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ktempestbradford · 3 months

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I have been on a Willy Wonkified journey today and I need y'all to come with me

It started so innocently. Scrolling Google News I come across this article on Ars Technica:

At first glance I thought what happened was parents saw AI-generated images of an event their kids were at and became concerned, then realized it was fake. The reality? Oh so much better.

On Saturday, event organizers shut down a Glasgow-based "Willy's Chocolate Experience" after customers complained that the unofficial Wonka-inspired event, which took place in a sparsely decorated venue, did not match the lush AI-generated images listed on its official website.... According to Sky News, police were called to the event, and "advice was given."

Thing is, the people who paid to go were obviously not expecting exactly this:

But I can see how they'd be a bit pissed upon arriving to this:

It gets worse.

"Tempest, how could it possibly--"

source of this video that also includes this charming description:

Made up a villain called The Unknown — 'an evil chocolate maker who lives in the walls'

There is already a meme.

Oh yes, the Wish.com Oompa Loompa:

Who has already done an interview!

As bad (and hilarious) as this all is, I got curious about the company that put on this event. Did they somehow overreach? Did the actors they hired back out at the last minute? (Or after they saw the script...) Oddly enough, it doesn't seem so!

Given what I found when poking around I'm legit surprised there was an event at all. Cuz this outfit seems to be 100% a scam.

The website for this specific event is here and it has many AI generated images on it, as stated. I don't think anyone who bought tickets looked very closely at these images, otherwise they might have been concerned about how much Catgacating their children would be exposed to.

Yes, Catgacating. You know, CATgacating!

I personally don't think anyone should serve exarserdray flavored lollipops in public spaces given how many people are allergic to it. And the sweet teats might not have been age appropriate.

Though the Twilight Tunnel looks pretty cool:

I'm not sure that Dim Tight Twdrding is safe. I've also been warned that Vivue Sounds are in that weird frequency range that makes you poop your pants upon hearing them.

Yes, Virginia, these folks used an AI image generator for everything on the website and used Chat GPT for some of the text! From the FAQ:

Q: I cannot go on the available days. Will you have more dates in the future? A: Should there be capacity when you arrive, then you will be able to enter without any problems. In the event that this is not the case, we may ask you to wait a bit.

Fear not, for this question is asked again a few lines down and the answer makes more sense.

Curious about the events company behind this disaster, I took myself over to the homepage of House of Illuminati and I was not disappointed.

I would 100% trust these people to plan my wedding.

This abomination of a website is a badly edited WordPress blog filled with AI art and just enough blog posts to make the casual viewer think that it's a legit business for about 0.0004 seconds.

Their attention to detail is stunning, from how they left up the default first post every WP blog gets to how they didn't bother changing the name on several images, thus revealing where they came from. Like this one:

With the lovely and compact filename "DALL·E-2024-01-30-09.50.54-Imagine-a-scene-where-fantasy-and-reality-merge-seamlessly.-In-the-foreground-a-grand-interactive-gala-is-taking-place-filled-with-elegant-guests-i.png"

"Concept.png" came from the same AI generator that gets text almost, but not quiiiiiite right:

There are a suspicious number of .webp images in the uploads, which makes me think they either stole them from other sites where AI "art" was uploaded or they didn't want to pay for the hi-res versions of some and just grabbed the preview image.

The real fun came when I noticed this filename: Before-and-After-Eventologists-Transformation-Edgbaston-Cricket-Ground-1024x1024-1.jpg and decided to do a Google image search. Friends, you will be shocked to hear that the image in question, found on this post touting how they can transform a boring warehouse into a fun event space, was stolen from this actual event planner.

Even better, this weirdly grainy image?

From a post that claims to be about the preparations for a "Willy Wonka" experience (we'll get to this in a minute), is not only NOT an actual image of anyone preparing anything for Illuminati's event, it is stolen from a YouTube thumbnail that's been chopped to remove the name of the company that actually made this. Here's the video.

If you actually read the blog posts they're all copypasta or some AI generated crap. To the point where this seems like not a real business at all. There's very specific business information at the bottom, but nothing else seems real.

As I said, I'm kinda surprised they put on an event at all. This has, "And then they ran off with all our money!" written all over it. I'm perplexed.

And also wondering when the copyright lawyers are gonna start calling, because...

This post explicitly says they're putting together a "Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory Experience" complete with golden tickets.

Somewhere along the line someone must have wised up, because the actual event was called "Willys Chocolate Experience" (note the lack of apostrophe) and the script they handed to the actors about 10 minutes before they were supposed to "perform" was about a "Willy McDuff" and his chocolate factory.

As I was going through this madness with friends in a chat, one pointed out that it took very little prompting to get the free Chat GPT to spit out an event description and such very similar to all this while avoiding copyrighted phrases. But he couldn't figure out where the McDuff came from since it wasn't the type of thing GPT would usually spit out...

Until he altered the prompt to include it would be happening in Glasgow, Scotland.

You cannot make this stuff up.

But truly, honestly, I do not even understand why they didn't take the money and run. Clearly this was all set up to be a scam. A lazy, AI generated scam.

Everything from the website to the event images to the copy to the "script" to the names of things was either stolen or AI generated (aka stolen). Hell, I'd be looking for some poor Japanese visitor wandering the streets of Glasgow, confused, after being jacked for his mascot costume.

HE LIVES IN THE WALLS, Y'ALL.

#long post #Willy Wonka #Wonka #Willy Wonka Experience #Willy Wonka Experience disaster #Willy's Chocolate Experience #Willys Chocolate Experience #THE UNKNOWN #Wish.com Oompa Loompa #House of Illuminati #AI #ai generated

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moondirti · 23 days

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ghoap x nanny on🔝

they would go bananas trying to find her a Mother’s Day gift because even though she’s not she’s still so important to baby isla

UK mother's day is in march but i'm putting this out for the US folk <3 also not part of the main series! takes place an undefined period of time later, where isla is about 1 yr old, so the end of part 2 doesn't hold weight here

"Stop messin' with it. You'll ruin the wrap job."

"I'm tryin' tae curl th' ribbon. Eejit at the store forgot tae add th' mae touches." Johnny presses his thumb to the blade, tongue poked in concentration as he follows the tutorial. The lady in the video makes it look so easy, dragging her grip along the length of a blue streamer so that it jumps into a little ringlet when she releases. "Ye think women dinnae notice these touches but thay do. I had tae specially instruct th' flower guy up in Glasgow ower th' phone tae make sure he wrapped mah maw's bouquet in brown paper, fur apparently there's a difference."

But all the scot manages to do is slice his thumb open with Simon's knife, blood beading along the wounded site. He jerks away before it can stain the present, popping the digit into his mouth while begrudgingly handing the tools over to his partner.

Who does it with ease.

"Tha' wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Awa' n bile yer heid." Johnny grumbles, twisting his head to check out the window. "She said she'll be back by now."

"Who'll be back by now?"

The sing-song voice catches them both off guard, the pair clambering to hide the subject of their concentration, open-mouthed as you slip out of your pastel yellow galoshes by the door. An impish smile splits your cheeks, positively delighted by the fact that you were able to sneak up on them.

Isla shouts an approximation of your name from her playpen, pulling herself into a stand and waving her little arms around until you swoop in to pick her up. Simon feels his heart race, anticipation coating his palms in sweat as you sway with their little girl bunched in your arms.

"My little Isla-bug! Missed you so much baby." You coo, pressing kisses to her cheek. But Isla isn't interested in greetings. She squeals, legs flailing and finger pointing accusatorially at her fathers.

"Bug! Bug! Da an' Pa!"

"Are Da and Papa bugs too?" Johnny shuffles in place, scratching the back of his neck when you waltz suspiciously towards him. Almost as if you're trying to sniff out the clues the baby lays out for you, like a little detective duo. "Do they have a bug?"

"Yer a wee clipe you." He narrows his eyes at Isla, bumping noses when she giggles at his feigned grumpiness.

"Don't tell me you actually do." You straighten seriously, frowning once you notice the hand Simon keeps behind his back. "Si, I swear to God. I swear to God if that's a bug you're hiding I'll scream. I'll tell Price–"

That does it. He extends the gift before you misinterpret this further and make good on your threat. He can only imagine the awkward phone call with the Captain, who favours you more than he does his own team sometimes. It would not bode over well.

"Happy mother's day, love."

You clamp a hand over your mouth, eyes immediately glossing up in tears.

They discussed who would do this part – this vulnerable profession of how much you mean to them, to Isla. Because you're not her mum. Your name isn't on any of the adoption paperwork. You'd only come into her life when she was five months old, and there's no legal or biological ties linking the two of you together, or you to the boys. Just this human, very fragile bond you've forged over the past year. Something undefined, unnamed, but so magnanimous in its existence that it cannot continue existing without acknowledgement.

And while Johnny felt like the natural choice, Simon knew it'd mean so much more if it came from him. He's the one with the history, after all. The one who denied you a place in their life, again and again. Who wrote off your bids to help and took you for granted until it damn near drove you away for good.

It's clear that it hits you hard.

You pass Isla over to Johnny so as to hug yourself, staving off the waterworks by biting your lip. For a moment, that's all you do. Stand there and stare down at the wrapping paper with all the apples on it, the sleek coiled ribbons. Simon's hand shakes a little, unsure, but then you take it and crush him into a hug so tight, it's almost instinctual to push you off.

He doesn't, of course. Instead, his arms curl around your smaller form, cold fingers warming themselves on the curve of your shoulder.

"Thank you." You sniff from against his chest, then gracefully step back to address Johnny too. "Both of you. I can't– I'm so overwhelmed, I don't know what to say. Can I open it?"

"O' course." Johnny nods, sitting back on the couch and patting the open space next to him. Isla pulls on his overgrown mohawk, but the pain is nothing compared to the joy warming his heart. You're so beautiful like this. Flustered. Emotional. He could just bundle you up and hold you forever.

The bow comes undone with one tug. You take your time with the wrapping paper, though, peeling the tape off gently so it doesn't take off the pattern underneath. Your boys sit on either side of you, arched over like a pair of nervous schoolboys.

"My–"

It's a charm bracelet. Dainty gold links extended to the exact circumference of your wrist. Relatively empty, save for a few exchangeable starter baubles and a ladybug charm that hangs right at the centre.

"Bug!"

You laugh like summer rain. "That's right! It is a bug, clever girl. Can you say ladybird?"

"Lalalalala–"

"She'll get i' soon." Johnny smiles. Simon offers a large hand, slipping the bracelet out of it's box. You give him your wrist, and he clasps it shut around.

"Fits like a glove." He murmurs.

Ladybugs for fortune and grace.

You're their stroke of good luck.

#fic ༄ miss magic #brief spoilers #due to some foreshadowing #fore... backshadowing?#at whats planned for them in the main series #unedited #༄dee answers #simon riley x reader x john mactavish #ghoap x reader #ghost x reader x soap

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mariacallous · 5 months

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On Boxing Day pro-Palestine demonstrators met customers at the Zara sale in the Westfield shopping centre, in Stratford, east London. They were not there to wish them the compliments of the season.

‘Bombs are dropping while you’re shopping,’ they chanted, as police stood by to make sure the protests did not turn violent. ‘Zara is enabling genocide,’ their placards read.

Quite what they wanted bargain hunters to do about the Israeli forces bombing the Gaza Strip, they never said. Lobby their MPs? Politicians are on their Christmas holidays. Join the Palestinian armed struggle? It was unclear whether the shopping centre had a Hamas recruitment office.

But on one point the demonstrators were certain: no one should be buying from Zara. Even though the fashion chain has not encouraged Israel’s war against Hamas, earned income from it, or supported Israel in any material way, it was nevertheless “exploiting a genocide and commodifying Palestine's pain for profit”.

Zara, in short, has become the object of a paranoid fantasy: a QAnon conspiracy theory for the postcolonial left.

The Zara conspiracy is an entirely modern phenomenon. It has no original author. Antisemitic Russians sat down and wrote the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in the early 20th century. There was an actual “Q” behind the QAnon conspiracy: a far-right activist who first appeared on 4chan message boards in 2017 to claim that a cabal of child abusers was conspiring against Donald Trump.

The Zara conspiracy was mass produced by social media users: an example of the madness of crowds rather than their supposed wisdom. The cause of the descent into hysteria was bizarre.

In early December Zara launched an advertising campaign featuring the model Kristen McMenamy wearing its latest collection in a sculptor’s studio. It clearly was a studio, by the way, and not a war zone in southern Israel or Gaza. McMenamy carried a mannequin wrapped in white fabric. The cry went up that the Spanish company was exploiting the suffering of Palestinians and that the mannequin was meant to represent a victim of Israeli aggression wrapped in a shroud.

The accusation was insane. No one in the photo shoot resembled a soldier or a casualty of war. Anyone who thought for 30 seconds before resorting to social media would have known that global brands plan their advertising campaigns months in advance.

Zara said the campaign presented “a series of images of unfinished sculptures in a sculptor’s studio and was created with the sole purpose of showcasing craft-made garments in an artistic context”. The idea for the studio setting was conceived in July. The photo shoot was in September, weeks before the Hamas assault on Israel on 7 October.

No one cared. Melanie Elturk, the CEO of fashion brand Haute Hijab, said of the campaign, ‘this is sick. What kind of sick, twisted, and sadistic images am I looking at?’ #BoycottZara trended on Twitter, as users said that Zara was ‘utterly shameful and disgraceful”’.

To justify their condemnations, activists developed ever-weirder theories. A piece of cardboard in the photoshoot was meant to be a map of Israel/Palestine turned upside down. Because a Zara executive had once invited an extreme right-wing Israeli politician to a meeting, the whole company was damned.

Astonishingly, or maybe not so astonishingly to anyone who follows online manias, the fake accusations worked. Zara stores in Glasgow, Toronto. Hanover, Melbourne and Amsterdam were targeted.

What on earth could Zara do? PR specialists normally say that the worst type of apology is the non-apology apology, when a public figure or institution shows no remorse, but instead says that they are sorry that people are offended. Yet Zara had not sought to trivialize or profit from the war so what else could it do but offer a non-apology apology? The company duly said it was sorry that people were upset.

“Unfortunately, some customers felt offended by these images, which have now been removed, and saw in them something far from what was intended when they were created,” it said on 13 December, and pulled the advertising campaign

That was two-weeks ago and yet still the protests in Zara stores continue. On 23 December activists targeted Zara on Oxford Street chanting , 'Zara, Zara, you can't hide, stop supporting genocide', even though Zara was not, in fact, supporting genocide. On Boxing Day, they were at the Stratford shopping centre.

Zara has apologised for an offence it did not commit. There is no way that any serious person can believe the charges against it. And yet believe them the protestors do. Or at the very least they pretend to believe for the sake of keeping in with their allies.

Maybe nothing will come of the protests. One could have argued in 2017, after all, that QAnon was essentially simple-minded people living out their fantasies online. Certainly, every sane American knew that there was no clique of paedophiles running the Democrat party, but where was the harm in the conspiracy theory?

Then QAnon supporters stormed the US capitol in January 2021. Will the same story play out from the Gaza protests? As far as I can tell, no one on the left is challenging the paranoia. I have yet to see the fact-checkers of the BBC and Channel 4 warning about the fake news on the left with anything like the gusto with which they treat its counterparts on the right.

To be fair, the scale of disinformation around the Gaza war is off the charts, and it is impossible to chase down every lie. But when fake news goes from online fantasies to real world protests, from 4chan to the Capitol, from Twitter to the Westfield shopping centre, it’s worth taking notice.

Sensible supporters of a Palestinian state ought to be the most concerned. No one apart from fascists, Islamists and far leftists believes that Israel should not defend itself. And yet the scale of its military action in Gaza is outraging world opinion. Mainstream politicians, who might one day put pressure on Israel, remain very wary about reflecting the anger on the streets.

They look at the insane conspiracy theories on the western left and see them as no different from the insane conspiracy theories that motivate Hamas, and they back away.

The Palestinians need many things: an end to the Netanyahu government, and an end to Hamas. But they could also use allies in the West who do not discredit their cause with dark, gibbering fantasies.

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clicksarts · 3 months

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What Is That???

ITS THE UNKNOWN

(im so sorry im capitalising on ACME glasgow this weekend. they kinda serve though idk)

#willy wonka #the unknown #willy wonka experience

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robiinurheart33 · 1 month

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I’m SUCH a sucker for drunk calls/texts confessing their love and y’all know I gotta project it onto ghoap (buckle up guys its a long one I had to break it into two parts SORRY) pt. 2 (clicks for Palestine)

Soap’s blood is pumping. He can feel it heat up in his cheeks in the form of a blush, giggles bubbling up in his throat and his mind loose enough to just sew together a semblance of a bad idea.

Deployment had been boring at first. Stuck at home with unending nervous energy, fingers twitching and aching for the solid feel of a gun, the rough texture of his vest, the adrenaline clapping him on the shoulder before shooting through his veins like a drug. It was so unendingly dull. It’s not like he had anyone waiting for him at his apartment in Glasgow, and their break time was too short to visit his Ma.

So why not invite a few buddies out to drink? No harm, no foul.

Well, that’s what he initially thought. A couple hours later of wheezing and pounding of the table, shoes sticking to the ground and the smell of booze wafting though the air, Soap could confidently say that he was wasted. He’s leaning heavily on his buddy, chum, pal, that he for the life of him cannot remember right now. He’s swaying from side to side, feeling unusually breathless as he mumbles what could be the song that’s playing right now. He’s not sure. He combs his fingers through his hair, scratching a bit anxiously at the nape of his neck. Soap’s not sure if he wants to cry or laugh or vomit right about now. Pretty sure that’s a sign to fuck off, pass out on his bed and deal with the rest tomorrow.

Soap pushes off his… friend? Wait, did he even come with him? And heads towards the general direction where the toilet is. Might as well not look like a homeless person before heading home, wouldn’t wanna scare anyone. His head is spinning, pounding, loud, loud, loud, and nowhere near done with its madness. Soap slams his hand on the wall beside the toilet door, squinting and hoping the door he’s reaching for is the actual door, not it’s double. He does, in fact, get the right door (small miracles), and pushes it open.

He fumbles with his zipper and exhales heavily as he relieves himself. The man beside him in the toilet exits with a sniffle and stumbles out, the music getting louder for a second before the door closes again. Soap leans heavily against the sink counter and washes his hands, placing his fingers together and splashing water onto his face. Soap drags his hands down before greyish-blue eyes look back at him with a piercing stare. He blinks, and re-evaluates again. His hair is flopping to one side, weighed down by sweat. His face is flushed and his skin glows slightly with a thin sheen of sweat, his freckles just shy of being seen under his rosy cheeks, eyebags evident through the haze. He looks down and- oh. It appears his attempt at splashing his face with water wasn’t as successful as he’d hoped, half of his shirt drenched in water. Soap tugs loosely at the corner of his sleeves, releasing the bundled up fabric at his pits. He frowns in discomfort as the sticky heat of his arms lay back down against his skin. He sighs once more, not really feeling like his lungs are filling with oxygen, turning around and laying his hip against the counter lazily before pulling out his phone. 0237. He swipes down on his home screen and pouts at the “no new notifications” tab. He unlocks his phone and swipes through his contacts, unsure of who to drunk text at this hour. Gaz is probably asleep by now, if anyone has a spotless sleeping schedule, it’d be him. Price would have his head on a platter if he texted him about anything non-military business. Laswell, no. Ghost?

Huh.

Ghost…could be someone he could text. Soap isn’t quite sure if he would be awake right now. Do ghosts even need sleep? He huffs at his little comment, tapping on their chat together. Do they have the kind of relationship where soap can dramatically drunk text Ghost at 2am right now? Soap lets out a little bemused huff when he sees that he reached a dead end to their chat after one swipe of his thumb. Of course. Right bastard doesn’t text anyone. He tilts his head up to meet the flickering white light of the bathroom ceiling, watching water damage and mold streak across the concrete. Ghost… how is he during deployment? Does he still wear that mask around the relative safety of his own apartment? Does he have any hobbies? Does he go to the gym as well? Does he long to be back on base? Does he long to be back in the chaos of the war zone, alongside soap? Does he think of soap? Does he ever think to- before Soap knows what he’s even doing, his fingers clumsily type out a greeting.

Hwlli

That’s not quite right.

Gellp

Nope.

Hellu

Oh my god.

Hello

There we go! Soap smiles giddily at his screen, bringing it closer to his face before very carefully writing a much more sophisticated and brilliant follow up.

U up?

He’s the smartest person in the entire world. He supposes a part of himself preens at the thought of even just being able to text someone like Ghost. Big, bad, Ghost. He decidedly does not giggle like a schoolgirl. Just as his mind starts to wander back to the world outside the sickly bathroom, his phone vibrates, and looks down in confusion.

Drunk?

Soap frowns.

Who

You.

Wanna try anf gues, Lt?

You are drunk.

He says it like it’s a fact, like he knows everything. It annoys Soap, much more than it should. He supposes that it could maybe be something to do with the massive amounts of alcohol thrumming through his bloodstream at the moment, but he knows for a fact that it slices through his brain, presses against his throat and contracts his chest.

Yiu think so?

I know so.

Soap thinks Ghost is being a real dick right now.

Ittle know iy all

You’re drunk, Johnny. What do you want me to do about it?

Johnny. Johnny. Johnny. His head spins. If he closes his eyes and imagines hard enough, he can hear the raspy gravel of Ghost’s solid, thick British accent murmuring commanders into his ear. Speaking of noises, his brain starts to register more of the music from outside, the start of a song that Soap can vaguely remember, but he can’t quite put his finger on it right now. The electric guitar, drums and bass all purr in his subconciousness, his lips parting over the words, moving silently as he tries to pinpoint exactly where in the song he is right now. There’s this tune… think of you.. repeat, until I fall asleep, spilling drinks on my settee…do I wanna know? Soap whispers, his mind curling and his ribs creaking. He feels like he’s truly, deeply losing it now, fingers slowly loosening over his phone. His head feels too big and his cheeks are burning, his shirt too tight against his chest and arms and his toes too restricted under his shoes. Everything was funny and everything was too bright and shiny and yearning and blurring and he wishes Ghost was here and he wishes everything was different and he wishes life could just be a little bit easier and-

His phone is vibrating.

Crawling back to you.

#lowkey haven’t even started on the send part #dw guys I write fast when inspo hits #I got a busy day tmr so second part may come in like two or theee days?#me staring at the 150 yes on the poll I made #y’all this better get 150 notes /j #stay safe out there guys #hope y’all like this one 🙏🙏#I really think I cooked #robs ramblings #call of duty #john soap mactavish #ghoap #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap

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itsmaferart · 9 months

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SPY x FAMILY x CHAIR Vol. 7~8~9

SxF Vol 7 · Damian Desmond - Willow Chair

The Willow Chair was designed by Scottish architect Charles Rennie Mackintosh in the early 20th century. The chair was originally designed for use in The Willow Tea Rooms Company, a cafe and tea room that Mackintosh also designed in Glasgow, Scotland. The chair was part of a larger collection of furniture pieces designed for this company.

The concept of tea rooms was popular in Victorian and Edwardian times, and was considered a meeting place for the upper middle class.

The design shows a progressive approach to design, suggesting that the chair is at the forefront of creative thinking and is sleek, modern and curious. It stands out for its simplicity in geometric patterns. The chair features straight, minimalist lines in its structure, with curved wooden elements at the top to provide head and neck support.

A distinctive feature is its triangular backrest, which extends upward from the arms at an acute angle to create a sleek and elegant silhouette. The seat also features an elaborate lattice pattern, made from hand-woven wicker, which adds texture and dimension to the chair.

I’m Damian, scion of the Desmond family! I’ll be a politician one day and protect this country!

I love the way the dimension of the chair in disproportionate to Damian's body, who is clearly a kid with a very big precedent behind him, a very big ego and pride in possessing the last name Desmond, and it projects very well the way it makes Damian look more imposing for his age while giving you a look that continually judges you, adorably.

Damian is someone who projects himself from greatness, and his constant yearnings to be a recognized figure such as his family, even so, his childlike soul continues to exist.

However deep down, behind all the Desmond pride (Reflected in the chair) are his yearnings to really have fun and enjoy his childhood wanting to play with his balls, read manga, play with dinosaurs. He is definitely a little boy with a lot behind his shoulders.

SxF Vol 8 · Franky Franklyn - Eames Lounge chair & Ottoman

The Eames Lounge Chair and Ottoman were designed by Charles and Ray Eames in 1956, an American designer couple.

It was created from the idea of a "comfortable as a glove" chair, with an ergonomically molded seat and back shell combined with a plywood base. It was originally designed for the Herman Miller furniture company.

It was designed to provide comfort and relaxation, elegant and attractive that will complement any living space. The chair features clean, simple lines and a minimalist structure that emphasizes its elegance and ergonomics. The base is made of plywood, bent in several layers and smoothly polished to give it a smooth, refined finish.

Can we talk about how relaxed and cool Ostania's best informant looks? I love how the combination of this chair reflects Franky's relaxed but refined personality, a genius at his job even if often not properly appreciated. However, we can see his details, a bit messy, his taste for money, some good cigars, some confidential envelopes.

It's interesting when you remember that Franky seems to hate the handsome, moneyed show-offs who seem to be very lucky, even though he wishes he was one. He is simple and laid back, with a classy side and a profitable bottom line.

SxF Vol 9 · Becky Blackbell - Coconut Chair

The Coconut chair was designed by architect and designer George Nelson in 1955 who was the design director for Herman Miller.

The chair was inspired by the designer's tropical landscape during his visit to the Fiji Islands. Nelson observed a group of children playing with one half of a coconut shell and realized that the shape and curve of the coconut shell could be harnessed to design a comfortable, modern chair. It was created as a highly engineered piece of furniture that offered a high level of comfort.

Although originally designed as a lounge chair, the Coconut chair is suitable for any space, from offices to homes. The stainless steel tripod base is an attractive design element, its fine details such as the apparent stitching on the upholstered

"You and I should be best friends"

I like how both the Coconut chair and Becky could be described as elegant, sophisticated, avant-garde and with a lot of personality. Despite her young age, we know that Becky has a very definite personality, sometimes with a very volatile and fanciful imagination.

Unlike many Spy x Family characters and their respective chairs, the elements are usually placed at the back or bottom with respect to the chair, always covered by some slight shadow, reflecting those elements that characterize the respective personality.

However, all of Becky's things are clearly displayed and stacked with bright colors. We know that it refers to all the riches and luxuries Becky has, as well as her passion for fashion and shopping.

But also, it's a way of expressing how authentic Becky is and how she's not afraid to show her true personality without having to hide it.

You can read the previous review here!

You can read the next part here

#spy x familyxchair #spy x family #spy x family manga 71 #twiyor #loid forger #yor forger #loid x yor #yor briar #twilight #anya forger #spyxfamily twilight #sxf #becky blackbell #franky franklin #damian desmond

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blessedwithabadomen · 3 months

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in love with the mess - day five

summary : Aubrey is going on tour and, for once, she's decided to focus on having as much fun as possible. Oli can be a little shit but he does nothing short of adore Audrey and... well, maybe Noah a little, too. Noah likes the flirting, as long as no one gets too close, emotionally. But what will happen when the three of them take it too far?

content : fluff, flirting, drinking, everyone gets a kiss

length : 4.2k

tags (let me know if you want to be tagged!) : @veronicaphoenix @cookiesupplier @lma1986 @jilliemiw86 @bngurngheart @lacktoesandtoddlerants @narcissisticbehavior81 @flowery-mess @shilohrosechicken @justeli6 @starvingarsyn @floatinglikeaswan @somebodyels3

a/n : here we go!! enjoy and feel free to comment, ask, reblog 💗

•••

day five

Something about the check-in at the hotel in Manchester was fishy and had caused a ridiculous amount of chaos that needed to be sorted out by the tour managers. I made the best of the situation and got comfortable in the lobby with my laptop, determined to get some work done ahead of time. Lia was going to be here in just a few hours and I'd promised her to free my schedule as much as possible.

Plus, I knew we would be drinking, so the ride to Glasgow tomorrow was going to be spent regretting my hangover and lying in my bunk, not doing hours of work.

The only strange thing about the day so far was that I had seen neither Oli nor Noah. Noah’s absence was to be expected to a certain extent; he was in a different band, on a different bus, with slightly deviating schedules, so the chances of running into each other could be quite low. I hadn't gotten a message from him either though. At least rumour had been going around that he woke up as good as new this morning, whatever had been beating him down yesterday had vanished completely. Oli was more surprising considering he was consistently put into an adjacent hotel room, travelled in the same tour bus and technically employed me.

Funnily enough, the question about the two missing frontmen was answered sooner than the check-in chaos got resolved. I heard the two of them entering the lobby together before I saw them. Pushing each other away, both seemed eager to get to me first as soon as they spotted me, stealing a bag from each other's hands over and over again.

“Fucking stop, I’m the one who knew to get this for her,” Oli complained, trying to keep the paper bag out of Noah’s reach, who was quicker than him and caught it behind Oli’s back.

“Yeah, and I’m the one who’s gonna give it to her!”

“Give it back, you wanker!”

Their fight came to an abrupt end as they stood in front of me looking up at them over my laptop.

“I got you something,” Oli explained, motioning to the bag.

“We got you something,” Noah corrected.

“Just because you walked next to me, doesn’t mean you had anything to do with it!”

I felt another bout of their little spat coming on, so I quickly intervened and stole the bag from Noah’s hands. Both of them quieted down immediately, watching me as I opened it up. The sweet scent of pastries filled my nostrils immediately.

“Are these…?” I didn’t finish my question as I brought the baked good to my nose, inhaling it deeply once again before taking a hearty bite ouf of its flakey goodness. I didn't know how Oli new. I couldn't remember if I'd ever told him and if I had, I was sure it was in passing only. The fact that he not only was aware of my sweet tooth but also went out of his way to satisfy it with my favourite goods caused my stomach to flip. “Thank you so much, that’s so sweet.”

“From your favourite bakery,” Oli proudly agreed. “You said you weren’t in Manchester that often and- well, I thought after yesterday-”

“Wait, what happened yesterday?”

Suddenly, Noah was all ears. I was much too preoccupied with the best thing I’d tasted in months to think about how to explain. Oli had mentioned it, Oli could solve the situation.

“Aubrey was in a right mood last night,” Oli said with grin. “A little brat.”

I almost choked on my pastry, a few flakes flying away from me as I got my breathing back under control. I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Oli was hardly known for being a prude about these things.

“And I went to sleep instead,” Noah groaned, sounding genuinely remorseful. Our eyes met for a moment. Somehow, I knew we were both remembering last night, too, me bringing him back to the hotel room, him warning me off. He looked away first, as if a little embarrassed. I wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“I’m sure you’ll find out for yourself soon enough,” it burst out of me. But I’d already learned that the combination of us three left very little room to hold back in that aspect.

Oli leaned down to me, his thumb wiping at the corner of my mouth where some chocolate had seemingly gotten stuck. He tapped my lips. It was enough for me to dumbly open my mouth and suck it in, twirling my tongue around it to get another taste. He chuckled darkly, satisfied how easily I went along with him, before pulling away, finding another bit of chocolate to swipe away, this time offering his thumb to Noah.

He was torn. Quite visibly so. The tension hung in the air as he tried to decide on which move to make now, all three of us basically holding our breaths to see what would transpire.

Then, some loud laughter from the crew erupted somewhere else in the lobby, loud enough to pull him out of it. He actually shook his head, as if that could make the thoughts disappear.

“Fuck you, Oli,” he muttered, without much force behind it.

“Yeah,” Oli laughed, licking the chocolate of his thumb himself, “I bet you’d like to.”

•••

Whoever said that time flies when you’re having fun had never felt time slipping through your fingers when you were desperately trying to get your boss to get to all things in his agenda on time while he was being an absolute arse for no reason but to amuse himself. On top of that, your best friend was blowing up your phone in excitement of getting to see you, effectively starting a countdown that only served to distract you from the work you should be doing.

By seven o’clock, I was thoroughly exhausted and annoyed. At some point, Noah had even pulled me aside to give me a much needed hug, although it had been cut short by Lia announcing her imminent arrival. Luckily, Lia did what she did best and that was raise my mood impossibly the very second I saw her.

Her arms around me felt like home. She was the only anchor I felt I still had, while I was always trying to never get too settled in one place with my work taking me all over, but we’d been friends since childhood and she’d always refused to budge. I didn’t thank her for it enough.

“Okay, catch me up asap, what’s been happening, what’s been going down, have you managed to bang anyone yet?”

I shot an apologetic smile at the two stagehands walking past as I walked down the corridor with Lia, an AAA pass hung around her neck and so excited that I wondered if she’d had a drink before coming here. With a slightly quicker step, I dragged her into Oli’s dressing room, aware he was currently hanging out with the rest of his band.

“Well, there’s been no fucking, but…”

I awkwardly started tidying up the dressing room. It came as second nature, really, trying to make sure things were in order, helping Oli out for later, not letting him drown in his chaos. I busied myself with a hoodie that I decided needed folding.

“But?! Aubrey, you’re not seriously gonna leave me starved for information here!”

“I mean, I did make out with Noah and I’ve seen Oli’s dick, so…”

Her squealing, I was pretty sure, could be heard next door and I couldn’t help but laugh. Lia was nothing if not supportive of basically anything I did.

I gave her a quick rundown of the last few days, keeping some of the details to myself while still letting her know what I’d been up to, including just about every endeavour I’d found myself in with the guys. She did nothing short of react appropriately, aw-ing and ooh-in and gasping and laughing. I’d missed having her around.

In the middle of me letting Lia know that, yes, I most definitely got cleaned up after last night’s escapade and, no, Oli and I hadn’t spoken about it yet and also, no, I didn’t think Noah knew, when the door to the dressing room flew open and revealed Oli himself.

“Speak of the devil,” Lia mused and I briefly panicked about her letting Oli know just what we were talking about, even though I knew fully well she would never betray me like that.

“I could say the same about you,” Oli replied, attempting to sound cruel but unable to hide the smile on his face.

“Why on earth would you have been talking about me?”

“Oh, I wasn’t. I was referring to the part where you are the devil.”

“Oh, you bastard!” Lia exclaimed with a laugh. “You coming out with us after the show?”

“Hell no. We got an early bus call and a four-hour drive to Glasgow. And I know what you get up to, Lia.”

My heart sank a little, even though I knew Oli was only being reasonable. We did only have a few hours in the hotel before we needed to get going again. I was going to be fine, really - I planned on not getting blackout drunk and there wasn’t too much left for me to do tomorrow that I hadn’t already taken care of. Plus, I wasn’t the one who had to be up on stage that night delivering the show of their life.

“Fucking party pooper.”

“I’m so much of a party pooper that I specifically came to get you two because Bad Omens are about to start. Managed to organise some wine for you too. Good enough?”

“Just about,” Lia mused, standing up and walking past him and out of the room with the confidence only someone who had on idea which way the stage was could have. We both looked at her leave, overly amused, until I remembered she was my friend and I should probably make sure she wouldn’t get completely lost.

Oli stopped me at the door. “You gonna stop by when you get back tonight?”

“I could just text you that I got back safe, you know. It might get late.”

He slung his arm around my waist, pulling me into a side hug, a telling smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll gladly wake up for you.”

•••

I wasn’t quite sure how we ended up in Oli’s suite - a suite! Motherfucker had a suite all to himself! - playing questionable drinking games (Truth or dare? Never have I ever? 21 questions? Honestly, it was hard to tell at this point) way past midnight and maybe it was because I was a little intoxicated - not drunk, I was still aware I had a bus ride in just a few hours - but I was tipsy enough not to question it just yet.

The evening had gone something like this: Oli had, in fact, organised two bottles of wine and exclusive seats for us during the show. Lia was blown away by Bad Omens and the way Noah sang and how she couldn’t blame me at all for crushing on him. Then, Lia followed it up by being blown away by Bring Me The Horizon and their production and the Oli’s stage presence and the fact that I had somehow not banged him yet. Especially when he effectively climbed his videographer. Didn't help with the thoughts in my head either. Both of those bottles were killed by the time the show was over.

We had briefly ventured out to Lia’s favourite bar for a few shots, but had quickly realised that talking about Oli and Noah in a crowded place full of people who had just left the very concert they had performed at, wasn’t the wisest decision. So, with some more alcohol in tow, Lia had stolen my phone and texted the two men and somehow, somehow convinced them to join us for a little afterparty. Now all of us were feeling the buzz and going along with Lia’s questionable ideas.

“Worst place you’ve ever vomited?”

“Just about every single time it happened on stage, and love, it happened,” Oli laughed. Those had been the bad times. I didn’t miss them at all. I’d trade them for this version of Oli, happy, healthy, optimistic, flirty, bloody gorgeous any day.

“Alright. No need to get into that. Noah, empty your wallet and show everyone what’s inside.”

Noah didn’t hesitate, grabbing the item from the back pocket of his trousers and emptying its contents. There wasn’t too much interesting stuff in there - ID, a credit card, some loose change in more than one currency. Lia grabbed onto the condom wrappers immediately. Three of them.

“Ultra thin, extra lube, ribbed,” she read aloud. “Damn, someone knows how to treat their partners.”

Noah blushed a little under the redness that the alcohol had already flushed his cheeks with. I was pretty sure I did the same, my mind running away with thoughts. This was good. He quickly gathered them up again and stowed them away but I didn’t think he missed the way Oli raised his eyebrows at him. Surprise enough that he didn’t say anything.

“Aubrey, who would you like to kiss in this room?”

“Who wouldn’t I like to kiss!” I giggled, taking another sip of wine, even though it was starting to get to my head. Obviously.

“Well, me, hopefully, or you’ll have to deal with my wife,” Lia laughed, holding up the wedding ring on her finger. “Anyway. What caused your last relationship to break down?”

She didn’t aim the question at anyone in particular, but Noah, sweet, closed-off Noah, suddenly had an intense urge to answer.

“What didn't,” he groaned, throwing his had back and cradling the bottle in his hands. “Touring, the distance, the groupies that don’t exist, the missed phone calls, the not being enough.” He threw his hands in the air in defeat. I thought it was the most he had revealed about himself, like, ever. “And here comes the kicker. I was talking about proposing to her with the guys and looking up rings the very morning of the day she broke up with me.”

Silence engulfed us. A comment from Folio, just a few days ago, and Noah’s very unamused answer was whirling in my head, but I was too intoxicated to make perfect sense of it right now. I just knew there was a connection.

I didn’t know if telling him I was sorry would cut it. Bit of a big deal, really, finding someone to marry who drops you like that. What do you say to that? Luckily, good old Oli jumped in pretty much immediately.

“Emotionally unavailable and obsessed with myself,” he said. “Pretty sure that’s a direct quote, too. Probably not too wrong about it either.”

Apparently we were sharing break-up stories now. My turn, I decided.

“Told her that, very theoretically, mind, I would be open to polyarmory. Because, you know, I definitely think you can be in love with more than one person. And if everyone’s happy, I’m sure there’s something great about relationships that aren’t just two people. Well,” I mused, throwing back another sip of wine to keep myself going, spilling a little on my top, “all she heard was ‘this is an open relationship without any rules now’ and went and banged someone else the next day.”

The three of us looked each other, throwing pitiful looks around, realising we were all pretty fucked up in our own ways, and suddenly broke out laughing. It almost took my breath away, the intensity of the relief of sharing these little things with people so dear to me, letting them understand me a little better, understanding them a little better in return and oh god more wine on me. These jeans would have to go straight into the washing.

“Enough tearjerker stories,” Lia announced, but there was no malice in her words. “Let’s get back to the fun questions! Worst sex experience! Oli, please, I want to hear yours.”

“Alright, first one that comes to mind right now, couple of years ago, right, I hook up with this girl, all fun and games, but it’s very fucking tame, you know? And out of nowhere she just fucking chokes me. I’m not saying I don’t like it, but that proper came out of fucking nowhere. Like. Normally, you’d ease up to it, if you hadn’t talked about it.”

Suddenly, Oli seemed to be sitting much closer to Noah than before. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination. Or the light.

“You’d have your hands on them somewhere,” Oli explained, drawing out his words, as his hand landed on Noah’s chest. He was caught off guard for a moment, but silently allowed the moment to play out. “Slowly move them up, see if they enjoy it.”

Oli followed through. Noah was definitely enjoying it. I was transfixed on the display in front of me.

“Get a little skin-on-skin contact.”

His fingers were tracing the line where Noah’s shirt ended, just letting his fingertips play with the hem a little. I’d never seen Oli so gentle, but it was doing things to my body. Noah’s breathing was speeding up now, chest heaving, unable to keep it hidden. I couldn’t blame him at all.

“See how they react to your hand being closer to their throat.”

Oli’s hand moved higher, carefully stroking the skin at Noah’s neck. Noah swallowed, hard, his eyelids fluttering shut. It was as if he was loosing all control over his bodily reactions. It was intoxicating to watch.

“And maybe, you know, if they don’t move away or move your hand, you can give it a try.”

And Oli did. Wrapping his hand around Noah’s throat and squeezing a little. Just the slightest bit. Just the possibility of more. And Noah moaned.

“And that’s my cue to get myself on an uber home!” Lia declared loudly, standing up and just about catching the wine bottle that had been in her lap before it toppled over onto the carpet. She was swaying a little, quite obviously the most drunk out of the four of us and I quickly made the executive decision to accompany her downstairs and wait with her. Oli gave me a nod, a satisfied smirk on his face. Noah didn’t look at me at all, but he seemed to be questioning all his life choices.

“Girl! What’s going on between the two of them? I knew you were developing… something with both of them, you didn’t tell me about the two of them with each other!”

I awkwardly fumbled with Oli’s room key as we descended on the lift. “I don’t think they know either.”

“But, do you mind?”

I looked at her, thoughtful for a moment, almost missing the time frame to leave the lift as it arrived in the lobby. Did I mind?

“No,” I answered, without giving it any further thought, just knowing. “No, I really don’t.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Lia giggled, giving me a hug so enthusiastically it almost toppled us over. “Now go, go and get them together and then get them both for yourself.”

•••

I didn’t knock when I used the key card to get back into Oli’s room. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that I was going to be back - not only had I actively snatched the card from the desk but I had also left all my stuff in there. Still, none of us had seen the situation coming, apparently.

The first thing I saw when I entered the room was that neither Oli nor Noah were still sitting on the couch. The second thing I saw was that Oli had pressed Noah against the wall instead.

They didn’t notice me immediately, too caught up in their own world as Oli frantically pressed his lips to Noah’s. Entangled as if they simply couldn’t get close enough, one of Oli’s hands was in Noah’s hair, keeping him in place, keeping him complacent, the other running up the outside of his thigh, as Noah was pawing at Oli’s back, as if not sure what his hands were looking for, but trying all the same. My heart fluttered with… love? The door falling shut behind me caught their attention.

They didn’t jump apart. In fact, their hands were still exactly where they had left them. But both of them had turned their heads so fast it looked painful.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I grinned. “I’m very much enjoying this.”

Noah was visibly shaken up and out of breath and I wondered if that was what happened to people who got to kiss Oli Sykes, but Oli himself was in the best of moods.

“See, I heard that you went and kissed our Noah here,” he explained, slowly detaching himself from him. Noah’s body almost followed on its own account, seemingly not having enough of the other man just yet. “And I got really, really jealous. But now I’m realising that means he got to kiss you, too.”

“There’s really no need to be jealous, at all,” I replied, letting him come closer and closer, just to push him back onto the couch. Straddling his lap, my thighs on either side of his, was a logical conclusion. “You can kiss me anytime.”

There was a hint of hesitation. Something familiar in his eyes, something like home. A decade-long friendship that was begging to be ruined. I knew he saw the same in me. We’d done things with each other, things to each other, that went beyond any regular friendship. But this moment, this temptation of finally getting his mouth on mine, a kiss, felt like it weighed so much more heavily on both of us.

His hands landed on my thighs, moving up to the small of my back, giving me security and safety and all rationality be damned, I leaned down and allowed my lips to touch his.

A shockwave travelled through every inch of my being, then the tension evaporated, as if this was where I'd always meant to be. Oli was soft and pliant under me, a stark contrast to how he usually presented himself, to how he usually behaved around me even, but I indulged in the feeling, grabbing onto his arms to make them wrap around me, letting him hold me close, tightly. I couldn't stop my own hands from tracing along his torso, his neck, his face, silently mapping his body in a way I had never been allowed to before. When his tongue licked against my lips, I let him in.

The kiss became more frantic as I lost all self-control. Years and years of unfulfilled desires poured into us as I pressed myself into him. Oli tasted sweet, so much sweeter than expected, even with the beer still lingering. I could feel myself falling, deeper and deeper, like a feral animal willingly setting foot into a trap, the temptation of the bait calling too loudly to ignore.

I noticed the couch dip before my brain realised Noah was next to us. Then his hand was at the back of my head, gripping my hair and pulling me off Oli. Instantly, he had me turned toward him, Oli’s hands still on me, my body still on his lap, but now my lips were crashing into Noah’s. It was electrifying, his frantic kiss, how his lust must have built as he watched us. Oli’s mouth now at my neck, licking along my tendon, finishing it off with a soft bite.

Noah swallowed my moans easily, still holding me in place, still roughly moving my head to his own wishes. Oli was grinding up into me, his hard dick against my core making me squirm even through the layers, thoughts of what it had looked like, what he had looked like overwhelming my mind. When Noah let go of me it felt so sudden that I almost lost my balance, hands trying to find the couch table behind me as a way to steady myself. The dull noise of a bottle hitting the carpeted floor had all three of us halt in our movements.

The wine ended up on the carpet after all, like a bad metaphor for whatever the three of us had just started and might be unable to stop.

I got up from Oli’s lap, Noah also standing up as if he suddenly didn’t know where he was supposed to be anymore. The awkwardness in the room was tangible, the lines we had just crossed almost becoming visible in my mind as my tipsy brain struggled to make sense of the consequences.

When Noah and I announced our separate departures, Oli didn’t say a word, still staring at the dark red colour seeping into the plush beneath his feet. Both of us went in opposite directions in the hallway. I didn’t know if that was supposed to be a metaphor too.

#Noah Sebastian fic #Noah Sebastian #Oli Sykes fic #Oli Sykes #Noah Sebastian x reader #Oli Sykes x reader #in love with the mess

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gabessquishytum · 3 months

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Willy Wonka but Dreamling.

Dream Endless has become a complete recluse in the years following people attempting to steal his candy recipes.

When Dream sends out the silver tickets (because gold isn't really his color) Robyn gets the final ticket.

Hob, Robyn's SINGLE father, accompanies Robyn to the factory. He's very surprised that the recluse candy maker is so HOT.

Meanwhile, Dream is delighted by Robyn, especially compared to the other kids, and his father certainly isn't bad either. They are very much alike, even, for though Hob may be grown, he is still very much a child at heart.

Maybe instead of giving away his factory... he can simply invite them to live with him? Surely, they'll both provide wonderful ideas.

Besides, Dream definitely wants to break some health and safety codes with Hob, everywhere 😉👀

- 🐺

So we did have a Wonka/Charlie and the Chocolate Factory au a little while back BUT since the Glasgow Wonka Experience went viral, I think we just have to do something with that 🤣

Here's Dream, who was hired to play Wonka at this fun immersive experience for kids! Unfortunately, its not going very well. The experience definitely isn't what was advertised, kids are crying, parents are fuming! Poor Dream, it's not his fault - he was just hired to be the entertainment.

Fortunately he finds an ally in single father Hob Gadling, who is extremely amused by the shenanigans. His kid, Robyn, is on the borderlines of being too old for this experience anyway, and he finds it pretty funny too. Hob joins in with Dream’s attempts at storytelling and Robyn laughs at his (awful) jokes, so that the mob of other angry parents calm down a tiny bit and don't come for Dream with their pitchforks. It's still a disaster, though. Dream is pretty sure that he'll never get another job after this - he'll be forever known as the Terrible Wonka Guy.

Hob gives him a friendly pat on the back and hands him a business card. He runs a small family pub and he's been looking for new entertainment for birthday parties and that kind of thing. He'll be happy to give Dream the gig if he wants it. Dream is so grateful, he kisses Hob on the cheek - and of course someone gets a picture. Gay Wonka Experience goes horribly viral, but Dream doesn't care. He's got a potential job, AND a date!

#🐺 anon #the sandman #dreamling

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vivisectedvitality · 23 days

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"i don't believe in god, so you're the only one to whom i can pray"

cw: prior mcd, brief suicidal ideation

ghost sits in the front pew of a tiny catholic church in russia. his skin prickles underneath his gear, rifle sat next to him on the bench. he shouldnt be here. he shouldnt be sticking his neck out like this when theyre so close to catching makarov. practically at his front door price had said. or was it gaz. he cant remember very many small details right now.

the church has all the same fittings as the one they held johnny's service at. it's much less ornate though. he thinks johnny might have liked this one better. less frills, much simpler than the drawn out affair they'd had in glasgow. ghost sticks his hand in one of the pockets of his tac vest and figets with the warped bullet fragments in it.

his eyes are drawn to a statue to the side of the altar. its of a woman, eyes looking skyward. she's got swords encircling her, something like a halo over her head. he can't remember her name. something about wounds and sorrow. ghost scoffs, fist tightening in his pocket. the shards of metal dig into his palm.

there's a shift in the constant cloud cover outside, and a solitary beam of sunlight shines through a small window behind the altar. it filters perfectly through the stained glass, casting the pew ghost is on in muted reds and blues. he releases his grip on the metal pieces in his pocket and removes his hand from it, slumping in his seat. blessed sunshine. there's something he could worship. after all these weeks, either holed up inside or underground or living under steel grey skies he felt like some kind of prayer of his had been answered.

it gives him an idea. a bad one, but those seem to be the only kind he can come across these days.

ghost pulls off his gloves, one finger at a time, and sets them on the pew. he flexes his fingers and puts them together like he'd seen people do when they were in church, like he'd seen johnny's mother do after he'd told her that her boy would be coming home in a body bag. he shuffles forward and down until creaky knees make contact with creaky wood, and he waits for the words to come.

but they don't. he sits there for long minutes and nothing comes out. the small beam of sunlight dissappears back into the constant grey, leaving him in the half light of the abandoned church again. he drops down to sit on his calves. the backs of his shoes are digging into his ass and the edge of the pew is jabbing into his vest. he should get up. but he doesn't. he can't. if this is it, the end of makarov, what may be the end of ghost himself, he's going to get through to johnny one way or another, even if he has to sit here on his knees for hours to believe in his god.

another idea occurs to him. it's worse than the first. but he's sick of failing, so he tries anyway.

ghost reaches up and pulls his mask off, tossing it into the seat behind him. he regains his earlier posture, kneeling with his legs straight, hands clasped together, looking up through the window like the statue was.

simon opens his mouth. closes it again. shuts his eyes.

"johnny."

his voice is rough with disuse, breaking on the word. he clears his throat, purses his lips. starts again.

"johnny. dunno if you can hear me. all i know you're just dust in the wind now."

he flexes his interlocked fingers, trying to soothe their urge to pull his mask back on.

"i can't pray for you, can't bring myself to. seems selfish, sure but its facts. cause if theres someone up there watchin' then why the fuck wasn't it me instead'a you. man like me ought to croak before a man like you. bloody fuckin' waste otherwise."

simon knocks his forehead to his knuckles and sighs.

"but now i guess. guess i'll trust you to do that. watch my six. always did johnny, always."

he squeezes his hands together.

"we're going after him, soap, no fuckin about this time. we'll get him. i'll get him for you."

his trigger finger twitches.

"help me get him for you. don't let me fall until he does. don't let me breathe my last until his goddamn skull's caved in. please."

part of the weight he's been carrying since that cold day in november slides off him.

"all the shit i do now is for you johnny. woulda left if price hadn't kept chasing the bastard. woulda gone to meet you off the side of that cliff. everything i do is for you now."

he thinks about the mountains of bodies they've gone through to get this close, the rivers of blood that have stained his shoes so badly he's replaced them twice in four months. he thinks about torture sessions that lasted days, men screaming for their mothers in the pitch blackness of underground cells.

he thinks of fights with price he had to be physically dragged away from, about gaz clocking him across the face after simon had said they didn't care their sergent was gone.

"we'll finish the job. whatever state we're in."

" 'n when i blow his brains out i'll think of you."

he blinks his eyes open to find the whole church bathed in sunlight.

#HOLY SHIT I WROTE SUMMAT! MA GET THE CAMERA #ghoap #ghostsoap #soapghost #mw iii #incoming transmission // 📡#fic // 📖

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usafphantom2 · 3 months

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18th March 1945. First flight of the Douglas AD/A-1 Skyraider attack aircraft. Rugged, long ranged and able to carry up to 8,000lbs of ordnance, it arrived too late for the Second World War. Skyraiders saw extensive use in Korea, and despite being gradually replaced by jets, continued into service in Vietnam.

Pictured:

1) Prototype XBT2D-1. The aircraft was optimised from the outset for ground attack, with a long loiter time, armour protection and the largest possible payload.

📷 historynet.com

2) An AD-4 Skyraider of (VA) 65 launches from the carrier Philippine Sea for a combat mission over Korea in 1951. It was during the Korean War that the Skyraider solidified its reputation as one of the finest attack and close air support aircraft ever built, though over 100 were lost in combat.

📷 history.navy.mil

3) A number of Skyraider variants were developed, including an Airborne Early Warning (AEW) platform. These were used by the Royal Navy before the arrival of the Fairey Gannet in 1960. The same AN/APS-20 radars from the Skyraiders were first used by their replacements, then on the Shackleton AEW.2 until 1991! In this photo, the first aircraft are being delivered in Glasgow, November 1951.

📷©️IWM A 32018A

4) Although US Navy Skyraiders flew their last mission over Vietnam in early 1968, the ‘Spad’ continued in operation with the USAF until 1972, covering Search and Rescue missions. This aircraft, pictured in June 1970, is carrying a typical mixed load of gunpods, rockets and bombs in addition to the 4x20mm wing guns. Incredibly, Skyraiders shot down two MiG 17s, but 266 were lost, almost all to ground fire.

📷 armytimes.com

@JamieMctrusty via X

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superconductivebean · 2 months

Text

#919: imelda headcanons post

Whilst writing something anything for my wlw OTP's and OT3 has me in a perpetual state of stagnant gaze at the nearly empty sheet, I thought, what if I go full delulu and out of the writing way again.

If you've been following me for a while, you might've noticed this tag, #utlitd brainrot. It is the reservation for my magnum opus fic, its abbreviated name, yadda yadda yadda. I don't post about it often assumed it'll be super tiring to have my ramblings look nice -- even though this work is my MC's entire storyline lmao.

Anyhow, while working on it lots I've become to sit on some ideas and headcanons and -- not sharing them. I'm a criminal for this. I plea guilty. Some headcanons are brainrot-derived and marked as such.

Assuming you've not scrolled past my little hello note, IMELDA REYES HEADCANONS:

Butch lesbian. Accepted herself rather well but she was soon to realise finding someone isn't just a challenge, it's a quest;

Half-Spanish, Half-Scottish. Her grandparents and part of the family left Spain, fleeing the tumultuous change of its regimen;

Was born in Glasgow, Scotland. If the family decided to stay in Spain or to move back, would've attended Beauxbatons instead;

Relatives from the father's side live in Seville, mother's side of the family is stretched across Orkney Islands;

Learnt to ride the broom there btw, she's well-accustomed to the weather and especially, weather changes. If to name one of the reasons she is an amazing Chaser, this would be one of them;

Not as much of a headcanon as it is a tiny essay but! She doesn't like Seekers for a very peculiar reason, if not to downright call it a fundamental difference between a skill-dependent play and a luck-dependent play. She often irates at Seekers: they bask in attention and praised for their skill -- but Chasers rarely have a fraction of that, as if they perform a rotten work! That's her opinion. Bar in the grand scheme of things, Seekers are the different breed of team players. They have to count numbers and be on a constant chase & lookout for the snitch in order to win in numbers. 150 points for the snitch is only 15 times quaffle gets through the rings; you could imagine a scenario when 150 points aren't enough if not for the Chasers' work;

This one is pretty much implied canon: she doesn't like Gryffindors because a Gryffindor caused her father a permanent injury ('took his knees out', gruesome), hence he's disabled and can't walk on his own -- and has been unable to walk since his school years. Imelda is unlikely to had seen him riding a broom ever in her life;

Brainrot: despite the disability, her father is an avid Quidditch aficionado, goes to her every match and makes half the fannish noise because His Wee Little Mija Is Winning. He's not coming to watch her alone, in fact, half the family attends Slytherin matches. It is an important social link for Imelda;

She doesn't have many friends, if at all, which is also an implied canon (an npc slips a mean comment about her, saying she had only a broom for a friend);

Brainrot: support of the family, nonchalant attitude and dead-set goals built Imelda a sense of confidence, she knows what she wants and needs, perhaps, however, she is lacking simple silliness of life and that she isn't anyone's friend but a background celebrity weighs on her;

Brainrot: moreover, her rigid training regimen, partly inspired her childhood on the Orkney Islands, partly enforced by the former Toyoashi Tengu almost-player Madam Kogawa became to feel mundane. As she would put it, there isn't an opponent worthy of her time and skill. As I will say, it isn't as much a need in a rival as it is an ask for a feedback;

Although Imelda notes compliments make people go soft and that no one tells her she did a great job, and that she couldn't care less, she isn't truthful to herself. She needs positive feedback. However, positive feedback isn't praise for her;

After Black cancelled Quidditch for the year, Imelda took it harsh. It meant she was cut off from genuine reaction of the crowd at her play, wouldn't receive family's (dis)approve of performance, and wouldn't even have chances to train on the Pitch;

Brainrot: Imelda feels isolated, to say the least. She is naturally sensitive and quite talkative, insightful and outspoken, however, the mean attitude may have caused people to stray away from her. She does take notice of it but never seek reconciliation, knowing not many people would like to befriend her, besides, a new friend would do game if plays Quidditch or willing to challenge her, too. Time is valuable to her, it's a resource she'd like to spend on a person willing to take on and press on;

MC's timely arrival signified a potential to have someone new to get a hold of after Anne Sallow's untimely departure from the school and effectively, from the Slytherin Quidditch team. Anne was a beater;

Brainrot: to Imelda, Anne was another important social link. They weren't exactly friends but Anne's mischievous nature prompted Imelda to spend more time with her, Sebastian, and Ominis, as both pastime from Quidditch and a way to catch up with studies. Their company introduced her to students she'd normally would've not ever interacted with: Everett Clopton, Ravenclaw Keeper, disastrously ill-disciplined but overall harmless individual, yet too nonchalant to her liking; Garreth Weasley, whom she jokingly berates each time he blows up cauldrons but finds his expertise otherwise valuable whenever she needs help with Potions; Poppy Sweeting, a girl that alerts her to something but she hadn't a clue to what for quite an amount of time, she just knew she wasn't an another meek Hufflepuff; I imagine, @catohphm's Danny, Ravenclaw Seeker, would've been introduced to Imelda, too;

Brainrot: if u thought her and poppy had slowburn mutual pinning 300k words until the first kiss kind of thing going on in my head u are not wrong it is basically canon to me they're so different and unsure about each gesture -- or a suspicion there was an one -- it's as cute as it is silly as it is u just name it im gonna cry

She and @boxdstars' Amara probably are in each other's support group even after they completed the Find Girlfriend quest;

Imelda could use more sleep;

A straight O-student in Herbology and a straight E-student in DADA and Charms;

Has a deep respect for Aesop Sharp: if he finds it in himself to go and teach a bunch of dimwits how to brew potions out of seemingly sheer passion for the subject (he's able to tell the colour of the potion is wrong while nose deep into grading papers), just like her father is always eager to attend her games despite and in spite of his injury, she totally can be as motivated for Quidditch. Whenever someone has anything disparaging to say about Sharp, she would admit, she takes it personally;

What she also takes personally are mean comments and the lack of genuine interaction, and appreciation for who she really is. She's stuck, however: she is mean when there has to be insight, she is brash where it needs to be reflection, she simply shatters when she is wrong or pointed out her reasoning does loops and meandering.

The girl is lonely and insecure, she is naturally abrasive but isn't a massive bitch bomb; stubborn, easily dismayed by a sass response, I would also say, she is very capable of being meek or show at least some weakness when privy because upholding a veneer of someone tough but who isn't really her is a very emotionally tasking endeavour.

and if u'd like more imelda hcs including nsfw ones feel free to send me an ask 👉👈

some tags: @thriftstorebabayaga -- look it is breaching containment again @ladyofsappho @celestial--sapphic @rypnami @endeavour12345

#днявочка #eng tag #днявочка: hlegacy #utlitd brainrot #hogwarts legacy #imelda reyes #hogwarts inquires #poppy sweeting #днявочка: фандомное

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3terna15unshin3 · 11 months

Text

Consumption

Este sees 'Consumption' in person

2259 words

warnings: !! 18+ !! smut, minors dni, public unprotected sex, dom!matty if u squint, filth in general

—

a/n: Heyyyyy nobody requested even anything similar to this but I had a vision and needed to fulfil it ok thank u love u enjoy

(I wrote an entire 15 chapter fic of this universe! Read it here if you want more Matty and Este😌)

—

Luckily, by the time the UK and Ireland leg of their tour came around, Este was able to work remotely and travel along with them. It was cold and gloomy—London pulling through with its regular dreariness—so she was happy to have at least a bit of a change of scenery.

Until now, she was forced to watch from afar, only seeing photos and videos of the North American shows back in autumn. But of course, Matty was completely open with her as the show as a whole came to fruition; its set design and artistic concepts always shared between the couple. So none of it (even the parts that were as jarring as watching footage of her boyfriend chowing down on raw meat) came as a surprise for Este. That was until she got to experience it in front of her own two eyes.

Brighton was the first show. 8th of January. Her feet were perched to the side of the stage, swaying happily to the familiar songs and watching Matty perform them with an inflated ego and sly smirk on his face.

She thought the persona was quite hot. The heat in her cheeks heightened every time he made cocky gestures and pranced around with purposeful pride. Este had already seen plenty of videos of ‘consumption’, and had her own fun with them; teasing Matty about how much the concept exposed him and how crazy it made the crowd go. They were feral for him. So was she, to be fair.

Seeing his bare chest heave up and down—too similarly to how Este easily made it move when they were alone together—made her go insane. Her eyes stung when she refused to blink, busy staring at Matty’s hand trailing over his crotch. Este wasn’t expecting it to have such a strong effect on her, assuming that either the thousands of people also watching him or the fairly profound purpose of the act would water down the sensuality of it. But fuck, it was hot. She could practically hear the sound of his moans in the back of her ear even though he was metres away.

That first night was difficult enough; having to stand and look as if she wasn’t hot and bothered by what went on in front of her eyes. Watching it over and over, night after night, served even harder.

So over half way through the leg, now in Glasgow, Este couldn’t help herself. She’d been particularly touchy during the day but that wasn’t all that unusual, so Matty still wasn’t expecting her to whisper “Come fuck me after consumption,” in his ear before he went on. She meant business. The sentence replayed in the back of his mind as he strummed at his guitar, internally begging the set to move faster so he could climb through the little telly and flip the place upside down to find Este.

When the time finally arrived and he plonked his bum on the sofa, Matty imagined it was her hand on his skin and slipping past the waistband of his pants. He even discretely gave his nipple a quick squeeze and whined at the sensation. It wasn’t very convincing, feeling the roughness of his hand and how it contrasted to how delicate hers were, but fantasizing about Este wasn’t anything new to him—so he had to snap himself out of it before his arousal began to show.

Matty shook his head and chuckled to himself as he did press up after press up. The power those short 5 words uttered by his girlfriend was unfathomable. She knew it would make him less focused and throw him off his game; but that’s why she did it, and he could tell. Este wanted the upper hand. He considered giving in to it—but today he wanted to toy with her. It was only fair if she was clearly trying to toy with him.

So, right as he stood up after crawling off stage, he grabbed George and the first stage manager in sight.

“Loop the Too Shy intro. I need it to play twice,” Matty instructed.

They looked as confused as ever. “What are you on about?” asked the drummer.

Matty glanced past George and caught sight of Este. Leaning against a random doorway and burning her gaze into his. He didn’t waste any time and bee-lined towards her.

“Just do it. And maybe a warning through my ears at 90 seconds out? Please? I owe you one!” He trailed off, eventually turning fully away from them and jogging to Este with desperation. Before he could leave completely, Matty remembered to grab the small pile of clothes that sat ready for him, taking them with.

Este grinned at the conversation she overheard and at the state of Matty, who suddenly yanked her hand to drag them both into the room she stood in front of. It seemed to be a storage room, cramped full of random stage equipment and dimly lit. He slammed the door behind them.

“You found me.” She commented.

Instead of responding, Matty pulled her in by the back of her neck and kissed her with an open mouth. His new outfit for when he had to re-enter the stage was discarded to the floor. She smiled into him, grabbing his hips so they were flush against hers. Her back thumped onto the back of the door, Matty holding her there as their mouths moved in sync with hungriness.

They broke apart to gasp for air. “The fuck are you doing asking me to fuck you right before I go on?” he intensely whispered, dipping his lips down to her neck. Este panted and clenched her thighs together.

“I didn’t ask you to fuck me, I told you to.”

He continued nipping at her skin, then shoved his leg between Este’s—the top of his thigh rubbing her clit through her pants. She moaned, reaching her hand to grip him over his pants.

Matty shook his head and removed her hand from his crotch. “Uh uh uh. You don’t get to touch me,” he scolded, hearing her giggle in response. “Think it’s funny? Making me have to try and not get hard in front of all those people?”

She nodded.

Warmth grew in Este’s stomach within seconds, already wet beneath her knickers. His thigh kept at it as their lips reconnected and their tongues licked into each other’s mouths, before he reached a hand into the front of her pants, using his fingers against her instead. She moaned loudly, making Matty clamp his other hand over her lips. Even the now muffled noise made blood rush to his cock.

“I bet you always get this wet when you watch me up there,” He rubbed circles on her clit at a dizzying speed.

“I do,” Este whispered behind his hand, choking her words out as she tried to hold in her moans. “There’s no time to faff around. Fuck me, baby, please—“

Matty abruptly turned her around with his arm still wrapped around her and hand still down her knickers. His swollen lips pressed to the side of her jaw.

“Beg for it, then.” he breathily called next to her ear.

Mouth slack and gasping now that Matty’s hand was no longer trapping it, Este’s eyes rolled back into her head as he increased the pressure on her clit and teased further south to her entrance. It was slick with wetness and she clenched with need, whining at how empty she was.

“Fuck me now, Matty. Please, I need more. I need you,”

“So fucking needy. Such a slut for me,” He saw her face twist with at his words. “Think you can take it?”

He bent her over and held her wrists behind her back. With his other hand, Matty took down her trousers—pulling her underwear to one side and revealing her dripping core.

“Yes, I can take it,” she panted, “Use me however you want, please,”

Este looked over her shoulder to see him then free his cock; so hard it looked painful. He gave himself a few pumps before sliding in at an annoyingly slow pace. She gasped at how he filled her up.

“Fuck,” groaned Matty, revelling at the tight feeling around him. “Always so tight.”

He pulled out almost all the way just to shove himself back in at the same speed.

“More, baby,” Este begged, beginning to lean back to meet his sluggish thrusts half way, desperate for a quicker release. Matty listened, suddenly pounding into her relentlessly. He still had her wrists in the grip of his left hand while his right steadied her hips. In complete control, like he wanted.

The new speed and the sound of his hips slapping against hers slipped Este deeper into the trance of pleasure she was buried in. She felt him deep inside of her, grazing all of the right places over and over. Mindlessly, Este clenched around him, craving every inch of his cock and wanting to feel even closer to him.

The action drew a low groan from Matty’s throat and encouraged him to mutter, “You’re perfect, E,” with passion. He stared down at the way he disappeared inside of her and snapped his hips even harder.

Their heads were so hazy that they couldn’t tell if there were minutes until Matty had to be back onstage or if they’d been fucking for far too long. And at that point, neither of them really cared. But the thrill of having only a few thin walls and a bit of stuffy space between the two of them and thousands of other people had them both not lasting very long. The door wasn’t even locked.

Matty finally set her arms free, pulling her upright and sitting her head in the crook of his neck and shoulder. His chest pressed against her back. One hand found itself wrapped around her throat while the other teased her clit again as he railed into her. Este cried out at the sudden pressure on her sensitive core and leaned her head over to bite on his neck, in attempts to silence herself.

“Keep going and you’ll make me come,” she spluttered through the euphoria.

His bottom lip sat pinned behind his teeth, eyes closed in pleasure. “Good girl.” whispered Matty. He was focused—chasing his high as his girl milked him—wanting the same for her.

Este’s legs began to quiver, knees almost buckling beneath her, but the rush of Matty’s fingers pressing firmly on either side of her throat pushed her over the edge. The ecstasy in her lower belly snapped and she leaned further back in his neck, whimpering his name as she came.

He wasn’t far behind her; only seconds going by before he struggled to sustain the pace and force he’d set for himself, feeling the edge of his climax. The slickness that grew within her cunt as she was coming felt unreal around him.

“Where do you want me, love?” Matty grunted, now holding most of Este’s body weight up with an arm across her lower stomach—overstimulated and in so much pleasure it was painful.

“Inside me. Come inside me,” she pleaded messily, peering over her shoulder at him again. A few pieces of his hair stuck to his forehead with the layer of sweat that built there. He breathed with an open mouth and stared back at her, completely fucked out and looking like sex itself.

He listened, thrusting one last time and shooting his cum far into her. Este moaned at the warmth she felt when it happened. “Shit,” Matty said with a shriek.

Their hot and heavy breaths fell into sync with one another as they attempted to catch them, Matty still buried inside her. She grabbed his jaw to turn it and sloppily tangle her lips in his.

And before he could even pull out, he heard the stage manager through his inears, followed by Too Shy’s instrumental.

“90 seconds. Matty stand by, please.”

They froze in panic for a second but quickly realised that stopping was the opposite of what needed to be done. So, he pulled out—though he really didn’t want to—Este hissing at the overload of sensation. She bent back over, knowing the sight of his seed dripping out of her would rile Matty back up.

It did. And he didn’t appreciate her teasing him when he had seconds to get himself stage-ready. Getting hard again would be extremely inconvenient, unfortunately, thought Matty, as he tucked himself back into his boxers and began stripping completely to get into his second outfit.

Watching his white cum flow out of Este did hypnotise him. So the only thought that popped into his foggy post-sex brain was to take his tongue and lick it up.

Este gasped and whimpered once more at the feeling, before Matty turned her around and tugged her jaw open. Then, he forcefully spit it—a combination of his saliva and both of their cum that he’d just cleaned up—onto her tongue.

“Swallow it.” he commanded. She followed his word. “We always taste so good together, don’t you think?”

Slightly stunned, Este nodded her head up and down to agree. He pecked her on the lips, all while doing up the final buttons on his shirt and shrugging on the suit jacket. Then, he slipped out of the door.

“Break a leg,” she joked before it shut behind him.

Matty rolled his eyes with a smile and Este heard his hurried footsteps disappear towards the sea of Scottish fans.

#tbsg #blurb #meste blurb #matty healy #the 1975 #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x oc #the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy fic #smut #matty healy smut

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itgirlgyu · 1 year

Text

˖ ֗ txt and big spoons!

⋆ ࣪ 🌿 ミ i have no idea what goes in my head. ot5! x fem! reader.

ਏਓ... WORD COUNT/ 1265!

.... WARNING: IT GETS MORE AND MORE UNHINGED AS YOU GO DOWN! extremely unrealistic. ִ° ⋆

yeonjun...

so we already know that our boy likes his bites large.

likes why is it even called mouthful if you're not getting a glasgow smile.

so when you wake up one day at night and when you're going to the bathroom next to the kitchen.

you hear something and you grab your barbed baseball bat that you keep beside the fridge that you use whenever beomgyu barges in crying for more doritos

you tiptoe to the kitchen and you see a silhouette moving.

with one hand on the switch and another gripping the bat you're ready to swing.

but you come face to face with your boyfriend stuffing a big ass spoon of his favourite ice cream into his mouth.

it being lodged in a way that he can't even yell.

but you can

so you yell and he's surprised and working on his instinct he flings the tub at you to defend himself

because he hadn't registered that it's his girlfriend.

so now he's icing your forehead on the floor of the kitchen while apologising profusely while you sit there contemplating how he even stuck that huge spoon into his mouth.

soobin…

he's a big spooner, like the actual term of it.

and he likes to assume he's the ever loving cute boyfriend who loves to cuddle

but the problem is that everytime he spoons you

you feel like getting smothered by a giant monster that could only be conjured by lovecraft.

you know the creator of cthulhu.

his extra large, lanky limbs snaking on top of you like a very familiar scene of a specific genre of anime.

not hentai, it's when you get strangled by said tentacles in hentai.

and you refuse to tell him that because you know he will get sad

you'd rather squeeze fresh lemon into your eyes before telling soobin what is equivalent to,

"your love smothers me."

so after days of contemplation, and suffrage you come up with the perfect way to save both you and your relationship.

everytime you feel his hold getting tighter and your oxygen level depleting

you just punch him slightly in the gut which causes him to turn back times and if he wakes up you pretend to sleep.

so he won't be able to bring it up with you.

and once he's a bit away from you.

you distance yourself from him, so that you're able to sleep without having to worry about dying randomly on a wednesday night.

beomgyu ...

beomgyu is literally a thumbelina.

he's so tiny and precious and adorable.

you had never thought much of it.

probably because you were like, oh yeah my boyfriend is so adorable.

what you didn't know is that he's keeping a secret from you.

so this one time, you were eating your breakfast in the afternoon, as one does.

with your milk poured in the bowl, you get a call as you leave to pick it up.

beomgyu appears and he is like,

"wheee a big bowl of milk."

and then takes most of his clothes off and transforms into a tiny little fairy and dives into the bowl of milk to give himself a good, beautifying bath to begin his day.

but his relaxation soon turns into panic when he notices your figure approaching.

so beomgyu resorts to hiding in the milk, but as you pour the cereal into the bowl.

his stress level keeps on climbing on a peak he didn't know he was capable of.

beomgyu knew his love for you would consume him one day but he didn't expect you to consume him before it happened.

that too literally.

beomgyu is thanking everybody and seeking forgiveness for every and any sin he has committed in his lifetime as you take a spoonful of your breakfast.

beomgyu feels as though his time has finally come when he finds himself lodged on your normal spoon, which now is a giant vessel of death for him, with a few of the fruitloops to keep him company.

but maybe his stress level had reached its ultimate peak and broken the meter because before you can even grasp the little bug looking thing is actually your boyfriend.

beomgyu appears before you, drenched in milk in only his underwear.

and that's how you find out that your boyfriend is a shape shifting pocket fairy.

at first you were like okay that's weird, that's suspicious.

now having him everywhere is kind of cute.

but i'm afraid yall became that couple.

those who don't even go to the bathroom without each other.

taehyun…

taehyun is not a violent person by nature.

that's what you always assumed.

like you saw this man was well known in the campus for annihilating your three lineages without speaking a curse word.

so yeah everyone knows how dangerous he might have been despite being a man of non-violence.

but that all changed then you were practicing a ritual to debut as the new witch in your clan around 3:33 am.

the last thing you expected was taehyun rushing in behind a panicked huening kai, who missed your pentagon by mere inches, and behind him was taehyun holding a metal spoon in his hand, probably aiming at huening kai.

you don't know what happens next but as soon as taehyun steps on the ring, it triggers some sort of lights to go off and taehyun starts levitating.

and before you can see what had transpired, taehyun had disappeared.

right before your eyes.

because of your ritual.

you were rightfully panicking, dialling your coven leader's number with your shaky fingers when a dishevelled taehyun appeared back into the circle.

the spoon was gone and taehyun looked extremely traumatized with his clothes tattered and donning a stubble.

"i think i altered history…"

and then next day you find out that taehyun shortly became the closest assistant of isaac newton because after the apple fell on him and taehyun's spoon punted from his hands to isaac newton's head, further proving the theory of gravity.

also later you both find out it was his 200 IQ and the vibrations from his metal spoon that flung him back in the past.

huening kai…

he's your local superhero.

but he's still new so he's kind of still clumsy but he's so cute.

always says it's the power of community and love that helped him save the day.

and half of the population believes him, because his control over his power is um…

like if you knock into the windows of a high rise building, and crash into the stalls along the street because you haven't learned when to stop and brake properly.

public isn't gonna love you all the time.

but it's still cute to some people I guess.

cause other half of the population find it extremely adorable!

and he got like 6 fan pages.

if we avoid the 10 other hate pages.

so how you knew him is one of the days he was practicing his flying after drinking three cans of red bulls.

it started fine, until it wasn't.

and before huening kai could gather his thoughts he comes crashing in through the open balcony of your living room.

proceeding to break half of the stuff in there.

with his mouth open, because screaming obviously.

the spoon full of chocolate cake you were holding in front of your face placing itself perfectly inside his mouth.

breaking his acceleration and causing him to stop skidding.

with your spoon stuck in his mouth.

"wow that's a big spoon but good cake, did you make it?"

@ITGIRLGYU 2023/ FEEDBACKS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

PERM' TAGLIST: @impureperhaps @full-sunnies

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