#or making them and letting them rot on my computer/in my drafts

[chrisbangz]

channie of the day (8/∞) GDA Backstage Interview ✦ 190106

#bang chan #stray kids #bystay #createskz #staydaily #channiesnet #*mine #l.gif #channie of the day #gda 2019 #dreamytag #melontrack #usersemily #userlau #usersa #usertsu #happy 1 yr anniv to me posting gifs & starting this series 🎉 #started the series w a gda19 set so we'll have another to commemorate #kind of sad that i'm only up to 8 posts in the span of a yr #jus have a bad habit of bookmarking vids for this #and nvr going back to actually make the gifs lol </3 #or making them and letting them rot on my computer/in my drafts

[assaily]

Feeding the fandom some more. :)

Working Title: Hide the Morning from the Stars Colloquial title: Mute Five Themes: I don't even know anymore

This is a Very rough draft. Like so rough I don't even think my tensing is consistent throughout. This is Five's loneliest first year of retirement ever. And also him hanging out with Grace.

Major warning for the beginning for suicidal thoughts and behaviors.

~Post Mute~

Five takes the gun out of his mouth, his tongue flexing against the heavy iron tang of metal. The weight of it is familiar and cold in his hand as he sets it down on the edge of the sink, his shaking fingers pressing the safety back into place.

He’s just being dramatic. It’s all those teenage hormones mixing badly with all the trauma Five honestly didn’t think he’d live long enough to have to deal with. Oh,  and one hell of a hangover. That’s all it is, dramatics. If he thinks for a minute, plans this out, he realizes how horrible of an idea it is.

He can’t make Mom clean his brain matter off the walls. That would be cruel, even for him. Dramatics. Besides, his siblings would hear the gunshot. He doesn’t really want them to find him. Klaus would summon him before he had a chance to cross over and they’d give him a ream of shit for making such a mess. The idea of being yelled at again is exhausting.

“Can’t you have done this at a hotel or something?” He can imagine them saying to his corpse, scoffing and shaking their heads in disappointment. They’re right, of course, he shouldn’t do this at home. 

He sighs, closing his eyes against the judgment staring back at him through the mirror. He tries to settle the shaking in his body but can only seem to draw it in, not vanquish it. He’s never really calm anymore. He wasn’t much before, but at least he could pretend.

These days it feels like every defense he’s ever built for himself has been stripped away, leaving him raw and naked and fragile in ways he can’t compute. It makes him nasty and hateful, covering himself in glass so that the moment someone reaches out, they bleed. He wants to be normal, he wants to be able to have a conversation with his siblings without thinking they’re judging him, and without picking a fight. He wants to scream and cry and beg them.

But he’s not sure what he would beg for, only that he wants something desperately, but something else inside of him, something old and stalwart and terrified refuses to let him ask. So he picks fights, he’s nasty without knowing why, and his siblings hate him for it.

He opens a drawer below the sink and tucks the little ruger beneath a pile of clean washcloths. This used to be his and Ben’s bathroom, but he’s the only one that uses it now. The others don’t really come up here, even less now that the honeymoon period has passed and they have no desire to keep him company anymore. 

Allison mostly lives in California now, Viktor lives out there too, but they both come to visit every couple of months, staying for a week at a time. Diego lives outside the house with Klaus, and recently Luther found a job that would pay him enough to afford his own apartment. He hasn’t moved out yet, but he’s actively looking.

This is what Five wanted, them living their lives and moving on, but he has to remind himself like he forgot. He wanted to give them the opportunities he never had, and he succeeded. He’s not sure why it feels so terrible now, but he suspects it’s only a symptom of the sickness sitting like a rot in his bones.

He makes a point of not looking at himself, wetting his hairbrush under the faucet in an attempt to tame his bedhead. The scratch of the bristles against his skin hurts, so he pressed harder.

Allison and Viktor are at the end of their visit, and everyone is in the house. They’d be gone by tonight, and the house would go back to the coffin it was without the others, but in the meantime, Five wanted to look at least a little put together for them. He doesn’t want them to worry, but with the constant arguing he figures he can get away with less and less grooming.

His hair is getting long and he hasn’t really had the energy to cut it yet. It’s getting a little annoying, the way it falls into his eyes and curls at the nape of his neck. He’d go to a barber if he thought he could get through the encounter without snatching the scissors away and ending the life of the poor girl unlucky enough to draw the short straw.

When he finishes, he finally looks back at himself. He still looks like garbage, his skin an unhealthy pallor, accentuating the dark circles weighing down his eyes. The water managed to tame some of the mess of his hair, but it’s obviously greasy, flakes of dandruff like ash on his scalp. His reflection glares back at him, anger and disappointment like a stone in his stomach.

He really is a dramatic bastard. Today of all days, he figured he’d leave it in the drawer. Playing the wishing game with all his siblings home. He can’t even deny that of the cry for attention it is. Disgusting, really. His siblings could probably smell him rotting from here.

He considers a shower. It would make him feel better, a little more human at least, before he goes downstairs and has to pretend at it. The idea of getting wet, and having to put his clothes back on with wet skin makes him grimace. He doesn’t want to be cold either, because he can never seem to get warm. No use making it worse.

He flicks the light off and  cracks the door behind him as he leaves. He shuffles back to his room to find something cleaner to wear. He should have washed his face, but now that he’s away from the mirror, he doesn’t have the energy to go back to it.

Mom keeps an ever revolving source of clean clothes for him, so that part of his routine is easy at least. He doesn’t have to think too hard about it, it’s the middle of winter so that means layers, and Five likes layers. They don’t really keep him warm, but that’s normal. No, he likes them because it’s a little like putting on a suit of armor. It’s just fabric, but it still manages to trick some animal part of his brain into thinking he might be a little safer. No more warm, but far less likely to freeze.

Which is an odd quirk, considering his insistence to play the wishing game every fucking morning.

In his defense, he doesn’t usually pull the gun out. He usually he just stares at the whelp in the mirror, wondering why the fuck he’s still here when he feels this horrible all the time. Then he bucks up, cleans up, and moves on with his day.

The ruger is just… He put it there in case of emergencies. Doesn’t hurt to have a few weapons hidden around the house in case the commission decides to come knocking again. He’s not sure when he started pointing it at himself. It’s a bad habit. There are better ways, less violent ways. Ways that don’t make a mess for his family to clean up after him.

He’s just being dramatic. That’s all it is. Nothing more. Being a teenager sucks. He remembers how much better things got when his hormones weren’t through the roof, making his emotions sharp and fragile all the time, making the loneliness so much harder to ignore.

This too shall pass, he would always say to himself. Over and over, like a prayer to an unloving universe. Please, just let it pass. Five is pretty sure he doesn’t really want to be alive anymore, but he also hates wanting to die. It puts a grayish filter on everything, on every thought and interaction. He’s alive, and hates living. Worse than surviving and already feeling dead. There’s a certain numbness to the in-between space of not wanting to be alive, but not wanting to kill himself either, and he yearns for it now in the throes of a worse agony.  

But again, he’s just being dramatic. Pesky hormones. This too shall pass and all that. 

He dresses quickly, changing from yesterday’s sleep rumpled long sleeves and sweaters into cleaner ones. He reuses a layer, the fabric of a knitted shirt warm in his nearly numb hands and it’s not something he wants to waste. The bottom hem on the back is dirty, and there’s a food stain on the front of it. It still smells vaguely like the alcohol he drank last night, but he puts it on as a middle layer. His hands are easily swallowed in the outer layers, and he has the idea some of it might belong to Diego. He stole a number of garments from them all last fall, and plans to give them back at the end of spring, if he makes it that long.

Spring still feels so far away, it’s hard to think that far ahead.

Five looks like shit, and he feels like shit, but he still dares Diego to say anything about it when he arrives downstairs. He walked the first part, then warped the last floor into the kitchen once he got close enough. The air was warmer down here, the heaters worked better on the ground floors, and no one had lived in the upper floors until recently. It was his first winter home, and he almost wonders if it’s worth trying to fix. Might be easier to just move, but he likes his bedroom high above the street. He spent a lot of last summer drinking on his fire escape; it’s familiar in a wildly unfamiliar world.

“Hey,” Diego greets, giving him an appraising look but not saying anything about the fact that Five’s wearing one of his sweaters.

Five nods a greeting before he busies himself pulling a mug from the cupboard and getting a cup of coffee. The pot’s still on and half-full, likely courtesy of Mom, so it’s a short lived distraction. He almost wishes he put something in his coffee so he has an excuse to linger without making it awkward.

“I heard you and Allison got into a fight last night,” Diego says, a hint of sardonics in his voice. “Well, pretty sure the whole block heard.”

Five grimaces behind the rim of his mug, throat too tight to take a sip. It seems he’s always fighting with someone.

“Nothing to say, huh?”

Five’s pretty sure he said enough last night, regardless of how little he even remembers. Might be time to lay off drinking, even as he already wishes for something to put in his coffee. He shrugs his shoulders, throat still tight and getting tighter. It’s almost hard to breathe and his head is pounding.

Diego sighs, sounding exhausted. “Look, I’ve been talking the othe–”

Five doesn’t hear the rest, pulling himself through a tear in space. He stumbles out the other side, managing to set the coffee on his desk before his knees buckle and he topples to the floor. He lays there for a while, wheezing softly and trying to catch his breath. There isn’t much going through his head, besides how grateful he is that he saved his coffee. There was no way in hell he was going down for another.

-

He helps Mom with chores in the evenings, usually after Luther’s gone to bed and the house is painfully silent. She hums while she works, washing the dishes and cleaning up after dinner. Five sits in with her, finishing up any leftover in the pots or pans. He follows her like a ghost back upstairs, and helps her fold laundry. The laundry room is usually pleasantly warm, and Five sometimes dozes off listening to Mom hum, sprawled out on a table.

When she’s finishes with all that, she heads into the library and settles down on a couch someone had moved there in the months following their return. This is a newer part of her routine, one that Five created with his presence and can’t make himself feel bad about. The blanket draped over the back is a deep verdant green and pleasantly soft texture.

Mom settles on one end, picking up a book from the table besides the couch. He’s not sure when she started reading, or if she always did that and he just didn’t remember. For some reason it makes her seem more human. Sometimes she reads heavy tomes of obscure information, sometimes it's children’s fantasy.

Five collapses onto the couch beside her, leaning his weight against her side and sighing in the deepest relief as she wraps her arm around his shoulders. He beyond caring at this point, and Mom’s not one to judge. He rests his body against her’s for a while, breathing with her simulated breath, forcing himself to relax and finding it hard.

He still can’t get himself to stop shaking, and now with an arm around him, his vulnerabilities and hurts come bubbling up like blood from a wound. He can’t pull it in, his hands shake horribly in his lap, and clasping them together just seems to make it look worse.

She never opened her book, and she senses his distress instantly, something he hates and can’t help but be grateful for. She doesn’t ask him what’s wrong, merely pushes the book away and turns toward him to give him her full attention.

It’s too much and he nearly begins to sob. 

She shushes him gently when he swallows it down, one of her hands tracing his cheek before pulling him to rest his face against her. He wraps his arms around her back, clinging to her like a child, like he never had before and feels so stupid to do now. He can’t stop himself, it all hurts so much and he just wants it all to end. This doesn’t make him feel better, but it makes him feel something else beside the horrifying nothing eating at his bones.

She runs a hand through his hair and down the nape of his neck. He feels her hand pause and come back to his kneck, searching for his pulse. He pulls away, both out of confusion, and to allow her more access. Her face is neutral, but she frowns minutely at him before tucking his head against her.

“You’re experiencing heart palpitations,” she says, not at all asking.

He was ignoring up until now, the way his chest was tight and his heart was doing uneven little leaps and lurches. It was hard to get a full breath in, constricting in his throat, too. He nodded against her, swallowing hard when the words refused to come.

“You’re temperature is a little elevated. How are you feeling darling?”

Horrible, he tried to say, but while his mouth worked around the word, his throat spasmed silently.

#yeah i absolutely am in a different tense by the end lmao #tua #tua fanfic #the umbrella academy #fanfiction #five hargreeves

[xiaojuun]

I'm sooo excited, I can't even explain. I feel like enha comes back just when I start to really miss them. Although I was a bit anxious because I went on a mini vacation to another town just before they announced the comeback and I was fearing for my wallet around that time (I was hoping they'd announce it a bit later so I could scrounge up the money to preorder) but alas they announced it while I was broke so instead of feeling sorry for my pocket, I picked up a temporary job to do through my semester break - which I'm on rn - and preordered anyway. So far I don't have a preference for a concept, although I like the D version more than the J version but I'll take any concept at this point. I just want the photocard gods to give me ramyeonz again (but I would be happy with 1 jake pull also). I could trade my pulls to get what I want but tbh the fun of it for me is seeing what you get, so i usually just keep whatever I pull and hope for the best on the next album 😆

I've also seen the teasers but I've been avoiding hearing them in case they have spoilers. I like going into albums blind because I have so much suspense building up as we're leading up to the album release that when I finally watch that mv and hear that album, it blows me away even more. idk, it adds to the fun imo 😆😆😆

I hope it's not a permanent fatigue and that you heal quickly, or at least that ir gets easier to deal with 🧡🧡🧡

I'm okay!! Like I mentioned, I'm on semester break so I'm honestly just sleeping and doing as little as I can when my boss doesn't need me. I really want to go out this weekend tho.

I think for the first 2 weeks of my break I didn't even touch my computer, which is understandable because I study design so * most * of my time is spent in front of the computer with an adobe program open. today is really the only time I've had motivation and time to make gifs since my last sets (which was either enha performing polaroid love or jake's log, I can't remember lol, but it was a while ago.)

i must admit I did really develop jake brain rot today, I have even more gifs of him in my drafts that I'm probably going to post later hahaha but it's fun just making gifs of videos I want to make gifs of and not caring about notes or anything :')

also, I have to ask!! do you watch kdramas? if so, have you seen business proposal? I loved it sooo much and it's now my 2nd favourite kdrama - my first will always be crash landing on you - and it got me through a few of my projects towards the end of the semester. I was a bit late to it so all the hype was already over but I still think it was worth the watch 😆

and finally, I hope you don't mind the long ask 😶

— seungzie

@jseungz i don't mind the long ask at all, i love it in fact !! i'm so glad you were able to preorder and i am sending you luck for your pulls <3 and i totally get wanting to wait to see and hear everything without spoilers ! i personally am impatient so i tend to watch everything for my ult groups ajdgbjh but i respect y'all who are able to wait it out and get the full impact at release; it's true that spoilers can change the way you receive it at first, and in my case i usually like to listen to the full album in order before i even watch the mv with the title track but it doesn't always work out that way. i think even when i check out teasers or album previews i still find things that surprise me, but particularly for the enha comeback i prob won't actually check anything out until the actual drop either - we can be fully surprised together!

thank u, it should not be permanent but it may take quite a few months to get over - luckily, i'm on a semester break too, so i have plenty of time to rest! it makes sense that you'd want a bit of a break from screens, but whenever you feel inspired it's always nice to see your creations hehe. brain rot fuels some of our best work i think 😂

i don't watch any kdramas ! i tried to watch what was it ... 'let me be your knight' for my beloved donghyun but tbh i really don't watch a lot of tv in general like, barely any, and kdrama episodes tend to be quite long so i didn't end up sticking with it. i did watch the film 'love & leashes' with a friend though and thought it was really cute! i thought that was a drama when i was just seeing the previews around it, i didn't realize it was just a one-off. maybe i'll find one eventually that i can get into! i think i'm suited for shorter contents so web dramas are probably a better bet, i did watch 'to my star' as well and really enjoyed it but those episodes are super short haha

#i'm rly terrible with tv ajkdgjb i am watching the anime spy x family lately though! do you like anime as well? #erimail #mail from: seungzie! 🦌 #long post

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

(what happened with this ask right here is: I started answering it a looong time ago, stuck it in my queue without finishing it because I have wayyy too many drafts and anything I put in there is as good as lost, it got posted because I messed up the scheduling, I realized I had a gross draft posted on my blog, I screenshot it in a panic and deleted the post itself, and then forgot about it because it was in my computer's captures folder, and I also have too many of these - hence the weird presentation. I feel like this poor ask's tale is more interesting than anything I have to say lmao.)

So, as a big fan of the Jedi Order, I have seen the Prequels and TCW many, many times. I think my 'Love Encouraged' series testifies to that lol. I have also seen the OT about 3 times, I think? And maybe 2 times for Rebels, idk. My EU knowledge isn't quite what it could be, but I've flicked through the major TCW tie-in books. Now, it is possible that that expression is used somewhere in one of those, but I don't recall it. And I can say with the utmost certainty that I do not remember that phrase EVER being used in canon.

(By the way: you know what is often a good indicator of something appearing in canon? Gifs. If you've never seen gifs or captures of it after a few years in the fandom, chances are it's a deformation of something else, or fanon. Ever seen gifs of Clones speaking Mando'a? Nah. EU + Fanon. Gifs of Master-Padawan pairs speaking entirely through telepathy? Nah. Fanon. Gifs of Jedi verbatim telling someone not to feel? Nah, it's a deformation of other things they have said that get interpreted a certain way. People make content around stuff that is significant. 'Do or Do Not'? Giffed. 'It's not that we're not allowed to have those feelings, it's natural'? Giffed. 'Be mindful of your thoughts'? Giffed.)

Now, what I think happened with that expression is that it started out as a saying in a fic or a book that got taken literally and then passed around. Like how "the bond between Master/Apprentice is strong," and now you have this whole thing in fic about near-tangible links in the Force that can get ripped out, get cut, start fraying, etc... It's not a canon thing.

The problem with that sentence is that it's so incredibly vague that you can just about slap any meaning onto it, and no I have no idea what writers are trying to convey with it, because chances are they aren't talking about the same thing!

The two Jedi teachings I can think of that consistently use the word "feelings" are these ones:

"stretch out with your feelings" (ANH, Obi-Wan to Luke), "be mindful of your feelings/thoughts" (TPM, Yoda to Anakin, AotC Obi-Wan to Anakin), "use your feelings" (RotS, Yoda to Obi-Wan)

"I cannot allow my feelings to cloud my judgment" (TCW S7, Obi-Wan to Bo-Katan)

No talk of suppressing them. No talk of ignoring them.

Now, I understand how you could go from "Jedi should not let themselves be controlled by their negative emotions" to "Jedi should let go of their negative emotions." Tomato-Tomahto, right? It's just words.

And then you can go from "Jedi let got of their (negative) emotions" to "Jedi release their emotions." And where would you release something as intangible as emotions? In the Force.

It's essentially a game of telephone. And then somebody picks up this new formulation from a fic, doesn't know it's made up, and rolls with it, and boom, you have a new part of Jedi teachings that nobody would be able to even define because it can mean anything really. Does the author see it as a good thing? A bad thing? What does it look like in practice? Who knows.

tldr: I don't even know what the concept is supposed to mean because it depends on the writer, but it's not canon (as in, not in the movies + TCW, and it's not in Rebels either).

#ask #anonymous #fanon vs canon #releasing your emotions in the force #jedi order #intergalactic therapists #on feelings

[not-close-to-straight]

Falling (Three)

TW for Character Death but like... not really cos we know where Tony is. Also Tissues because I cried outlining Rhodey’s speech, and then again rough drafting it, and then again editing it...good times. 

Also I already have so many ideas for expansions of this verse ughhhh

MASTERLIST HERE

***********

MCU-verse

“A few days ago, the world as I knew it changed forever.” 

The cathedral went quiet as Colonel James Rhodes took to the podium, serious and somber in his dress uniform, eyes red and hands shaking as he looked down at his notes. 

“I don’t mean because of the wormhole over New York, though that certainly changed my mind about a lot of things I’d never thought to consider true.” the Colonel cleared his throat once, twice, darted a glance first towards Pepper sat off to the side and then to the casket sat closed and heavy on the platform below. 

“One week ago, my entire world changed when my best friend re routed a bomb out of Manhattan and took it straight into the sky. Through the damn wormhole and into the other side without even hesitating cos he knew it would save us.” James had to stop again, let his voice crack and he heard Pepper start quietly crying. “Tony um-- Tony was Iron Man. He was a hero from the minute he put on that suit to the minute he--” 

The podium shook when James gripped at it hard, counted to ten once and then again to give himself time to breathe and to keep reading the speech he’d prepared only last night. 

“Tony was a hero from the minute he put on the suit to the minute he-- oh hell, I can’t read this.” Rhodey put the cards away and scrubbed at his eyes until they stung. “Can’t read a speech about Iron Man when it’s my best friend-- my best friend laying over there, I can’t--” 

Another deep breath, another quiet cough to clear the tears from his throat and James began again, stronger this time. 

“Tony Stark was my best friend. We met at MIT, he was basically five and a half feet of pure disaster and I knew I was in trouble the minute he showed up and tried to claim top bunk. Tony fell right the hell off the ladder and I had to carry his dramatic ass to Health Services because he was sure he broke his ankle.” 

A few chuckles broke out and Rhodey managed a small smile. “He was a disaster that day, and every after that but he was my disaster and my best friend and that’s all that ever mattered.” 

“My favorite memory--” the Colonel closed his eyes again and forced out a breath. “My favorite memory of Tony is actually from a few weeks after we met for the first time. It’s obvious these days how mechanically inclined Tony was but what no one else really knows is that Tony’s first robot was one I built.” 

He tapped at his chest and tried not to sob when his fingers hit his half of a best friends necklace Tony had bought for them one drunk spring break a long long time ago. “I built Tony’s very first robot and the brat actually stole it from me.” 

A few more laughs and Rhodey continued, “I drank all the coffee one day and Tony barged into the robotics class a few hours later screeching about how badly he needed caffeine and I needed to fix it now and then he stopped and stared at just-- just the saddest looking robot you've ever seen. It was basically a box on wheels with one arm and it never did anything I programmed in so when Tony asked what it was, I said 'it's a damn dummy is what it is, doesn't do anything right'." 

The Colonel pulled an old picture out of his pocket, one of a very young Tony next to that same robot. "Tony was so offended I'd call a robot dummy that he told me I didn't deserve to have cool toys and that it was his now, I could have it back when I was worthy. Believe me, I didn’t take kindly to having my project stolen and for the rest of college-- and honestly the next thirty years-- I tried damn hard to get that robot back. It was like a heist movie, me making plans and Tony thwarting them at every turn, me roping people into the conspiracy and Tony shrieking that I wasn't worthy and that's why my plans never worked." 

"...Dum-E is still down there in Tony's workshop." he finished softly. "He wears a dunce cap and carries a fire extinguisher and he's Tony's favorite thing in the world. See that's what no one knew about Tony. Everyone knows Tony was Iron Man and-- and a goddamn hero, but he was also sentimental and sort of embarrassingly sappy and when he decided he loved something it was forever and nothing could ever change it.” 

“Dum-E was lucky enough to be something Tony loved. I was lucky enough to be someone Tony loved and it changed my life. Tony changed my life." 

Rhodey put the picture away and looked towards the casket, tears blurring his eyes as he finished,  "I uh-- I miss you, Tpnes. Miss you, bud. And I want to keep thinking this is some sort of trick, some sort of prank but I know in my heart--” 

He held tight to his half of the best friends necklace. “--I know in my heart that it-- it’s not. And that makes me real sad.” 

Pepper dropped her face into her hands, thin shoulders shaking and James tried hard to smile, to get through these last few words. “So uh-- right now I'm gonna go get my robot back. I fully expect JARVIS to have some anti heist protocol that ends with my hair on fire but you know what? I’m gonna try anyway. Rest well, Tony. We miss you.” 

There was polite laughs, some tears dabbed from eyes, a smattering of clapping and James stepped back from the podium to sit by Pepper. "How was that?" 

"It's exactly what he would have wanted you to say." she whispered through her hankie, and he wound an arm around her shoulders to hold her tight. “I miss him so much, Rhodey.” 

"I miss him too, Pep.” 

“It’s so stupid.” Pepper blew her nose daintily. “Wishful thinking. But you know, I get the feeling that he’s okay. I don’t know how to explain it, but I feel like he’s okay. Resting.” 

“Yeah, I know, I keep thinking the same thing.” Rhodey touched the necklace again. “But resting or not, when I get to heaven, I’m kicking his ass for leaving me too soon.” 

“Oh definitely.” 

****************

****************

Bucky and Steve’s Apartment

“Billionaire socialite Maria Carbonell shown here with her husband Howard Stark…” Tony mumbled to himself as he read through yet another article about his mom-- or rather, this universe’s version of his mom. “--donated millions to her husbands research to cure leukemia.”  

“Philanthropist Maria Carbonell opens a school of music for inner city kids.” He kept scrolling, smiling, as he read about Maria changing the world with her money-- and it was certainly Maria’s money this time around. Apparently this Howard Stark was an attractive scientist with a sugar mama and in each of the pictures Howard looked absolutely delighted to be accompanying Maria down red carpets, up stairs to national monuments, through the door of yet another awards ceremony for Humanitarian and conservation efforts ranging from restoring museum pieces clear through establishing brand new schools in sorely lacking communities.

“Howard Stark, husband to Italy’s sweetheart Maria Carbonell passed this morning --” Tony swallowed, pausing in his scrolling. “--at home with his wife. The cause of death is noted as a heart attack, though Mrs. Carbonell is comforted knowing he passed quickly and peacefully into the afterlife. The scientist is lauded for his contributions and research into childhood illnesses and since they had no children of their own, Howard’s personal funds will be diverted into a scholarship fund for MIT. “They are the future, not me.” he is quoted as saying often, “They will turn my first steps into a journey that will change the world.” 

“...bye Dad.” Tony whispered, though the article was dated three years past, though this Howard wasn’t his dad and had led a much different life than the Howard Stark that built Project Manhattan. “I um-- I love you.” 

“Maria Carbonell retires to Italy after husband’s passing, ‘I’m content to live out my life with my grand piano and library and wine!’” 

“Maria Carbonell breaks her silence on ex-family friend and advisor Obadiah Stane-- “he can rot in prison for all I care, and yes you can quote me on that, I said it, didn’t I?” 

Obadiah… Tony hesitated just a moment before searching for the name, his hand automatically over his heart and his breath coming faster as picture after picture of the man that had been Uncle and then had turned to nightmares filled the computer screen. 

‘Obadiah Stane accused of embezzling millions from Carbonell Foundation’

‘Obadiah Stane accused of funneling money meant for prosthetic limb research into smart bombs’

‘Former Carbonell advisor Obadiah Stane egged as he walks to the courthouse, Maria Carbonell shown handing out eggs to crowd’

‘Obadiah Stane found guilty of embezzlement and intent to fund terrorists, sentenced to thirty five years in prison’ 

‘Maria Carbonell laughs in reporters face when asked how she feels about Obadiah Stane’

“Oh.” Tony sat back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

His mom and dad were okay, Howard passed peacefully and Maria sure seemed to be living her best life in her seaside villa in Italy. Obadiah had been caught before he could hurt anyone and was rotting away in a prison cell. 

Last night Tony had got to have dinner with his friends, with his family Pepper and Rhodey and this morning he’d woken up to forehead kisses from both his Doms before Bucky had rolled out of bed for a shower and Steve had gone to start breakfast. 

Captain America was making him breakfast and Bucky had walked past in a towel and his mom and dad were okay. 

 This was-- everything was--

“Beauty?” Steve threaded his fingers into Tony’s hair and smiled affectionately when Tony automatically tipped his head back. “What are you doing, you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Tony pushed the laptop away and let himself sink into the feeling of security, the weight of Steve’s palm on his scalp, the way the blond always smelled like ocean body wash. There was definitely an inside joke there about his Steve being in the water for seventy years and this Steve using ocean mist soap, but Tony kept that to himself and settled a little firmer into Steve’s hold. 

The Dom’s breath caught when Tony opened his neck further, and Steve brushed carefully over Tony’s pulse point, over the curve of his neck where a collar would lay. “Tell me the truth.” he said quietly. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” Tony said again, and he meant it. “I’m fine and I’m-- I’m happy--” 

He hadn’t heard Bucky come in, but the Dom was at his side in an instant, bending low to dot a kiss at Tony’s collarbone and to spread his fingers wide over the patch of scars on his chest. “Sure do love hearing you say that, baby doll. You happy with us?” 

“Mmm…” the lure of falling tingled at the base of Tony’s neck, the urge to slide off the chair and let the Doms catch him on his knees. He was so safe right here, safe and caught in this place beyond-- beyond his own world. 

And things were different, sure. Thor was a model which was equal parts hilarious and alarmingly arousing. Clint was tall as hell and Natasha laughed so easily here. Bruce was a professional wrestler and in his free time worked with the Ph.d candidates at the university, Steve was an artist and Bucky was alive…

...and oh Pepper was so beautiful and so at peace and Rhodey was a stunt pilot in that ridiculous get up and…

“Sweetheart.” Bucky's voice was nearly a growl in response to the soft whine Tony gave. “You need us to take care of you? Bring you under real easy? It's been a few days since your drop, are you ready for more?” 

“We’d take care of you, Tony.” Steve now, whispering the words into Tony’s ear and right into his heart. “Baby I promise. If you’re gonna gift us with your trust and submission we are gonna do everything to keep it. Everything.” 

“Anything, sugar.” Bucky’s big hand closed just lightly over Tony’s throat and he gasped out loud before going loose and pliant, practically whimpering as blue fuzzed at the edges of consciousness, called him in and under. “Don’t need a collar for us to be yours, Tony. If that’s what you want.” 

Oh oh oh--- 

"Tony!" A new voice, breaking into their moment as James Rhodes pushed open the door of Steve and Bucky's apartment and called out for the sub. "Tony! You home? Where are you?" 

Tony snapped out of the near-scene whiplash fast, jolting up in the seat as everything in his body tuned to his best friend’s voice. 

“I’m sorry.” he said quickly, reached to press at both Steve and Bucky’s hands. “I’m sorry, I want--” this. you. falling. “I do, I just-- I have to talk to him.” I miss him. “Please?” 

“You don’t need our permission to talk to a friend, Tony.” Steve was quick to reassure him, but the Dom’s blue eyes softened at the request anyway. “We will pick this up after though.” 

Not a question, and not a seconds hesitation when Tony nodded in confirmation. 

“Yes sir. Thank you.” 

Bucky caught him as he left, snagged his wrist and pulled him back for a slow kiss that had Tony seeing stars by the time they parted. 

“Hurry.” 

“Yes sir.” 

James looked thoroughly unimpressed when Tony basically staggered from the bedroom and he looked somehow even less impressed when Bucky and Steve posted up in the doorway to watch. 

“Settle down, boys.” he scoffed. “I’m not gonna steal your sub or snatch him away somewhere wicked when it’s pretty damn obvious he’s halfway to down. Not gonna mess with him, I just need a minute. Quit snarling at me and go have a soda or something.” 

“Rhodey!” Tony laughed out loud and James pulled a face to complain, “You weren’t kidding about calling me Rhodey huh?” 

“Oh no. Not in the least.” 

“I guess I’ll learn to deal.” the other Dom said blandly. “Now come on, I’ve got something to show you down in the truck, I think you’ll like it.” 

"...okay?" Tony grabbed his jacket and followed Rhodey down the stairs. “What um--” 

“Are those two assholes treating you right?” Suddenly Rhodey was all Dom, straightening his shoulders and lowering his voice and part of Tony wanted to laugh out loud over Rhodey being threatening, but the other part missed having his best friend be protective to the point of moving him to tears. 

“They um--” he coughed lightly. “They’re being great to me.” 

“They’re good guys.” James continued. “Steve’s a little cheesy for my tastes and Bucky always smirks like he’s one breath away from a stupid come-on, but they’re good men and good Dominants but none of that matters if you came outta a shitty situation and can’t handle them.” 

“Well I--” 

“You’re welcome to move in with me.” The elevator doors opened and Tony gaped up at his friend in surprise. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want a sub and certainly not one that looks like as much trouble as you do, but you can stay with me and know you’re safe if you don’t want to stay with those goons.” 

“I’d like to stay with the goons.” Tony said faux seriously, and Rhodey finally cracked a grin and winked down at him. 

“I knew you’d say that, but felt like I needed to speak up anyway. Should I give them a shovel talk so you can see how your Doms look quaking in their boots?” 

“Are they scared of you?” 

“Damn straight.” James pushed Tony through the outside doors and down towards the parking lot. “So last night at dinner Steve mentioned you’re into robotics and stuff? Might even try to improve on Buck’s arm?” 

“You could say I’m into robotics.” Tony eyed the tarp covered lump in the back of the truck curiously. “Really got into it in my college days. Why?” 

“Cos I thought you’d get a kick out of this.” Rhodey undid the latch of his truck and pushed away the tarp, lifted down a clunky looking robot that was nothing more than a box on wheels with an arm attached. "I built this thing back a few years ago when I tried to impress some hot scientist who loved the Terminator movies. What do you think?" 

"I um--" Tony stared at the robot, at the paper dunce cap on it's head and the familiar treads on its wheels. "I--I--” he put a hand over his mouth and tried not to cry. “I um-- Well, why-- why is it wearing a dunce cap?" 

"Cos it's a dummy." Rhodey scowled at the contraption. "Never does anything I tell it to. It wasn’t even cool enough to get me laid. I’m a fighter pilot, a stunt pilot and I build robots and she wasn’t impressed.” 

“She was missing out.” Tony tried to laugh but it came out as a half sob. “You can’t call a robot a dummy, though. That’s just mean.” 

“The hell it is!” 

“Just for that, I’m keeping him.” Tony reached out and straightened the dunce cap tenderly, rubbed at a little bit of grease buildup at the arm hinge. “I’m keeping your robot, Rhodey. He’s mine now. He’s going to live with me.”  

“THE HELL HE IS!” The Dominant gaped down at him. “You can’t take my robot! You can look at it maybe, but you aren’t about to just walk away with--” 

"You can have it back when you're worthy of such a cool toy." the sub stuck his nose in the air and snapped his fingers. "Wake up, robot, you're coming with me." 

The robot beeped and whirred to life immediately to follow Tony up the path towards the doors and Rhodey groaned, “Of course the stupid thing listens to him. Of course it does.” 

“You’re welcome to try and take him back!” Tony called over his shoulder. “But be warned my interest in robotics extends to booby traps and anti-heist protocols!” 

"Traitor!” The Dom threw his hands up in exasperation. “Tony! I want that thing back! That is my robot and I’m getting it back!”

“The hell you are!” the sub snapped and if Rhodey wouldn’t have been laughing so hard he might have wondered why he was letting a submissive back talk him so loudly and thoroughly, shouting sass across a parking lot. 

Bucky and Steve were in for a ride with that one. 

He was a fan. 

Tony could hear the Dom laughing clear into the building and into the elevator so he waited until the doors had closed before breaking down, falling to his knees and throwing his arms around the scrappy robot. "I’m real glad to see you, bud.” 

Dum-E only beeped and waved his arm around in excitement, and Tony hugged him tighter. “This feels an awful lot like heaven, Dum-e, don’t you think? Mom and Dad are okay and Pepper’s okay and Rhodey and now-- now I even have you here and that’s pretty damn perfect.” 

A few more beeps and Tony nodded, pushed his hair out of his eyes and stood back up. “Time to find my Doms, huh?” 

The robot rolled quickly after Tony down the hall to Steve and Bucky’s door, clicking and whirring curiously as Tony led it inside the apartment and then went off to explore the new place while Tony went to find his Doms. 

“Bucky?” he called. “Steve? I’m-- I’m home again!” 

“Hey sweetheart.” Bucky looked up and smiled, took his hand off Steve’s thigh to beckon for Tony. “C’mere and see us.” 

“Come here, honey.” Steve tapped his foot a few times and pointed down at the floor and Tony didn’t even hesitate to move, didn’t hesitate to kick his shoes off and stumble towards them on unsteady feet until he could fall to his knees. 

Home and it was so easy and so beautiful, Tony gasped out a word that might have been a prayer and his Doms were right there to catch him when he teetered, Steve meeting him there on the floor to hold him, Bucky protective over them both as Tony slid towards the edge of under and falling. 

...Tony used to love falling. He used to love the exhilaration and anticipation, the way his breath stuttered in that split second of flying before gravity took over. He used to love falling into a new habit, falling into a new love, just falling when he jumped from the diving board or the airplane or the rocks he’d climbed on as a child that he thought were so big.

...Tony used to love falling and when Steve knelt down beside him and pulled him in close, when Bucky lowered his voice to a rumble and ordered his subs to submit, when gravity tugged at Tony’s soul and he let himself slip to the pull of submission and that quiet, secret need to be held...

… then falling was like coming home. 

Like finding himself. 

Like closing his eyes and letting go. 

Heaven. 

********************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL AUTHOR!

*******************

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping 

@daddyl0ngl0ngs @tony-and-steeeb @farbiger @mdbd89 @nanita90a @andreasteed1894 @zola9612 @ravynfyre @nevergonnastopreading @imlittlebitdie @lovely--tony @yomama-umbridge @thanossucks @ironspiderson @acefangirl1 @theyre-not-cooler-than-us @ah-ragehappy @the-dragonwolf-den 

#ncts fics #stuckony #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #alternate universe #dom/sub

[rosy-wooyoung]

Let’s get emotional…

I know no one will read this but i’m still putting it out there!

today is my account anniversary!! 🥳🥳

I created this blog on the 14.12.2019, and a year later, nothing really changed. It’s just me, still sitting at my desk, my whole back hurting with cold hands and my pathetically low self-esteem. It was one boring evening, I remember, I had just eaten dinner and I rushed to my computer to come back on Tumblr to read more ATEEZ content because I was fascinated by them, their talent and stage presence. (I still am, don’t worry) And then, I thought damn, I wanna write for them as well. You know what?

Fuck it. Imma do it.

I put the task of finding a username aside and start feeling inspiration flooding in my mind. I spend the entire evening writing as the words come, not caring about the coherence, the grammar nor the consistency of my writing, I just type and type until my fingers are cramping and my brain lagging. It’s just an amazing feeling when you don’t have to rack your brains to find ideas or words, I just had to think of an ATEEZ member, and the imagination would immediately submerge my mind. 

I truly aspire to find back the motivation I had a year ago.

The next morning, I even skip breakfast because I wanted to create, brainstorm, rewrite and correct the works I had produced the night before. I completely ditch my uni homework - don’t do that kids - until the end of the afternoon, where I post a note, introducing myself to the atiny Tumblr community. I was very anxious and shy before posting my first imagine, but I was immediately welcomed with likes, 20 on the first day to be exact. It was HUGE for me. 

I’m someone extremely self-conscious and very hard on myself, so it was kind of a struggle to post content out on the Internet for strangers to read. I’ve always feared judgement, I’ve bathed in it since the day I was born and I can’t seem to get rid of it. 20+ fics are still rotting in my drafts, I’m just too insecure to release them, so I ignore them and always search for new content to write about. I’m also scared to disappoint, but that’s another story. Aside from that, I’m really grateful because I’ve never received this much love and support in my life since I started this account. Whether is keyboard smashing in the reblog section or just someone saying “uwu that was so cute 🥺”, my day is automatically better. I have never received support or compliments from my parents, siblings or friends that I thought were the closest. Never. And it’s a weird yet great feeling!!

The first two months were amazing. By the beginning of February, I had hit the 200-followers milestone. It was something unbelievable for me. You may think that I’m exaggerating, but I was really thinking that I would only get like maximum 50 followers, and I would have still been happy about it. My account was doing great, but at this point, it was my health that started going downhill.

The pandemic and the stress from it aggravated everything, weakening my heart to the point of needing urgent surgeries (2, almost 3 in October, where there was a risk for me to d*e. Great when you’re a young woman who only spent her twenty first years of existence studying and worrying about her future :/). I get stressed out extremely easily and my doctor diagnosed me with severe anxiety and depression a few years ago. And guess what? They were acting up of course, so nothing was by my side. I was lost about my future and my career – I still am haha (pain) – and it was a hard time for me, for us. I’m still not at my best, but at least I’m trying, that’s what matters the most, right? This blog and the people I met there were my source of comfort and light, my safe place, it helps me a lot to just read or laugh at what I see in my dash to make me forget about everything that is bothering me. I met wonderful, supportive people on there and I can’t find the right words to truly express how I am feeling. And here I am right now, a year later, Tumblr being my solace because I can read really really good fics and wips, as well as exchanging with other atinys and people from other fandoms.

I still have those moments of doubt when I’m about to post something like, will this be appreciated? Isn’t it too cliche, too bad, too fluffy, grammatically correct, cool enough, aesthetic enough, cute enough, did someone already write something along those lines without me knowing it? Will I get accused of stealing or plagiarising? 

I can’t stop overthinking, but I’m trying to work on it, I really am, even if it’s hard. It’s really not something easy and I get defeated quite quickly, but at least I’m trying.

Even if I lost loved ones during this year (friends that ghosted me for other people, my grandpa passing away from cancer, watching and knowing acquaintances dying bc of covid…) I’ve got to know beautiful angels on here, my mutuals and my followers!! Even if we don’t talk 24/7, I really love and appreciate every single one of you. I know we’re just internet friends, but you really count for me. Please excuse me if you’re tired of seeing me being constantly apologising or being weird and absolutely not funny, I’m trying to become a better person. I absolutely adore when you mention me in tag games or send me love and support via asks or private messages, it makes my heart go really warm. If it were possible, I’d give each single one of you a hug and a big kiss on the cheek because you all deserve it and I love you.

Thank you @atbzkingdom, @closer-stars, @barsformars, @trashlord-007, @ateez-little-star, @tinkerbellwoo, @chrryhwa, @ateezlips, and everyone that I missed that follow me and support me, I luv you all sm :-]

Sorry if this post doesn’t make sense, I just wanted to try and express my gratitude as well as my love for everything you gave me. I hope 2021 will be better, kinder for all of us, and I wish everyone reading this to be(come) happy and healthy.

with all my love, rosy ♥

#rosy's talk #rosy-wooyoung anniversary #personal #<333

[anotherkpopvictim]

Don’t Let Me Fly (Now I’m Afraid) - SoPe Littlespace Drabble

(Gif source - misticalsuga and anpandan)

A/N: So I literally just opened my drafts to start writing and the new comeback trailer just came out (EEEEEEPPP) What better way to celebrate our wonderful Min Yoongi’s solo than with a cute SoPe fic? ;)

Here ya go!!

Pairing: Little!Yoongi X Caregiver!Hoseok (OT7 on the side)

Rating: G

Words: 2172

Fluff, pure tooth-rotting fluff, little bit of hurt/comfort

WARNINGS: There will be the beginning of a panic attack in this story, but it doesn’t evolve into a full-blown episode. However, I wanted to put a warning just in case that kind of thing triggers anyone.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Every time a music video dropped, Yoongi would do the same thing; turn off his phone and hide whenever and wherever he was able to. Without fail, the second he opened YouTube and saw the newest upload from the company, the eldest rapper retreated into his shell and avoided everyone so he couldn’t see their reactions to whatever response the fans had to the new content.

One of Yoongi’s biggest fears was that their fans wouldn’t like the new music they put out, but isn’t that every artist’s fear? When Yoongi thought of hell, he thought of brokenhearted expressions on his band members’ faces and a gaping hole in his own heart.

This time was a little different than usual as it was Yoongi’s comeback trailer releasing - his first since BTS had blown up on an international level. He was always brutally honest about his feelings in his songs, and this time was no different, perhaps he’d even shown a bit more of himself than before.

This time, Yoongi didn’t just turn off his phone and hide, he took it a step further and locked himself up in his studio.

When midnight struck and his relentless refreshing of the BigHit YouTube page finally updated with the new upload, Yoongi had shut the window on his laptop, definitely not letting out a little squeal as his heart began to pick up speed in his chest.

The rapper tried his best to distract himself with his music (like he typically did) but his hands were beginning to shake and his ears felt a little like they were stuffed full of cotton.

What if the fans hated the new song? What if they were disappointed that it was him that got the spotlight in the comeback trailer this time and not one of the others? He put his inner thoughts into the lyrics and what if the fans were disgusted by them?

Besides all his own personal insecurities, he knew it would be difficult to live up to the standard of Namjoon’s comeback trailer from the year before that had received so much praise and set everyone’s expectations for the next one even higher.

Yoongi was frantically clicking away at his keyboard and mouse with still shaky hands, the new beat he was working on ringing throughout his studio. It still wasn’t loud enough to cover his heartbeat pounding in his ears, but it was something.

A distant knocking began invading Yoongi’s thoughts, getting louder and louder the more he focused on it, and eventually, he realized that someone was knocking insistently on his studio door.

He blinked and glanced away from his computer screen, belatedly realizing that his eyes were dry and stinging - a familiar feeling that came when he’d been staring at one place for far too long.

“I know you want to be alone, Yoongi-hyung,” Hoseok’s familiar voice came, muffled through the door between them. “But you’ve been in there for nearly twenty hours and you won’t respond to any of our texts to make sure that you’re okay.”

Twenty hours? Had Yoongi really been in there for that long? No wonder his stomach hurt; no doubt he was hungry.

The rapper’s body began moving on its own, getting up and walking over to open up the door.

Hoseok stood there in dark track pants and a gray sweatshirt, his dark brown hair mostly covered by a black beanie. He looked surprised when he came face to face with his hyung, most likely not expecting him to open up the door so easily, but a lively smile took over his expression quickly.

“There you are!” he exclaimed, “Your eyes look bloodshot. How long have you been staring at the computer screen for?” The dancer walked past Yoongi and made himself comfortable on the older’s plush sofa.

“Approximately twenty hours apparently,” Yoongi replied, his voice raspy from disuse.

Hoseok pulled the older by the arm to sit down beside him on the couch and gave him a knowing look. He, probably more than anyone, knew the inner workings of Min Yoongi’s mind.

Yoongi felt himself wanting to blush at the vulnerability he felt but held it back desperately. Judging by the growing fond quirk of the younger’s lips, he wasn’t successful. Curse his ridiculously pale skin for showing any color so easily.

“They love it,” Hoseok said suddenly, catching the other off guard.

Yoongi blinked, confused, “What?”

“I know that you’re always afraid of what the fans are going to think of our music, hyung,” Hoseok reached out and touched the older’s forearm assuringly, “They love your song. It’s already got over sixteen million views and the comments are overwhelmingly positive.”

Yoongi felt out of breath still, his heart fluttering like a bird in his chest. “Yeah?” he breathed.

The dancer grinned, “Yeah.”

A wave of relief went over Yoongi, so astounding that it made his head feel light, airy. It wasn’t really surprising that he slipped into littlespace in just a few seconds. “ARMY like Yoonie’s stuff,” he stated, his voice soft and a bit higher in pitch than Big Yoongi’s.

Hoseok eyes widened a bit, delighted, “Of course they do, baby. Your music is always filled with so much passion and honesty, there’s no way it couldn’t be good.”

If Big Yoongi was kind of shy, Little Yoongi was the absolute epitome of the word. His cheeks didn’t just dust with pink, they became completely stained in a dark red. His bright brown eyes evaded the other’s gaze as he let out a quiet whine at the praise.

Perhaps the lead dancer enjoyed the bashful expression of his normally composed hyung a bit too much, but he was always a pretty shameless person.

“Now, why don’t we go back to the dorm and grab some dinner,” Hoseok suggested, “You’re probably pretty hungry, huh bub? I bet you didn’t eat at all since yesterday.”

The still-blushing little shook his head vigorously and pouted out his lower lip, noticing for the first time that his stomach really did feel achingly empty. “Yoonie didn’t.”

Hoseok felt too much love filling his heart at the sight of his baby pouting cutely and looking up at him with big eyes. “After we get some food in that tummy of yours, we can see about watching a movie with the others before bed.”

Yoongi gasped quietly, his mouth turning a round ‘o’, “C-Can Yoonie and Daddy and hyungies w-watch Little Mermaid?”

Like any of them could look at Yoongi with his big, sparkling eyes and cute little pout and say no to him.

Hoseok chuckled, “I think that can be arranged.”

--------------------------------------

“Okay, we can all agree that Eric is the best Disney prince, right?” Seokjin inquired as the credits of The Little Mermaid began rolling.

He received a few hmm’s in reply.

“He’s sexy as fu-fudge,” Jimin said, nearly cursing in front of the little (Jungkook snorted at his slip up and received a firm kick in the shin in return).

“He’s also really nice,” Taehyung added.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon pondered, his thumb and forefinger holding his chin as he thought seriously about it. “Eric was so easily manipulated by Ursula.”

“She cast a spell on him!” Jungkook argued, “That’s not his fault.”

Hoseok turned to look at Yoongi, who had been suspiciously quiet for the last few minutes. The little was perched on his lap, dressed in his orange kitten onesie and his favorite baby blue blanket bunched up in his arms. “Well, what do you think, baby? Do you like Prince Eric?” the lead dancer asked.

Everyone’s attention was immediately on the gray-haired male who blinked up at them all with wide eyes. He had a blue pacifier with a little dinosaur on it stuck between his lips, bobbing with the motions of his mouth. Yoongi didn’t make any effort to respond.

“Aigoo,” Hoseok hummed, running his hand through Yoongi’s hair. “I think our Little Yoongi has slipped to Baby Yoongi.”

Taehyung and Jimin squealed excitedly and immediately ran from the room to get some of Baby Yoongi’s favorite toys. It wasn’t often that Yoongi allowed himself to slip so much and none of them were going to pass up the opportunity to play with him.

Namjoon, who was sitting beside Hoseok and Yoongi, let the baby grab onto his hand and begin playing around with his fingers curiously.

Jin moved to turn off the movie and changed it to play some cute children’s show.

Jungkook cleaned up the leftover remnants of their pizza, stacking up the empty boxes and taking them to the kitchen. He returned and sat himself down in front of Hoseok’s feet, leaning against the older’s legs so he could watch Yoongi’s bright and innocent expression.

“He must have been so anxious today to slip all the way into babyspace,” the maknae commented.

Namjoon hummed in agreement, “Yeah, well, Yoongi put a lot of himself into that song. It’s always nervewracking to share something that gives everyone a glimpse into your heart.”

“It’s an amazing song, though,” Jin added, “And ARMY, of course, loved it a lot.”

“Of course they did,” Hoseok said, his hands running easily through the little’s gray locks. “ARMY loves it when we’re honest, it helps them relate to us even more than they already do.”

“I can leap in the air, but also plunge,” Jungkook quoted, “That lyric really captures what it feels like whenever we release something new. It’s like we’re taking a risk, jumping off a building and praying that we’ll fly instead of fall.”

Namjoon smiled a small understanding smile and said, “And even though ARMY loves us, and we know that they do, there’s still that fear deep inside of all of us that this is the time they’ll hate us.”

It was quiet for a moment as they all thought about just how true that was.

Yoongi made some babbling noises on Hoseok’s lap, drawing everyone’s attention towards him once more. The little baby was frantically moving Namjoon’s hand up and down in the air with his own, giggling cutely behind his pacifier.

The others couldn’t help but grin fondly at the action.

Jimin and Taehyung came bursting back into the room at that moment, brandishing armfuls of coloring books and crayons, as well as countless baby toys.

Yoongi’s eyes lit up even more if it were possible and he sat up straighter in Hoseok’s lap. His hands reached out towards all the toys with cute grabby hands.

“What do you want to do first, baby?” Jimin asked, the smile on his face so big that it nearly made his eyes disappear.

Not being able to properly answer, Yoongi reached for the specific toy he wanted, tucked under Taehyung’s left arm.

The second youngest happily pulled out the familiar toy and handed it to the little, “Of course our little Yoongi wants the piano!”

Yoongi set the small toy piano on his lap hastily and began hitting randomly at the rainbow-colored keys (though there were only six of them). The notes rang through the living room as all attention was on him. He finished his performance after a few moments and looked up at the others expectantly.

They all burst into cheers and clapping, praising the little. Taehyung leaned over and ruffled at Yoongi’s hair while Jin pinched his cheek and cooed.

“I think that might be our next hit!” Namjoon exclaimed, chuckling.

“Our next BIG HIT!” Jin added.

There was a pause where they were all registering what their oldest hyung had said, and then there were groans filling the air.

Jin was laughing heartily at his own joke, “Get it? Because our company is Bi-”

“Yes, hyung, we get it,” Jungkook deadpanned, cutting his hyung off.

Hoseok, Namjoon, Jungkook, and Taehyung all looked mildly embarrassed while Jimin let out his squeaky giggles alongside Jin’s infamous windshield wiper laugh. Little Yoongi didn’t really understand what was going on and eyed them with big, innocent eyes.

“Alright!” Jimin stood up and clapped his hands together excitedly once he gathered himself, “Who wants to do some finger painting?”

“Um, I’m not sure that...” Namjoon started.

The leader cut himself off when once Jimin picked up the paints and Little Yoongi finally understood what was going on. The little squealed and began bouncing on Hoseok’s lap elatedly.

They all knew how much Little Yoongi liked to finger paint, but they also knew how messy he was while creating his masterpieces. However, looking at how happy Yoongi was, there was no way they could say no to him. 

“I’ll get the tarp,” Jin sighed and stood up from the chair, half resigned and half fond.

“I’ll dig out our painting clothes,” Jungkook added, looking nearly as excited about painting as the little.

None of them said anything, but it was clear as day in each of their thoughts; the inevitable post-painting wreckage and clean-up were worth it if meant their Yoongi smiled so brightly like that. They’d do anything for their Yoongi.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

A/N: I felt like I kind of ended this abruptly but what’s new.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this <3

Also, if you have any requests for me, you can go to my Request Guidelines page :)

#bts #bts littlespace #bts little space #bts drabble #bts drabbles #bts fanfic #bts fanfics #bts fanfiction #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts hoseok #bts jhope #min yoongi #jung hoseok #jhope #suga #bts sope #sope

[eldritchsurveys]

749.

How do you feel about full length beards? >> I have no specific feelings about them. Seems like they’d be obnoxious to care for, though. Have you ever been to a circus? >> Maybe? I don’t think so, but who knows. Do you know anyone who’s gone to a Fat Camp? >> No. Do you use Facebook IM everyday? >> No. How many surveys have you done already today? >> This is the first one I’ve done today. This is also the last one in my drafts, so unless some new ones magically appear in the tag real soon, it’ll probably be the only one I take today.

What’s the WORST show on Adult Swim? >> I don’t know, the only ones I watched were ones I liked. Do you have any relatives that have shunned you, or vice versa? >> --- Has anyone ever posted a HORRIBLE picture of you for everyone to see? >> Er, I don’t know. Not any time in recent memory. Which grade in school was the most fun for you? >> Ha... Which would you rather have, a new puppy or kitten? >> I would rather not have an animal foisted upon me right now. I don’t feel up to caring for another creature. Does drama seem to follow you everywhere you go? >> No. Do you ever just want to go away to a new place where no one knows you? >> I mean, hardly anyone knows me here, so what’s the real difference. I just want to go away to a new place where there are less people in general. You’re ordering a pizza, you can have any kind of toppings, what are they? >> When I order pizza, I get pepperoni, onions, mushrooms, and often some kind of pepper. Do you hit ‘quiet’ or ‘ignore’ on your cell? Which one usually? >> Er... when it rings, I just let it ring. Gives the person a chance to leave a message if they’re actually someone trying to reach me for something important. Do you ever regret giving your number to people? >> No, because I don’t give my number to people. Have you ever been told that you’re afraid of your own shadow? >> No. Have you ever tried Gouda cheese? >> Sure. Does/did your high school have pop machines? >> The last high school I attended did have vending machines. (I don’t remember if the other high schools did.) Do you use a public computer, or do you have your own? >> I have my own. Do you ever find it odd how you type LOL when you’re not really laughing? >> No, because I understand that its function has moved far beyond representing actual laughing-out-loud. Have you ever gambled? >> Aside from, like, scratch-off tickets, no. Do you know anyone who’s won the lottery? >> No. If you could work at any retail store, which one would it be? >> I wouldn’t, though. What’s the shortest you would ever cut your hair? >> I buzz my head every three weeks or so. Do you listen to any deathcore? >> Maybe. I don’t pay enough attention to genres to know. Do you subscribe to any teen magazines? Which ones? >> No. Do you know someone who never smiles? >> No. Has anyone ever made you feel uncomfortable at work? >> --- Do you still watch South Park? >> I actually watched an episode the other day, on recommendation. It was pretty good. I think South Park is a real hit-or-miss show, where the hits are decent but the misses are so heinous that that’s all anyone remembers, lol. I don’t think I’ll ever go back to actually watching it, it’s just not engaging enough for me, but I’ll always give a specific episode a shot if it’s recommended to me. Tell me one movie you’ve seen recently that sucked: >> I mean, I’ve seen several “ehhh...” movies recently, but none that I’d say were so blatantly awful that I needed eye bleach or anything. Jay and Silent Bob Reboot was probably the most ehhh of the bunch, but that’s the thing about that property -- it wasn’t terribly amazing to begin with, it was just easy to watch for some cheap laughs. So, like... expectations aren’t exactly high. Have you ever carved something into a dinner booth somewhere? >> No. When’s the last time you were carded at a bar? >> Last time I was at a bar that wasn’t Gardella’s, I guess. I get carded pretty regularly at new places or places I don’t frequent. Do you smoke little cigars? Have you ever tried them? >> No. Yes. You’re babysitting, what do you expect per hour for pay? >> --- What’s the last thing you returned at a store? >> I don’t remember. What’s the name of the last cat you pet? >> Spooky. Do you still look at clouds and make shapes of them? >> No. I don’t recall ever doing that, although it seems people do it in media a lot. If you had to dye your hair for one year, what color would you pick? >> No. I don’t even have enough hair to warrant dyeing it. Who’s got your heart? >> --- What’s your television addiction? >> I don’t have one. Have you ever stringed green beans before? >> No. What do you do to make yourself more relaxed when you’re nervous? >> I don’t know how to make myself more relaxed when I’m nervous. I just try to barrel through. Do you cook? If so, what’s the last thing you made? >> Not usually. Have you ever had any painful dental work done? If so, what? >> I had a tooth extracted, but it wasn’t anywhere near as painful as having a rotted tooth with an exposed nerve for two-plus years had been. How do you usually spend your Saturdays? >> Same way I spend any other day, mostly. When we’re not in pandemic mode, we also usually do grocery shopping on Saturdays and go to the Wayland house for laundry. Do you make your own jewelry or clothing? >> No. What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re bored? >> My experience of boredom is such that I don’t want to do anything when I feel it. It’s a pervasive restlessness. So I can’t possibly have a favourite thing to do in that state, because everything is equally unsatisfying (even things I generally enjoy doing). Do you use drawing to describe what you’re feeling? >> No. Do you like the smell of new school supplies? >> I don’t even know what that smell is. Do you give everything you do 100%? >> No. I don’t have that kind of energy. Do you shop at any independent music stores? >> Occasionally. There’s one downtown that I sometimes go to for records and patches. How do you feel about mainstream music? >> My negative feelings about modern music are directed towards the industry, not artists or genres. There’s a lot of popular music I enjoy, and there’s a lot I don’t. Just like with anything else.

What song lyrics describe your mood at the moment? >> --- Do you have healthy eating habits? >> My eating habits so far have not caused me any trouble, so I’m not going to stress about it.

If you could transform into any kind of animal, what animal would you be? >> *waggles my spider legs at you* Are you superstitious? If so, what are you superstitious about? >> No. If you could travel anywhere in the world where would it be? >> I mean, many places. What food disgusts you the most? >> Bananas. What is your favorite thing to cook? >> --- One place you would never want to get lost in in the dark? >> The rainforest? idk. Are you claustrophobic? >> In certain circumstances. What is your worst flaw? >> I don’t know. One thing that always creeps you out? >> Waterbugs. What is your biggest fear? >> Various possibilities around death. If you could be reincarnated, would you come back as another human or an animal? If an animal, what kind? >> --- Ideal way you’d like to die? >> Painlessly? I mean... If you could be roommates with anyone of your choice, who would you pick? >> I don’t want a roommate. What is the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard? >> *shrug* Your favorite kind of dog? >> Pit bulls. Do you have any scars? If so, how many? >> Yeah. Many. What is your favorite scary movie to watch in the dark? >> *shrug* Would you rather be buried or cremated when you die? >> Buried, please. Preferably as green as possible. What is your favorite thing to drink? Alcoholic and non alcoholic? >> Alcoholic, absinthe. Non-alcoholic, ginger tea. What is your favorite food around the holidays? >> --- Easiest way to scare you? >> Depends on how on edge I am that day. Tell me one of your biggest secrets? >> --- What was your last nightmare about? >> I don’t remember. I wake up with emotional impressions more often than with actual dream details.

#surveys #survey #random survey

[winchester90210]

The BH 90210 Rewrite - Pilot, part 2: West Beverly Blaze Out

Read Part One here!

Chapter Summary: Y/N tackles her first assignment on the WBB until some rain leads her plans south.

Pairing: No one yet. But it’s coming, I swear. It’s a slow burn. Just enjoy the journey there, folks.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Steve being Steve, Reader has a momentary breakdown.

Word Count:

Disclaimer: My work is not to be reposted in anyway without my expressed written consent. (Reblogging Is fine and encouraged!)

A/N: Last part of the pilot! There’s quite a bit of Steve this chapter but next we’re tackling our first episode which will include a lot more Brandon. Tags are at the bottom! Please message me if you would like to be added :)

Feedback is SO important!! Please leave your comments or questions in my ask box, in the replies, or message them! Even the simplest comment can make a writer’s day.

Italic sentences are the reader’s thoughts.

-

“So, shall we?”

“Let’s do it.”

The walk to the journalism room was quiet. You both were completely silent, the only sounds were the tapping of his shoes, and the squeaking of yours. That’s what you get for wearing new shoes to school, I guess. Your thoughts quickly drift, from the seemingly large size of the school, to Brandon, to the school’s journalism program, to that Steve guy. You haven’t even been there a day and you felt like you had so much to take in. Brenda seems nice, so you were glad to just maybe have a friend, and Brandon was probably the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen. At least, that’s what your hormones were telling you. But he’s also your prospective friend’s brother, which unfortunately trumps everything else. At least for now.

And boy, Steve was…interesting. You didn’t know what to think of him. One on hand you were totally appalled and on the other, you were almost intrigued. Not attracted, but definitely intrigued. No one had ever been so direct with you like that. A little too direct, sure, but there was still something different about it. Or maybe different about him. Either way it was something you didn’t have time to worry about, so you decided to push those thoughts away. Brandon puts a light hand on your back, guiding you inside the paper-cluttered classroom. His hand ghosting over your back is enough to send shivers down your spine as you walk inside.

“Andrea! There’s someone I want you to meet,” he calls out. A girl, or maybe it was a woman, stands up from her desk and comes to greet you and your tantalizing tour guide. Her hair is in brown curls, framing her face along with her round glasses. She carries herself with confidence, and not the faux confidence that too many people at that school seem to possess, but real confidence.

“You must be Y/N,” She shakes your hand, “Mr. Clayton told me you were coming, you have quite the transcript. Co-editor of your middle school’s newspaper, Editor of your last school’s paper by the end of Freshman year, until you moved. Very impressive!” She commends. You honestly couldn’t tell if she was a teacher or a student. She talked like a teacher, dressed like a teacher…but Brandon referred to her by her first name. Probably should’ve done your research before coming. “We’ve got two open stories right now, an interview with our custodial engineer, or you can do our ‘Star Athelete of the month’ piece with Richard Moore, point guard of the basketball team.” At the word “athelete” Brandon perked up. He was in charge of the sports articles here. What was she doing??

“Uh, Andrea-”

“Not right now, Brandon. Let her pick.” Andrea quickly dismisses him, staring daggers at him as she finishes her sentence.

“Oh, uh… I’ll take the interview with the Janitor,” You answer, looking to Andrea. Suddenly, a smile creeps onto Andrea’s face.

There’s a beat before she says, “Congratulations, welcome to the West Beverly Blaze.” Then, Brandon realizes what she was doing. Testing you, of course. “Do you want to cover the story on rising temperatures and the effect of global warming on Beverly Hills? Assigned immediately.”

“I’d love to.” You smile, approvingly, but also nervously. It sounded like a bigger story, and while intimidated, you were up for the challenge.

“Fantastic. Brandon, show her to her spot and help her get started. I have to check over the final draft for this week. This is the number one school paper in the country and I intend to keep it that way.” Andrea murmurs, flipping through the pages in her hand. He guides you to the empty spot, and pulls out your chair for you.

“So, do you just have a knack for writing about janitors?” He asks, a playful tone in his voice. You give him a small laugh.

“Oh, yeah, they’re just so fascinating,” You joke, watching as he sits down in the chair next to you. “I kind of knew she was testing me, they did the same thing at my old school. She seems to run a pretty tight ship here.”

“Yeah, she does… hey, if you need some help on anything with your article, I’d be glad to lend a hand. Ya know, since she’s strict with everything here and all.” Brandon proposes, turned to you, his arm resting on the back of his chair. In all honesty, he wasn’t any more experienced than you were. He had been at West Beverly for a few days, but hey, you didn’t know that. Something about you drew him in, and he wanted an excuse to see you again.

“I’d like that, Brandon.” You smile shyly at him, setting up your things to get to work. He does as well, accidentally bumping hands with you as he takes out his notepad. “So, do you play any sports or anything?” You ask, glancing at him as you log into your computer, hearing the clicking of the keyboard as you type. Wow, great small talk, Y/N. That will definitely make him fall in love with you.

“No, not yet, at least. I just write about them.” He chuckles. He takes a breath, “Hey, I’m sorry about Steve earlier. He doesn’t exactly understand basic human manners.”

“It’s cool, I know he didn’t really mean anything by it. I’m the new kid, I practically have a giant target on my head,” You shake your head submissively, not breaking your eyes away from the computer, trying to get as much done in the 40 minute class period as you could.

“It’s not, though. You should be able to exist at this school without Steve throwing himself at you everyday,” he insists, stopping his work to look at you. You can sense a dash of frustration when he talks. Your typing halts.

“It’s only been one day. It’s okay, really. If it gets to the point where I have to stop him, I will. Trust me…I know you just met me but…trust me. Alright?”

“Alright.”

At the end of the class you were pleased by the amount of work you got done. A surprising amount, considering you and Brandon talked mindlessly throughout the entire period, stealing glances at each other every once in a while. The conversation flowed so easily, the nerves you had meeting him were quickly replaced by a level of comfort you hadn’t expected. You were dismissed with the ringing of the bell, and were left with a sparkling smile and a “See you later?” From Brandon.

“Absolutely,” You grinned back, worrying that the heat you felt in your cheeks was visible. Ugh. You were fine a second ago, get it together, Y/N.

-

The rest of the day went off without a hitch, then lunch time came. The anxiety ate at your appetite all day, so you weren’t really hungry. You grabbed some fruit from the cafeteria and walked out to the quad, the grass crunching under your feet. Oh god, you think. Where were you going to sit? You could sit by yourself, which was a surefire way to get yourself branded a loser on your first day. You could join a random table, but you worried that would make you seem like a total weirdo.

“Hey, Y/N! Over here!” You look to the left, and see Brenda, with a petite blonde at her side. You quickly jog over, apple in hand.

“Brenda, you’re my savior. I hope you know that,” You joke, slightly out of breath from your little run, earning a laugh from her.

“Y/N, this is my friend Kelly. Kelly, this is Y/N, the new girl I’m showing around today,” She introduced, looking between you two, a cheery smile on her face. You both mumble “hi"s to each other.

“Oh, you should come sit with us! Where you sit during lunch can make or break you. Sit alone once, like that guy, and you’re like, socially exiled forever.” She warns, gesturing towards an otherwise empty table except for a blonde boy, working on a sandwich. Oh my god. Brandon? You follow Kelly and Brenda over to an empty table, quickly setting your stuff down with a thud.

“I’ll be right back!” You exclaim, before speed walking over to the denim-clad boy.

“What is she doing?” Kelly asks, dread coating her voice as she watches you trot over to him.

“Kelly, relax. He’s my brother, not a freshman,” Brenda objects, both pairs of eyes watching every move you made.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he mumbles, taking a long gulp out of his water bottle. You place both your hands on the stone picnic table in front of you, leaning forward. You wait a moment before speaking.

“Come sit with us,” You tell him, gazing to your table and back to him. There’s no way you’re letting him rot in high school hell because he was alone. No way.

“I don’t know,” He protests, the wind blowing strands of hair into his face.

“Yes, you do. Come on.” You argue, a pleading look in your eye but your voice barely stern. All it takes is a moment for him to look into your eyes before he falters.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” He says, fake annoyance in his voice. You grin, and his annoyed face quickly turns into a smile. You march back to the table with your new lunchtime recruit at your heels, the sun in your eyes.

“Hey, you guys know Brandon right?” You ask, a cheeky smile on your face. You sit down on the bench, feeling the stone under your legs. You sit next to Kelly, while Brandon sits next to Brenda, across from you.

“I don’t believe we’ve met!” Brandon quips, shaking his sister’s hand.

-

You don’t realize how long you’ve been working in the journalism room until the sunset beams into your eyes. Satisfied with the work you got done, you decide to loan the school’s laptop and take it home to edit your article. That way, you’d have a shiny finished product in the morning. Yawning, you pack up your things and begin to head out. Cons of working your ass off until sundown? You don’t have a way to get home, so that means walking the 5 miles back to your house. Lovely.

Striding home, a car horn begins to trumpet. It’s loud enough for you to involuntarily cringe, then you realize it’s getting closer. What the hell?

You hesitantly look back, only to see a jet black Corvette, adorned with a custom license plate reading “I8A4RE.”

“Hop in.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief, stopping dead in your tracks. “What are you doing here?”

He slows his car down to stop where you are, “Hop in. I can take you home.” You hear the rumble of the engine, and his hand tapping the side of his car.

“You avoided my question,” You protested before opening the passenger door and sliding in.

“And you still got in anyway,” He quips, waiting for you to buckle in your seatbelt before he drives. “You seem pretty smart, I’m surprised you were dumb enough to get in with me,” Sarcasm envelopes his voice. “I could be a serial killer.”

“I’d rather be dumb and dead than have to walk,” You joke, “Besides, you seem like a tool rather than a murderer.” He lets out a fake gasp.

“Wow! I invite you to take a ride in my prestigious, luxurious car and you spit in my face.” Fake offence is written all over him.

“I8A4RE? Very prestigious. My mistake.” You giggle. There’s a long pause while Steve drives away from the school, then he speaks up again.

“So, where do you live, anyway?” He asks, raising his eyebrows and locking eyes with you for a moment.

“Uh, I live on Alta Drive. It’s in The Flats. Do you know where that is…?”

“Hah, yeah, I know where that is.” You note the tone in Steve’s voice but decide not to press. It’s probably better if you don’t know. Getting into a car with a guy you barely knew was not your smartest decision but hey, he’s a jerk, not dangerous. You embrace the feeling of the wind in your hair and on your skin as he speeds up. You admire the colors of the sunset, the oranges and the purples and the pinks. Looking upwards at the sky, something falls directly into your eyeball. You moan out in surprise, rubbing your eye immediately. And before you can say anything else, it starts to trickle down onto you. And Steve. And Steve’s poor convertible with it’s top down.

“Do you want to put the top up?” You ask, wiping your forehead free of the rain.

“Yeah…about that... It doesn’t have one.” And as if on cue, the rain speeds up.

“…..What?” You question him, your hair quickly becoming soaked.

“I had to take it off, it was broken.”

“You didn’t think of…uh, I don’t know…maybe needing one? For the rain??” The rain and the wind are an evil pair, leaving you cold and drenched while you try to figure out why the HELL Steve wouldn’t put a replacement on.

“We’re going through a drought! I figured it would be fine!” You look at Steve in disbelief. Okay, maybe something inconvenient can come of getting into a car with a jackass. “This is going to ruin my interior,” he grumbles. You close your eyes and try to calm yourself down, resting your head on the back of the seat. You’re cold. You’re wet. But it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s…not fine. Your eyes shoot open.

“Oh my god. The laptop!” You yell, causing Steve to jump. Quickly, you move your backpack under your seat. Your heart sinks. Groaning, you put your head in your hands. “I’m dead!”

“It’s just a laptop. You can buy a new one. But I don’t think I can buy new eardrums.”

“It’s not my laptop to break. I could get suspended.”

“So, just buy a replacement. They’ll never know it was gone,” he scoffs.

“How rich do you think I am? I dont have fifteen hundred dollars to get a new one!” You’re not sure what’s worse, the feeling of doom from breaking something from school on the first day, or Steve…just talking.

“You have a house in the flats. I don’t think you’re as broke as you say you are.” He protests, tone sharp. “Man, for a hot chick, you’re really annoying.” Wow. He did not. You sharply inhale.

“Pull over, I can walk,” You snap, “While I appreciate the gesture, I’ve got over a thousand dollars to scrounge up by tomorrow morning.” You’re not sure what it is, but something about him gets under your skin. Could it be his arrogance? How shallow he is? It could be something entirely different. But you didn’t feel like staying to find out. So, you wait till he gets to a stop sign, and hop out.

“Hey!! What are you doing?!” He yells, his voice cutting through the thunder and the rain.

“Going home!” Ok.. were you being stubborn? Yes. Were you being a little dramatic? Yes. But you had gone through too much change and commotion these past few days so one breakdown is totally permitted. You were drenched and chafing anyway, so why not walk at this point, right? You were sure you looked like a total manic- hair in your face, saturated clothes, frustrated demeanor.

“You can’t walk home in this!!”

“Watch me!!” You practically mad dash down the street, sloshing as you jog. You hear the Corvette drive behind you, slowly.

“Get in!” He calls out.

“No!”

“Get in.”

“No!”

“Get in!” Is he really going to keep doing this??

“No!”

“Get in!!”

“Fine!” You huff, sliding in the car. He resumes driving, and you sigh. “Thanks for driving me home.”

And before you know it, you’re turning onto your street. Oh. You totally could’ve walked that. You spot your house beyond a set of gates and fix your hair, “Here’s my stop.” 720 North Alta Drive. It’s your house, but it doesn’t quite feel like a home yet.

“See ya.”

You walk into your house and sneak up to your room, leaving a trail of water on the marble floor, following you up the stairs. Changing your clothes, you grab your phone book. You look through it, searching for a specific last name. Victoria… Wade… Wagner… Wahlberg… Walsh.

Ugh. Do you call? It might be too soon. But what if it’s not? …But what if it IS? You sit at your landline, tapping your foot. You sit like this for a good (and by good, I mean way too long) amount of time, but a knock at the front door takes you out of your state. You look through the peephole and see none other than Steve Sanders. The Corvette driver himself.

You open the door with a loud squeak.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve takes a small black book out of his pocket, scribbles something down, and hands it to you. Oh my God. It’s a check. For $1,500.

“Steve…I can’t take this.” You object, handing him back the check just as soon as you got it.

“Yes you can.”

“No, I can’t. This wasn’t your fault. I just…took it out on you like it was. I’m so sorry. These past few days have been rough and-” You stop, watching as he ducks the rain dripping from the front porch. “Here, come in and dry off.” You move out of the doorway to let him in. “Just until the rain stops.” You see him hesitate but walk in anyway, taking his shoes off at the door.

“Oh, hello.” A deep monotone voice practically booms from behind you, causing you to jump.

“Oh, hi dad!” You laugh nervously, “This is my frien- this is my- this is Steve…Sanders. Steve Sanders. From uh… school.” You babble, putting Steve’s coat on the rack. Your father gives him a firm, almost painful, handshake.

“Uh, nice to meet you, Sir.” He awkwardly chuckles, glancing from you to him.

“I thought you were having a meeting at the beach club tonight?” You ask, twiddling your thumbs.

“It was cancelled because of the storm.” He deadpans, crossing his arms over his argyle sweater. You swallow. No, he was supposed to be gone!

“What about the country club?”

“Rats.” You’ve gotta be kidding me.

“O-kayy.” All three of you stand in the foyer, dead silent.

Then, your mother walks in- bright eyed and happy.

“Oh, hello!” She takes off her flour covered apron, and sets it aside. “Is he a new friend from school?”

“Uh…Something like that, yeah.” You respond, trying to strategize the quickest way to escape this. Or the most efficient way to knock down the chandelier so it can fall on top of you and kill you. Whatever’s fastest.

“You should stay for dinner!” Your mom beams, yooper accent strong and prominent. “I’m making spaghetti.”

“I would actually love to stay, Mrs. Y/L/N-” Steve begins, only to be cut off by you.

“He would LOVE to stay but you see his uncle…who’s a…a priest…just…died,” you stumble. Steve shoots you a look.

“Yes, and while Uncle Rodger’s passing has shaken us all, he wouldn’t want me to grieve. He’d want me sit down and enjoy a nice dinner with my new friend from school and her lovely family.” Steve says, putting his hand over his heart and pretending to get choked up. He gives your mom the best sad look he can muster, while you give him a classic “eat shit.” look. Meanwhile, your dad has done nothing but stare daggers at him this entire time.

“Oh, sweetheart stay as long as you’d like! I made plenty of food.”

-

So, Steve stays. And there you both are, awkwardly sitting on identical white couches adjacent to each other. You inhale, hoping to somehow release the anxious energy you’re harboring. He takes the tv remote and flips it on, the Hartley House theme ringing through the surround sound.

“Hartley House fan?” He asks, letting the theme play through.

“Never seen it,” you confess, setting your feet on the marble and glass coffee table in front of you.

“It’s good…” he trails off, “My mom’s in it.” He didn’t normally like to reveal that information to anyone, he’d typically try to hide it if he could. But with you, he felt okay telling it. Despite being loaded and somewhat emotional, he didn’t think you were the type to go fawn over his mother. He at least trusted you with that.

“Oh, cool,” You say, eyes on the screen. Not dismissively, but not overtly excited either. You both quietly watch the T.V. for a moment, and you couldn’t help but think that Steve looks nothing like his mother. He probably just looks like his father.

“He didn’t stop talking about you today,” He mutters, “it was gross.”

“Who?”

“You know who.” No way. No way. No. Way. Maybe you should’ve called him.

You gasp dramatically, hand lightly over your mouth. “Patrick Swayze is finally answering my calls?? Cause he was just so dreamy in Ghost!”“ He chuckles and roll his eyes. You give him a bashful smile, "So, he really talked about me?”

“Nonstop. It was annoying.” He confirms, putting his feet up on the couch with a light thud. You can’t help the grin that forms on your face or the butterflies in your stomach.

“What did he say??” You pry, taking your attention away from the tv.

“What did who say?” Your mother pokes her head in through the doorway, “Dinner’s ready!”

-

Dinner was fairly uneventful. Painfully awkward, but uneventful. It would have been fine had it not been for your father looking like he wanted to strangle Steve 90% of the time. And your poor mother, trying to defuse the tension with small talk about anything she could think of. She was particularly thrilled about Beverly Hills’ produce tonight. Hey, all things considered, it could have been much worse. Steve behaved himself… For the most part, and the storm fizzled out, so you kicked him out the second the skies were clear.

You make your way back up to your bedroom and stare at the open phonebook. You pump yourself up, and actually dial his number this time. The ringing of the phone begins and you consider backing out and hanging up. There was an awful twist in your stomach. What were you even going to talk about? What would you- someone picks up. You hear a woman’s voice through the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi, uh, is Brandon there?” Please be the right Walsh family…

“He is. May I ask who’s calling?”

“Uh, Y/N. From School.” There’s rustling and clanking, then rapid footsteps. A different voice comes through.

“Hello?” The butterflies came back, but with a vengeance.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” You could hear his smile through the phone and he could hear yours. You had the most ridiculous grin on your face, you’d die if he saw you right now. You both laugh nervously as you twirl the red phone cord in your fingers. Huh. Maybe you'll like Beverly Hills.

-

-

-

-

Tag list: @be-patient-be-good @fangirl-imagines @bevelyhills90210 @lilo-1988

#BH90210 #Brandon walsh x reader #Brandon walsh imagine #beverly hills 90210 #90210 #beverly hills 90210 imagine #90210 imagine #90210 x reader #Steve Sanders #Steve Sanders x reader #90210 rewrite #brenda walsh #jason priestley #ian ziering #shannem doherty #kelly taylor #jennie garth

[eckva-offical]

Alis Pastry: Alis meets the wall

By ██████ ███████

Final draft.

Enter scene one

The space is dark and smells of mold and rot. Office desks sit in various states of dust and decay, with a mix of abandoned personal and professional artifacts scattered around. Florescent lights flicker, painting the scene sickly green. There are, however, three desks that stand out.

A panning shot shows each desk

One holds an ancient looking box of a computer. Nearly organized and clinical with one photo frame, a small desk toy, a fountain pen set in a stand and a simple note pad. A desk lamp gives it a cool blue light.

One has a drawing tablet set to the graphics for a bright new show. There's a clutter of colourful trinkets and a half-eaten tart. There is a multitude of picture frames. It is lit by fairy lights and a small soft moon lamp. A more cream tone light

One has a sleek laptop, some notebooks, worn paperbacks and hardcover fiction books sit on a small shelf. There are no photo frames but there is a small painting on a tiny easel. A green-shaded lamp illuminates it a cozy yellow.

All is still, the only sound is the soft buzz of the lights and the whirring of the ancient cube of a computer. The silence goes on.

Suddenly, a loud thump sends the space into a flurry of action. Papers and dust fly up with urgency. A bright, bright silhouette is shown clashing with a fizzling crackling glitched out the beast. The glitched beast ducks it's head at the bright figure's neck. A loud high pitched tone is heard and the bright figure struggles violently. TV static plays loud and harsh as the glitch beast pulls back, light dripping approximately from where one would assume its mouth is.

The Light: F̧̝̣̪͘O͉̻̖͎̲̣͔̗͉͢O̷͏̬͈͇̱̤L͏͚̩̻̖̣̰̬͍͝I̷̤͖̳̘͠S̵̛͕̟̫͢ͅH̴͖́.҉̷̶̞̝̝̲͍͎̭ ͙̥̤̖͙͉̤̺F̝̤̞̟Ų̴͙̫̼͈͢T̷͖̣̘I̴̛̭͎̫̘̱͎͚ͅL̶̖͓͇̘͔E̢̯̞͈̦̗̮̦͕̦.̲͖̗̤̤ ̬̰̫̠̦̞̬A̫̩̟ ̶͖̖̞̺̮̣̣Ẉ̡̺A̖͕͠S̪͉̘͞͠T̘̺͘͢Ḛ̼̺͕̞̪ ̪̥̞̪O̪͔̺͔̹̹F̨͖̹̦̮̖͔͓̫̟̀ ͍͈̳͈M̻̭͓̠̲̺͟Y̩͡ͅ ͙͙̗̬̣̜̕͘͘E͖̜͡͡ͅF̧̰̘̰̺̪͎͖F̷̗̮̜̮̬̰̱͠O͇̮R̯̤̗T̡̛̯̲͔̭͎͔̠̕

Her: 01000010 01101111 01101100 01100100 00101110 00100000 01011001 01101111 01110101 00100111 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110111 01100101 01100001 01101011 00100000

The struggle continues. The silhouette rakes violent claws across the glitches back and the static turns to a roar. The high pitch tone crackles. Viscous neon goo spills from gashes in the beasts back. It seems to grow more Savage with pain.

Her: 00100000 01101000 01101111 01110010 01110010 01101001 01100100 00101110 00100000 01001110 01101111 00100000 01100110 01100001 01101101 01101001 01101100 01111001 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101101 01101001 01101110 01100101 00100000

The Light: Í̪̬̼͈̻͍͙̰Ņ͏̜̖̬̖S̸̨̞̟͕͈͉̠͠ͅO̮͇͈̟L̞̟̤͟E͏̺̯̪̱̥̹̖N͙̠̹̣̥̯̕ͅT̲̙̫͕̤̻̳̀ ͍̫̰͠C̗̦H̶̩͓͙̹̕Í̷͏̰̮͇̻̥̺̩̰L̨͍̥D͚͔͍͙͕̯͍̫

The fight becomes an indistinct mess as light tangles with neon signal loss. The camera drifts up to a vent and fades to black as the sounds of struggle continue

Enter scene two

The space is still dark but the light of a microwaves time creates a small spot of green. Three figures sit at a table. One with patches of dripping fuzzy rainbow static. One with black and white fuzz. One with no static or light at all. All humanoid. The distant sounds of the struggle are far off here.

Doc: please dear you're OK, we're here. She has a plan on how to escape she's been working very hard on it for a long time and we have Her

Harlot: won't work won't work too late too late too long. The Light is here. Too strong, too just. No no no this won't-

Bug: and. If we fail what then? We become part of it. But I want to hedge my bets on escape. If we lose we just cease. I'd rather go out on my own terms than its.

Harlot: punished. Will be punished violently with no mercy, no remorse. No end. Hell. On earth, there will be hell

Doc: I trust Her. She hasn't failed yet, she's too strong for it. That's how she escaped.

Harlot: let Her. Let go let go as deception-

Harlots' eyes start to glow. Doc slips his glasses off fast and presses them gently onto Harlots' face. The glow dims back to black and white fuzz

Harlot: won't make the cut won't make the cut won't make the cu-

Bug: is that reality or what The Light wants you to think

Harlot: don't know don't know. Too long here. Reality is fuzzy indistinct. Burnt burning ash

Doc: they could have lied to you

Harlot:...

The sound of an old TV cracking as it cools is heard

Harlot: possibly

Bug: we need to take what time we can and run while Her has The Light occupied

Doc: but, what about Her? She can't do it herself shes strong but-

Bug: she's aware of this.

Doc: No we can't, no she'll be alone-

Bug: I said we're leaving

A soft sniffle is heard as the regular human figure starts to cry.

Harlot: oh...

Doc: oh... Oh no, I'm so sorry. Yeah come on we can go.

The three figures stand and leave the table. The regular one takes the lead out the room sniffing and reading a rudimentary weapon. The one with patches of static holds the black and white fuzz's hand. The black and white fuzz holds a small tin lunch box. A pop is heard as they leave, along with a suddenly very loud high pitched tone. The camera goes to black as the microwave shorts out

Enter scene three.

Too dark to see anything but vague shapes. The camera is moving, following three running figures. The footsteps are loud and there's panicked breathing. The sound of a computers fan starts stuttering in.

Doc: come on dear just a little further then we'll reach the fire exit

Harlot: I know I know

Bug: shut the fuck up

The figures continue sprinting. With a sudden turn, the space is lit by a green emergency exit sign. The sound of static and the high pitched tone are soft but getting louder. The figure in the front gestures back making a grabbing motion. The figure at the backhands a tin lunch box forward. With the box in its hand, the leader crouches flipping it open violently. A loud pop and the static, the high tone become deafening. The bright silhouette and the glitch beast fly into the scene from seemingly nowhere.

One of the dark silhouettes screams, the crouching leader grabs something out of the tin and hurls it at the bright silhouette. Black spots appear on it and the high pitched tone becomes sporadic. The static roars again. The leader lets out a muffled sob and throws the lunch box at the two battling figures. The figures freeze. Then with the same pop that came as they entered they vanish and the lunch box falls to the ground glowing, and everything falls silent. The closest figure walks to it and flips it shut, closing the latch fast. The middle figure goes to the crouched leader and rubs their back mumbling soft apologies.  Bug: I wish it could be different I wish we could have-

Doc: I know me too. But this is what she wanted. I don’t know what Her life would have been like if she had made it out.  The leader sniffs and nods. The figure that closed the lunch box picks it up and walks to the fire exit door quietly, skirting around the two crouched figures.

Harlot: We should go...

Bug: Yes, sorry. Would you like to do the honours

Harlot: No. 

The leader and the figure by the door turn to the final figure, who nods with a sigh and gets up. They stand up and walk to the door, reaching out and pressing the handle. 

It opens with a click, daylight floods in. 

#ekcva-o #finale

[saintjudejournal]

Pretty proud of this, not going to lie 😅

I think this is the probably the most I’ve ever worked on a poem and written on here.

******

I wrote the first draft of this quickly and very angrily sometime in 2016 on one of those hot summer days when things where just not going well. To top things off, I left my bananas on top of my fridge and flies got into my apartment, laid eggs in them and it was all super gross. Fun fact, still haven’t had a banana since then... (so yeah, it wasn’t the best day not sure if you can tell from the poem 😅). Anyways, fast forward to a while later when my mood subsided as it often does, eventually... for some reason I never could complete this poem. Still not sure why, even now I keep wondering if i should have added a bit more...

I usually tend to avoid reading what I write especially if it’s just after a stream of consciousness rant and so I let the words simmer for a while.

When I finally did get to review what I have written, I don’t know why but it didn’t sound like “me.” The words were crude, a departure from my typical stylistic choices and not very pleasant to read. In fact I didn’t really like what I have written at all so I decided it was another one of my “rough drafts” and left it to dissipate at the bottom of my notes folder where fragments of my thoughts go to die.

Throughout, the years I would stumble upon it while making a grocery list or attempting for the 100th time to clean up my notes and would give it a quick glance but again, reading the words always left a bad taste in my mouth and I would put it away not feeling very good.

Strangely enough, the phrase “it’s got to be for something, the rot” have been in my mind for some time now. I’m not entirely sure when those words came to me to be honest, but I always think of them especially on days when things are bad. I think I subconsciously conjured up those words as a reminder that all the hardships and bad times serve a purpose even if it’s too painful to know what that is just yet.

(God, this is probably the most I’ve ever written for a caption in my life)

To make a long story short, for whatever reason, something inside me probably same place the voices come from...(kidding but not really), decided it was time to finally publish this. The urge to write again and publish this, took over my mind so utterly and irrevocably, it was almost a compulsion.

I suddenly had this image in my head of how I wanted it to look and I just knew it had to come out looking the way it did. I’m not sure why I thought of all the religious iconographies...

Maybe because I was a pastor’s kid and a part of my subconscious still associates the concept of “heaven”/“nirvana” as escapism from all “the rot.”

Perharps, my current obsession with Bukowski’s unflinching approach to writing is inspiring me to just write and create whatever words or imagery that comes to mind no matter how crazy/unsavoury it might seem without worrying about other’s interpretation. I can definitely credit my recent obsession with the dirty old man for giving me the courage to attempt the whole “writing thing” again.

Maybe it’s a bit of both or oh who knows...

Nevertheless, I’m grateful to whatever demon or angel that possessed me. It’s been a crazy couple of years and I still have no idea what I’m doing but I think I’m going to keep trying the whole writing/creating thing again. I haven’t slept before 5am in a while so sleep deprivation is probably the driving force behind all this but I can finally say for the first time that I’m...dare I say happy? ...Hmm let’s say content... no happy. I’m happy with what I wrote/created and even though my brain is literally wincing every time I say the “H” word, I’m going to try and keep reminding myself how good it feels to actually create an image I’ve been carrying in my mind. As for the editing, considering I literally had no photoshop skills up until 3 days ago and no computer I think I did ok. Apparently, something inside me wanted my words to be framed like a photograph with the hashtag “soft girl” on Instagram (or someone who just time travelled to 2009 and discovered Microsoft paint 😅) so I’ve literally been up all night on my phone trying to put together fragments of the images I’ve carried in my mind...

I’m still not sure what all of it means but I think what I was trying to say at the time is that things in my life are ugly/rotten. I’m not where I want to be and I would like to change it. I don’t know how that’s coming along but I would sure like to keep trying... And just going back and doing further edits I think the reason I added all those edits, the ornate borders and why not has to do with something along the lines of things in my life aren’t pretty, I’m not where I want to be but I’m the only who who can change it. I can crop, edit, pixelate (sorry I just learnt photoshop), the things that are within my control to change... (That and I also just like really pretty things. Haha. Always have been a sucker for some good ol’ good/evil, pretty/ugly juxtaposition.)

I guess what I’m trying to say is, I can create/clean up/ beautify for lack of a better word those things that I don’t like... the ugly parts and it’s up to me to make my life more beautiful/how I like...

This calls to mind the lyrics to one of my favourite songs... Yeasayer’s 2080; “we can pickle the pain into blue ribbon winners at county contests”

(Wow, things certainly took an existential turn...)

If you’ve read this far, what are you doing with your life? Haha no but if anyone reads this far, well damn! You’ve definitely earned yourself a virtual cookie 🍪 ... (I’m sure you’re thrilled, try to control your excitement) but yeah you definitely get a lot of props and I imagine your patience level is unmatchable!

Really though, thank you :) I really do appreciate it and sorry for my super long rant 😅 I think the sleep deprivation might be kicking in now so I should end here.

If you made it this far thanks so much again and I really, really, really do appreciate it. In trying to keep with the whole “going to actually try and give this writing thing a proper shot kick I’m on this week”.

Thats all for now folks, thanks so much again! ✌️🙈😅🤷‍♀️

[livvywrites]

Forgotten

a story i wrote a while ago as a writing exercise. I found it in the drafts of my computer. I hope you enjoy!

—

Cersei couldn’t tell you what made her go into the castle. It was dilapidated, like most of the buildings before the Fall. Towers had crumbled into themselves; wood rot had set into the door and drawbridge. Fauna had slowly grown its way into every crack and crevice, widening them as it did so. The glass had been shattered; the statues broken: and valuables stripped away from the inside.

There was no reason for this place to have any appeal.

But Cersei was a wanderer. An adventurer, who had donned the armor of the knights of old, painstakingly kept and restored by the blacksmith’s in the new cities. She had left her city—the one on whose doorstep she had been orphaned, the woman clutching her succumbing to the cold of winter, leaving only a squalling babe who slept by the fire of the inn and did chores about the place. She learned swordfighting from the guards; learned how to hunt and shoot from the hunters; could cook and clean and sew thanks to the innkeeper. The smith had given her the armor on her 17th birthday, after the many years she had spent pining after it… and that had been that.

So while she had no reason to go into the castle… she also had no reason not to go into the old castle.

Curiosity demanded she enter, see where the rulers had lived before the miners awakened the horror sleeping below. There would be little left, she knew that… but she had to see.

The air within was musty and dry. There weren’t nearly as many creatures inside as she would have thought; only birds who made nests in the rafters and the occasional bug colony. No predators. No abominations.

Just sunlight streaming in from broken windows and plants who stretched across the floor.

Paintings hung on the walls—or, rather, frames that had once contained paintings. Each one was made of brass; the wooden ones broken on the floor, or rotted away by time and insects. Chewed up rugs, frayed at the ends and covered in dirt and debris covered the marble floor, and furniture was in varying states of repair.

The whole place was strangely still, in a way the world outside wasn’t. Out there, things were always moving. Plants. Animals. Monsters. In here…

The deeper she got, the less life she saw.

Cersei wandered, looking in room after room, disturbing as little as possible. She felt like an outsider. An intruder. Like she very much didn’t belong here.

But she didn’t feel unwelcome. (Of course, nor did she feel accepted. Just a strange, tentative silence, as if neither of them could decide what she was.)

Then she found the bedroom.

It was… remarkably intact. Holey curtains fluttered in the breeze. A canopy bed, still remarkably intact, dominated the room. The dresser still retained its varnish, the mirror clouded with dust. Paintings were aged and cracked, but you could still tell what they were—except for one, directly in the path of the sun. It was so faded and peeling you couldn’t see anything at all.

But the thing that drew Cersei’s attention—the thing that commanded her to enter the room, something she had only done when it was the only alternative—was the grand piano.

Glass and debris crunched under her boots as she walked, slowly, over to it. She laid her fingers on the keys, yellowed with age.

She pressed—expecting no sound at all.

Instead, the piano sang.

Still in tune.

She found herself smiling.

She used her foot to push out the bench, and settled herself before it; back straight and shoulders back, fingers on the keys like she had known how to play all her life.

She knew no songs but the ones sung in taverns—and none of them were played on the piano. Yet still, she found herself playing. The song was haunting. Familiar. Like a word on the tip of her tongue that wouldn’t make the journey to her brain.

She let her eyes fall shut.

There was a weight on her head, a gentle pressure on her forehead and all around. Someone’s fingers were clasped in her own. A skirt swished around her legs as she moved, in patterns long-familiar and long-forgotten. A hand was solid against her waist, and she could make out the softest whispers underneath the strands of the music.

The song ended, and Cersei’s eyes opened at the final note.

She’s surprised to feel liquid on her face; her vision blurring.

She doesn’t know why she’s crying. She doesn’t know why she has a fierce ache in her chest, a tightness to her gut.

The castle walls close in around her, and she feels like a decision has been made. The weight in the air, the stillness that haunts this place has changed. There is a new taste to the air—a taste she doesn’t yet understand… but as she stands, she knows she wants to.

She touches her brow with two fingers, right where the thickest part of the weight had been. She drew a circle with her fingers—and sees a jewel of the deepest purple.

She turns to face the room again, her back to the window.

Cersei couldn’t tell you why she entered the castle, but only because she didn’t know.

There were answers, somewhere. She just had to find them.

#writeblr #writelr #writers of tumblr #fantasy #fantasy fiction #amwriting #my writing #amwritingfantasy #exercise

[forbidden-celestia-lore]

so what's the haunted house then

well, thank you for asking, person who was definitely not sending this ask from their work computer!

first, bit of backstory: off the tail end of some Wizard Shenanigans, we followed a rider from the Whispering way to this tiny little fishing village, which has been experiencing a bit of Bad Luck for the last few months. The mayor personally welcomed us, hiring us to figure out what the fuck is up with the local church, one of a sea god, supposedly. We (read: Thela) broke into investigated this church, found… some headless bodies, a chest that smells like fish, some freaky ass carvings, a bloody altar, slugs that posses you and make your head explode (remember this one), and a giant spell casting crab monster. Suprise! it’s a cult. We go in the next day at noon like the chumps we are and get ambushed, killing a bunch of the priest/cultists, and finding some more Loot. We tell the mayor, and he tells us that the head priest disappeared into the woods a few days ago, heading off to some mansion thing. We want our money, and we may as well finish the job, so we pack up and follow. 

Got all that? Great. 

So we’re heading out to this random house in the woods, right, and my idea is that the head priest is part of the Whispering Way, cause we found the rider we were following headless in the slug room (don’t ASK me how that works), and that he was going out with a bunch of local contacts or smth to do Secret Plotting. So we get there, actually we haven’t really even “gotten” there yet, as the map hadn’t even been drawn when my dad asks us for a perception check, which we all of course fail. Or we think we’ve failed, because all he tells us is that we see a ripple on the nearby lake, putting us all on edge. A fitting start!

So we’re at this house, and I don’t think we’ve ever entered through the front door in our lives, which means that we pick the wing closest to the path we came in on and sneak up to it. I’m pretty sure my dad was internally screaming (or laughing, depending) at this point, because when we got in (undetected I might add!) and kinda sorta relaxed, and Jafar sat on the fucking couch a SWARM OF TICKS POURED OUT OF THE FUCKING COUCH. TICKS. So Celestia screams (literally, I had her do that canonically, would have totally ruined our stealth had there been anyone around to care) and runs out of the room, ducks through the first doorway she sees and immediately starts changing into her cultist disguise, in case someone did hear her and is coming. Thela climbs into the air using her immovable rods, Obezyana and Krono (who were by the door) run back outside after setting Jafar, who is now covered in ticks, on fire. And then from outside they do it again. And maybe one more time I’m not sure, but fire was the only thing we had that would hurt those ticks, until Obezyana had the legit bright idea to use color spray, which stuns every critter in a certain area. My dad was gracious enough to let him warn Thela, so she wasn’t affected, but the ticks were STUNNED and we LEFT as quickly as we could.

We regrouped in the main entry hall, Celestia now in her Whispering Way garb, and decided to look at the second wing before going into the main hall. All that was in that wing was an old storage room, where a fight of some sort had taken place recently, and we found a box that used to have a statue in it (the statue had been stolen from a museum, and we’d had to prove it wasn’t the beast Simon who stole it, but the Whispering Way, so we Knew they were here). We also found a horse! Clearly the horse the Whispering Way agent had ridden, but they’d been there for a few days without food or water or anything. We fed it, watered it, and made our way to the main hall. 

On the map, the house was drawn as one big circle in the middle, representing the main hall, with two rectangles coming off of it at a little more than a 90* angle. It turns out that the house was constructed this way because the main support beams for the central structure were a fucking druid circle, creepy ass alter included. We actually found a secret compartment on the Cursed Altar that had a Big seed in it, which we did Not touch. At which point and actual literal Giant came through a door on the other side of the hall and asked us what we were doing. I, being the diplomat of the group, told everyone to shut up and pretended I was supposed to be there, can’t you see I’m part of your cult (which I wasn’t but I didn’t know that)? This sufficiently confused the giant, letting us march past him, except then we had to act like we knew what we were doing which meant that we went through the first door we saw, and of course it was the one with the Head Priest behind it. Thankfully he was merely a pathetic spellcaster (I say, a spellcaster), so we were able to subdue him in two rounds and render him unconscious in like, three. Except!!! Surprise!!!!! He’d been possessed by one of the slugs!!!! And his fucking head exploded into tentacles!!!! Celestia screamed and scrambled backward. Thela jumped. Obezyana took a step backward. Jafar screamed and tried to shove them back into his fucking neck.

We may have panicked a little.

Eventually (and surprisingly quickly) by doing the combat equivalent of hitting him over the head with a baseball bat and screaming we were able to kill whatever the Fuck he’d become, except!!! Another surprise!!!!! He exploded AGAIN!!!!! This time into more slugs!!!!!! Six of them!!!!!!! What fun!!!!!!! Kill me!!!!!!

Turns out arrows work really well on those bastards, which is great because it meant that Obezyana was able to shoot like three all at once while Jafar smashed another one or two, but three of them slimed away out the open window into the woods.

“OH NO YOU FUCKING DON’T” said Obezyana, leaping over the balcony railing and running off into the woods after them, the speedy bastards. 

“Let’s burn this place to the ground” said Thela thoughtfully. “Great idea but let’s loot if first” said Celestia, greedily. “NO” said literally everyone, smartly. “But MONEY” said Celestia with her singular braincell, running off down the hall and opening the first door she found.

Now TO BE FAIR, she didn’t like, fling it open. She may be careless and greedy, but she’s not stupid. Good thing too, cause behind that door was a library, half collapsed and rotted away, inhabited by a pair of bloodthirsty ghosts! Thela had wanted to leave, but once she knew there were undead there she was obligated to at least try and help them leave, for Pharasma reasons. So she stayed behind with Jafar while Celestia was like “OKAY GREAT LET’S KNOCK THIS HOUSE OUT AS FAST AS POSSIBLE I’LL JUST RUN AHEAD” and powerwalked into the next room. 

The room right next to the Ghost library was actually an empty bedroom, excepting a cradle and a mobile made of seashells hanging above it. There was no draft, but when she had to roll a perception check and it moved when Celestia opened the door. She didn’t go in. 

The room after THAT was actually more of a fancy hallway, with a desk in the middle of it, looking away from some stunning views from the floor to ceiling windows behind it. THIS time Celestia actually did good on her perception check, and she was able to notice (and identify!) the yellow powder covering the desk as a type of mold that fucking EXPLODES into a POISONOUS CLOUD when disturbed!! Because what ELSE would this house have!! NORMAL dangers??? don’t be ridiculous (still tried to open it tho)

But after deciding aGIANST that, she went to the door at the other end of the hall room, because Celestia’s completionism knows no bounds. This entire time, Thela and Jafar had been dealing with the ghosts, and I don’t remember their bit very well? I think I wasn’t paying attention (or it was literally happening concurrently with my little adventure, whoops), but the gist of it was that the ghosts were Not up for conversation and FLEW at the pair of them, and Thela slammed the door in their faces and walked quickly on over to Celestia. So when Celestia opened the door at the other end of the hall, which will now be referred to as The Bedroom Door, Thela was there too, to help her out! Which was good! For reasons to be explained!

Behind The Bedroom Door was, well, a bedroom obviously, but it was. Hm. Literally cursed? It was dark, with a large, blood stained bed, and the ornate carving of a ship on a storm tossed sea above it carved into, just, cut to pieces. Someone had carved “THE PACT HAS BEEN BROKEN” into this fuckin ruined bed in this ruined house, and I think Celestia could see… things. The shadows were moving, or wrong, or something, but it meant that she did NOT want to go in. Thela, however, could be convinced by loot, and since she has a stupid high stealth snuck into the room to try and get into the attic. 

So part of the fun of Pathfinder, or any ttrpg really, is that not only do you get to roleplay, you get to act and see what the Universe thinks of your decision. So when Thela rolled very, very high, it really added to the experiance that my dad (the DM) sighed with relief before describing the room. +31 stealth! I’ve got the second highest at +16! Sage rolled REALLY HIGH! SIGHED with RELIEF!! 

The, things, that had such a high perception, were… not, dogs. They were large, shadowy, quadrupedal, with long, long thin legs and mouths full of teeth. Glowing eyes. And when you looked at them, you could feel your mind… twisting. Thela had to roll stealth again. A little farther into the room. Then she noticed that they weren’t… they were completely visible (well. no. they never were.) but they weren’t standing in the room. She could see them as if there was nothing in the way, but they were also very clearly standing outside of the second story bedroom. She signed this to Celestia (they both know sign), succeeded her final stealth check and BOOKED IT upstairs and away from the not-dogs. (here’s a drawing I did of them, if you’d like to look)

Celestia went downstairs, while Thela went upstairs to the attic. She found a book up there! Called smth like Non Euclidean Geometry. Written in Abysmal. Fun!

She also found the smashed corpse of a Whispering Way cultist, in a crater, and realized it must have been dropped from a very high height, which didn’t make sense considering there was only open sky above her oh my god what the fuck is that. SURPRISE!! I GIANT FUCKING FLYING BIRD DRAGON REPTILE GRIFFIN BUT NOT THING!!! IT REGULARLY EATS ELEPHANTS AS LIGHT SNACKS!!! AND OBEZYANA IS OUTSIDE!!!!!

anyway I’m gonna add the next bit in a reblog because this is getting long and tumblr doesn’t let me save this as a draft so this is all on my clipboard, making me nervous.

#campaign chaos #the haunted house

[impossible-ancient]

Autumn Hunt

---Chapter Two---

-A Girl’s Name-

[Read Chapter One here: “Don’t Lose”]

{Exactly 2800 words}

             Loud rumbling is heard from a group of men running down wooden stairs.  Pratt steps to the side of the hallway to allow them to pass, since they seem to be in a hurry.  The one man in front with blond hair peeking out of a hood, stares back at Pratt on his way down the steps.  He and the others hold sniper rifles, but this man has two.  

“Are you Pratt, also known as ‘Peaches,’” the blond man asks the young deputy.

“Yeah.  That’s me.”

             The blond man tosses him a large .50 caliber sniper riffle.  Pratt analyzes its silver coating and it barely even has a scratch on it.  He turns around to look where they’re headed, and they all stop to stare at him.

“Well, come on,” the blond man nags with a thick southern accent.

             Pratt follows the group outside of the Veteran Center.  The sun is so bright that everyone squints their eyes.  It’s like that little stinging in your eye from the sun reflecting the morning snow, only it wasn’t winter quite yet.  

“Oh shoot,” the blond man says as he looks around him, “wrong exit.  I still get confused in this place.”

             Pratt tries to hide his laughing.  The same man begins to walk around the home towards the front of the building.  Behind the home is an open courtyard full of giant cages.  The group of men pass close by one of them and Pratt sees a woman asleep on the cold ground, with a bowl of meat scraps in front of her.  And, when the deputy looks around, he sees a man in another cage, sitting and facing the group.  The blond man and the others barely glanced at them.  Pratt slows his walking, faces the blond man again and asks, “why are these people trapped in cages like that?”

             He doesn’t stop walking.  His hooded head never turns around, but he quietly replies, “don’t worry about them dang sinner!”

             The group walks through a narrow walled-off alleyway on the side of the house, and finally reach the front driveway.  They approach a large red SUV with thick tires and the windows rolled all the way down.  The blond man tells Pratt to stand to the side for a few moments, and the other men begin to load equipment into the vehicle.  Pratt recalls the man with dark curly hair from earlier this morning, and that man pulls a cardboard box out of the trunk.  He yanks out a pocket knife from his pocket, opens the box, and pulls out a set of orange vests covered in plastic wrapping.  

“Oh shoot, Rick,” the blond man exclaims, “these huntin’ vests are brand new!”

             Pratt had no idea that anyone was planning on hunting today.  But he watches as the curly-haired Rick and the blond man open the rest of the bags, and they hand them off to the others.  Rick hands Pratt an orange vest and it smells like fresh plastic right out of the factory.  It’s Velcro pocket closings where met with a set of key rings on the sides.  Rick announces that Jacob will be joining them shortly, and that he’s finishing a conference call with his family.  Part of it could be heard over the intercom system by mistake:

“Can you even use a computer, Jacob?”

             The group of men look around as they hold in their laughter.

“If you’re going to invite the father,” one of Jacob’s brothers says, “then send…eh…Jacob…why is there an echo?”

             A rustling and a loud clicking noise soon followed.  The group of men chuckled as they look up towards the house’s second floor.  The poor man didn’t know how to even use half of the crap sitting in his office.  He usually just has someone make appointments and send emails for him.  

             A few minutes pass.  Jacob comes walking out of the Veteran Center towards the SUV, holding his red-painted sniper riffle in his pale scarred hands.  He now wears a dark gray and red vest with a few buckles on the sides, and his regular gray shirt beneath it.  His dog tags and lucky rabbit’s foot are somewhat visible through the partially zipped vest.

“Hello Jacob,” the group greets collectively as if he is their commander, which he technically is.

“I’m sure you guys heard my baby bro whining on the phone.  My mistake,” Jacob jokes.

             He then opens the driver door and steps to the side, letting Rick seat himself behind the steering wheel, before Jacob closes the door for him.  Jacob then opens the left rear door and a shorter man with a red hat hops in first. The blond man steps to the side and tells Pratt, “after you buddy!”  The deputy enters the back of the vehicle and shoves the rifle into any free space he could find, before the blond man hops in and shuts the door behind him.  Rick tells the group to sit their riffles against the seats, pointing downwards for safety reasons.  Jacob hops up into the passenger side.  His feet kicking the guardrails, and his long legs bending before closing the door.  The big man looks back with a short grin and shouts, “Ready for some good ol’ huntin,’ guys?”  The men in the car cheer loudly and Pratt joins in on it, only because he doesn’t want to stick out like a sore thumb. The engine starts and the big SUV pushes forward in a rough jolt of an acceleration.  Rick slams the breaks and looks around.

“Woah,” Jacob shouts after keeping his head from flying forward.  He turns to look at Rick and stares at him for about five seconds, and then continues, “if you can’t drive a stick then you shouldn’t be up here, Rick.”

             Rick opens the door and offers up the driver’s seat to someone else.  He switches places with the man in the red hat and the SUV begins to move again, and much smoother this time.  They approach the main gateway to the Veteran Center and the four guards on the sides wave at them.  Jacob begins to go into detail about their destination: An open woodland area just off Clagett Bay.  The SUV drives on the blacktop road for quite some time, then rolls onto some harsh dirt and gravel trails.  Crossing old creaky bridges and crushing over sticks and dead logs, and the drive alone was a great start for this little outing.

“Hey Jacob, isn’t this where your old friend lives,” the blond man asks.

             Jacob looks back in his seat and from the corner of his eye, replying, “he’s not a friend anymore.  He hasn’t been for a while now.”

             Pratt looks at the visible side of Jacob’s seat in the front, and asks who he’s referring to.  

“Uncle…I mean…Eli.  He wouldn’t join the Project, so he started his own thing called the ‘White Tail Militia.’  Something like that.”

             The group silently looks around admiring the view of the woodland area, searching for Elk near the waters.  The open windows let in a rushing cold draft, but it’s scent of woodland pine sap was worth shivering.  Neither of the two guys up front ever bothered the radio.  Knowing Jacob, the radio would either play his favorite old tune, or be shut off completely.  He doesn’t care too much for the Sunday Church mix that his siblings kept on repeat all day long.  Pratt is always hesitant to start a conversation, fearing saying the wrong thing, or attracting the wrong kind of attention.  He’s extremely surprised that he isn’t in one of those cages, or even dead by now.  He is one of the marked enemies (or at least he was originally).  Maybe he’s beginning to gain some of Jacob’s trust, but he still senses that heavy barrier between them.  Yet, the deputy tosses out a quick kind word.

“Thanks for the shirt and vest, sir.”

“Yeah,” Jacob replies barely even paying attention, looking out of his open window for any wildlife.

             A voice comes from the driver’s seat calling out to Pratt.

“Hey man!  Hey,” the man calls out.  Pratt looks at him and then into his smiling dark eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror.  He continues, “Muh name’s Rain.  Like ‘Rainfall.’”  Jacob and his group are actually sort of, well, kind.  Better yet, they seem to be fun to travel with.  But a paranoid Pratt doesn’t trust Jacob either.  

             A little more ways up the slope and the SUV finally rests its engine at the Clagett Bay Resting Area.  Everyone hops out.  Pratt looks around and waits for Jacob to be the last one to join the group.  He finds it strange that everyone barely even moves until Jacob either leads or commands them.  Jacob instructs the group of men to keep their orange hunting vests on at all time.  Next, he separates everyone into two groups.  

“Oh, my name’s Deveraux, by the way,” the blond man finally tells Pratt, “but just call me Dan.”  Both give each other a quick smile.  Jacob pairs Pratt with Dan while Rick and Rain go with Jacob.  There are to meet back here in 30 minutes whether they had caught anything or not.

“You guys be safe out there,” Rain tells them with a smile.  

             The two men go their own way along a dirt path, up and over hills.  Little feet patter with pebbles crunching under their shoes.  Dan wears a hoodie and utility belt with his dark cargo pants, that of an Eden’s Gate hunter.  But, today he carries a rifle like the rest of the gang.  The air up there is so cool and fresh this early in the morning.  The two climb over a huge log covered in vibrant green, damp moss.  Pratt steps back over to it just to observe the wavy brownish mushrooms along the rotted fallen tree’s side.  Dan turns around a few seconds later as he realized Pratt had stopped.

“Aye there,” he shouts and then walks over to Pratt, “Nah, I want you to be in my sight at all times. You seem like an alright guy, but Jacob wants me to keep an eye on ya.”

             Pratt nods his head in agreement.  The two men continue their trek.  Dan was no idiot.  He doesn’t know much about the deputy, and he’s not going to let Pratt out of his sight holding that sniper riffle either. They continue walking again side by side.  

“So, do ya like go to college or anything like that,” Dan asks Pratt.

“I graduated a few years ago actually,” Pratt replies.

             Dan looks around for any Elk or other fauna in the area, as he asks, “What kind of job ya got?”

             Pratt’s breathing gets heavier and his heartrate begins to quicken.  He quickly tosses out a lie that won’t have to come with more questions that he couldn’t answer:

“I’m a…helicopter pilot…tour…guide,” he hesitates to piece together.  Well, it was sort of true anyway.          

             The wind kicks up blowing Pratt’s un-moussed long hair into his face.  The two trek deeper into the woods kicking through dead leaves.  Dan spots one of those hexagonal hunting treehouses, which are the metal platforms high up in the trees.  They reach the rusted blue ladder and Dan let’s Pratt climb first. Both of them sit on the platform and wait for any sign of wildlife to enter the area, remaining alert with rifles in their hands.  Pratt notices Dan glance at a silver and bronze-plated wristwatch on his arm, before pulling his sleeve down.  He warns the deputy that they have about fifteen minutes before they needed to head back to the Rest Stop area.  The young deputy begins to ask Dan questions about his life in general, hoping that he can begin to understand why they had joined The Project at Eden’s Gate.

“Do you know who the Father is, Pratt,” Dan asks.

“I heard that he’s some sort of preacher.”

             Dan chuckles showing his teeth in a smile, turning his head and then looking up into the woodland canopy.  He shakes his hooded head, and then adds, “The Father is our light.  He opens our eyes and speaks the truth.”

“What about your life in general,” Pratt interrupts, having more interest in Dan than in their leader.

“I usually don’t piddle around in that,” Dan replies, “but since you asked; I used to be an electrician…slash…mechanic…slash, a few different jobs here and there.  I ain’t even 30 yet, and the Seed family offered me an early retirement if I work for them.”

“Doing what exactly?”

“I’m mainly a hunter and sometimes a cook,” Dan answers, “I get paid a few hundred for the week.”

             Pratt nods his head, and asks, “So, what does “the Father” do that the mayor can’t?”

             Dan tilts his head to the side, turns his body to face the deputy, and then smiles.  He begins counting his fingers one by one, and says, “Ain’t gotta pay for gas, ain’t gotta pay for any food in Jacob’s house, free water, no rent, barbecues every weekend, no bills, free cable, everybody got a job around here, which means no unemployment, free school for the little kids, John Seed represents you in court and even pays your hospital bills…”

             Pratt had to interrupt Dan just to get him to stop.

“But, what about those who don’t like him…those who disobey,” Pratt questions.

“The Father chooses those worthy.  He chooses those who must be cleansed.  And, if they cause any trouble…then they won’t be around anymore.”

             Something peeks its head through the shrubs on the ground.  The leaves rustle loudly.  It’s the head of an elk feeding and sniffing around.  Its hooves pattering around on the crunchy leaves.  Dan slowly picks up his sniper rifle and steadily aims it at the animal down below.  Pratt does the same.  The elk looks around and turns its head almost 180 degrees, as it checks for predators. Dan realizes something which causes him to hesitate.  He tells Pratt to put down his rifle.  The elk moves much slower than usual.

“Do ya see her belly? It’s swollen,” Dan tells Pratt, “she’s got babies.”

             The hunter sets down his rifle and instead of scaring it, he waits a few minutes until it wanders away.  The two men climb back down the ladder attached to the tree platform.  A black folded wallet falls from Pratt’s baggy plaid shirt pocket, slipping out from beneath his orange hunting vest.  He doesn’t even notice it as he walks back down the hill towards the SUV. Dan stops walking and picks it up and opens it.  The blond man doesn’t take anything, not that Pratt had any money anyway, other than $30 and a few commuter train one-week passes.  He reads Pratt’s driver’s license.  He then jogs to catch up to Pratt and begins walking with him again.  Pratt watches as Dan takes a cigar from a plastic gray bag in his pocket, before hearing the sharp clicking of the flickering lighter. Dan looks to Pratt on his right, and asks, “I got an extra if ya want one.”  Pratt kindly declines the offer.

“’Staci Pratt,’” Dan mocks as he begins to climb a steeper hill with the deputy, “that’s different.”

“What?”

             Dan makes a quiet wheezy chuckle and asks, “Ain’t that a girl’s name?”

             Pratt rolls his eyes but answers, “It’s like Casey or Kelly.  It can be either boy or girl.”

“I was just playin’ around with ya,” Dan jokes while handing the wallet back.

             When the two return to the SUV they see Jacob and Rain already there, with the windows rolled down, ready to go.  Rick had put the rifles in the trunk and waves to Pratt and Dan to hurry up.  The two men jog the rest of the short distance up the path.

“Did you guys catch anything,” Rick asks.

“We only saw a momma holdin’ babies,” Dan replies in a muffle with a cigar in his mouth.

“Nah, we can’t kill a momma elk like that.  It wouldn’t be right,” Rick replies, “We didn’t see anything out here either.”

             Rain hops back into the driver’s seat and starts up the SUV.  But then he begins to hum a tune.  Rick begins to sing that tune wording out, “Only You!”  And then, Dan soon after begins singing along.  Pratt smirks and looks at how silly the guys all look as they sing in the car.  They seem so playful like a family on a road trip.  Jacob looks behind his seat out of the corner of his eye.  And, when Rick and Dan sang one of the high notes, Jacob laughed and covered his mouth.  The deputy couldn’t believe it: Jacob Seed…just…laughed.

#My baby brother whining on the phone! XD #Ain't that a girl's name? #Deer Babies!!! #Far Cry 5 Jacob #Jacob Seed #far cry 5 jacob seed #Far Cry Jacob Seed #Far Cry 5 Pratt #Deputy Pratt #Staci Pratt #far cry deputy

[triumphorce]

under umbras of bundles  of stars,

canopies of leaves & branches that shatter-scatter sky image held indirect

as a gleam in eyes

as conscious lay in fabricated gardens watching memories, & desires in dream form

from across highway covered by

blue-white, 

yellow,

& orange lights

sound of tires, mufflers, sirens, 

amidst a higher sense 

attuned to

muffled far cries muffled while crossing empty lands

filled with chilling wind howls, stealing hope, 

which

kickstarts the power on survival mode..

ups& downs 

drown the cries further,

that

war, warn, or cheer..

or just sing..

maybe

a hymn made by souls for souls under same umbra to set free to lead to wonder & beauty beyond the surface of senses directly to free to seek love loss between me and me

buried beneath  road of longest journey to reach

turn feet all around

all about a world I have no idea about

just mad ideas about Kept in journals i turn over

to all but from in front of views not yet exploited by value of which is, views are power,  & are the will in word- to-page transaction

self diminished to substantiate

entries from entrails, not shown to be conquered

win or lose is how I never saw things.

win or win, only optionss, only progress..

yet..,always over complicating;

marathon sprints from start to finish

as I choose, If i choose, to continue to choose to overlook slopes in existence, where hides I, in ruins, digging for recognition

contribute to a mind overloading with what I know I owe society, &me,

burden of see-through beast, I see illusions of future thru,mistaken as truth, play victim, get stressed or believe I'm down on luck ,in dumps of depression and slum of beliefs,

 in a slump with headphones on temple and music up, reminisce about the golden olden, me and broseph, SSB, PSO, kanto, johto, cartoon cartoons, many one saturday morning’s, plenty cinnamon toast, fruity pebbles, so many card games at Books-a-million

but when I open eyes from trance

I'm forever face to face with today is today

not then not later...

just

 changes who changed how I changed regret and anger to compensate for blaming everybody but me

now I stare afraid at dilemmas mass effect decisions

 daily in-and-out-terventions

to keep from falling back into resentment.. spite blinding shelves of subconscious-self- disappointed perpetuating judgment of others binding progression, tying tongue, boiling blood because old habits die hard and I continue fucking up, up raging rapids w/o a paddle,   almost 3 decades of failing infinite (according to projections) feel I missed and am missing out on so much, so much world, so many words coiled inside, waiting to explode,

all the time, just like everybody.. everything mind sets sights on turns to target issue     how unfortunate for aforementioned coordinates, for anyone close enough for me to put in poems' , important enough to torment conscious over, used to be everybody, used to be nobody, used to be just some people, now its just me and i dont know him

   attempts to speak, to learn again, to teach me about me       to learn to teach                     myself, to set example for ambition directed toward a better version, better verses, better reimbursement of time given tryna be an extrovert, free from bitter, free from bitch asses, set internal standards to never  get fucked with again, fuck you, fuck him, fuck her, i only fucks with a journal & question  everyone,  everything, every word, every whisper, shit ima tell my children every day, breakfast lunch dinner,  do your best and fuck the rest, get it, get lit off enlightenment, fuck rest, save roosting for death, dont look at me, looknat the sky, seize the day in everyway brain permits, dont reach for others' and if anyone tries to take yours, that means they dont fundamentally respect life, so always permeate passion, ignore distractions keeping you from creating, test limits, test intentions, challenge imperfections with wisdom, know that perfect is just cosmetics, but i remain quiet.. remain tied up being alone, wondering..           whether I'm right to do any god damn thing        'cause if I don't do it right..       was I right to think I could, wrong to think I understood

am i wrong not to try?

what of what's sacrificed ?

how do i keep count

how did I end up here       in standby...

standing squeamish & deer eyed in light of opportunities rising in horizon of night skies, to step in to obtain warmth, maintain from days before, to do something, do the one thing, but when will I be ready will eyes be ready to comprehend right or wrong

only me, here. only us, on planet.

only who's responsible? how is who is affected by, afflicted by? when is too late? when is just right, always too soon to tell and.. if I don't do it now, then why expect change..

why, why, why

'cause I expect anything at all

anger toward unmanned vehicles imminent to collide with mine

driven mad up eighty-five degree angled walls during rush hour, sun beaming heat into ride, where i travel on path, thru battlefield of past where fallen intentions decompose to ignorance and wisdom sprouts in the mean time.. I'm in between times, feelin down, down down down down by the way

a trail thru fears past dead ends, rotting trees, looks like fallout hit

a past I try an' forget..

but remember out of reluctance 

to accidentally revisit regret,

stand next to biggest fears,  see if facing them uproots soul

rolls ideas in head, non-stop

like trolls troll under bridges 

to which billy goat gruff temper charges like crono's katana on zenan crossing,

lodes of odes to oaths, lightning loaded, aimed at negative minded sapiens bioshocks via rhythm and syntax, cryo cascades of ideas, locked away in moleskine or computer files to put to rest the rest of an inside in arrest to judgment, in side quest of public playthrough, i feel im on public display, static complaining in front of pretty much strangers   modes of awareness to mental problems i exploit to people who might not think im crazy, who might like what i write, might like to write about the same thing, might see giants in those same nodes i stand near, i hear crisp crackles filling an awkward air as i stare at words on sheets that i might tear, might let collect dust, or share prolly might be quiet, only sound is poetic drafts that fill in under open windows, I open slowly, cool rush, goosebumps, awake aware always, even when mind is a crinkled, crumbled candy wrapper still just construct wrinkles in time via           hairs stand, ovation, and encores to

     helping to cross over doubts, screams of slander, stop it all, right now, shed truth in another light, fed through veins like pen's ink to go over and correct vision of pinheads vane turnin art, free thought to cash and competition, trade purpose blow for blow with obstacles in the name of the next step, over opponents, trade nervous for nerves robust to withstand standing up to stretch and spread chest to stand up for work where time invested is braided circulation    goin in circles,        time wasted pet peeve number 1

    a nowhere never felt before        but something seems familiar.. overlooked,   under yards, under pressure of bone leverage, give life a lift thru cracks of a collapsing effort stretched behind chest and ribs

a heart glows in

hot coal hues hearth warmth under carbon sheets

till blood boils till steam coils from pores to kill the cold along roads

sun or none

no light above, isn't lack of.. 

(look inside)

----

harsh heat of reality hot enough to feel cold

make me go ghost in dark times..

friction strong enough to spark moist..

continue until i sear nerves disembody fromm pain till im felt by meta-form of others

heartfelt arcs between soul and soul-mind 2 mind

light releases thru iris folds spectacle in spectacles----

spectrum wheel of emotions spins &spins to  understand self an urge that intensifies the more  i live life as well as I can Improve every day, no excuse, don't ignore the corners, get behind my ears,every nook and cranny in creative muse-um, uhm, duh, raised on books, nintendo, animation,& wishbone, outside, only myself as playdate, use every square inch as play-scape under every hair in head, a mind uses face and body as way to create 4 fourever& vice versa to escape who ever & know I can do whenever, wherever

wherever i go, a voice in mind goes

that keeps on talkin , keeps me talkin tellin me I've talk--, wrote enough hoped enough to last a lifetime, but that's not enough

and I still got a lifetime

to either solidify or fuck it up

gradually let go of 

to concentrate on life's finest moments i build to build form in appreciation, saying get up, enjoy the sun rays breaching clouds just before dawn; gett off yo butt and do what you know what you taught you to do when you were at multiple low points and you promised you, you'd never fall to end, even if you fall again, again, and again, never stall in the middle of  takeoff stop in middle of road, cant press play if you lost remote, might as well get up and do it, crawl, run or walk away when the times calls to brawl dark-inner energy only honorable mentions defend health during dishonorable discharge of nega, into rivers, into blue sky.. bordered by white clouds and linear silver

a safe place, work space, desk clerk sifting day to day thru file cabinets memories in memos in notebook; written relativity explaining how I see, what I think say what i want like im eight, glad i spent so much time with words and space-bars,   to escape judgment, hatred,

anxious surrounded by bad vibes

above an Earth, below expectations; over a self under surveillance by approval from inside, crazy dimensions, On the fence between people and myself I close eyes, ride waves of nostalgia once more..

see plenty light to traverse pathways, walk fer hours, walk like back in younger days, playin, runnin, completely captivated immersed in games played, tv, roller blades, monopoly, scary stories, trampolines

&10thousand songs later, 10million thoughts later, here I am doing what I made me to.

can't wait for the next chance

supplied energy through lines to hidden gracelands.

[bruhwhyth0]

WHY THO?

Jesus Christ I was really hoping I’d never have to do this again. I honestly don’t know what is worse, having to watch another shitty movie or rereading my old blog posts and realizing that they were lower in quality than the movies I was reviewing. Fortunately it doesn’t really matter because I know for a fact that my -2 followers don’t seem to mind. But here I am. Once again I must swallow my pride and sumit myself to literal torture all in the name of a grade. To my suprise choosing a crappy movie was almost as difficult as watching one. So many options. So much low hanging fruit. However movies of this nature can always be a mixed bag. I remember when I first started this blog a few years ago some reviews never left my drafts because I didn't have much to write about. Sometimes a movie is so mediocre, so bad, that it can’t even excel at being an awful pile of crap. I chose to write about bad movies because I figured it would be entertaining. You’d think some films, in their own demented way, could at least entertain. But no. Can’t even get that right. I’d find myself at 2’o’clock in the morning looking at my notes only to realize that I basically wrote nothing. All I had was a lingering sense of regret and confusion; like I’d just woken up from a drunken one night stand. All I could do is ask myself, “What the hell did I just watch?” So as I revisit this deserted island I call my blog for what most likely will be the last time, I want to make sure that it is worth it. If I’m going to verbally assault a movie, I’m going to make sure it is an easy target. That was my thought process at least. I soon realized that just because a movie is easy to write about, that doesn’t mean it is easy to watch.

So what movie did I force upon my soul do you ask? Why CATS of course. Because who doesn’t like Cats? Everyone loves cats. What’s not to love about an ungrateful and rude animal that walks around your house like it owns the place. An animal that bites, scratches, and claws at anything it deems unworthy. “Let's make a movie, based off the perverted 80s Broadway production that centered around these literal spawns of Satan,” said every Hollywood executive with their head up their ass. As a matter of fact they thought it was such a good idea that they dropped 95 million U.S. dollars on it.

Now before I continue, as I typed “cats budget” in my google search bar, take a guess what came up after “cats bu..”. CATS BUTTHOLE SMELL. Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with people? I tried recreating it in the search bar to screenshot but I couldn’t get it to come up, but trust me. I know what I saw. What is it with cat people man? Seriously. Really threw me off my train of thought.

But yeah, 95 big ones. A lot of good things could have been done with that money, but nope. We needed a live action adaptation of Cats. Did anyone who thought this was a good idea even see the play? That shit was weird. I didn’t watch it, cause, well why the hell would I?

But from the bare minimum research that I did do, the general consensus was that it was a shitty play that made lots of money because people are dumb and will watch anything. I guess producers were hoping lightning would strike twice. If you saw the play you would know that there is literally no plot. It has nothing. It is literally a bunch of weirdos dressed like anthropomorphic cats dry humping each other and singing for 2 hours. I swear its target audience had to consist of lonely 12 years old, sad housewives, and perverts. I tried watching the musical just to get a general reference of the living hell I was going to put myself in only to be utterly mortified. My eyes and ears didn’t last 5 minutes. How it made all the money it did baffles me. But I’m not here to talk about this crime against humanity, I’m here to rip into its bastard child. And boy, oh boy, is there a lot to talk about.

$14.99 in and I’m already regretting my life choices. Everything in my life has led me to this moment and I really wish I could change that. Thanks to what a box office bomb this movie was, I can’t rent it anywhere. I can only buy it. Figures. You're already off to a bad start movie. 2 minutes into the opening scene and I already hate it. People walking around on all fours in fursuits, licking their genitals, singing dancing, some crappy asymmetric musical. WHY! Oh god why did people make this? What kind of furry bullshit is this? I am going to be completely transparent. I’m writing this while I’m watching the movie. I’m not even 5 minutes in and I want to blow my brains out. This is not hyperbole, I wish it was. I can’t dude. I can’t watch this fucking movie. All the characters speak in these weird haikus with British accents. I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t know what anyone is saying half the freaking time. So many made up words and phrases. It's like the script was written by some Dr. Suess rejected. I genuinely have no idea what is going on. I was really hoping that for once one of my reviews wouldn’t sound like the rantings of a madman. But I can’t help it. This crap is rotting my brain. Seriously what is going on. Maybe I’m a simpleton who doesn’t get musicals, but I shit you not there is no plot. I have no idea what the hell is going on. How do you have a movie with no plot?

It’s just singing about being cats... and their FEET. JESUS CHRIST THEY HAVE FEET. No CGI paws. BARE. HUMAN. FEET. God why. How as an actor, do you go on set, act like a literal animal and tell yourself, “yeah this is gonna pan out great.” How did they sit down and go, “I’m going to sit here, lick a fake bowl of milk, sing and dance nonsense, then proceed to lick my non-existent cat balls.” I literally watched an actor snarl directly into the camera. When I went to find out who it was, I was unsurprised to see that all the pictures of the actors were gone. Just names. With a little digging I found out it was Ian Mckellen, you know, from Lord of the Rings. Magneto from Xmen. That Ian Mckellen. Yup, and he snarled to the camera like a cat. Anything for a paycheck right? Who am I to judge, I watched 2019’s Cats for an English class. Who is really losing here, cause frankly I don’t know anymore. If I have anything positive to say about this movie is that it has less dry humping than its source material. Key word less. I better get an A for this.

An hour into the movie and I still don’t know what the fuck is going on. Some dude in overalls is tap dancing. He's a “railway cat” cause he's a conductor or something. I physically cannot do this. I'm dying on the inside. A light inside me is slowly fading. Countless abhorrent musical numbers. Too many for a man to take. To put things in perspective, I did not like Hamilton. Did I respect it for what it was? Of course. Not my cup of tea though. Hamilton was a great musical, arguably one of the best, and I did not enjoy it whatsoever. Now here I am watching Cats. Just a little perspective.

As I came to the end of the movie I saw that I missed all kinds of things. There was a love plot, some kind of contest, and villain. But that didn’t concern me. All I could focus on was how I wasted an hour and a half of my life. 

An hour and a half wasted on this.

Do you think God left us because he feared what he created? I sure as hell do. The philosophers were right. Everyday Pantheism is making more and more sense. And if not that nihilism. God is dead. God is most certainly dead. Don’t believe me? The GIF above is all the proof you need.

I was hoping that for once one of these blogs would have some sense of conformity. Some sort of cohesion. Maybe an ounce of legitimacy. But I couldn’t. There is something about these movies that drain the life from you. Every second spent looking at my computer screen I felt brain cells dying. I might as well have drunk a whole 750 milliliter bottle of Everclear. That or bang my head against a wall for 15 minutes. Either would have been just as effective; and probably more efficient.

I thought that I could improve upon the quality of my blog. When I reread my old post I realized that they had no depth. I thought maybe it was me. Right? I was 15, What did I know about good writing? No. It never had anything to do with me. Movies like Cats are such horrendous abominations of human creation, that there is literally no way to talk about them with any form of professional effort. They are shallow. There is nothing to analyze. How can you analyze garbage? Art requires respect if it wants to be reviewed and judged accordingly. Cats and films like it don’t have my respect and never will. I type this with immense pleasure. Never again. Never will I ever put myself through this bull again. Thankfully, for the last time. I can ask Why Tho?