#WHAT JS HAPPENED

[livteracts]

hey !

ahaha

ℋℯ𝓎 !

𝒴𝒶𝒽ℴℴ！

PLEASE IVE REPOSTED SO MANY OF THESE VIDEOS I SEE THEM IN MY DREAMS

[tea-with-cinnamontoast]

WATCHER FUCKING GOT ME IN THAT *EXACT*POST IM FUCKING ???????

[hyhkai]

camboy! | c.yj.

[ 🎥 ] — after yeonjun's rise in the porn industry, an interview was something he agreed to for fun. however, after he saw you, the interviewer, he wished it was a fake interview where he gets to fuck you.

cw : pornstar!yeonjun. unedited word vomit fictional magazine company that apparently also exists in real life.

a/n ; i apologize for my sins i swear I'll change 🙏🏼 and this is a drabble, not a fic! i might turn it into one over time ♡

after you reached out to him a few weeks ago with greetings and compliments, and asking can I interview you some time? I'd like to know what it's like to be a person who earns through the adult industry, and with your fame, I know that you're just the right person., his first, honest reaction was to laugh. i mean, seriously?

he was laughing at the irony of the fact that he was being interviewed. i mean, who was willing enough to take out time of their busy, hectic schedule to interview a man who earns bread by having a dildo inside of him? he had to know. he wanted to know what this person was like.

he did think that this could be completely false and you could be a potential threat, trying to lure him into your little cage with cheese like he's a fucking rat, capture him and do bad things to him like he'd heard with various nefarious acts of people against people with 'easy' fame.

"can I get proof that you're actually an interviewer?"

to which he immediately got a response with a photo of a xerox copy of your identification document, namely at a popular company called mode de vie. he could see the black and white ink that framed the photo stuck on the top right corner, and he knew that he had to see that fucking face in real life. if that's how you look in a awfully captured picture, so captivating, bold, and confidence outlining your eyes in the form of sharp eyeliner, he had to see that face in front of him, asking him questions about his body count or something else he doesn't give two shits about.

he'd said sure to your offer almost immediately now that he saw that it was a real interviewer after him. and now that it was time, he drove to the place where you both agreed to be at — a café which was relatively close to his house and your office.

"I'm glad you came!" you said as you shook his hand that would eventually get sweaty from just sitting opposite to you. what the fuck? he seriously considered telling you to quit this stupid, serious job and just join him in his public sex life. you were stunning.

now that he saw your hair open, framing your face, and that fucking sharp-ass eyeliner, he was mad that he didn't dress up nicely and instead came in a hoodie. who wants to miss a chance of getting a baddie?

he thanked the lords he'd long forgotten when you told him this is just an audio based interview which will later be turned into a text format.

while you continued asking him questions about everything, from "fuck-a-fan" to "how did your mother find out?", he'd needed to ask you to repeat your questions several times. his eyes kept drifting down, down to your chest.

'why the fuck are you wearing a top so low-cut? is it to provoke me or something?' he'd think. he legitimately wants to put his hand on the table, pushing himself towards you and grabbing one of your tits. it's pissing him off he can't.

okay, so maybe he was a pervert like one of his friends liked to say. but it wasn't his fault when you were asking him questions about his sex life while looking at him with those eyes that were possibly tearing his clothes off.

in his world, that is.

'do you want to fuck me too, or am I trippin'?'

he knew he had to keep his filthy hands, his filthy thoughts, to himself. c'mon, it's a fucking interview, yeonjun. grow up. you've had plenty of girls and guys to fuck in your life. from small and petite, to taller than you. from fucking someone to getting fucked. you've done it all. why are you so captivated by this woman?

maybe it was the way you had your makeup done that had him wishing he could see it smeared all over with a new makeup product; his cum, or maybe it was your tits that were practically begging to be the thing he shoves his face in tonight. but no, it was the way you carried yourself.

there was this... this aura, this radiation of confidence that was magnetic enough for him to be pulled to you.

under the table, he was practically going to rub one out. he kept adjusting his pants, kept palming his dick that was straining against his pants and standing up against his thoughts of not fucking you ever.

ugh, just how fucking good you'd look on his bed, and he swears he could go above his rounds per fucking streak of 4 with you; from classic missionary to the amazon position, from sixty-nine to his foot on your face while he fucked your ass from the back. fuck, he'd even let you peg him, something he's always refused to do.

just how good you'd look while sliding your strap-on inside of him, his eyes going wide, as well as your smile at the sight of his pretty face. he thinks you'd like some crazy songs playing in the background, similar to the vibe of playboi carti.

fuck, he'd hold onto your tits for support, comfort, for just the fucks of it no matter who is topping.

"um, excuse me?" you asked when he spaced out in the middle.

"yeah?" he said, looking up from the table where both of your milkshakes resided.

"thank you for the interview. i appreciate it a lot!" you said, smiling at him, completely unaware of the junk he had in his brain about you. you put out your hand for a friendly yet professional handshake.

"oh, yeah, of course." he muttered out, responding to your hand with his that was definitely sweaty.

as you closed your notepad and stopped the recording, he looked up at your face finally.

"can I ask you a question too?"

"oh, yes, of course." you said, looking up at him with a face of genuine curiosity. maybe it would be something like —

"when will this be posted?"

"where can I read it?"

"will there be a hardcopy?"

"would you ever fuck me if you could?"

and suddenly, this was the first time you regretted not recording the aftermath of an interview.

[bedazzled-applesauce]

is season 12 the destiel “maybe having a kid will solve our marriage” season or smth because why are they bickering like a tired house wife and an ignorant husband

[mcytegg]

also idk. maybe i'm too spoke brained but i feel like he gave everyone the ending they wanted to the best of his abilities. i don't know if he meant to, i know he Wanted everyone to be against him, but in the end today would have been a very different day if he hadn't logged on :')

[iclimbtreestofeelalive]

drew some sturgeons today 👍

[pikhachu]

girls when their issues get dismissed as anxiety for the millionth time

[unethicalpeacemonger]

I kept on seeing people interpreting Alucard and Anderson's final confrontation as Good (Anderson's cross) and Bad (Alucard's reverse cross). God and The Devil, Heaven and Hell. But I think we're missing out from the idea that theyre really just Jesus and Peter.

Anderson, like Jesus, felt that its God's will for him to go through horrifyingly cruel act for the sake of the people and for God's name. Meanwhile, Alucard, like Peter, adored Jesus and wanted nothing bad to ever happen to Him. The same way that Peter wanted to save Jesus from His capture by cutting off the ear of a servant, Alucard wanted to save Anderson from his turning and much like in The Bible, Jesus disapproved Peter's doing because He believed that this is a path He must go through, the same way that Anderson denied Alucard's attempt to stop him from turning into a monster because he believed that it is God's will. Basically trying to save someone who doesn't wanna be saved because they're so driven by Faith.

I fucking hate (love) them.

[pseudowandered]

help i cant stop draiwnng the wilsons

[allpromarlo]

random castordei thought i js had: what if mydei does die (and get revived obviously) from castorice’s touch at the beginning, but gradually builds up an immunity to it

like their first encounters would be a little prickly because the curse does work on him, but mydei already notices that coming back to life after dying by castorice’s hand is much more painless than on other occasions. they meet up more often, and each time his body takes less time to regenerate, until one day, he doesn’t die at all—he just feels himself go completely limp in her arms, muscles relaxed for the first time in years. and it feels weird, because he’s usually incapable of letting go of all the tension in his body like that, but castorice just has that effect on him. so now, his main reason for seeing her is needing to relax his muscles and clear his mind, which helps him sleep better and because he’s in love with her

[kikaichuzz]

shino after kiba GETS him

[unhinged-snake-jaw]

patroclus in tsoa:

oh... i accidentally killed sarpedon??? i'm not built for violence, really. that's achilles. i guess he's always protecting me... i love him, i can't make myself argue with him— i'm so in love with him i don't know to be angry at him. ever.

patroclus in the iliad:

*invents gamer's rage by killing clysonysmus*

{kill count: so high that homer's just listing names at one point}

*kills sarpedon and then KILLS ANYBODY WHO TRIES TO TAKE HIS BODY* (the dead man's father ended up intervening i believe)

"hey patroclus... you're crying like a girl what's wrong??" "what's wrong? what's wrong??? what's wrong is yOU MOTHERFU—"

*knocks hector's charioteer onto the floor with a stone that fucking kills him* 10/10 my guy that was a perfect dive!! trojans seem awfully good at diving out of their chariots, don't you think??

"on my own? i would have killed TWENTY hectors, and you know that."

[deifyruby]

pangi is gonna be late for the stream and as that happens i slowly see my timeline be filled with pangili 1... this is what streamer being absent does to the fandom. they go crazy. they think pangili 1 is still here. so sad to see. </3 /j

[leoleolovesdc]

Im constantly thinking abt shell, nessa and elphaba walking around in the street and having a conversation along these lines;

Someone, talking to Shell: You must be Frexpar’s son! Are these your… friends?

Elphaba: Oh no, we’re actually siblings

Someone: *stares back and fourth between a seemingly foreign, tall, green skinned androgynous person, a quadling looking girl with reddish skin and no arms and a regular munchkin boy*

Someone:

[m1zisua]

All the things about how Luka is pointing at Hyuna accusingly, which is potentially about Hyunwoos' death, makes me think ..... how exactly would Hyuna have been the cause of his death?

Personally, I just can't see that being the case. So, I propose something else, Hyuna blames herself for letting herself and Hyunwoo become so close to Luka.

Based on this post about the differences in how both Hyuna and Hyunwoo interacted with Luka, we see Luka say some pretty .. odd stuff (eg. "Your life is mine") and Hyuna not taking it all too seriously, and now, in hindsight when she looks back on it, she'd be likely to feel that she should've seen the red flags and put distance between them, or instead feels that if she were 'harder' on Luka, like Hyunwoo was, that he wouldn't have done what he did.

Hyuna chose to lean in to Lukas antics and take his side over Hyunwoos, possibly just regarding their interactions as just 'them being them', not really seeing much seriousness to it, nor the actual harm Luka could bring.

Not to mention that if Hyuna wasn't there when the whole fight went down with Hyunwoo and Luka, then that would be another reason for her to blame herself. She wasn't there to break them apart, to step in when it got serious and prevent the outcome.

(I also have another theory about why Hyunwoo and Luka could've had such a serious fight - involving Hyuna - , but that's for another post, hhaa....)

In her song "Love and Peace" she says this. While it could be about Luka, it feels more likely that this is about Hyunwoo. An apology to him, she's sorry that she wasn't there to protect him or that she wasn't on his side more often, sorry that she trusted Luka. All she can do is hope that Hyunwoo knew how much she truly loved and cared for him.

Behind all of her anger and resentment towards Luka, there's alot of self-blame and guilt hidden. She projects it onto Luka, and this definitely isnt me trying to say that she doesnt hate Luka or hold anything against him because — oh, no she definitely does (rightfully so), alot of it could come from her own self loathing, it's easier for her to take out all of her emotional baggage by pouring it in to hating Luka.

Luka knows this. Which is why he's almost taunting her in the first image .. Like he's trying to tell her "What happened was your fault too". I think she'll come to realise that it wasn't. Or atleast I hope.

[xxlady-lunaxx]

it’s hard to tell how tengen should feel. sitting here, waiting quietly as sanemi sleeps. he replays everything that had happened in the last few hours, folding his hands over his lap. he gazes uncertainly down at sanemi’s pale, almost sickly face. it’s resting now, at least. slack and unlike the previous defeated expression he’d held a moment ago.

somewhere around noon, sanemi’s crow had come to the uzui household asking for tengen, and only tengen. confused, but with time to spare, tengen heeded the order and headed over to sanemi’s estate. on first glance, it had seemed normal. but tengen has always had tuned hearing. he could tell, as he slowed, that there was something unnervingly off.

with sudden concern, he’s at sanemi’s door in an instant. he knocks, waits, knocks again. after another minute of waiting, he hears reluctant footsteps trudging towards the door. a hoarse, “uzui?” from the other side before the door opens to reveal a disheveled sanemi. which is putting it lightly. sanemi’s hair is a mess, his skin much too pale, and eyes sunken in, supporting eye bags so dark they could rival the feathers of his crow.

“shinazugawa,” tengen says, his worry increasing by the second. he’s let inside by sanemi, who stumbles aside before closing the door. “what happened?”

sanemi merely shakes his head, swallowing once. and then again. it strikes sanemi, suddenly, that the place reeks of alcohol. oh, fuck. sanemi shuffles towards another door, opening it and stepping through. he’s clearly expecting tengen to follow, which he does. he finds himself in a bedroom—sanemi’s. the room is in even more disorder than sanemi, and it looks like a group of demons could’ve pummeled through it several times to get to this level of disorganized. many things catch tengen’s eye, but the first thing is a bundle of purple fabric: a stark contrast against the grayish white of the futon it sits on.

it takes a moment for him to place it in his mind, pair it with the initial owner of the clothing. but he does recognize it, more specifically from the days spent training the lower slayers before the war. and then the name comes to mind, and he breathes: “genya…”

genya shinazugawa. sanemi shinazugawa. shinazugawa. oh, fuck.

something about sanemi’s had pulled tugs of familiarity in tengen’s mind, but he’d yet to place it until now. because he’d been the same, once before. when he was younger—burying himself in his room as he struggled with the truth of everything. and how the reality crashed upon him too many times to count, awakening him from dreams he’d pretended were real only to be cruelly torn back into the ache and the pain of what it actually was. he remembered that his wives had been main reason he’d managed to pull himself out of his current of thoughts enough to run away from his clan. back then, he’d just recently married them, yet they were the most supportive of him and he’s made sure to cherish their every action because they had done so much for him he felt he could never repay.

but sanemi has nobody. in the past, there had been people. fleeting or not, there had been. he hadn’t been alone until now. even tengen, who could toy with the possibility that he was something for sanemi, could see it. he knows. that sanemi is truly, and utterly alone.

he recalls, vaguely, the name masachika kumeno, and sanemi’s final acceptance in kagaya. the momentary something that kanae had managed to snag from sanemi before she’d died. the close friendship obanai and sanemi were able to build, the bridge between them never breaking. and now, tengen can see that genya had been so much more than sanemi let on. because of course he had. even tengen, knowing how badly his father had managed to twist his younger brother’s mind into one full of thorns and knotted vines, had still cared for him. had rejected the idea of killing them, despite the turmoil he’d been. sanemi and genya were no different, it seemed. but now, it feels like caring had much more consequences than if sanemi had truly hated genya.

the thoughts flit through tengen’s mind in an instant, and he clamps his mouth shut, realizing a moment too late that he shouldn’t have spoken his thoughts. the name. genya’s name.

sanemi sags, wobbling enough so that he has to lean against the door for support. “fuck,” he mumbles. “fuck.” he repeats it again, and then again and again, like a mantra. like it’s the only thing grounding him. and tengen understands. he agrees, silently, and then interrupts. because sanemi will get nowhere this way.

“shinazugawa.”

there’s a brief, sober understanding that flickers through sanemi. he pauses his chanting, swallowing again. then he rambles, quietly, “fuck, i’m sorry, uzui. i’m sorry.”

“i know. come on,” tengen says. and sanemi follows him, manages barely to guide him to the bathhouse. then he waits patiently as tengen fills the bath and warms the water. he obeys when he’s made to undress and sink into the tub. he’s quiet all of a sudden, though his jaw works itself. as if he wants to say many things, but can’t find it in himself to speak.

tengen washes him gently, because sanemi feels so fragile. and he’s afraid that if he holds him too tightly, or nudges too suddenly, sanemi will break. physically, sanemi is the strongest anyone could be. not in the type of strength that gyomei held, but with the sheer will sanemi had to persevere. it allowed him to live through things no human should be able to. yet now, sanemi feels as if he’s completely given up on living. somehow, tengen senses that the vulnerability that sanemi’s displaying is his way of telling him that there’s little to be done now except hope. sanemi isn’t one to let himself be defeated. but here he is. eyes closed, lips moving in words that never form, his body limp and at tengen’s complete mercy. god, fuck.

once sanemi’s clean, washed from the prior weeks of negligence, tengen dresses him in a somewhat wrinkled but relatively alright robe, then props him up somewhere safe to sit. he hurries to fix up sanemi’s room as much as he can in ten minutes, focusing on the futon before tucking sanemi to sleep. once he’s sure sanemi’s comfortable, he begins to clean the rest of the room quietly.

he puts away the clothes to wash—including genya’s—and rids of empty bottles or discarded food. he does as much as he can without being loud until he’s satisfied enough. leaving the clothes to soak in water for some time, he comes back to the room and settles beside the bed. he has no doubt he’d hear sanemi awaken no matter where in the house he is, but he wants to be there. because he knows that, even if he’s nothing compared to genya or masachika or anyone sanemi had loved, tengen had been a hashira. and a hashira’s duty was to hold up the people who couldn’t, support the ones who were too weak to do so themselves. sanemi would understand, and he does, really. because for the first time, he’d depended on tengen. he’d called him over and allowed him to do everything for him. for once.

tengen shifts, torn between watching sanemi dutifully or distracting himself from his concern by doing something active. he settles with staying when sanemi turns slightly on his side, facing tengen. he wishes he could do more for sanemi. but for now, he will do what he can. he isn’t even sure if there’s anything else he could possible do. and so he sits there quietly, waiting, and watching, and hoping sanemi will be okay.