#Fall of Nokia

[twinkskeletons]

get fall out boy on ur phone!

[lialexisblog]

🧜🏽‍♀️🩵🐚🌊

[gftimelord]

3 33 6 666 66 7777 0 run when 2 0 4 666 666 3 0 6 2 66 0 goes to war

66 444 4 44 8 0 will fall and 3 777 666 9 66 0 the 7777 88 66

When 2 0 4 666 666 3 0 6 2 66 0 goes to war

333 777 444 33 66 3 7777 44 444 7 0 dies and true love 555 444 33 7777

66 444 4 44 8 0 will fall and the 3 2 777 55 0 will 777 444 7777 33

When 2 0 4 666 666 3 0 6 2 66 0 goes to war

3 33 6 666 66 7777 0 run, but 222 66 88 66 8 0 the 222 66 7777 8

The battle's 9 666 66 , 0 but the 222 44 444 555 3 is 555 666 7777 8.

-66 666 55 444 2 0 Anon

(Note for mod: Sorry for any mistakes in the code, I had to manually type it so there could be some mistakes)

*The doctor’s eyes scanned the words and numbers, the echo of their meaning unraveling within him like a slow, haunting melody. The poem stared back at him from the page, its lines carrying weight heavier than the ink that composed them. With journal and pen in hand, he hesitated for only a breath, the stillness of the room stretching taut as if the very air anticipated his response.*

*He couldn't resist the allure of a mystery, even if solving it meant peeling away at wounds he'd buried beneath layers of self-forged armor. He gripped the pen, its cool metal grounding him as he began to work through the cipher, each word he decoded hitting like a whisper of long-forgotten truths.*

“Demons run when a good man goes to war.”

*Ford let out a bitter chuckle, the sound hollow in the quiet space. A good man? He knew the weight of that saying all too well, a badge once worn with pride but now tarnished beyond recognition. Could a man who has killed, who has orchestrated destruction— who has stood upon the ash of worlds— still be called good? He didn't think so. He paused, the pen hovering above the paper as memories began to resurface, unbidden but unstoppable. The faces, the screams, the blood— all of it etched into the unrelenting stone of his mind.

*But he pushed onward, decoding with precision, each line unfolding like a mirror held too close for comfort.*

“Night will fall and drown the sun, When a good man goes to war.”

*The metaphor clawed at him, its imagery vivid and unrelenting. He could still feel the suffocating darkness of those days, the way the weight of his actions pressed down on his chest like the crushing depths of the ocean. For all his brilliance, for all his knowledge and power, he’d been naïve enough to believe he could change the tide of a war already lost to the annals of fate. The arrogance of that belief still left a bitter taste in his mouth.*

“Friendship dies and true love lies, Night will fall and the dark will rise.”

*The pen stilled for a moment, his hand trembling as he considered the prose. How many friendships had he burned away in the fire of his ambition? How many bonds had he severed in pursuit of the impossible? He thought of Stanley, of his unwavering loyalty, and how many times he’d tested that bond to the breaking point. He thought of Fiddleford, a fleeting memory now, a ghost that lived only in the faint scent of metal and machine. The kindness extended to him, Ford wondered if that was a luxury reserved for those who could still see themselves as deserving of it.*

*He sure didn't.*

“When a good man goes to war.”

*He couldn’t help the sardonic smile that crept onto his lips. The repetition almost mocked him now, a refrain that felt more accusation than revelation. He scribbled the next words almost aggressively, as if forcing them into existence might make them hurt less.*

“Demons run, but count the cost.”

*His breath hitched. The cost. He could recount every ounce of it in painful, meticulous detail if he chose to, but he didn’t need to. The cost was carved into his very being, the scars physical and otherwise, the sleepless nights, the phantom pain in his chest where his heart once beat unbroken.*

“The battle’s won, but the child is lost.”

*That line stilled him entirely, the pen falling limp in his hand as he stared at the words. He didn’t need to wonder what they meant. He knew. He’d lost the child he once was a long time ago, somewhere between the schemes of a yellow demon and the suffocating pull of his own pride. He’d shed that skin in the fires of ambition, and what remained was something else entirely— a man who carried a borrowed title but questioned its worth every waking moment.*

*Stanford sighed, the sound heavy and laden with more than words could hold. He ran a hand through his silver locks, the weight of the decoded poem pressing against him like a familiar specter. The words had done their damage, dredging up the memories he kept locked away beneath layers of duty and necessity. But he didn’t tear the page out. He didn’t crumple it or toss it into the bin by his desk.*

*Instead, he closed his journal with a soft snap, his hand lingering on its worn cover. He sat back, staring out at the twinkling expanse of the night sky visible through the glass windows of his home. The words lingered in his mind, their echoes refusing to fade as he watched the endless spiral of lights and stars that strayed beyond the safety of the cabin.*

*The Doctor didn’t cry. He didn’t rage. He simply sat, the silence of the room now heavier than before. And somewhere, deep within him, the child he’d lost so long ago wept silently in the ruins of a man who once dreamed of being good.*

[blinkandyoumissit]

DEC 2008 | AEG Live • Network Live Fall Out Boy Nokia Theatre Sizzle Reel

[ video source | appears in ]

[goldensunset]

‘take care of your new gadget’ mom the rotom phone takes care of *me*

[hollyoongs]

him and i are so mysterious (we somehow end up being cute, which we're NOT)

[the-apparatus]

Does anyone know where I could get a giant (3 ft tall ish) Nokia plush? Asking for a friend.

[beaft]

worst part of getting into the traditional folk music scene is that you will hear a song in the wild and fall in love with it, and when you try to find it online you discover that there are 900 different cover versions and the only non-terrible one is a recording of a church hall concert filmed in 2002 on someone's nokia

[diegusting]

Diegusting what song is your favourite this week🤔

My favourite part is at 2:50 normally with the violins but you probably can’t skip to that part in this format-

This choice was made among all of the garbage I listen to of course- I have the worst music tastes known to man.

[squidaped-oyt]

Every time I think this laptop is finally succumbing to the call of the grave it just keeps on going

[spaceycat]

ɴᴏᴡ ʀᴇᴄᴏʀᴅɪɴɢ ... 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚕

♫ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ: spit by show me the body + princess nokia (4:00) // 𐙚 " it's so filthy, disgusting - so ugly i'm sure, i'm so ugly, disgsusting - and filthy for sure... " ᝰ.ᐟ

bob is known for drooling in his sleep, when he's about to sneeze and just in general when he's bored. but now he practically drools whenever he sees you like pavlov's dog.

when you first made out with him, it was just spit and teeth - and thats when you became acutely aware of it all, and how intriguing it was.

when you first had sex, you took note of how drool pooled and spilled out of he corner of his mouth with every pant coming out of him as he held onto your hips like a lifeline.

now you make it an internal game with yourself, how quick you could make bob drooling beneath you.

when you go down on him, licking that vein on the underside of his cock you watch the saliva pool - and how he has to haphazardly wipe his mouth with a hand as his head falls back.

when he goes down on you it's just wet and sloppy from inexperience and the added drool - tongue lapping at your core like it was the last thing he'd ever do, when he goes down on you his brain just turns off so he doesn't really think about what's coming out of his mouth from your hands tugging at his hair.

you then started to incorporate it into sex, asking him to spit into your hand when jerking him off, letting a drop of your own spit drop onto his hard cock, suckling on eachothers fingers - because the sight of bob taking your thumb into his mouth was too good to let up.

when sentry or void fronts, they make it a thing to vocalise the type of shit bob truly likes in bed and what he's willing to do but too nervous to do so - meaning spitting in your mouth by pulling at your jaw to open your mouth or dragging his tongue down your body, pulling back your folds and spitting directly onto your pussy.

and during the day, when anyone in the group makes fun of bob for drooling like a dog when he takes naps on the living room couch - you both just have to sit there and act like you didn't have him writhing beneath you because of said drool, so you sip your coffee and suppress that smirk.

(dude this is actually filth, i didn't hesitate with the title and song..)

[startheskelaton]

Holy shit what happened last night… oh primus my head

Lord Megatron thank the all spark your alive!

Alive? Of course I’m alive! Lord Megatron will never fall! Now tell me why the room is spinning

Well lord megatron, you drank like 15 buzzballs, a bottle of pink Whitney and a Sheryl temple with no cherry… you kinda tore up the whole base sir…we had to confiscate your phone at one point because you kept texting Optimus Prime our location for a… ah.. “nut and go”… sir.

I DID WHAT!!!?? OH NO! Now prime knows I’m thinking about him and he’s gonna hold that over me for a good few months, shit! If I end up on Reddit I’m gonna lose it.

Really sir… that’s what you’re mad about?..okay whatever. Starscream has your phone by the way, but I wouldn’t worry too much. You still have a Nokia and the most he could do is beat you over the head with it.

LORD MEGATRON LOOK!! Optimus Prime responded to your messages with a “new number who dis” that means he really doesn’t care about you anymore!!

Give me that shit….he said “bet” you fucking lier. Starscream how’s your relationship with Jetfire? Going good?

Sorry sir.

Yeah that’s what I thought, now text him back immediately!! We might be able to salvage this.

Elsewhere

DAD!! YOU CANT JUST GO BANG YOUR TOXIC EX!! IF YOU DO THAT MEANS THEY WIN!!How many times have we been over this, no phone for a month

Oh dang it

[cxvii666]

“nokia”

a mha college au feat. denki k. & hanta s.

“where's the function?" “—where the fuck the function?” “send the addy—” “where the fuck the function???”

wc: 3.7k

part of the hoe cakes - EP

...starting track

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

.....

"guess who just got that big cashmoneyyyyy!!!"

denki kaminari, to much surprise of those who don't know him so well, is an early riser.

that's not to say that the blonde's sleep schedule isn't completely out of wack, because it is. late nights that could barely be counted as nights, more like extremely early mornings, are not infrequent to him. most days he's up till 2am on his playstation, or playing minecraft on his laptop, or rewatching the same three movies.

but he's always up before 7am.

fuelled by nictotine, caffeine, (sometimes ketamine), and sheer willpower.

he enjoys getting up with the sun, the quiet of the house at dawn.

it's peaceful in a way nothing else is. he gets to attempt at quieting his mind. sometimes he's downstairs before bakugou goes on his morning run, so he makes the guy his favourite disgustingly green multivitamin shakes, and in return receives quiet instruction, general life advice, and insightful words of wisdom from the other blonde. because they are both calm in a way they're normally not.

hanta sero, on the other hand, is a master of the lay in. you won't see him before 2pm on a regular day, he'll be upstairs in his room, snoozing, snoring, drooling into his pillow, until either his stomach wakes him up and he leaves his dungeon of his own accord, in search of food or an energy drink, or, someone gets sent up to check on him, to make sure he's not dead or something like that.

on this particular morning, hanta had stumbled downstairs just after midday, slightly buzzing because he had finally bought the pair of sneakers he'd been eyeing up for the last week.

he flops onto the couch, a gangly pile of long limbs and messy brown hair, knocking denki on the leg accidentally-on-purpose. denki looks up briefly, over the top of his book, from where he's resting in the corner of the couch and acknowledges his friend with a nod.

"'bit early for you, ain't it," the blonde mumbles, the frame of his reading glasses slipping slightly as he turns the page.

"shaddup." is all he receives from hanta in return, who then takes a swig of his redbull like he's tryna give himself wings.

"dude, did you hear what i just said?" hanta yawns out, lazily kicking his feet up to rest on the blonde's shin, "the bag just got dropped in my bank account."

"what, you finally got that uber eats refund?" denki snorts, eyes still focused on the printed words on the page, he has to finish this chapter now, else he won't pick the book back up for another two weeks.

"don't be funny," hanta laments, thinking of the food that never got delivered, the money that was never returned, "and fuck uber, fuck the government." denki rolls his eyes at the rant he's already heard, "what do they get out of torturing underpaid students, huh? no loyalty in this game."

"what game?" denki replies, nearly at the end of the page.

"the game of life," he drawls back dryly. "you finish that chapter yet? i wanna go for a smoke."

"almost, the mc is pissing me off though, i don't know if i can finish this."

"what's the book?"

"pride and prejudice."

hanta whistles low and long, head tilted as he picks his phone back up to open depop. "damn," he mutters, thumb pausing over a blurry jpeg of a hoodie that definitely doesn’t justify the £85 price tag, "sorry, mister classic literature."

denki doesn't even glance up. he just hums, flipping another page with the careful indifference of someone pretending they’re not rereading the same paragraph for the third time.

they fall into silence — not heavy, just easy — filled only by the soft tap-tap-tap of hanta’s screen and the occasional creak of the old couch when one of them shifts. sunlight slants through the living room blinds, catching on dust motes and the curl of denki’s blonde hair as he leans deeper into the cushions, glasses slipping slightly down his nose.

hanta’s sprawled out beside him, legs stretched halfway off the couch, socked feet resting dangerously close to denki’s side. he’s locked in, zoned out, scrolling through overpriced streetwear resellers hawking one-of-one drops and faded zip-ups from some underground german brand he can’t even pronounce.

the quiet’s broken by the sharp snap of a book closing.

“you got funds for said smoke?” denki asks, voice dry, already reaching for his phone.

“i haven’t picked up yet,” hanta replies without looking up.

“that’s not what i asked.”

“you’re so annoying.”

“i was gonna text shinsou. he came back yesterday, i’m sure he’s got at least an eighth on him.”

hanta stretches, joints popping. “then yeah. tell him i’ll bank transfer.”

denki raises an eyebrow. “so you do have smoke money.”

hanta tosses his phone up, catches it against his chest. “what did i say earlier? the bag got dropped.”

a beat.

denki glances at his phone, brows lifting. “oh shit. it’s the 30th.”

“there he is,” hanta grins, already anticipating it. “and you know what that means—”

“we got paiddddd” denki sing-songs, jumping up just enough to do a half-assed shoulder shimmy.

hanta kills the moment immediately, as he always does, with a well-timed scoff and a raised brow. “we? bro, who’s this we you speak of?”

denki freezes mid-dance, blinking. “we… like, you and me?” he gestures between them helplessly. “that’s, like, basic grammar, i fear.”

“i mean,” hanta says, voice climbing mock-dramatically, “there is no ‘we’, okay? you don’t have to spend all your free time in that stupid stockroom. ‘sero can you come in today?’ ‘sero we need a full size range of xyz’ ‘sero can you take the bins out?’ ‘sero can you close the store tonight and then open the next morning’—NO. fuck that.”

denki snorts, trying and failing to hide the smirk pulling at his mouth.

hanta sees it and narrows his eyes. “unemployed bastard. shut the fuck up.”

“okay, okay, relax, bruh,” denki says, holding up both hands. “you know what?”

“…what?”

“we should go out tonight.”

“are you kidding? i thought we were locking in. don’t you have, like, five assignments due next—”

“no thoughts. only vibes.”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

by 9pm they’re crammed around a too-small, sticky round table in a bar that smells like old wood and spilled citrus. the lighting’s low and uneven, all weird amber glows and exposed wires, and the music is some indie playlist that’s trying a little too hard to be ironic. something with a harmonica plays over the speakers, no one knows the words, but everyone knows the vibe: overpriced, under-cleaned, maybe cool in a way that’s embarrassing if you think about it too long.

denki’s halfway into his second tequila soda, slouched back against the booth with his knees knocking into hanta’s. his eyes are glassy, hair a little damp at the temples, grinning like someone just told him the funniest joke in the world and he’s still recovering.

hanta’s beside him, obviously crossfaded. talking too loud, gesturing too big with a joint in his hand, cheeks flushed pink from a cocktail that had way more liquor than mixer. he’s half on the seat and half off, manspreading shamelessly and knocking into denki every time he tries to make a point.

kiri’s on denki’s other side, balanced on a chair that definitely wasn’t made for his size, nursing a beer that’s already gone warm, launching into some dramatic story about how he “definitely tore something” at the gym last week.

“nah dude, i swear, i was just squatting and something snapped—”

“your common sense,” bakugou mutters from across the table, not looking up from the glass of whiskey he’s been babysitting for the past twenty minutes.

“fuck off, man,” kirishima laughs, clapping him hard on the shoulder, “just ‘cause i’m built different—”

“built stupid,” bakugou corrects, finally glancing up, eyes narrowed like he’s considering whether the redhead needs to be thrown out the window or just insulted more thoroughly.

shinsou’s wedged between bakugou and the wall, hoodie hood up, sipping something dark and bitter with the look of a man who’s about to start dissociating. he hasn't said much since they sat down, just making faces into his glass every time someone raises their voice — which is often.

denki points across the table suddenly, finger wobbling as he focuses on bakugou. “i’m just saying,” he slurs, “you’re, like, objectively the hottest out of all of us, and that’s so unfair because you’re also mean and rich.”

bakugou doesn’t even blink. just flips him off slowly, deliberately, like he’s done it so many times it’s lost all meaning.

“i think i’m the hottest,” hanta says, almost spilling his drink on his lap. “in a, like, mysterious way. like… the kinda hot that sneaks up on you.”

“you’re hot in a raccoon-at-3am kinda way,” shinsou mutters into his drink without missing a beat.

hanta pauses. considers. “thank you?”

kiri claps him on the back like he just won a prize. “you’ve got that haunted twink energy. it works for you.”

hanta makes a face like he’s been personally victimised. “okay wow, homophobic and accurate. you guys are on thin fuckin ice.”

they all laugh — loud and messy — drawing a few annoyed looks from the couple at the next table over. denki knocks his knee against hanta’s and hiccups once, eyes fluttering closed like the room’s starting to spin just slightly.

then he suddenly lurches forward, forehead thunking onto the sticky wood of the table as he groans, “can we go somewhere else? shinsou, your internship aged you like milk. i feel like we’re thirty-five. i wanna move. i wanna dance. i want fun.”

“then go,” shinsou says, without even lifting his head.

denki doesn’t even hesitate. he’s already got his phone out, dialing with shaking hands and tequila optimism. he holds the phone to his ear like it owes him money.

“this is gonna end badly,” hanta whispers to kirishima, grinning wide.

“denki, babe, what’s up?” mina answers on the second ring, her voice loud with bass and laughter and probably a little champagne.

“where are you? save me. i’m surrounded by clinically depressed men and i need a serotonin shot.”

“club downtown with the girls. music’s fire. drinks are pink. get your ass here.”

“we’re on our way.”

he hangs up like he just solved a crime and slaps his palm down on the table. “mina’s at the club. we’re going. sero, get up.”

“say less,” hanta says, already trying to climb over the bench with the grace of a baby giraffe.

“absolutely not,” bakugou growls, right as kiri fist-pumps with a too-loud, “hell yeah!”

shinsou sighs like he’s dying, then tips the rest of his drink back like it might bring him peace.

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

they leave the bar like a storm — noisy, uncoordinated, half-drunk and dramatic. denki’s leading the charge, coat flapping behind him like a cape as he marches toward the curb, phone in hand and eyes bright with mission.

“someone call a ride,” shinsou mutters, already regretting this.

“on it,” hanta announces, immediately opening instagram instead of uber. “wait, no, shit.”

“i’ll do it,” bakugou growls, snatching the phone out of hanta’s hand. “you idiots’ll end up the other side of the fuckin' country.”

“wow,” hanta says, mock-offended, “it’s giving control issues.”

“it’s giving i don’t want to die in a ditch tonight,” bakugou snaps.

kiri’s standing too close to the street, waving his arms. “is this legal if i flag one down like a taxi—”

“it’s a rideshare, bro!” denki yells, exasperated. “you don’t just... wave at random cars!”

“what if it’s the vibe though?”

the car arrives miraculously only five minutes later, a silver prius that has seen better days. they pile in like a jenga tower mid-collapse — kirishima practically sitting on shinsou, hanta in the middle seat with both elbows out like he owns the place, denki leaning his whole body across the row to yell something incoherent out the window. bakugou slams the door shut with unnecessary force and glares at the driver like sorry in advance.

the entire ride is chaos.

denki insists on playing music and ends up blasting a playlist called “feral thot energy.” hanta starts freestyle rapping over it, badly. kiri tries to harmonize. shinsou has his head against the window with the thousand-yard stare of a man who has made several mistakes in life.

“this is the kind of night where legends are born,” denki declares, arm draped around hanta’s shoulder like a drunk prom date.

“it’s the kind of night where someone gets kicked out of a club,” shinsou mutters.

“same difference.”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

the club hits them like a wave — sound and sweat and heat and light. music thrums through the floor, vibrating up through their shoes, a pulsing beat that makes your ribs buzz. everything’s cast in blue and purple and gold strobe. bodies packed tight, the air thick with perfume, alcohol, and cheap fog machine mist.

mina spots them first — she’s glowing, standing on the low couch in a VIP booth like it’s a stage, waving her drink and grinning like she owns the place. she yells something they can’t hear and beckons them over.

they shove their way through the crowd, hands on shoulders, stumbling into strangers. hanta gets distracted by a girl in platform boots and nearly crashes into a server. kiri’s already hyping himself up, bouncing to the beat, dragging bakugou by the wrist with zero shame.

shinsou disappears into the dark like a shadow, muttering something about getting a drink and being “less near all of you.”

denki’s still laughing when he sees you.

his brain short-circuits. just flatlines for a second.

you’re across the room, leaning against the bar with a drink in hand, face lit up in electric violet from the LED strip beneath the counter. you’re laughing — at what, he doesn’t know — and you look good. criminally good. all done up and shining like you were dipped in starlight and eyeliner.

denki halts mid-step, grabbing hanta’s arm like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.

"holy shit."

hanta blinks, following his gaze. he spots you instantly. his entire vibe shifts in half a second.

denki’s shoulders stiffen. hanta’s grin tilts, almost smug.

they don’t say a word — but the battle lines are drawn.

denki smooths his shirt down and straightens up, already plotting, because tonight just got way more interesting.

"bro," the brown eyed boy drawls, his normally nonchalant tone cracking, "you’re joking."

"i’m not. she’s here. she’s right fucking there."

they both just stand there for a beat, frozen in place like idiots in a teen movie.

"we knew this might happen," hanta says, knocking back a too-big sip of his drink like it’ll help. "she’s friends with mina. and mina lives here. and we are, unfortunately, also here."

denki groans, scrubbing a hand down his face. "okay but what do we do?"

"we don’t panic," hanta says, clearly starting to panic. "you like her. i like her. classic romcom setup. we wingman each other. bros helping bros."

"that never works."

"you’re right. but i’m already a teensy bit faded, so my judgment is impaired. let’s do it anyway."

they fist bump like absolute morons. it’s unspoken, the truce. the agreement. the absolute guaranteed disaster they’re about to unleash on themselves.

“denki,” hanta hisses suddenly as they're making their way over to the bar, grabbing his friend by the shoulder like he’s about to keep him from walking into traffic. “don’t do the eyebrow thing. it makes you look insane.”

denki freezes mid-step, brow raised just slightly, lips twitching in what was clearly meant to be a smolder but lands somewhere between drunken anime villain and confused raccoon. his bleached hair is slightly damp from the humidity of the club, strands clinging to his forehead, cheeks already pink with tequila and ego.

“what eyebrow thing?” he says innocently, blinking way too much.

“that thing where you raise one and try to smolder. you look like a drunk ferret.”

denki looks genuinely offended. “you’re so full of shit.”

“don’t fight me on this right now,” hanta says, standing tall, long limbs graceful in that lazy way only he can pull off — baggy jeans slung low, silver chain flashing under the neon. “focus. you’re acting like this is a final boss level. relax.”

before denki can retaliate, you spot them.

your grin is immediate — wide, familiar, a little sharp at the edges like you already know something they don’t. you’re leaning against the bar like you own the place, glass in hand, lips glossy, eyes flicking between the two of them like you’re trying to decide who to bully first.

“well, well, well,” you say, raising your drink. “look who crawled out of the sad boy table.”

“we got tired of being emotionally repressed,” denki replies with a grin, already sliding closer. his chain catches the light, and there’s a faint glitter on his cheek like he walked through a cloud of mina’s body spray.

“also the drinks here are pink. i couldn’t resist.”

“pink drinks do hit different,” you concede, tipping your glass to him.

hanta leans in on the other side of you, effortlessly cool, one elbow braced on the bar like he’s done this a hundred times before — because he has. he flashes a lazy smile. “so who’s your friend?”

you glance sideways, and the guy you’d been chatting with is already edging away like a guy smart enough to take a hint. “just someone mina introduced. he’s chill. not as entertaining as you two, apparently.”

they both beam at that — practically glowing.

and for a while, it’s good.

you talk, or more accurately, yell over the pounding bass. denki shoves a round of lemon drop shots into everyone’s hands like he’s on a mission from god. hanta makes a joke about astrology that makes you snort vodka soda through your nose. denki doubles over laughing and nearly chokes on a lime wedge.

you steal one of his fries when a plate of mystery bar food appears out of nowhere, and he acts like you’ve committed a felony. hanta dramatically narrates a fake backstory for the guy passed out in the booth across the room. it’s chaotic and stupid and loud and fun.

until it stops being that.

it’s little things, at first. denki cuts hanta off halfway through a story, correcting him on some inconsequential detail. hanta retaliates by one-upping him on a joke you weren’t really listening to. denki starts leaning a little too close to you. hanta starts rolling his eyes a little too obviously.

you feel it shift — the air getting tighter.

“you always do this,” hanta mutters later, after denki slides into the booth beside you uninvited, legs brushing yours casually like it’s nothing. “you get weird.”

“i’m not weird,” denki snaps, voice rising just enough to make it obvious that he is.

“you’re doing the thing.”

“what thing?”

“the thing where you pretend to wingman but then you cockblock.”

“you literally just told her i cried during Up.”

“because you did!” hanta says, throwing his arms up. “and it was sweet!”

“it was manipulative.”

“you need therapy.”

you stare at both of them, blinking in mild alarm. “are you guys okay?”

“we’re fine,” they say in unison. then glare at each other.

a beat passes. the silence is immediate and awkward.

“i’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you announce, already sliding out of the booth. it’s the emotional equivalent of pulling the fire alarm.

as soon as you’re gone, the mood collapses in on itself like a dying star.

“we’re idiots,” hanta says, rubbing his hand over his face.

“massive idiots,” denki agrees, eyes on the condensation sliding down his glass.

“she probably thinks we’re in love with each other.”

“we are. just not the sexy kind.”

they sit with that. the weight of it. the creeping shame of being two grown men emotionally combusting over a single girl in a bar with glittery walls and a sticky floor.

“you wanna go home?”

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

they stumble into hanta’s room just past midnight, extremely early by their standards, shoes half-kicked off in the doorway, smelling like tequila, sweat, weed, and mutual defeat. the walls glow dimly with the soft wash of purple LEDs, casting shadows over the usual mess — a hoodie draped on the desk chair, empty cans on the windowsill, a pair of skate shoes abandoned under the bed.

denki drops face-first onto the mattress with a dramatic groan. “we blew it.”

“royally,” hanta agrees, toeing off his sneakers and collapsing beside him. “like, worse than the Up thing.”

“i’m never gonna hear the end of the Up thing.”

“you cried so hard," hanta giggles out into the silence.

“don’t start again,” denki mumbles into the blanket. “we’re mourning.”

“mourning what? the shreds of our dignity?”

“that. and the fact that we probably scared her off forever.”

hanta snorts softly. “you think she’ll still come over saturday?”

“she said she would.” denki flips onto his back and stares at the ceiling like it has answers. “you invited her, remember? you were all—come hang, it’ll be chill, we’ll do frozen margaritas, good weed and bad movies.”

“yeah, and you added i’ll make nachos and accidentally seduce you with my helpless little golden retriever charm.”

“it’s not a bit. it’s my burden.”

they lapse into silence again, heads lolling toward each other on the bed, limbs splayed out like they’ve just returned from war.

“you think she’s into you?” hanta asks eventually, voice low, a little too casual to be real.

denki’s quiet for a beat. “i dunno. maybe?”

another pause.

“you?”

hanta lets out a long breath. “maybe.”

they don’t look at each other. they don’t need to. it’s not the first time they’ve liked the same person — just the first time it might actually matter.

“we suck,” denki says again, softer this time.

“at least we suck together.”

"that's so gay."

they fall asleep like that — fully clothed, limbs tangled, laughter still clinging to their skin like the glitter they’ll find in the morning.

...end of playback

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

prev track ▷ 93 'til infinity

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[gftimelord]

Is it possible for one Angel to pilot a TARDIS?

They're fast and smart, and if one got their hands on a TARDIS, can they use it? (If they know how.)

- 66 666 55 444 2 0 2 66 666 66

*The doctor’s gaze hardened, fingers tightening around the edge of his coat as he processed the question. Why did this stranger care so much about the Weeping Angels? It was the second— or was it third? —message he’d received all around about those quantum-locked nightmares, and the persistence gnawed at him. Most creatures in the universe provoked intrigue, even fascination. But the Angels? No. Not for him.*

*They were stone only when seen, creatures that flickered to life in the instant no one looked. They covered their faces as if weeping, their hands shielding them from one another’s gaze because even they couldn’t risk looking into the cold eyes of another of their kind. It was this trait that gave them their unique power— and, in equal measure, their vulnerability.*

“Why do you want to know?”

*His voice held a low, wary edge, one he didn’t bother masking. The thought of an Angel getting its hands on a TARDIS— a ship practically bleeding with time energy— made his skin crawl. He didn’t want to imagine them at the helm, using its power to scatter themselves across ages, feeding with unquenchable hunger while wreaking havoc and destruction.*

*The possibility terrified him, though he would never give voice to that fear. He’d deflect, bury it under layers of bravado. But still, the thought lurked in the depths of his mind, as stubborn as the horrific creatures themselves.*

“They’re not going to get their hands on a TARDIS anyway."

*Ford said with finality, his voice cool and dismissive, as if ending the conversation.*

"I don’t care if they know how to control it or not.”

*And yet, his gaze flickered, betraying a trace of doubt. He knew the real answer— he did care. He cared more than he’d admit, even to himself. But as always, he’d keep that fear hidden, safely tucked away where no one else could find it.*

[sugawhaaa]

Han Drabble

🌸•{Clingy Jisung}•🌸

Warnings/genre:: SMUT mentioned, fluff

Pairing:: Han x fem!bodied!reader

Skz masterlist:: 🌸

A/N:: uh I wrote this in like 40 minutes so if it's ass that's why

"Baby, I didn't get to cuddle you for like a whole month," Jisung whines as he follows after you. He had just gotten back from touring and insisted on you giving him cuddles before anything else.

"I know Han but you haven't even unpacked your carry-on or washed up," you try to explain but as soon as you stop walking he wraps himself around you.

"I can do all of that tomorrow, I want you now," he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you closer to him, placing a kiss on the top of your head. You finally give in to him, accepting your defeat. He takes you to the bedroom and sheds off some extra clothing he doesn't need, like his hoodie, socks, and belt. He creates a pile beside his side of the bed before crawling up, eagerly inviting you to join him.

"I do want you to wash up tonight though," you say as you take off your bra and socks. You get under the sheets and Jisung is already pulling you closer. He wraps his arms around you and rests his head on top of yours and his warmth swallows you whole. You realize then how much you missed his embrace. His hands trail lower, dipping beneath your shorts to palm your ass gently. You look up at him, an unamused expression on your face.

"Don't look at me like that," he pouts, "I haven't gotten to touch you in weeks," he kisses your cheek and then moves down to your neck. "Did you miss my touch? I got those videos you sent me of you playing with yourself," he smirks and you feel your face flush, remembering the nights you stayed up thinking about him all by yourself. "But I know it's not the same as having me here," he kisses between your collarbone gently.

He moves around to leave kisses and marks on your shoulder. You take after his lewd actions and bring your hands up under his shirt, feeling his abs. He usually gets more buff after touring because of all the dancing and his busy schedule. Han smirks against your skin as he feels your hands on him. "Ah, I missed your touch," he nibbles down on your skin causing you to let out a little moan and that's the turning point. You both begin to eagerly tug off each other's clothes and once naked you begin to make out intensely, the room filled with heavy breathing and the sound of tongues and lips touching. "Cmon, I know you miss me," he smirks as he lifts you to straddle him.

As you sit on top of him he plays with your tits, mainly groping the soft wounds and squeezing them gently. He brings his mouth closer before sucking one of your nipples into his mouth. You gasp loudly and you see the proud smirk on his face appear as he rolls his tongue over the hardened bud. You adjust your position so your crotch aligns perfectly with his. He moans against your breast but doesn't make an effort to stop you.

You then rock your hips, rubbing your folds over his cock. His head falls back, a groan escaping his throat. "Ah, fuck," he places his hands on your hips, holding you steady as you grind down on his cock. "God I'm so hard, I'm gonna cum just from this," he laughs tiredly, exhausted from his long flight. "Can I lie back and trust you to take care of me?" He looks up at you with flushed cheeks, watery eyes, and parted lips.

"Of course baby," you stroke his hair back before moving your hips faster. "I've been practicing this a lot," you giggle before moaning, the head of his cock hitting your clit.

"Oh yeah? Humping your pillows again?" He smirks, "I can't judge though, I did the same," he grabs one of your breasts again, using it as a stress ball as he watches you grind on his cock. You then spit into your hand before applying it to his cock and continuing. Watching you do that alone brings Jisung closer to the edge. "So nasty," he teases as his eyes begin to roll back. "Put it in, please," he whines, his back arching.

You follow his request, raising your hips, aligning his cock, and then sitting down on it. He moans loudly as his eyes roll back. "Fuck, I forgot how tight and warm you are," he bites his lip. He eagerly guides your hips to start bouncing on his cock instantly, and the sound of the bed creaking beneath you echoes in the room along with the sound of skin slapping skin. "Just like that baby," he gasps. "Oh god, I'm gonna cum," he grits his teeth before growling and groaning.

As the speed of your hips increases Jisung's nails dig further into your hips. "Almost there," he grunts, his body tense and coiled before suddenly snapping. "Yes! Yes!" He moans excitedly as his legs shake with the force of his orgasm. You feel the warmth of his cum enter your pussy and the satisfaction fills you simultaneously. Once the excitement has faded the too of you flop against the bed. "Fuck, I thought I'd last longer than that," he chuckles, still trying to catch his breath.

"We could always go for another round, see if you can last longer?" You smirk and he smiles over at you.

"That might not be a bad idea,"