#yes the title is a double entendre

[cyanidecravings]

mill + 🐱

#onlyoneof #온리원오브 #mill #lee yongsoo #junji #kim junhyung #yes the title is a double entendre #because junji = 🐱 #mill was so cute here i just had to gif him #junmill and their tom & jerry behaviour #gif

[wowbright]

Fic: Prodding

Klaine Advent 2022: recast

Words: ~ 3000 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Kurt gets surprising news from Mercedes.

I’m back with more vignettes from my Mormon!Klaine universe for Klaine Advent 2022! This vignette takes after Philosophies of Men.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost.

--------

“No!” Kurt shrieked from the kitchen at such an ear-splitting volume, Blaine almost cut himself with the razor. “This is not happening!”

Blaine went into emergency management mode. His heart pounded, but he made himself take deep, steady breaths. If Kurt had hurt himself, it wouldn't help to have both of them panicking.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Blaine asked as he rushed into the kitchen. Kurt sat at the table, staring at the letter from Mercedes. Ah, not a physical wound then, but an emotional one. That might be even worse.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, his cheeks flushing a ruddy pink. “Sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud.”

Blaine sat next to him. “It's OK. Is it something you want to talk about?”

“You still have shaving cream …” Kurt pointed vaguely to Blaine’s neck.

“That's OK. I was almost done. If it's uneven, I can touch it up later.” Blaine grabbed the face towel that was draped over his shoulder and dabbed at his skin. “Presentable?”

“I'm not the right person to ask, Blaine. I always think you're presentable.”

Blaine felt the edges of his ears go hot. This felt like flirting. Was this flirting? No, of course not. Kurt was in the middle of having strong emotions. That's why Blaine was here. “Um, so I'm guessing Mercedes said something that upset you?”

Kurt set the letter down and buried his face in his hands. “It shouldn't. I don't know why it does.”

Blaine tried to think of situations in which that phrase could apply. He wondered if Mercedes was having a once-in-a-lifetime event—a wedding, a Broadway premiere—that Kurt couldn't be there for because he was here in Germany. Kurt would deny himself the right to feel sad about it, because missionaries were supposed to be happy to make sacrifices. “So, good for Mercedes, but bad for you?”

“No.” Kurt muttered through his fingers. “Good for me, and bad for Mercedes.”

Blaine drew a blank. "How so?"

“It’s … I swear, if I had any other mission companion than you, I wouldn't be able to share my disappointment with this. And maybe you won't get it, but ... I'll give it a shot.” Kurt had uncovered his face by now, but was looking away from Blaine, his gaze set on the kitchen window. His voice was full of foreboding. “She's meeting with the missionaries.”

Blaine didn't understand the sentence at first, it was so far removed from any of the terrible-type news he might have expected. He had to play it over in his head a couple of times before he processed it. “Wait. That's good, isn't it?”

“She's black, Blaine.”

“Right.” Blaine still wasn’t following.

“You're the one who woke me up to the church's problems with racism. How can I, in good conscience, support her investigating a church that sees her as less?”

Oh. Blaine knew the things he had told Kurt about Brigham Young had shaken him, but he hadn't realized how much. For Blaine, the racism of the second prophet of the restoration was disturbing, but it was part of a larger picture. Because Blaine didn't have blind faith in the leadership, even their worst actions couldn't harm his faith in the goodness of the church or its ability to bring people closer to the truth.

Blaine suddenly understood that, for someone like Kurt, who had spent his whole life thinking Brigham Young was as perfect as Joseph Smith or Jesus Christ, learning he wasn’t would make him question all his beliefs.

It was like those looms Kurt had shown him at the Deutsches Museum. There were ones that made fabric by weaving many different strands together, and others that did so by knitting a single strand into a sweater or an enormous piece of cloth. Blaine’s faith was like woven fabric—if you pulled out a single thread, the worst that could happen was a small gap in the fabric. And this wasn’t always a bad thing—sometimes clothmakers did this intentionally, to create texture and beauty in an otherwise monotonous design.

But Kurt’s faith was like a knitted fabric—if you pulled too hard on a thread, the entire thing would eventually unravel. There was no upside.

Blaine have never meant to damage Kurt’s faith like that. He'd meant to enrich it.

“I'm sorry, Kurt. I didn't realize how much that affected you. But Brigham Young's been dead for more than a hundred and thirty years. He said and taught horrible things and, yes, a lot of our members believed them far after they should have known better. But that doesn't mean the church is inherently racist—just that it’s made mistakes. Our leaders have flaws. That’s why we have the guidance of the Holy Ghost—to confirm or disaffirm the things they’ve told us.”

Kurt looked skeptical. He broke a cookie into quarters, but didn't put any of the pieces into his mouth. “It’s not just Brigham Young. Black members were kept out of the temple until 1978. The temple, Blaine. The place we need to go to be with our families forever.”

“And that's awful. But I think of those leaders before 1978 the same way I think of Brigham Young. They were wrong. And the thing I hold onto is that they eventually came to understand they were wrong, and they repented. Do you know about Bruce R. McConkie? As an apostle, he taught that black people were spiritually inferior to everyone else on earth. But when the revelation came ending the priesthood ban, he said, ‘Forget everything that I have said, or what President Brigham Young … or whomsoever has said in days past that is contrary to the present revelation. … We have … a new flood of intelligence and light on this particular subject, and it erases all the darkness and all the views and all the thoughts of the past. They don’t matter anymore.’”

“But they do matter, Blaine. Because those policies hurt real people. And racism is still a problem in the church. All these pasty missionaries from the Mormon Corridor who want to pretend they can't see color, the fact that we can't sing gospel music in sacrament meeting because it’s too ‘ethnic’—”

“Yes. And that’s bad. Of course it’s bad. But it’s a problem everywhere, Kurt, inside the church and out of it.” Blaine spoke from experience. He'd been made to feel inferior for not being one-hundred percent white by some church members, but he'd also been made fun of for it at school and in playgrounds, too.

Kurt scoffed. “Not in Mercedes’ church! Everyone there is black. At least, almost everyone. The first time I went there with Mercedes, after I got over feeling out of place, I started noticing how comfortable she felt there. Just—safe, you know? In a way I hadn’t seen anywhere else. She wouldn't get that at one of our wards. She'd be surrounded by white people, just like she is everywhere else.”

Blaine was struck with a sense of longing. He wondered what it would be like, to be in a place like that. He often passed as white, but that still didn't mean he felt one-hundred percent safe in groups of white people. There was always the risk, even among the seemingly nicest folks, that someone would start making ethnic jokes or ranting about immigrants. And while he didn't have to worry about that as much when he visited the Philippines, there were so many cultural nuances he didn't understand, besides the fact that his Tagalog was terrible and his English was so obviously American-accented. It left him feeling like he did much of the time in his early days in Germany, on constant alert.

If a sense of belonging was so hard to come by, it couldn't be the only thing you considered in choosing a church. “Look. If she feels a pull toward the gospel, then she feels a pull toward the gospel. I've been a minority in every ward I’ve ever attended. But the church still works for me. What did she say in her letter about it, anyway?”

Kurt looked down at the letter and huffed. “Not much. Just ‘In Chicago for an entire month! Met a pair of female missionaries on the L train and have talked a couple times. They gave me a Book of Mormon—sorry, Kurt I didn't bring the one you gave me in high school on tour with me.’ Then she put in a smiley face. ‘It’s interesting. I like the story about the tree of life. We should talk about it when you get back! We’ll be in Columbus…’ et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.”

“OK. Well, that doesn't sound like she's on the verge of converting. Maybe she's just bored. I understand those national theater tours can be grueling.”

Kurt scowled at his scuffed CTR ring, twisting it back and forth over his finger. “I don't even know if that's what I'm upset about. Maybe I'm just angry at myself. You know how much time I spent trying to convert her in high school? Because I thought this church was the best option for everyone. And because she was the only girl I could remotely see myself marrying, and if that was the case, she had to convert. I wasn't going to go through the sacrifice of marrying a woman unless it was a temple marriage. Which, honestly … how many lectures did we get in priesthood quorums about not objectifying the sisters? But isn't looking at a woman as a ticket into heaven objectifying, too? I never considered her feelings about it. If it was good for me, it was good for her. But now, thinking about her reading the Book of Mormon and reading some of the stuff in there—It makes me feel queasy, Blaine.”

Blaine thought he knew what “stuff” Kurt was alluding to. “You mean about the Lamanites been cursed with the skin of blackness? If she's talking to the missionaries, they'll explain it to her the same way we explain it to investigators. That it’s a metaphor, like when we say someone is having ‘dark thoughts.’”

“Do you really believe that, though? Because if Brigham Young was a racist, then maybe Joseph Smith was, too. Maybe he put some of his own opinions into the Book of Mormon.”

“No. First of all, Joseph Smith wasn't a racist. He ordained black men. Second of all, God’s not a racist, so the Book of Mormon can’t be racist, either. It’s the one that tells us God ‘denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male female.’ Even the Bible doesn’t say that.”

Kurt studied Blaine dubiously, then picked up one of the long-abandoned pieces of cookie he'd left on his plate and popped it into his mouth. He chewed it completely before speaking. “I just can't stop thinking about when Elder St. James told me about the doubts Elder Thompson was having. It wasn’t just vague, generic doubts. Elder St. James went through this whole list of specific passages in the Book of Mormon and the Pearl of Great Price that Elder Thompson said were racist. And I've been reading over them since and … Blaine. If I take my believer goggles off, if I really look at the passages and take what they say at face value, without trying to find a reason they can't be as bad as they sound—they really do sound racist. I mean, the ‘skin of blackness’ passage sounds even more literal in German. In English, it says ‘because of their iniquity … the Lord God did cause a skin of blackness to come upon them,’ which—I mean, now when I read it? Interpreting that as  dark thoughts seems like a real stretch. I've heard the theory that ‘come upon’ means the same as ‘drape upon, and so ‘skin’ actually refers to ‘clothing’, and it all means that they were no longer allowed to wear the white temple clothes and were forced to dress in black once instead. But in German, it says ‘their skin became black.’ There's none of that idea of being clothed in something. And the German translation is approved by the brethren. So the whole idea of ‘skin of blackness’ being about clothes goes out the window.”

Blaine felt a little queasy. He grabbed one of the German Books of Mormon from the bookshelf and flipped open to 2 Nephi 5. “No, Kurt, that's wrong. It says ‘their skin became blackish.’”

Kurt sat back in his chair, his arms crossed. His mouth was closed, but Blaine could see his tongue moving under his cheeks and lips, probing his teeth. “And how is that any better?”

“Well, schwärzlich could also mean darkish instead of blackish, so maybe it just means their skin got dirty or … OK, it doesn't sound better. But it could still be a metaphor. Joseph Smith was translating from Reformed Hebrew. All languages have idioms that don't translate well. Maybe this is one of them.”

"Sure, maybe. Except that it keeps getting repeated over and over in the book of Mormon. Not just Nephi, but Jacob in Alma talk about good people’s skin being white and bad people’s skin being dark, and if skin means clothes in Reformed Hebrew, then why didn't Joseph Smith translate it that way? Or if it means countenance or spirit, then why doesn't Joseph Smith translate it like that?”

Kurt stood up from the table and began pacing, fidgeting with his CTR ring the whole time. Blaine hoped the jeweler would be done with his new ring soon. It would be much easier to fidget with. “When you or I translate the word ‘in’ from English into German," Kurt continued, "we pick a different word depending on the context. Sometimes it’s in, and sometimes it's im, an, auf, hinein, or unter. Der Hahn can be a rooster or a faucet, but if you're talking about a sink, you should translate it is faucet, not rooster. If Joseph Smith had the gift of translation, then he should have been able to translate things correctly. So either what was written on the golden plates was racist, or Joseph Smith translated it badly and in a way he knew would be interpreted as racist, because he was an American living in the 1830s. Which means he wasn't using his gift of translation to its full extent. Because I'm not gifted, Blaine, but I know that if a German says, ‘My grandparents live where the fox and hare say goodnight to one another,’ I can't translate it that way into English or nobody will understand what I'm saying. I have to say that their grandparents live in the middle of nowhere.”

It was a lot to take in. Blaine was all for Kurt questioning things. He'd been trying to get Kurt to do that for most of their time together, prodding Kurt to recast the beliefs that constrained him into ones that would lead to his liberation. But now, instead of Blaine being the one doing the prodding, it was Kurt. Blaine wasn't so comfortable being poked.

Maybe he could chide Kurt for spending his personal scripture study time scrutinizing passages that gave him doubts, instead of focusing on things that would help them with investigators. But that would be hypocritical, since Blaine had been spending his personal study time fawning over Song of Solomon and anything in scripture vaguely resembling a gay love story—not particularly useful for helping with investigators, either.

“Fine,” Blaine said defensively. “Maybe those passages really are racist. But that would still be a matter of men inserting their beliefs in place of God's teaching. Joseph Smith said that the Book of Mormon was the most correct book of any book on earth, not that it was perfect. And yes, Brigham Young was a racist and tons of our leaders have been racists. It was racism that kept the church from letting black members into the temple until 1978. And there are still people in the church like my granddad who lean on those false teachings, and people in the church who are well-meaning but insensitive, and maybe the leaders could do more to denounce teachings of the past.”

Blaine took a deep breath, gathering up the courage to prod back. “But I still don't understand why you think all these things make the church an unacceptable place for Mercedes. Because you’ve found a home here, despite all the terrible things the leaders have said about gay people, despite the cruel expectations they put on you. And I'm not saying you shouldn't be concerned about racism. What I don't understand is why the church’s racism is so bad that Mercedes shouldn't even be taking lessons with the missionaries, but the homophobia is so hunky-dory you can give your whole life to the church, no questions asked.”

Kurt stopped pacing. He looked like a deer caught in headlights. “That's different. Being gay is …” Kurt drifted off.

“A sin?” Blaine asked, even though it raised his bile just to speak the words. He didn't know if he was gay, but he knew what it was like to love another man. And it was the opposite of sin.

“No. Being gay isn't a sin.”

“But thinking gay thoughts is?”

Kurt shook his head. “I don't know. I don't think so.”

“Doing gay things?”

Kurt sank back into his chair and contemplated the surface of the table. “Maybe? I'm not sure. If you asked me a few weeks ago, I would've said ‘definitely.’ But if the church can be wrong about other things ... I don't know.”

“So,” Blaine said gently, “is it different at all?”

#klaine advent 2022 #klaine advent: recast #wowbright writes fic #mormon!klaine #klaine fanfiction #racism #homophobia #Long discussions about scriptural minutiae #And probably some typos #I still need to do the last valentines one #Also yes I know you can take prodding as a double entendre but I'm using it as the title anyway #Blaine may not like to be poked in this way but he sure like to be poked in some other ways

[hourcat]

It’s 3am and Charles is awake on his birthday.

Two years ago, if you’d told him this, he may have believed you—still in the throes of his late twenties, pushing for an all-nighter because the music is so good, and the drinks are covered by the bartender because he knows who Charles is. For all the demureness of his youth, Charles has always had the wildness, too—the rougher edges, ones not meant for the eyes of Maranello.

But two years is a long time. Now, Charles is awake in the wee hours of the morning because he’d sat straight up in bed when he’d heard the baby monitor go off.

Pierre, curled up beside him, groans and rolls over. “I got her last time,” he mumbles. What a difference two years makes. Back then, Charles wouldn’t have been able to figure out why a baby was crying if you paid him to. Right now, sitting with the comforter bunched up at his knees, Charles knows that Odette is crying because she had a bad dream. It’s all in the pitch, he’s learned: their little girl gets nasally when she’s feeling sick.

“It’s my birthday,” Charles mumbles back, but Pierre has already fallen back to sleep. So here he is: 3am, far too early to be awake on any day let alone his thirtieth birthday, rolling out of bed to the muted sound of Pierre snoring as he pads across their apartment to the ever-loudening cries from O’s room.

For a moment, when Charles slips in and turns on the little duck light sitting by the door, the crying stops. He watches as Odette registers him—red face calm, tear-shiny cheeks unmoving as she stares at him. Charles wonders if maybe he is going to be the baby whisperer this year and snatch the title from Pierre’s stupidly-smug face…only for the fantasy to disintegrate as Odette begins wailing again, her stuffed bunny somehow out of her crib and sitting on the floor. Maybe that’s it.

“Sweetpea,” Charles coos, sinking down to scoop the stuffed animal up. He leans over the side of the crib and hoists Odette into his free arm and offers her the toy. “What has you so worked up, hm?” Odette hasn’t quite figured out words yet, so her only way of responding is an even louder wail, which Charles can’t stop from wincing at even as he gently shakes the stuffed rabbit in front of her face. “Come on, mon petit cygne, Daddy is right here.” He leans in and plants a wet, loud kiss to her face that, for the moment, at least lowers the wailing back down to a consistent sniffle. “Daddy is here and nothing is going to happen to you.” Another kiss, less exaggerated this time, and it’s like a switch has been flipped. Odette has tempered back down into silence. “There we are, Odette. My beautiful girl. We are okay, see? You and me, we’re okay.” Charles nuzzles at the swell of her cheek and chuckles when she squeaks, a loud noise that certainly would’ve blown out his eardrum if she were any closer to his ear.

They stand there for a long moment, Charles bouncing their daughter lazily in his arms as her breathing settles back down. She’s giggling from it, one hand clutching her stuffed rabbit while the other pounds his shoulder gently, and even with the bone-deep exhaustion he feels from their too-short summer break, Charles is happy. He’s happy.

“Let’s take a walk, bebe, yes?” Admittedly, he is feeling the exhaustion more than he’d like. Odette seems to like the idea of a walk, though, which means he can at least bring her with him to the bedroom, if for no other reason than to tire her out from the movement. When he crosses the threshold of their room, though, he sees Pierre: awake, partially, and propped up against their pillows with this look on his face.

“There’s my princess,” he purrs, lifting his arms in greeting, and Charles is too tired to fight the blush that comes with his double-entendre—that Odette is his princess, but also the reminder that Charles holds that title, too. He shakes his head, plants another wet kiss to their daughter’s cheek just to listen to her squeal. “Did you wake daddy up for his birthday, mon ange?”

“She had to be the very first to tell me,” Charles answers for her solemnly. Pierre’s face breaks into a grin—free of any teasing or flirtation, just raw, unfiltered amusement. Charles swears he hasn’t seen him like this since they were kids.

“Baba,” Odette mumbles against Charles’ cheek where she’s half smashed. It…it sounds like…

“Charles,” Pierre says, voice tight with restraint, “did she just…?”

It sounds like Papa. “I don’t know, Pierre,” he whispers back, bouncing Odette in his arms a little as he walks them closer to bed. “I—it could’ve—maybe?”

“Baba!” Odette squeals, and—it’s 3 in the morning, and Charles is so tired and it sounds like their daughter is trying to say Papa on his birthday.

“Baba,” Charles repeats back to her, pointing at himself, and Pierre chokes on a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob. He knows he’s probably about to burst into tears at any moment himself. “My smart girl, what a big word!” He kisses her face again, squishing her cheek in the process, and Odette’s laughter is right in his ear again and he is so, so impossibly happy.

“Baba,” Pierre echoes back softly. He beckons for them to join him in bed, and Charles goes easily, bouncing dramatically so that Odette laughs again, then handing her off as he crawls under the blanket. Pierre gets her nestled in the blankets between them. Charles’ vision has gone all watery. “Happy birthday, baba.”

There are worse ways to spend a birthday.

#girldads tag #10 x 16 #fic #me forgetting my daddy/papa assignment agenda but whatever its fine the point has been made #charles should not pose with babies it is terrible for my health. #hbd charlo <3

[fandomwritingbit]

A last minute shift. (afab)reader x william afton

Warnings: smut. swearing. phone sex. masturbation (afab) exhibitionism?  

Notes: Porn ‘without’ plot. It’s very short and I wrote it in like 20 minutes. Enjoy, mate ;)

"Yes, Mr Afton that's fine."

"Are you sure? I know it's only short notice, but they only booked the party last night."

"It's alright really. I could use the extra cash."

"Good, good. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yup, see ya."

You throw your phone down on your bed, more than happy you'd get to go into work and see Mr Afton tomorrow. God he was a good-looking fuck. All slender and tall. The way the muscles of his back were visible through his shirt when he'd fix the lights. Jesus Christ. And his many a pair of trousers that clung to him just right, showing of his uh... attributes.

Just seeing his name flash on your phone with his call, gave you butterflies. That tickly sensation that moved from your stomach down to between your legs when he spoke to you. It was shameful really, getting off on a legit phone call.

He'd never once spoken unprofessionally to you but you kind of wished he would. All those times he'd shown you where something was in the storeroom, you really wouldn't have minded if he'd cornered you in there and had his wicked way with you. Honestly, he was so fit that if he put his hand on your shoulder you'd probably flood your trousers.

Thinking of him now had done just that, and you let your hand snake down under your waistband to feel the growing warmth.

"...fucks sake. Why do you have to be such a sexy fuck, Mr Afton, hmmm?" You pull your trousers off now, wanting to fully live that boss and employee fantasy, just let yourself go to the feel of your fingers toying with your clit.

"...how is that fucking fair?" You continue mumbling, your mind working overtime with the picture of his lean frame pressing you up against the shelves in that storeroom. The sneer on his face as he'd unbuckle his belt. You all too eager to spread your legs for him, right there, where anyone could fucking hear.

Man, with the massive feet on him, he'd definitely be... gifted in that respect. By now the tightness of pleasure is beginning to seize hold of you and you seep your fingers inside to chase the feeling. You're so wet that the sound of you slowly fucking them into yourself is audible in the still of your room.

Hooking them inside you, you gasp, the storeroom stage show now running riot.

"...Holy... fu..." You start, now imagining your boss ravaging your needy little hole. He seemed like the kind of man that could lose control and take out every stress on you. Fucking you damn near senseless. And what could you do but take it, let him split you open with that cock of his, that you just knew would be devastating, judging by the size of the rest of him.

You're so close already, rocking your hips greedily on your own fingers, bed creaking as you bring yourself right to the edge.

"...fuck. Mr Afton." You almost whisper, voice cracking as you hit your orgasm harder than a heavy weight hits the bag.

You slowly come down, grinning with the satisfaction of your downright shameful past 5 minutes. Getting off after talking to your boss, who fucking does that? Shaking your head at yourself, you shrug, it doesn't matter really, what you do behind closed doors is your little secret.

Well, time for something to eat, you think to yourself, as you grab your phone to check the time. And your heart fucking stops seeing the call screen light up. The time stamp 7 mins 21 sec, said right under the name of your boss. You can't even think as you hold it to your ear, thinking that maybe it was lagging or some shit. Anything other than the reality that you hadn't hung up the fucking phone.

You could hear breathing on the other end of the line. Not standard breathing, laboured breathing. Much like what you were doing minutes ago, and your eyes widen in understanding. 

~ 

Note: I’m so proud of that title, nowt better than a double entendre. 

#fnaf #william afton #fnaf william afton #william afton x reader #william afton x you #william afton smut #fnaf smut

[zaynesaurora]

Rafayel hadn’t ever really thought about the acoustics of his bedroom when he first moved in, but those lofty ceilings ended up being one of his favourite things about that room for some reason 😌

I think he does mention not normally doing portraits at some point, so yes very abstract!! Although I bet the titles of those works are full of double entendres or innuendos that you might only pickup if you’re already in the know about his inspo 👀 or of course if Raf decides today is the day he will finally discuss his art with potential buyers… Thomas (bless his heart) doesn’t let Rafayel talk about those particular pieces any more after the mayor’s wife dropped her champagne when he told her about what exactly inspired “Glistening Depths” (or some other equally implicating name)… what a shame 😔

Sleep well, dream good dreams! 💖

–✨

(MDNI)

— yeah we have absolutely no idea why he loves that bedroom, guess he just likes sleeping !! Not thomas omg that poor man needs a raise and a holiday and maybe early retirement 😭 ajhshsjaka glistening depths im dead, he’s so lucky sex is celebrated and fairly normal in art or he would be cancelled 😭

#asks— #✨ — nonnie #love and deepspace smut

[claraameliapond]

So... is taylor going to give olivia credit and royalties for obviously conceptually copying her song?? It would be only fair wouldn't it..? According to the logic of Olivia having to give over songwriting credits for a split second of screaming in a bridge on deja vu, which sounds nothing like cruel summer's screaming in a bridge at all anyway, then conceptually Taylor obviously being inspired for the whole concept of Olivia's get him back- especially given the timing - when will the songwriting credits to Olivia, Fiona Apple and then wherever that tune in the chorus is from (I've definitely heard that before, it's not original) , be given over? 😀 🙂🙃🤨 they're the same lyrics- and the same title- you know if 'Get Him Back' was released after Taylor's 'imgonnagetyouback' those toxic swifties would say Olivia copied Taylor, so where's that logic now? Where's the consistency ?

Also Honestly, taylor does not come off well with that song anyway. The logic in her song is so off, like who thinks of someone like that. Who values people like that? It's giving ... out of touch. Obviously think what you like but where Olivia's sentiment in her song is justified in outrage and in morality, the mixed emotions in the aftermath of something and feeling outraged on behalf of yourself and how badly you were treated and wanting them to get just desserts, and the cheeky joke she plays on the audience with that double entendre like 'I want to kiss his face....with an uppercut " making people go 'No! Don't fall back in!' And then her going - 'Just joking I know he's terrible' , whereas Taylor's just makes her look like a horrible psychopath. The intentional perpetrator. Who would do that? Think of people like that? , Value people like that?

People are messy and you don't owe anyone pretty etc etc yes ,but this is someone who has built her whole career calling out immoral treatment against her. Recieving rightful empathy and kinship with her fans. Calling out this exact behaviour. And now she's the perpetrator, with intention?

There's a big difference between someone saying 'I want you to get just desserts for your immorality' and someone going "I haven't decided whether I'm going to treat you terribly or marry you and love you forever, because that's how little I value you- and I have the power to do this, either one, and you can't do anything to stop me, I have absolute control over you - I could just as easily be horrible to you, 'smash up your life' /'smash up your bike' " - like, what? Who thinks of people like that? Who wants someone who can think of them like that? Value them like that? That is really toxic valuing. Intentionality

I don't think she's the worst person on earth but she does not come off well here.

Also she should never have accepted that money and credits from Olivia being pressured into it. She doesn't need that money come on. It's a bit hard to believe that Vampire isn't about her

.

And also the point, Who's she with now that's making her think like that?

I do think she intended to release reputation in April- that was a planned schedule, for the eras tour, that all of them would be released within the span of the tour and it would be a triumphant achievement that with the eras tour all of her songs were reclaimed. ...but for some reason felt it wasn't ready, so the organised release was already set so she changed what was being released. She at some point decided to release the ttpd album instead, and got it ready, but sort of too quickly, it's a little sloppy and I think it needed more time to be fine tuned. It feels, rushed- the decisions feel rushed. I think it was originally intended to be released after the eras tour. I think it deserved a bit more time.

I love them both but - you do need to be morally consistent and have some perspective.

#Ttpd #Olivia Rodrigo #Get him back #Vampire #Imgonnagetyouback #The tortured poet's department #Taylor swift #Ts #Morality #Eras tour #Eras #The Eras tour #tstheerastour #taylorswift #the eras tour tokyo #swifties

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 11/05/2024 (The Drake & Kendrick Beef Analysed in Detail. And Dua Lipa, I guess)

Yeah, yeah, Taylor Swift, Dua Lipa, whatever, we have more pressing issues. Sorry to break the format again so soon, but I don’t really know in what other context I can talk about all of these outside of just dumping it all together so… consider this a prologue, perhaps. I’m cactus, and before we get to the rest of the chart, I guess it’s time to discuss the you-know-whos and whatever impact this has. If you don’t care, skip to the rundown.

Part I: Okay, but what does J. Cole think of all of this?

content warning: language, abuse

The songs did not debut in exact chronological order, so that’s why I’m separating this into a different section - it allows for a cleaner timeline of what’s actually going on and allows me to develop some more cohesive thoughts. I assume everyone reading this already knows what’s going on and has probably heard the tracks or most likely even consumed some opinion pieces on it before, and that’s why I’m not doing a stricter, review-format lyrical analysis like I would for any other lyrical rap songs that appears on the chart. There’s already so much out there, and so many double-triple-quadruple-quintuple entendres on both sides, some vile accusations plastered onto both mens’ legacies and crews, and a concerning amount of discourse surrounding all of it. Am I here to contribute to that discourse? Yes, but even this soon, it just feels a bit tired, right? Pitchfork had Alphonse Pierre writing incessantly about how much he hated it before any woman-beating or child-endangering allegations were in the fold. Rap beef existing in the 2020s, the “thinkpiece era”, I don’t know, it’s exhausting. That doesn’t change the quality of the tracks though, and even that has been discussed to death, including by me - in the past few months, I’ve already reviewed “Like That”, “Push Ups” and “euphoria”, as well as touching upon “6:16 in LA” - so I won’t be retreading my steps, I’ll be attempting to give my unique perspective outside of a timeline or rundown of events, gathering thoughts on ideas I don’t really see brought up as often.

So, where were we? When I last released an episode, it was Friday and the latest diss was Kendrick’s cryptic Instagram posts where he claims he has a mule in OVO feeding him information about Drake and his crew. He’d just dropped “euphoria”, one of the best diss tracks of all time, and whilst “Push Ups” was good, I don’t think Drake really had it in him to respond to such an evisceration. I half-expected him not to acknowledge “euphoria” at all, but sadly, he did, and famously, “meet the grahams” was released just half an hour later to squash the potential legacy of Drake’s new track, which was titled “Family Matters”. The popular consensus seems to be that if Kendrick hadn’t swooped in with something “Story of Adidon” level, Drake’s “Family Matters” would be considered an excellent diss track… and I completely disagree, that shit is trash. Here’s why.

“Family Matters” is a clear emulation of “euphoria” - if Kendrick can release his seven-minute multiple-part diss track, why can’t Drake? He spent as many days as he needed to curate a very similar song - no, I’m not saying Kendrick created the idea of beat switches or long songs, but when the two are dropped directly in relation to each other, it’s difficult to summise from that, that Drake isn’t coming to battle in a very similar way to Kendrick purposefully, using his formula and structure. The problem here is focus. Kendrick, since he’s only focusing on Drake, can outline his issues in such a streamlined and digestible way that offhand remarks are catchy and memorable but hit hard within the context of the full song. All three beats are given room to breathe and transition very smoothly into each other, and the first beat even predicts Drake’s moves over a jazz beat to make the track appear condescending, defining the song’s mood from the start. “euphoria” is a tightly-constructed evisceration of Drake, that Drake simply cannot come back from, because he isn’t fighting one side. He could shut up about everyone else and leave the bars to Kendrick, but he simply doesn’t have enough about Kendrick to do that for a substantially long amount of time, and if he comes back to “euphoria” with just a three minute diss track, he looks like a clown, not that he doesn’t already if he doesn’t acknowledge Rick Ross, Future, Metro, Rocky… or at least he thinks he would look silly not dismissing them, even though realistically, that’s what we all want him to be: focused, not spraying shots at people who no one legitimately wants to see win or fail. Like who cares if The Weeknd wins or fails a rap beef? He’s not even a rapper.

The beats don’t have any thematic purpose, the first beat is one we’ve already heard before, and whilst there are plenty of disses to chew on, a lot of it is actually just completely substanceless garbage. When he’s not repeating himself, he’s whining about how YG or whoever is ACTUALLY gang-banging as if YG wouldn’t hop on “Not Like Us” today. Sure, there’s menace in… the intro, because the only time Drake sounds energetic and venomous is when interrupting his mother - classy - but it’s weak apart from a few lines poking fun at his conscious personality which are somewhat funny if not just… strange considering Kendrick  being private leads to Drake spreading rumours regarding women and children on the idea that well, if Drake says it, everyone will believe it’s true! Also, it’s telling that Drake, after failing in “Push Ups” to prove he was a better rapper or a harder, more authentic image, all he has on Kendrick revolves around women, children and gay jokes towards The Weeknd. He spends damn near a whole beat out of the three on the side characters, which I know must have been, in Drake’s eyes, a demonstration of how he just doesn’t care about those guys… but you still rapped about them for a whole song’s length and the tightest bars come from that section, primarily because they’re easier targets. It also is pretty telling that Drake, who sounds increasingly bored over cheap beats the whole time, attempts to switch the “white boy” insult into a “white flag” wordplay but he still ends up saying “Ross callin’ me the white boy and that shit kind of got a ring to it”, without ever negating it in the punchline. He still ends up calling himself white. What is this?

Regardless, “Family Matters” debuts at #17 on the UK Singles Chart this week. It was produced by Boi-1da, Tay Keith, Fierce, Kevin Mitchell, Dramakid, Preme, Jordan Fox and… Mark Ronson of all people, who I assume had something to do with the third beat, since it’s the only one that actually sounds good. Minutes after Drake dropped, we get “meet the grahams”, produced by The Alchemist and well, it left a lot of people speechless. Once again, Kendrick goes for being condescending and systematic instead of the unfocused slop we get from Drake, directing his disses not for Drake initially, but directly addressing each member of his family. It’s not the most replayable in terms of its beat bouncing or having much in the way of a hook, of course, but it is villainous and deceptively straightforward in ways. The beat is basically one loop from Alc with basic but eerie piano and one of my favourite details in this entire beef: that yelping scream in the distance. For drumless jazz beats like this, those atmospheric intricacies are so necessary, and the instrumental break refrain that separates verses, something Kendrick would do again on the second track, is too cold. I’m not a lyrical analyst, I’m not a sociopolitical analyst, so here’s why “meet the grahams” makes J. Cole look like a fucking idiot, actually.

Cole stepped out of the beef before it got personal, probably because ScHoolboy called him up and said it wasn’t about rap, and since then, if anything, Kendrick has been slightly defending Cole in his raps whilst Drake has been dismissive and insulting. Again, telling! This should make Cole look smart, slick and the bigger man for apologising and not getting himself involved in the personal, frankly gross allegations made by both men against each other, and whilst we’d all like to hear Cole and Kendrick go back and forth on bars alone, what we got was much more impactful and cinematic, something that just wouldn’t fit Cole’s homegrown image. Whilst this is true on the surface, I beg you to go back to Might Delete Later after all of that. After all the talk about how he doesn’t take Ls, about how he’s taking everyone’s girl, about how his bars are like clips or whatever, all of his boast talk - and then he slides out of this beef before shit gets venomous. Then consider all his talk about how he can’t get cancelled like Dave Chappelle and how it’s all politically correct these days, and that trans… “fellas” are still pussies… given what’s been addressed here, with a back-and-forth by the two ACTUAL members of the big three involved essentially TRYING to cancel each other, the mixtape becomes dated and purposeless so quickly that it gives credit to its name. Cole has always seen himself as the “middle child” of rap, but really, his dichotomy isn’t between mumble rap and oldheads, it’s between being pretentious and anti-intellectual, simultaneously. At least Drake embraces that he is an asshole, which is the one reason to root for his character - I don’t like “Family Matters”, but it pretty effectively places himself as the villain of the story, at least if we’re willing to accept this as a narrative, and “meet the grahams” does an even better job at that than Drake could! Cole decided to align himself with the anti-intellectual crowd whilst being all intellectual about that approach, and let’s just say that when Kendrick is winning a beef, it looks really idiotic to be blissfully ignorant. I’m sure Cole has written a few songs about all of this, but what’s telling is that Kendrick and Drake will never delete these records, because they’re a cemented part of history in their careers and really, hip hop culture. I don’t like “Family Matters” or really, “Like That”, but there are moments in those tracks now iconic and quotable that Cole has completely lost out on. Drake got his ass handed to him, but it would be even more of a loss for him economically and in the media to delete those diss tracks. Kendrick, I would assume, somewhat regrets some of the statements made because his last album presented him as slightly above it all, and he does face an increasing number of abuse allegations now that whilst I’m sure he doesn’t sweat too hard, really aren’t great for you to have around. And sure, whilst Drake might be bringing up the size of his penis in “Family Matters” for no reason, the most homoerotic moment in this dick-swinging context might be the fact that Kendrick’s biggest song in years is focused entirely on another man’s sex crimes. Neither come out clean, but they come out with more dignity than the guy who thought he was hot shit and ended the beef with less streams, less name-drops and less tracks on his album because I bet you forgot, but he’s actually started to back track and delete the records. The only person to see this as a genuine stain on the legacy, a genuine piercing of the armour, is Cole, which is why he can’t be in that big three. Because he cares too much to prove he’s there in the first place.

On the UK charts, “meet the grahams” debuts at #28, but it doesn’t matter because the night after, he drops “Not Like Us”, a DJ Mustard banger, beats Drake at his own game and has people all across the world in clubs singing “OV-HOE”. It debuts at #10 and is co-produced with Sounwave and Sean Momberger, but the idea that Mustard is on the beat, giving Kendrick a classic West Coast banger to end out the beef whilst Drake is stuck with a myriad of identity-less tracks (ironically, one wherein he shouts out YG), is a diss in itself. Nobody cares about how much of this is true, if any of it is, because people believe that reckoning with that fact takes us out of enjoying music, which I think it’s silly but also a story for another day. I don’t idolise either of these guys - Hell, I preferred Drake’s last record to Kendrick’s - but through sheer lyrical dexterity and chess moves, Kendrick won the beef and shattered Drake’s PR statement of a comeback, “The Heart Part 6”, into pieces before it could even be rebuilt from the fragments of Drake’s pride. You can’t release a diss track that has you defending yourself against false allegations, if 1.) you yourself made false accusations and 2.) no one cares if the accusations are true, just who says them louder and harder, which is exactly why Kendrick knew “meet the grahams” wasn’t enough and that’s why he needed to drop the Mustard joint. Drake may be calculated, and a master manipulator, but he cannot out-guess the biggest hypocrite of 2015. And 2024. And maybe forever, I don’t know, he could drop something tomorrow. Now let’s shut my hoe ass up and review some charts.

----

Part II: REVIEWING THE CHARTS

content warning: The Chainsmokers

So, Kendrick has four songs in the UK Singles Chart right now as a primary artist, which shouldn’t be allowed according to OCC rules normally, but I guess even the Official Charts Company just wants to see blood. As for the songs that actually dropped out of the UK Top 75, which is what I cover, after spending five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40, we say farewell to “II MOST WANTED” by Beyoncé and Miley Cyrus, as well as Bey’s cover of “JOLENE”, “if u think i’m pretty” by Artemas, “Wasted Youth” by goddard. and Cat Burns (shame that one didn’t reach a higher peak, I really like it), “What Was I Made For?” by Billie Eilish and, perhaps most vindictively for this week, “H.Y.B.” by J. Cole featuring Bas and Central Cee. Ha.

We see two kind of inexplicable but also irrelevant returns with “Whatever” by Kygo and Ava Max at #74 and “As it Was” by Harold Styles at #41, but otherwise we do have a handful of notable gains, including “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers once again at #65, now the biggest song ever to never hit #1. It just never dies. Aside from that, there are boosts for Dua Lipa’s “Training Season” at #61 thanks to the album, more on that later, “Love Me JeJe” by Tems at #52 - a little detail I missed with the debut last week is that the phrase in the title was adopted from a well-revered track in Nigeria of the same name by Seyi Sodimu, which I thought was notable enough to consider sn error of research. Whoops. Put that in the corrections column. We also see “Slow it Down” by Bento Box at #23, some boosts for Kendrick as “Like That” with Future and Metro Boomin and, Ye I guess now, is at #20 whilst “euphoria” stalls at #11, and finally, Tommy Richman gets his first top 10 with the smash hit “MILLION DOLLAR BABY”. Really can’t complain.

As for our top five, it consists of “Fortnight” by Taylor Swift featuring Post Malone at #5, “Beautiful Things” by Benny the Butcher at #4, “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” by Shaboozey at #3, “Too Sweet” by Hozier and #2, and finally, for a second week, Sabrina Carpenter is at #1 with “Espresso”. We still have five new songs debuting this week that aren’t disses, so let’s have some fun with songs that hopefully won’t be as heavy, and we start where every good night of fun starts. With the Chainsmokers.

New Entries

#75 - “Addicted” - Zerb, The Chainsmokers and Ink

Produced by Zerb and The Chainsmokers

Zerb is a Brazilian DJ who’s found his way into a collaboration with everyone’s favourite duo The Chainsmokers and smooth R&B singer Ink, with a Joel Corry remix probably helping this one end up at the bottom of the chart here. Now I do like The Chainsmokers, but not necessarily their work with other vocalists, as they’re not nearly as willing to experiment when it’s not just the two boys embarrassing themselves. Ink, who really just sounds like a BTEC The-Dream on here, doesn’t command much of the track due to that wispy tone, but Zerb being on board probably helps the squibbling synths spiral into more of an intense, detailed drop that traces bassy future house amidst some genuinely weird and oddly full percussive elements and sound effects, especially that incessant shaker in the pre-drop. You can tell these guys are professionals, as the sound design is very intricate and makes so much use of its available space whilst not being too fluid or syrupy, it goes decently hard, and whilst Zerb may not be The-Dream, he gets close. And I like The-Dream. I like this too. It’s a jam. Give it a chance, it kept growing on me like a brain parasite as I was listening.

#71 - “Right Here” - Becky Hill

Produced by Chase & Status

Whilst rap rivalries are brewing, EDM DJ duos seem to be having a good week by sticking together - with Chase & Status on board, this is pretty much confirmed to be at least decent before taking a listen and, well, obviously it’s good. At this point, I might just like Becky Hill’s output overall, at least from this upcoming album, and the decision from the boys to position an 80s pop rock melodrama with the soaring synths and plastic guitar below an absolute rolick of drum and bass feels very much like a throwback to the dancefloor DnB era from the early to mid 2010s, and I may like more atmospheric drum and bass tracks a lot of the time but I’m not above some unabashed pop, and this really has the momentum and kick to justify itself. Sure, the mix is a bit awkward, but the same can be said for a lot of drum and bass, and it’s not like that genre has ever suffered from being loud or overwhelming, especially not in festival mood, and the layering of Becky’s belting over those classic 90s hardcore pianos is an interesting touch compared to what I probably would have done, drowned her in reverb and echo like they sometimes did back in the day. The explosive approach taken here backs up an already infectious hook and results in yet another damn good track by Becky Hill, which would be a foreign idea to me throughout the rest of my time doing this show.

#68 - “The Door” - Teddy Swims

Produced by Julian Bunetta and Ammo

I didn’t even think we’d get a second song from Teddy Swims, but I was wrong about that when it came to David Kushner, Noah Kahan and  that Boonetown Rat over at #4 so maybe this is just the year of the edged-up white boy. I still think “Lose Control” is okay, and in terms of pure singing process, Teddy’s got a lot more soul and presence than them. That’s really carrying this one though, and whilst the groove’s a solid throwback, the reverb dampens its impact and it sounds like he’s recording the whole thing from a cave, but not a vintage chasm like Spector’s best stuff, just… a small cave near a river or some swampland. The songwriting also feels a bit basic, it isn’t all too compelling and goes for some very typical tropes, predictable rhymes, even if the “oh no!” is a bit of a fun inflection. Bunetta and Ammo also don’t let the song progress much, even just from verse to chorus, it feels stuck. I figured that when that soaring disco string section came in, we’d get a proper bridge that made it all feel satisfying, but it does tampers off into a post-chorus and we get a basic repetition of the chorus again. If you’re going to try and replicate a vintage sound, at least show respect to how they composed their tracks too, not just cosplay within their soundfont.

#67 - “Risk” - Gracie Abrams

Produced by Aaron Dessner and Gracie Abrams

Producing for Taylor Swift is the best idea the Dessners had ever. Now these indie folksters are going to have labels calling for them to prop up their attempts at making pop stars - I don’t like The National, like… at all, but get the bag, guys, I prefer them over The Monsters & Strangerz, or God forbid Julia Michaels. The largely-failed Gracie Abrams experiment has been an industry push for five years now, but the daughter of film director J. J. Abrams finally has a hit of her own and… okay, maybe calling her “own” hit was a misnomer, because this has O-Rod and T-Swift written all over it. You could genuinely run the whole thing through a Taylor Swift AI filter and I’d believe you, I imagine this is like hearing the track the “Heart on My Sleeve” guy recorded before he put the Drake effect on. It has Olivia’s wordy teenage anxiety and acoustic tones, but to be fair, Abrams is a lot more optimistic than her inspirations, with her breathy pleading that this relationship is going to work out over acoustic guitars that don’t feel relentless,  but do feel like they never end, just keep going, and the song keeps on adding elements that don’t stop them or alleviate the anxious playing at all. The same thing can be said about Gracie’s vocal take, or the wonky synth subtly placed into the chorus - classic Dessner - and the little lyrical details that make this feel as real as it does - if she’s invested, then damn, so am I, it feels like my friend is rambling or venting to me about the “tea” as the kids say and I’m on the edge of my seat. Surprisingly enough, of all things that sold me on this ballad, it’s the intensity, and the drums ramping up by the end into a rolick makes me forgive how derivative this feels… mostly because it’s doing a better job at this sound and concept than Swift is, statistically, half of the time, and emulates O-Rod’s youthful authenticity a bit less obnoxiously than she typically pulls. I know that’s a feature, not a bug, but I still prefer when it’s patched out. Excellent song.

#40 - “These Walls” - Dua Lipa

Produced by Danny L Harle and Andrew Wyatt

I wasn’t over the Moon with Radical Optimism the way I was with Future Nostalgia, mostly because outside of a nice vibe, the songs felt artifically short, awkwardly constructed and not nearly as adventurous or even cohesive as the people involved, or “Houdini” as a lead single, would have suggested. I wrote about her latest #1 album more at length on my RateYourMusic listening log - account name’s exclusivelytopostown, check it out if you care - but this was an obvious choice for the next single, because it’s one of the album’s tightest, with that psychedelic guitar lick blossoming amidst a mixture of trinkling keys before we slap right into an actually fittingly stiff pop rock groove, with a nice, subtle crunchy drum fill in the mix that I find a really interesting, distorted inclusion. It really helps the song feel claustrophobic and fed up, as the content is about the pre-empting of a breakup wherein both Dua and her partner are stuck in a frustratingly disappointing relationship where the love just… isn’t really there anymore, but they don’t want to face the reality of separation because that might be harder to grapple with than just keeping silent. For once on this album, the bridge doesn’t feel smashed in post-haste, Hell, it might not even need a bridge, and Harle’s attention to detail is on full display here, as the post-chorus keeps the dissonance going by making Dua just slightly off-key, it’s brilliant. A very tightly written and composed pop song, as well as possibly the record’s most vulnerable and honest moment, in an album that otherwise coasts off vibes. I definitely think this one could help a great deal with the record’s success later down the line.

Conclusion

Whoo, that was a lot, huh? Well, Best of the Week goes to Kendrick Lamar, obviously, for both “meet the grahams” and “Not Like Us”, but it was closer than you’d expect for Gracie Abrams who takes the Honourable Mention with “Risk”. This was actually a pretty great week overall for song quality, at least within the new tracks, so despite Teddy trying to hold his ship together, it still sinks and grants him the Dishonourable Mention for “The Door”. As for the Worst of the Week, I’d say I feel bad for Drake considering he got destroyed this week already but if what Kendrick is saying is true, I think I’d rather not say I feel bad for him at all. And if what Drake is saying is true… well, let’s just say “Family Matters”. Thank you for reading, rest in peace to rock engineering legend Steve Albini, Eurovision next week, and I’ll see you then.

#pop music #song review #uk singles chart #drake #kendrick lamar #kendrick vs drake #diss tracks #meet the grahams #family matters #not like us #dua lipa #radical optimism #gracie abrams #ink #the chainsmokers #becky hill #zerb #chase & status #teddy swims

[welcometojackass2022]

Underwater Exploration (Dom!Johnny Knoxville x Reader) [Smut]

Yes, the title is a double entendre for shower sex. Hope y’all enjoy this, I think the requester was anonymous. I remembered I hadn’t posted a fic for Johnny in a while, so consider this a present!

Description: You and Johnny are taking a shower together, he asks you to jerk him off, and that soon leads into the two of you having shower sex for the first time. That’s all! Porn without plot.

Warnings: Female Reader, Cursing, Smut, Shower Sex, Slight Dom/Sub dynamic where Johnny’s the dom but it’s not super intense or anything like that, Dirty Talking, Praise Kink and Slight Degradation Kink (Johnny loves complimenting you but also loves calling you his little slut so yeah best of both worlds here), You suck on Johnny’s fingers a bit cuz why not

@asskickedbygirl tagging you in all my stuff as you’ve asked!

“Alright, sugar, what are we feeling? Strawberry or ocean breeze?” Johnny held up both bottles of body wash, grinning at you as you got wet under the shower nozzle. You laughed, staring at the bottles in contemplation. “I dunno, what do you suggest?” Johnny lifted the cap of each one and sniffed them, handing you the strawberry one without hesitation. “Definitely this one. If I walk by you and smell strawberries, I’m pouncing.” You took the bottle and squirted some of the soft pink liquid onto a washcloth, moving to rub it into your arms and chest. “You make a very strong case, Johnny.” Johnny good-naturedly took the cloth from you and pulled you towards him. “Let me get that for you, sugar.” He admired your naked body as he helped you wash off, wolf-whistling with a mischievous smirk on his face, and you playfully rolled your eyes. “We take showers with each other all the time, babe, I don’t know why you always act like it’s the first time you’re seeing me naked.” Johnny grinned, pulling you towards him so your back was against his chest as he ran the washcloth over your tummy and chest, gently kissing your neck. “It always feels like the first time, sugar, that’s how goddamn pretty you are.”

You laughed. “Stop sweet-talking me and get my back for me, baby.” Johnny dutifully rubbed the washcloth over your back, chuckling to himself. “Yes ma’am, anything you say.” He kissed the back of your neck again, wrapping his free arm around your waist to pull your back closer to his chest, and the two of you quietly enjoyed the hot water and the smell of your body wash for a few moments; the two of you showering together was far from a rare thing, but that didn’t make it any less enjoyable. After a minute or two, you felt something hard poke against the back of your thigh, and you looked up to shoot Johnny a look. He grinned. “Sorry, sugar. I warned you about that strawberry body wash.” You laughed, moving your hand back to grab at his hard cock, and Johnny groaned, leaning his head back against the shower wall as he guided your hand to wrap around his shaft. “Fuck, that feels good, sugar.” You turned around to face him, and he pulled you closer to him to kiss you, hanging the washcloth up to free his hands so he could grab at your hips as he smashed his lips against yours. The shower water made Johnny’s cock extra slick, and your hand slid over it with ease as you pumped his shaft with a quick speed, rubbing your thumb over his slit as he sucked on your bottom lip.

He pulled away with a sly grin. “Have we fucked in the shower before?” You thought for a moment, smiling and shaking your head. “Nope, don’t think so. Usually when we’re in the shower we just wash off. You know, the thing showers are meant for.” Johnny raised his eyebrows. “So you don’t want to fuck in here?” You grinned, leaning up to kiss him again. “I didn’t say that.” Johnny cupped your face, his large hands moving to push your soaking wet hair out of your face and then sliding down to grip at your hips and ass, bucking his hips against the grip you had on his cock. You rubbed your palm over his tip, jerking him off with a teasingly slow pace that made his whole body shiver. “Now I know you can go faster than that, sugar, you’re not fooling me. Save the teasing for the next time we do this, this is our first time fucking in here and we need to be as fast and rough as we possibly can to really break it in.” You obediently sped up a bit, laughing softly at his very poorly disguised attempt at an excuse for having rough sex in the shower, and Johnny leaned his head back against the shower wall again, relaxing his body as he enjoyed the handjob; the water from the shower trickled down his body, making his well-defined chest and stomach all the more noticeable as his muscles jerked from your touch.

Your fingers slipped over the slick head of his cock again, and Johnny groaned loudly, grabbing your wrist to stop you. “Stop right there, sugar, if you keep going I’m gonna blow my load before we even get to the fun stuff.” You put on a look of fake innocence. “This isn’t the fun stuff?” Johnny grinned, leaning down to kiss you again with his hand shielding your eyes from the hot water of the shower nozzle. “Not even close.” He switched places with you so he could push you up against the shower wall, rubbing his thumb over one of your breasts with his right hand as his left hand slid down your belly towards your pussy. Johnny pressed a line of kisses down your neck as he rubbed at your clit, pushing his fingertip inside you. He slowly pushed his finger in further, the water helping him slide the digit in with ease as he stretched you out to prepare you for his cock. You sighed softly at the feeling, parting your thighs more to give him better access; he leaned down to take your nipple into his mouth, drifting his tongue over it and looking up at you to gauge your reaction. You smiled, keeping one of your hands on the back of his head as you stroked his hair encouragingly, and he pressed his lips to your nipple and grinned at you, pushing another finger inside of you as he moved away from your boobs.

Johnny withdrew his fingers, sucking on them to taste you, and then he grinned, wrapping his hand around his shaft to press the tip of his cock against your entrance. “Hold on tight, sugar, or you might slip and fall.” You playfully rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his back to keep yourself steady, and Johnny gently pushed the head of his cock inside you, keeping one of his hands against the shower wall to support his body weight as he thrust his hips forward. You leaned your forehead against his, hands grabbing at his back as he pushed his cock deeper inside you with a low groan. “Fuck, sugar, you’re wet.” You smirked, glancing pointedly at the shower nozzle. “Hmm, I wonder why.” Johnny leaned down and pressed his lips against your neck. “Don’t be a smart ass, baby.” He thrust his cock all the way inside you, gently biting down on your neck, and you moaned softly, running your nails down his back as he stretched you out. “You like that, sugar? You want me to go harder?” You nodded, digging your nails into his skin, and he pulled his cock all the way out and slammed it back in, smashing his lips against yours as he stimulated your clit. The warm water from the shower nozzle felt good against your skin, and it nicely slicked up you and Johnny’s bodies as he fucked you with his chest pressed against yours.

When he pulled his cock out of you again, Johnny grabbed the back of your thighs with his hands and lifted you up, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist as he thrust his cock back inside you at a much deeper angle. You threw your arms around his neck for support as he fucked you, your back still flat against the shower wall to help keep the two of you upright as his cock head pressed against your sensitive spot. You buried your face in his neck to hide your moans, and Johnny laughed. “You like taking my cock, baby? You like when I fuck your tight little pussy like this? You’re just a little slut for my cock, aren’t you sugar?” You moaned affirmatively in response, pressing your lips against his neck as he thrust his cock inside you once again, and he smiled. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re so pretty when you’re taking my cock like this, baby, I love that look you get when I’m all the way inside you.” You blushed, and Johnny set you back down and turned you around, pushing you up against the shower wall so your back was to him as he lined his cock up with your pussy from behind and thrust inside you with an even faster pace; he gripped your hip with one hand and used the other to force you to look back at him, rubbing your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

“Let’s put those pretty lips to good use, sugar, what do you say?” He pushed his finger into your mouth, and you obediently wrapped your lips around it, sucking on the digit as you stared back at him needily. “Yeah, sugar, just like that. Suck my fingers like a little whore, you know it’s what you’re best at.” You sucked even harder, egged on by his dirty talk, and Johnny groaned loudly at the sight of it, his cock twitching inside you as he thrust his hips especially hard, clearly close to cumming. “Fuck, sugar, you drive me crazy when you act like such a slut for me, just keep doing that and I’ll cum inside your pretty little pussy, you want that?” You nodded eagerly, coating his fingers with your saliva and moaning loudly as the head of his cock stretched you out, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucked you from behind, his fingers digging into your hip hard enough to leave bruises as his thrusts began to get sloppier and more intense. The water from the shower nozzle trickled down his back and chest, letting his chest slide against your back easily as he shoved his cock all the way inside you and just barely humped his hips against you to rub the head of his cock against your sensitive area, bringing you to the brink of orgasm. “Come on sugar, cum for me, I’m not cumming til you do.”

You ground your hips back against him, letting the tip of his cock rub against your clit until you came, tightening up around him with a wanton moan as you threw your head back against his chest; Johnny pushed his entire body up against your back as he came too, burying his face in your neck as he shot his load deep inside you, his hands rubbing at your hips as he did so. You felt his hot cum dripping from your thighs as he pulled out of you, pressing gentle kisses to your back and neck as he cooled down. You breathed heavily, resting your forehead against the shower wall as you came down from your orgasm. Johnny turned the water temperature down just slightly and gently turned you around to face him, leaning down to kiss you as his hands soothingly rubbed your hips and back. “You did so good for me, sugar.” You playfully rolled your eyes, resting your head on his chest and looking up at him adoringly. “I didn’t do anything, Johnny.” He grinned. “You looked pretty for me and took my cock like a good girl, what else could I ask for?” He adjusted the shower nozzle so the water was aimed at you, picking up the abandoned wash cloth to help you clean off his cum from between your thighs. “Guess we’ll need to use more body wash. Strawberry or ocean breeze, baby?” You laughed. “Ocean breeze, no more strawberry. I think you’ve pounced on me enough for the day.”

#jackass #jackass x reader #jackass smut #jackass imagine #jackass fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #johnny knoxville #johnny knoxville x reader #johnny knoxville imagine #johnny knoxville smut

[retrievablememories]

close to you | johnny

title: close to you pairing: vampire!johnny x black reader genre: domestic, fluff, vampire!au, fantasy, angst summary: two years after meeting johnny at a cafe and becoming acquainted with the vampiric nature you’d never before experienced, you’ve crafted a life with him that works for the both of you. word count: 3.1k warnings: blood and blood drinking, suggestive content, mentions of depression/self-identity issues, mentions of discrimination/prejudice based on species a/n: ….i know i said a thousand times i wouldn’t write anything else for “picture me” but met gala johnny fucked my head up back in may and this was born. after rewriting it, it’s finally where i want it to be.

i strongly recommend reading picture me first if you haven’t already. there’s basic vampire lore in here, but also lots of context from the original story.

i don’t know if i’ll go back to regularly writing fic, but here’s something for the road if not! 🥹

on tiring nights and busy daytimes, please make room in your heart for me to rest

Your toes curl into the floor of the bathtub as Johnny’s hand slides up the length of your right arm, the washcloth he holds warm and fragrant against your skin.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks.

“Yes, you always ask that.” You giggle quietly.

Johnny smiles. The bathroom’s dimness and the wavering light from the candles he placed sporadically around the space make his eyes look even deeper than usual. You are not as overwhelmed by their intensity the way you used to be, though. “That’s because I’d never want to do anything to make you feel otherwise.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you agree in a whisper, watching his hand drift from your shoulder to cross your collarbones and slide down your sternum, leaving the scent of fruits and trails of soap behind. “Did you enjoy the museum today?”

“We’re still preparing for the new exhibit, so I can’t say it was a calm day,” he says. “But I’m looking forward to it. I think you’ll like it.”

“I think so too. You can’t go wrong with a good seascape, after all.” Johnny taps your knee for you to lift your leg up and out of the water. You rest your leg on the edge of the tub like you’re posing for a picture, and you laugh when he lowers his head and kisses your wet shin.

The washcloth travels from your toes up to your thigh, by which point Johnny’s fingers are more involved than the cloth is, dipping further into the water and massaging your inner thigh in the way you know he likes to do when he’s asking for affection without directly asking you. For a moment, you observe the muscles in his forearm as they shift, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the sinewy flesh.

You raise your eyebrows in an attempt to look surprised, displaying a smile you can’t conceal. “Hey, don’t you want to eat dinner after this? You haven’t had any blood since this afternoon.”

“I guess. But I could just eat something else instead.” Johnny laughs at his own double entendre. You shake your head, sharing in the laughter even with the sudden flush of warmth his seeking touch has inspired in the pit of your stomach.

“Later! I am actually hungry, thank you.”

Johnny finishes cleaning your body with his fair share of errant kisses here and there, which he can never help himself about when it comes to this intimate time of bathing you. You love it all. But, you think your favorite part of it must be when he helps you out of the tub and dries you off—wrapping the big towel around you and kissing your forehead while he pats the water off your skin—then takes you into the bedroom to sit you on the bed and begin moisturizing your body.

His hands are always gentle with you; he is always conscious of the way he touches you, passes by you, even looks at you. You know part of it is because of his increased strength as a vampire, but also because it’s just the way he feels about you.

The first time he’d done this, before it became a regular routine, he’d sat in the tub with you after sex and washed you from top to bottom, his long legs tangled with yours. You didn’t know quite how to take it, as no one else had ever done anything like this for you. But you allowed yourself to relax into it, feeling warm and cared for in a peculiar way you hadn’t before experienced.

You’d embarrassed yourself by starting to cry halfway through him putting lotion on your skin, both of you surprised by the sudden outrush of emotion. But as he always did, he told you it was okay. More than okay. Fine, even. You could cry whenever or however much you wanted, and the only thing he’d do was wipe your tears away.

You don’t feel the same embarrassment from that memory anymore. It brings a small smile to your lips as Johnny’s hand caresses your upper arm, rubbing the dreamy-smelling lotion into your skin.

“What are you thinking about?” Johnny asks, regarding your face closely, his hands never pausing in their work. You stare down into his eyes, which are slightly obscured by the long hair that he’d since grown out. You’d been a bit sad to see the undercut disappear, but you love being able to stroke his hair when you are falling asleep at night. 

Presently, you reach out to brush the strands away from his eyes. “I love you. That’s what I’m thinking about.”

His smile mirrors yours. “Trying to flatter me, huh?” He tickles the bottom of your foot and you yelp from the sensation, trying to squirm away from him. “I love you, Y/N.” His voice is choppy with laughter at your response to his actions, but the sincerity in his eyes is abundant.

After ensuring you are soft enough for your liking, Johnny leaves to go warm up the food while you dress. When you finally make your way into the kitchen, feeling light enough to practically float across the floor, the food is placed on the table and ready for you to eat. It’s one of many dinners Johnny has painstakingly learned to cook for you, though he himself never actually needs to eat. He’s a veritable chef now, which you appreciate. It means you rarely have to cook, and you certainly don’t miss eating campus cafeteria food multiple times a day.

“Thank you for the meal,” you say, sitting down across from him at the dinner table. He doesn’t share a meal with you this time like he occasionally does but instead sips from a blood bag, the viscous substance leaving his lips stained ruby. It makes for an amusing and slightly morbid scene.

You don’t stay the night with him everyday, but it is many days. You still stay at your dorm and spend breaks at your parents’ house to maintain their belief that you’re living only on campus. Your parents still do not know about Johnny—and likely never will, if you can help it—and the only friends you’ve told are the handful of supernatural-sympathetic people you’d managed to meet on- and off-campus. It’s not at all easy living two realities at once, entirely hiding Johnny’s existence from your family, but you manage it.

He feels bad about the strain it has on you more often than you’d like, but you never allow him to persuade you into changing your mind about your relationship. Because, after that Halloween night with Johnny and the many other nights you began spending together the same way…you realized that you could not let him go, despite your lingering fears about being discovered. And neither could he do the same.

After you both finish eating, Johnny puts on an album for you to listen to, the sound flowing out of the sizable Bluetooth speakers in the living room. You recognize it as an old swing record from his childhood that you were surprised he was even able to find on streaming. After Supper Jams is what he likes to call these moments, though you’ve always found that a bit corny—and have no problem telling him so.

For a while, you lie across his couch with your heart and mind and stomach full, absentmindedly swinging your leg to the music’s rhythm while Johnny goes over some paperwork from the museum beside you—his fingers tapping your forehead every so often to try to annoy you.

“You’re trying too hard,” you finally tell him, swatting his fingers away the next time he tries to drum them on your head.

“Trying too hard?”

“To mess with me. It’s not gonna work today, you know,” you say, still trying to wrestle Johnny’s fingers away from your face before he pokes an eye out. He takes an obvious amusement in your fruitless attempts to foil him.

“You’d accuse me of that? I’m literally just doing paperwork.”

You roll your eyes and snort. “Then keep your hands to yourself, sir.”

“...Would you really like for me to do that, though?”

“...Johnny.”

Your little back-and-forth is enough to get him to let up, though you’re disappointed when he finishes with the papers and leaves your side a few minutes later. He doesn’t go far, though; he stops at the window to gaze down at the blazing city scene stories below. He stands with his hands tucked in his pockets, no doubt thinking about something with the faraway look on his face. 

After the current song ends, it switches to another that you know is one of Johnny’s favorites, and he looks back to you with the corners of his mouth tilting up in the soft way that dwells in your daydreams. He takes a step forward and holds his hand out to you. “Dance with me?”

“You want to dance?” You get up from where you were sitting, though with some effort due to the after-dinner lethargy setting in, to stand in front of him. You accept his proffered hand, cold but welcoming in your own. He brings you into his body, firm against yours and always with its familiar scent. His other hand goes to the small of your back; you exhale quietly.

“It’s more an excuse to hold you,” Johnny murmurs, chuckling lowly. “But we can dance, too.”

“I hope you’re not looking for extravagant kicks and spins, because you know that’s not my forte and I’m a little food-drunk right now,” you admit, your face warming.

“It’s fine. Just follow me.”

You follow the movements of Johnny’s bare feet as he guides you across the floor of his apartment. He catches the look of concentration on your face as you glance down to both of your feet occasionally, and this simple action makes his entire being throb with the intensity of his affection for you. He is tempted to forget the music and the dancing and lose himself in the beating of your heart, letting the perpetual rhythm wind itself into the very atoms of his body. Many nights he has lain his head on your chest and let the sound blend itself into his subconscious.

One song melts into the next, and the night stretches out before you. The city darkens further with the last of the blueness leaving the sky, covering the firmament in pitch black.

You glance at your reflection in the window, and there is no one there but you—your hand held by an imaginary palm, the back of your sweater wrinkled by the touch of an invisible hand. You regard this sight neutrally; it doesn’t disturb you the same way it used to when you’d first met Johnny. You knew it made him sad to see you so uneasy because of it, and your reactions served as a reminder he didn’t need. You didn’t want to do anything to purposely hurt him, but it took you time to grow accustomed to this characteristic of his vampirism.

You’ve grown used to many things in your time with him, and you both did—and still do—your best to make things feel natural. You love Johnny; accepting everything he is was the only option you could choose.

The same could not be said for your family, most of your classmates, or society at large, but at the end of it all, that didn’t matter. 

You keep dancing until your feet grow tired of it. You’d never get exhausted of being in Johnny’s embrace, but the human body has its limits; and so the music continues on as your motions slow to a stop.

“I think I’ll get ready for bed now,” you say, rubbing your eyes with one hand and still holding Johnny’s hand with the other. “I’m getting really sleepy.”

Johnny smiles at the look of languid content on your face. He leans in to capture your lips in a kiss, and you readily meet him in the middle. It is another minute before you part from each other.

“I’ll join you after I clean up in here,” he whispers against your lips. You nod to the promise of his arms around you once more, giving him a tired smile before departing to his room.

When you are gone, Johnny stops the music and cuts the speakers off before going to shuffle his paperwork back into his briefcase. He takes his time to fix up a few more things in the room before it looks perfectly clean to his eyes. Once he’s done, Johnny looks to the large painting on the far wall, a grin slowly stretching his lips. 

Every time he sees it, he swears his sluggish heart beats faster and his blackened blood speeds through his veins. The portrait of his own likeness.

The gold necklace lying delicately against his collarbones, the strands of midnight black hair curling over his eye, the sharp angles of his jaw, the curves of his lips. Sometimes he stands there as long minutes pass and studies each of his features in the painting, pressing his fingers to his face to feel the shape of every individual one just as clearly as he is seeing them.

It’s no act of narcissism. It’s the rediscovery of oneself.

--

You’d saved up money for months to commission the portrait from a local artist.

The idea of doing it wouldn’t leave you alone. What other way for Johnny to see himself if he could not use mirrors, windows, or even the still waters of a pond? The small picture in his photo album was the only thing in the world he had of his own face, and it shouldn’t have been the only thing. You didn’t want it to be—not if something ever happened to it.

When you’d told Johnny about commissioning the artist, he barely knew how to respond. You’d never seen him cry before then, but his eyes were unmistakably glassy, pooling up with everything he didn’t yet know how to express to you verbally. You’d squeezed his hand in yours and let him lean his head against your arm with eyes closed, watching him contend with the wave of emotion he was experiencing. You’d been somewhat flustered yourself, hoping you hadn’t made the wrong move with this decision but wanting to provide some resolution to him in any way you could. Fortunately, your intentions were accepted beyond measure.

Johnny sat patiently for every session, his body still though his mind was usually clamoring with too many thoughts to count. Completing the painting had taken longer than the typical process, as the artist could use no photos for reference except for the one in Johnny’s photo album, but you’d specifically chosen someone with experience in painting supernatural beings—particularly vampires. That was worth the extra cost.

In Johnny’s mind, he could not find an answer for why he’d never tried to have himself painted before, but maybe it was…fear. Disgust. Apathy. Immense self-loathing. Maybe he’d grown more used to the familiarity of this banal existence than he thought, grown used to never seeing himself. Of never feeling alive…and simply fading into the blur of everyday life, days and months and decades passing by and leaving him behind somewhere in a pocket of time—the last time he’d been human. Not content with his existence, but accepting the fact that it was what it was, unable to be changed.

And then you came along—strangely naive but cognizant of his emotions, luminous from the essence of your lifeblood, and new.

After seeing the painting hanging on his wall for the first time after it’d finally been completed, Johnny had practically crushed you into his arms, tucking his face into the ringlets of your hair for so long that you almost worried he would suffocate.

“Johnny?” you whispered, one of your hands gliding down his back. “Are you okay?”

“My angel,” he murmured against the shell of your ear, his voice low and tight with the threat of more tears. “You’ll never know how you’ve saved me.”

--

Staring at the portrait now, Johnny still recalls all of those emotions as clearly as the day he’d first felt them. They fill his chest with a sense of completion, something he hasn’t experienced in many years.

Turning the lights off in the living room after another lingering look at the painting, Johnny heads to the bedroom where you wait for him.

When he finally joins you under the sheets, your bodies curl into each other. He closes his eyes, his face close enough to you to have his nose brushing your temple; your hand goes underneath the covers to rest over the birthmark on his side, the location of which you’ve memorized by now. You could find it blindfolded. You brush your fingers across it slowly.

And that birthmark is what you try to focus on as you fall asleep, instead of the myriad of thoughts that commonly crowd your mind at this time of night. The most consistent ones being about what your future will look like.

You are only some months away from graduating university now. No matter what comes next, your life with Johnny is something you never want to give up. You’d hold it forever if you could…and you want him to make that possible for you. You’d expressed that to him on more than one occasion.

Still, Johnny would never turn you. Most of his answers to your inquiries about it had been tense silence or firm, succinct rejections. He never raises his voice to you, but his demeanor and tone of voice in those moments is enough to tell you he hates the subject. At some point, you stopped asking. You won’t force him to do a thing he doesn’t want, even if you long for it deep inside.

Despite his steadfast refusal, you’ve entwined yourself with him so deeply that you’ve started to believe maybe you could live many more years beside him—long after your human body perishes. You hope he never forgets the taste of your blood, the few droplets of it he’s allowed himself to indulge in at your offering. Though he’s never done so with another lover, you hope he keeps all your pictures. You already know the portrait will stay with him forever.

You shift closer to give Johnny a chaste kiss on the lips, and he grins with his eyes still closed. The touch of his lips reminds you of your earlier kiss and the sharp, bloody iron that had lingered in his mouth. Maybe you didn’t need to be a vampire to experience the facets of his reality. 

Because of him, you’d become accustomed to the taste of blood.

#nct #nct fic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #johnny fic #johnny suh #johnny scenarios #johnny imagines #nct angst #nct fluff #nct vampire au #vampire au #johnny fluff #johnny angst

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

Listen I see a title like 'Big Package for You' and I need to know the deets and most importantly: is it a double entendre?

Gonna get my gratitude out of the way first cuz... you picked the serotonin factory. THANK YOU! I'm very excited to talk about this one!

Listen. This is probably why I will never change the name of this doc and if the fic ever gets written it will be the title. 😂😂😂

Also. You will learn that when it comes to me, everything I make will probably always be sfw 🙈

BUT! Yes. This title is a double entendre BUT x2, it's not from my brain. This is the title of the vlog on which this fic is based.

I'mma put a cut here cuz I'm probably about to ramble. This is my "I'm so excited about it but can't make it work quite yet" fic. Snippet(s) at the end!

So. Background info. I am and have been a pretty intense Simple Plan fan and everything Sunset Curve makes me think of them and vice versa. WHICH MEANS. I want to Sunset Curvify this vlog DVD that Simple Plan put out when they were just getting started (Big Package for You - it's on Youtube) because it is absolutely ridiculous and everything you would expect from the boys (and Julie) (and Flynn). A bunch of early 20s rockstar best friends going on tour for the first time and all of the shenanigans they get into?! Please. BUT I CAN'T MAKE THE VIDEO FUNNIES TRANSLATE TO WRITTEN FUNNIES. So it's been stalled.

That's a lot less rambling than I expected... 🤔

Reward for reading my incoherent thoughts:

Current opening scene:

“Ok, losers! We’re making a vlog!” Flynn announces as soon as they enter the studio.

“A vlog?” Alex confirms, incredulousness clouding his voice.

They nod determinedly. “Yes, a vlog. People like behind the scenes content and you’re about to record an album and film some music videos and hopefully go on tour. So let’s give the people what they want.”

“And the people want a vlog?” Alex asks again.

“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” Flynn demands, growing increasingly frustrated with him.

Alex sighs in resignation, “yeah, I’m listening. I just don’t want a camera in my face all the time.”

“Well, it won’t be all the time and there are…” they make a point of counting them off on their fingers, “at least four of you and you’re not special so they can get some screen time too.”

“Gee, thanks,” he responds drily.

They beam exaggeratedly at him, “no problem!” Flynn turns to the others. “Any other issues?”

“Nope!” Luke and Reggie quickly exclaim while Julie rolls her eyes.

Aaaaaand a random scene I have successfully adapted from the vlog:

Luke is sitting in front of an unsteadily held camera.

“When you say you were signed individually, basically, y-you didn’t know each other before this band?” Willie asks from behind the camera.

“No, we were actually manufactured, as many fans say.”

“And the friendship, it’s all fake.”

“Oh yeah, I don’t like those guys. Like, no. No. I wouldn’t hang out with them if -”

“And on a personal note, I have to say, if I wasn’t paid, I certainly wouldn’t be hanging out with you guys.” 

“YOU CAN’T SAY THAT!” Flynn yells from off camera and the boys start giggling. The camera is jostled as Flynn grabs it from Willie and stops recording.

WIP Ask Game

Thank you again! If I had a fic I wanted to excitedly ramble about with somebody, it would be this one (when I'm not frustrated at it).

#wip ask game #THANK YOU

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

For the fic title game:

"Handspun"

"Mentally Prepared"

Thanks for the ask! Titles are the hardest part of writing, I think, but writing from a title isn't much easier either.

For Handspun, I'm thinking a double entendre for handspun yarn (duh!) and fingering (also duh!). Frankie and Bonnie came to mind, her getting into spinning yarn and needing a hand from Frankie, then getting a hand from Frankie, if you know what I mean...

Mentally Prepared is a Javi G pov story about him getting ready for something very dangerous and illegal. Like, he's a mob boss for real and he's fixing to murder someone. And in the end, all he's preparing himself for is asking you out. He is so fucking nervous he could puke. You say yes, of course.

Thanks again for asking!

#asks #fic asks #missredherring

[greenlikethesea]

album art by @bienmoreau -- brilliant, as always.

back so soon, yes, but hey, when inspiration strikes. this song off i’m not angry anymore pops up a lot in the most remarkable thing universe, whether mentioned in benefit or live setlists or on b-side and rarities albums, and the song title gripped me from the moment. what does it mean to be toothless? both @idiopathicsmile and i have, without communicating this with one another, decided that eddie plays with double entendre a lot, both from his characterization in the fic and from incredible meta from @greatunironic on her blog and in author’s notes. 

my version of eddie as a lyricist is still very fixated on the tension between his perceived cowardice and his reluctance to hurt steve with the essence of his being. i think it’s textually obvious from how delicate he is with steve, even after they consummate their feelings. but there are tender parts of him, and it’s impossible to keep that all inside, the love and god, the fucking jealousy. the most relatable man to ever exist, my ass lying about how cool i am with everything when i’m seething with jealousy at every possible moment.

check out the lyrical throwback to I Was A Boy, written by the incredible @idiopathicsmile -- I will possibly never recover from that one, thanks babe, haha!

lyrics:

I hate the thought of him ascending your stairs I hate imagining her hands in your hair And I pretend that I don’t really care But I do, Oh god, I do

When it comes to you, I’m too aware Keep my distance, make myself scarce To make you believe that I don’t really care But I do, oh god, I do

I’m begging you on hand and knee Don’t forget, forget about me At the end of the world, the boy disappeared But I’m grown now, I’m here, dear

When it comes to you, I’m too aware Keep my distance, make myself scarce To make you believe that I don’t really care But I do, oh god, I do

I’m begging you on hand and knee Don’t forget, don’t forget about me At the end of the world, the boy disappeared But I’m grown now, I’m here, dear

Need you something awful, something ruthless I’d have you blind, treasure you deaf, love you toothless Wait for you forever, it’s my fault you’re clueless I can’t have you know the truth Can’t have you know I’m toothless too

I’m begging you on hand and knee Please don’t forget, forget about me At the end of the world, the boy disappeared But I’m grown now, I’m here

I’m begging you on hand and knee Please don’t forget, forget about me At the end of the world, the boy disappeared But I’m grown now, I’m here, have no fear

I can’t have you know the truth Can’t have you know I’m toothless too

#the most remarkable thing #my songs #my music #stranger things #stranger things songs

[writers-hq]

Good morrow and well met, for we have scraped together 8 of the dirtiest bawdy (bardy) moments from ol' Shakey-pants' work.

Don't act so surprised. It's always been about the dick jokes, y'all. Do you know us but at all?

So, adjust your ruff, pull up your cross-gartered stockings, and let's get the fuck into it.

1. Much Ado About Nothing

Right from the title we’re dealing in double entendres. ‘Nothing’ is Elizabethan slang for vagina so it basically means: “a lot of fuss about pussy”. Cool. 

Then almost immediately, our first introduction to one of the protagonists alludes to him being a walking venereal disease: “If he have caught the Benedick, it will cost him a thousand pound ere a' be cured.” 

In return, Benedick swears he will never “hang my bugle in an invisible baldrick” and on it goes for 5 acts. Even BeneDICK’s eventual declaration of love includes a sex pun. “I will live in thy heart, die (orgasm) in thy lap, and be buried in your eyes.” Stay classy, guys. 

2. Romeo & Juliet

Just your regular tween romance in which thirteen-year-old Juliet monologues repeatedly about how much she wants to get Ro-Ro into her bed. Even the classic ‘a rose by any other name’ speech includes the line: “nor hand, nor foot, nor arm, nor any other part belonging to a man” fnar fnar. 

Oh, and she also dies (slang for orgasm) asking for his ‘happy dagger’ to rust inside her ‘sheath’. Yeah yeah, it’s a tragedy, but it’s also sex ‘n’ death right to the end.

3. Twelfth Night

Malvolio is the king of (accidental?) debauchery. While reading a (forged) letter from the lady he fancies, he declares: “By my life, this is my lady’s hand. These be her very C’s, her U’s and (N) her T’s, and thus makes she her great P’s.” Yes, that is how you spell **** and we’ll let you figure out the P bit. 

He’s also responsible for the most misquoted line by wannabe motivational speakers everywhere: “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness THRUST upon ‘em.” 

Yes, he’s talking about his dick.

4. Hamlet

To be or not to be whatever, but just imagine trying to sneak ‘c*ntry matters’ past the censors today:

HAMLET: Lady, shall I lie in your lap? OPHELIA: No, my lord. HAMLET: I mean, my head upon your lap. OPHELIA: Ay, my lord. HAMLET: Do you think I mean country matters? OPHELIA: I think nothing, my lord. HAMLET: That’s a fair thought to lie between maids’ legs

Reminder that ‘nothing’ also means vagina. That’s a double whammy in the space of 7 lines. Kudos, sir. 

5. Sonnet 20

Elizabethans loved a nice bit of androgyny, and never more so in this poem whereby Shakey talks in detail about how his (male) patron is soooo pretty and delicate and feminine AF and he’s super totally into that even though nature added ‘one thing to my purpose nothing’ (psst he’s talking about the guy’s cock) and ‘prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure’ (still talking about cock) but that’s ok cos all the laydeez will ‘use’ his ‘treasure’ (cock). 

Mm hmm. 

Cue all the old man scholars arguing for several hundred years that there was absolutely nothing gay about any of this lol bless.

6. The Taming of the Shrew

An otherwise irredeemable play contains this arse-licking zinger: 

PETRUCHIO: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail. KATHARINA: In his tongue. PETRUCHIO: Whose tongue? KATHARINA: Yours, if you talk of tails: and so farewell. PETRUCHIO: What, with my tongue in your tail?

No further comments, your honour.

7. Henry V

Ok, buckle in for some Franglaise as the French Princess Catherine practices her English in preparation for marrying Henry, mispronouncing various body parts in a hilarious display of casual xenophobia. But the tables turn beautifully and profanely when she asks her maid the English word for ‘robe’ and is told ‘coun’ (gown) which sounds a lot like… uh… See you next Tuesday. 

Yep. Shakespeare really got the future queen of England to say c*nt live on stage. Bravo.

8. Titus Andronicus

Aaaaand possibly the first recorded ye olde yo mama joke: 

CHIRON: Thou hast undone our mother. AARON: Villain! I hath done thy mother!

Boom boom. Because he had sex wtih her. It’s about sex. It’s a sex joke. Okay cool. Bye. 

#shakespeare #dick jokes #much ado about nothing #romeo & juliet #twelfth night #hamlet #sonnet 20 #the taming of the shrew #henry V #titus andronicus

[ragana62]

#LoveFest

Pairing: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy

Rating: E

For a request from TheVulgarBookworm for some good devoted trophy husband Lucius. (And yes, the title is a double entendre. I like my terrible wordplay, thank you.)

#fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #harry potter #lucius malfoy #narcissa malfoy #smut #harry potter fanfiction

[animehouse-moe]

Akiba Maid War 11: All Out Camp

Theydies and Gentlethem, the dark horse of the season, Akiba Maid War. Unless P.A Works flubs on the finale, this series really is incredible. I mean, where else are you going to get a perfectly campy and parodied execution of a Yakuza/Criminal Underworld story married with Maid Cafes? It's such an insane combination but they make it feel like a match made in heaven, especially in episodes like these.

(Just a quick aside, no real commentary on the episode itself because it's so damn good I refuse to spoil it)

Yes, there's comedy, yes there's funny moments to it, but no, it doesn't take away from the weight of the episode. The seriousness adds so much to its appeal, and sells the story as something worth following. You can read it to a T, but that doesn't make it any worse. In fact, given the approach, you might actually think it better. You know what's coming, but still, they find ways to surprise you with it. Different angles that you might not expect, progression that you didn't think they'd go with. They do a lot to make sure that you get what you want out of it and it's really impressive.

P.A just nails it all, and honestly, a lot of work is owed to the early foundations of the story. They knew what they were doing from square one, and in a way I'm sure quite a few people had that idea as well. But on top of that, they add twists and turns you couldn't have seen. Surprises and shocks that can leave you stunned. They make sure that they fulfill the quota for camp and then some, but they don't leave it as purely a light and simple approach.

I mean, where else are you going to get a ramen shop who's name is 'Drama' (technically 'dorama', but pronounced in Japanese would be Drama). Or having a title who's name is such an on the nose double entendre? Akiba Meido Sensou, where Meido is written with the Kanji for 'Underworld' but is pronounced like Maid in Japan.

Akiba Maid War is 100% an anime original that will be going down in the history books. After being burnt on a pair of originals this year, it allows you to feel hope for the creativity of the medium outside of mass appeal for a cash grab, and instead as an insanely creative medium that has limitless potential.

#akiba maid war #akiba maid sensou #akiba meido sensou #anime and manga #anime #anime review #anime original #anime recommendation

[basedkikuenjoyer]

I Have Never Been More Proud of this Boy

If nothing else, we’ll always have this shining, glorious moment. Luffy shortcuts the bickering by simply taunting Lucci. He knows it’ll work. Bare minimum he learned this in Act 1. Hitetsu grills him for being tactless, Kiku gets things rolling in Bakura in a way that makes a nice lesson, Luffy loves it and thinks she’s cool as hell, he’s already applying it by Udon. Love it, the doe-eyed samurai left her mark. Act 1 is when Luffy gets to have a fun adventure, it makes sense it’d be what sticks with him. That’s kinda been one of my basic points. The extent remains to be seen, but this is far from the only example.

Big picture, I’ve been thinking a lot about the Ox Bell lately. The big gesture, the coded message. Hell, Zoro being the one who struggled. Feels like it was Rayleigh’s idea, right? Very uncharacteristic for Luffy. Either way, it is an example in the story of this concept we’ve applied to Wano. Making a big ruckus, a huge spectacle of a story...that was ultimately insignificant and just a vehicle to slip out a coded message to the people who’d get it. Pairs nicely with an arc built around a massive historical epic in the making where the real point lied in the subtle undercurrent beneath the spectacle. That’s not the only reason that part of the story has been on my mind though.

The timing, the time frame. That’s interesting. Two months or so at this point would coincide with both the reunion at Sabaody and when the samurai who leapt forward arrived. Kiku’d been in Okobore around a month, Wano was about a month, it’d probably fall around when the Strawhats were inbound. Just...don’t forget all that stuff about the Tamataebako and time being a big theme even just here on Egghead. The idea this wasn’t Vegapunk and it’s been going on under his nose for a while is very intriguing. He’s the type of guy who could pull off a big brain gambit so I wouldn’t be shocked to find out he’s still pulling the strings, but this makes the conspiracy truly wild. Being active for two months limits our potential culprits though. 

Then of course the cutaway to Shanks. One thing I’m starting to feel for sure, there’s a difference between cutting to one or two side stories and showing every major ally tied up in their own clashes. It feels like the point is...no one is coming to bail you out this time. Excellent use of the Sabaody parallels. You’re an Emperor now, sink or swim. 

Now we get to 1077. First off, the title. Don’t like to dwell too heavily on this type of thing but it feels relevant here. A lot of Wano’s feel like they could be a double entendre. Referring to something explicitly there but also one of the subtler threads. Yes, Kiku often ends up being one of the subtler threads that gets these more than most. So here we have “You should have figured that out sooner.” Applies to Zoro directly and hey, it’s a scene that tracks well with his Wano story. Put the pieces together man, you should have figured out you had ancestral ties waaaay sooner than the fight with King even if you didn’t really care not to mention you should know not to pry too deeply into nice ladies’ secrets.

That’s just one of four callbacks though. Each one the exact type of thread we talked about well before Egghead, some we’ve seen elsewhere in the arc. Franky & Usopp fall victim to S-Snake’s charms, a trick Bonney pulled on Vegapunk. Sanji’s going reverse-swirl demon mode. Nami’s struggling with hurting an image of a friend. Sentomaru sets up that something baaaad is about to go down, then we see everyone tied up in that cycle of these core themes. Leading to our finale...

Not Shaka! I...actually kinda assumed he was the traitor y’know? Idea of the pure “good” falling into thinking treachery for the greater good was justified. But here he is getting capped right in front of himself. What a wild turn. Presumably whoever it was followed him down, and it’s very interesting that we see a normal gun barrel instead of something sciencey. Remember, whoever’s been doing this has been at it for two months. Whoever it’s been has seemed pretty adept at utilizing the Seraphim and cool tech too, so a regular gun feels weird. It’s also strange they’d just bump off Shaka and leave.

Because I’m still on my bullshit though...what if it is Shaka who’s been pulling this? World’s smartest man can probably act a little, especially with their face hidden. So then what we’d be seeing isn’t the reveal of the traitor...but the savior. The logistics would really make it hard to be Kiku or any potential unknown-to-us new member...but I can’t say it’s implausible to introduce your quartermaster by having her instantly short circuit a mystery because we need to GTFO. Always been 50/50 on a third sword or a pistolero, and keep in mind the structure of showing the climax first before walking back to fill in gaps means logistics aren’t the biggest hurdle. Especially with the potential appeal of this being Oden/Toki’s island. It’d look like Robin on Jaya, she just casually knocked out the research while Luffy, Zoro, & Nami failed into a significant side story that was ultimately a distraction. Feel like doing the twist through the Grand Fleet sounds more doable though, either way at this point it’s mostly just fun it isn’t that hard to make it work. 

Still, if this is the actual tipping point it feels better for someone else. And it could very well just be simply the real traitor adding to their body count. Honestly sounds more likely. Feel like the next pair are going to start offering more clarity, but as always this is a hard series to predict. The story is slapping you with a full round of the core themes in a chapter titled “You should have realized it sooner,” that undertone Kiku propped up is just a blatant part of Egghead and we’re well past that point. 

#one piece #chapter 1076 #chapter 1077 #post-wano musings