#Loudspeaker Online

[lightsounds]

Buy JBL PRX912 12" Professional Powered Two-Way PA Loudspeaker Online Lightsounds Australia

Product Information

The JBL PRX912, part of the PRX900 Series of powered loudspeakers and subwoofers, takes professional portable PA performance to a new level with advanced acoustics, comprehensive DSP, unrivalled power performance and durability and complete BLE control via the JBL Pro Connect app. The PRX900 Series is a versatile solution for DJs and bands, music venues, rental houses, corporate A/V providers, or anyone who needs durable professional systems that deliver powerful, room-filling sound in any portable or installed scenario.

This powered two-way 12-inch loudspeaker is built entirely from the ground up to leverage JBL’s most advanced acoustic innovations. A next-generation driver system—powered by an ultra-efficient Class D amplifier—delivers clarity and definition at maximum volume, with improved dispersion and smooth low-frequency extension.

PRX912’s class-leading DSP package, accessible via an onboard colour LCD or the JBL Pro Connect app, features 12-band parametric EQ for system tuning and nuanced tonal control; integrated dbx DriveRack technology includes live and fixed Automatic Feedback Suppression, soft system limiter with Soundcraft Overeasy option and speaker delay settings and presets.

The JBL Pro Connect app provides complete hardware and DSP control of up to 10 speakers; integrate PRX900 Series models with JBL EON ONE MK2, PRX ONE and EON700 systems and access app-exclusive functions including speaker snapshots and grouping.

The PRX912 is designed to withstand the rigors of the road. Its composite cabinet features a computer-modelled internal ribbing design that increases overall cabinet rigidity, which improves acoustic performance and durability. Like with every JBL product, everything is reinforced by industry-leading test and validation protocols and backed by a seven-year warranty.

Buy Online:- https://lightsounds.com.au/shop/index.php?route=product/product&product_id=3246&search=JBL-PRX912

[black-and-yellow]

What the kids call a glow up.

[perkuneaudio]

Loudspeaker cables are essential components of any audio system, connecting amplifiers to speakers and ensuring the transmission of electrical signals.

[judewrld]

ultimate betrayal [kylian mbappe]

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: it’s the quarter finals of the world cup, normally you would root for your boyfriend kylian at all his games but this one is different. he’s playing against your home team,,,and your brother marcus.

❥ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: boyfriend!kylian x f!reader

❥ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: fluff

❥ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 1.2k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: england being sent home + saka being abused on the pitch

⏤ 𝑎/n: me personally, home team all the way.

“ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the quarter finals, please join us in welcoming france and england to the pitch!” the announcer says over the loudspeakers. the crowd erupts into cheers as both teams walk out onto the pitch with children by their side. you make eye contact with your brother marcus and send him a little smile with a thumbs up. he returns the smile before looking away.

the commentator begins to go over the lineup for both teams and you nervously survey the field to try and find your boyfriend kylian. usually, you would be all decked out in his kit screaming his name to cheer him on but today’s game is different. this would be the deciding match for who goes on to play in the semifinals before making it to the final and your boyfriend is playing against not only your home team, but your older brother as well.

kylian had made the mistake of asking you to sit in his section and wear his jersey, it was a simple request really but you took major offense. you knew how much this game meant to your brother and how much was on the line for england. it felt a little insulting that he would ask you to cheer for the enemy.

kylian, at first, didn’t understand why you were being so harsh. all he wanted was for you to cheer him on like you always did and what should have been a simple disagreement turned into a full blown argument resulting in you giving kylian the cold shoulder and silent treatment. it’s stupid, you know, but having to watch your brother constantly be bashed online for things out of his control made you a bit protective. you can only imagine the amount of hate he would receive if england loses tonight.

the crowd erupts in more cheers as the singing of the national anthems comes to a close and the game finally begins. the crowd is split evenly, half of them cheering on france and the other half booing.

the ball is placed in the center of the field and the referee blows the whistle to signify the start of kickoff. france gets possession of the ball first and makes quick work of kicking the ball down the pitch towards the goal. jude intercepts the ball and he kicks it to harry who plays the ball forward with foden and mason following him to the other side of the field. harry kicks the ball past france’s two attackers only to lose the ball to kylian who sweeps it away and starts bolting down the field. saka follows closely behind trying to kick it away but he’s pushed down forcefully by tchouameni before he kicks the ball and sends it straight into the goalkeeper's net. the ref blows the whistle and the scoreboard is updated, 1-0.

the game continues on in this fashion and before you know it it’s the final half of the game and france is in the lead, 2-1. you’re on the edge of your seat, it’s clear at this point that the ref is biased. there had been so many fouls against england but not a single one was called, saka has been kicked around almost as if he were the ball but no cards nor penalty kicks were given whereas the france team was gifted fouls left and right if an england player so much as took a step near them. 

the game is now in extra time and it’s looking rather slow for england. the ball is dropped into the center and the whistle is blown, the ball is turned over to england and maguire kicks the ball back to harry and runs forward to play defense. harry stalls for a second allowing dembele to move forward and kick the ball away from him and play it forward. jude steps up and pushes against the boys chest and steals the ball before kicking it to the other side of the field and far away from the england goal. you follow the ball with your eyes and watch it land at foden’s feet. he moves up to make a pass to mason but is forcefully pushed by a midfielder on the opposing team. you cringe when you see foden fall forward right onto his face before tumbling over and over. you expect the ref to call a foul and grant your team a free kick but the call never comes. you stand up in shock, “that’s a foul!” you shout causing other england fans to yell their agreement as well. but the referee only shakes his head and blows his whistle, “no foul. the game is still live.”

“that’s bullshit!” you curse, beyond frustrated.

you clasp your hands together and pray that england can make one more goal. england holds down their own and puts up a good defense, not allowing france to score again. you watch as england makes quick work of getting the ball down the field to france’s side once more. maguire is in possession of the ball and goes to make a pass but gets tripped by a french player.

“foul! that’s a foul!” you yell and thankfully, the ref agrees granting england one last free kick. you watch as the england team debates on who should make the goal and you smile proudly when you notice they gave it to marcus. you watch with bated breath as he does a run up before striking the ball but to your disappointment it hits the bar rather than going into the net. your eyes close and you hang your head. england has been knocked out of the world cup.

the crowd erupts in cheers for france as the team holds a group hug in the center of the field.

you want to be happy for kylian but a part of you is upset for england and your brother. choosing to be a good sport, you languidly clap for france as you look onto the pitch. kylian looks up at you with a bright smile on his face. you don’t return it.

you leave the stands to head down to the france locker room, knowing your brother would want his space and at some point you would need to congratulate your boyfriend on his win.

“mon amour!” kylian says when he enters the locker room to find you pouting. he tries to reel in his excitement, knowing this win was rather painful for you.

you slowly make your way to him and wrap your arms around his waist, “you know that i love you and i’ll always be proud of you right?” you question.

he returns your hug and hums, “of course, i love you more.”

you sigh into his chest before pulling away. “good. with that being said, you’re sleeping in the guest room indefinitely.”

kylian lets out a choked laugh, “you can’t be serious?” you huff, “i am! england deserved to win that match!” kylian doesn’t argue, he knows deep down you’re proud of him for winning just a little hurt that your home team was being sent home. “fine. let’s see how well you sleep without your personal heater beside you.”

you gasp, “wait, i take it back.”

kylian shrugs. “too late.”

[prismaticfaery]

Secrets

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

Description: Soap had a feeling that you and Ghost were a thing. TW: Pregnancy!!

Rating: Everyone

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for like two weeks now, be gentle with me because I’ve never posted any of my writings online before. Let me know if you like it and I may write more Ghost x Reader! I have a whole slew of ideas for “Reader”!

(BG/N)= baby girl name/(BG/MN)= baby girl middle name

You had grown used to the smell of antiseptic and latex gloves, the nonstop wandering around the sterile and white hallways, the metallic smell of blood from wounds being stitched and gunshot wounds being treated. Sometimes there were even babies coming into the world, the jingle of a lullaby being played over the loudspeakers. Such was the life of a military hospital doctor.

Heaving a sigh, you pulled your cardigan around you and lifted yourself from your seated position behind your desk. Your last patient’s notes were finished and now it gave you a small moment to catch your breath and finally eat your lunch, until a knock on your door pulled you from your reprieve.

“Hey, your next patient is here, he needs clearance to go back to PT after the gunshot wound to the leg,” the blonde nurse poked her head through the crack of the door.

“Thank you, I’ll be there in a moment,” you sigh, grabbing your white coat from its position on your desk chair.

Fixing your hair after putting your coat on, you grabbed a pen from your desk and placed it into your coat pocket. Making your way down the hallway, you grab the clipboard from the blonde nurse, giving a quick knock on the door before entering. You stiffened when your eyes caught the attention of none other than John MacTavish— Soap, and Ghost, whose dark eyes watched your movement, his face obscured by his skull balaclava.

“Yeah I know, he can be pretty scary,” Soap heaved a breath as he relaxed on his hands and hunched his back on the examination table.

“Okay MacTavish, you know the drill, lift your pant leg,” you let out a breathy laugh, pulling on a small pair of sterile latex gloves.

Almost instantly, the pant leg of the brawny male was lifted up, revealing a neatly covered gunshot wound. Gingerly peeling the adhesive that framed the gauze, you could hear quiet hisses from the man as his leg hairs were being yanked. Once the gauze was off, you gave an audible noise, impressed at how well the wound was healing.

“It looks great, continue what you’re doing Sergeant. I’m approving you for your PT, but no missions quite yet, I would like to keep monitoring you weekly,” you looked over at Ghost, quickly handing him the signed paperwork for Soap’s PT approval, in which he nodded in thanks.

That gunshot wound had been a nasty one, nearly touching bone, but he was lucky enough that it hadn’t. A nasty infection could have landed him in much worse of a position.

As Soap placed the gauze back on his leg, pressing down on the adhesives, he grunted a thank you. As he straightened his back, he took a quick look down at you as your eyes scanned the clipboard, and then entered any notes or data into the computer that stood on the other side of the room.

“You’re about to pop, aren’t you, Doc?” Soap nodded to your swollen belly.

Ghost clearly stiffened at the question, seeming uncomfortable in his little corner of the room.

“Oh. Yeah, not much longer now,” you looked down, hardly able to see your feet as they were completely covered by your belly.

“A little girl, right?” You nodded, a shy smile creeping onto your face.

As the two soldiers started filing out of the room, you noticed that Ghost stopped at the door, waiting for you to come out before he left. How courteous, you thought as you neatly stacked your paperwork and files and held them to your chest. Ghost towered over you by well over a foot and his aura was dark and intimidating. His gloved hand reached out, palm resting on your cheek, and his thumb brushing against your temple. However, as soon as he felt your eyes settle on him, his cold glare became soft.

“Have you eaten yet?” His question was simple, but your breath caught in your throat, scared to answer with anything but a “yes”.

“I will once I’m done with Soap’s paperwork,” you can hear a sigh heaving from behind his balaclava.

“Please, as soon as you’re done. How are you feeling?” Ghost dropped his hand to his side, his eyes looking you up and down, your hand reaching out to grab his.

“Simon, I’m fine. Save for the sore feet and feeling like this baby is about to fall out at any given moment,” you give him a very assuring smile.

“L.T., you comin’?” The thick Scottish accent of Soap could be heard from the nurse’s station at the front.

Quickly releasing your hand from Ghost’s, you turn to make your way down to your office, stealing a glance to the side of you only to meet Soap’s confused and almost questioning gaze.

You and Simon were private with your home lives, and given Simon’s anonymity when you first met, you wanted to continue that for the sake of him. You two had chosen to never marry in order to keep prying eyes away. Even though Soap was trustworthy and had even seen Simon’s face, there were things you had decided to keep in the dark even with Simon’s growing friendship with Soap. Maybe even uttering a word of the baby’s gender in the past was too much and it had you biting your tongue now.

***

Soap had a suspicion about the doctor and Ghost for a while now. There were mornings that Ghost had to show up late due to unforeseen circumstances, and he’d never be in the mess hall for any of his meals, given that he had a residence on the base. Was it due to his relationship with the doctor? Of course he’d want to be a part of anything that had to do with the baby so that could be why he was late some mornings and here lately, it was once a week: doctor’s appointments to check on the baby. Yeah, it seemed logical.

But what really set off the alarms in his head, was when you had been out on maternity leave to finally have the baby. It was only hours after his appointment with you that your water had broken according to Captain Price, who had let Soap know that his next check up would be with a different doctor. Ghost stopped showing up to PT for nearly two weeks.

***

About a month later, your presence graced the office. Soap had shown his face again with fresh wounds that needed to be checked on. As he waited in the exam room, he could hear the nurse inform you of your “next patient”, to which you chuckle. Knocking and entering the room, you shut the door quietly and began pulling a pair of gloves on.

“MacTavish, aren’t you sick of this place yet?”

“Nah, I could never be. Looking good, by the way. You lose weight?” MacTavish motioned his arms to make a fake belly, a goofy smile forming on his face.

“A whole six pound baby,” you laugh as you begin examining the gash on the man’s eyebrow, “this is going to need stitches.”

After calling a nurse in to stitch up Soap, you began entering notes on the computer. It was mind blowing how many visit notes you had to scroll past in order to fill in this visit’s notes for the bulky male. Completely accident prone, this one. As you wrapped everything up and the nurse cleaned up and made her way out, you handed a care sheet on stitches to the injured male, who in turn folded it up and stuck it in his cargo pants. You pulled a pen from your white coat, clicking it and writing down on a prescription pad. Soap probably didn’t need painkillers but after the lidocaine shot around the stitches wore off, he would definitely be sore.

You didn’t realize that as you pulled the pen from your pocket, a picture of your newborn baby girl had dropped to the floor. Of course Soap noticed this, but you had already left the room. As he got up and bent down to pick the picture up, he smiled. Your tiny newborn was bundled up in a swaddle blanket, with a pink knitted hat on her head while she soundly snoozed inside a hospital bassinet. There was a small black announcement board with the date of the baby’s birth, her height, and weight. In pretty script on the top of the board was the baby’s name:

(BG/N) (BG/MN) Riley.

[not-another-robin]

Miscellaneous Justice League Heacanons Because I Just Think They're Neat

(this has been in my drafts for months so I might as well post it. Also this is 2001 cartoon JL because I have taste)

The watchtower stays clean only in the sense that a shared apartment stays clean. It's a home for most of the league, so it looks like it. Usually it's at least presentable, most of the lived in detritus is kept to the recreational areas, but sometimes even the work rooms get messy. They do have to deep clean eventually, and obviously everyone is roped in "because we all live here dammit" (to which Bruce tried to response "I live at Wayne Manor" but was interrupted by a sponge to the face). John insists on playing music over the loudspeaker because it's not cleaning day without it. Clark and Diana loved the 70s jams instantly, J'onn and Wally warmed up to it pretty quick, and Bruce and Shay still deny any accusations of grooving (the rumors are true)

Wally dedicated an embarrassing amount of time and effort into starting a prank war. Disabling the off button on comm links, playing Its Not Unusual over the loudspeaker 8 times, filling the Javelin with bubbles, the works. To be fair, the others did crack and started striking back eventually. J'onn had a natural advantage for pranking and Wally is very proud of him. John and Shayera were an unstoppable team, but eventually got nerfed by the inability to not one up each other. Diana didn't fully grasp the concept ("Di, girl, buddy, trapping me in a locker is not really a prank") and Clark got points for creative use of frost breath. Bats held out the longest without retaliating, but playing the Imperial March whenever he entered a room did get him in the spirit.

J'onn is invited to both girl's night and boy's night, but is generally considered part of the girl's team over the boys. There was a turf war over this because technically he doesn't count as either, but Diana and Shay had the more compelling argument. Also J'onn thinks the men's locker room is gross, so that broke the tie. The boys are still a little bitter.

The watchtower has slowly accumulated a ridiculous amount of game systems. There was a drunk conversation and online shopping spree about who's the best at Super Smash Brothers, and Bruce was buzzed enough to kindly bankroll a multi gen tournament. Now the watchtower is home to about 30 years worth of home gaming systems, including a Wii which has been used for Just Dance on more than one occasion (that info is not permitted to leave the watchtower)

If the league has significant downtime (usually do to Space Diseases that cannot be helped) they pass the time by working their way through one of Bruce's many DVD box sets. The Charlie's Angels marathon was notable because it gave them a new thing to say whenever Alfred calls (he has once or twice replied with a "Good Morning Angels")

There has been more than one occasion that J'onn has accidentally shifted into a famous person while going out. A lot of the time when he needs to pick a form in a pinch he'll just use a random one he finds on a magazine or something, and there have been multiple occasions when that someone was Beyonce

[still-not-over-transformers]

hi! May I request a GN!human Reader x TFA!Swindle,

maybe reader and swindle make some sort of deal with each other (but swindle being swindle) is the one who gets the better end of the deal.

A Mutually Beneficial Partnership

TFA Swindle x GN Human Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1000+

You were nervous as you stood outside a large warehouse on a pier, waiting amongst a group of other people. This would be the first time you had ever personally attended a black market weapons auction, as you normally had your assistant Steve go in your place and represent you. Well, Steve got arrested for tax fraud and now you were stuck here amongst various shady and unsavory individuals you preferred to avoid. 

You specialized in acquiring illegal merchandize, primarily weaponry, and selling it online through the dark web for maximum profit. Currently the hot items were anything Cybertronian, especially weapons. Ever since those autobots arrived on Earth, acquiring and selling Cybertronian items became very lucrative, but you knew how to be careful. Security opened the large garage-like door to the storage unit, allowing all attendees to enter in single-file, each “guest” being searched for weapons upon entry. 

As you finally entered the venue, you found your seat and waited until the auction began. After the auctioneer graced the stage, multiple black market items began to circulate on and off the stage, many attendees shouting out their bids. Almost as soon as the first Cybertronian item, a null ray, appeared on stage the room was illuminated by bright spotlights. Aggressive voices resounded from loudspeakers held by Officer Fanzone, “EVERYONE PUT YOUR HANDS UP! YOU ARE ALL UNDER ARREST FOR PARTICIPATING IN THE ILLEGAL SALE OF CYBERTRONIAN WEAPONRY.” Various Detroit P.D. officers burst into the venue, followed by none other than Optimus Prime, sending everyone into a panicked frenzy. 

Instead of heading for one of the exits like the other attendees, you made a beeline for the stage entrance, sneaking past the gaze of the officers. You made your way backstage and eventually found your way to the storage area where the illegal items were housed. As you attempted to find an escape route, you heard footsteps not far behind you. As you panicked, you spotted an unattended S.U.V./Jeep vehicle. You rush towards the vehicle and pull on the door handle and quickly climb inside, hoping to hide. 

To your horror, the exit doors of the building open up allowing a flood of Detroit P.D. officers inside. Suddenly the engine turns on, and the vehicle peels towards the exit, forcing the officers to dive out of the way. In the passenger seat, you start to freak out as you’re taken on a terrifying ride via a self-driving car. 

After what felt like a lifetime, the vehicle finally came to a stop after reaching a rural and isolated area away from the warehouse. The passenger door opens and you bolt out of the vehicle, adrenaline coursing through your veins. 

Suddenly the vehicle before you transformed into a massive robot. No, a Decepticon, you thought as you recognized the purple insignia on the robot. The Decepticon, Swindle, looked down at (Y/N), “Well, if this isn’t an unexpected situation we have here. That was a close call with the police and Optimus Prime of all things.” 

You were in shock, but you were also upset at this situation you were now in. You shouted up at Swindle, “Unexpected situation? You’re the one who kidnapped me!” 

Raising an optic ridge at (Y/N), Swindle leans downwards to get a closer look, “Well pardon the intrusion, but you were the one who tried to use me to hide. Not to mention, I graciously helped you escape. Otherwise you’d most likely be in a prison cell, hm?”

You froze, surprised by both the nerve and wit of this Decepticon, and the fact that you hadn’t been blasted to smithereens yet. Hesitantly you spoke, “Okay you have a point… Thank you?”

“HEYY, think of it as an investment towards a future partnership!” Swindle gestures towards you. “Now, what is a human like you doing attending a black market auction for Cybertronian weapons? You don’t look the type if I’m being honest,” he notices your attire lacked the usual ‘shady’ vibe most humans dawned at such criminal events. 

You were hesitant to divulge any of your personal information to a Decepticon, but you had no idea what he would do if you weren’t cooperative. “This was my first time going to one of these things. Normally I hire someone to attend for me, but my usual go-to was compromised so I had to cut ties and go myself.” 

Swindle is intrigued by your response, a smirk creeping across his face as he senses a potential opportunity before him to gain a human puppet *ahem* partner… He flashed an optimistic and charming smile, “You know, I’m actually looking for a partner myself. Perhaps you and I could… make a deal? Form a sort of… mutually beneficial relationship? Professionally speaking, of course.”

Being in a tight spot yourself, you entertained the idea. After all, when would you get such an opportunity again? A Cybertronian business partner could provide certain advantages which your competitors surely lacked. “And what exactly do you propose?” you asked curiously, wondering what sort of arrangement you’d be getting yourself into. 

“Nothing unreasonable or too risky. You’d be attending more of these events, and you’ll spot the merchandise. Relay what you see back to me, and I’ll tell you which items are worth the most. And depending if we’re short on funds, you let me in the back and we’ll slip out with the merchandise and be out of there before anyone knows what hit em.”

After weighing the pros and cons, you give your answer, “Decepticon, I think you have a deal” extending your hand towards him. 

Swindle struggles to keep his smile genuine as you agree, “The name’s Swindle, and you, my new business partner?”

“Y/N. I suppose this will be a rather interesting partnership,” you replied, a nervous smile on your face.  A smug look crossed Swindle’s faceplate before he transformed into his alt-mode and opened the door for you. A very interesting partnership… his thoughts were dubious to say the least as the two of you drove away.

[xaviermattthews]

something in the orange tells me you're never comin' home.

location: x and van's home, aurora bay drive.

when: july 13th 2024, early morning.

triggers warnings: death, parental death.

With sixteen track names scribbled across ever-shuffling flashcards, X pours over the running order he's settled on in his ninth attempt that morning to finalise Submergence's next album's tracklist. He plays a snippet of each song in his mind, listening to how he thinks it might flow before he actually puts them together in that order for a full listen.

By the time he gets to eight, he's already decided it's bloated, the sharpie in his hand drawing two large x's through what would have been nine and eleven so he could cull it down to a 14 track run.

The finish line was within reaching distance and he could feel the frustration and the apprehension that went with it right down to his bones which was why he found himself grateful for the solitude his girlfriend had granted him by taking their energetic border collie with her on her run. Nothing he decided on would be finalised without Van's input as well as their other bandmates, but if it was going to be an argument then he wanted to be certain he believed in what he wanted first.

There were few people who had been granted the digital permission to bypass his Do Not Disturb feature, one being Van herself and another being his drummer and friend. It's the third time in a fifteen minute that the name BOWIE SHORE flashes on his screen and the man knew him well enough to not ring more than twice unless it was vital because he ignored his phone for a good reason.

He picks up and answers on the fifth ring, greeting his friend in a clipped tone.

"You keep blowing up my fucking phone Bow and there won't be an album for this rollout, you get that, yeah? What?"

"Have you not been online at all?"

"No, whatever it is, I don't have the time." X informs him, assuming what must have been stressing him out was another old resurfaced interview or an article musing on whether or not they had lost their way after he had gotten sober. He's read it all in every font.

"X, can you just check your texts, please? I'm sending you a link. Look man, I don't know if it's real or not and I really hope it isn't but it's not the only place I'm seeing it."

There's a furrow in his eyebrows then as he switches the phone to loudspeaker, swiping up to his messages that were in the triple digits of unread -- nothing new there -- and clicked on the text thread under Bowie's name.

"Alright, hold on."

He can see his name in the preview, his eyes rolling instantly at the source being TMZ. He clicks it, a pop-up version of the article opening for him. The last face he had expected to see was that of his father's, someone he hasn't seen in person in over a decade now.

The sight alone causes a twist in his stomach that only worsens as he reads the headline and the words in print that follow it.

Panic creeps through him as his eyes scan over the syllables, all that he could manage to combat it with was a stronger sense of denial that leaves his mouth in an overly-sure scoff.

"This is bullshit, Bowie. You know TMZ ran a story saying I died. Twice. My dad's not fucking dead, he lives by too strict a daily itinerary for that. Doesn't fit into the schedule. You really need to not believe everything you read online."

In the back of his mind, he knows one of those misprints made sense given it had hit the press immediately after his near-fatal overdose, but the one that had proceeded it was false intel taken as fact.

That's what this was -- he's certain.

( It had to be. )

"X, I think you should call your m--"

The beep of another incoming call distracts him from his bandmates voice, his band manager Dalton the contact that flashed up. He always found Van more levelheaded than X to deal with and she was his first port of call for band related business.

He declines the call and cuts off Bowie's in process, ignoring the way he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He clicks through his contacts and scrolls to his sister's, holding the phone back against his ear as he listens to the dial tone.

It rings and rings and rings, each one inching him closer to what feels like an anxiety attack. His free hand is balled into a fist, the side of it tapping lightly against his own chest as he paces around the room.

When it goes to voicemail, he reminds himself she's twenty-six.

No twenty-six year old answered the phone this early on a Saturday, that was all.

There's only one other Matthews in his contact list who had made it through every phone and number change of his, carrying over the digits to each device despite the fact that he hasn't used them in years.

( Darren Matthews was the kind of man who never changed his number -- ever reliable in the way his son wasn't. )

He hadn't called it no matter how dark things had gotten because he knew he would answer despite their harsh parting words and he's never been ready for that conversation.

He's not ready for it then either, but no matter what he has to say to him, he knows hearing his voice was the only thing that would quell the swirl of emotions within him that are starting to make him sick.

There's the same dial tone as before, ringing and ringing, the floor beneath him feeling shakier and shakier as it did. He thinks he's actually about to be sick when the call clicks to signal it had been picked up, the relief that flooded him felt like a tsunami -- just like his new album's title.

"Hey, it's me. X. M'sorry for calling, this is going to sound so fucking weird but there was this dumb article that--"

He's cut off by a voice on the other end interrupting him, softer than the one he expected, shakier than he had ever heard her.

"Xavier, Xavier, darlin'."

He would know his mother's voice anywhere, the warmth of it having an opposing effect on him in that moment, turning the blood in his veins to what felt like ice.

"Why do you have my dad's phone, mom?" X asks, sounding and feeling like the thirteen year-old he had been the last time he had seen them in a room together as a couple, before the foundation of his life had shattered with a divorce and splintered into two houses, two families and one X who didn't know where he was supposed to fit into it all.

What Addie says next he can only pick up in disjointed snippets, the ringing in his ears louder than her sob-wracked words.

He hears his name again and an it's your daddy, he's gone, I'm so sorry. There's an apology that follows but it's too frantic for him to catch all of it -- she was going to call, someone was meant to call, she thought someone called.

He's not aware that he's crying until his hand reaches up to his face and he finds a steady stream of tears streaking his cheeks. It stings when he blinks and he can't find anything to say to comfort his mother, the silence on his end nothing new to his immediate family, it was the only thing he did consistently for them.

He can still hear her wails as another voice speaks down the line, one that sounded so close to what he could remember of his father's that he's almost fooled again into thinking TMZ had been wrong.

It's only when he registers the words does he realise that it couldn't be Darren, it had to be Ernest, his uncle and his father's brother who spoke in the same cadence as the late man but used words X knew he would never have said to him if he was alive.

"Y'need to come home, Xavier. You need to come home."

[thexstitchpokedexproject]

#294. Loudred

Loudred's bellowing can completely decimate a wood-frame house. It uses its voice to punish its foes. This Pokémon's round ears serve as loudspeakers.

Colour and symbol charts can be found here.

A note on colours: in my experience, floss looks different irl than in online pattern makers. If you think a different colour will work better, go with your gut!

[worlds-4th-best-dad]

Yuki: *holding a package* Did anyone order anything? Rea, Kurou, Reisuke, and Yuno, all together: Nah. Kurou: This was the credit card company’s answer when I asked if I can order things online. *puts telephone on loudspeaker* [Landline phone emits mocking laughter through the speaker] Kurou: It’s been like that for three days. I think they’re working in shifts.

[simp999]

A New Home Ch. 10

Various Splatoon Manga x Skilled! Isekai'd! Reader

Wc: 1k

Back to the start! Previous Next

You stretch your arms above your head, relishing in the comfort of waking up in an actual bed. You take a look around your new room, spotting the new posters, figures, merch and a cyan squid plushie with a gas mask on it sitting on your desk. You haven’t been living with your team for long, but there are already lots of papers scattered about over the desk, clothing on the floor, and some video games stacked on the desk that make it feel like home. You slip your top on and try to remember what’s supposed to happen next in the story. You’re not sure when Team Blue is supposed to battle Team Purple again, but it should be very soon. You’ve already been sure to be in the square as often as possible for the past day, watching out for them. Today you had to come up with another excuse, but it was getting too hard to come up with anything rational. You take a seat on the couch with a bowl of cereal in hand, and you try to come up with something. The silence doesn’t last long when Leo runs into the room, mostly directing his attention at Tasha.

“Skull’s in the plaza! An influencer got a picture of him today, look!”

You take a quick peek and see the back of the head of an inkling with blue ink that appears to be wearing pilot goggles, along with a blurry shot of Skull. It does look like it was taken today for sure. You tell everyone to get their stuff ready to go out, under the guise that Skull’s someone you look up to or whatever. Well, you’re not wrong, you do look up to him. And you are a fan, just in a different way than most.

You pick up the manual from your desk and shove it in your bag before shrugging it over your shoulder and picking up your weapon. The rest of your team is already at the door waiting for you. You throw your footwear on and you’re out the door. It looks like you made it just in time, catching the last bits of the conversation between Goggles and Skull. You’re glad you live close to the plaza. Moray Towers, huh? This battle was interesting, you’re looking forward to seeing Skull show a little more emotion. He did go through some quick character development, going from a big, scary unbeatable S+ rank player to a lovable dork with a hopeless sense of direction. 

You’re already making your way toward Moray Towers before your team even catches what’s going on. They follow behind you, wondering why you wanted to come to the plaza if you didn’t even want to see Skull. The four of you get comfortable, setting your weapons down, and you pull out your pencil and manual. The battle begins shortly and you quickly take point-form notes on how Skull’s team battles. A few seconds in and he’s already got the whole Blue Team down. You’re still unsure of how Goggles was seriously able to defeat a team with so much skill, but you remember that it’s all about main character powers. The Squid Sisters are heard over the loudspeakers, announcing Skull’s quad kill, and call it Skull’s Territory.

“Hey, Tasha’s territory sounds cooler, don’tchya think?”  Leo wants to up the mood, but he doesn’t realize that you’re perfectly content with Skull winning. Too bad it doesn’t last long.

‘Oh, here comes Skull’s Kraken!’ You lean forward in your seat, never having seen it up close before. You always splatted your opponents right before they could use it, or you would simply splat them so much that they had no time to fill their special gauges. You only got to see them in Splatoon or videos you saw online. Even though you had no real references, you could tell that Skull’s kraken form was bigger than most. Maybe around 1.5x the size if you were to guess. You take a look to the side to see Tasha completely focused on the battle with a smile on her face. She sure is a big fan, huh? Then you remember how rude he was in the beginning of the manga, catching his “Weaklings are such boring opponents,” line. He’ll warm up soon.

Team Blue does their usual shenanigans and the purple team is dumb enough to be grouped together. That seems to be a constant issue between the S4 members, you find. Team Blue finally uses their singular brain cell and uses the inkzooka on Skull, effectively making him back down. Aviators and the rest of the team are nearly back in the center, ready to fight again. You’re disappointed that not one of them stays back for Skull to super jump to to save time. It’s too late now though, since Goggles managed to face Skull at the top of the tower. 

“Show him Goggles, your new special move…!” You notice Leo’s head turn to behind you quickly, recognizing that voice. 

Rider wasn’t saying it loudly, mostly just to himself, but Leo gave away your position right then and there. Rider looks down at Leo, who has the biggest, dorkiest smile on his face.

“Oh my cod, it’s Rider!” Okay, you’re glad that he got to meet one of his idols but you don’t wanna be caught up in this, not right now! You keep your focus trained on the battle, but Leo makes it hard to do so when he grabs your shoulders, shaking you in excitement. Tasha gives him a side-eye, you know it’s not meant to be in a bad way, that’s just how she is. You can see Milo bounce his knee up and down, clearly excited to see Rider too, but not wanting to scare him off with his excessive amounts of talking.

You finally half-heartedly turn to face the Yellow-Green inkling, trying to show the least amount of interest as possible. 

‘I’m just a random fan, is all. Nothing special. It’s not like he’ll recognize me-’

“It’s you again.” 

It wasn’t a question. 

He was confident in what he said. He didn’t sound interested in you more than anyone else, but this proves that someone from the manga knows you. 

Next Part

Apr.30.23

[isfjmel-phleg]

What we say over the loudspeaker: The library will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please log off all computers, and if you have any materials to be checked out, please bring them to the front desk at this time. Thank you.

What students hear, apparently: Time to start your online math homework!

[somedaylazysomeday]

Na Buachaillí - Part Two

Connor MacManus x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

You run into another Irishman. What are the odds?

Rating: Explicit, lemon, etc. Minors, DNI!

Word Count: 6,500

Warnings: Modern AU, some awkwardness, mentions of alcohol, blatant flirting, discussions of consent, fingering, protected piv sex, squirting.

Previous | Masterlist

---

“Here’s your hat, here’s your clipboard, and here’s your station,” Emiliano told you, handing you each item in turn, then pointing downward as if to show the exact place he was talking about.

You accepted the red Santa hat, putting it on your head. The cheap fabric immediately made your forehead start to itch, but you accepted the clipboard and stood in the right spot anyway, offering Emiliano a polite smile that turned into a real one when he handed you a pen topped with an enormous red and green bow. 

“I know, I know,” he told you with a wince. “But sometimes people like to walk away with our pens. This makes that a little less likely.”

“Or a lot more noticeable,” you added with a laugh.

Emiliano smiled at you. “Exactly! You’ve got an easy job today: this is the online pre-registration check-in. When people bring their children up for the run, just mark the names off of the list. If the kids’ name isn’t on the list, send the family over to Tasha. She’ll make sure they have a ticket and get them checked in over there. Any questions?”

“Nope!” you said with cheery determination. Emiliano nodded, gave you his cell phone number in case you had questions or problems, and left to get someone else set up. 

Of all the temporary jobs you had taken on over the winter school break, this was the one you had been looking forward to the most. A hundred bucks to help set up, run, and tear down the Holiday 5K on Christmas Eve. 

Setup hadn’t been much more than positioning a few barricades around the 5K course and making the cocoa for the Cocoa Run, the short race aimed for runners under the age of ten. The Holiday 5K itself had already started and the young runners were about to start checking in for their own chance at glory…. or, more accurately, their chance at a white-painted, glitter-covered dollar-store trophy with a plastic polar bear superglued to the top of it.

It was terribly cheesy, but everyone seemed fine with that. Several of the 5K runners had been wearing all white or dressed as elves. Many of the children waiting to run were wearing costumes as well. The crowd was in good spirits, most of them dancing or singing along with the stereotypical holiday music that was being piped in over the area’s loudspeakers.

The first hour or so of signing in Cocoa Runners had gone smoothly. The Holiday 5K’s website had been fairly straightforward, so most of the online registration had gone without a hitch. The few times you had a name that was missing from the list, the runner and their family were in such good spirits that they didn’t mind being sent over to Tasha instead. All in all, things were moving along better than you could have hoped.

“Connor MacManus.”

You turned, eyebrows already arching upward. Most of the competitors for the Cocoa Run had already been checked in since the race was getting ready to start. Besides that, the man who had spoken definitely didn’t have a child with him. 

“Sorry,” you apologized immediately, scanning the heavily crossed-off list clipped to your clipboard. “Connor will have to be here before he can be checked in.”

“I am Connor,” the man told you. 

You narrowed your eyes slightly, letting yourself take the man in. He was wearing a red jacket and matching sweatpants, along with a bushy white beard and a Santa hat that somehow managed to look even cheaper than yours was. Blue eyes sparkled at you from under the painfully fake fur trimming the hat and you turned your attention back to the clipboard.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again. “I don’t see a Connor on my list. Did you register online? Or are you maybe here for the 5K?”

There was a pause, then the voice came again, filled with amusement. “Are ye waitin’ for the clipboard tae answer ye, lass?”

This was not Murphy, you reminded yourself firmly as your heart picked up speed in your chest. It had been several days since you had slept with the virtual stranger and you had been too busy to give the experience much thought. But the blue eyes and the Irish lilt in this stranger’s voice made you think of him.

Still, you had asked a question and it was your job to get the answer. You met his amused gaze evenly, lifting your chin slightly as you reiterated, “This is the Cocoa Run, aimed at runners under the age of ten. If you didn’t register online for it, you’ll have to go speak with my colleague Tasha, who will get you registered now. If you’re looking for the 5K, it started half an hour ago. You can still participate if you want to; there are still quite a few runners out there.”

“Th’ 5K already started?” he checked. When you nodded, he pulled off the beard. “Fuck that.”

You smiled before you could help it. The man didn’t look much like Murphy, but something about his way of speaking - even beyond the accent - reminded you of your recent acquaintance. “If you already registered, there are no refunds-”

He shrugged. “Don’t need a refund. T’is is all fer charity, yeah?”

“It is,” you agreed, dimly registering the screams of excited children. The Cocoa Run must have started.

“Money well spent,” Connor said. “‘Sides, it means I don’t have tae worry about anyone seein’ me haul ass around th’ track in a Santa suit.”

“If you didn’t want to run, why did you sign up?” you asked curiously.

“Lost a bet,” he admitted with a smile.

Ah, the smile was familiar. When he wore that smile, you could almost believe this man was related to Murphy. You hated to seem like an ignorant American, but you couldn’t help but ask: “Do you have a brother who lives around here?”

Connor’s expression immediately grew… well, not shuttered, necessarily, but certainly secretive. “C’n I ask why ye’re askin’?”

“I met another guy with an Irish accent a few nights ago,” you explained, feeling instantly stupid as you heard it out loud.

Connor’s smirk didn’t help. “T’is may be a shock, but there can be more’n one Irishman out wanderin’ th’world. I might not even know this other guy.”

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed. No matter how thin your initial reasoning had been, Connor’s sarcasm only solidified your suspicions.

“Ye don’t believe me?” he asked, sounding deeply offended in a way that you didn’t believe for a moment. “Ireland’s a small place, but t’isn’t that small.”

You hummed a skeptical agreement. “And the fact that you both have the same sarcastic wit is just a coincidence.”

“Ye know what I t’ink?” Connor asked, leaning a little closer with a conspiratory smile. “I t’ink you’re lookin’ fer someone tae replace this other Irishman. Lucky fer ye, I don’t mind a bit.”

Despite yourself, you laughed at that. You and Murphy had shared a one-night stand, nothing more. Connor’s guess made it sound like you were pining after the other man, searching for something to fill the gap of a relationship. That wasn’t your style, not even when your marriage with Paul had ended. Well, theoretically ended. The legal stuff was still going on and would be for a while, but you had never moped about the fact that things were over.

Connor shook his head at you, the puff at the point of his Santa hat flopping ridiculously at the motion. “Can’t help but feel ye ain’t takin’ me seriously, lass.”

“Connor!” someone called. “Shit, is it already over? Did I miss it?” 

A figure rushed up to the pair of you. Recognizing Rocco took only a moment - his hair and beard were still wild and it even looked like he was wearing the same outfit. The only difference was that his sunglasses were pushed up into his hair, holding some of the curls back like an awkward-looking headband. It was a concession to the overcast skies, you guessed.

“Hey, Rocco,” you greeted, tossing a victorious look in Connor’s direction. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, promised Murph I’d get some pictures’a this asshole running around dressed as Santa,” Rocco explained, gesturing to Connor. “What happened? He didn’t win, did he?”

“Won th’ whole t’ing,” Connor told him proudly.

“He didn’t run,” you said at the same time.

Rocco laughed. “Shit, after all’a that, you didn’t even run? Fuckin’ hell.”

A passing parent shot Rocco a dirty look as you muttered an apology for the language on his behalf. That was the only reason you didn’t see Rocco holding up his scratched phone to get a picture of you and Connor. When you glanced back at him, you were greeted by the sight of him snapping a picture. 

“I would have moved out of the shot,” you mumbled. 

“Nah, you’re proof that none’a this was staged,” Rocco told you cheerfully. “Not workin’ at the diner today, then?”

“No,” you denied, but frowned. “I don’t think I am? Hang on…”

You surreptitiously pulled your phone from your pocket, balancing it on the clipboard like you were checking the date or time. Your schedule showed you the necessary information immediately and you tucked the phone away less than a minute after getting it out. 

“No, I’m not at the diner tonight.”

Rocco and Connor were both watching you with lifted brows. You offered them a self-conscious shrug. “I’m working about four temp jobs right now. It’s a little hard to keep track of where I’m working and when.”

Connor’s look of surprise had turned to a deep frown. “But why are ye-?”

“Whew!” you interrupted, bouncing on your toes. “I can’t wait for this to end so I can go warm up. That wind goes straight through you!”

“Wait there,” Connor instructed, hurrying away. 

You and Rocco watched him go before you turned to the other man. “Uh… If my supervisor tells me I need to go somewhere, I’ll have to just leave.”

“MacManuses,” Rocco sighed, accompanying the brief explanation with a roll of his eyes.

“So Connor is Murphy’s brother?” you asked, sensing the chance to get an actual answer. “The one he works with?”

“Yeah, that’s them. They work together, live together, drink together, fight together…” Rocco trailed, shrugging. “They’re twins. Whaddaya expect, ya know?”

You gave an impartial hum at that. If they were so close, why was Connor being so weird about confirming that he even knew Murphy? 

Before you could put much thought into the inner machinations of a stranger - a pair of strangers, really - Connor returned. He was holding two cups of cocoa. 

“Thanks,” Rocco said gratefully, grabbing one of them and taking a drink.

“That was fer her, ye dick,” Connor berated, giving you an apologetic look. “Don’t suppose ye’d be okay wit’ sharin’? I already added somethin’ extra to mine.”

He held up a small silver flask. You smiled, but shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

Rocco hit Connor in the shoulder. “C’mon man, ‘course she wouldn’t take any’a that! There could be anything in that shady fuckin’ flask of yours.”

“It’s a flask,” Connor explained slowly. “What else’d be in it, lighter fluid?”

“Nah, like…” Rocco cast about for an example as Connor signaled impatiently for him to finish. You watched the process with interest and more than a little amusement. “Like roofies or some shit.”

“Th’fuck?” Connor demanded immediately. The next moment, he was facing you, eyes pleading. “I wouldn’t do that, lass. T’isn’t anyt’ing like that. Here…”

He took a large swig of cocoa, gulping it despite the way you could see steam rising from the liquid’s surface. You winced in sympathy, but he seemed unbothered. 

“Or I c’n jus’ get ye a fresh one since this idiot drank yer’s,” Connor concluded, swiping at Rocco, who took a quick step backward to avoid his cocoa being upended over him. 

You laughed despite the chaos of the little scene. “It’s okay, Connor. Thank you, but I probably shouldn’t. This is a temp job, but I’m still technically at work.”

“If ye’re sure…” Connor trailed dubiously. 

“I am, but I appreciate the offer,” you told him. It seemed like a good parting statement, so you were surprised when Connor and Rocco continued to stick around. Rocco made his excuses after he had finished his cocoa, but only because he had to run some errands for his boss. He bade you a cheerful goodbye, which you gladly returned as he walked away.

You watched Rocco leave, curious. “What does Rocco do, exactly?”

“Nothin’ good, that’s fer sure,” Connor said darkly. “How about ye, lass? What do ye do when ye’re not jugglin’ four temp jobs?”

“I teach high school science,” you told him, grinning at the disgusted noise he made. “It isn’t for everyone, but it’s a passion of mine.”

“So… biology and…” Connor squinted, clearly trying to scrape up another kind of science. “...Zoology?”

With effort, you kept a straight face. “Well, the zoology budget is pretty thin in Boston’s high schools, but yes to biology. I also occasionally teach chemistry, physics, anatomy and physiology, and I’m trying to convince the board to let me add a marine biology class.”

Connor puffed out a breath. “Ye’re too smart to be talkin’ tae th’ likes o’ me.”

“Everyone’s smart in a different way,” you countered. “I’m sure you know things I’ve never even thought to wonder about.”

He shook his head with a wry smile. “Pas à moins que ce soit une autre langue.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Connor chuckled and took a gulp of his spiked cocoa. “I’m good wit’ languages. Me an’ Murph both are.”

“What language was that?” you pressed, trying to remember the flowing words. “Italian?”

“Nah, but close,” he praised. “It was French.”

“That’s really impressive, Connor!” you told him. “Languages have always been a bit of a struggle for me. Do you speak any others?”

“A few,” Connor said, giving you a sideways sort of glance. “Ye like smart guys, yeah? That how ye met dat husband o’ yers? Is he a teacher, too?”

“Murphy mentioned him, huh?” you asked, trying to disguise your wince with a playful duck of your head.

“Weren’t no big deal, lass,” he brushed off. “Jus’ told me ye were goin’ through a divorce.”

You nodded, offering a weak smile. “Yeah, that’s true. But he wasn’t a teacher. He was a lawyer.”

“A lawyer?” Connor repeated, sounding thoughtful. “So’s he representin’ himself, then?”

You snorted. “I wish! Paul has a high opinion of his own abilities, but even he wouldn’t go that far. He’s gotten one of his friends to represent him.”

Connor nodded slowly, but Emiliano walked up. “How did it go?”

“Perfectly fine!” you told him, giving a professional smile and turning the clipboard so he could see it. “Everyone who registered online showed up.”

“Excellent!” Emiliano told you, beaming. “Some of the other volunteers have already started taking down the 5K barriers, so if you want to go help break down the cocoa tent, that would be great! It looks like it’s going to start snowing anytime, so we’re trying to tear down in a hurry.”

“On my way!” you chirped. When you turned back to Connor, he was already starting for the cocoa tent. “What are you doing?”

“Helpin’,” he said simply, then expanded when you tilted your head at him. “Me ma didn’t raise me to sit back an’ watch when there’s work tae be done.”

“We’re getting paid,” you reminded him. “You aren’t.”

“T’is a charitable time o’ year, lass,” he told you with a smile. “‘Sides, I was hopin’ ye might want tae spend a little time together after this.”

“Yeah?” you asked. Your brain twisted what could have been a casual invitation to hang out into something decidedly different. As a result, the single word came out in a tone you could have described as ‘sultry’.

You would have died of embarrassment on the spot if Connor’s eyes hadn’t flicked down your body in a slow study that ended with a salacious grin when he met your eyes again. “Yeah. If ye’re interested, o’ course.”

You smirked, but didn’t reply. If you were reading the signs correctly, you were in for a good time before your overnight shift… though you would need to have a rather awkward conversation first.

Connor rolled with that easily, staying silent until he helped Emiliano move some of the tables. The organizer was clearly struggling, but Connor took on more of the weight without complaint. When the table was safely delivered to the truck so it could be taken back to storage, Emiliano chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Strong guy, huh? Where were you when we were setting everything up this morning?”

Connor just laughed and shook Emiliano’s hand. He preened slightly and flexed when you looked his way. “Weren’t nothin’, lass. ‘Course, I’ve always been stronger than me little brother. I t’ink it’s because he’s a smoker…” Connor shook his head in heavily exaggerated disappointment. “Disgustin’ habit, that.”

“Little brother?” you asked, ignoring the smoking comments. “I’m pretty sure Rocco said you were twins.”

“Oh, we are,” he assured you. “But even so, one’s got tae be older. And we both know it’s me. ‘Both’ bein’ ye an’ I. Murph’s in a bit o’ denial about it all.”

You hummed skeptically, but Connor didn’t hear it over Emiliano’s voice. “And that’s it for this year’s Holiday 5K! Thanks, everyone, for helping out. It’s starting to snow, so be careful. Get home safe and have a happy holiday season!”

A quick glance upward confirmed Emiliano’s words: it was indeed snowing. It wasn’t really a shock. Boston had gotten little snow showers almost every day for the past week, but there was something special about snow on Christmas Eve. A smile stretched across your face as you watched the flurries glide their way to the ground.

“Well?” Connor asked, drawing your attention away from the snow. “What do ye say, lass? Want tae keep spendin’ time wit’ me?”

You took a deep breath as you eyed him. You were never the most confident when it came to situations like this. It was considered sexy for things to be hinted at, implied… and you were someone who liked things to be extremely clear. It was possible you were misinterpreting Connor’s invitation and he really was just trying to be friendly to a lonely woman during the holidays. 

But you doubted it. Why would anyone volunteer to spend time with their brother’s one-night stand unless he was interested in a similar arrangement? Of course, why would he be interested in his brother’s leftovers?

You pulled yourself from your spiraling thoughts. If you had misjudged the situation and he was interested, you were just as well off as you would have been otherwise. If you had misjudged it and he wasn’t interested, you would just be the weird lady who propositioned him while you were both wearing matching cheap Santa hats. 

“I’d like that,” you agreed, but signaled for him to wait as he started to smile. “I feel like I should tell you, though: I slept with your brother.”

Despite your nerves, Connor grinned. “Believe it or not, I already knew that. I texted m’brother as soon as I saw ye. It don’t bother neither o’ us. Does it bother ye?”

You almost laughed at that. Did it bother you, the idea of sleeping with the brother of your one and only one-night stand? It probably should have been a resounding yes. You had never been one for casual sex, and there was something even more intimate about the fact that your prospective partners knew each other. Actually, the morality clause in your teaching contract alone should have been enough to push you into thanking Connor and sending him on his way. 

But it had been a hard year. Paul was dragging you through the mud and you would have to deal with much worse before it was over. Sleeping with two people in the span of a week was an anomaly for you, but you weren’t going to turn it down… especially since those two people were sexy Irishmen. 

You smiled at Connor. “Doesn’t bother me a bit.”

“Okay, den,” he agreed, stepping close enough that your heart picked up pace. “Can I kiss ye, lass?”

“Yes.”

Connor’s lips were soft, but you could only enjoy them for a moment before he got impatient. The small sting of his teeth nipping at your lower lip made you gasp, allowing Connor to deepen the kiss. By then, of course, you had been distracted by the sweep of his talented tongue.

You weren’t pulled back to awareness until a group of teenagers passed by, calling loud suggestions about what you should do next. You broke the kiss and rested your forehead against Connor’s shoulder. “Well, that was embarrassing.”

“They c’n mind their own business,” Connor countered. “But they do make a fair point about location. Ye want tae take this somewhere else?”

“Please,” you said with a decisive nod. “My apartment is a few blocks away from here, unless you’d rather go to your place?”

He grinned. “Murph’s stuck at work an’ we’d have th’ place tae ourselves, but it’s a bit further away than I’d like. Do ye mind if we go tae yours?”

“Let’s go,” you suggested, glancing at the sky. The snow hadn’t dramatically picked up, but there were some foreboding clouds rolling in. “We can probably just walk there.”

“Aye, I know how ye like walkin’ to and from yer jobs,” Connor agreed. 

You were about to make a sarcastic comment about Irishmen owning their own cars if they wanted to drive around so badly, but he distracted you when he laced his fingers with yours. Clearly noting the breath you had taken and released without a word, Connor smirked at you. “Somethin’ ye wanted tae say, lass?”

“Not a smoker, huh?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him until he gave a sheepish smile.

“I had a smoke jus’ before I spoke tae ye,” he admitted. “But if ye kiss like that every time, I’m a very recent quitter.”

“You had a cigarette right before you were going to run a 5K,” you reminded him. “That doesn’t sound like someone who particularly wants to quit. It’s really not my business…”

“Hey, c’n ye blame me?” Connor asked with a shrug. “I knew I was goin’ to speak wit’ a pretty girl while I was wearin’ a Santa hat an’ a big beard.”

“You’re still wearing a Santa hat,” you pointed out, reaching up for the offending fabric.

Connor swatted your hands away. “Not on yer life. Not until I have a mirror an’ a comb tae fix th’ damage.”

The laugh burst out of you, startling Connor, but he joined in a moment later. You decided not to tell Connor he was attractive enough to pull off hat hair. It was true, but he probably didn’t need to be reminded of it. He seemed to have a tendency toward cockiness. 

Since it was earlier in the day than when you had brought Murphy in, there were more people milling around your apartment building and you had to refrain from making out with Connor in the elevator. You did your best to make up for it with enthusiasm when you got into your apartment, though, almost tackling him with the force of your eagerness.

When you finally broke apart, your jacket was unzipped and Connor’s scarf was unwound from its original place around his neck. Connor chuckled lowly. The sound, paired with the heat in his eyes, made you shiver.

At least, until you caught sight of the time. “Shit. I have to work tonight.”

“Do ye need me tae leave?” Connor asked, sounding like the words were dragged from him.

“No, but we-” You shifted your weight uncomfortably. “This will have to be kind of quick. Are you okay with that?”

“Well, I’d prefer to take me time wit’ ye…” Connor said, eyes raking over you, “but I suppose we c’n speed it along.”

“Great,” you said with a relieved smile. “There’s the kitchen, pantry, coat closet, bathroom, bedroom.”

Then you had to pause for a second to let the strong sense of deja vu pass. You had given Murphy the exact same verbal tour. You would feel bad giving Murphy an idea of your apartment’s layout but not doing the same for Connor. Was it weird to worry about the fairness of the situation when having two single encounters with men who just happened to be brothers? Was it weirder to deny that it was weird?

The questions only multiplied when Connor went for your bedroom, letting you inside first before trailing in behind you. The last person you had brought into your room had been Murphy. He and Connor didn’t share much of a resemblance, but there was something about the way he looked, watching you and getting ready to strip off his clothing…

“Are ye okay?” Connor asked, ducking his head a little to catch your eyes. You had been staring blankly at the bed, but you had no idea how long it had been going on. “Or are ye thinkin’ about me brother?”

“Not… about him, exactly…” you hedged.

“Told ye, I’m fine wit’ it,” Connor reminded you with a careless shrug. “Are ye? We c’n call th’ whole thing off if ye want.”

“I don’t want that,” you said distinctly, feeling it ring true in your chest. 

Connor hummed, his fingers toying with the hem of your Holiday 5K shirt. “Then how ‘bout, instead o’ us tryin’ to guess how the other feels, we jus’ focus on makin’ each other feel good?”

You smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good. I’m gonna get ye naked now,” Connor warned before he lifted your shirt up and over your head. You did the same for him a moment later, and managed to unzip and push his pants away before he unfastened your bra. The sight of your bare breasts distracted him badly and you had him completely stripped by the time he got back to work.

“Slow down, lass,” he urged. “Let a man catch up, yeah?”

“We’re in a hurry, remember?” you asked, palming his hardening cock. 

He hissed out a breath and you froze, worried you had hurt him somehow. Instead, you glanced up to find that he had paused in undoing your pants to stare at you. His blue eyes seemed darker. “I hope ye’re ready fer me, sweetheart. If ye keep doin’ that, I won’t be able tae control meself.”

You smiled at him, but it turned to a gasp when Connor yanked your pants and underwear down, then pushed you backward onto the bed as he pulled the rumpled clothing from your feet. When he stood back up, Connor pressed his hips between your thighs, urging you to stay open for him. It wasn’t a difficult choice.

With the space he had created for himself, Connor trailed his fingers across your collarbone, over the swells of your breasts, and down your stomach in a leisurely exploration that left no doubts about his intended destination.

All thoughts of being in a hurry fled from your mind as you watched him work his way lower and lower until his fingertips were parting your folds. The mildly cool air of the room felt glacial against the heat of your core, but it was only another layer of stimulation added to everything you were already experiencing. 

When his finger brushed between your lips, though, you felt that sensation clearly. Your hips pressed forward reflexively, trying to push closer to that teasing touch. Connor hummed, eyes fixed between your legs, and slowly pushed that finger into you. 

Your gasp felt too loud in the room, but you couldn’t help yourself. Connor’s eyes flicked to you as one corner of his mouth pulled up in a tiny smirk, but his gaze dropped again as he began to slowly pump the digit in and out of you. You could feel the way your body started to relax around the intrusion, gripping him by choice instead of in protest.

It was bliss, but it somehow became something even more when he started feathering his thumb over your clit. Your mouth fell open and you couldn’t close it, not if you wanted to take in enough air.

“Connor…” you sighed.

He hummed again, the depth of his voice turning it into half a growl. “I like when ye say me name.”

And since he apparently intended to make you say it again, Connor increased the pace of everything he was doing. It made your toes curl with pleasure, but you caught sight of another clock, the glowing numbers of the digital face burning into your brain and leaving you with a sense of frantic urgency.

“We… have to-” Your reminder cut off with a gasp as Connor pressed his thumb harder against your clit than he had up to that point. You bit back a plea. “Fuck, Connor!”

He pulled his hand free, leaving you staring up at him, bewildered. “Heard ye th’ firs’ time, lass. Short on time. Ye don’t need tae swear at me fer it.”

The humorous glint in Connor’s eyes told you that he was teasing and you gritted your teeth. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. You glowered at him, but he didn’t see it. He was too busy putting on a condom and, by the time he refocused on you, your own attention was on more important things than fighting with him. 

You were still sitting on the edge of the bed. When Connor approached, you began to scoot slowly backward across the surface of the mattress, but he grabbed you around the waist. “An’ where do ye t’ink ye’re goin’?”

“Onto the bed..?” you answered questioningly.

“Ye’re already on th’ bed, ain’t ye? ‘Sides, since we’re in such a hurry…” he teased, interrupting himself as he kissed you. “I will need this, though.”

He pulled one of your pillows down the bed. “Lie back fer me.”

When you did, Connor lifted your hips, settling the pillow beneath them so your torso was flat on the bed while your lower body was elevated for him. You watched him curiously. “What are you doing, Connor?”

“Trust me,” he urged, patting your knee, “an’ tell me if anything starts tae hurt.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice enough to verbally confirm that. It wasn’t that you distrusted Connor, not in the slightest. Hell, you wouldn’t have brought him back here in the first place if you didn’t trust him. You were just worried you wouldn’t measure up to his expectations. Whatever Murphy had told him that convinced him to flirt with you, you didn’t want to be a disappointment.

Connor - blissfully unaware of the grinding of your internal monologue - grasped your leg just above the curve of your calf muscle and placed it over his shoulder. The stretch was intense at first, but eased until you were comfortable enough. That was a surprise, since flexibility wasn’t a particular talent of yours, but something about the pillow under your hips and the fact that Connor was leaning down made it bearable.

“Okay so far?” Connor asked.

You shrugged. “Not bad.”

He nodded reassuringly, placed the tip of himself against your entrance, and drove into you with one strong push. Your breath caught at the unexpected fullness, but you were a little distracted, mentally changing your opinion of this position from ‘not bad’ to ‘amazing’.

When he was pressed as far into you as he could get, Connor pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Are ye alright?”

“I’m fine.” It was the truth, too. Since it hadn’t been such a long span of time since your last sexual encounter, you weren’t struggling with the lengthy adjustment period you’d had with Murphy. You didn’t tell Connor any of that, of course. “We can keep going.”

“Be careful, lass,” Connor warned you. “I won’t be gentle. We’re on a schedule, after all.”

You smiled at that despite yourself. “I think I can handle it.”

“We’ll see,” he said, grinning. With a last nod from you, he withdrew and slammed back into you so quickly that you gasped. He raised an eyebrow, though you could see the way his muscles were beginning to tremble from trying to hold back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, all good,” you insisted.

Connor took you at your word, setting a steady pace built up in cycles of withdrawing slowly and thrusting back in. It felt like an exclamation point at the completion of every circle and you soon picked up the rhythm, lifting your hips in time with his thrusts. 

“Look so good, sweetheart,” Connor told you, voice strained with effort. “Pretty little thing all spread out under me.”

He reached out and ran his fingers over one of your breasts, giving your nipple the slightest tweak. You arched for him, supporting yourself on your shoulder blades to give him better access. “Like that, do ye? I c’n tell; squeezin’ me so tight I c’n hardly move.”

As if to prove that was a lie, Connor drove into you with a firm thrust that left you writhing on the bed. You reached out for him, but all that met your searching fingers was air. You pouted… at least, as much as anyone could pout while gasping for breath. “You’re so far away, Connor.”

“I c’n fix that,” he offered, leaning down a little closer to you. The stretch in your hamstring intensified slightly, but the burn only added to the fire burning in your gut.

Connor planted one hand on the bed beside your head, the other keeping its original position on your hips. It put him close enough for you to wrap your arms around his shoulders, feeling the way the muscles tensed and danced under your hands as he continued to take you apart with his demanding pace. 

Most devastatingly, though, this angle left Connor thrusting directly against something inside you that made you fight not to openly wail. Was it your g-spot? You had heard stories from other women about the depth of their pleasure with a g-spot orgasm, but you’d never managed to find yours. You tried to memorize the exact spot where the overwhelming feeling seemed to stem from, but your mind was busy melting.

After a few thrusts that seemed to stroke that magical place directly, you could feel yourself starting the inevitable spiral. “Connor, I’m-”

Your warning was cut off as your head kicked back. You gave a hoarse gasp as the world exploded. In the past, you had read all of the cliches about ‘white-hot pleasure’ in romance novels and dismissed it as artistic license, but this was so far beyond anything you had ever experienced that it was all you could think of. Your limbs tightened around Connor, trying to hold him in place, but the rippling waves of your core only spurred him to move even faster. 

By the time you could finally see and hear again, Connor was staring down at you, wide-eyed. “Are ye okay?”

“Yes,” you bit out, realizing with something almost like dread that another orgasm was already approaching. “And I think it’s going to happen again.”

“Already?” he asked, sounding both surprised and pleased.

“I think so. I’m already close.” 

“Then we’ll go together,” Connor decided. You tried to nod, but the only thing you could focus on was the building of pleasure in your belly. Connor’s hand cracked over the sensitive stretch where your asscheek met the top of your thigh. “Come on, lass.”

“I can’t wait any-” You couldn’t even finish the statement before your body locked down around him. This time, it almost seemed determined to tear you apart, your muscles cramping even as they locked into the agonizing tension of a mind-boggling orgasm. Distantly, you heard Connor curse and begin to buck into your depths, but you were only peripherally aware of your body. With the single remaining scrap of rational thought left in your head, you wondered if you were going to pass out from the sheer overload of sensation. 

And then it was over. You and Connor were collapsed against your bedspread, both of you lying at an odd angle with the pillow still propping your hips upward. 

You couldn’t feel anything below your knees and elbows and dimly wondered if you had some kind of nerve damage. The mere thought of trying to investigate that left you feeling more exhausted than you could remember feeling, so you decided to wait and see if the feeling came back. 

That was all forgotten as you felt a trickle of liquid run from your pulsing core down to your ass.

You gasped, struggling to sit up. “Connor! Did the condom break?”

Connor frowned, pulling out of you with a groan. That last bit of sensation seemed to send an aftershock through both of you and you shuddered together as you stared down at Connor’s cock.

The condom was intact, completely covering him. Connor glanced at you curiously. “Why did ye think it broke?”

“I felt something wet,” you explained, slapping him weakly when he gave you a dirty smile. “Not that. Something thinner. More… liquid. I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Ye did squirt when ye came th’ second time,” Connor told you. 

You frowned. “No, I- I didn’t. Did I? I’ve never done that before.”

“Do ye usually come twice so quickly?” he asked, tucking a hand behind his head and letting his eyes fall shut.

“No, but I think you found my g-spot.”

“Did I, now?” There was a satisfied little grin playing around his mouth. “Well, they say a woman’s more likely tae squirt with a g-spot orgasm.”

You raised an eyebrows, even knowing that he couldn’t see you. “Do you know a lot about women’s g-spot orgasms?”

“I’ve put th’ work in,” Connor said. “An’ what I didn’t know, I researched. If I can’t make someone feel good, why should they keep comin’ back?”

With an unconvinced hum, you let yourself collapse back on the bed, though you moved the pillow out of the way first. After you shared the silence for a few long minutes, you heard Connor shift slightly. “Do ye really have tae go tae work tonight?”

“Yeah,” you said. Even to yourself, you didn’t sound excited about it. “Speaking of, I should probably go shower.”

“Wake me up when ye’re done, will ye?” Connor requested, closing his eyes again. “Don’t think I c’n move jus’ yet.”

You laughed despite yourself and dragged your way to the bathroom.

---

Author's Note - I would like to say this is the end, but I've wanted to write for the Boondock Saints for a long time. I'll probably end up writing more for this little story, but I'm not sure when.

In the meantime, I would love to know what you thought! Thanks for reading, have a great day!

I don't offer a taglist for adult fics, but you can find other works on my masterlist!

[perkuneaudio]

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[feilien]

rp preferences -

knowing your partner can potentially make writing together a lot easier.

basics

✧ NAME: J

✧ PRONOUNS: they/them, but cool with any

✧  SEXUALITY: ace & panromantic

✧  TAKEN OR SINGLE: very happily taken by @thiefofcrows

three facts

when i get pretty bored with my hobbies i sometimes sign up for online courses, forget about them, and then finish the coursework within the span of one week. i'm currently taking an online course on latin.

my music taste is all over the place, i like girl groups and indie/alternative most of the time, but i also need to blast yoyo ma or tchaikovsky's swan lake on my loudspeakers sometimes.

i am friends with some honest to god local celebrities, and i fear the day that someone thinks to use one of them as a faceclaim because i wouldn't really know how to explain why i refuse to write against or use them. "did they do something problematic" no my guy, i just used to help this guy with homework in college and know too much about his escapades.

experience

✧   HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?): If we're talking proper proper writing (in English) then around ten years; if we're talking general rp (and count non-English) then we're looking at about 17 years

✧   PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED: tumblr, and discord (and aim, while it still existed); also animexx and forums back in the day

✧   BEST EXPERIENCE: Some of the friends I made along that way, as corny as that sounds. There are people I've known for over ten years now, and who I've seen (and will again see) in person multiple times

muse preferences

✧   FEMALE OR MALE: Male. I've just never been able to write females for some reason

✧  FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT: Generally angst, though I very much enjoy fluff thrown into it from time to time to balance things out. Smut is rare to non-existent, bc there's just been too many bad and awkward experiences. Rare exclusions apply if I know someone well enough and have a deeply established ship.

✧   PLOTS OR MEMES: Plots ten times out of ten for new interactions for sure. Memes are cool once there's been a dynamic established that I can work off of.

✧   LONG OR SHORT REPLIES: Mine? Always long bc I have zero chill lmao. I do try to keep it medium sometimes to not scare people away. Short? Impossible for me for some reason. Literally struggle with short stuff. A lot.

✧   BEST TIME TO WRITE: Ngl, at work most of the time. Now and again after work if I still have the energy.

✧ ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S): Like Matt? Not really. Wish I was though. I admire him for his ability to remain soft and happy and just generally for the person he is, although I don't envy him for the rest. The more grumpy muses I used to write... Yeah, personality-wise I tend to be a lot like them lmao.

tagged by: @destroyedthere (thank you <3) tagging: Don't really have anyone to tag :/

[wanderer-on-the-steppe]

Songs about the Khmelnytsky uprising, part 1:

I’ve been asked for more music about the Khmelnytsky uprising (the first song I posted – by Хорея Козацька, based on a poem by Hryhorii Skovoroda – can be found here), so I thought I’d do some blog posts on the songs I know. Starting with a classic that, for me, is both fascinating and thoroughly frustrating: the song about Khmelnytsky and Barabash (Дума про Хмельницького і Барабаша).

It’s fascinating because it recounts the famous episode of Khmelnytsky tricking Ivan Barabash into getting drunk at his house and in the meantime sending a servant for stealing the king’s letters from Barabash’s own house – and damn, I wish we’d get to see this in the “Ogniem i mieczem” movie. I know well that it doesn’t fit in there as far as the course of the plot is concerned... but I’d love to see it anyway. Because it has Khmelnytsky being clever and cunning, and Bohdan Stupka would have done wonders with a scene like this.

And here we have a historical song that tells exactly this episode in a style that’s just made for a performer with some acting skills – and on top of it, Bohun gets mentioned.

That’s the good part.

The scary part: In the song Khmelnytsky doesn’t only trick Barabash, but also kills him (admittedly after Barabash wanted to hand him over to his enemies, so... considering what that would have meant, it’s really not surprising) and sends his wife and children into slavery. And if I understand it correctly, there's absolutely nothing that indicates this last deed was considered unworthy of the protagonist in any way.

Thankfully, as the real Barabash is supposed to have been killed by his own rebelling Cossacks, there’s some hope that the fate of his family here is simply a literary invention. But it could have happened, and it just says a lot about the hate and bitterness that accompanied the rebellion if a detail like this could have been thought to make the story better.

Now, the frustrating part? Even though the song is well-known enough that I could find material for school lessons about it, it rarely seems to get performed anymore. And if it does, there either isn’t a decent recording of it, or… I simply haven’t found it so far ;)

What I have found is a fragment of it in an operatic interpretation – and if you want it, simply adding “mp3” to your google search for "Дума про Хмельницького і Барабаша" will make it show up in your first results, but please be aware that I cannot assess the safety of these sites. I’ve played the file online (though I didn’t download it), and so far, my computer seems alive and well, but… that’s really all I can say about it.

There’s also a more traditional interpretation by Nazar Bozhynsky (Назар Божинський), recorded in a town square – and this is on Youtube, and the link is fine –, but (did I mention the situation with this song is frustrating?) there’s a voice from a loudspeaker at a blaring volume chattering throughout the whole performance. Which, at least to me, renders the song completely unintelligible even with the lyrics at hand. Honestly… if this had been during the hetman’s lifetime, it would have ended badly for that loudspeaker ;)

So, all I have to offer is a spoken version. I promise, the next post in this series will have some actual music not drowned out by announcements!

[To avoid misunderstandings that can probably easily happen with as controversial a historical topic as the Khmelnytsky uprising: Despite my Ogniem i mieczem-related enthusiasm for the movie character Khmelnytsky (played by Bohdan Stupka), I am aware of the horrors that happened during the real uprising, and I’m posting these songs for their historical interest only – not to glorify a brutal war, and certainly not to mock its victims.]