from the table and throwing it at him. It hit the older man squarely in the forehead, making a small cut that started bleeding immediately. Jan felt tears stinging his eyes and threatening to fall. Tears of rage and betrayal and grief, all at once. He held them back, before raising his chin and retorting, the final remnants of the lamb in him burning away to reveal a wolf. 

"The only soulless one is you! And I never want to fucking see either of you, ever again!"

He turned on his heel and ran up the stairs to his room, quickly gathering his suitcase and bags. Everything he owned and cherished was packed away in those bags. His entire life up to that point. Well. Almost. He kept wiping his tears away, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry. All the pictures from the church and of his parents – a reminder of the lies and the suffering he was leaving behind - were neatly set on the table. He only packed the ones he had with Kris, Bojan, Martin and Matić. He also had one picture of him and his brother, hidden in a math notebook. He wasn’t sure if he would keep it just yet, but he brought it with him anyways. There was still a glimmer of hope that he might get to keep his brother after all this, if no one else.

Nobody tried to stop him as he resolutely carried all his bags down the stairs and dragged them behind him as he stepped out of the door. 

"If you do this, you can't come back, Jan. You are adult. We have no legal obligation to help you anymore, or help save your soul from damnation."

Jan looked back at his father one last time. His shoulders were slumped, and he was holding a bloodstained piece of gauze to his forehead where the crucifix made its impact. Jan's own lip stung where it broke.

What relationship they had was past the point of no return, and he knew that for a while already. It was only a few minutes ago that they became aware of it. 

"Goodbye, dad," he said with finality, before he slammed the door behind him.

What little faith he had stored in his pocket that fateful night stayed behind in that house. He would never again find God between the strings of his guitar, nor find comfort in His divine light. Neither did he want to, ever again. But maybe, with time, he might be able to find himself.

That was the best he could hope for.

#jance #my writing #jan peteh #nace jordan #joker out #inertia

[cladestruction]

so: i am literally going insane waiting for the movie to drop so here's a list of stuff i'd love to see in it (a bitch can dream !).

to my fellow metalocalypse enthusiasts: i'd love to see your army of the doomstar bingo cards!

FLASHBACKS!!! please give me flashbacks of young dethklok, i live for those

Toki's insulin shots and Pickles' inhaler. idk, those are very important to me lol

more of Nathan's creative process !!! let me see my man cook and struggle with the new responsibility of the song of salvation! (plus: how the rest of the boys collaborate with the writing/composing)

+ BONUS POINTS if it goes wrong at some point and we get to see some extra challenge for Nathan as a man AND as a lyricist

Skwisgaar being protective over Toki !!! give me that good worried boyfriend bandmate stuff !!!

Murderface-centric scenes that show us more of him: his upbringing, builtup trauma and psychology

+ Murderface full breakdown scene bc i love drama! the man has gone thru a lot and obviously deals with low self-esteem and emotional issues, and now he's dealing with a demon/posession??? i want to see tears i want to see blood!

something with their families. maybe some of them die as the metalocalypse advances + the boys' reaction to this

i really want the beginning of the movie to clear up what exactly happened post dsr (mordhaus security? how are the fans doing? etc) and how the band is doing without Charles

(this is very biased i'm sorry) nickles moments !!! please let me see them being band dads, or more of them being best of friends post reconciliation (UPDATE: i can settle for nickles angst too but pLEASE let me see Nathan be kinder to Pickles at the end please i'm literally begging)

SOBER PICKLES !!! considering this movie could possibly be more action driven or smth like that, i really wish we could see Pickles being sober and focused

the boys' reaction to their god-moment in dsr (do they even remember? what did it feel like? do they get to keep the powers all the time or how does it work? what even are their powers exactly lmao? etc)

spirit animals throwback yes please

more elaboration on the cave paintings and symbols tied to the band and the prophecy shown throughout the series

+ UPDATE: BONUS POINTS IF WE GET TO SEE DETHKLOK IN ARMOR AND WITH WEAPONS AS SHOWN IN THE STAINED GLASS YES PLEASE

band hugs. yes this is solely for my own happiness, nothing else

considering the clips, i really want Nathan to realize and say how much he values dethklok. he's stated how much he'd like to be a regular guy so i wold love to see him saying smth like "i never wanted any of this responsability!" but later on state that he does in fact value dethklok and would not have it any other way :') (yes it's fucking cheesy, ik)

rockso is back but as a ghost. he serves the only purpose of helping us see inside Toki's mind and shit

Murderface solo song/a very badass bass solo. i'd love to see him being better at performing as a side effect of the posession or something like that. that would also show a new appeal to him falling for the dark side

A CHARLES' SONG !!! specially with goth-religious kinda vibes or smth

MORE MAGNUS' FLASHBACKS

Knubbler being central to solve the conflict with Murderface

scenes with Jean-Pierre. it would be epic and you know it !

a near death experience with someone of the band. y'know, to help with the tension and the stakes. bonus points if it's while trying to save someone else of the band (my idea is something involving drowining, it'd be cool)

the battle with Salacia goes wrong at first. they're losing or they straight up lose and at the last minute they get to revert it with the power of friendship and shit

Nathan getting glimpses of how having a normal life would be (bonus points if we see Abigail as part of his fantasies of the dream life) but, in the end, he chooses dethklok (sorry Abigail babygirl ily). ig it could go both ways too, with Nathan getting to have both things at the end (the girl AND the band)

the boys FINALLY getting to care for the fans/the klokateers and showing concern over them dying!!! (like c'mon man, it's about time)

#i'll add more later #metalocalypse #army of the doomstar #clade talks #long text sorry!

[chvoswxtch]

speak now — any headcanons about Matt and music?

i’ve been thinking about this since you first submitted it & doing some research (rewatching DD clips) so let's explore together nonnie

headcannon below the cut

timeless (matt's version)

so we know that matt likes vinyl records, which is one of the very few clues we get about what devil boy does for fun besides argue and bleed, which I think might be a preference passed down from his dad (jack might've been a collector and passed some down to matt as a kid), but I think it also has to do with the listening experience

I myself collect records, and have for several years, and listening to a vinyl vs listening to music on the radio or your phone is a different experience. sometimes the music can get a little distorted when listening on a phone, or there's interference from the radio, but vinyls usually produce a very crisp and clean sound which might work better for matt's sensitive hearing

I personally think he has a pair of noise cancelling headphones that he plugs into his record player sometimes when he wants to be able to listen to the music without any distractions picked up with his other senses (the buzz of electricity in his building, traffic, conversations of his neighbors, etc.)

I also feel like his taste in music changes depending on what he's doing

for example, if he's working on a court case, I feel like he would pick something like classical music or something instrumental so that there's background noise to soothe his already overstimulated mind, but no lyrics or anything to disrupt his train of thought/focus. think music you would hear playing quietly in a local coffee shop

however when he goes to fogwells, I think he definitely chooses music that will keep him amped up, probably some kind of high energy rock or hip hop with heavy bass and beats he might use to time his jabs at the punching bag

as for what his favorite kind of music in, honestly I think it varies

I could see him in the kitchen cooking with a glass of wine, playing something like frank sinatra, etta james, the temptations, sam cooke, etc. something soulful and a little jazzy that makes him feel relaxed, but also move around his kitchen with a pep in his step

something tells me jack was a classic rock guy, that's just the feeling I get from him. I think this is what matt listens to when he wants to feel close to his dad, or maybe like on sundays when he's cleaning and unwinding, trying to get ready for the week. maybe like the eagles, fleetwood mac, pink floyd, journey, led zeppelin, etc.

I think all of the newer music he listens to is definitely influenced primarily by foggy and karen

foggy nelson is a huge 80s guy. he knows EVERY hit from the 80s and will proudly sing them drunkenly at karaoke. given that he and matt lived together, and shared a broom closet at landman and zack together, and are essentially in a civil union for all intents and purposes, Matt knows a lot of 80s hits bc of foggy.

karen on the other hand is a 90s/early 2000s girly. she's definitely the reason matt suddenly realizes one day he knows all the lyrics to "baby one more time" by britney spears and was quietly humming along in his office while foggy was belting it in his. i'd like to think she plays "wannabe" by the spice girls at least once a week in their office and one night after a few drinks taught both of them the dance which she can only get them to perform after several rounds at josie's

I also think frank is a classic rock kinda guy (we know he likes bruce springsteen) and I have this adorable picture in my head of frank coming over to borrow vinyls from matt, and even adding a few of his own to matt's collection

all the grunge in his collection came from jess and no one can convince me otherwise (here's the angsty music I like to brood to, enjoy- jess)

given the fact that matt speaks spanish, i'd like to think that he enjoys reggaeton and maybe even tejano music (I like to think he's a selena fan, but that could be me projecting)

he's a swiftie. foggy and karen are swifties and successfully convereted matt into a swiftie, whether he likes to admit it or not. i said what i said (frank is next to be converted)

now i'm very curious to know what kinda music y'all think matty likes??

#court’s 3k followers celebration #court's 3k friends celebration #the eras tour (court's version #court answers #matt murdock #matt murdock request #matt murdock headcannon #daredevil #daredevil request #daredevil headcannon

[endless-ineffabilities]

easy on the eyes (three fateful midnights) - midnight one

Corinthian x f!Reader

Story Masterlist

a mini prequel to 'easy on the eyes', chronicling the start of the romance between Corinthian and the Reader, across three fateful midnights.

Warnings: smut (18+), cursing, brief mention of violence

Word count: 5.3k

midnight one - "you look like you might need me"

midnight two - "this can be as real as we want it to be"

midnight three - "darling, i'm not ready to let you go"

midnight one

I don't want to be here. Here in a loud, sweaty club, surrounded by inebriated and probably horny 20-somethings.

This is not my perfect Friday night. At all.

But one of my best friends had plucked me out of the safety of my bedroom, using the excuse "It's my birthday in a week, so the celebration starts now!"

I didn't want to let him down, and I thought, maybe he's right. I haven't gone out in a long time, so perhaps I need a change of scenery.

Boy, was I wrong. It's not that I don't enjoy music or drinking or dancing, and I quite like spending nights out with my friend, too. But, I just don't enjoy this particular kind of club - covered in sticky floors, rancid bathrooms, and packed with people of looser morals, even just for a night.

We stand in front of a poseur table, our second drinks propped atop, and I try not to get too irritated at those who hurriedly brush up behind me, causing my side to hit the cold metal.

"Don't look so sour, y/n!" he nearly shouts at me to be heard above the noise, "It's fun! You like this music, right?"

My ear catches a remix of Blue Monday and I yell back, "Yeah, I do!" I sway my body a little, in time with the music, and down the rest of my gin and tonic.

I'll need a whole lot more of that to last through tonight.

He scans the crowd, potentially looking for a catch, and I lean over, "Not a lot of choices tonight, huh."

"Nah," he sips his drink with a shrug, "for now at least."

If either one of us is going to have that kind of fun tonight, it won't be me. My friend is more of the carefree, happy-go-lucky, dating app regular, whereas I tend to be wary of attraction that tends to be rushed or fleeting.

Being the good friend that I am, I want him to truly enjoy tonight if he so wishes. After that last fling of his that ended quite messily, I'd like to help him choose a guy that won't recklessly string him along this time. That was also another reason why he wanted to go out so badly – finding a good distraction.

I know his type - tall, blonde and impeccably dressed. But nobody here seems up to the standard.

Another, more bass-heavy track starts to play. "I'll go get another drink! Do you want one?" I tell him, and he’s obviously liking this song a lot more, his head bouncing up and down to the beat.

He shakes his head, and gestures to his still halfway empty glass. I start to move away, but then he suddenly grabs my arm and pulls me back.

“Woah there,” I try to get my bearings. Was I about to collide with someone? Then again, that’s pretty much inevitable given our current environment, “what is it?”

“Look,” he whispers in my ear, excitement lacing his voice, “There, at the bar.”

“There’s about a hundred people at the bar.” I respond dryly.

“You’ll know when you see him,” he seems electrified, nearly giddy, and I look harder for his mystery man.

Of course. There he stands.

Tall, blonde, and impeccably dressed. Eyes obscured by dark eyeglasses in an already dark club, but that only added to his allure. The perfect package, and I know that my friend’s search for a rebound has determinedly ended. He’s got a small flock of admirers around him, and it’s not hard to see that he’s full of confidence. A kind of magnetism. Standing tall and smiling freely, he seems like the type of person who would be the focus of every room, as he seems to be now.

“You headed to the bar, right?” he asks, smirking coyly, and I already know what he wants me to do.

“I’m on it.” I salute him jokingly, which he does in return, “One hot blonde’s number coming right up.”

I have to push through several warm bodies to get to my destination, and I’m so relieved when I reach it that I slam my hand loudly on the counter.

The blonde Casanova and his little group are to my right, and I steal a glance at him. I probably look too long, because he seems to realize and slowly turns his head, dark eyeglasses boring directly into me.

I tear my eyes away hurriedly. Normally, I wouldn't get nervous if I have no stake in the situation, like right now, because this is all for my friend.

But there's an air about him that feels so intimidating. In an attempt to calm my nerves, I raise my voice, and ask, "Another gin and tonic, please!"

The bartender barely glances my way, occupied with a gaggle of younger girls in the corner.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I see him inch closer until he's leaning on the space right next to me.

He slants himself in a way that I can feel his breath in my ear, but not too close, and whispers, “You look like you might need me.” I wonder how I can hear his words all too clearly, with the bass thumping in the background. His words settle, and all I can think is, the audacity.

“Need you?” I ask incredulously, my words having a distinct edge now. I put on a sarcastic smile, and add, “well, you must think of yourself a great deal.”

“I do, actually.” Of course he does. He smiles sweetly, “That’s why I’m letting myself have all this,” he gestures around, “all this freedom, all this fun.”

“I think you might be too old to consider simply going to the club, freedom. Besides, I have to ask again, why would I need you?”

“This is not all that I meant,” he hovers close to me, and I have to remind myself to avoid becoming intoxicated with his presence, with the attention he gives me. He's a disarming kind of attractive, but men like him are the dangerous kind - they know how exactly to reel you in. “You need me because… you need something more than all this. You look sullen, yet you're surrounded by all these people. I'd say that all this is not your thing, darling."

“You’re here, and you look like you belong, I have to say. So that means you’re not my thing as well, doesn’t it?” I counter, internally patting myself on the back. Does flirting come as easy to him as breathing? That’s what it looks like.

He beams widely, as if pleased with my retort, “Well, why are you here if you’re not having any fun?”

Oh, right. “My friend, actually, who also might be the reason why I headed over here… is interested in you, to say the least.”

“Really? Which one?”

“Well, he… “ I start to say, gauging his reaction.

He senses my hesitance, and assuredly drawls, “Oh, I like all kinds.”

“…is standing over there. The lone guy by the poseur table in the corner.” I wave at my friend, who immediately waves back, a smile growing on his face.

They make eye contact, and blondie here sizes him up. "Handsome."

"Yeah, he's a catch. And you better be nice, or else..."

"Or else what?" He responds right away, amusement lacing his voice.

"He's my good friend, so I'm rightfully protective. If you mess up, I'll come for you."

He holds my gaze, mischievous expression growing. He must be thinking, Really? I know I don't look like much of a threat, but I don't look away. I realize I haven't asked his name. He looks like a Dean? Boyd? Steve?

Our staredown continues, until an arm shoots in between us to land on the counter, connected to a very drunk frat boy looking type. "Can y'all get a room or som'ing? ... need to get a drink."

Blondie maneuvers me a few feet away, smirking, "Truthfully, I don't think he needs another drink."

A giggle bubbles out of my throat. I can't help it, and another one follows. This whole thing seems ridiculous, but the expression on his face makes me giggle even harder, as if he's trying to determine whether I've lost my mind. I still feel his hands on my shoulders, steadying me, and I have to ask, "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

"Oh, c'mon." The effects of the gin are setting in. Maybe I should complete my task before I say anything too forward. "Anyway, I won't pry. Would you please be a doll and give my friend your number?"

"What about you?" he asks.

"What about me?"

"You're not interested?" His curiosity seems genuine, but I'm not biting.

"This isn't about me, so stop trying." A pair of girls linger close to us, in an attempt to get his attention, but his focus is on me.

"Humor me," he takes my hand, and before I can protest, we walk over to a relatively quieter area near the coat check. He smiles again, "So?"

I cave in, "If you were a romantic prospect, and I'm not saying that you are," I add hurriedly, when he raised his eyebrows, "we wouldn't be meeting at a nightclub, of all places. It's just not the perfect image I have in my head, as weird as that may sound."

"So you're a romantic," he drawls, and I still can't place his accent, but there's a pleasant Southern lilt to it. Which is growing on me, as much as I'd hate to admit.

I shrug, not wanting to divulge anything more about myself.

"If I was your type of person, and if this were the perfect setup, where would we be? A museum? A park? By the ocean maybe?" I sense amusement in his voice.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, darling. I just really am interested."

I study him, and as hard as he may be to read, I can see that he's being sincere. Or maybe he's just that charming.

"Look, I know it's about the person that you meet, not so much the place, but... I don't know. I love quaint bookstores, libraries. Hidden, quiet places, or maybe even crowded ones that all the more emphasize how the other person simply stands out for you. A light among all else. An unexpected brush with another. When you're not really looking to find someone, but you do, and it catches you off guard. But in a good way." The words rush out of me, and I have to stop myself. What happened to not divulging anything more? I would blame the gin, but heaven forbid, what if I am attracted to him?

"Hmm," is all he responds with. He takes a deep breath, and I feel the urge to find his eyes behind his dark glasses. What color might they be?

"Take your glasses off," I say, bravery kicking in. Or stupidity. Either one.

"Why?" he leans even closer, tilting his head.

"I want to," I pause, my throat constricting, "see your eyes."

He says nothing. Does nothing. We stand face to face in this dark corner, and I suddenly remember my friend waiting for me. Not wanting to waste any more time, I reach up tentatively, my hand inching towards his round, black-out glasses.

Just when my fingers graze the rim, his hand shoots up, effectively halting my attempt.

A long pause follows, with my hand enveloped in his, until he says, "You're dangerous, darling," I feel his words reverberate within me, warming the pit of my stomach.

I tentatively smile back, challenging him, finally settling into our shared rhythm.

But in a split second, he breaks the spell, dropping my hand, "Weren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Oh," my stomach sinks, and I don't like how disappointed I feel, since I'm not here for me after all, "Right."

I take one final look at him, before the haze subsides. Before he sets his eyes on someone else, and I lose him entirely. He was not at all what I expected, but that doesn't matter now.

"Follow me," I gesture with one hand, and I feel him close behind me, as we find our way through the bustling crowd. He places one hand on my waist, while the other shields me from any flailing, dancing limbs. Someone drunkenly sways a bit too close, and I feel myself being pulled back against his chest.

"Easy," I hear his voice low in my ear, making the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

I regain composure, "I'm okay," and I walk on with more determination. He is not for me, I think to myself, this is not what I think it is. It's just another drunken midnight, and he's just another brazen flirt at a nightclub.

Then again, I don't really want to believe that. But anyway.

When we reach my friend, he gives a relieved grin, "There you are! I thought you two ran off with each other already."

I immediately feel guilty. I must be breaking some cardinal friendship rule by even thinking of stepping in with this charming stranger.

They fall into conversation right away, and the stranger might have given his name in introduction, but I've already forced myself to turn my attention to something else. Luckily, given where we are, the music blares, deafening and persistent. My friend winks at me, and I take it as a sign that they're really hitting it off. I give him a subtle thumbs up, and face the other way, as if to give them privacy. But also to fend off the jealousy creeping in my chest.

Perhaps it's best if I just head home.

"Hey," I intervene half-heartedly, "I'm really tired, so I'll just head back."

"Aww, really?" my friend says, then turns to blondie adding, "Poor thing. She's not that into places like these."

"Yeah, I'm really not," I smile, "I'm just about ready to change into pajamas and jump into bed."

The handsome stranger smiles crookedly, "I'll accompany you out, and make sure you get a ride safely."

"Oh, that's-," I start to protest, but my friend says, "Good idea! That's nice of you to offer. Make sure my girl here doesn't get bothered outside."

My friend then drags a hand flirtatiously down blondie's arm, "I'll be waiting here for you."

"Alright," blondie makes a gesture for me, to which I say, "One second."

He steps away from us, leaning casually by a wall. He looks too perfect to be here, too refined. As if he shines too brightly among all the others, standing out like a sore thumb.

"So, what do we think of him?" I question.

"Quite the charmer," my friend says, "Very polite, very well-mannered, too."

"Yeah, he is," I echoed, "but there's an edge to him. I can't pinpoint it exactly."

"You two disappeared for a while there. Is there something-"

"No," I blurt out, perhaps too hurriedly, "I mean, he seems nice and everything, but I'm not looking for that right now."

"Are you sure? Because it's completely fine if you like him. I won't get in the way of this connection." he says assuringly, and I slightly feel bad again for all that I've been thinking. He's always been considerate, and this was supposed to be his night. Blondie's supposed to be his guy.

"I am," I smile weakly, and I can tell he's not convinced, "Look, just message me later whenever you can, okay? Let me know how it goes. He may be charming as all hell, but most serial killers often are." I wag my eyebrows at him, half in jest, and he laughs.

"Okay," he draws me in for a hug, "Get home safe."

I walk over to blondie, and we make our way out of the nightclub. I feel the cool, brisk air and immediately feel relieved. With my hands on my waist, I turn my face to the night sky with eyes closed, and just focus on breathing.

Then, I remember just who is standing next to me. When I open my eyes, he is staring at me, the tiniest hint of a smile on his lips.

"I just really needed the fresh air."

"Hmm," is all he says again. Maybe he's irked at having to wait with me, and just wants to get back to my friend.

"You know," he starts to say, but nothing could have prepared me for what comes after, "You're quite beautiful."

"What?" I manage to spit out. I've dealt with men like this before, those who tend to dole out compliments so easily, that it becomes hard to find truth in them. But I can't fight the blush that I feel spreading across my face.

"You are somethin' else." he drawls in his own way.

Is he just messing with me? Maybe he's naturally this forward, with a voice like honey, dripping saccharine, "You've only known me for around half an hour. I doubt you're making a worthy assumption."

"I know, but I mean them."

I turn away, looking out onto the street. If he does mean what he said, then I need to get out of here before I do or say something I'll probably regret, and he needs to get back to my friend. He's not for me.

"Best get you home then, darling." he raises an arm, and hails a cab that lingers on the street corner.

I have to know, so I ask, "Tell me your name? I've been calling you blondie in my head all this time, and it doesn't do you justice."

"You'll know soon enough," the cab appears before us, and he holds the door open for me. Damn gentleman. "Sweet dreams, y/n."

I am halfway in the cab, when I realize that I never actually told him my name. I turn around to confront him, but he's gone.

So he knows my name but I don't know his? I decide to let it go when the cab driver calls out, "Where are we headed?"

I give him my address, and shut the cab door. Feeling a strange mix of disappointment and guilt and longing, I am determined to completely push blondie out of my head.

This is just another midnight, and he's just another guy.

How I wish I believed that.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The knife hovers above the slumbering form, moonlight glinting off its smooth surface. This young man, while very appealing in his own right, did nothing to keep Corinthian's thoughts from straying back to you.

After you had left, they had engaged in every degree of flirtation one can think of, before the young man whispered the predictable invitation in his ear. He obliged. Wasn't his plan simply falling into place?

Nightclubs were not among Corinthian's favored haunts, but now and again, he deigns to visit them. To see people engaged in various delights, influenced by substances and coercions. Raw and wild, and yet most were hiding behind masks, behind pretenses. An added benefit, they provided him with an easy selection for his... hobby.

He found that people tend to already be naturally drawn to him, so places like this only provided an additional thrill.

He had actually found you before you found him. He saw your fatigued expression in the crowd, in contrast to your friend who seemed to be thriving in that atmosphere. And when the both of you eventually drew your attention to him, he felt a sort of smugness.

Of course, as always.

You walked over, and he approached you, but you acted like you'd rather be anywhere else. Corinthian was used to people either wanting to be him or be with him. They may be intimidated, or provocative, or simply curious. He was aware of the effect that he had, and it didn't seem to be evident with you.

You were prepared to rebuke his advances, and you were setting him up for your friend instead. Your friend, who is now sleeping here half-nude, while Corinthian deliberates his next move.

They hadn't gone all the way, although that was the intention. Corinthian and your friend were lost in a flurry of kisses upon entering your friend's apartment. Most of their clothes quickly discarded, until Corinthian motioned for them to pause, as if to catch his breath.

"Got a drink?" he asked, sitting down on the bed.

"Sure thing, handsome," your friend smiled, making his way to the kitchen.

Corinthian sat there, deep in thought, as he is now. He had a vision of how this night would turn out to be. Venture to that nightclub, find his prey, indulge in the usual humanly pleasures, and then indulge in pleasure of another kind.

When your friend returned with his drink, Corinthian thanked him and sipped it slowly. Your friend started to pepper his back with soft kisses, muttering affectionate phrases, and the occasional racy remark. They kissed again, bodies colliding on the bed. Until a while later, when your friend stopped to say, "You're not into this, are you?"

Corinthian replied nonchalantly, "Just got something on my mind."

"Does that something happen to be y/n?" Your friend was the one who slipped Corinthian your name earlier, and he didn't even have to ask.

Corinthian huffed, not confirming your friend's thought, but not denying it either.

"You know, it's okay. You were a good distraction for a while, pretty boy. That's all I needed. We can just go to sleep, if you'd like to stay?"

"Alright," Corinthian agreed, "This was a real pleasure, doll."

"Sure," your friend smiled, "and by the way, don't waste any time. She's amazing. If you want y/n, tell her. I can give you her number? But tomorrow, I'm kinda exhausted now."

Corinthian doesn't respond, but your friend took that as an agreement. They spoke for a short while, until your friend rolled over to his side of the bed, mumbled good night, and quickly fell asleep thanks to several daiquiris and a long, tiring night.

Corinthian sits on the bed, feeling something he hasn't felt in a long time. He feels lost. It's as if he's not where he's supposed to be, not doing what he's supposed to. Ever since Dream got captured, he was free to roam the Waking World as he pleased. He knew just what he wanted, and he took it. People became his thing. Their emotions, their habits, their fears.

He relished all of it. Their pleasures and pains gave him a rush. Every eye devoured unleashed a cascade of memories within him. A collection of moments, and sentiments. Not his, of course, but it feels that way nonetheless. It feels human.

And Corinthian knew, this was the closest that he would get. To being human. To having a soul. He knew exactly just what he was and what he was made to do, and he didn't fight it.

A nightmare he shall be. Nightmares he shall unleash.

He stands, prepared to take this young man's eyes. Although asleep, there will be resistance upon the initial strike, but no matter. His end will swiftly follow.

But why wasn't he sure? This is what he does, this is who he is.

His mind travels back to you, "If you mess up, I'll come for you." Adorable.

He could easily disappear after tonight, no one would ever find him. Only you would suspect him, but that wouldn't matter. This would just be another nightmare under his roster.

But you would be in pain. You would carry the guilt, having been the one to introduce your friend to a serial killer. Standing there, Corinthian couldn't, for the life of him, understand why he cared.

You're nobody.

But he still hears your giggle from his memory, sees you smiling up at him.

It eats at him, and makes him feel something else entirely. Something unfamiliar.

He puts his knife back in its sheath.

Maybe this was just a passing fancy, and he plans to just let it run its course. He'll forget about you soon enough. But this could be fun, and if you're here for the taking, then take he shall.

As Corinthian leaves the apartment, a twisted sense of regret passes through him. If he had devoured your friend's eyes, he would have seen you in an infinite array of moments, in the perspective of someone close to you. He would have seen your laugh again and again, heard your sweet voice whispering things in confidence, felt you walking right beside him. So close.

He turns resolute - why not have all that in actuality. Maybe it's time to slip back into the Dreaming, just for tonight.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

My fingers graze the titles on the shelf. I want to read nearly all of them. It's strange how they consist of books that I have yet to read, but have written down on my list.

I am surrounded by wooden bookshelves, designed as if they were molded out of the woods themselves, smooth brown roots running up the sides, golden and green leaves sticking out in a faint pattern. I remember wanting to decorate the bookshelves in my bedroom in the same way. But where am I now?

It seems to be a quaint bookshop, beautiful, with a tall stained glass window in an alcove on one side of the room. I seem to be the only one here, free to read to my heart's delight.

I pull out one of the volumes from the shelf, but I must have miscalculated its weight, because it started to fall out of my hands.

I wait to hear the thud, but instead I hear a voice.

"Oh," he says, "careful there."

He stands next to me with the book in one hand, outstretched in offering. Where did he come from?

"Thanks," I reply shyly, not knowing what to say next.

"You have good taste," he points to the book, "I've read this one myself, and let me tell you, the plot is certainly gripping. The characters were well-written, especially the villain, but you might not like him, of course."

"I quite like villains," I explain, "I've always been drawn to them in books, films, anywhere really. Just any darkly delightful, complex villain, with their own share of inner conflict and turmoil. Fascinating."

"Really?" A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Yeah," I smile in return, "Mind you, most villains wouldn't even consider themselves as such. They're just doing what they think is right."

"But what if," he implores, "the villain is just purely wretched? Downright evil, with nothing to redeem them?"

I think carefully before responding, "Maybe there are some who are like that. But," I pause, and he seems keen to hear my next words, "I like to think there's hope for everyone. Even those with the darkest of hearts."

A comfortable silence follows, and I let my eyes wander on the titles, until he says in a familiar drawl, "You really are somethin' else, darling."

Where did I hear that before?

"I'm y/n," I finally say, holding out my hand.

"The pleasure is all mine, y/n," he takes your hand and places a kiss on your knuckles, "I'm Corinthian."

When I feel him, a memory rushes through my mind. Loud music, cramped bodies, neon lights dancing on his skin. The same dark glasses shielding his eyes.

"You," I mumble, "I know you."

"Do you now?" he laughs, amused by my confusion, turning away to skim another bookshelf.

"Yes," I follow him, "You don't remember?"

"Well, I don't know, but I'll just take your word for it," he turns a book in his hands, "Besides, where do you think we are?"

I look around, and everything appears so polished. Almost too perfect. I realize that it resembles a library, more than a bookshop, with everything arranged and decorated to my liking, as if all of this was a product of my subconscious. One side of the room was completely open, facing a garden, lush and inviting. A warm sheen can be seen all around, as if everything is covered in a layer of fairy dust. I don't hear the usual siren song of the big city, which is replaced by the calming sounds of nature.

The stuff of dreams.

"I'm dreaming?" I breathe out, unsure.

"Do you like it?" I hear him, feeling his warm body behind me.

I hum in confirmation. A shiver rushes through me when I feel his lips on the nape on my neck. I feel him inhale deeply, as if savouring my scent.

"Beautiful," he says in that voice.

I turn around slowly. He looks beautiful, ethereal almost, in this light. This is my dream, so what do I want to happen next?

Kiss me, Corinthian, I think.

He caresses my face and asks, "Can I kiss you, darling?" as if he was privy to my thoughts.

"Yes," I manage to say. I vaguely remember wanting to kiss him in real life, as I do now.

Our lips touch, softly at first, dancing sensually with one another. Then he wraps an arm firmly around me, body flush against mine, and I can feel all of him.

My back arches in pleasure, and I feel him groan into my mouth. Suddenly, he bites down on my lip hard.

I pull away, and I run my tongue over my lip, a faint tanginess lingering in my mouth. I kiss him again, and he sucks my bottom lip, caressing the love bite.

He lifts me up and wraps my legs around his waist, then pushes me back onto a bookshelf. My face hovers inches higher above his, and he looks up at me, dazed and eager.

"Corinthian," I whisper his name for the first time, and it feels like a prayer on my lips. How could I have come up with this name in my dream? It's unusual, and yet fits him perfectly.

We gaze at each other for a while, lost in the moment. He curses softly, "Fuck."

"What?"

"I want you," he purrs.

I want him too. I want all of this to be real. "Then take me."

He drags his lips across my collarbone, my chest. Keeping me propped up against the shelf, he takes my shirt off. He takes a nipple in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue, and I feel a wetness start to pool below. He positions a finger in my entrance, and he looks up at me for permission.

I bite my lip, running my fingers over his chiseled face, and nod urgently.

He pushes my underwear to one side, and thrusts a finger in. I feel his middle finger move in and out, while his thumb strokes my clit rapidly. He slides another finger in, picking up the pace.

A series of moans escape my lips, and he's leaning back, as if admiring the view. Suddenly, I don't feel his fingers anymore, and I open my eyes.

He's smirking at me, and he almost looks dangerous. Carnal.

"I want to make you scream."

He gingerly lowers me back on my feet, slides my underwear down my ankles, and I lift each one to take it off.

Then he lifts me up even higher, until my thighs settle on his shoulders, straddling him. He breathes out, and I feel it directly in front of my throbbing opening. He blows into it, teasing me, then without warning, slides his tongue inside.

My arms fly to the side, feeling the hardness of this exquisite bookshelf, in an attempt to keep myself steady. But I can't help but tremble, and writhe in ecstasy, as his lips move frenzied against me.

Moments later, his prediction rings true, and I scream.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

My eyes fly open. I feel warm all over, a sheen of sweat nearly everywhere. What the-

One name rests on my lips, resounding clear, "Corinthian."

And another word bubbles out, when my dream comes rushing back.

"Fuck."

end of midnight one.

(ahhhh) help, I just love writing about Corinthian, that little shit.

This was late yet again, but I had to change up several parts. Apologies if there are any errors, I'll be checking this through later.

And I did mean to write all three midnights in one chapter, but it got too long, so keep a lookout for midnight two and midnight three - they'll be out eventually 😉

Let me know what you think about Corinthian and the Reader here!

P.S. midnights? Is it obvious that I love Taylor Swift?

#corinthian x reader #the corinthian #the corinthian x reader #the corinthian imagine #corinthian imagine #the sandman #corinthian x y/n #the corinthian x y/n #boyd holbrook imagine #boyd holbrook #boyd holbrook x reader #eote x cor #corinthian #sandman netflix #netflix the sandman

[kirwond]

Fate Spins Along As It Should

A playlist for Baldur's Gate 3, following characters and events for the game.

Notes from the game, cover art from BG3 concept art.

Listen at Spotify.

Even more playlists here.

Tracklist and notes below the cut.

Help I'm Alive - Metric

Narrator: As you wake, the tadpole squirms in your skull.

Army Of Me - Bjork

Lae'zel: Who am I? Your only chance of survival. Now move. You are wasting time.

The Wolf - PHILDEL

Shadowheart: Most people fear the dark, like children, because in darkness they see their fears reflected. But Shar teaches us to step beyond fear. Beyond loss. In darkness we do not hide - we act.

Icarus - Bastille

Gale: "What if," I thought, "What if after all this time, I could return this lost part of herself to the goddess?" You know me. My gestures can never be grand enough.

The Devil Is A Gentleman - Merci Raines

Astarion: On my honour, the only thing on my mind is depraved, carnal lust.

Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This) - Emily Browning

Dream Guardian: There is great potential in you. It comes from that parasite. Your instinct is to resist the power it gives, but you must accept it, nurture it. I will keep it from consuming you. But for the sake of both of us, you must learn to wield it.

I Am The Fire - Halestorm

Karlach: Avernus was never my home. It was my prison. I'm free now. AND I'M NEVER. GOING. BACK.

Woke Up A Rebel - Reuben and The Dark

Wyll: Gods damn her straight back to the Hells. Just look at me. I did what was right. And Mizora made me pay for it.

The Curse - Agnes Obel

Halsin: There is a terrible curse surrounding Moonrise Towers, a shadow curse that drains away all light and life. That place is where the cultists send their captives, to be infected. Innocents go in, True Souls come out.

Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult

Gale: The truth is, I was living on borrowed time already. Consuming those items would only have kept the orb sated for so long. If anything, I feel more at peace than I have in months. At least I know my death will have purpose. It won't be a distant bang in the footnotes of history.

Queer - Garbage

Astarion: He had me go out into Baldur's Gate to fetch him the most beautiful souls I could find. It was a fun little ritual of his - I'd bring them back and he'd ask if I wanted to dine with him. And if I said yes, he'd serve me a dead, putrid rat. Of course if I said no, he'd have me flayed. Hard to say which was worse.

Wrong Side Of Heaven - Five Finger Death Punch

Lae'zel: Vlaakith! I have wielded your fury as a blade, roared your wrath as a dragon! You promised ascension, yet I crawl among my own people, low as an asp's belly. I followed your path. What good, this heart of stone, for it to be shattered?

Bad Moon Rising - Satin Puppets/Nxghtshade

Jaheira: I have every reason to be cautious. I've traced people like you, people with parasites in their brains, all the way here from Baldur's Gate. We tracked them to this ancient village only to be faced with a man we killed and buried over a century ago.

Goodbye - Ramsey

Karlach: Listen. You heard Dammon. There is no solution. It's Hell or bust. I choose bust.

Wicked Game - Boyce Avenue

Astarion: Look. I had a plan. A nice, simple plan. Seduce you, sleep with you, manipulate your feelings so you'd never turn on me. It was easy - instinctive. Habits from two hundred years of charming people kicked in. All you had to do was fall for it. And all I had to do was not fall for you. Which is where my nice, simple plan fell apart.

Losing My Religion - BELLSAINT

Shadowheart: I... I can't believe I just did that. Lady Shar will disown me.

Battlefield - SVRCINA

Dame Aylin: Our Lady of Silver. Hear me! She Who Guides, the Moonmaiden Selune, mother of the so-called Nightsong. THE NIGHTSONG IS NO MORE!

O Death - Bobby Bass/Lauren Paley/Colm R. McGuiness

Ketheric Thorm: Join the army of the dead, True Soul. Witness Lord Myrkul's glory!

In The Wind - Lord Huron

Halsin: Oliver is helping Thaniel to recover. They both lie dormant, like trees awaiting spring. I would like to return here someday - see Thaniel and Oliver again, in my meditations, or perhaps in person, if the Oak Father wills it. I hope he does.

Flesh And Bone - Black Math

Wyll: He returned to an unsuspecting city and a wayward son with a smirking devil at his side. I tried to tell him the truth, but my mouth couldn't form the words. I led him to the battlefield, but Mizora had swept it clean. I showed him my stone eye, but he only turned away. After, he said only one word. "Go."

Nothing Is As It Seems - Hidden Citizens/Ruelle

The Emperor: Before you do anything, I am your ally.

Red Right Hand - Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds

Duke Ravenguard: Enver Gortash. The Council appoints you Archduke of Baldur's Gate.

I Will Not Bow - Breaking Benjamin

Lae'zel: Forsake one protocol and forsake Vlaakith. Forsate Vlaakith, and be the blood and meat which sates her dragons. If Voss speaks true, if ascension is a lie, if tadpole purification is a fairy tale, then I have not sinned against Vlaakith. She has sinned against me.

Broken Mirror - Trees of Eternity

Astarion: Back at the ritual, all I could see was the power on offer and the safety it promised. I was so blinded by it. Just as Cazador was. You saved me from myself and let me walk a new path where I can be free. Truly, honestly free.

Three - Sleeping At Last

Gale: I've work ahead of me before I'll feel myself truly redeemed of the damage I caused. But I intend to try.

Mind Games - Sickick

The Emperor: I studied you. Your motivations, your actions, your desires. I deduced the best way to align your goals with my own. I anticipated the challenge, and I anticipated your resistance. What I didn't anticipate was how much I would enjoy your company. Your mind.

Hamsters - King Missile

Minsc: I have no idea what any of that was about. But we shall simply - GAH! Boo, why do you gnaw at my soft parts? I am trying to... *urgent squeaking* Once again? In smaller words? *SQUEAK!* I see.

Soldier - Fleurie

Jaheira: You twine your life around the people you love. And when they are gone, you grow around their absence instead. Which is my sage way of saying I am in no danger of forgetting how my husband died. But I choose to remember how he lived.

I Come With Knives - IAMX

Orin: Did it think it could protect? Did it think it could save? Only the blades can offer salvation.

Never Look Away - Vienna Teng

Shadowheart: She's as much a part of who I am as Jenevelle. I can't just forget her, that's not what I do anymore. Besides, Shadowheart still suits me - even better than before, perhaps. You can't cast a shadow without some light.

Heroes - Mans Zelmerlow

Wyll: When I left the city, my father saw only a boy carrying the stench of the Hells. Now, he sees the man I made of myself.

Raphael's Final Act - Boris Slavov

Raphael: It is said that hope is a fine breakfast, but a poor supper. Well, the shadows grow long, and the hour is late. It's suppertime.

King Nothing - Metallica

Gortash: I'm not here for games. Hand me the stones, or face the black hand of Lord Bane.

Legends Never Die - Against The Current

Karlach: I'm dying. My heart feels like a live grenade - gonna blow any minute. If this is the end for me, let me be the motherfucker who saved the world.

Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

Narrator: You feel it - a sudden shift. The brain is weakening, its grasp of self slipping. This is your chance.

First Light - Hozier

Astarion: I can't say what the future holds for us, but I know we'll be facing it together. And we're going to have a lot of fun.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x tav #lae'zel #shadowheart #gale #karlach #wyll #halsin #jaheira #minsc and boo #tentacle shenanigans #fanmix #playlist

[mpregfrance]

Do you have any pink genre recs in terms of music? I want to get more into the genre.

-Hypermobile Françoise anon

hello!!! do you have any idea how hard this is for me to answer. i love rambling and being pedantic and going off on tangents. almost as much as i love punk music...

tl;dr i compiled a playlist for you, containing 3 songs from (most of) the bands mentioned below, plus a few extra from miscellanious artists bc 54 is my lucky number. it was hard to choose just 3 from some of my faves but i feel like this is a good introduction. long post to follow <3

instead of simply giving you a list and sending you on your merry way, i am absolutely going to spout off bc thats what i do and ur gonna regret asking. do you think you were gonna get off that easy? you absolute fool. sit ur ass down ur about to get schooled.

disclaimer; this isn't exhaustive. i'm not rattling off every single punk artist that's ever existed. just a few of my favorites.

the clash, the quintessential punk band in my opinion. defined the genre and embodied the political ethos. explored different subgenres througout their expansive discography. they were probably my first introduction to music as a whole since they're my dad's favorite band. i may be biased but i'd definitely say start with the clash. i'd recommend listening to their third album, london calling, first.

the pogues - the folk punk band of all time. NOT folk-punk like some smelly white man with dreadlocks screaming over poorly-tuned guitar. you'll know exactly what i mean when you hear it. they have a unique sound that just can't be replicated. and shane macgowan is actually such a beautiful person. their lyrics are also politically tinged, kinda gritty and edgy (i.e. gratuitous slurs) so not for senstive ears.

(i actually have a playlist of my fave pogues/shane macgowan songs)

the cure, in my opinion, invented goth or at least popularized it. their earlier stuff had more of a punk sound but every one of their albums is a perfect 10 to me. they're one of my favorite bands of all time and i could go on about them for hours so i'll leave it there. joy division, also more goth/post-punk but i love them, i have one of their album covers tattooed on my forearm lmao 19 year old decisions. no regrets (i also love the smiths, but they're not really punk punk.)

before you ask, no sex pistols!!! don't get me started on how much i hate the sex pistols i will throw up! god they suck. to me at least.

a lot of punks also listen to ska - no, not that kind of ska. 70/80s ska that originated from rocksteady/reggae. some of my faves in that arena being madness, the specials, bad manners, and the beat.

and as for across the pond - american punk artists.

johnny cash. no, seriously. man was punk before punk was defined.

my favorite band is probably social distortion. they're pretty different than those mentioned above, owing to their unmistakable americana sound and aesthetic. to me they're the quintessential rockabilly revival band, heavily influenced by country and blues. great guitar licks. think wistful and reckless all at once.

their frontman mike ness is an outrageously gorgeous man. he has two solo albums that absolutely slap. the happiest day of my life was seeing them live a couple years ago and he winked right at me - i promise i'm not delusional i swear he really did. ok i digress.

dead kennedys - hilarious lyrics and sick ass bass lines, very political and generally pretty iconic. one of my dad's faves. the cramps and the misfits. two bands overlapping goth + punk + psychobilly. pioneers of a campy subgenre known as horror-punk. i also really like danzig, the misfits frontman's solo career.

the velvet underground/lou reed - great example of american proto-punk. very NYC vibes. the pixies are a more grungy, later punk band. one of my mommy's favorites <3 i would unironically name my child velouria. definitely iconic but i find them overplayed sometimes, as in you've probably heard them at the grocery store.

this barely scratches the surface btw but i think that about covers it for today. sorry if i bored you to death pls come back and keep me company. peace and love on planet mpregfrance <3

#thank u as always anon #ask and ye shall receive #punk #music recs #spotify #playlist #punk playlist #ska #goth #psychobilly #rockabilly

[rogers-rainbow-radio]

1. Roger Taylor of course!

2. I'd have to go for....Roger..

3. Brian - Stargazing and talk about astronomy.

John - Go out dancing and talk about new songs.

Roger - See if he'd teach me how to play drums.

Freddie - Experiment with new outfits for shows.

4. John Deacon

5. Roger Taylor

6. Yes, yes, yes! He has wrote so many incredible songs and bass rhythms!

7. Deacy! Though it doesn't really matter, does it?

8. It's very cute, indeed

9. I'll say pet-sit for Freddie's cats

10. That is really difficult to choose but I'll go for Freddie because I think he would have taken any problems seriously and helped out

11. Can I say 70s and 80s Roger? His clothes, appearance and songs were just so perfect!

12. With a moustache though I don't mind it shaved off

13. Sorry, but I'm not a fan of Brian's beard

14. That is way too hard to choose one so I'll go for top two - The Works and A Kind of Magic!

15. Yes, it's a wonderful album with great songs and the cover is very creative!

16. Roger's voice. Have you heard when he sings and his falsetto...wow!

17. They're all amazing!

18. All I'm going to say is the "I Want To Break Free" music video

#freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #brian may #queen #queen band #roger meddows taylor