#which is a fucking miracle for the entertainment industry

[wazzuppy]

i really love scott fellows' approach to live action film making, because he's not only willing, but completely excited to to stretch reality and the audience's suspension of disbelief. like he's workered on a lot of cartoons where things like over the top humor and wild slapstick are much more common, and he inserts those things into his life action work too. he didnt care if it looked fake as long as it was fun and i really respect that. it added such a specific charm to his shows that i genuinely don't think all that many directors have managed to bring.

#tara says stuff #scott fellows #neds declassified #neds declasified school survival guide #ned's declassified school survival guide #big time rush #btr #btrtv #literally he made what are-- in my opinion-- all of the most charming and endearing nickelodeon sitcoms #and he did all that WITHOUT traumatizing his child actors!! #which is a fucking miracle for the entertainment industry

[paisholotus]

Is this all do you do? Fucking complain about blacks not getting enough of recognition and representation. Don't you people have enough?

A broke college student that writes "stories" on a fuck ass app. You not a real author! Lol

🥱 WHEW! Chile Hollon!

Wow, you seem irritated. But first, let's unpack a few things.

1) For one thing, it's "black people", not "blacks." Lets show some respect, you Neanderthal!  Black people are deserving of all the Love, Recognition, and Representation that we are denied on a daily basis!

I DON'T EXPECT YOUR KIND OF MUTATION TO UNDERSTAND THAT! BECAUSE EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK, WHITE PEOPLE ARE HONORED AND PRAISED FOR THINGS THAT BLACK PEOPLE DO BETTER AND HAVE DONE BETTER SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME!

so I'll keep praising Black Women and Black Men because we DESERVE THAT SHIT!

"Don't you people have enough?" LOL Lawd.

2) According to many Black Professionals attempting to build and sustain a career in film and TV, the industry has been a relatively hostile workplace. While some progress has been made in recent years with on-screen talent, and while several entertainment companies are beginning to make strides toward diversity, inequity persists and is deeply entrenched across the film and TV ecosystem.

Furthermore 67% of Americans across political ideologies and ethnicities believe there is a greater need for on-screen representation of, Black men, Black Women, Black teenagers, Black gay women, Black gay men, Black transgender women and men, and Black non-binary or genderqueer individuals, and finally Black men and Women with disabilities.

Any Black person working in ANY FIELD. It don't got to be just the flim industry. It's Black doctors, Lawyers, Teachers, Musicians, and Entertainers, etc etc. Any recognition given to Black People is the BARE FUCKING MINIMUM!

Because Black young girls and boys should not think, "WHAT A MIRACLE! THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO LOOK LIKE ME DOING THINGS THAT WHITE PEOPLE BE DOING!" Because it's something we SHOULD HAVE ALWAYS BEEN SEEING! BLACK PEOPLE DAMN NEAR CREATED EVERY FUCKING THING AND DON'T GET NOT A LICK OF PRAISE FOR IT!

So that's why I "complain" and "moan" and "bitch" about something BLACK PEOPLE SHOULD HAVE ALWAYS FUCKING GOTTEN, BUT INSTEAD WE GET THE MEASLY "here you go here's your flowers since you keep complaining." BY ENTITLED WHITE SALT SETTLERS.

AND FINALLY 😂😂😂 "a broke college student who writes 'stories' on a fuck ass app. Not a real author."

3) I am currently pursuing my Bachelor's degree while attending college on a 10k scholarship in order to become a certified English Teacher. As well learning to become a published Author. This Tumblr and wattpad shit is just a hobby, okay? It isn't apart of my every day life. It's something I do to escape and communicate with people.

I was Valedictorian of my whole grade, maintaining a 4.5 GPA which got me my scholarship. AND THAT'S ON WHAT? MUTHERFUCKING BLACK EXCELLENCE 👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾👏🏾 BITCH DON'T YOU EVER PLAY WITH ME!

AND THAT GOES FOR THE REST OF YOU RACIST IGNORANT SEE THROUGH AMPHIBIANS. BECAUSE Y'ALL BE PLAYING WITH ME SIDEWAYS AND FRONTWAYS.

but it's my pleasure to read you people to FILTH! Because I'm on winter break, I GOT TIME!

And to my Boos that follow me how your day been? Hope it was great!

#black reader #black writers #black representation #black excellence #self post #black tumblr #tumblelog #black girls #shuri x black! reader #wakanda x black reader #peaky blinders x black reader #mha x black reader #narnia x black reader #twilight wolf pack x black reader #avatar the last airbender x black reader #percy Jackson x black reader #poc reader #poc writer #racist not welcome here 🙅🏾‍♀️ #ignorance #racisim

[ramrodd]

Watch: Fran Drescher delivers fiery speech on SAG-AFTRA strike

COMMENTARY:

Fran Drescher is exactly correct.

Here is something that is important to undersand: Vietnam came down to a contest between Marxism and the Harvard MBA business model and Marxism won.

The Harvard community has never come close to entertaining that notion. everyone knows that the draftees fucked up Vietnam, which is why we have an All Volunteer Military that is 40% in favor of a January 6 do-over.

Now, that's a related issue of the Ivy League Socialism of the Fortune 600, but not the singular issue in the SAG/Studio negotiations. The singular issue is that the Studio executives are negotiating from the basis of the business model of the Harvard MBA program within the context of the white supremacist agenda of the Ivy League Socialism of the  Ivy League. This is the same business model that lost to Marxism  The Studio exeecutives are using a business model that may have still been state of the art when women began to play half-court basketball, but it still proved  inadequate to Marxism, Strategically

Fran Drescher, on the other hand, represents a strategic and operational  model that come back with W. Edeards Deming as Quality Assurance  that the Fortune 500/Studio executive began to shove into the workers laps through the HR models of Rosabeth Moss Kantor, among others, on the basis the TQM and TQL could replace organized labor, based on the fact that MacArthur had written the Japanese Constitution to forbid industrial organizations like SAG and the Teamsters at UPS, wo they figured the Quality Assurance miracles Deming was able to perform was done without unions.

Wht American executives and Free Market evangelicals didn't understand was that the companies had to invent a cultural equivalent of organize labor to make Demings system to work, which, of course, they did , And all the team b building these Ivy League socialists have been feeding into the workers have crated 21st Century organizations whose only dysfunctional element is their subordination to the fallacies of the Harvard MBA program of the Studio executives. The community of organizations tht are supported by the SAG/WGA and Teamsters payrolls are operating as Green New Deal enterprises that is propping up the Model t economics of Ray Dalio at the leading edge of the Harvard MBA operating performance model.

Any CEo in a  publicly traded company who is being compensated more than 60 - 80 times the floor wage is stealing from the stock holders, the customers and the people who actually crate the wealth, the workers. This is what Ivy League Socialism looks like and that's what Fran Drescher proposes to replace.

Fran Drescher is proposing something right out of Apollo 11 and  the Studio Executives want  to replace it with Ray Dalio's  Model T Ivy League Socialism

#youtube

[laele25]

Bad weekend

I don’t hate my life.  I have a wonderful son and husband.  I have a decent roof over my head and food, which depressingly puts me way ahead of far too many of countrymen.  I even have the luxury of video games and other forms of entertainment to inform and distract me.

But on bad days, I hate my body.  Not in the body image sort of way.  I have accepted long ago I am obese and with my mixed success with weight loss, that is not likely to change any time soon. I go out so rarely, I could care less what people think about about my appearance.  My husband loves me and still wants me and that is all that matters.

I hate fibromyalgia. I hate migraines.  I hate IBS.  I hate never feeling relaxed because my pain sensors are constantly firing off, making all my muscles constantly tense.  I hate that I can’t take deep breaths or lay on my side for long because of  Costochondritis.   I hate when I’m in so much pain, I can’t stand to have anyone near me, let alone touch me.  I hate that I can’t control my own body temperature.  I hate that showering is a painful, laborious task.  I hate days when my scalp hurts because the flare is so bad.

Most of all, I hate sleeping for days and still feeling exhausted and in pain. What I hate most of all is that there is almost nothing that can be done.  I can’t have opiates, and they don’t work well for fibromyalgia pain.  I can’t afford medical marijuana on a regular basis, it’s treated like OTC pain meds here since it is legal for recreational use. NSAIDs are useless and I can’t take ibuprofen because of high blood pressure even if it they did help any.

No one should have to live with this kind of pain.  No one.  I was appalled at the opiate crisis because taking away even somewhat ineffective pain killers was condemning other to people to live like I do. 

And the worst part is, going to a doctor or the hospital is pointless and expensive.  Due to the drug industry’s reliance on the addicting properties of opiates to make them rich at all costs, nobody has bothered to develop a painkiller between Oxycotin and Tylenol.  So even if I sought medical help for a relief from severe flare pain, there’s nothing anyone could do if they even believed me.  And there’s a chance thanks to the demonization of chronic pain sufferers from the opiate crisis, I would just as likely deemed a junkie looking for pills than taken at all seriously.

And the first thing any of them would say is ‘Have you tried losing weight?”  Which of course I have. And am.  But when all exercise has a chance of putting me in bed for three days after with excruciating pain, there’s not a lot I can do.  I try to watch what I eat and move around as much as my body tolerates.  It’s kept me from gaining weight, but hasn’t helped me lose any.  And as my husband points out, ‘You need to lose weight’ doesn’t help me during a flare. 

So I suffer and try not to bitch about it too loudly, because everyone who actually cares is ready to offer up unrealistic miracle cures and unsolicited advice. I don’t want sympathy even.  I want people to give enough of a fuck that people like me are suffering to do something about it. Vote for progressives who want to give us universal healthcare.  Vote for making medication cheaper and more accessible for everybody.  And stop telling people like me to ‘think positive’ or suggesting whatever snake oil treatment is in vogue.

I’m sick of being told to ‘try tumeric’ by people who think that’s helping and actually have people help by doing something to change things. 

[somanyerikas]

Nostalgia sells - or does it? About BBC’s rehiring of a previous showrunner for Doctor Who as a marketing strategy

All, right, this is the one where I deal with my issues about RTD’s rehiring from the standpoint of BBC’s business strategy . Brace for passive agression, swearwords, brief history of british television and numbers. So, so many numbers.

Allright, so I already wrote a post about my problem with RTD’s (re)hire from the creative standpoint (it’s here in case you’re interested), but hey, I can bitch about it all I want, but we all know what caused the BBC to make this decision, right? You’ve heard about it for sure. The Dropping Ratings. You’ve read about it on so many posts, lots of them probably oh-so-gladly conflating this fact with their own opinion about the deteriorating quality of the show. (Don’t worry, we’ll get to that.) So Obviously the execs at the Big BBC Quarters needed to do something about it, and what better way to go than rehire a guy who’s run at Doctor Who is a warm childhood memory for so many in it’s fanbase? After all, it’s what we’re seeing nowadays: from Star Wars return to wave of 80′s nostalgia to every old blockbuster star doing a comeback, there is but a single conclusion - nostalgia sells.

Or does it?

Part One: Moving with the change; or very much refusing to.

Let’s start this off with some facts about the ratings for Doctor Who. (Well, I warned you there’s gonna be numbers, didn’t I. Stick with me, I’m going somewhere with this I promise.) In it’s beginnings, in the sixties and seventies , the series flown high, averaging a viewership from 8 up to 10 million viewers per season. Collin Baker’s series 17 brought in a record of 11.21 milion viewer asses in front of a good ol’ TV screen, real champagne opener here. But, as it happens, things were downhill from here. During the eighties, the rating started dropping steadily, reaching an all-time low of 4.15 milion couch-warming bottoms in 1989, the last season of the classic era. 

Years passed, 16 of those years to be exact, and here comes our saviour RTD. Under his wings, the revived series premiered, bringing in over 10 milion viewers to the premiere episode of season 1, Rose. A viewership this high did not last for long, but still, RTD’s seasons averaged between 7 and 8 milion viewers per season, which seemed pretty respectable. But then, as the story likes to repeat itself, not unlike the bbc execs just did, along came the decline again. Ever since 2010, the ratings began steadily dropping again, from 7.95 in 2010 to 5.46 in 2017. Then DW experienced an unexpected peak in 2018 with the premiere of Jodie Whittaker’s first season, which averaged 7.96 viewing asses, but then continued the dropping trend on the next season, averaging 5.40 viewing butts.

So what went wrong?

You see, part of the reason that Doctor Who was bringing in such great viewership numbers in the 60′s and 70′s, was that, to put it simply, BBC did not have much competition. Or, to be exact, only had one competitor. ITV was literally founded in order to break BBC’s monopoly over British television. But in the 80′s, with the launch of Channel 4 and Sky, the british viewers had more and more options to choose from. So logically speaking, they no longer had to watch BBC’s programming just because there was nothing else on. There was more and more new programes to boredom-watch. And here’s something y’all need to know about the tv industry: the boredom-watchers, the casuals? That’s the most important demographic. As hard as it might be to swallow, us hardcore fans, forum dwellers and Ao3 gremlins, we’re not as big of a group as we’d like to think. Loving fans are important to the tv execs as providers of word-of-mouth advertisment, but the real numbers come from the casual, everyday viewer who will just put on the next episode cause the other one was kinda fun I guess. Or more fun than the other options, anyway.

And this is why, by the way, when someone is conflating low viewership with the show Dissapointing The Fans, they’re full of shit. I’m sorry, but we’re really not that much of a force here, definitely not enough to make such a big impact on the numbers. Another factor, that some of you probably noticed already, is that the numbers I’m quoting are from british tv only, while the online fandom is very much international, so our opinions matter even less to the british execs, I’m sorry again, hard pill to swallow I know, but true nonetheless.

But I digress. So, to sum up the previous paragraph, Doctor Who’s viewership decline in the 80′s was the effect of the changing landscape of the TV industry, with which the BBC struggled to come to terms with.

Sound familiar?

Let’s move on to the 2010′s, shall we?

2010 was is actually a good marker of a year to choose, because it marks one important thing that begun a big change in the industry. This was the year in which Netflix expanded their services overseas, from being a DVD rental company to providing VOD services. Over the next decade streaming services grew in importance, from being an add-on to your cable TV that you didn’t really want but they were throwing it in for cheap, to very much self-sustainable media services you might very well buy instead of buying the cable. And if you look at the numbers for Doctor Who viewership declining over the last 10 years, that’s precisely what’s been happening. It’s not that people don’t want to watch Doctor Who on tv, they don’t want to watch tv in general. Do you know what was the most popular channel in Britain this year? Can you guess? Fucking Netflix that’s what. It’s just slowly-yet-steadily ceasing to be the way we use home entertainment anymore. Again, not much to do with the audience approval, because for that matter, let’s see about the specific episodes that saw the spikes in viewership. 

Rose, which i mentioned at the start of it, was for the longest time the unquestionable queen when it comes to viewership, at 10.81 milion. The next episode, The End of the World, pulled in 7.97 - almost 3 millions worth of lost viewer-butts in one week? Is it because it was so much worse than it’s predecessor? No, it simply did not have the smell of Newness, the Event You Must See, and as such brought forth less of the casual viewers who were simply curious about The New Thing. The next season followed the similar formula, peaking at the premiere, when the marketing was at it’s strongest, going down during the season, sometimes rising slightly for the finale, sometimes not. The most popular episodes are, of course, the specials - yet again, the vibe of The Event To Be Seen worked here, but one more thing working to their advantage is they often aired in spaces between seasons, serving as both a long-waited Crumbs of Content for the fans, and the basically stand-alones for the casuals. Do you know what the single most watched episode of revived DW is? No, it’s not Tennant’s goodbye with the role (yeah I know, I thought it had to be that as well). It was Voyage of the Damned, between seasons 3 and 4. The perfect standalone for the casual watcher. And last but not least, you know one more special feature that brought, maybe not as much, but definitely more than expected? The 1996 movie Doctor Who, with 9.08 million. Again, a perfect standalone.

But the standalones aren’t the only way to grab the viewership. The currently-highest viewing non-special episode of DW? The Woman Who Fell to Earth, Jodie Whittaker’s introduction. In 2018 no less, in the year when the streaming was the ruler supreme, this episode brought a whooping 10.96 million buts to the good ol’ TV again. Let me reiterate: this episode brought in more viewers than Rose did in 2005, while having WAY more competition and way less favorable circumstances of release that RTD’s debiut did. Not only that, it managed to bring on some numbers for the entire season as well, not as good of course as the premiere (because again, the Event vibes faded), but still brought a better average than the last six seasons did. (Again, let me reiterate: more than the last SIX seasons. More viewership than any series since 2010, since the Streaming Wars.) So clearly, this must be the way, right? Catering to this Weird New Trend, that saw directors notice there do in fact exist other actors than white men, that surely brought in some profit, even Marvel does it now, right? Out with the old, in with the new!

Part 2 The Deceitful Charm of Nostalgia

Well, it turns out the whole Doing New Things deal didn’t work out that well after all, now did it? The second season penned by Chibbnal averaged 5.40 milion, that’s 2.5 million drop from the previous one! It must mean it didn’t work, right? Well, yes and no. As much as the refreshment of the formula as simple as Let’s Put A Woman In It absolutely worked for one season, it very visibly did not hold up for longer. An Event-Episode is something that can still happen on TV, Event-Series? That’s pretty much reserved for streaming now, if you think about it, and it’s honestly kind of a miracle that Series 11 did as well as it had. Two consecutive Event-Series on network tv? Flat out impossible. 

So how to make those ratings great again? How to get those butts in seats of the Good Ol’? Well, the execs of the BBC have a plan for that. They brought in a devouring beast, and it’s name is: Nostalgia.

Without a doubt, there is a number of people who feel nostalgic about RTD’s era of Doctor Who. It’s a lot of people’s fond childhood memory, or the series they started with, and judging by the numbers, there should be quite a lot of them. So the new plan, as it appears, is to get to those who maybe lost interest in the show and lure them with the promise of the thing That Is Totally Like The Thing You Used To Love, Remember? (This is why I don’t actually think that RTD will be allowed to do anything new and interesting, that’s not what they hired him for. And that’s why I think this is bad from the creative standpoint.) So there are two questions here: One, will the people be lured? And two, for how long?

Nostalgia as a marketing strategy is something that you’re probably sick of seeing already (I know I am). But it has very much been effective on many levels, especially the eighties-baiting, Stranger Things style, can bring a new IP up to relevance. But what about old IP’s that want to have a comeback? 

It’s kind of dificult to find another TV show that I could compare to Doctor Who. Most series that have been running for that long are mostly soap operas, that operate on slightly different rules, and are also targeted to a different audience. So as much as the movie series is still not exactly the best comparison, when I think about a big IP, campy sci-fi, family-oriented (at least in theory) on its path back to relevance, I think about Star Wars, obviously. The Force Awakens gambled on that nostalgic feeling and won big, but the next two movies, while still financially successful, were nowhere near the astounding success of the first one. And that’s because - you guessed it - it created the Event You Must See again, The Great Comeback, but merely two years later, the comeback became old news. So what we can gain from that is that nostalgia can create an Event as well as a new trend, if not better. But the question remains: how long will that last?

That is, after all, the main difference between a movie franchise and a TV series in the traditional, network TV sense of the word: movie franchise must bring in the viewership every year or two, and TV series must bring in viewers every week for at least two months. Is RTD’s Nostalgia Vibes enough to provide for that?

I’ll say this: I’m absolutely certain that the 60th anniversary will be very popular. I still don’t think it will break any records because, as I’ve been trying to explain for this whole post, it is not 2007 anymore no matter how much the tv execs would like it to be. But ironically, the almost-certain success of the special is the very thing that could undermine the effect of bringing their precious Nostagia Boi back onboard. Remember, the first Event Episode is The Big Oof. That’s the one that gets asses to the Good Ol’, if anything ever does. After the first big event one, that’s the point when things start going down. They’re wasting their Special Event Boi for something that already would be an event, dear fucking gods, I hate your plan and I would still execute it better. Either have RTD be the Anniversary Guy and then hire someone new, use that hype and keep it going, OR have RTD come in after the anniversary, then at least you get the Event Effect for the premiere of his first return season. Fukin’ amateurs.

But even if they did that, here’s the thing: do you think that the people who departed from the show years ago actually want to watch another three to five seasons of The RTD Show? I mean, I’m sure the thought warmed some hearts, for sure. A number of people will definitely gladly watch the anniversary, probably the first few episodes of the first return to the basics, but after that? In the world when, due to streaming, they have an easy way to revisit the actual thing they’re nostalgic towards? I honestly don’t think so. And you’re not really gonna get many new people by going back, if that nostalgia factor isn’t there. And then there’s casual viewers, the backbone, as we established. And here’s the thing: lots of those people don’t even know who the current showrunner is, cause they’re not Terminally Online like we are, and the second thing? Lots of those people ARE JUST NOT WATCHING NETWORK TV, IM SORRY GARRY. They’re just. They’re just not. I don’t know how to spell it out better. Even my mum has netflix now. Your biggest base is in another castle mate, gotta get moving and gotta get moving quick, cause here’s another thing: all the nostalgia in the world will not do SHIT for you if your target, people who were kids/teens when the RTD era was airing, PROBABLY DON’T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING TV ANYMORE CAUSE THEY MOVED OUT OF THEIR PARENTS FLAT AND LOTS OF YOUNG PEOPLE JUST DON’T BOTHER. Just. I’m sorry but you’re trying to resuscitate a decade-deceased corpse there buddy. It just won’t work. The times have changed and you gotta swim or drown, and it’s just not gonna be 2005 again, no matter how hard you pretend it is. It’s not your content it’s your business model. Just push more marketing for your iplayer or whatever, focus on streaming as your primary not your secondary cause that’s just what it is now, and maybe don’t rely on the viewer-counting systems of the yesteryear to evaluate your business. Or else you’re gonna get stuck sacrificing the creative growth of your show for a marketing strategy that probably won’t even fucking WORK.

There, I got it of my chest. Feel free to reblog, and also: you somehow got to the end of this, congrats! I’ll make numbers nerds out of y’all yet.

#it's like. my sister and I were #watching a movie lately. the one with multiple will smiths and the de-aging tech #(don't recommend it it's real boring) #but when Youngened Will Smith appeared on the screen my sister got my spiting my tea laughing by innocently saying: #"oh i don't know this actor. it's nice that they're giving opportunities to the young actors. great to see a new face in the biz'' #and u know what #this rehire is the same fucking vibe to me #some cunts from marketing plastering make-up to an old man's face and pretending its 2005 still #anyway #doctor who #i guess.

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Together 4: Glass.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

CW: explicit language and content, torture, captivity, wounds, implied sex work, strangulation, choking, suicide (hanging), suicidal thoughts/explicit planning, mouth whump description (bleeding, asphyxiation, choking), breathing, attempted noncon, bruises, beating, conditioning, dehumanization, noncon touching, drugs, alcohol, multiple whumpees, multiple whumpers, whumpee as caretaker, letmeknowifimissedany

August once asked what they do to me. Mouthed it, like he couldn’t stop himself from forming the words, but didn’t bother voicing it out of horror or just because he knew I couldn’t answer. I wouldn’t fucking know where to begin anyway.

Probably down on my knees.

At this point, our situation boggles my mind even more than when they trained me to be silent. That was logical when you psychoanalyzed it but shit got fucked sideways when August came into the picture. It’s just senseless now, an unending labyrinth of manipulation and control. Double the captives means double the fun. I was lucky to be alone for so long. There were two others before him but never like this. In the grand scheme of things, they’re all mere drops of water in the swimming pool of my time here. It was another woman first, although I never learned her name. She seemed like a Tiffany or a Heather and was really pretty, too but never trusted me. Wouldn’t even look at me, as if I wasn’t just as much of a prisoner as her.

Poor thing was in the wrong place at the wrong time and saw something she shouldn’t have. She didn’t last long at all. Unraveled faster than you can say, “Money’s on the table.” You’d think she’d have a little more grit. I mean you hear stories and can only imagine the shit they put up with in that industry, but it was like something out of an exorcist movie. Crying hysterically, throwing herself at the walls and doors, and trying to strangle the life out of me like I was sitting on a key. They came in and intervened but not before she’d purpled my neck so I could barely breathe. That was the only time they ever took the shock collar off. She spent the next bit catatonic and then one day when they brought me back, she was dangling by her own diamond-studded jeggings from a pipe on the ceiling, toes just a few inches from the ground. Damn slow way to die. They took out the pipe.

I’ve given it a hell of a lot of thought myself. She’d obviously been trying something similar with smacking herself into the concrete walls, but that will only get you a concussion that makes it feel like you’ve gone a few rings deeper into Hell. No, thank you. My choice would be the naked lightbulb on the wall, next to the door. If I shoved it far enough down my throat before it broke, I’m pretty sure I would asphyxiate before they could do anything. The key would be to bleed enough into my bronchial tube and inhale enough shards of glass to shred my lungs a bit. A little internal bleeding down my esophagus wouldn’t hinder the cause but certainly wouldn’t be fatal on its own, never mind the risk of just cutting my tongue and mouth to ribbons if it breaks too early. In that case, I’d be fucked. That’s why Wyatt leaves it there, uncovered, even though other lightbulbs down the hallway have metal cages screwed over them. Tempting me to risk it. He also knows that, now, I’d never leave August. I feel responsible and that’s why he holds my life in his hands. The torture will never stop and August is better off with me to take care of him in whatever way I can, even if it doesn’t even come close to reparation.

—

The next guy was probably mid-thirties and built like a truck. I can’t begin to imagine what he did to wind up here. He didn’t take to captivity well either. Everything they’d put into him, he’d let out onto me. The first time, he was angling to get a sweeter kind of release than just wailing on me. I was pretzeled around one of the legs of my bed frame, while he punched and clawed at me, so hell-bent on not letting go, I was screaming my head off for help despite the collar. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Wyatt doesn’t like anyone to touch me. That went over like a lead balloon. Playing off his proclivity like somehow I had any right to decide not to be raped. Wyatt would have stopped it anyway and I could have saved myself the next few days of my bunkmate beating the living shit out of me undisturbed as long as he left it at just that. As soon as Wyatt decided I’d learned my lesson, or was sick of seeing me limping and bruised, that guy was fish food.

The second bed was empty for a long time after that even though I’m sure there were others. Wyatt has a list a mile-long of people he’d like to get his hands on for one reason or another, but I never saw them. Wyatt would still bring me out to toy with me in his usual ways. The buffoons would bring me out when he wasn’t around for entertainment but they know better than to touch me more than cursory shoves to keep me cooperating and even then, more often with their phones or other inanimate objects, rather than their hands. To them, it was endlessly entertaining to get me high out of my mind and mess with me or make me play Emma Fortyhands until I puked all over myself. I should have known Wyatt wasn’t wasting any time during this plateau of suffering. From what August says, he was here for a handful of days, maybe even two weeks, before they made us roommates. Wyatt just talked to him, drilling him for hours. He had been screening him, looking for the perfect match before binding us together in torment.

They always take me first and bring me straight to Wyatt. He likes to talk to me about what he has planned for August, trying to get a rise out of me. Like I’d be dumb enough to think that any amount of disgust or fear on my part would make a lick of difference for August. If anything, Wyatt would double it just for my reaction. Next, Wyatt makes sure I’ll make it through what he has planned for me without passing out. The humane thing would be to give me a second meal or something but instead, he gives me whatever his henchmen have lying around. An unpredictable twist added to my slow destruction. I’m lucky if it’s an energy shot or some gross drink that tastes like fruit-flavored battery acid and leaves me shaking. More often, it’s “just a bump” of something that makes my heart race and the whole session so unbearable I’m screaming in my head at the top of my lungs until I come down.

One time, he gave me a tab of acid. His favorite kind of experiment, the ultimate demonstration of his success. To no one’s surprise, I’m conditioned enough that I still didn’t speak and followed every instruction. That was, no contest, my worst day on this fucked-sideways merry-go-round. I was tripping so hard. Too slow and too fast at the same time, no distinction between myself and everything around me. Wyatt’s barbaric plan turned into a barbaric fuck-up. A small part of me understood what I had done even before I came down and when I stumbled out, I was met by silence instead of the usual dumb peanut-gallery comments. They threw me into the shower after, like always, but left me there for hours since I was still tripping. I was hysterical by the time they let me out. By some miracle, or just Wyatt perversely delaying the end, he had actually called a real doctor.

—

Today, Wyatt hands me a double shot of whiskey because it’s “cute” to watch me struggle when I’m tipsy. I knock it back in one swallow, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that frightens me. He finishes getting me ready and then smacks me on the ass to get me moving. Once I’m in the room, he starts feeding me instructions even though I already know what he wants from me today. This way, he’s in control of my every action, like he’s thinking for me, while I just focus on getting air into my lungs, fighting through the alcohol hitting my bloodstream and burning in my empty stomach. I can throw it up in the shower later if I need to. I just need to survive this.

By the time I stumble out, I’m inevitably a mess. Crying, shaking, and covered in sweat, even on the days I get the raw, straight edge experience. One of the baboons walks me to the small concrete room, empty except the industrial-looking shower head in the ceiling above the drain. The controls are on the outside of the room which is how they make sure the water is ice cold and stays on for exactly five minutes. They take the collar off and I get a bar of soap before they lock me in. It used to be orange soap bars that made my skin feel dry even wet. After that, it was green with the same problem but a stronger smell that clung to me all the time, which wasn’t half bad. Lately, it’s a white, rounder bar, that’s distinctly feminine, and leaves my skin soft, which would be concerning if I wasn’t already too balls-deep in my worst nightmare to care.

I used to dance in and out of the freezing shower while I soaped up but now I stay under the whole time. It’s the only thing that makes any damn sense anymore, the one small touch of reality in this shit storm. I stand under the frigid water and then shake and shiver once it’s turned off until the cold becomes a buzz on my skin and in my veins. Depending on the day, I wait for seconds or hours until they toss me a small, scratchy towel and clean clothes. The waiting is part of it. Not because I’m covered in goosebumps, muscles cramping so that I have to curl in on myself for heat, but because of what I know is waiting for me next.

When they finally let me out and lock me into the collar, it’s all I can do not to run back to our basement hole as fast as my legs will carry me to make sure August hasn’t bled out or gone into shock while they kept me from him. It’s all I care about anymore, helping him survive, making him as comfortable as possible. Honestly, it is the least I can do. It’s my fault he’s here at all, kept to be part of a set. Not to mention the heinous torture. If I had known, I would have done my damndest to kill him before it ever even started.

And I would have inhaled that fucking lightbulb immediately after.

Previous — Masterlist — Next

Taglist: @deluxewhump

#whump #whumpees #multiple whumpees #caregiver #hurt/comfort #mouth whump #is mind whump a thing #captivity cw #dehumanization cw #torture cw #angst #drugs cw #suicide cw #alcohol cw #emmas a badass #emma and august

[sanstropfremir]

kingdom episode 3 baby!!!!

listen. i’m not gonna lie i was nervous as hell for this episode. i saw that preview like everyone else and unfortunately i have ears so i was convinced the ateez stage was going to be a trainwreck. i was absolutely banking on sf9 and skz to do something even mildy interesting to save me from the ear damage and having to talk to extensively about why that disaster happened. but somehow i woke up in an alternate universe and you know what? with the exception of that high note the ateez stage fucked. i know. i don’t believe it either. i think i’m still in shock.

i’ll do individual breakdowns in order of favourites within the episode and then at the end i’ll put my personal ranking of all six. thank god i don’t have to do a stage breakdown again; if they change it again for next week i will scream.

ateez

a miracle happened. i don’t have to fight any of the staff at kq. i don’t understand either. jongho is so fucking lucky that the rest of the group pulled all that energy out of their asses because if they had been even a single iota less serious about it that stage would have flopped worse than a dead fish. i can’t believe we got this level of camp b movie schlock in the first full stage, and they stuck the landing. incredible.

fine i’ll address the elephant in the room. personally, i don’t think jongho is that good of a vocalist. he’s not bad, and he does have the potential to be a good vocalist, he just doesn’t have the training, and this is the issue with all of ateez. hanya talked about this before and i’ll say it again: he can’t switch to his head voice and he’s destroying his vocal cords by attempting to hit notes in his mid range that he should just jump to head voice for. frankly i’m surprised he got anywhere close to that note in his mid, but his technique is just not there and he’s gonna do some real damage to his voice if he doesn’t take a break and also get a good vocal coach. you can already hear the degradation in sound from their debut stage to now, and that’s in less than three years. ok i’m done talking about vocals that’s hanya’s turf, i’m pretending that that high note doesn’t exist and we’re moving on. also im in love with btob’s reaction it was fucking priceless.

costume

look, i have a one track brain and that brain can only think about seonghwa corset. seonghwa corset? seonghwa corset.

i know it’s not a real corset nor is it properly laced and i know this would never happen in a million years but a kpop mr pearl trend? i would die. just fully expire. there’s no coming back from that for me

yes i have laced boys into proper corsets before and yes it is as hot as you think it is (when it’s not work related, obviously)

ok now that i’ve got that out of my system for the moment, the costumes are actually pretty good. i’m a little obsessed with hongjoong’s coat although I know it’s stupid. fur? always, I love it, you’ll never change my mind it makes everything better. i own a lot of it and i wear it all the time. this is also a pretty good example of how to do a more modern styling within a very specific and recognizable genre.

i don’t hate the backup dancers’ costumes either, even though they would look a lot better in a not-pirate themed hiphop stage. because there is already a modern tint with the boys’ costumes, it’s not that much of a leap to the dancers, and they actually use the dancers and the camera really strategically to not put much focus on them.

the only real standout issue is the blacklight/contortionist moment, which is too gimmicky for me and doesn’t fit the rest of the theme. i do understand the purpose of them: you need a transition point from the upper deck to the more fantastical inner ship area, and blacklight paint is a really easy, cheap, and fast way to get four new costumes instantly. do i think they could have done something better though? yes.

set

this was actually a smart reuse of that pirate ship set. i know i clowned on them in the first stage that they could move on from the pirate gimmick but honestly? i’m glad they didn’t. this was fun as fuck. but also two stages was enough you can move on now.

i love how they actually used the weird double stage function that the false prosc creates for an actual architectural and narrative effect, instead of just sort of operating as though it’s just another place to travel just because you can. we are on the deck of the ship, and then we go inside the ship. it’s simple and effective. you don’t need to do a crazy amount of crossover to establish a dynamic sense of place.

i hate the ateez kingdom logo. i hate the ateez logo in general. get it out of there, at least you could have made something more fun and pirate themed.

would have loved to have seen them return to the hourglass at the end, especially if they got one that was specifically set for 4 minutes. would have been a nice bit of symmetry but i suspect it was struck before the kraken bit.

the kraken bit??? i was not at all expecting that and honestly? dope as hell. that big tentacle is just a custom inflatable santa claus that you see around christmastime and what a brilliant use of such a simple mechanic, especially to have it come through that weird little triangle arch they have upstage. smart way to use the existing architecture.

yes it is a gimmick but here’s why it works rather than just looks tacky like every other gimmick we’ve seen so far: it had a function within the narrative. this is so important. show us there’s a reason it’s there!

lighting

i didn’t love it but they did actually make some smart choices. the outer deck is warmer toned and has some good atmospheric effects, and the inner deck is cold tone and specifically lit with pin lights to imitate the light coming through portholes in an actual ship, which is so smart thank you lighting designer

also a very clear arc with the lighting, blue -> orange -> blue/red -> orange/multiple -> blue

sound

i actually kinda liked this remix? it fit theme and had a very clear dramatic arc. also i like wonderland, so sue me.

staging

WE DID IT, WE FINALLY GOT A CLEAR NARRATIVE FROM AT LEAST ONE GROUP! wonderland was actually a great choice for them because it’s a really good indicator of exactly how hungry they are. i was a bit worried that it would fall flat because it kinda rides on mingi but they actually pulled it off. i have literally no idea where they pulled all that energy from but holy shit you can practically lick the attitude off the screen. i’m also very impressed by the amount of information they managed to fit into that four minute narrative. we had a full conflict/climax/resolution, as well as a really clear understanding of the tenacity and drive of the group, as well as the desire to support one another in achieving their goals. bravo.

ok so like i said in the set section, they used that pirate ship bridge really effectively to create two different but connected spaces. this is a really smart way to make it seem like you have two spaces while having to only build one set. it was also one of the best ways to utilize this dumbass stage so it doesn’t just look like you’re running arbitrarily from area to area because you can.

also levels! levels are so important for staging but also hard to do in this context because you have to be able to move really quickly in and out of full group formation, but I think they did a really good job here.

continued point: the kraken arm worked because it was the conflict they needed to overcome in the narrative, so it had a function within the performance. also related: all the tricking and jumping also served a purpose within the narrative too. it was either used for fighting (yeosang kicking all those dancers on beat) or a demonstration of teamwork (jongho flinging yunho around on the floor). also frankly excellent use of choreographic formation with the backup dancers, each formation had a specific function and was meant to highlight ateez without being overbearing.

not a whole lot of camera choreo, but a fairly good long take at the beginning and the editing wasn’t too obnoxious which I think was more chance than intent, but i’m not gonna look a gift kraken in the beak.

sf9

i actually really liked this stage, and i really like that sf9 has established their colour as effortlessly elegant, which does set them apart from the rest of the groups. this stage was really choreographically complex and they made it seem so easy, so real props to them. however, like with ikon’s stage, there were a lot of good ideas that just weren’t followed through enough for me.

like ateez, song choice and theme were very well intertwined with this one, there was a lot of thought put into this stage. the pun with ‘jealous’ and ‘jilleosseo’ and having a fairytale/magic mirror narrative? fuckin GALAXY BRAINED. incredible. the implication that not only taeyang but the entire group is the evil queen from snow white? chef’s kiss. should have committed harder and put one of them in massive cloak à la king taemin mama 2020. instead it was subtle enough to not try to step on ateez’s schlocky camp toes but still just as serious and i love that. do i wish they pushed it farther though? also yes.

costume

not gonna lie, i had my reservations on the costumes when we saw the previews of them in the waiting room, but the thing about stage costumes is that they always look bad when not on stage. if they look good in the waiting room you’ve done something wrong. and i loved them on stage. big fan of that quilted vest/pseudo stomacher. please can we have a corset trend? y’all already adopted bondage harnesses, c’mon a little corset won’t hurt. also a good example of a modern spin on a recognizable genre.

i wish the backup dancers weren’t in all black but i am fighting single person battle against the entire entertainment industry on that one.

set

extremely simple with a few smart utilizations. had a feeling this might have been a budget thing, as it had a similar kind of vibe with ikon’s stage, but the use of the mirrors was smart and a fun device that served the purpose of the narrative.

working with mirrors on stage is really fucking hard, so kudos to them for giving it a go. for the most part it was pretty effective. especially with the combo of moving mirrors and moving lights AND moving camera, you’re kind of asking to either blind your audience or at least give them a headache. i once saw a production of the magic flute that had a rotating mirror setpiece and i swear i nearly went blind due to the constantly flashing reflections. you have to really be careful with directionality and reflection, especially with the added element of a camera. also you never use real glass mirrors on stage, it is unbelievably bad luck and theatre people are the most superstitious demographic on the fucking planet.

i kinda loved the draped gold dais. i have nothing else to say about it other than fun!

lighting

a lot of this was very weirdly lit and i’m not sure why. the quality on youtube is terrible and cameras already have trouble picking up detail in low light, and throwing a whole bunch of primary red over that (the colour with the longest wavelength and therefore disappears the easiest in the dark. also human eyes are not very good at distinguishing variations in the red spectrum) and the red costumes made it extremely difficult to tell what was happening.

i will give them props for dramatic lighting usage, especially for the two way mirror trick and for using the floor as a primary lighting source at the end, which i think groups should be using more of. how often do you have a lighting source in your floor!!! almost never!! use that opportunity!!

sound

i actually enjoyed this remix too. it was well suited to the dramatic nature of the stage. i think the sound byte at the beginning is ‘mirror mirror on the wall who’s the worthiest of them all’ but it also could be ‘who’s the worst of them all’ and that would be also fitting and kinda funny.

staging

again, not a lot of consideration for camera choreo in a meaningful way, and like the tbz stage I think the clarity in the actual choreo got hampered by the editing. because there was a lot of choreographic precision that went into making this work and it wasn’t totally obvious from the way mnet edited it.

a lot of them are actors so it works that they’re leaning more towards dramatic stages rather than the sort of performance type stages we’ve seen so far. i like this choice for them as it gives them a very obvious colour but they’re almost on the verge of making it look too easy, which does them some injustice.

next to ateez, using that long uninterrupted traverse was my favourite use of this stage. doubles as an easy way to build the atmosphere of a palace corridor/throne room with the rug, and to feed the drama of the piece.

skz

ok i have some…..things to say about this stage. so far i have not been kind to skz which makes me look like i hate them and i don’t, i promise. there were a lot of really interesting things happening in this stage and there some really successful ones, and i liked this a whole lot better than their intro stage, but their overall choreo and thematic dedication is really killing me. i’ll explain.

costume

I don’t hate them but also…….why? I got the good self vs evil self/internal struggle theme but the costumes don’t really have anything interesting to say about that. as far as modern style costuming goes i think they’re on the more interesting end, but they don’t push it far enough. there’s a few western art history visual motifs and honestly? they should have gone whole hog and whited out their faces/hair and made them look like classical sculptures. that would have been hella fun, especially with that little statue and marionette sequence, plus the shadow/leash manipulation.

this time it was actually intentional that the backup dancers were in blacks and i appreciate that.

why on EARTH did they have that ridiculous makeup that didn’t read on stage? theatre makeup and tv makeup are different, you can’t just do a light purple eyeshadow and expect to read under blue and red light. someone needs to bring an actual theatre makeup artist in and get these boys in some real crazy looks. see previous point about full-face white pancake. more extreme makeup please and thank you!

set

i liked the use of internal architecture within this massive weird stage space and they used the corridors quite well. i didn’t really like the mix of baroque scrolling and also graffiti, it wasn’t quite connected for me. this has been a common theme among this round and i think it comes from budget/props pulls rather than anything else.

also there was a distinct feeling of trying to fill the main stage space with bodies as opposed to atmosphere. this can work in some specific cases but the intent wasn’t strong enough for me. it just felt like a lot of people on stage, especially in the end choreo.

lighting

the general lighting was fine but not particularly inspired. the low light in the beginning was actually quite well done, especially combined with the fog, but in my opinion was not dramatic enough. you have a pseudo art history theme happening, pump that contrast and push the chiaroscuro!

ok stay with me, i’m gonna say something extremely controversial that might actually get me cancelled. s*per j*unior’s burn the floor did everything this stage was trying to do on a smaller scale and better. look i know ok, this is a like, a double atom bomb hot take. just forget everything you know about them and watch the performance video. tell me that’s not some of the most interesting choreo you’ve seen in kpop. if you’re going to work with practical light you need to COMMIT. not just steal the solar lanterns out of my mom’s back garden.

i have a lot of opinions on using practical light and alternate light sources in performance because it’s a huge part of my practice and this just....wasn’t interesting enough for me. push it further!

(I will wait for the subs on the full episode because there has to be a reason they chose that specific shape of lamp. if not i gotta ask jyp why he’s raiding my mom’s garden)

sound

god’s menu has such specific imagery associated within the lyrics and choreography that this stage was a bit dissonant for me. especially when seen in conjunction with two stages where the narrative was tied explicitly to the lyrics of the songs. i think maybe if it hadn’t been grouped with these other two stages i would have felt differently. the other groups chose to do songs were a little more abstract and allowed for more visual experimentation, but to go so blatantly against the food metaphor didn’t really work for me and i had a tough time divorcing the association. I found the arrangement to be a little lacking in energy for me towards the end but otherwise it was pretty interesting.

staging

Definitely a better performance overall that the intro stage. almost all of the gimmicks this time had relevance to the theme which i appreciated. the marionette bit and the shadow/mirror were probably the most interesting but i wish they were better lit.

 there was a lot of back and forth in the blocking that made the stage feel repetitive and also aimless? like there wasn’t a very clearly established directionality within the internal space, so it felt like treading over the same ground for no purposeful reason. and again, not a lot of intentional camerawork.

i really liked having the dancers under the big sheet, it fit well enough within the ‘war between internal selves’ theme, but also had a loose tie to the art imagery. again, i really wish they had stuck to a clearer visual theme. it makes them stick out especially in this grouping of stages, but also across all the groups as whole because almost everyone had a clear(ish) visual idea.

holy shit that’s a lot of backup dancers. i don’t really feel like that many were necessary and the sheer number of them took away from the emphasis of the group. with all of the other stages (except for tbz) it was very clear who the centre of attention and emphasis was, and with both skz and tbz they got swallowed by the sheer scale they were trying to operate at. bigger is not always better.

---

this is a tough round to rank because none of these stages are bad, there’s just some that are, in my opinion, more successful than others. all of these stages do very well in specific elements but fall short in others which also makes this ranking difficult. i’m evaluating these based on whether they were successful to me, as i’m pretty sure this ranking will probably not all be popular opinion, but whatever i like to live on the edge.

btob – visuals, vocals, narrative, swords? what more do you want me to say? also i watched the full episode and minhyuk did rehearsal with a real bokken and i think i am in love with him now.

ateez – honestly not sure if i would have ranked this first if that high note hadn’t been a mess. i love camp nonsense and i genuinely think this was a well designed stage. i can’t believe i keep saying that but it’s true.

sf9 – this stage was really solid, just could have been pushed farther. i think it has a really good sense of drama and it’s a pity that sf9’s colour is more subdued, because i think they’re going to be stuck around the 3rd/4th position for the rest of the show.

ikon – ikon is only ranking this high because although i am disappointed in the wasted potential of this stage, they NAILED the camerawork and actually brought in someone to block the steadicam into the choreo. also they’re incredible performers. i say this every time, but their stage presence, although maybe lower energy that they normally would be, is still not to be fucked with.

skz – i think this one is the most ‘meh’ for me. while i liked a lot of the elements here they just didn’t push it far enough and the lack of narrative and general aimless choreo led to me not having any strong feelings yea or nay.

tbz – to be quite honest the lack of costume unity is a big hit for me. all elements of design are equally as important but because of my personal practice and experience i tend to put a lot of weight on good costume and spatial design. i don’t actually like game of thrones also, so I feel mildly offended on behalf of michele clapton, who had did a fucking incredible job and doesn’t deserve to be slandered like this. also the lack of cohesive choreography and the overblown lighting made this difficult to watch, no matter how good i thought the rear projection/stretch fabric dance was.

 any questions or opinions you wanna share hit me up! see you next week!

#im ready for the angry asks about that s*ju opinion because that is a spicy one #kingdom #kingdom review #kpop analysis #im so surprised by these stages i cant believe ateez stuck the landing #i saw the preview for next week also and the new round looks wild so im ready #text

[highfatminimalist]

Back from the dead

Hi! I’ve been on a break from blog life since October.

I started a new day job in October, so the change in schedule reduced the amount of time I could scroll through tumblr, and I fell out of the habit. I maintained for a while but a couple months ago I kinda fell off and started gaining. Nothing crazy though! Maybe 10-15lbs which is mostly bloat. I still fit all the size 14 jeans that I fit into last year, but i mostly notice the gain in my tummy and face.

I just found out that the cruise industry is opening back up and I’m going to be heading out onto a cruise ship at the end of May!! I really missed singing and the fact that the entertainment industry has been dead for a year has SUCKED. I’ve been supplementing by working a normal day job, along with teaching Zoom voice lessons and doing some vocal session work from home, but there is nothing like performing full time. I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I recommitted to keto yesterday, and I also joined a gym (they’re finally open where I live!), where I’ll be going 2-3 times a week until I leave. I have two months to condition for this contract, and I’m not expecting miracles, but it would be nice to at least get to where I was when COVID hit (around 205), or a baggier fit in my size 14 in jeans.

My game plan for now is to do good ole’ clean keto. A protein powder and berry smoothie for breakfast, and a dinner of meat and veggies, with an optional snack in between. My first goal is to make it to my birthday (mid april) with no cheat days, eat whatever I want for my birthday weekend, and then resume until I leave for my contract at the end of May. At the end of April, I have to complete a physical to return to ships, so that’ll give me a bit of progress check since they’ll be weighing me.

As far as the ship contract goes, I’m going to be working out almost every day (per my contract), so hopefully I can get more fit and get down to a 10/12. The contract is 10 months long, so this is suuuuuper doable. On my last contract, I was already on the way! My costumes were starting to get looser and in the 6 weeks that I was on board, my arms and legs were looking so toned. And then COVID came and ruined it all lol. I mean, it would be cool to get smaller than a size 10, but it would be really annoying if my costumes got too baggy. I’ll settle for a flat tummy lol.

Thankfully, I’ll be in the Mediterranean so it’ll be quite easy to stick to the low carb life! Lots of fresh salads, grilled meats, etc. On my asia contract in 2019 I ballooned because i was 1) super fucking depressed and 2) eating ALL the noodles and rice lol. I have since worked through the issues that trigger me to binge (i was in a not-great relationship), so I’m pretty confident that I’ll be fine.

Very excited to be back on the accountability train! Hope everyone is doing well. <3

#personal

[dfffhgfgh]

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Given time, they could carve out a toehold for themselves up there, throwing up ramparts of their own and dropping ropes and ladders for thousands more to clamber over after them. 14 at Highland: After a rough opening night against Basha, bokacsizma bakancs Corona has a chance to make a move with Westwood, Dobson and Highland before the schedule turns even uglier again. Uncle knew he had to take someone from my home. Tyrion knew eunuchs when he saw them. Some of those users will be in Dallas, as well as Boston, Atlanta, Houston, Seattle and other markets.. Shall . Courts?general reluctance to order divestiture in Sherman Act cases is exemplified by the Supreme Court decision in National Lead, a case the government neglects to discuss. This keeps the computer protected and the and with lovable fashionable and be comfortable at the same time. You may be affected by a class action lawsuit alleging fraud based, warranty, contract, and unjust enrichment claims against The Scotts Miracle Gro Company, Inc. Activities will include the world premier play of "Pearlie the Amazing Oyster" by Storytree Theatre, a Touch Tank of Lowcountry water animals, a meet and greet with the Charleston Waterkeepers Organization, entertainment with Miss Irene Rose on the Pluff a Pallooza stage, the Pluff Mud Craft Tent, the Sweet Grass Palace, Pluff Muddy Buddies balloon animals, Pluff Mud Cookie Decorating, Corey the Stilt Guy, limbo with local mascots, photo opportunities, an interactive noise play area, an air dancer, a jump castle, and much more.. I served with Irishmen from all evro kalkulator over Ireland, all were aware of how they were continuing the long history of the Irish in military service. I haven't seen a complete match involving Big Daddy LaFonce Latham, the star of 'Wrestling With Death' with whom I spoke this week, so I will not pass judgment on the quality of his Mid Southern Championship Wrestling promotion. Edd was back by the time that he had dressed, pressing a steaming cup into his hands. As for Anna Andreyevna, I was completely at a loss as to how I should excuse myself to her next day. When I fought Vonda Ward she had everything to lose and I had everything to gain. Ramsay was Reek then, standing at his side, whispering that he should flay a few of his captives to make them tell him where the boys had gone. The blown up mini van has been brought back to the lab. Despotism has established and sustained much more efficient systems of police than ever a republic did. If you watch TV with any regularity, you probably already familiar with this peculiar product. And the gig, right, was absolutely, fucking, marvellous.. The pleasant, sunny weather will stick around for much of next week. Said boy is black, about 22 years old, very stout and active, weighs about 165 or 170 pounds. The Air Jordan 1 Mid GS "Lola Bunny" is outfitted in a blend of Wheat, Pink Glaze, and Shimmer also featuring a Dark Tan overlay. The screaming caves, his men call them. You are invited to bring your transistor radios to the beach with you to listen as we give local insight to the air show, interview various noted people in attendance and those involved with putting on the show, including the pilots flying the planes. For example, around the world, people often don't like to adopt black dogs, because they see them as bad luck, or they don't want older dogs.". From the context menu of an alias (hold down the Control key and click the alias icon), there are two extremely useful options for working with aliases. 17, 2000, shooting death of her husband, Air Force Capt. Some of the younger negroes sing and dance, but the evenings and holidays are usually occupied in working, in visiting, and in praying and singing hymns. The fiscal cost benefit analysis model has been used for more than a decade when the state offers major discretionary tax breaks to attract jobs.

[dudeandduchess]

I love and hate you so much for this, Biz. 😂✨ 

But here, the product of my brain at 3 AM. The gold llnes like “I’ll squirt in your fucking eye” are Biz’ brain children, so I can’t give y’all golden one liners like she can. 😂

***

Shinjurō x F!S/O: Harsh Revelations (Teletubbies AU Part 2, Slight NSFW Scenario): 

Warnings: Crack, Language, Smut (?), Adult Themes

“Shin! Can you come up here for a second?” (Y/n) asked as she peered over the banister of the stairs inside hers and her husband’s expansive home.

She didn’t even wait for him to reply, nor did she wait for him to come up the stairs— because she knew that he would heed her request no matter what. It was either he obeyed her, or he suffered the consequences of being celibate for the next week.

So whatever (Y/n) wanted, she always got. Always.

And so, with the best poker face that she could muster, she walked back into the master bedroom— where she had laid out the items she’d accidentally stumbled upon in her husband’s ‘work bag’.

“What is it, baby?” Shinjurō asked around a yawn, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw the vibrant red costume laid out on their bed. Right next to it laid a thick sheaf of scripts; all with his name on them, so he couldn’t lie his way out of his predicament.

He’d tried to keep his means of earning a living as secret as possible— by telling his wife and and everyone else that he had gone into the entertainment industry with his son.

Everyone assumed that he meant producing small-time movies and funding indie films; but that couldn’t have been farther from the truth. It was just a miracle that (Y/n) had never made the connection between him and that Teletubbies character he played.

Then again, she wasn’t one to watch any TV shows— even when she was a kid. He’d been doing the same thing for 18 years, and with her being barely 30, there was a possibility that she had skipped watching Teletubbies; what with her already being 12 when it first came out.

“I think I should be asking you that. What’s this, Shin?” (Y/n) asked with a quirked eyebrow, as she motioned to the heap of red felt on top of their crisp, white duvet.

“That’s my...” The older man sighed, as his hands twitched with the need to light a cigarette. He was so stressed out that he couldn’t even think straight. “My work... costume.”

“I thought you went into the entertai- oh, you play Tipsy in the Teletubbies.” At that, (Y/n)’s gaze flickered between the costume and her husband, just as a sly smile curled the corners of her lips.

Without preamble, the young woman grabbed Shinjurō by the collar of his shirt and pushed him down on the bed— where he landed right beside the felt atrocity that was his work costume.

Then slowly, she straddled his hips and held the headpiece in her hands. “Can you put this on? So that I can use your antenna as a dildo?”

Shinjurō’s heart felt like it had seized in his chest at her words; and he could do nothing but stare wide-eyed at her. His mouth fell open and closed, as he floundered around for what to say; only to come up with, “No! You absolutely cannot!”

A scowl immediately crossed (Y/n)’s face at his reply, which made him flinch— especially when her upper lip curled in blatant distaste. “I’m your wife. If I want to use your antenna as a dildo, then I’ll use your antenna as a dildo.”

“You can’t, (Y/n)!”

“Tell me I can’t one more time, Shin,” (Y/n) warned. “I’ll squirt in your fucking eye.”

“But... baby!” Shinjurō tried to protest, only to be cut off when his wife reached into his back pocket to get his wallet. And once the monogrammed leather was in her hands, she reached inside and pulled out one of the two condoms he kept there.

At that moment, he would have preferred to have had her take all of the money in his wallet— rather than a condom.

“Hush, Shin. Put your headpiece on, and put a condom on it... I don’t want fuzz balls in my pussy,” (Y/n) demanded with a laugh, as she flung her shirt off her body and exposed her naked chest to him.

And against his better judgment, he felt himself get hard at the pretty sight that his wife’s boobs made.

“This is payback for keeping this from me for years.”

***

“Dad! You’ve been gone for days!” Kyōjurō yelled frantically as he raced towards his father— whom had just reappeared on set after going MIA for three days.

In response, Kyōjurō merely huffed a sigh and rolled his eyes. And then, in one smooth move, he flipped his eldest son off before walking away.

He would be damned if he told anyone that the reason he’d taken a few days off was to wait for the damn costume to get dry cleaned... after his wife had left so many cum stains all over the headpiece.

“Dad! There’s a huge stain on the back of your costume! It looks like... oh... I didn’t know that (Y/n) was into that sort of stuff.”

#rengoku shinjuro x reader #rengoku shinjuro #shinjuro rengoku #kny shinjuro #shinjuro rengoku x reader #kny x reader #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #jen writes #crack au #teletubbies au

[ficsandcatsandficsandcats]

ok CONCEPT modern jaskier x reader where theyre both the leads of rival bands

Fandom: The WitcherPairing: Punk!Jaskier x Indie!ReaderWord Count: 982Rating: T for swearingTaglist: @heroics-and-heartbreak @whatevermonkey @mynamesoundslikesherlock @magic-multicolored-miracle a/n: I kinda took this and ran with it and used it to introduce a character Joz and I have been planning on bringing to the Vicious Mockery canon for a bit. I’m really excited to see him in their hands at some point. It also introduced some backstory for Aevryn who you may remember from this fic. Enjoy!

“This is bullshit,” Geralt growled, pulling the lineup off the wall of their dressing room. Dressing room was a bit generous, all things considered. It was their first gig that wasn’t a college bbq or someone’s bar mitzvah and they were determined to make the best of things even though they were all pushed into a room to prep.

“Hey I was gonna take a picture of that for the ‘gram!” Aevryn complained.

“Take a picture of this,” Geralt said, chucking the crumpled list into a wastebasket. She rolled her eyes and left to find another setlist somewhere put up in the hall of the hotel that advertised you as a part of the festival.

“Feather Fall isn’t a punk band, why the hell are they here?” Yennefer asked, her anger matching Geralt’s. Jaskier sighed heavily and worried the lip ring with his tongue, a nervous habit he’d picked up since adding the piercing to his growing collection some weeks back.

Feather Fall had started much like Vicious Mockery, bandmates close friends who had started in a garage. Granted, their garage was much nicer than Jaskier’s had been. Valdo, the lead guitarist and backup vocals, famously bragged about their Cinderella story rise in fame, conveniently leaving out the financial backing of his father and the fact that their fame was the same level as Vicious Mockery. This fact irked him and made Jaskier pettily excited for every chance he got to rub it in his face. A chance he got all too often as they continued to be booked for the same spots despite Feather Fall insisting that they were a “Psuedo Post-Punk Indie genre that people didn’t get yet” but somehow they still took the gigs without too much fuss. In short, the bands hated each other.

“Who goes on first?” Yennefer asked. Geralt fished the paper out of the basket and tossed it to her.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she cried derisively. Jaskier walked over and took the paper out of Yennefer’s hands, his eyes darkening and then before either Geralt or Yennefer could say anything more he was out of the room, stalking down the hall.

“Jask?” he heard Aevryn call behind him but he kept going, drawn my sheer anger til he reached the door that had been decorated. Fucking papyrus font. Of course. Bastards.

Jaskier pounded on the door and moments later the door flew open.

“What?” you demanded, holding a stick of eyeliner in one hand, the other clutching the doorknob. He’d interrupted you while you were getting ready and his words stilled in this throat momentarily.

“What is it Jaskier? Vicious Mockery need to borrow an amp or something?” you asked sarcastically.

“How did you do it?” Jaskier demanded, gesturing to the paper still clutched in his fist.

“Do what?” you asked.

“How did you get billed before us? How did you get that spot? We were asked to confirm months ago and were told it was first come, first billed,” Jaskier spat. A mischievous smile played about your lips. It was unreal how attractive Jaskier became when he was angry. You’d give anything to feel the bite of his words against your thighs, sharp tongue lashing out between them.

“Valdo’s dad,” you said simply, unashamed of the nepotism you used to maneuver the cutthroat world of the entertainment industry. Jaskier sputtered angrily and you leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms and watching him with a maddening look of amusement.

“This is bullshit. You’re not even punk,” Jaskier argued. You shrugged, uncaring. You didn’t have to turn to see who walked up behind you, the look of seething hatred in Jaskier’s eyes enough to announce it.

“Ah, Jaskier,” Valdo drawled, chewing the word like a coarse bit of beef, “What brings you around here? Do you need to borrow another amp?”

“That was one fucking time,” Jaskier snapped, “I came to let you know that this shit won’t keep you going forever. At some point you’re going to have to summon a shred of talent to get higher billing and when that day comes you’ll be looking up at us in the pit of one-hit-wonders where you belong.”

“How’s Aevryn doing?” Valdo asked.

“Don’t,” Jaskier warned.

“I’m just saying if I recall correctly she thought we were pretty talented at one point in time,” Valdo teased, green eyes shooting a cold gaze into the hot rage of Jaskier’s baby blues.

“I traded up,” a voice came and all three of you turned to see Aevryn approach, unseen in the heat of your argument. Her face held cool contempt and Valdo balked under it slightly.

“Aevryn, come to see if you can get your job back?” he asked, attempting bravado.

“We have to get ready, Jaskier. And they need to finish getting ready, clearly,” Aevryn said, shooting a meaningful glance at your half-lined eyes.

“Aevryn,” you said, nodding at the woman who had been your friend before everything went to shit as it somehow magically did around Valdo where women were concerned. Well, women and men and nonbinary people and generally anyone who fell prey to his charms which was a staggering list that threatened to never end. She nodded back but turned to give Jaskier a meaningful look.

“Let’s go,” she said. Jaskier nodded and gave you one last look.

“Until next time, Y/N,” he said.

“Break a leg,” you called after his retreating back. He turned back around to shoot you an arrogant look.

“They only say that as good luck in the theater.”

“I said what I said,” you snapped, and you slammed the door in his face, enjoying the wide, pale blue eyes and the way you could still shock him with your thinly veiled threats. One day this rivalry would grow old but for now it fueled you and, Jaskier would never admit, it did the same for them.  

#Anonymous #Punk!Jaskier x Indie!Reader #Vicious Mockery AU #Valdo Marx #jaskier imagines

[sarcasmrights]

The Best of You Belongs to Me

[ao3]

Hello!

Thank you Chelsey for an amazing prompt for the @shyanwritingevents. It's actually the longest fic I've written so far, thank you for the opportunity to write for you!

It's my first try at horror and this fic is mainly inspired by the horror movies The Ritual and Apostle! A good summary of both can be found online, my favorite being from FoundFlix over on YouTube.

Title taken from NFWMB by Hozier.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

The sun is bright on the day Ryan decides to set out in the forest. His friends had urged him to take a vacation from the big city and all its noise, and Ryan agreed with them. Living in LA is great, there’s always sun and something to do but something to do may be what’s giving him extreme creative block. He’s always out, trying to experience an event or show and maybe it’s overloading his senses. Maybe the forest air will do him good.

With his hiking backpack on and walking stick in hand, Ryan sets off on one of the longer trails recommended to him. The crisp air here reminds him of life before the big city, when it was just him and his brother talking about their dreams for the future over actually living with bills and adulthood. He rarely sees his brother now. They work in different job industries and that means Ryan is hunched over his laptop in LA while his brother is in meetings in New York. He can’t even hate him for it.

What he can hate is how quickly everything moves in LA. There never seems to be enough time for Ryan to do things and mean them. He can churn out content for weeks on end, but he’ll occasionally leave his heart out of one, or five. He’ll produce bite-sized entertainment and his colleagues may praise him, saying the videos are funny or interesting, but Ryan hasn’t made something he’s truly proud of in a very long time. Before getting his current position, Ryan had slaved over videos, tweaking them and making editorial notes until his vision was fuzzy and his fingers were working off muscle memory. Each of those had his pride and sweat and, occasionally, blood loaded into them. Nowadays, when his video production meant whether he got to pay for food or rent, Ryan feels like he’s shifted his focus from quality to quantity.

Give them the bite-sized entertainment they want, whether it be a two and a half minute video on the dark history of a popular brand or a summary of the most recent controversy happening in the sports industry. That is his focus now, to get something out there in order to put popcorn on the table. Maybe he should slow down…

Ryan sighs, taking a moment to look up and take a break from his thoughts for a second. The forest stretches expansively before him, looking bright and cheerful. He doesn’t recognize his surroundings and when Ryan turns around, he sees nothing familiar either. He’d been caught up in his own head that Ryan didn’t bother trying to find any markers in case he wound up lost.

“Great,” Ryan murmurs to himself, a voice in his head already asking him why he wasn’t thinking ahead. He scans the path ahead of him, squinting his eyes to see if he can spot any path markers or signs of other hikers. Sunlight cheerfully continues to beam down on him and the flora, getting close to midday since all the shadows are all short. Strange, Ryan doesn’t think he’s been walking for more than an hour and he started the hike at maybe eight in the morning…

Dirt crunches under his shoes as he pivots to stare at where he came from, the same confusion coming to him. There’s nothing that strikes him as recognizable, not even a sign to helpfully say “Civilization 8 miles”. Ryan lets out a long breath from his lips to calm down his nerves and tightens his hold on his backpack strap. It’s alright, he’ll just turn around and walk back the same direction.

As his feet carry him back, Ryan fishes out his phone, internally groaning when he finds no service whatsoever. He’s just about to open a few apps to see if they’ll work but his ankle catches on something, Ryan yelling when he trips over and falls onto his face. Slowly but surely, his relaxing hike is becoming more and more frustrating. He groans and sits up, doing a mental check. Nothing feels broken or hurt save for his ego. Ryan glares at the rock that had tripped him, giving it a vengeful kick before brushing himself off and standing up. Mother Nature is being wily today.

Ryan picks up his walking stick and phone, pulling up the compass app on it and breathes a sigh of relief when it pops up, the digital needle spinning around before telling him he’s heading South. South it is then, at least until he can find someone to ask directions.

The sound of leaves crackling and gravel accommodating him keeps Ryan out of his head for a little bit. Occasionally, a bird sings a melody and Ryan mimics it with a whistle, eyes on the ground to avoid stray rocks or plants. After about twenty minutes of hiking, Ryan takes a second to lean against a tree, fishing his water bottle from its side pocket. Taking a sip, Ryan tries to think of how long he’s been hiking. He’s spent a good majority of the day in this forest and yet he doesn’t feel exhausted. If it really is after midday, he should at least be hungry for a granola bar. His stomach tells him breakfast was just an hour or two ago though.

Ryan looks up when he hears something rustle in the bushes, sure it’s some woodland creature.

That’s when he spots it.

A single overturned rock, dirt and woodchips favoring the side that had been buried once. Ryan caps his water and slowly approaches, realizing with no small amount of horror that it’s the rock he’d tripped over earlier. The same one he’d taken vengeance on. How was that possible, he’s been walking in a straight line the entire time, his compass had been pointing South.

Ryan fumbles his phone out, hurriedly putting his water away and patting the sweat from his palms. The compass app opens, spinning to get its bearings. Ryan watches with bated breath before it finally stops turning, pausing at North. Ryan looks up, making sure he’s facing the same direction he’d been heading. It had said south not twenty minutes ago, how is it saying north now?

It’s broken, Ryan thinks, spinning around in a circle to test his theory. To his horror, the needle remains at North, the app pointedly refusing to budge. Ryan does another spin before a cold horror trickles from the crown his head down his body. His fingertips start to tremor and suddenly Ryan is very afraid.

As if the forest itself knows the jig is up, a thick ominous cloud passes overhead, blotting out the sun. Shadows darken around Ryan, all the soothing noises go quiet. Not a bird tweets, no wind rustles the leaves. Ryan’s hairs are starting to stand on their ends. A sharp crack startles Ryan and he whips around, shifting his grip on the walking stick to turn it into a weapon. Darkness is eating up the forest around him, deep shadows concealing the path he had been on.

“Who’s there?” he calls out, trying to sound more threatening than scared.

He’s not ready for two red eyes to open in the dark, as if the blackness peeled back its own eyelids to stare back. Ryan doesn’t know what to say, only able to watch in horror as more eyes peel back, too close together to be remotely human. Pupilless eyes, dark as cherries, gaze at him and Ryan doesn’t feel an ounce of humanity or safety in their stare. The hiker swallows, tightening his hold on his stick, heart thundering in its cage.

“Fuck!” Ryan shouts, shattering the deafening quiet. He throws the stick at the vague shape, hoping it’s enough of a distraction as he bolts down one of the directions of the path, not caring which way it is as long as he gets away from the thing. His legs pump furiously underneath him, all those years of cardio giving him just a shred of hope to escape. Ryan spares a glance over his shoulder to see how far he is, bile rising in his throat when he sees the blackness chasing after him. In the back of his mind, his brain hears wolves snarling and running. In his chest, his heart feels each and every step the thing takes towards him, taking almost no effort at all to give chase.

Ryan turns to face forward, the air rushing out of his lungs as the ground disappears from under him. All he sees is the rocks and moss on the other side, the steep drop of the cliff. His brain can barely register the fall until Ryan is, in fact, falling. Cold stabbing wind pushes against him, making his eyes water as Ryan tries to think of what to do. What can he do?

The answer is nothing, as the human tumbles down what he sees as a ravine, a shallow trickling river with a maw too small to even try to save him. Ryan’s life doesn’t even flash across his eyes before the ground almost rises up to snatch him, bile once against scratching the walls of his throat.

Through some miracle, Ryan doesn’t land on his head. His legs take the brunt of the impact, shattering instantly. Disgusting (the only adjective his brain supplies) pain spikes through his leg, enough for Ryan to scream “fuck!” into the air as he crumples into a destroyed heap. The side of his cheek splashes in the weak river of the ravine. Pain clouds his vision, Ryan just barely able to feel the first handful of raindrops on his cheek. Are they raindrops, or tears?

Ryan’s eyes flutter open and closed, his backpack straps holding him together like ropes for a hostage. As the same darkness starts to attack the outside of his vision, Ryan’s eyes give one more wander. In the distance, as the rain starts to pour, a tall looming figure seems to be walking towards him. There’s no rush in its gait, no worry at all in its steps. Like people falling in ravines is normal.

Nothing about this is normal, Ryan thinks before his eyes roll black and the hiker blacks out.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Voices click and gargle from somewhere nearby, Ryan barely conscious enough to hear them. It sounds like layers upon layers of voices are speaking at once in one unified dialect. If he tries very hard, he can lift his eyelids just enough to filter an orange light through them.

At once, the voices stop talking, though Ryan doesn’t sense concern or anything warm from them. The silence that fills the void is thick and heavy, almost like a winter duvet being pressed against his body. He’s starting to choke on it, instincts warning him that something is drawing closer.

That’s all Ryan remembers until sleep beckons him back into its arms.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Ryan doesn’t realize his eyes are open until he sees something moving. Then he can make out the fuzzy outlines of a wall, the door in it, and some other scarce furniture of the room.

The figure in question looks almost completely black, its silhouette having no discernible features. He can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman, just that it’s tall and looming in the doorway. He can’t see eyes or a mouth, no ears. Just the shape of shoulders and the prickling feeling that it’s staring at him just as much as he’s staring at it. Once again, Ryan can feel his hairs standing on edge and a gag dancing in the back of his throat. He swallows it. oddly smiling at the figure and huffing a laugh through his nose.

A cheerful hysteria runs through his body. Before he can act on it, his eyes roll back again, and Ryan returns to the dark void.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

A savory delicious smell wakes Ryan up, his eyes slowly opening to a gentle stream of daylight. He’s waking up in his absolute favorite way, starting with stretching out his chest before wiggling deeper into his soft covers. The delicious smell is still in the air, now far too strong to be the remnants of a dream. Had he brought someone home last night? Damn, he’d promised himself to at least remember some names.

Ryan presses against the bed for just a moment longer before sighing, sitting up and swinging his legs over the bed. He fully opens his eyes and blinks, tossing the blanket off of his lap. Weird, he’d gone to bed fully dressed. Did one of his friends wind up having to deal with him for the night? A pool of guilt pools at the base of his throat, an apology forming on his tongue when Ryan notices the blanket he’d tossed off.

None of his friends have… fur blankets, at least nothing this big and real feeling. He massages the fur before looking around, mind slowly catching up as he realizes he’s in a cabin somewhere. It’s rustic, all furniture looking handmade and dated back by a few years at least. Where exactly… is he?

“Oh! You’re awake now. G’morning.”

Ryan startles at the new voice, whipping his head to the sound and there stands a very tall and rather peaceful looking man dressed in a buttoned-up flannel. He sips from a smoking mug and from the smell, Ryan can tell it’s freshly brewed coffee. The man, probably the owner of the cabin, takes a long slurp of his coffee and Ryan realizes he’s staring, quickly averting his gaze to something, anything else in the room. He notices his backpack propped up against the wall, standing up to walk to it.

“People usually tell me their name,” the man speaks again and Ryan straightens up, running a hand through his hair.

“Y-Yeah, sorry. I’m Ryan, nice to meet you. Did you… Does this place… Yours?” Ryan asks, unsure what knocked the wires loose in his brain. Knocked? Wait, hold on.

Ryan grabs the nearest thing he can find to steady himself, washing nausea drowning him. His knees buckle as Ryan struggles to connect the dots. They shouldn’t be buckling, shouldn’t be doing anything at all because of the ravine. The fall, he shouldn’t be walking like nothing is happening. He should be in a hospital or dying at the bottom of a pit. How is he here?! He pats himself down, falling back onto the bed and waiting for the moment the illusion breaks and the pain comes through. He waits and waits before blinking hard, gaze remaining fixed on his legs.

“Ryan. Yeah, the place is mine. Are you freaking out because of your uh, legs?” the man asks and Ryan turns to look at him, completely forgetting that another person is in the room. What the fuck is happening?

“Yeah, I patched you up. Noticed you were kinda laying at the bottom of a ravine and not entirely dead so I grabbed you, healed you.”

“How is that possible? How long have I been asleep? This isn’t a hospital, how did you do that?” Ryan stutters out, grasping one of his calves as if to prove to him how Ryan is still in one impossible piece.

“Most people just say thank you. Nature does some wild things,” the man says, now a smug smile on his face. Ryan wants to react poorly but the man has a point. Instead of being actually thankful, he’d almost thrown up on the floor of the room. Jesus, LA is doing something to his manners.

“Sorry, you’re right. Thank you, uh… What’s your name?”

“What do I look like?”

Ryan tilts his head at the question, the nature of it striking him odd. They weren’t exactly friends like that, he’s not sure why the man’s… asking him that exactly. Maybe he’s just been in the woods too long?

“You uh… Huh?” Ryan grabs for the first random name he can think of. “Sh-Shane. You look like a Shane.”

“Interesting. Haven’t heard that one before,” Shane says and takes another sip, giving Ryan another friendly smile. The whole smiling thing is starting to get a little old, a little creepy even. He’s stuck in a cabin in the woods with a stranger who keeps showing off his teeth. If this was a script Ryan would be working on, this entire situation would be a little something called foreshadowing.

“What’s your real name then? I can’t just call you Shane if that’s not your name,” Ryan pushes, standing from the bed. He mentally sizes the guy up. He’s way thinner than Ryan, definitely not as strong. However, he’s got a solid number of inches on him and that could spell trouble in a fight. Ryan’s eyes dart to his backpack, though nothing in there can help him.

“Oh, you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. Shane works. Been called a lotta things,” Shane says and turns from the door, walking off but still talking on. Ryan feels an inexplicable draw to follow him, still a bit baffled how he can follow Shane. His legs feel completely normal, not a tinge of pain or creaks anywhere.

“Guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch, horror of the shadows…” Shane lists off and Ryan hums. Guy’s funny. A little strange but funny.

The room they walk into is the main living space, with a kitchenette tucked into a corner and a hearth with a gentle fire still lit. Ryan peeks out one of the windows and sees the night sky stretching over them. The forest seems much friendlier now, and yet Ryan can’t keep the red eyes away from his memories. They haunt him whenever he blinks, two unnaturally red dots hungrily look at him. His compass acting completely weird brings a chill up his spine, the overturned rock scaring him more than it should.

He’s so caught up in his own thoughts that he nearly jumps when Shane stands in front of him again, holding out a bowl.

“Oh, thanks. What’s this?” Ryan asks, already bringing the soup to his lips. It’s still hot, but Ryan quickly gets over it when he tastes the soup. It’s rich, salty, all in the best ways. He can’t imagine tasting something this good anywhere else, it’s like taking the love from his mom’s food and mixing it with the best ingredients man can find.

“Some mushroom soup made from stuff I gathered,” Shane says, taking a slurp from his own bowl and walking back to the pot in the kitchen. Once again, Ryan finds himself following and Shane takes his bowl, filling it with a ladleful before handing it back.

Maybe Shane isn’t too bad after all.

Ryan hurriedly takes another slurp, mind drifting back to his earlier hike. He’s sure he saw something, and even if he didn’t see it, his hair had stood on end and his instincts said fight or flight. With how the sun had darkened and everything went silent, it was almost like the forest itself turned on him.

“So, how do you think you’re gonna pay me back for healing you up?”

Ryan takes everything back, Shane sucks.

“What? Oh uh… I have some cash on me you can have if you need that. There're some bars in my backpack too,” Ryan lists off, now suddenly uncomfortable with the hot bowl in his hand. Is dinner going to cost him too? He sets the bowl down, stamping down the small headache that springs forward. God, he hopes Shane doesn’t want the Tylenol in his bag.

“Eh, don’t really need money. Food is kind of optional for me,” Shane says, downing his bowl before setting it down as well. Ryan takes a wary step back when Shane reaches out, unable to move away when Shane’s slim fingers rest around his wrist. Ryan’s breathing quickens and the familiar feeling of fight or flight returns. On cue, the fire that had been burning snuffs into an intimidating ball of hot embers. Ryan glances back at Shane and in the new lighting, he could swear the man’s eyes look black.

“I was thinking of something more service-oriented. Don’t need human things anymore,” Shane proposes and his voice distorts, shifting between sounding like one person to multiple people at once. His memories suddenly flood him all at once.

He fell down the ravine, shattering his legs and laying in agony until someone nonchalantly walked up to him. There was no worry in their steps even though a normal person would be concerned. The way the forest shadows bent around him, how the path circled over and over. What had Shane called himself earlier? Guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch…

Horror of the shadows.

“Fuck!” Ryan shouts, yanking his wrist from Shane. He was so busy connecting dots that he didn’t notice Shane’s grip tightening. He looks down at the skin, seeing a collection of raised red welts in the shape of a handprint. Shane doesn’t look offended whatsoever, his impasse grin almost shining in the darkness. The man takes a step toward Ryan and that’s when his body says flight.

Ryan turns around and makes a mad dash for the door, throwing it open and escaping into the night. As he suspects, the forest has turned villainous, tree limbs stretching to cover any moonlight. Ryan is running blindly back into the forest, slapping shrubs and kicking up dirt. Anything to get away from Shane.

Yet, as far as he runs, he can still feel the haunting presence chasing after him. It’s like the ravine again, only this time his legs work.

A scream is building in the back of Ryan’s throat, clawing at the walls of it but Ryan can’t bring himself to scream. There’s no one to hear him, nature itself is his enemy right now.

Ryan crashes through bushes, registering he’s on some sort of path and he immediately runs towards the faint glow of lights in the distance. His legs pump furiously underneath him. Survive, his brain demands. Survive or face something you’ve never known. Something far worse than death.

“Help!” Ryan screams at the first sign of life. He sees someone, someone human, sweeping their front porch as he bursts into the village. He stops to gasp and catch his breath, sparing a second to look over his shoulder.

Shane’s eyes are staring right back, not a single drop of worry as he leans casually against a tree. Ryan has to tear his eyes away from him, running up to the nearest person and catches her shoulder. Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates, face frozen in shock as Ryan wheezes out his story.

“Please, please, you have to help me. Something is chasing me, it’s… I’m Ryan, please!” he begs, fingers trembling as she looks blankly into his face. He needs help, he needs…

She recovers enough to rest a hand on his wrist, about to say something before her eyes fly to the welts on his skin. Ryan watches her skin pale and he’s suddenly pushed away, the woman screaming a name as she flees into the safety of a growing crowd.

“I-I just need help, please,” Ryan asks again, reaching for the crowd. They all gasp and murmur, backing away from him like he has the plague. He can’t help but feel his heart break a little, covering the welts with his hand. The hairs on the back of his neck stand and he whirls around, taking a surprised step back when Shane is there now.

“You shouldn’t scare people like that, Ryan. They were getting ready to sleep for the night,” Shane says, holding out his hand. Ryan glances at it before darting his eyes back to Shane, taking another step back and hearing the crowd take one as well.

“He’s… You’re a monster!” Ryan shouts, hoping the people would have his back. There’s strength in numbers. If Ryan can at least get some people to try and shield him, there’s a chance Shane will back off and he can maybe find a place to stay until he gets his bearings right.

“Not really, no. Those things usually kill for fun. I don’t kill for anything,” Shane explains in a stupidly cool and collected voice. Ryan hazards a glance behind him, wanting to make sure the villagers were hearing this. All their eyes are watching Shane, a sort of reverence among them. They all seem so much calmer, their guards completely down. Ryan slowly turns back to Shane, that damned cool smile back on his face, like he’s been patiently waiting for Ryan’s attention again.

“Not a monster, not human either. Least, not anymore. I eat for taste now. So, if I’m not a monster and not a human, there’s only a handful of things that I can be.” Ryan watches Shane tap a slender finger against his lips before grinning widely, something distinctly inhuman about it. He claps his hands together and Ryan flinches, waiting for the pain to come. After a handful of seconds pass, he slowly opens his eyes, Shane holding his hands together.

“What?”

Shane doesn’t answer, just grins before turning. Ryan follows his gaze, gasping when fresh sunlight hits his eyes. He instinctively squints, shielding his eyes away. That’s impossible, the moon was barely halfway through the sky, dawn shouldn’t have been for another six hours.

A happy gasp startles him, the villagers applauding while Ryan stares on in horror. Shane stays facing the rising sun before turning around, the edges of his smile sharp as he addresses Ryan.

“Something like a minor god. Someone you owe your life to. My brother may have left the forest to sing for people, but I’m still here, just chilling,” Shane says and Ryan hates the shiver that runs down his spine, brain telling him Shane is telling the truth. He watches Shane slowly lift a hand, reaching up until it looks like he’s caressing the sun before dragging dawn back to night, the moon slowly rising to loom over them.

“I think you should go back to the cabin, Ryan,” Shane says and Ryan grinds his heels into the ground, ready to spit a biting “no” back. A wave of nausea comes over him and Ryan finds himself collapsing onto his knees, clutching his pounding head with his heads. The pain is strong enough for his vision to go white for a second and he barely feels himself be lifted until Shane’s back in his vision.

“You should go back to the cabin,” he repeats and Ryan, teeth grit from the pain, vaguely nods and the piercing ache disappears. Ryan chokes on a sigh of relief, shuffling his feet towards the direction he thinks the cabin is in. If Shane can change time, there’s little else he can do to stop. He belongs to a god of the forest, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

The days that follow the incident at the village are, surprisingly, peaceful. Shane disappears for hours of the day, leaving Ryan with only a handful of things to do. The only bedroom in the cabin has silently become Ryan’s. Initially, Ryan tried to defy Shane. He would sit in his room and pretend to be back home, running video ideas through his brain. It worked, at first. Before long, the same overwhelming pain would attack his mind and he’d be left with no choice but to do what Shane asks.

The tasks are simple enough. Every morning, Ryan starts with collecting firewood and clearing the pathway to the cabin. Once the sun rolls to its peak, he’s supposed to go to the village to see what they need help with. Apparently, they haven’t seen an outsider in years and they’re interested in his stories. It’s kind of nice, really, to have an audience he can interact with. They aren’t interested in bite-sized videos, they want the entire story and don’t really care how long it takes. They ask questions, and slowly but surely, Ryan finds himself looking forward to seeing them.

Occasionally someone will have a task for him, like lifting heavy wood into the house or ask for his thoughts on building something since he’s seen outside tools. Ryan thinks it’s strange, but everything could be worse. He could be out there coercing other humans into the same fate, or even killing them. Shane asked him why he looked so glum and Ryan, no longer truly scared of him, asked why he had to serve. Shane didn’t explain why, just finished his meal and left Ryan to sit at the table.

Every fifth day is sacrifice day. Ryan initially imagined bloody effigies and other grotesque offerings so he had entered the village in small steps. To his surprise, there hadn’t been anything of the sort. Some would offer baskets of gathered food, others simply put a slip into Ryan’s hands. When he had unfolded one, it listed the deeds they’d done the week to help the forest.

The days start to blur together and when Ryan wakes up one morning, he can’t bring himself to be upset about being here. He’s forgetting how his bedroom in LA is decorated, hands starting to memorize the bedroom he has now instead. The idea of forgetting LA leaves a mixture of emotions in his gut and he kicks off the blankets, hoping the path is absolutely riddled with junk. He doesn’t want to think about LA.

Ryan tosses on a shirt a villager named Alex had given him, sliding into a pair of clean jeans and socks before opening the door to the main room. Shane is standing there, staring out a window with a knot between his brows. Ryan passes by him with a gentle “g’morning”, heading for the eggs and getting ready to make an omelet when he feels the beginnings of a headache tickle the back of his head.

“What, Shane?” he asks, turning around. He’s started to notice when Shane’s about to ask him something and that doesn’t annoy him. What does annoy Ryan, however, is when Shane forgets to vocally tell him something and leaves Ryan with a headache while he’s gone.

Shane’s still looking out the window and Ryan is about to turn around to continue with breakfast when the first wave of the headache rolls through him. Ryan pinches his eyes closed, turning around and gasping when Shane is right next to him.

“What the fu-“

“We gotta go to the village,” Shane says and the tone makes Ryan’s eyes widen. In all the days he’s been here, Shane has never spoken in something other than cool and collected. So freed from an invisible pressure Ryan always feels. Now, Shane sounds incredibly worried, like a problem could be on the horizon. Ryan doesn’t bother protesting, just rushes to the door after Shane, throwing on his sneakers and kicking into a jog when Shane starts to run towards the direction of the village.

There’s a gaggle of villagers right in the center, strained whispers buzzing around them. Ryan watches the people part for Shane to walk through, trailing after him. The scent hits him before he makes it through the crowd and when Ryan finally peeks over Shane’s side, he nearly vomits.

Four bodies lay side by side, polka dots of bloodstains on their clothes. Ryan can hardly process what he’s seeing, recalling their hello’s and laughter from just yesterday. His eyes can’t leave the bodies, staring at the vacant eyes and the pale skin. In the sun, he can see every wrinkle and there’s no stopping his brain from remembering every moment he spent with each of them. Taking dried herbs as a sacrifice, tightening ropes to keep a homemade broom together…

“Ryan.”

The human snaps out of it, gasping when he realizes Shane’s hands are holding his face. Ryan blinks and tears roll down his cheeks, sinking into the space between Shane’s fingers and his cheek.

“I knew them,” Ryan manages out and Shane’s face softens, eyebrows curling upwards before slowly releasing Ryan’s face and pulling him in. Ryan can’t find it in him to fear Shane right now, not when he looks so human with the emotion in his eyes. He sinks into Shane’s embrace, forehead resting on his flannel shoulder as tears soak into the thick material. He’s not sure how long he’s like that, just resting as the silence wraps them both.

“Sorry, I just…” Ryan pulls away, rubbing his eyes with his arm.

“No, it’s alright. Death is… real,” Shane says, looking between Ryan and the people. He slowly turns to them and sinks to one knee, slowly closing their eyes. The forest seems to respond to him, and Ryan can’t explain it with words. It’s like everything droops. Sunlight seems to dull and the air feels heavier on his shoulders. He feels grief in the air, as if the forest mourns for the fallen.

Shane stands and takes a step back, turning to Ryan with a look in his eyes. Ryan prepares for the itching of a headache but it never comes. They stand like that, god and man, for what feels like forever. Shane looks like he’s debating something, eyes occasionally flicking over Ryan’s shoulders. Ryan takes a glance behind him, finding the villagers looking to Shane for guidance. They all are, he realizes. Ryan is looking to Shane for direction.

“Go back to your business. Whatever came for them is coming to intimidate and I refuse to fear them. You’ve seen what I’m capable of. You have followed me for decades, centuries. I haven’t failed you yet and I don’t plan to. You two.” Shane points at two men. “Make sure they’re properly buried. They deserve to return to the home they built.”

The villagers quickly separate and Shane doesn’t spare them a glance as he heads for the exit. Ryan follows after him, unsure how to comfort Shane. He’s sure the guy must be hurting, especially if he’s some old blood god who’s watched over the village before those people had been born… Blank eyes flash in Ryan’s vision and he ducks his head, picking up his pace to keep up with Shane.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

More bodies are piling up. Soon, Ryan is the one responding to village whispers, volunteering to bury the ones who had been hunted. Shane has stopped going out in the mornings, now spending them at the front gate of the village. He doesn’t try to stop anyone from leaving, encouraging it even, but he does tell them to be careful. Still, people come back dying or carrying the dead.

Ryan’s hands have callouses where he’s gripped the shovel too tight.

“Shane,” Ryan says one night and the god looks up from his seat the fireplace. It may just be a trick of the light, but Shane looks more human than Ryan’s ever seen. His eyes are a bit sunken and his fingers are tightly wound together. His movements have lost their lackadaisical grace and Shane always looks so serious now.

“What’s happening?” Ryan asks, taking a seat next to him. Shane sighs and looks back at the fire, seeming to get lost in his own mind. Ryan looks into the fire as well, not expecting answers.

“… I used to be human.”

“What?” Ryan glances at Shane, now fully turning towards him. Shane doesn’t look at him, talking to the fireplace more than Ryan.

“Centuries ago, I came to this forest with my family and some friends. Slowly, I began to learn more and more about this place. People started to come to me for advice, and one day I found out I could do things. I’d close my eyes and open them somewhere else. I could hear the forest calling, I could… I knew every single thing that happened in the woods. If an outsider comes, I know exactly where they are. There’s no limit to my powers… I can manipulate the entire place to make someone walk in circles for hours, make them feel like it’s been hours when it’s really been seconds. I can do all of that…

“At least, I used to. The more people who follow me, the stronger I am. That village has been with me for centuries, Ryan. Now they’re dying. I’m getting weaker.”

Ryan is struck with how exhausted Shane looks in the fire, the bags under his eyes becoming incredibly deep. He wants to reach out and rest his hand on the god’s shoulders, wants to say it’ll be alright. However, Ryan isn’t blind to how impossibly mortal he is. There’s nothing he can do about the situation. His fingers brush against the raised welts on his wrist and shrinks further into the sofa.

“I can’t protect them. Whatever’s hunting them, I can’t protect them from it,” Shane says and it looks like it sobers him. The god rubs his face and sighs, leaning back against the sofa. He puts his hands down in favor of turning his gaze to Ryan, looking him with a reverence that made his stomach churn.

Wordlessly, Shane holds out his hand and Ryan settles his wrist into it, the slim fingers matching exactly where Shane had touched him all those weeks ago.

“Ryan, I care for my following with my life. They are the source of my power, they have given me home. I would die before I let any more of them die. I will die before I let you die.” Shane looks deep into Ryan’s eyes and he can’t breathe for a second, his heart hammering against its cage. Had he heard that right? Had Shane really said that?

“And with that, I set you free,” Shane says and Ryan feels an electric tingle run down his skin before Shane pulls away. The welts are gone, the skin there as soft as it had been before. Ryan holds it up to his face, running the tips of his fingers along the surface to find any trace of Shane’s mark. He can see Shane smile before turning back to the fireplace. The conversation is over before Ryan can even get any answers.

“Goodnight Shane,” Ryan says, slowly unfolding from the couch and heading for his room. He almost misses the quiet “goodnight, Ryan. I’ll miss you.”

The next morning, Shane isn’t in the kitchen or staring by the window. Instead, there are a few boiled eggs on the table and some food left in a Tupperware container. Ryan approaches the eggs, taking one and peeling it before taking a bite. Strange, he’s usually making his own food before starting his chores. Which he doesn’t have to do anymore. Ryan looks around the cabin, wondering if the headache will ever hit. He waits a few minutes more, just in case, but when it never comes, Ryan takes another egg and heads for his bedroom to grab his toothbrush.

A knock on the door interrupts him and Ryan squints at it. Shane isn’t one to knock to come into his own home, he hardly even uses the door. He’ll simply appear whenever he wants to be home. The villagers don’t like coming by the cabin, treating it like some sacrilege act. Ryan walks up to the door and unlocks it, opening it just a crack.

“Hello?”

Ryan’s eyes widen when he sees two men wearing proper hiking clothing standing at the door. He quickly opens it, swallowing the lump of an egg inside of his mouth and wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Hello, good morning. How can I help you?” Ryan asks, heart racing at the sight of people from civilization.

“Hello, we were wondering if we could… help you,” one of them asks, gesturing at the cabin itself. Ryan looks up, finding nothing out of ordinary with the wood.

“What do you mean?” he asks. The hunters lean in as if to share a secret. Ryan almost doesn’t want to, but they look alright enough. He leans just enough out of the door to hear them clearly.

“We heard there’s something living in the cabin, something that takes people from their families. We can save you, friend. We’ve already crippled its church, soon it’ll be weak enough for us to kill it. Purge it from our forest.” The hunters lean away just as quickly as they leaned in and Ryan feels his hairs stand on end, spine locking him in the half-bent position he’s in.

“I… No, no. Just me living here,” Ryan quickly says, stepping back into the comfort of the cabin.

The hunters give him a doubtful look, one of them looking ready to reach for the knife Ryan can see strapped to his belt. Tension settles between the three of them and Ryan’s engaged in a staring contest, his smile getting weaker and weaker. They stay like that before one of them, an older man with a graying mustache, coughs and nods to the other hunter.

“Well, you let us know if you need any help, friend. We’ll be coming around these parts often,” he says and turns away from the door, his buddy following him after a long second. Ryan waves to them and as soon as they’re gone, he quickly shuts the door and presses his back against it, heart racing. Holy shit, the people… The villagers. Those guys are the ones who have been hunting down the villagers. They’re like… pillagers. Murderers.

Ryan quickly decides to tell Shane as soon as he comes back, making a beeline for his bedroom to get ready. He has to get to the village too, tell them to stay inside and lock the doors. There has to be a safer place to evacuate them, but Ryan doesn’t know if Shane needs to be a certain distance from his following or else his powers die… Shane hasn’t been able to manipulate time or space of the forest in a while, saying he’s left with only his strength and not much of it.

Ryan reaches for his backpack and pauses when he sees it neatly zipped up. He looks at it for a second, sure it should be completely open and some things spilling out. Ryan had unpacked his things, resolved to living in the cabin with Shane. Even when the welts had been removed, no thought of going back had crossed his mind. Ryan slowly unzips his bag and finds all of his clothes rolled up and his bottle full of cool water.

“You were waiting for me to go,” Ryan murmurs to himself, standing up straight when he hears the locks on the front door click. He quickly dashes back to the door to his room, closing it to a crack just in case the pillagers had wanted to come back for another “friendly chat”. Slowly, the top lock undoes and the deadbolt is expertly removed, Shane’s head popping into the house.

“Shane,” Ryan breathes out and opens the door, gasping when Shane jumps nearly a foot into the air.

“What? What’re you still doing here?” Shane asks, looking at the eggs at the table and the food. Ryan tilts his head before snorting, patting his hands on his pants.

“You thought I was going to leave? You’re joking. Not when you need my help. Listen, Shane, I saw them. The people who’ve been killing the villagers. They came up to the door and asked if I ‘needed help’,” Ryan explains, gesturing at the door. Shane’s eyes impossibly darken, reminding Ryan of the first night he saw them go completely black. It’s been a while since he’s seen Shane do that. His brown eyes now just reflect the dangerous quiet inside of Shane.

“They came? Are you okay?” Shane asks, turning his attention back to Ryan. Ryan pats himself down and shrugs. They hadn’t bothered trying to take him out, though he doesn’t want to say one of them looked ready to get at him. If he had even resembled the villagers, would Shane have found his body in the cabin?

“I’m fine, but we have to do something Shane. This can’t keep going on,” Ryan insists and relishes the complete look of surprise on Shane’s face. Something other than sad or passive, perfect.

“You care about the villagers, right?”

“I told you last night, of course I d-“

“Then we need to find a way to get your powers back. You can’t protect them from these weird fucks if all you can do is break something from pressing on it too hard.” Ryan looks at Shane with a challenge in his eyes, now thankful Shane had “set him free”. If he hadn’t been, Ryan is sure he’d be suffering from a major migraine right now.

Shane looks back at Ryan with a foreign expression, looking like he’s thinking over the idea. Slowly, his face gets lighter and lighter until there’s a spark of determination in his eyes. Ryan smiles as Shane nods.

“There’s a place in the village we need to see. It’ll have a way, we just need to find it,” Shane says and Ryan follows him out of the cabin, both of them bordering on breaking into a jog for the village.

The place Shane wants is the history keeper’s house, a place filled to the brim with journals detailing not only every villager to have lived with Shane’s power, but dozens upon dozens of books from people who studied Shane’s powers. Over time, the curiosity had been sated, though a few books are being revised into more modern English.

Shane completely disregards books with modern binding, going straight for the oldest section of the home and pulling out a heaping armful of ancient scribblings and setting them on the nearest available surface. Ryan follows suit, pulling out his own pile and tossing it onto a nearby empty desk. Shane sits and begins to rifle through the nearest one and that’s how the two begin to spend their days. For about three days, Ryan and Shane live in the village library, peeling through yellowed paper underneath firelight. Occasionally, Ryan will show Shane something that resembles power or ancient deities. Every time, Shane would tell him that’s not what he’s looking for, that he’s already tried that method.

In those three days, Ryan is the one bringing the both of them food. They’re too scared for the remaining villagers to have Shane leave for the cabin, fearing if he does leave, someone will die. Ryan plays messenger, running the two of them hard-boiled eggs or mushroom soup whenever they get hungry. The villagers have taken on the task of leaving some snacks at the door whenever they can, though, with the low labor count, a lot of their focus is keeping their farms tidy and making sure anyone who lost family is taken care of.

Slowly, Ryan finds himself helping Shane whenever he catches the god asleep. He’ll gently shake Shane’s shoulders and when that doesn’t work, Ryan will peel his cheek off of whatever he’s reading and throw a blanket over him. Shane always wakes up when Ryan leaves for food or water, but the kind looks he offers when Ryan looks at him are enough.

On the fourth day, Ryan feels ready to tear his hair out, Shane just a step behind him. They both feel exhausted and, as Ryan pulls another book off a shelf, the situation looks rather grim. All the methods Shane has found have all been proven false and unless someone comes up with a breakthrough, there likely isn’t a way for Shane to gain his powers back without a new following. Ryan finds himself fighting the thought, but he can’t help feeling like they’ve reached an end neither of them want.

“What about this one? I can’t read it,” Ryan says, flipping the book over and showing Shane a page full of a scribble Ryan can’t read. The god takes a look at it, eyes darting over the passages as he reads before scoffing.

“Yeah, sure. That’s all bullshit, Ryan. Just some children’s fairy tale. Toss it,” Shane says, going back to leafing through his own book. Ryan presses his lips together, turning the book over and trying to make out some words. It doesn’t look promising, no pictures whatsoever. If Shane can read it and thinks it’s not going to help, it’s not going to. Ryan shuts the book and sets it on their mountain of finished material.

Another hour passes by them when Shane suddenly stands, knocking the desk he’s using. Ryan almost jumps, watching Shane head for the door and throw it open. He’s about to turn back to the umpteenth journal on witchcraft when he hears Shane yelling outside.

“What the fuck?” Ryan asks, abandoning his own desk and heading out.

“My people. My family,” Shane starts as Ryan joins the circle of villagers.

“You all have to leave. This place, our forest, is no longer safe for you. You have given generations to me and our forest, but I’ve failed you. I have failed, and I have allowed your family to die. You were once amazed by my powers, when I could bring the sun up in the dead of night, when you would always find your way home no matter how far you wandered into the forest. I can’t do that for you anymore, I can hardly be the god you all need. And you all deserve better.”

Shane looks over his family and Ryan can see the mourning sadness in his eyes. The forest doesn’t even respond it anymore, benignly watching from the outskirts of the village. It breaks Ryan’s heart.

“You all deserve better, and I am not that. Please. Leave by the next morning. For your safety, for your family’s safety. I will always be able to find you, no matter how far you go. The forest lives on in each of you.” Shane claps his hands and pulls his lips into a taut line, turning his back to the crowd and walking towards the trees. Ryan looks around and finds the faces of distraught villagers trying to make plans with one another. To stay and possibly die or to leave and abandon the only life they know.

Ryan can’t hear it right now, pushing around people to chase after Shane. He manages to catch up to him, the two of them making a beeline for the cabin.

“Hey, hey! Shane! Wait,” Ryan asks, stepping in front of the god. Shane spares him a look before dodging around him, still stomping towards the cabin. Ryan sighs and continues his chase, stepping in front of Shane before he makes it to the door.

“Wait, what happened to trying? What happened to saving them?” Ryan asks, hating how Shane can’t meet his eyes. The god looks so small despite being a full head taller than Ryan. He looks like he’s struggling, and when Ryan glances down, Shane’s hands are tightly clenched into fists.

“This is saving them, Ryan. I have to let them go to save them. If they stay here, they get murdered. If they run, if they can get far far away from here, then just maybe they have a chance. I can’t do it for them, I can’t even do my little… Shadow thing anymore,” Shane confesses, finally meeting Ryan’s eyes. They’re glossy, the shine of a thousand stars dancing in Shane’s unshed tears. Ryan looks up at him, his heart knotting itself in his chest. They can’t… If the villagers leave, if Shane loses his entire following, he’ll just be a man again. A man vulnerable to bullets and knives just like the rest of them.

“You’ll die,” Ryan whispers, the words tasting awful even to him.

“I know. For them, I will,” Shane replies, scratching his face.

“… There’s something we can do, there has to be something,” Ryan desperately asks, almost begging the forest itself to pull a solution from thin air.

“There is, and I’ve done it, Ryan. I set them free, don’t you get it? You can leave, you can go back to LA and you can go back to being a normal person. You don’t have to see this all end,” Shane says, spitting “this” out like the word had offended him. Ryan gapes at Shane, unable to say anything as the god pushes him aside and enters the cabin, closing the door behind him.

Go back? To LA? That’s what he wanted right, to go back to the life he had known before Shane, before this whole adventure began. Ryan had wanted nothing more than to get back to the apartment he could barely afford and sit in the comfort of his Ikea couch, warm laptop sitting on his thighs. Looking back into the forest now, however, Ryan doesn’t know how he could ever go back. LA seems so loud now, all the cars screaming at odd hours of the day. In the wilderness here, all Ryan has to do is hold his breath and silence will fill him with enough peace to last a lifetime.

“I don’t want to,” Ryan murmurs and it feels like his soul agrees with him. LA isn’t where he should be, the forest is home now. Ryan presses a hand against the door to the cabin, sucking in a deep breath before pushing it open.

Shane is sitting in front of the fireplace, except there’s nothing more than smoking ashes in the hearth. The entire cabin looks devoid of happiness, sunlight not helping how gray the entire home feels. Ryan slowly steps in, the wood creaking underneath his feet.

“Shane?” Ryan asks, stepping around the sofa to take a seat by his side. Shane sighs and looks at Ryan to show him he’s listening.

“What did that book say?”

“Ryan, it doesn’t matter, it’s all lies.”

“Yeah, but what if it isn’t? C’mon, it can’t be bad. Just… humor me. Tell me what it’s about and if it’s impossible, we’ll drop it,” Ryan says and Shane seems to study him for a moment before bursting into a humorless chuckle.

“It said… Says that the power of true love is equal to having the power of gods in my veins. That if I found someone to spend eternity with, I just have to perform a ritual and I will literally become a god and not have to rely on a following to keep my power,” Shane explains drily and Ryan hates the sarcastic look he gives. He’s distracted, however, by exactly what Shane says. The power of true love? To spend eternity with someone?

Ryan can’t help the warmth he feels in his ears, blood suddenly becoming a roar in them. He looks away from Shane, back at the door out of the cabin. Shane shifts and Ryan figures he’s probably staring at the ashes again. He feels so far away, and Ryan wants nothing more than to reach out and touch Shane again. He’ll never admit it out loud, but he misses the sound of Shane’s carefree boisterous laughter, and the way he stoops over when he’s doing something. How cool he was, how the problems of life just rolled off his back like water on a duck. Ryan misses that…

He misses the true Shane.

“Listen, your backpack is still packed. You still have time to get a headstart before those guys probably-“

Ryan can’t take any more of the martyr talk, picking himself off the couch and crashing onto Shane’s body, their lips sloppily aligning. Ryan’s kiss misses, too much to the right. He tries again, pressing their warm lips together and enjoying the fireworks show going off in his gut. Ryan didn’t realize this is what he’s craved from the forest, the warmth from Shane’s body and the tremble in Shane’s hands as they slowly rest on Ryan’s body.

“True love? Right?” Ryan asks and Shane’s eyes are clouded over with a new emotion before he quickly nods.

“Ritual?” Ryan asks again and Shane’s nodding as he pulls Ryan in for another kiss. The human quickly obliges, their lips bypassing whatever dance they’ve been doing and going straight to passionate love. Ryan feels Shane’s hands reverently brush along his back, guiding him to a more comfortable position on the couch. Everything Shane touches burns alight and Ryan gasps when strong hands grab his waist, pressing thumbs against his hip bones.

“What do you gotta do for the ritual,” Ryan pants against Shane’s lips when he breaks for air. Shane blinks at him before a smile just a touch shy of the one Ryan misses spreads on his lips.

“Just need to get some herbs together, draw a few sigils here and there, and well…” Shane seems to blush at what he’s about to say next, looking down at where their hips are settled against each other. He gives a filthy roll of his hips and Ryan groans at the delicious friction. Shane’s hands press Ryan flush against the god, leaving no space between their bodies as Shane presses his lips against Ryan’s ear.

“It involves wearing your sheets down until they’re nothing more than threads,” Shane whispers and the heated undertone of the message drags a pleasurable shiver down Ryan’s spine. Shane leans back to look into Ryan’s eyes, and he hopes he likes what he finds because soon enough, Shane is lifting Ryan off the couch, keeping Ryan’s legs wrapped around his waist. Superhuman strength indeed.

Ryan’s tossed onto the bed and Shane gives him one last heated look before tearing off to find the correct herbs. Ryan reaches for his backpack and pulls out a thick Sharpie from the front pocket, tossing it to Shane once he comes back into the room. He trades Ryan a bowl of crushed herbs that Ryan sprinkles around the room. Once they’re all gone, Ryan hurriedly tosses his clothes into a lump onto the floor and jumps on the bed, watching Shane draw artful sigils all over the cabin walls. Those aren’t coming off soon, but Ryan can’t bring himself to give a damn.

In a mixture of soon enough and far too late, Shane is on top of Ryan, smothering his neck with bites and open mouth kisses that make him squirm. The room is filled with the sounds of Ryan gasping at each of Shane’s touches, the god playing him like an instrument.

“Ryan,” Shane says and Ryan can barely lift his head to look down at Shane, eyes rolling back when he sees Shane smiling up at him from his crotch.

“Yeah? Do we… Is there something else we have to do?” Ryan manages to slur out, his words weighed down by the lust in the room. Shane chuckles and the sound paired with the vibration makes Ryan shiver again, hips bucking up involuntarily. A heavy hand presses him back onto the mattress, Shane pulling up so their eyes can properly meet.

“No, but I do have to do this in another form,” Shane murmurs and Ryan nods, holding his god’s cheeks and pulling into a kiss. As their lips crash against each other, Ryan’s fingers feel Shane’s skin change textures, going from its typical feeling to a much more indescribable feeling. The best he can say is he feels like he’s touching the void, where nothing and everything meet right in the middle.

“Oh fuck,” Ryan groans when he opens his eyes, taking stock of what he can see. The room seems to have disappeared into Shane’s form, and Ryan can’t be too sure but he can faintly make out a handful of eyes staring at him.

“Still want to do the ritual?” a voice asks. It��s more like layers upon layers of voices are talking to him, but Shane’s voice rings over all of them.

Ryan looks around the voice before choosing a pair of eyes to stare into. The human smirks and stretches himself into a pleasing line, stretching out and making suggestive moans before slowly, reverently, opening his legs for Shane.

“Come get me, big guy.”

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶✞⊷⊷⊷⊷⊷

Sunlight streams through the opened curtains in the bedroom, the light shining right onto Shane’s closed eyes. He groans, throwing one of his arms to try and save himself some more sleep but it’s too late. He’s slowly waking up from a pleasant dream and he makes a note to curse the sun for doing that. Shane rolls onto his side, pausing when Ryan makes a sleepy noise of protest from his position against Shane’s arm.

“G’morning to you too,” Shane greets in a sleepy growl, kissing Ryan’s temple. He’s tempted to see if his powers did return, but right now, with Ryan sound asleep against him, Shane can’t really bring himself to try and make the sun sink back into the horizon. Watching Ryan sleep, all the worry and doubt smoothed from his forehead, is slowly becoming one of Shane’s favorite past times. He wants to say the book had been preaching utter bullshit, but here he is, watching his human snore against his arm.

“Forest god!”

The peacefulness of the morning is shattered by the shout and Shane’s eyes narrow, feeling the presence of two outsiders outside the cabin. There’s another person with them, a much more familiar presence. Shane presses his lips together before gently stealing his arm back from Ryan, giving his human another kiss on the cheek.

“Promise not to kill them, s’long as they don’t try to take a shot at me,” he murmurs before leaving the warmth of the bed. Shane manages to throw on his clothes from yesterday, combing his hair with his fingers as he steps out of the door. His eyes immediately find one of his followers kneeling between the two outsiders, a gun aimed squarely behind her head. She’s the village doctor, one of the kindest people Shane has ever seen in the village.

“Hello, g’morning,” Shane greets them, his smile returning to his face. The forest rustles to return the greeting, the sound widening his grin. It feels good to be one with it again, to feel each and every creature and plant living inside of it.

“We know you’re getting weak, forest god. When you’re gone, we’ll finally be able to take this place, we’ll become our own gods!” one of them shouts and Shane is a little miffed about being shouted at in the morning. He should be in bed, holding Ryan and telling him to go back to sleep when he tries to wake up.

“Yeah, about that… I don’t really like the fact that you killed off almost half of my family and now you’re trying to threaten me,” Shane bites back, smile shifting into a more predatory territory. He keeps his eyes on the doctor, incredibly proud of how she stays still. Her faith in him is rolling off her shoulders, giving him a fresh power high Shane hasn’t tasted in a while.

Shane’s about to ask for their last words when the door to the cabin creaks open. Ryan steps out, dressed as well. He looks grim, eyes darting between Shane, the hunters, and the hostage. Shane is getting ready to tell Ryan to head back in, that this whole thing will be over shortly when Ryan decides to do the talking for him.

“Haven’t you guys done enough? You guys are human as well, you know. You’ve literally committed mass murder because of some power fantasy, and for what? He’s lost his family, his powers. You’ve taken everything from him,” Ryan protests, walking to Shane’s side. Shane bites his tongue from revealing that his powers are, most definitely, not gone. They’ve returned almost tenfold.

“Not everything,” the older human says and draws his gun, pointing it square at Ryan.

Shane doesn’t want to call himself a violent person, doesn’t want to call himself a monster, but seeing the gun aimed at Ryan breaks a restraint in him. With a god’s blood in his veins, the forest snaps and everything goes dead silent. A cloud envelops the sun and Shane melts into the shadows cast on the ground. The darkness eats up the distance between Shane and the pillagers, his dozens of eyes opening within the shadows.

“Oh fuck!” Shane hears in the mess, too busy chasing after one of them running off. He can feel the doctor run towards Ryan, and his love using his body to shield her. It only makes his heart warm as Shane does his job. He’s the guardian of the forest, god of the eldritch. Anything unwelcome to his forest will only find one way out, and with the blood of his family on these outsiders’ hands, Shane doesn’t imagine their escape being easy.

Reaching a clawed hand for the outsider he’s chasing, Shane snatches him up and tears him through the forest, unable to keep track of what limb is lost where. By the time he stops to check, the human is a mess of dislocated limb and torn flesh, eyes already dull of life. Shane tosses the pile of flesh into a bush, wiping the blood off on his flannel. He opens himself to find the other one, wondering if he should bring him to see what became of his companion.

He’s prepared to sink into the shadows again when a sharp pain stings through his lower back. Shane gasps and trips forward, falling through the shadows and shedding off all his extra limbs and eyes. When he comes to, he’s back in front of the cabin, staring at the pillager holding a bloody knife. Ryan’s eyes are wide and his skin looks starkly pale. Everyone is stunned in a dark silence before Ryan falls forward. It’s all Shane needs to break from his stupor, a bubbling rage consuming his mind. A visceral scream tears through his throat and he disappears, opening his godly maw underneath the pillager. His teeth pierce through the earth, appearing like toothy columns around the man. Shane slams his jaws together, the sickly wet pop of crushing the man satisfying to his ears.

He drags the carcass deep into the forest soil, leaving it in a cursed spot he doesn’t want to remember. Shane crawls back to the surface as quickly as he can, clawing for the surface to see Ryan, to check on him. It’s only been a day, he can’t… The terror of possibly losing Ryan grips Shane and he simply materializes in front of the house, ready to bust in when the doctor suddenly opens the door.

“My God,” she greets as respectfully as she can. “Some space, please. He is being bandaged up, and I would prefer silence over your hovering.” She nods once before closing the door again, leaving Shane in a stunned daze. He takes a step away from the door before his pacing begins.

If Ryan dies, does that mean Shane’s powers go with him? Who gives a damn about the powers, Ryan could potentially be dead, dying inside right now. Damn the powers, damn everything. Shane will happily give it all up if it means Ryan can live. If it’s safer for Ryan to be far far away from Shane, hundreds of miles away, so be it. Shane will wither in the forest, he’ll die a million times before he lets Ryan die.

After what feels like an eternity, the door to the cabin opens and Shane immediately rushes forward.

“Doctor, Ryan… How is he?” Shane asks as patiently as he can, trying to peer over her and into the cabin. The fireplace is going again, what did that mean.

“My God… I… I did what I could, I just don’t. There’s something you must see,” she answers, face completely pale. Shane fears for the worst in that moment, pushing past her and throwing the door open.

Sitting by the fireplace, bundled in a fur blanket, is Ryan. His silhouette is decorated by the glow of the fire and when Shane approaches, he can see the peaceful expression on his love’s face. Shane drops to his knees at Ryan’s side, reaching out to take his hand. The couch is absolutely littered with used medical materials, some of the bandaged made of torn clothing.

“Ryan?” Shane asks, hands trembling as he touches his hand, taking it in his own. It’s still so warm, and if Shane concentrates, he can feel Ryan’s heartbeat through the tips of his fingers. Ryan breaks his stare at the fire and looks at Shane, grinning at him before nodding to the bandages at his side. Shane slowly turns his gaze down and finds streaks of a liquid not unlike gold staining the fabrics.

“What? How?” Shane asks, picking up one of the stained bandages. He holds it up to the light of the fire and then looks at Ryan again, balling the fabric in his hand. “Ryan, are you…”

Ryan gives him another smile before shedding the blanket, turning to show the spot where the knife had gone in. There is a row of neat stitches and smears of the same metallic gold liquid on the skin. No part of Ryan looks in pain. In fact, he looks… at peace.

Shane senses the forest trembling without ever seeing it, feels it entirely shift and warp to accommodate something just as powerful as Shane entering it. It buckles, threatening to shatter and throw the two of them out and Shane waits with bated breath as Ryan slowly turns around to meet Shane’s questioning gaze.

“I can feel it. Everything in the forest.”

“What does that mean?” Shane asks, voice delicate. He’s scared of the answer.

Ryan reaches out and cups Shane’s cheek, the god unable to keep himself from leaning into the touch.

“You don’t have to spend eternity alone anymore, Shane. You’re not the only god of the forest anymore.”

The forest trembles to welcome its newest guardian into its world.

#shyanexchange2k19 #shyanwritingevents #shyanlibrary #shyan #skeptic believer #crosspost from ao3 #yayyyyyy long fic

[blairtrabbit]

Darlie Goddamn Brewster and the Christmas Miracle.

Technically this is a Christmas story. 

Many of you probably remember this movie. 

The Nutcracker Prince is this weird little Canadian animated movie that was released in 1990 and suffered a bizarre distribution hell over the last few decades. It used to play on the Disney Channel when I was a kid and being a Christmas special my sister and I would watch it every fucking year.

But over time we noticed something.

The animation is...middling at best. At times its competent but there are lots of inconsistencies between scenes and characters are often off model. It tends to wantonly change fps rates and there are volume problems all over the place especially with the characters faces which seem to shift. In a word its just OK.

EXCEPT THIS ONE SCENE.

It’s at the very end of the movie and my sister and I would watch the whole thing just to get to that one scene so we could cheer for it; that became our tradition.

I cannot stress how much this one scene sticks out. Imagine watching an OK Saturday morning cartoon and then suddenly right before the credits goddamn James Baxter takes over for five seconds and you have a brief moment of Disney renaissance level skill before POOF. Its gone again.

Don’t believe me? PROOF: Watch the first five minutes or so and I guarantee you will see what I’m talking about the instant it happens.

BAM! 1 minute 34ish seconds in and its like the movie does a 360 into good town and it lasts until around  3:08 after Keifer Sutherland gives the performance of his life.

This scene has always driven me INSANE. Why was it so much better? Was it given to a master animator who just worked faster? Was it done first as a test to sell the film? Was it just given more time for some reason? Why is it the only goddamn scene that uses smears and secondary action correctly in the whole fucking movie.Most importantly (to me) who animated it?? FOR YEARS THIS HAS BEEN A GODDAMN CHRISTMAS MYSTERY.

Until one year i decided I was going to go through every animator in the credits one at a time and try and figure out who had done it based on their other work. All animators have a style/skill level so I thought maybe I had a shot at figuring it out. Certain motions/tics are just part of an animators acting repertoire and I was determined to at least make an educated guess.

So I went through them. One. By. One.

And that is how I found Darlie Brewster.

After searching through dozens of old IMDb pages and portfolio reels I  was getting frustrated. I wasn’t seeing anything I thought was stand out. When I looked up an animator named “Dave” Brewster I didn’t get results at first. After more research I found out Brewster is a trans woman who was still using her given name during the production of The Nutcracker Prince. And damn Darlie Brewster is in a word Amazing.

Just look at her body of work.

https://www.imdb.com/name/nm0108268/

Dreamworks, Pixar, Bluth, Bluesky, Laika, Warner Bros. She has done it ALL and worked for EVERYONE. She works in an industry that can be hostile to people who are different and yet she transitioned like a boss and didn’t let it slow her down at all.Hell she just finished working on the animated segments in the new Mary Poppins movie!

Here is a rad interview with her where you can see her designs for Merida in Brave.

http://flipanimation.blogspot.com/2013/01/darlie-brewster-talks-about-life-gender.html

I. love. Darlie Brewster. I want everyone to know how cool she is and I think its important that she is visible to younger people who worry that transitioning might make the career or life they want impossible. I can’t know what she went through. She talks about how lucky she was to have the support of her friends and co-workers and that makes me happy. The one thing I am completely sure of is that we need more visible people like her right now. Especially in the entertainment industry.

Also.....I can’t be 100 percent sure but I think...

I think she animated that scene.

After all these years I think I solved the mystery.

#animation #animation history #trans visiblity #trans #darlie brewster #fascinating shit #been thinking about everything thats going on #with the government and their bullshit trans policies #and i finally wrote this down #trans lives matter

[rougespecial-blog]

sweetheart hand // brian may

summary: in 1976, queen celebrate the release of their album a day at the races, which will cement their rise to fame (or notoriety). as it stands, though, you’re an artist who’s never heard of them, dragged along to the launch party by a friend.

a/n: really no warnings for this, some adult themes if you squint. title from tie your mother down. inspired by hearing brian talk about the excitement and excess of the day at the races era, when the boys finally had a bit of money. feedback is nice requests are open etc etc

you’ve barely stepped over the hotel’s threshold when a man in a glittering silver jacket - shoulders wide enough that doorways are giving him trouble - brushes past you. you’ve felt underdressed before, but this borders on ridiculous. three more men are trailing after him, wearing exactly the same thing. one of them holds out a tray towards you and you realise with a slight feeling of dismay that you look more like house staff than the actual waiters. you take a champagne coupe from him, admiring your mysterious host’s taste in glassware if nothing else.

it’s a miracle that you’re here, even plainly dressed in your jeans and white blouse.  you rolled your eyes, initially, when your friend tom called and asked you to be his date to an album release party. he mentioned names you’d never heard - one that had to be made up -  and insisted that this was a once in a lifetime event, that you would forever live in agonising regret if you didn’t go. you told him that you’ve both had your fair share of outrageous parties, thanks very much, that the london art scene isn’t particularly starved for big personalities or expensive vices.

‘i’m telling you - they’re about to explode. this album will be massive. you’ll tell your grandchildren you were at this party. besides, the lead singer - that’s this mercury fellow -  he’s really a stunning entertainer.’

‘i’ve never even heard of them, tom.’

‘well, that doesn’t say much. you’re a philistine when it comes to these things. please leave the canvases alone for a night. they’ll still be there in the morning.’

you pause, biting the inside of your cheek. ‘you’re paying for the cab.’

‘always, dear. and i’ll pay it twice if you don’t have a good night.’

so, here you are, champagne in hand and tom at your side, jostled by the most colourful variety of people you’ve ever seen. his eyeshadow and latex belt - you had laughed hysterically at him in the taxi - don’t seem so ridiculous now.

tom dutifully stays by your side for all of fifteen minutes. he’s much better at these things than you’ve ever been, rubbing shoulders and drawing people naturally in with his never-ending compliments. and the guests - you see a few artists you recognise from galleries, but even they seem different, less inhibited, in this space. a gramophone in the corner blares a classical overture that people are somehow managing to dance along with. you need another drink, badly. when you turn to tell tom this, he’s already disappeared into the fray.

as you wind through the venue looking for more drinks, you overhear snippets of conversation. people gush about the band, the frontman, the party itself. horrifyingly, you hear more than one person comment about how there just wasn’t enough money left over from the band’s last release to make this a really smashing one. you can’t imagine what they’d have this place looking like with a bigger budget.

by the time you stumble through a door that leads to an empty staff kitchen, you’ve just about had it. with the excess, the gratuity. you know you weren’t exactly choosing an austere or subdued lifestyle in modern art, but the cock-first showiness of these rock ’n’ roll types is really starting to get up your nose. mercifully, the first fridge you open still has a few bottles of champagne in it.

it’s just as you pop the cork, the bottle wedged under your arm and foam starting to run out over your fingers, that the door swings open and someone catches you red-handed. it’s not one of the silver-suited waiters - in fact, he might be the most ordinarily-dressed person here, after you. he’s a tall, lanky thing in jeans and a black shirt. if it weren’t for the mess of brown curls reaching his shoulders, you wouldn’t blink at him in the street.

‘that’s your personal bottle, i suppose?’

you blink at the champagne in your hand, then back to him. you have no idea how serious he’s being. ‘i was sent for,’ you answer coolly.

‘ah,’ he says, with a nod that’s too close to sarcasm for you. ‘by?’

you manage not to roll your eyes, though it’s close. you have no idea who this guy thinks he’s impressing as the personal arbiter of Who’s Allowed to Nick Champagne. ‘the band,’ you lie smoothly, turning away from him to refill your glass. ‘i’m a friend of the guitarist.’

you hear him laugh lightly as he steps all the way into the kitchen and closes the door behind him, reducing the din of the party to a distant hum. ‘well, if it’s on the band,’ he says, ‘can i have a glass?’

this is an improvement. you fetch another crystal glass from an overhead cupboard and fill it to the brim, turning around and handing it to him. he’s leaning back against the counter opposite, giving you a chance to appraise him better as he takes a sip of the champagne. you realise his shirt is fashionably just-too-small, with a wide collar that skirts around his collarbones and the hem resting tightly against his hips.

‘so,’ he says - and you remember yourself, looking very decidedly at his face, not his hips - ‘if you know the band, what are they like?’

you pause, trying to scrutinise his expression. he could be sincere, or he could be anyone - a journalist, a friend of the band playing a trick. to hell with it.

‘you want me to be honest?’

he grins at you, laughter swimming in his dark eyes. ‘please,’ he says. ‘brutally honest.’

‘i think they’re a bunch of tossers, really. just look at the state of this party. it’s fucking excessive. these rockstars - they always want everyone to know how much they have, all the time. i find it exhausting.’

something you said seems to have pleased him enormously, and he raises his glass to you, grinning. ‘you know what - i’ve heard the exact same thing.’

‘so how did you end up here tonight, then?’

‘friend of a friend,’ he shrugs, tracing his fingertip around the rim of his glass.

‘and what do you do? you’re not in the industry, are you?’

he’s silent for a second - he seems reticent to tell you, and you wonder for a moment if he is in the industry you’ve just trashed. but then he clears his throat and smiles softly. ‘i’m a teacher, actually. a maths teacher in brixton.’

you feel your jaw drop involuntarily. ‘a maths teacher who just happens to moonlight with coke-sniffing rockstars on the weekend.’

‘oh, come off it,’ he laughs. ‘i suppose you’ve got some incredibly cosmopolitan career.’

‘i’m an artist,’ you tell him, the second truth you’ve told him. ‘a painter.’

‘right, well, there you go. would i have seen any of your -’

he doesn’t finish his sentence before the door opens and the music and chatter of the party floods into the room again. a blond sticks his head around the door and sighs in exaggerated relief.

‘there you are, bri, we were looking for you fucking everywhere. they want us to play a few songs off the record. fred’s been sat at the piano warming up for the past fifteen minutes.’ it’s then that he notices that you’re there, too, and a slow smile appears on his face. ‘sorry, love. didn’t mean to disturb your alone time.’

before you can clarify that this is definitely not “alone time”, he shuts the door again with one final call of ‘five minutes, brian!’. it’s only the look on your new friend - brian’s - face, like he’s waiting to be scolded, that makes you piece together what just happened.

‘he just - you - some songs off the record - fred! - you’re -’ you can’t finish any of your thoughts as you point at him fiercely, eyes wide.

brian looks halfway between apologising and bursting into laughter at your indignation. ‘you lied first! “i’m a friend of the guitarist”.’

‘and i suppose that’s who i’m looking at now, yeah? not a maths teacher from brixton - honestly, a maths teacher -’

‘that part was true! i only just handed in my resignation.’

as if that makes it any better. you roll your eyes and swallow the rest of your champagne in one mouthful. ‘god, and i called you all tossers.’

‘did you mean it, that stuff about excess?’ he asks, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. ‘or were you lying there, too?’

you cover your eyes with one hand, trying to think before you answer - for once - but he keeps talking before you can.

‘because it was nice, you know. normally everyone i meet at these things wants to blow smoke up my arse about how great we are. making sure they get invited to another one.’

‘and he’s modest, too,’ you smile.

‘oh, come on. listen to a few songs and then you tear me to shreds with your criticism.’

there’s enough clamour in the party that no-one notices the two of you slip out of the kitchen together - you can imagine the rumours. brian finds his bandmates who’ve assembled themselves on the small hotel stage, probably only built for a lounge singer or two. there’s the blond from before perched at the drums, a bass player who leans casually against an amplifier, and ready at the piano sits an exotic-looking thing in a massive fur coat. freddie, you realise, the one you’ve heard the most about. you find a decent vantage point, standing against the wall at the back of the room, sipping a fresh glass of champagne.

you’re sure if you heard these songs on the radio you wouldn’t scramble to write down their names, but there’s something about the energy the band has - a sort of control over the room, an assured confidence in their ridiculousness - that works. when freddie isn’t at the piano he struts around the stage as if it’s an arena - the guests shriek when he sheds his coat dramatically. even brian, the man who you truly believed was only a maths teacher, seems imbued with an infectious bravado, gesturing for people to sing along, putting his shoulders and hips into his playing. and can he play. you don’t know the first thing about the technicalities of guitar, but your hands hurt watching him finish up what must be his sixth solo of the twenty-minute set. and with that, the men give a bow, someone turns the music up again, and they slip offstage.

you finally find tom a half hour after the performance, smoking in the courtyard and chatting with some photographers. he hugs you as if you’ve been separated for years.

‘i told you you’d enjoy yourself, darling. what have you been up to?’

‘nothing special. i was thinking of heading off soon, actually.’

‘oh, come on. it’s barely eleven.’

‘we got here at eleven. it’s almost one!’

he’s just about roped you into sitting down with his new friends - you do sound rather like your own mother, complaining about the time - when you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder.

‘there you are. i was wondering if you’d already left.’

if you didn’t recognise the voice, the look on tom’s face would be revealing enough as his eyes dart, wide, from you to brian before he points at you accusingly. you shrug in answer to his silent question, and turn to face brian.

‘i didn’t - i thought you’d have - you know, band things. i was about to go home, actually.’

‘i was being serious about wanting you to tear me to shreds.’ tom must look alarmed behind you, because he hurriedly adds, ‘with your criticisms, you know. you’ve seen us play now.’

you laugh and duck your head. ‘i don’t have an awful lot.’

‘well, tell me anyway. but not… this, here, it’s a bit -’ he glances around at the din, at couples dancing wildly, drinks being poured. ‘some of us have gone upstairs for a quiet one, if you’d like.’

‘i think -’

‘she would,’ tom pipes up, loudly, from behind you. you kick at him absently, but smile at brian.

upstairs turns out to be a private lounge with a few people scattered around talking amongst themselves and a jazz record playing quietly. among others, you notice the bass player from the band reclining easily with a woman, while a small ring of guests pour themselves whiskey and debate the new rush album. brian falls into a plush armchair and motions for you to do the same in one adjacent. when a waiter pushes past with a trolley of drinks you accept a cold beer, wanting something to ground you but nothing that will make you act more of a fool than you already have. brian does the same, and you sit in companionable silence for a minute as you start drinking.

‘it’s hard to bear, after a while. i always end up escaping like this,’ he says after a moment.

‘oh, i wasn’t too worried about that. i’ve had a few wild nights.’

he raises an eyebrow at you. ‘you painters party often, then?’

‘it’s ridiculous,’ you say, grinning. you prop your legs up on the arm of his chair, crossed at the ankle. ‘not so much now, but i was all over it when i was younger. exposed to all kinds of illicit substances and, ah… sexual confusion.’

he tilts his head back and laughs at that. you watch the line of his throat, the pretty slice of his chest revealed by the shirt. absentmindedly, his hand comes to rest on his chair but instead finds your shin. he taps a long, silver-ringed finger against the cuff of your jeans. ‘tell me about your art, then.’

it feels like minutes pass as you chat, but it must be hours - judging by the way the guests around you are shuffling out or even falling asleep on the various loveseats. you tell him about your painting, and he laughs fondly, bright-eyed, as you stand and gesture wildly to describe the motions of abstract art. you swap story after story - him of life on tour and ridiculous record labels, you of parties and snobbish art collectors. at one point you’re nearly breathless with laughter over his imitations of the kids he used to teach in brixton. the conversation turns more subdued when he tells you about his bandmates. he’s obviously immensely fond of them all, even as he confesses that they drive him up the wall half the time.

‘you promised your criticisms of us, by the way. i haven’t forgotten.’

‘i did no such thing,’ you correct him, ‘but i’ll give them anyway. you’re all very fluid, especially that singer of yours. the way you take up space - i think you wouldn’t be able to carry off the sound any other way. and you - you’re lovely to watch. you look like the composition’s coming right out of you, in the same instant that you’re playing it.’

he gives your leg a gentle squeeze - his hand is so big that it nearly meets around it. ‘you’re thinking like an artist,’ he says. ‘about the way we look. the form.’

you feel suddenly scrutinised, and you’re not sure why. your cheeks are hot. ‘i’m not sure how to think any other way,’ you tell him.

the record has finished and no one’s thought to flip it, either asleep or too caught up in their own conversations. you mumble something about fixing it and stand, smooth out the creases in your shirt. as you walk past brian, he catches you by the hip, softly but just enough to make you stop in your tracks. you look down at him, surprised. hyper-aware of the warmth of his hand even through your jeans. of the eyes looking up at you, expectant and dark enough to fall into.

‘hello,’ he says softly.

there’s nothing else to do but bend down and kiss him. his hand stays at your hip as yours come to his face, the corner of his jaw tense where he’s leaning up to reach you. you forget how simple and wonderful and teenaged a kiss can be. just him and his mouth, obliging under yours. a barely-there scratch of stubble and his curls brushing against your face. the smell and taste of him, beer and cologne and champagne.

your conversation earlier in the kitchen comes rushing back all of a sudden. you pull yourself away, smoothing your hair, leaving him looking flushed and slightly bewildered.

‘this is probably a bit of a novelty, yeah? attain the unattainable.’

‘sorry?’

‘i don’t know,’ you laugh. ‘you talk about all those women saying whatever you like to get you in bed. and the one who says she can’t stand all this rockstar shit, ends up being the one who…’

you trail off, imagining you sound fairly ridiculous, and brian stands. he’s a good head taller than you like this, though the way he carries himself stops it from being intimidating.

‘would you feel the same way if i was really just a maths teacher, then? or one of your artist friends?’

you laugh, taking a swig of your beer. ‘i suppose not.’

‘because without being - ah - presumptuous, i don’t want tonight to wind up some kind of way because of what you think my life is like.’

he perches on the arm of his chair now that you’ve visibly relaxed, and trails a hand down from your elbow to take yours in his. you step closer to him, standing between his legs, your faces almost level.

‘right. and how did you want tonight to wind up?’

he shrugs easily. pulls your hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. ‘show me some of your work, i suppose. haven’t really gotten a feel for it yet.’

#bohemian rhapsody imagine #brian may x reader #brian may imagine #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #AGAIN a repost bc i'm out of quarantine #mine

[vee-angel]

The Sodom Virus Chronicles (Introduction)

Hey, everyone! It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything but I’ve felt extra motivated to write lately, so hopefully I’ll be putting out content more often. This is part of a project I’ve had in mind for quite a while. This introduction is part of the basic premise of a series of stories that will have an exciting amount of possibilities. And don’t worry, I’m still definitely going to be continuing work on the Pervert Pentet series (after all, you’ve only met Piper and Nancy so far; there’s still Teira, Sherry, and Bailee). So enjoy this introduction to the world of The Sodom Virus Chronicles! And remember, this is all just for fun and fantasy.

***

In the late 1970’s a strange new ailment appeared in the world.

The illness only seemed to affect females, and its effects were devastating; at first it presented with diminished motor control and cognitive function, a loss of hair, nails, teeth; eventually leading to death a few months later. By the early 1980’s the illness had spread so widely as to become an epidemic, with several countries declaring a state of emergency. Scientists scrambled to figure out the cause in the hope that they could come up with a vaccine, a treatment, hopefully even a cure. Eventually statistical information revealed a surprising fact: Women who stayed chaste deteriorated far faster than those with a male partner. More surprising still, the most promiscuous women deteriorated slowest of all.

A series of experiments were carried out, each with progressively better results. The result that finally showed a complete stop to the progression of the illness was the group engaging in unprotected anal sex at least four times each day. It was eventually hypothesized that the so called “Sodom Virus” was a form of genetic deterioration that, for reasons unknown, was neutralized by the presence of a Y chromosome. Doctors believed that the incomplete genetic material in male sperm was most easily broken down into usable material when administered to the female body This would be consistent with the experimental results; anal absorption was more efficient than vaginal, and much of the material was destroyed by stomach acids when swallowed. Therefore, while anal application was most efficient (with four average sized ejaculations per day being sufficient to stop the progression of the virus), similar effects could be achieved through higher amounts of sperm being administered to the vagina (seven times per day) or mouth (ten times per day).

When the news broke across the world, it was met with mixed reactions. Some were skeptical, claiming it was some misogynistic hoax, others hoped that it could be adapted with some kind of synthetic replacement, even though doctors said that was unlikely to become reality anytime in the near future. Men around the world stepped up, though. Nearly every hospital or medical office adapted large sections to be able to collect and administer sperm. Females who weren’t able to have sex due to age, communicable disease, or other factors were given priority. Women who were healthy and attractive were turned away from such facilities, sometimes harshly. After all, the supply was limited, and no one was willing to let the most vulnerable of the population suffer a slow and unpleasant death because some college lesbian thought “men are gross” or “anal is uncomfortable.” For the first time in history, young women were shamed for chastity.

Practically overnight, pornographers became captains of industry. What was once seen as a shameful luxury became a necessity, as humanity’s survival became dependent upon the near perpetual arousal of men. Donating sperm and fucking women became a civic duty. While it would take time for laws to be amended, nearly the entire world decided to no longer to prosecute rape or sexual assault except in the most extreme of cases.

The cosmetic surgery industry boomed as well, as did gym membership, beauty treatments, cosmetics, and nearly anything that could help make women more attractive. It was an uncomfortable conversation for most of the world to have, but it was a sad truth that a woman’s life expectancy was now correlated to how sexually attractive she was.

A few years after the cure was found, the world had stabilized, knowing they had managed to narrowly avoid species-wide extinction, yet the world was still frantic to adapt to this new society. Supplies of semen were slowly increasing, as drugs to improve sperm production and decrease refractory period became more commonplace, but it still wasn’t enough. Most civilized societies decided to prioritize their young, concentrating the treatment into a daily injection given to all underage girls until they come of age. After that, their health and life would depend on their ability to attract men willing to fuck them.

By the early part of the twenty-first century, the world looked very different than anyone would have imagined. It had been a few generations since the Sodom Virus emerged, and the effect on the demographics of the world was substantial. Even in such a short time, unattractive or prudish women had practically become extinct, and the men with the highest sex drives passed on that trait to the next generation.

The ubiquitousness of pornography resulted in progressively greater extremes, with the average woman expected to be the personal porn-star of whatever man happened to be using her. The now outrageously influential porn-company CEO’s could practically write their own legislation, often making laws that seemed more to serve their own amusement rather than any practical function. While many female politicians had tried to stand firm against society’s hard turn toward misogyny, it had been difficult to take them seriously when they had to beg someone to fuck them in the ass every few hours.

While the vast majority of women under forty were now safe from the degenerative effects of the Sodom Virus, they were still competitive. Partially due to a combination of a genetic predisposition to hyper-sexuality, cultural conditioning, and a general fear of not getting enough sperm to ensure the Virus stayed dormant.

In the most powerful country in the world, feminism was outlawed. Even the barest hint of a belief in women’s equality was punishable by a fate many considered worse than death. Throughout most towns and cities were Repositories where feminists were stored; in truth they were often little more than an outdoor metal post where a small cluster of feminists were chained until such a time that someone borrowed them for some purpose considered beneath even a woman. In a mockery of the their desire for independence, they were unable to be owned. As a result, they lost the only thing that put restrictions on their use. While all women were generally open for sex, heavier use and permanent modifications were at the discretion of their owners. But without owners, feminists were open to any use by anyone of any sex or status. They were often rented out free to perform hard or dangerous labor. Cosmetic surgeons and some of the more extreme sadists practiced and experimented on them to determine if their techniques were survivable and resulted in the desired effect. Some female athletes even used feminists like punching dummies to train for the increasingly popular All-Female sport of competitive rape.

Body modification, plastic surgery, and beauty treatments had become far more commonplace; and given that attractiveness was a necessity to women’s health, government subsidies made it universally affordable. Even girls who grew up in families living below the poverty line were easily able to get beach-ball sized breast implants and regular anal bleaching. In fact, some states even imposed mandatory minimum breast sizes, fearing that some errant flat-chested feminist may attempt to pose as a man as part of some deviant scheme.

The women who thrived in this society were the ones who considered themselves lucky to live in such a world. They read about the dark ages of feminism and prudishness as a backwards time of female oppression. They were finally free from the horrendous burdens of yesteryear; expectations of chastity, dignity, autonomy. Mainstream society agreed that such things were a regrettable mistake to force on women, a relic from a less progressive society. Women needed attention, affection, direction. The modern female couldn’t imagine the evils of a society in which she wasn’t perpetually exposed and stared at, touched, or told what to do. It was generally agreed upon that the Sodom Virus was a miracle of nature that came about to correct an unnatural error of mankind.

Women’s self-expression became unrestricted as well. Now that comfort was secondary to sex-appeal, women of all kinds were able to express who they were on the inside. Fashion became more daring, appealing to the extremes of every male sex-fantasy. Bimbos, punk-sluts, cow-girls, sporty dykes, and a rainbow of other looks and styles became commonplace. On an average day, one could walk down the street and expect to see anything from tattoo-clad goth girls in lolita style french maid outfits to busty Southern belle’s in sun-dresses that weren’t quite long enough to cover their cunt. And of course there were the women who had put so much work into their bodies that they saw no point in hiding any part of it from view with clothing.

The world of entertainment changed as well. While the privacy of female celebrities had never really been respected, the public now felt a sense of entitlement to see their most private or shameful acts. Not only were pictures and videos of every part of famous women’s bodies available at the cost of a few swipes of a touchpad, but they perpetually ran the risk of public outrage if any desirable content wasn’t available. If a female was part of a famous family, for example, it could be seen as an offense to her fans if she didn’t make videos of her 69ing with her sister, licking her mother’s asshole, or pissing in her own mouth. Younger celebrities often had to make frequent apologies for such failings, and hope that it would be understood that the busy job of constantly accommodating the sexual generosity of her fans might cause delays in filming or releasing such videos.

While the number of female politicians dropped swiftly after the rise of the Sodom Virus, there had recently been a resurgence of women in positions of political influence. Many were aging porn-stars, who were looked up to as progressive icons who had led the fight against the perversions of female dignity and modesty even before the Virus. Others were younger girls with even more forward-thinking viewpoints. They believed that the older politicians had become complacent in fighting against the evils of feminism.

All in all, the world had changed drastically from anything it had ever been before.

#sodomvirus sodomviruschronicles #sodomvirus

[sweet-little-bird-fanfic]

YOUNG K - Pure Desire

Masterlist & Chapters: Check my bio for the masterlist link. Idk why but posts with links don't show up on the tumblr's search feature anymore. So, I'll leave the link to my master list there, where you can find the other chapters easily. I hope this is still functional for you guys, sorry for the trouble. I hope you can still enjoy my work despite the technical issues.

Summary: A young writer that's struggling with her work until she crosses paths with an intense and fated new type of inspiration; An inspiration called: YOUNG K!

Genre: Fanfic; Romance; Humour; Smut (in the future chapters)

Warnings: Swearing? ; The hot stuff will slowly begin on the next chapter and after that, it becomes a mess! I promise eheh  (っ˘ڡ˘ς)

A/N: a short chapter to create a good atmosphere and background.

Chapter 1- Drunk Hug

I knew the day wouldn't go well from the moment I woke up... 45 minutes late. To be honest, things had been hard lately. I've had been a professional writer for 3 years and I went to live in Korea right after I published my first romance. I bought a house and rented 2 of the rooms to 2 amazing brothers that ended up becoming my family: Kim Jii (he worked in the entertainment industry) and his 16 years old little brother Kim Joon (who was still a student). Truth to be told, it's not like I had been working that hard in those few writing years. Not because I was lazy, but because it was really simple for me to write a story and for some miracle, it would become a success. That was the case until I hit a wall last month whilst writing my third book! Nothing seemed right, I wasn't satisfied with anything and I was simply irritated with my own creation. There was something missing and I couldn't find what it was... But it was something crucial and I couldn't stop wondering if my passion for writing had reached its limits. I was so worried about that thought, that I made myself not being able to write properly. Call it a rocky mistake or an overthinking problem, but the point was that I was 1hour late to meet with my editor and I had nothing new to show him. "SHIT!"

I got off the bus and run as fast as I could. Gladly, the coffee shop We agreed to meet at was near the station. When I finally reached my destination, I was invaded by a strong and warm coffee fragrance, which woke up my senses a little. It wasn't hard to find the man I called "Boss". He had really short hair and was quite skinny, but his facial expression made him look like an angry bear. "I'm going to die." I sat on the chair in front of him and before I could apologise for being late, he threw a bunch of papers on the table in my direction. My heart started beating really fast when I recognise that those pieces of papers were the chapters I sent him by e-mail.

- You call yourself a writer, Miss?! - he said as loud as he could - I'm going to pretend you didn't send me this and that I didn't have to come from England to Korean just to scold you in person.

- I'm really sorry! I don't know what's wrong with me, but I can't ...

- You need to take a break and stop obsessing about writing. We didn't give you any deadlines, so I don't understand why you're writing a chapter a day. - he said interrupting me with a sharp voice.

I didn't move or say anything, I just looked down to my hand and prayed I wouldn't get myself fired. I could hear his heavy annoyed breath and I could feel his eyes observing me. There was a long moment of silence that was broken by his hand caressing his chin.

- When was the last time you did something that wasn't writing? - he sighted - Go out, get inspired. Don't contact me until the young writer I know is back.

He stood up and dressed his elegant coat as he made sure to burn my soul with his reprehensible look. Before leaving the store our eyes locked and he gave me a petty smile, which made me feel even worse than I already was.

That was it. I've had it! I needed to get some fresh air and get away from everything. I think I've never walked so much in my entire life. I explored the city pretending I was a tourist and that I had nothing to worry about. I tried the typical food, went to the famous attractions and even bought some souvenirs. I was now wearing an "I love South Korea" black shirt and a cool hat. Not to mention the bags I was holding with sweets, cosmetics and funny socks for the boys at home.

I grabbed my phone and sent Kim Jii (Bro) and Kim Joon (Baby bro) a picture of some socks:

Me: Do you need socks? ~~ Bro: Seriously... Baby bro: I swear, I'll burn them if you buy them, Noona! Bro: Go grab the matches. I bet she already bought them ME: (T_T) Bro: Ya paboya, don't come home early.          I made a mistake at work and had to bring it home ( ಥ ʖ̯ ಥ) ME: LOL... Are you trying to fix it? Bro: BYE! ❤︎ ~~~ Baby bro: AHAHAH I guess it's not that easy to fix omg, kill him Noona!                    you make enough money to support me, right? ME: BYE! ❤︎ ~~~ Baby bro: YAAAAAAAAAA!

                                                        ***

Making myself busy during the whole day was hard, but I managed to stay out until night time. I ended up at a street restaurant where I ate too much and definitely drunk too many bottles of soju. I wasn't sure if it was the alcohol in my blood making me feel lonely and defeated or if it was simply my low self-esteem working really well on putting me down, or if it was the sum of these two. But I couldn't stop myself from thinking about how stupid and untalented, I probably was. I was really strong and didn't let any tear fall from my watering eyes.

- I need a hug... - I said drunk and desperate for some affection.

I stood up and left some money on the table. I was able to walk half properly until I found a taxi.

- Good evening, where to?

- Home, please! - I said excitedly.

For some weird reason, the driver seemed to think I was joking by the way he looked at him.

- And where is home?

- Oh! It's where I live, Sir! - I drew a square in the air with my fingers - In a house!

He stared at me for more than one minute and studied my touristic clothes and bags. I offered him some sweets and after I gave him my address he seemed less annoyed. "Why is he mad? Maybe he had a bad day or something." I thought as I gave him more sweets to make his night less bitter.

It didn't take long until I arrived home. I was glad all the lights were still on because the path was somehow really blurry. As I walked into the house, I could hear a lot of voices and laughs. "Too loud, fuckers." I couldn't recognise all the voices, but they were quite familiar. There were four beautiful boys in the living room with Kim Joon, my baby bro. I get closer to try to find out who our visits were and I saw a skinny blond boy laughing and making the others laugh with him.

- Your laugh seems contagious. - I said with a serious face as I tried to catch my cat.

- Why aren't you laughing, then? - He said adjusting his glasses.

- Oh, I'm vaccinated. Don't worry! - I said hugging my cat and letting her go after squeezing too hard.

Everyone laughed but the blond boy, he made a straight face and tried to look offended. I didn't worry too much, he seemed like he could handle a joke. I saw Kim Joon walking in my direction and I automatically hugged him really tightly. He tried to get rid of my arms and look me in the eyes, but I hid my face against his chest.

- Noona, are you drunk?!

- Aigooo! - I said as I pushed him away - That explains a lot of things, you're so smart! - I said and caressed his hair.

- Ya, paboya! Why are you acting up? - I heard Kim Jii (big bro) behind me.

After hearing my big brother's voice, tears started falling down uncontrollably. I just turned around and hugged him and berried my face into his neck. He smelled really nice today and that made me feel easeful and numbed. My hands holding his muscular backs were trembling, but the feeling of his sturdy hard body against mine made my heart hurt a little less. And when he finally hugged me back a shiver run through my body and made my legs weak. I hugged him tighter as I felt myself give away and I felt his soft and hesitant touch on my messy hair. To think all I needed was a hug from my... "WAIT A MINUTE!" Smells good? Muscular backs? What do you mean sturdy hard body?! And why would he hesitantly touch my hair, when usually he just messes it all up! I stepped back and pushed away from the boy I was hugging. "Oh, my ovaries!"

What a handsome young man! I felt as if his deep dark eyes were invading my soul, as he slightly leaned his head to the left and stared at me confused. He smiled awkwardly at me when he noticed my embarrassment. His cheeks lift up when he smiled and made his masculine face look adorably cute. I was still really confused and didn't notice I was still walking backwards as I stared at his face. And when I finally recognised him, I tripped and fell on my ass.

- Young... Young K! - I almost screamed and then looked around and realised DAY6 were in my living room looking at my drunk self.

I saw Young K biting his lower lip gently as he decreased the distance between us and reached out his hand to me.

- You know my name! It's only fair if I know yours too. - he said with what I thought it was a kind but at the same time naughty smile.

- Fuck.

- What? - he asked letting a laugh escape and bit his lip again.

- Oh! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck me! Fuck! NO! No, I don't mean that, hhhhhh fuck!

- What the fuck is wrong with you, Violet!? - I heard big bother Kim Jii shout behind Young K.

Masterlist & Chapters: Check my bio for the masterlist link. Idk why but posts with links don't show up on the tumblr's search feature anymore. So, I'll leave the link to my master list there, where you can find the other chapters easily. I hope this is still functional for you guys, sorry for the trouble. I hope you can still enjoy my work despite the technical issues.

Additional information: Violet calls Kim Jii and Kim Joon brothers, but their not her real brothers. She simply loves them a lot and since they live together they became each other family xD

~~~~

A/N: This wasn't a very long chapter but It was just the beginning! I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know your thoughts about it ~

See you next time, hugs from your Sweet Little Bird.

#day6 #day6 fanfic #young k #day6 brian #day6 young k #fanfic #kpop #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #myday #young k smut #smut #romance #day6 smut #day6 jae #day6 dowoon #day6 sungjin #day6 wonpil #jae #wonpil #dowoon #brian #day6 hot #young k hot