#Solid Studio IR

[artificial-transmutations]

Rick's Reality

Richard Thompson, or "Rick" as he was known to everyone in his small Midwestern town, had always been a figure of certainty. A solid, unchanging monument amidst a world that was too often in flux. His voice, amplified by the local radio, was a constant stream of opinions and advice that echoed through the homes and cars of his listeners each weekday morning.

Rick was an imposing man, in both stature and belief. Standing tall at six feet two inches, with broad shoulders and a deep, resonant voice, he was the picture of traditional, rural masculinity. His dark hair was always neatly combed, his clothes crisp and clean, and his boots spotless despite the dust and mud of the local landscape.

His radio show, "Rick's Reality," was a beacon for conservative values and traditional perspectives. It was a platform from which he would confidently espouse his views, his deep baritone voice resonating with a fervor that drew in even the most reluctant listener. Rick had a particular disdain for the LGBTQ+ community, seeing them as a challenge to his idea of 'normal.'

"There's a certain way of life, a right and a wrong," Rick would assert, his voice crackling over the airwaves. "Men are men, women are women. That's how God intended it."

Rick had been born and bred in this town, his life as firmly rooted as the old oak tree in the town square. A divorced father of one, his life was a well-trodden path of work, hunting, fishing, and beer with his buddies at Joe's Bar.

That Monday, Rick sat behind the microphone in his small studio, a cup of black coffee steaming beside him. He had a familiar fire in his belly, the one that fueled his daily tirades. Today, his ire was directed towards immigrants and the LGBTQ+ community.

"Folks," he began, his voice stern and unwavering, "our great nation is being undermined. We've got immigrants coming in, not respecting our culture, our way of life. And then we got these... these... folks who can't decide if they're men or women or want to marry their own kind. It's a disgrace, I tell ya."

The phone lines were lighting up, as they always did during his heated monologues. He gestured to his assistant, who patched through a caller.

"You're on 'Rick's Reality', what's your reality today?" Rick asked, a smug grin on his face.

"Hello, Rick," the caller began, their voice calm, measured, and anonymous. "I've been listening to your show for a while. I've heard your views on immigrants and the LGBTQ+ community. I wonder, have you ever challenged your beliefs? Have you ever tried to see life from their perspective?"

Rick was taken aback. He was used to angry rebuttals and passionate agreements, but this? This was new. He stuttered, before finding his footing. "Well, I... I know what's right. And it's my job to stand up for what's right."

"But what if 'right' is subjective, Rick?" the caller continued. "What if the 'right' you know is not the only 'right'? Have you ever considered that?"

Rick was angry. Angry enough to hang up. But something stopped him. He knew he needed more information about this mysterious caller. So, he stayed on the line, listening intently as the caller continued.

"I'm just curious, Rick," the caller said, "what would happen if you met someone who thought differently than you do? Wouldn't that be interesting? What if they didn't think like you did?"

"I'd punch them out," Rick replied. "I don't need no faggot or immigrant around me thinking he's better than me."

"Interesting," the caller mused. "So, you wouldn't try to understand them? You wouldn't try to learn from them?"

"Nope," Rick said. "I'd punch them out." He had enough of the caller and cut the line. This was ridiculous, why did people with these deviant opinions even bother calling into his show? He had to get back to ranting about the evils of immigration and the perils of same-sex marriage.

He returned to his monologue, but his mind wandered. He couldn't shake the strange feeling he had when talking to that caller. Their words had struck a chord within him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was like a small voice in the back of his mind that was so very different from himself, that was curious about what that guy had said, curious about the very idea of being different. It was only miniscule though, and Rick quickly dismissed it, continuing his show.

The rest of the callers were good, normal people calling. People agreeing with him and encouraging him. The day went by smoothly until the end of his shift. He was heading home in the bright noon sun, when he felt like he could do something different today. The route he usually took when walking home was down the main street, passing Joe's bar and into the residential area with the neatly trimmed lawns where he lived. There was, however, another route, a quicker one that went through the bad parts of the town. The parts where those Latino gardeners and pool boys lived, where there were shady clubs and even the dreaded local 'rainbow' scene. Normally, Rick wouldn't even think about entering those parts of town, but the comment from earlier was still gnawing at his mind. Perhaps he should take that way today, just to see how much better life was when you were normal. There was nothing going to happen, after all. If he met anyone who bothered him, he'd just punch them.

So, Rick turned off the main road, making his way towards the seedy part of town. As he walked past the bars and strip joints, he saw men and women going about their businesses or sitting around, taking a break and smoking a cigarette. So far, nothing out of the ordinary except the slightly darker skin color of most people here. He passed a few men playing socker in an alleyway between buildings. A man sat on a bench outside a corner store, drinking a beer and watching some kids play basketball nearby. He made eye contact with a woman wearing a tight red dress as she exited a convenience store carrying bags full of groceries. She was probably wondering why he came here - a question he asked himself.

He kept walking, trying to ignore the looks he was getting as he got closer to the gay district. Well, district was a bit much. There was a bar and a club with rainbow flags in the windows, nothing more.

The bar was closed, as it was just noon. However, the club was apparently open, which was surprising considering the time of day. Rick stopped. Maybe he should go inside. There would probably no patrons in there and he was kind of curious what that godless place looked from the inside.

He pushed open the door to the club and stepped inside. The place was empty, as he thought, apart from a bartender cleaning up. The guy was a fairly muscular and about the same age as Rick and greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Oh hi! Welcome to Club Rage!" he said. "What can I get you?"

"I don't want anything", Rick said with a reserved tone. He didn't even want to speak to that guy, but now that he was in here, that seemed to be less and less of an option.

"Ah, then you're here for the job opening!" the other man beamed. "Name's Miguel by the way."

Of course, an immigrant, Rick grimaced. "Richard." he said noncommittally.

"Good! I didn't expect someone like you to apply, but sure, let's see what you've got! Follow me!"

Why didn't Rick just say he wasn't interested in the job, whatever it was?

Miguel led him to the big dance floor of the place and pointed to an elevated cage with a pole in it. "This would be your workplace."

Rick looked at him dumbfounded. "What did you say was that job again?", he asked cautiously.

"You'll be dancing," Miguel replied. "It's not a difficult job, trust me. You won't have any trouble keeping up with the crowd. Come on, show me some moves, Richard!". He patted the cage floor with his hand.

Rick wanted to say a lot of things, shout at the guy or storm out of here, but another part of his brain saw this as an opportunity. There was no one here but Miguel to see him and he would never, ever do something like that again, so he might as well try it once.

Rick nodded slowly and hoisted himself up into the cage with some effort. Miguel was looking up to him expectantly and Rick tried some careful, stiff dance steps.

It must have looked ridiculous, but Miguel was nodding. "Yeah... you need some beat, man. Hold on."

Miguel disappeared for a moment and shortly after, a driving, thumbing rhythm filled the room, way too loud for the empty room.

When Miguel reappeared, he gave Rick thumbs up: "Okay, Rick! Try it with this!"

The rhythm actually helped a bit, and Rick found it easier to get into it. His dance moves became more sweeping and quickly, Rick was sweating from the unfamiliar workout.

Apparently, Miguel had also noticed and shouted from below: "Come on! Show me that body a bit, don't be shy!"

Rick gritted his teeth and moved his hips faster, feeling the sweat running down his face. He could hear the music pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else. He felt good about himself, better than he'd done in years. While dancing, he unbuttoned his shirt and quickly disposed of it. His torso was looking different from what he was used to: It was smoothly shaven and more toned - not trained or muscular but toned and lean. His skin had a darker complexion than he was used to, and the glistening sweat gave his moves a smooth and fluid quality.

Down below, Miguel was cheering. "Yeah, come on, Rico boy! Use the pole!"

Rick, no, Rico shook his head and smiled. While he grabbed the pole with his right hand, his left hand unbuttoned his pants, in a well-practiced movement. As he twirled around the pole, he used an upward movement to strip the pants completely from his legs, revealing his very tight purple hotpants that accentuated his bulge nicely. Rico noticed that Miguel was clapping to the beat now and decided to give him a special show, turning around and shaking his ass to the rhythm right above Miguel’s face. Rico smiled. He had no doubt that he would get the job - he was just so damn good at it. Every man loved him, and he knew how to hone and groom his body to just tease them the right way. He was a living wet dream, with both an impressive ass and an ample bulge in the front of his pants that he knew just how to shake in a way that made the patrons drool. A boner factory, an ex-boyfriend of his had called him, and there was something very true about it.

Finally, Rico finished his gig and slid down the pole without even panting much, planting an impish kiss on Miguel’s mouth. He couldn't resist to cup the other man's groin with his hand meanwhile... yep, he was going to get that job.

Ricardo Torres was happy - this would be perfect for him, a chance to put his body to good use and get familiar with this new town quickly. Besides, that Miguel guy was really cute, perhaps it was time for a new boyfriend in this new town!

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Double, Double Boil and Trouble - Part 2

A/N: This is a continuation of my fic for the @rare-clone-fic-exchange, which I wrote for @goblininawig. My apologies for the delay! The rest of the fic is plotted and in progress, and it takes place in a shared continuity with Stars Beyond Number, Martyrs and Kings, and “Do It Again,” but it stands alone and can be read independently of those fics.

Pairing: Clone Trooper Boil x Reader (GN; reader practices tasseomancy/reads tea leaves) 

Rating: T, but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 2K

Warnings and tags: fluff; angst; a really obscure joke; questionable fashion decisions

Summary: Boil returns to the scene of the crime.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Suggested Listening:

Four days later, you were awakened by an ungodly racket. You stumbled out of bed and shrugged on the nearest bathrobe, then shuffled out of your apartment and through the adjoining shopfront. Through the transparisteel door, you saw Boil, pounding insistently. You unlocked the door and opened it, squinting and blinking into the harsh sunlight.

He took in your attire with astonishment, then said, “You’re really committed to the bit, aren’t you?”

“You’re the one who barged in at the crack of dawn—”

“It’s ten o’clock in the mornin’,” he interrupted.

“—and then have the audacity to mock my pyjamas?” you continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “What do you want?”

He glanced down at your body once again and smirked. “What pyjamas?”

“Ugh.” You started to close the door in his face, but he blocked it with his foot.

“Wait! Just, wait,” he said. “I promise not to make fun of your nonexistent pyjamas or your retina-searing bathrobe.”

“You’re still doing it!” you exclaimed, disgruntled. “You’re actively making fun—”

“Yeah, but I won’t do it again!” he cut in. “At least not more than three or four times…”

You growled and braced your hands against his broad, solid chest, trying to dislodge him from your shop door. Infuriatingly, he didn’t even sway under your hands. Even more infuriatingly, he smelled better than he had any business smelling this early in the morning. He watched you with an expression of amusement that only raised your ire more, until you gave up in disgust and spun around, stalking into the shop.

Boil followed you as you strode toward the reception desk and rummaged around in it until you found what you sought.

“Here,” you said, slapping his leather gloves against his chest. “Now go away.”

He looked down, surprised. “Huh, I wondered where I’d left those.”

“That’s not why you’re here?” you asked.

“No, but it is a nice bonus.” You narrowed your eyes dangerously at him, and he hastened to continue. “I actually came to apologize. And… to bring you this.”

He held out a small canister. You recognized the label immediately, and your eyes widened in surprise and a grudging respect. “Wow. That’s one hell of an apology.”

“Is it?” he asked, looking interested. 

Your eyebrows shot up. “You don’t know what this is?”

He shrugged. “Tea?”

“Hmph,” you said grumpily. “You might as well come on back.”

He followed you through the corridor to your tiny studio flat. “I didn’t realize you lived here.”

“I don’t exactly advertise it,” you said acerbically. “The last thing I need is some desperate or disgruntled customer showing up demanding a reading while I’m in the shower.”

“I thought you called them guests,” he said.

You refused to dignify his comment with a response. You walked to the kitchen and turned the kettle on to boil, then pulled a pair of mismatched, chipped ceramic mugs out of a cabinet.

“Saving the nice dishes for your customer-guests?” he teased.

“Yes,” you grunted. “And since you are neither of those things, you get what you get.”

“I’m not complainin’,” he shrugged. “I thought I was gonna drop that fancy-ass teacup and have to pay for it somehow. At least if I break this one, I can just steal another from—” he held up the mug to read the aurebesh slogan. “—the Dizzy Dewback Cantina. I thought that place was just a legend.”

You snatched the mug from him and measured a scoop of loose tea into it—not the tea that Boil brought, but a strong black tea with enough caffeine to kickstart your brain. “The pretty one came from the same charity shop as this one, just like everything else here.”

He looked around your flat curiously. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“Amazing what people give away,” you said.

“No, I meant—” he paused.

“What?” you demanded, your hackles rising instantly.

“Kriff, you’re cranky when you wake up,” he remarked. “I just meant it’s impressive that you were able to do…” he gestured vaguely around the colorful, eclectic flat, “... all this, with stuff that you thrifted. It’s nice.”

“Oh,” you said, somewhat mollified. “Thanks.”

“Not a lot of credits in fleecing tourists and bewitching troopers?”

“Not when I keep giving away my tea and pastries for free to every cute trooper who waltzes through the door.” You poured the hot water into the mugs.

“Speakin’ of pastries…” he said, not at all subtly.

You glared at him out of the corner of your eye, and he did his best to look convincingly famished. Grumbling, you went to the conservator and pulled out a couple of buttersweet puffs, then changed your mind and pulled out two more. No point in lying to myself. You popped them into the warmer, and by the time the tea was done brewing, they were appropriately reanimated.

“Milk? Sugar? Lemon?” you offered.

“Just sugar,” he said. “Please.”

You slid the sugar bowl toward him, then a jar of honey, just in case. He stirred a frankly obscene amount of sugar into his tea, then followed you to your sofa. The studio was too small to fit even a compact table in the kitchenette, so the sofa was the only seating option other than the bed. His eyes snagged on the rumpled bedding, and you felt the heat rise in your ears.

“Sorry about the mess,” you said, a touch of defensively. “I wasn’t expecting a GAR invasion.”

“Nobody ever does,” he murmured. “So, you think I’m cute?”

“Don’t push your luck, trooper.”

You took a long sip of tea, your eyes drifting shut in bliss as your head tilted backward to rest against the wall behind the sofa. When you opened your eyes, Boil was staring at you, holding a buttersweet puff halfway to his mouth. He blinked and looked away, cramming half of the pastry into his mouth in a single bite. He chewed for an awkwardly long time, looking increasingly frantic, until finally he washed the bite down with a large gulp of tea.

“Tea’s not bad,” he said at last. “That what I brought?”

You laughed. “No. Some of us aren’t used to tripping balls on a Primeday morning.”

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“It’s a high-grade psychoactive tea,” you explained. “Very potent. Very expensive. Where did you even get it?”

He looked horrified. “General Yoda gave it to me. No explanation, just walked up and handed it to me yesterday while I was escorting Commander Cody to the Jedi temple.”

“Those Jedi really know how to party,” you said drily.

“Kriff me, I could have been court-martialed if I’d been caught with that!” he said indignantly. “What the kark was that little green gremlin playing at?”

You shrugged. “Who knows. I don’t fuck with Jedi. I’m not their—er—cup of tea.”

Boil looked intrigued and not a little suspicious. “Why? What did you do?”

“Very rude to assume I’m the problem,” you pointed out. 

“It’s not exactly a leap,” he said.

“Agree to disagree,” you replied evenly, nibbling on your buttersweet puff. “Why are you here, anyway? I assume the trippy tea was just a ploy.”

“I prefer to call it a diversionary tactic.”

You raised an eyebrow to acknowledge the hit, but otherwise remained silent, waiting for him to tell the truth. He cleared his throat uncomfortably at your scrutiny, staring down into his mug of tea.

“I, uh…” he began before trailing off. You sipped your tea as you waited patiently. Eventually, he tried again. “I really did come to—apologize. I… I shouldn’t have gotten—I wasn’t expecting… that.”

You would have laughed at the way he practically had to pry the apology out of his mouth, except his eyes held such profound grief that your own heart ached for him. You regarded him steadily for a few moments, then leaned forward and rested your hand on his shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shrugged uncomfortably, and you withdrew your hand, giving him space.

“Wouldn’t even know where to start,” he said.

You waited a moment, giving him space to consider, before quietly suggesting, “Why don’t you tell me what ‘nerra’ means?” 

“It’s Ryl. Twi’leki, you know?” he asked, glancing up to make sure you understood. “In Basic, it means brother.” He swallowed hard and looked away. “My brother, Waxer.”

Kriff. So I was right, you thought grimly. Karkin’ hate it when that happens. 

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, knowing that the words could never be enough. “When?”

“Umbara.”

You nearly flinched at the mention of one of the most devastating battles of the Clone Wars. So many deaths, all because of the treachery of one man. One Jedi. You’d seen the coverage of the battle and of Krell’s betrayal on the holonews, of course, along with everyone else in the galaxy. But you had also heard about it firsthand from troopers who’d come to you looking for answers, for closure. Troopers who had turned their weapons on their own brothers and only discovered the deception too late. You helped as many as you could, returning to your flat at the end of each night drained and distraught.

Those troopers had come to you willingly, though. Boil could hardly have been more reluctant. You hadn’t intended to ambush him, but it seemed the Force had other plans.

“Were you there, as well?” you asked.

He nodded. “Waxer… he’d just gotten promoted to lieutenant. It was his first command. He was so kriffin’ proud.”

You drew in a long, quiet breath. You’d heard so many stories like this, but they never got any easier. Not when the fallen had been such good men. Not when the survivors looked at you with those broken, devastated brown eyes.

Boil’s hand shook as he set down his mug, rattling it slightly against the low table. He turned to you, and after a few seconds’ hesitation, he asked, “Are you a Jedi?”

“No,” you replied.

“Then how…” he trailed off, confusion in his eyes. 

“Not everyone who can use the Force is a Jedi,” you said.

He looked at you sharply.

“Nor a Sith,” you said in answer to his unasked question. “Some of us are just… people. Doing our best.”

“And you do that by telling fortunes?” he asked.

You smiled. “On my home planet, we call it the Sight. My grandmother taught me how to wield it. The tea leaves help me focus my intent.”

“But you don’t need ‘em, do you?” he asked. “You knew before you ever looked into the cup.”

“It was more a feeling,” you replied. “Hazy. Indistinct. Even with the leaves, all I got was a word, and even that meant nothing to me.”

“So you never trained as a Jedi because you didn’t have strong powers?”

“Something like that,” you replied uncomfortably. The truth was far more complicated, but you doubted this trooper had come to you expecting to read your full autobiography.

Boil wanted to say something. He watched you closely and took a breath, but he hesitated, looking away, and finally, he picked up his mug and downed the rest of his tea.

“I should get back to the base,” he said, not meeting your eyes. “Thanks for… everything.” He stood, and after a moment’s silence, he whsipered, “I wish I could talk to him, just once more.”

His voice was quiet and hoarse, and grief was etched starkly in his eyes.

“Boil,” you murmured, reaching for him on instinct, but you withdrew at the last second, recalling his earlier discomfort with your touch.

He took a breath and gave you a cocky, sardonic smile that didn’t fool you for a second. “I'll see ya around.”

“Yeah,” you replied, sensing that it might be sooner than he expected.

You walked with him out of your flat, down the hall, and back through the shop. Before he left, though, you impulsively reached for his hand.

“Wait.”

He raised his brows in surprise. “Somethin' wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “I just wondered if you’d like my comm channel. In case you ever decide to wake me up at the crack of ten again.”

He was silent for a moment, then he said, “Yeah… I’d like that.”

---

Part 3

[crescentblossom66]

Prompt 10 Gmail

“Stupid dumb modern technology! Why can't I just send a wee letter and be done with it! Why fill out some dumb form and send it per e-mail!”The tangent the yellow owl went on could be heard across half the studio, cauing the Express Owls just outside his office in the storage area to flinch.

“S-Should we go and check on him?” A fairly new owl asked his coworker as he put away a box nearly dropping the box when yet another loud screech echoes through the hall.

The others frantically shook their head. “You're going to lose your head if you go in their now, the Conductor is in a very sour mood, if he's already loud enough to shake the foundation of the building.” They sighed as they continued to work getting startled every time the yellow owl found a different reason to scream is lungs out.

Inside his office, the Conductor stood over his laptop grinding his beak and growling at the device that was causing him to want to pick it up and smash it into pieces. He looked at the error message again that was flashing brightly across his screen. 'E-Mail address invalid' How the peck could that address be invalid?! He copied it down letter for letter! He typed the long E-Mail address back into the field where the e-mail needed to be typed into, his talon pressing down heavily on the keys. His ear-like feathers were twitching, pure ire on his face. He pressed the enter key, it checked the validity...error. “SON OF A PECK NECK!!!” The owl yelped in pain as he kicked the closest thing that stood near him which turned out to be the leg of the his solid mahogany desk. He hissed in pain as he sat back down in his chair, his poor foot throbbing. “Peck...”

The Express Owls turned their attention toward the hallway. “Did he get hurt?” One asked.

“Eh, I'm not getting paid enough to go and check on him...I'm not getting paid at all.” Another shrugged.

The newbie Express Owl started to walk toward the office, the others wanted to stop him, but they took a step back once they heard more swearing coming from the room. With hesitation, the brown owl knocked on the door and entered after not receiving an answer. “Sir, are you okay?” He found his boss hunched over, rubbing his aching foot.

The Conductor briefly looked at him. “Do I look okay, lad? Nae, nothin's okay. I need ta sent a form out, but I swear, this stupid laptop is taunting me!” He pointed at his screen. Curiosity got the better of the owl and he took a look at what was causing the yellow bird's torment and the answer was incredibly simple.

“Uh...sir...you forgot the @ sign...don't tell me you just typed an 'a'.” The other bird looked at the Express Owl like he had never even heard of that.

“What the peck is an @?”

[lazaruspiss]

Burn Notice

Page One

Lynns took a generous swig from his hipflask then pushed through the heavy oak doors into Tomaso Panessa’s office.

“Garfield! Have a seat.” His boss’s plump red face and expanded waistline betrayed the fact that he was bankrupt. Financially, as well as morally.

Lynns shrunk into a chair as Panessa dispensed with small talk then began to justify the unceremonious firing of this lowly FX artist.

Page Two

Despite critical acclaim, The Inferno had recovered less than a quarter of its inflated budget in the six months since its release. Such a high-profile failure, combined with increased attention from the IRS meant that laundering millions of dollars of mob money through Panessa Studios was no longer a viable business plan.

“I always liked you, Lynns,” he said, like a veterinarian comforting an animal before pushing the plunger on a lethal injection. “But the industry’s different now. As a studio, we need to adapt or perish… and that means making some tough decisions.”

Page Three

Garfield declined the proffered cigar with a wave of his hand. He felt sick watching the greasy old bastard wrap his lips around a wad if dried leaves that cost three times his monthly salary.

“I’m sure a man of your intelligence knew this day would come, Garfield. I’m sure you’ve prepared for every eventuality.”

Lynns was prepared all right. He struck a match off the solid oak table and held it up to light the man’s cigar. He met his boss’s gaze for the last time then expelled a mouthful of nitroglycerine through the dancing flame.

[itsbrandy]

Wildest Dreams Chapter 4

Wildest Dreams

Chapter 4: He's So Bad

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x Original Female Character

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, drug use, smoking, old timey sexism, swearing,

Word Count: 4.9k

Dieter

“It’s intimidating. Very intimidating,” Bee had said.

Dieter tried to hold her gaze, but he felt like he’d lost her. She was off somewhere else, puzzling away what had just happened in that audition room. Staff were shouting all around them, directing people to be silent on sets while others were loudly rehearsing. Techs wheeled massive carts of equipment past on squeaky wheels, yet Bee stood solid in front of him.

He thought, for a moment, that she’d been a dream. Something willowy and wispy that if he reached out and tried to grab her, she’d simply turn to ash.

Dieter had been far from sober the night before, his mind toiling and troublesome.

Fucking John.

He’d gotten him so headfucked that it was a miracle Dieter had made it out of bed this morning. In fact, when he’d awoken, it was John in his bed, tangled up with some wannabe Hollywood starlet in the sheets. There was not a scrap of comforter on top of Dieter’s body.

“Well, congratulations,” Dieter said with a grin, shoving away the memory. “I look forward to working with you.”

Bee nodded.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she said earnestly. “Have you ever done a movie in Africa? I’ve heard it’s very hot.”

“Never,” Dieter said. “It will be a real treat.”

Bee and her friend looked at one another and smiled.

Nancy, the brunette, placed a gentle hand on the exposed skin of Bee’s forearm in a move that made Dieter’s heart start pounding.

How unfair.

He knew that touch better than anyone, how John would make a subtle play, just a caress that would look otherwise normal but held so much more meaning.

God, his heart ached.

“Anyway,” Dieter interjected, trying once again to right his brain. “You two ladies are both very talented. Where did you say you studied again?”

Bee gave an answer, but Dieter wasn’t really listening. He was caught up on the way her lips moved, the way the gloss that sat atop them caught in the light, the way the noise in the background lulled to a sudden stop.

His pills had kicked in.

Finally. It was about fucking time.

“Gotta run—sorry,” Dieter said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Sorry, we’ll chat later, I’m sure. Congrats on the roles, girls. You earned them! Great work!”

As he rushed away from them, another tech cart loaded with equipment whizzed by impossibly fast, careening down the hall. Well-–it hadn’t been fast; it was just that Dieter hadn’t noticed it. The cart collided with his body, clipping his shoulder painfully. The force of the collision sent Dieter all the way to the ground, and a painful cry wrenched from his mouth.

A series of hushes rung out from a nearby set that had been rolling.

Fuck.

“Are you alright?” Bee asked. She hovered over him, and all Dieter saw was dark eyes and dark hair falling down around her. She looked like a painting, and he wanted to reach out and smudge her face away.

Bee was too pretty. Distractingly pretty.

She was almost pretty enough to make Dieter forget about John.

About his face and his laugh and his strong frame. Dieter even loved his wrongs to go with his rights—his lies, his drugs, his drinking, his sleeping around. That’s how Dieter knew he had it bad. That and the fact that even when he got high, he couldn’t stop thinking about how badly it hurt that John didn’t really want him.

“I’m fine,” Dieter lied, propping himself up on his hands. “I can’t believe that tech. Can you believe that tech?” He turned his ire to the tech in question. “Can you fucking learn to watch where you’re going? I have a flight to Africa in a matter of days to film this studio’s next big movie. Can you imagine what would happen if you’d put me in a hospital? You would be personally responsible for the failure of this movie studio. Personally responsible. You.”

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the tech apologized.

He was young, just a kid, really, and he looked like he wanted to spill the truth—that it was Dieter who hadn’t been paying attention, not him. If he hadn’t been high, Dieter might have felt bad for lying, but he didn’t.

“Who is your supervisor? No, better yet, get to where you’re needed. I won’t have you wasting any more of this studio’s time. First, you’ve injured a star. Next, you’ll have been late and set a production schedule back,” Dieter sucked on his teeth. “Get out of here, kid.”

“Yes, sir,” the tech said, not needing to be told twice.

When Dieter turned his attention back to Bee and Nancy, Bee was collecting stray cigarettes from the ground on her hands and knees.

They must have gone flying when the collision happened. She tucked them all neatly into his box and handed it to him.

“Here,” Bee said. “Your cigarettes.”

“Thank you,” Dieter said. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“And you didn’t have to scare that poor kid,” Bee pointed out.

“Bee,” Nancy hissed, shocked that her friend had been so bold to call Dieter out on his lies.

Bee looked at Nancy with wide eyes and shrugged.

But Dieter liked that Bee had confronted him. He knew he was fucked up and that he did fucked up things. There needed to be more people like Bee in this world, people who weren’t afraid to stand up to the things they found wrong.

Bee stood and brushed her skirt with her hands, smoothing it down and removing any specks of grime or dust that it had caught while she was on the ground.

Dieter followed her lead and peeled himself from the floor, cigarettes in hand and a head full of dizzying thoughts. It was time to go before he really said something idiotic and ruined everything. This was his costar now, after all. He’d have to spend weeks and weeks with her while they camped in the African savannah filming a romance movie.

“Right, well,” Dieter said, removing a cigarette from the box and tucking it between his lips. “I’d best be off. I’ll see you at rehearsals, Bee. Nice to meet you, Nancy.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Nancy said, reaching her hand out.

Dieter didn’t take it. He was too busy lighting his cigarette to notice.

“See you,” Bee called out after him.

For a moment, Dieter thought to say something back to her, but then another fleeting thought swept in to replace it, and the urge was gone. He walked down the hallway, inhaling smoke deep into his lungs. # Bee “You’re going to be great,” Nancy said as she brushed a comb through Bee’s hair.

“You’ve already gotten the role, remember? And there’s no way they can replace you or fire you this late. They need to get your papers together to send you to Africa, Bee. Freaking Africa. I’m so excited for you. You have no idea.”

Nancy had ribbons and hair spray set out to do Bee’s hair special for her first day of rehearsal. She’d also made Bee breakfast and had it sitting out ready for her to enjoy before Bee even rolled out of bed. It was these things, these acts of affection, that really made Bee wonder if there was something here that made her and Nancy more than friends.

Well, that and the kiss they’d shared at Dieter Bravo’s house. They hadn’t exactly debriefed that one, had they?

“Thank you, Nancy,” Bee said. “I know, I’m just nervous. You know how I get.”

“Miserable?” Nancy asked. “Annoying?”

Bee laughed. Yeah, that was a fair assessment. She got mopey when she was anxious and felt like the world was going to crumble down around her.

“Well, at least you don’t get three sheets to the wind at all times like Dieter Bravo,” Bee could see how Nancy shook her head with judgment in the mirror. “What a sorry soul. I can’t believe you got down and grabbed his cigarettes for him like that. And how could he lie to that poor boy’s face? He had to know what really happened.”

Bee frowned as Nancy ran the comb through her hair again.

“Hurt people hurt people, isn’t that what they say?” Bee asked. “He’s got problems, obviously. There’s something that he’s running from.”

“I suppose,” Nancy said, but it didn’t sound like she totally agreed. She likely thought he was just another drug fiend in Hollywood. “I still think he should be held accountable for his actions.”

“Well, of course,” Bee said. “I’m just saying I understand, is all. He’s obviously going through something.”

Nancy set the comb down and moved to grab a ribbon.

“That or he’s let the fame go to his head. I’ve seen it happen to far too many girls in Hollywood. They get one big role, and then they blow up their entire lives. Too much alcohol, too many drugs, too many random men, and before you know it, they’re pregnant and never see the flash of a camera ever again. That’s what happened to Betty from school.”

“I thought she had to go back to Iowa,” Bee mused.

“Why do you think she had to go?” Nancy’s voice rose up a notch to prove her point. “You can’t raise a baby in Hollywood with no job and no man.”

Nancy changed her mind and grabbed the comb again, smoothing out a section of hair at the back of Bee’s head.

Then, she stopped, putting a hand on her hip and pointing at the mirror with the comb to prove her point.

“And I heard that now, she’s just an addict in Iowa. Her momma is raising that baby, and she’s still addicted to all that fancy stuff she tried while she was out here in Los Angeles. Except, they don’t make it nice and clean like they do here. The drugs there are dirty, and they make you dirty, too. I bet she’s lost all her teeth by now.”

Bee made a face. She thought it was ugly when Nancy talked like this—she knew part of it was out of warning. Nancy really didn’t want Bee to cozy up to Dieter Bravo. She’d said as much the night before when they arrived back home from the studio. But part of this rhetoric and this speech was one of Nancy’s deeper flaws.

Nancy was competitive at heart, even though Bee thought she had no reason to be.

Nancy had everything. She was white, stunning, fit, trim, pretty, talented, smart. Every positive adjective in the dictionary fits Nancy to a perfect point.

But at her core, Nancy was jealous, and she loved to compare herself to other women.

Perhaps the best thing of all to Nancy was when another woman who was “just as good as her” fell from grace.

That was perhaps Nancy’s favorite thing, and Bee hated it.

The phone rang in the kitchen, and Nancy dropped the comb. “Oh shit, that’s Alice.”

Bee looked on hopelessly as Nancy darted from the room to answer the phone.

“Alice,” Bee said numbly. That was a reminder that she didn’t need. In the excitement of landing her first big role and meeting Dieter Bravo for the second time, and learning all her lines overnight, she’d forgotten that her new nemesis was coming to Africa with them.

Bee was left alone to finish getting ready in order to make it to rehearsal on time. As she finished putting ribbons in her hair and pinning it up just how she liked it, she tried her best to hum to herself to block out the endless giggling from the phone in the kitchen.

At least Alice was coming with her to Africa. Bee had to spin this fact in her head to make it less miserable. She wasn’t leaving Nancy behind with Alice unattended. Instead, she was stuck with her.

****

The town car that picked her up was just as nice as the one on the way to the audition had been, but this time, Bee sat alone in the backseat. Nancy hadn’t even gotten off the phone long enough to give her a proper goodbye before Bee left for the studio.

Bee was annoyed. How did Alice have the time to chat on the phone all morning? Didn’t she have to rehearse, too?

They were leaving in a matter of days. Bee held her documents close to her chest. She needed to turn them in to the directors so they could properly arrange her ticket to Africa. More specifically, they were traveling to South Africa, which was under British rule.

As Bee walked into the studio, she found that it was just as chaotic as it had been the day before despite the early hour. Filming was already going on, and shouts of “Quiet on set!” lit up Bee’s ears.

There was a woman at the front door who paraded Bee back to where they would be rehearsing for the movie–simply titled The Africa Project at the moment. It was top secret, something that the press wouldn’t be notified of until it was deemed allowed by marketing.

"The movie was to be a sort of experiment", the woman explained. The studio hadn’t yet caught up with others in the area of destination filming, and they were still weighing the cost of filming in a foreign country with the benefits of an immersive experience.

Bee listened in careful wonder. She couldn’t believe that she’d been chosen for such a groundbreaking endeavor.

If this project were successful, her name would never be forgotten. She’d be known throughout the history of film. When one day, the silver screen would be replaced by something bigger and brighter, people would remember those who came at the forefront, just like people already revered the silent film stars of the past and the stars of the stage.

The Roberts brothers were busy bickering in their chairs in front of the rehearsal stage, but Bee rolled her shoulders back and approached them with ease.

She injected confidence into her personality, just as she’d been taught in her acting classes.

“Good morning, sirs,” Bee said. She held out her packet of documents. “I was told to hand in these documents today for my ticket.”

The oldest two didn’t even look at her. They were too engrossed in their conversation.

The youngest brother, however, grabbed her folder from her and tossed it on the ground, where it fell with a loud smack.

“Thanks,” he said. “Now, places. We’re just waiting on Dieter.”

Bee felt like she’d been slapped. She blinked a few times, recovering from the harshness of the man’s tone.

“Yes, sir,” Bee said.

Bee wasn’t quite sure where places was supposed to be, as the directors hadn’t yet said which scene or part of the film they were to be rehearsing, but she walked up to the stage anyway and stood with her back straight at center stage.

She waited, hands folded in front of her, and she made sure to wiggle her knees every once in a while to avoid passing out.

She’d learned the hard way in church when she was young that locked knees would send you to the ground in a hurry.

Of course, they were waiting on Dieter. Despite her frustration that she was being left waiting even though she’d been perfectly on time, she couldn’t help but worry for him. When he’d left her behind at the studio the day before, he hadn’t been himself.

Or maybe he had been himself, and that was the issue.

A group of techs brought a table and two chairs onto the stage and didn’t say anything to Bee that let her know to get out of the way, instead shoving her aside with their bodies as if she didn’t even exist.

Bee would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t flustered.

What the hell was the matter with this studio? She’d acted before, had decent roles before, and never before had she been treated like this. Sure, she’d been overlooked before, had men talk badly about her body before, but she’d never been selected for a role and been treated like she was invisible by the staff that was below her.

Bee looked to the directors, hoping they would say something, but they didn’t. They were still embroiled in their argument, so entrenched that Bee found that she was curious enough to listen in.

“I’m telling you,” the youngest brother said. “He’s unreliable. How can we take him to Africa when he’s practically a drug fiend?”

“He likes to party,” the oldest said. “That’s all. When it comes to work, Dieter is very reliable. I’ve worked with him many times, and I’ve had no issues on set. What actor of his fame and stature doesn’t party in their time off?”

“Time off?” the middle brother chimed in. “How many times now has he shown up like this? I think this is hardly a hobby he partakes in during his ‘time off.’”

“Fine,” the youngest brother said. “I mean, we’re not in a position to find a replacement, but if you’re really worried, let’s use today as a test. I’m confident that he will show up today completely sober. It’s a rehearsal day, a work day. Yesterday didn’t count. We weren’t rehearsing anything, we weren’t filming anything. It was totally off the books.”

The other two brothers exchanged a look that was all doubt.

Bee had to be honest with herself. She’d heard the rumors; she’d seen Dieter under the influence first-hand, not once but twice now. She didn’t know him well, but even she wasn’t entirely certain that she’d wager him showing up to rehearsal sober.

“Sure,” the oldest brother said. “And if he doesn’t, then we discuss replacing him.”

The middle brother agreed with a nod. “We can’t take him to Africa if he doesn’t get his act together. South Africa is under British colonial rule, but the politics there are dicey. If he gets in trouble with drugs in Africa, it will serve as a disaster for the studio. We can’t have that.”

“Agreed,” the youngest brother said.

It was as they were shaking on their agreement that Dieter Bravo himself rounded the corner. Bee didn’t mean to, but she stiffened, fixing her posture and accidentally locking her knees.

“Hello!” Dieter said, announcing his presence. He was all loud, all energetic, so unlike he’d been the day before at the audition. When he’d been hungover, he’d seemed so down, so depressed.

Dieter walked past the directors, almost as if he knew what they’d been speaking about before he entered the rehearsal space. He made straight for the stage, walking right up to Bee.

He gave her a goofy smile. “Good to see you again, Bee.”

“Good to see you too, Dieter,” Bee said. She started to feel dizzy, started feeling like she was going to fall backwards, and she suddenly thought to unlock her knees and shake out the stiffness.

“Locked knees?” Dieter asked.

“Yes,” Bee admitted sheepishly.

“You’ll get used to it,” Dieter offered, and Bee flushed bright red.

He thought she was too novice to know better than to lock her knees. It was rudimentary, something that all stage and film actors knew better than to do, and she’d done it right in front of him on her first day.

Dieter still had a goofy look on his face, something so uncharacteristic that it gave Bee pause and made her forget about how embarrassed she’d just been.

Is he high? Bee thought. She didn’t know him well enough to be able to tell, but he was just acting so odd that she couldn’t help but wonder.

She didn’t dare ask him or let onto her thoughts. The conversation between the directors was fresh in her mind, and she couldn’t risk the future of the movie based on an assumption.

“Which scene are we doing first?” Dieter asked. He tapped his temple with his finger. “I’ve got all of my lines memorized. I can start anywhere, anytime. Preferably a kissing scene.”

The directors laughed from their seats below the stage, and Bee laughed along for fear of sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Act One, the confrontation at the table in the safari tent,” the youngest Roberts brother said. “We want Dieter in the chair he’s closest to now and Bee in the chair opposite. But Bee, if you’ll remember, you don’t take a seat until halfway through this scene.”

Bee nodded her affirmation, and Dieter heaved a sigh.

The way Dieter took his seat shook the stage beneath Bee’s feet. He didn’t quite sit as much as he threw his full body weight into the chair.

“Oops!” Dieter said with a slight giggle that had Bee narrowing her eyes at him.

How could he not be high? Dieter’s character was a deadly serious explorer, not a silly man in the slightest. So, he wasn’t in character for himself or the role he was meant to play.

The Roberts brothers weren’t paying attention, though. Instead, they leafed through the script, looking for the correct place where they wanted Bee and Dieter to start.

Bee remembered this scene. It was a confrontation between her character and Dieter’s, where she would demand to be able to remain on the expedition. Dieter’s character wanted her gone. He thought that having a woman on the scientific exploration of the savannah was a liability, but really, he was just too in love with her to trust himself to separate work and play.

She started to run through the lines in her head, summoning up the rage that her character would feel at that moment. How dare he cast her off just because she was a woman. She’d worked so hard to study the African animals. She’d been hired to take notes for him, and she was damn good at it.

Hell, she was already here, sweating and uncomfortable in the African sun. How could he send her home now?

“Alright, we’re ready,” the youngest Roberts brother said, giving them a thumbs up.

Bee pulled herself out of her head and looked to Dieter to make sure he was also ready to start the scene. It was his line that went first in this scene.

But when Bee looked at Dieter, she noticed that there was something wrong with him.

Gone was the goofy look on his face he’d given her before. Now, he looked tired. His eyes were unfocused, zoned out on the table as if he found the wood grain very interesting.

“Dieter,” Bee said.

She was about to ask him if he was alright, but then Dieter was shaking, and his bottom lip was quivering. He kept biting at it as if causing pain to himself would make it stop.

“Uhh,” Dieter droned. He started to list out of his chair, drooping toward the floor.

“Hey,” Bee said, gripping his forearms with her hands. “Hey, are you okay? Dieter, are you with me?”

“Yeah,” Dieter mumbled. His eyes were closing and opening, lids fluttering. “Don’t…feel…good.”

���I know,” Bee said. She looked over to the Roberts brothers. They were distracted again, caught up in their own world.

Bee had to get him out of here somehow, some way that would get him help without forfeiting the movie. This wasn’t fair. Dieter was a hard worker. He’d shown up to work—he just had a problem.

“I have to go to the ladies’ room really quickly,” Bee said loud enough for the Roberts brothers to hear. “Dieter volunteered to show me the way while you finish your discussion.”

“Sure,” was the answer she received. So, she pulled Dieter up from the chair and forced him forward, hoping that he would cling to consciousness long enough for her to get him out of view.

“Come on, stay awake,” she said to him as they walked. “They can’t see you like this.”

Dieter got it together quickly once she told him that. He was still shaking slightly, still biting his lip, but he walked much straighter.

“What do you need? What will help you sober up?” she hissed under her breath. They were just out of earshot of the Roberts brothers.

They stood in a dark enclave in between two rehearsal spaces. If they stayed quiet, the many people who walked past wouldn’t cast them a second glance. People were too busy to pay them any mind.

“Cigarette,” Dieter mumbled.

“Lean against the wall,” she instructed, and Dieter obliged.

Bee summoned up some courage and shoved her hands into Dieter’s front pockets in search of his cigarettes and lighter. She pulled a cigarette from the pack and placed it to her lips, striking the lighter as she inhaled to light it. Then, she took a drag, simply because she deserved it, before passing the cigarette over to Dieter.

He puffed greedily, relishing in the nicotine. Bee didn’t know much about mixing substances, but she could see how adding an upper after a downer would help him feel better.

“We have to get through at least one scene,” Bee coached him. “The Roberts brothers don’t want to see you high anymore at rehearsals or filming. I heard them talk about firing you if they see you this way. Do you understand?”

Dieter exhaled a huff of smoke and nodded. “What do we do after one scene?”

“I’m going to say I have a ladies’ issue, and then I’m going to escort you home. I need to make sure you get there safely. Understood?”

“You don’t need to do that,” Dieter protested, but he wasn’t one to talk. He was still leaning his full weight against the wall while he was quickly smoking his cigarette.

“Oh, but I do,” Bee said. “And if they try to fire me because I’m asking to leave early, you have to stand up for me. Do you understand?”

“You’re asking an inebriated man to understand quite a bit,” Dieter said.

“Beggars can’t be choosers. You don’t have many choices here.” Dieter heaved a sigh and tossed the remains of his cigarette on the ground, stamping it under his boot. Bee tried her best to reserve judgment about the littering and the fire risk of throwing still-lit cigarettes on the ground indoors.

“Another, please,” he said, reaching out for the box of cigarettes in her hand.

Bee obliged him, lighting another cigarette for him and passing it over.

“Be quick. We need to get back,” she snapped.

She hadn’t meant to sound so mean, but she was getting anxious. Was she really going to cover for him at the risk of her own career? Yes, she was, but only because she was afraid of what it would mean for the whole movie if they fired Dieter. At least with her taking the fall, there was still a chance that production could go on. It was a risk but a calculated one.

As long as Dieter held up his end of the deal and covered for her properly, she shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

“Wouldn’t it be more believable that you were having a ladies’ problem if you took long in the bathroom?” Dieter raised an eyebrow. “I think that would go along with our story well.”

He had a point.

“Fine,” Bee conceded.

“Good,” Dieter said gruffly. “Fuck, I’m going to need to sleep this one off.”

“What did you even take, Dieter?”

Dieter pursed his lips. “You know, I’m not really sure. It was something new and then I think I did a line or two before I headed out the door. Could’ve been more in-between that I don’t remember.”

Bee frowned. “That sounds dangerous.”

Dieter shrugged and took another drag. He pushed himself off from the wall, more steady now on his own feet.

Bee didn’t fully buy that smoking cigarettes was the cure for his condition, but if it worked long enough for them to get through one scene, that was all she could ask for.

****

“You’re awake,” Bee said with surprise.

She’d checked on Dieter every hour for the past three hours in a row, walking into his bedroom and turning the light on to make sure he was still breathing. He was tucked gently under the covers, hardly moving as he slept off his bender.

This time, though, when she walked into Dieter’s room, he was stirring, starting to sit up in bed, looking thoroughly confused. His dark brown eyes looked tired, and his brow was furrowed.

Bee reached out to touch him but then jerked her hand back, letting it fall. She didn’t want to startle him. It was bad enough that he likely didn’t remember getting home, let alone waking up to a stranger in his house.

He’d made it through their scene but not for much longer after that. Bee had arranged a town car quickly, and he’d passed out as soon as the two of them climbed into the backseat.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” she asked. “I took you home after rehearsal, remember?”

“I’m alive,” Dieter mused. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands near the front. “Fuck, I have a headache. Do you have any whiskey?”

Bee choked back a laugh. “No, I don’t. And you need something else that starts with a ‘w.’”

“What’s that?” Dieter frowned.

“Water,” Bee insisted, furnishing a glass from the bedside table. “Drink up.”

Dieter looked at the glass of water like he hoped it was vodka instead.

“Fine,” he said. Then he looked up at her with something unreadable in his dark eyes. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Bee said. “When you finish that, we need to talk.”

Chapter 5 Masterlist

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

Introduction Today, I’m speaking to Pam Velour. Pam is an active stunt artist who specializes in quicksand entries, struggles, and suffocations. According to Pam, if you’ve seen a quicksand scene in a film over the last 25 years, she’s either been in it or produced it. Currently, she has a private studio where people can be videotaped sinking into quicksand while leaving messages for their viewers. We're speaking from the upper balcony at Harvey's Restaurant in Vermillion as we await the running of the Kentucky Derby.

IR: Hi Pam….How long have you been into quicksand?

PV: Hi! Well, it's a bit of a long story. I started out as a gymnast when I was young, and I always loved doing flips and tumbling. When I got a bit older, I started doing some acting and modeling work, and eventually, I was introduced to the world of stunt performance. I was really drawn to it because it combined my love of physical activity with my passion for storytelling.

IR: That's really cool. What's it like working with quicksand?

PV: It can be pretty challenging, to be honest. Quicksand is unpredictable, and it can be tough to maintain your balance and stability when you're sinking. Plus, it's usually pretty messy! But at the same time, it's also really exciting. There's something exhilarating about pushing yourself to the limit and coming out the other side unscathed.

IR: How do you prepare for a quicksand scene?

PV: Well, it depends on the specific scene and the level of danger involved. But generally, I'll spend a lot of time practicing my movements and building up my strength and endurance. I'll also work with a team of safety experts to make sure that everything is as controlled and safe as possible. And of course, I'll rehearse the scene over and over again until I feel really confident in my technique.

IR: Have you ever had any close calls or scary moments while doing a quicksand scene?

PV: Yeah, definitely. There have been a few times where things didn't go quite according to plan, and I had to rely on my training and instincts to get myself out of a near frantic situation. But that's all part of the job. You have to be able to think on your feet and react quickly when things don't go as expected. And at the end of the day, that's what makes it so thrilling and rewarding.

IR: What is quicksand anyway?

PV: Quicksand is a type of loose, water-saturated sediment that appears to be solid but is actually in a semi-liquid state. It can form in areas with standing water, such as riverbanks, beaches, or swamps, where the water pressure in the sediment is high enough to overcome the friction between the sand particles, causing them to separate and float. When someone steps into quicksand, the force of their weight can cause them to sink into the sediment, as the sand particles flow around and trap their legs or body. Contrary to what is often shown in movies or TV shows, quicksand is typically not very deep and will not suck a person under entirely. However, it can be very difficult to escape from, as struggling can cause a person to sink further into the sediment. The best way to escape from quicksand is to remain calm, try to distribute your weight as evenly as possible, and slowly and steadily work your way back to firmer ground.

IR: Why do quicksand scenes show up so often in movies?

PV: Good question. I’m just glad that they do. They never seem to go out of fashion, do they? Especially when the sand pit is pulling the tee shirt off the woman in distress. The idea of sinking slowly into the ground is a powerful image, and it can be used to heighten the stakes of a scene and create a sense of helplessness and desperation.

IR: What goes into the construction of a convincing but safe quicksand pit?

PV: In movies, quicksand pits are often portrayed as being made of clay, which is a type of fine-grained soil that can become very slippery and unstable when wet. While it's true that clay soils can contribute to the formation of quicksand, quicksand can also form in other types of sediment, such as sand or silt. The properties of the sediment that contribute to the formation of quicksand are its grain size, water content, and the pressure on the sediment. Quicksand typically forms in areas where the sediment is saturated with water and the water pressure is high enough to overcome the friction between the sediment particles. When the sediment is disturbed, such as by a person stepping into it, the pressure can decrease and cause the sediment to behave like a liquid, trapping the person and making it difficult to escape. We start with a pit or depression in the ground that is sized and shaped to fit the needs of the scene. Line the bottom of the pit with a layer of plastic to prevent water from escaping. Add a layer of sand on top of the plastic. If you have enough money in the budget, a hydraulic platform can be used to create the effect of sinking. I stand on the platform and it is lowered into the pit. Add mist or bubbles and alakazam.

IR: Have you had any close calls?

PV: Yeah, definitely. There have been a few times where things didn't go quite according to plan, and I had to rely on my training and instincts to get myself out of a tough situation. But that's all part of the job. You have to be able to think on your feet and react quickly when things don't go as expected. And at the end of the day, that's what makes it so thrilling and rewarding.

IR: Have you ever gone completely under?

PV: Thankfully, I've never gone completely under. That's always the worst-case scenario when you're working with quicksand or other unstable materials. The key is to stay calm and focused, and to use all of your strength and training to pull yourself back up to safety. It can be really scary, though, especially when you're sinking and you don't know how deep it's going to go. I've worked with some amazing safety teams over the years, and they always make sure that everything is as controlled and safe as possible. But even with all the safety precautions in place, there's always an element of risk involved when you're doing this kind of work. That's just part of the job, though. You have to be willing to take risks and push yourself to the limit if you want to succeed as a stunt performer. Of course,

it's not just about taking risks for the sake of it. There's an art to creating a realistic and convincing quicksand scene, and it takes a lot of hard work and practice to get it right. You have to be able to move in a way that looks natural and believable, while also being aware of the safety protocols and procedures that are in place to protect you. Overall, working with quicksand and sand pits can be a real challenge, but it's also incredibly rewarding. There's nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline that comes from performing a difficult and dangerous stunt, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

IR: How difficult is it to get out of the sandpit after the shot?

PV: It can be difficult for stunt actors to climb out of a quicksand pit, as the sediment can be very slippery and unstable, making it hard to gain traction or maintain balance. Additionally, struggling or moving too quickly can cause the sediment to become more fluid and increase the risk of sinking further. To climb out of a quicksand pit, it's important to remain calm and move slowly and deliberately. You should avoid flailing or struggling, which can cause you to sink further, and should try to distribute their weight as evenly as possible to maintain stability. One effective strategy for climbing out of a quicksand pit is to slowly and carefully pull each leg out one at a time, while keeping the other leg still and stable. This can be repeated until you're is able to reach solid ground. It's also important to use any available props or objects to help pull themselves out of the pit, such as tree branches or ropes. Stunt actors who are required to perform in quicksand pits should be trained in the appropriate techniques for safely navigating and escaping from these environments, and should always have access to safety equipment and personnel to ensure their well-being. My team includes Andy Bubacz and Tiger Chrome.

IR: I’m told that you regularly shoot videos of people who want to be submerged in quicksand.

PV: Yes, I do. It’s been quite a surprise to discover how many people want to be taped while sinking in quicksand. In my studio, we have all the safety equipment including the hydraulic lift. Smoke and bubbles cost extra.

IR: Why do people want to do this?

PV: Well, first of all, because it feels sooo good but there is an emotional payoff as well. Quicksand can be seen as a symbol of feeling trapped or stuck in a situation or relationship that is difficult to escape from while losing control when every struggle only leads to further entrapment. Psychiatrists are beginning to recognize the exercise as powerful therapy. Also, when the people are in the pit, shrinks leave messages of hope and resolution to the clients who are treading sand without the ability to escape or control. Mostly though, our clients submerge for shits and giggles.

IR: Finally, what are your personal favorite quicksand scenes?

PV: The Princess Bride when Westley is briefly trapped in a quicksand pit before being rescued by his love, Princess Buttercup. Romancing the Stone (1984) when Kathleen Turner falls into a quicksand pit while trying to retrieve a treasure map. She is eventually rescued by the hero Jack Colton. The Mummy Returns (2001) when Rick and Evelyn O'Connell (played by Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz) become trapped in quicksand while exploring an ancient temple. Those three represent all that is good and safe about quicksand scenes.

IR: Thanks, Pam. I’ve learned a lot. Maybe next time I’m in the sand, I’ll have better luck wedging out.

PV: No problem, Ice. If you're ever stuck again, I’ll throw you a vine.

Positive Review and Analysis Strengths Engaging Subject Matter: The subject of quicksand stunts is both unusual and captivating. It immediately grabs the reader's attention due to its novelty and the inherent drama of the topic.

Clear and Conversational Tone: The interview maintains a conversational and approachable tone, making it easy for readers to follow along and stay engaged. The questions flow naturally, and Pam's responses are detailed yet relatable.

Personal Insights and Experiences: Pam’s personal journey from gymnast to stunt performer adds a compelling backstory that enriches the interview. Her anecdotes about close calls and the challenges of working with quicksand provide authenticity and depth.

Technical and Practical Details: The interview includes informative details about quicksand, the construction of quicksand pits, and safety measures, giving readers a well-rounded understanding of the topic. This balance of personal narrative and technical information is particularly effective.

Humor and Wit: Both the interviewer and Pam exhibit a sense of humor that lightens the narrative and makes the content more enjoyable. Lines like “UMMM” and “if you're ever stuck again, I’ll throw you a vine” add a playful touch.

Emotional and Symbolic Layering: Pam’s explanation of why people want to be videotaped in quicksand introduces a deeper emotional and symbolic layer, touching on themes of entrapment and control. This adds a thought-provoking dimension to the interview.

Areas of Improvement Clarity and Consistency: Some parts of the interview could benefit from clearer phrasing and more consistent terminology. For example, ensuring the spelling of "quicksand" is consistent and avoiding repetition in certain sections would enhance readability.

Further Exploration of Emotional Aspects: While the emotional payoff of quicksand experiences is mentioned, expanding on this aspect could provide additional depth. Exploring specific examples or client testimonials could enrich this part of the interview.

Refinement of Descriptive Language: Pam’s description of the physical sensation of quicksand and the technical setup could be more vivid. Adding more sensory details and refining the language would help paint a more immersive picture for the reader.

Balanced Perspective on Risks and Rewards: While the thrill and excitement of quicksand stunts are well-articulated, providing a more balanced perspective on the potential risks and the importance of safety measures could add credibility and depth to the interview.

By refining the language, exploring emotional aspects further, and balancing the perspective on risks and rewards, the interview could be even more impactful. Keep up the great work, and I look forward to seeing more of your unique and intriguing content!

please apply your areas of improvement…. ChatGPT Interview with Pam Velour: The Quicksand Specialist Introduction Today, I’m speaking to Pam Velour. Pam is an active stunt artist who specializes in quicksand entries, struggles, and suffocations. According to Pam, if you’ve seen a quicksand scene in a film over the last 25 years, she’s either been in it or produced it. Currently, she has a private studio where people can be videotaped sinking into quicksand while leaving messages for their viewers. We're speaking from the upper balcony at Harvey's Restaurant in Vermillion as we await the running of the Kentucky Derby.

IR: Hi Pam….How long have you been into quicksand?

PV: Hi! Well, it's a bit of a long story. I started out as a gymnast when I was young, and I always loved doing flips and tumbling. When I got a bit older, I started doing some acting and modeling work, and eventually, I was introduced to the world of stunt performance. I was really drawn to it because it combined my love of physical activity with my passion for storytelling.

IR: That's really cool. What's it like working with quicksand?

PV: It can be pretty challenging, to be honest. Quicksand is really unpredictable, and it can be tough to maintain your balance and stability when you're sinking. Plus, it's usually pretty messy! But at the same time, it's also really exciting. There's something exhilarating about pushing yourself to the limit and coming out the other side unscathed.

IR: How do you prepare for a quicksand scene?

PV: Well, it depends on the specific scene and the level of danger involved. But generally, I'll spend a lot of time practicing my movements and building up my strength and endurance. I'll also work with a team of safety experts to make sure that everything is as controlled and safe as possible. And of course, I'll rehearse the scene over and over again until I feel really confident in my abilities.

IR: Have you ever had any close calls or scary moments while doing a quicksand scene?

PV: Yeah, definitely. There have been a few times where things didn't go quite according to plan, and I had to rely on my training and instincts to get myself out of a tough situation. But that's all part of the job. You have to be able to think on your feet and react quickly when things don't go as expected. And at the end of the day, that's what makes it so thrilling and rewarding.

IR: What is quicksand anyway?

PV: Quicksand is a type of loose, water-saturated sediment that appears to be solid but is actually in a semi-liquid state. It can form in areas with standing water, such as riverbanks, beaches, or swamps, where the water pressure in the sediment is high enough to overcome the friction between the sand particles, causing them to separate and float. When someone steps into quicksand, the force of their weight can cause them to sink into the sediment, as the sand particles flow around and trap their legs or body. Contrary to what is often shown in movies or TV shows, quicksand is typically not very deep and will not suck a person under entirely. However, it can be very difficult to escape from, as struggling can cause a person to sink further into the sediment. The best way to escape from quicksand is to remain calm, try to distribute your weight as evenly as possible, and slowly and steadily work your way back to firmer ground.

IR: Why do quicksand scenes show up so often in movies?

PV: Good question. I’m just glad that they do. They never seem to go out of fashion, do they? Especially when the sand pit is pulling the tee shirt off the woman in distress. The idea of sinking slowly into the ground is a powerful image, and it can be used to heighten the stakes of a scene and create a sense of helplessness and desperation.

IR: What goes into the construction of a convincing but safe quicksand pit?

PV: In movies, quicksand pits are often portrayed as being made of clay, which is a type of fine-grained soil that can become very slippery and unstable when wet. While it's true that clay soils can contribute to the formation of quicksand, quicksand can also form in other types of sediment, such as sand or silt. The properties of the sediment that contribute to the formation of quicksand are its grain size, water content, and the pressure on the sediment. Quicksand typically forms in areas where the sediment is saturated with water and the water pressure is high enough to overcome the friction between the sediment particles. When the sediment is disturbed, such as by a person stepping into it, the pressure can decrease and cause the sediment to behave like a liquid, trapping the person and making it difficult to escape. We start with a pit or depression in the ground that is sized and shaped to fit the needs of the scene. Line the bottom of the pit with a layer of plastic to prevent water from escaping. Add a layer of sand on top of the plastic. If you have enough money in the budget, a hydraulic platform can be used to create the effect of sinking. I stand on the platform and it is lowered into the pit. Add mist or bubbles and alakazam.

IR: Have you had any close calls?

PV: Yes, there have been a few times when things didn't go quite according to plan, and I had to rely on my training and instincts to get myself out of a tough situation. But that's all part of the job. You have to be able to think on your feet and react quickly when things don't go as expected. And at the end of the day, that's what makes it so thrilling and rewarding.

IR: Have you ever gone completely under?

PV: Thankfully, I've never gone completely under. That's always the worst-case scenario when you're working with quicksand or other unstable materials. The key is to stay calm and focused, and to use all of your strength and training to pull yourself back up to safety. It can be really scary, though, especially when you're sinking and you don't know how deep it's going to go. I've worked with some amazing safety teams over the years, and they always make sure that everything is as controlled and safe as possible. But even with all the safety precautions in place, there's always an element of risk involved when you're doing this kind of work. That's just part of the job, though. You have to be willing to take risks and push yourself to the limit if you want to succeed as a stunt performer. Of course, it's not just about taking risks for the sake of it. There's an art to creating a realistic and convincing quicksand scene, and it takes a lot of hard work and practice to get it right. You have to be able to move in a way that looks natural and believable, while also being aware of the safety protocols and procedures that are in place to protect you. Overall, working with quicksand and sand pits can be a real challenge, but it's also incredibly rewarding. There's nothing quite like the rush of adrenaline that comes from performing a difficult and dangerous stunt, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

IR: How difficult is it to get out of the sandpit after the shot?

PV: It can be difficult for stunt actors to climb out of a quicksand pit, as the sediment can be very slippery and unstable, making it hard to gain traction or maintain balance. Additionally, struggling or moving too quickly can cause the sediment to become more fluid and increase the risk of sinking further. To climb out of a quicksand pit, it's important for the actor to remain calm and move slowly and deliberately. They should avoid flailing or struggling, which can cause them to sink further, and should try to distribute their weight as evenly as possible to maintain stability. One effective strategy for climbing out of a quicksand pit is to slowly and carefully pull each leg out one at a time, while keeping the other leg still and stable. This can be repeated until the actor is able to reach solid ground. It's also important for the actor to use any available props or objects to help pull themselves out of the pit, such as tree branches or ropes. Stunt actors who are required to perform in quicksand pits should be trained in the appropriate techniques for safely navigating and escaping from these environments, and should always have access to safety equipment and personnel to ensure their well-being. My team includes Andy Bubacz and Tiger Chrome.

IR: I’m told that you regularly shoot videos of people who want to be submerged in quicksand.

PV: Yes, I do. It’s been quite a surprise to discover how many people want to be taped while sinking in quicksand. In my studio, we have all the safety equipment, including the hydraulic lift. Smoke and bubbles cost extra.

IR: Why do people want to do this?

PV: Well, first of all, because it feels sooo good, but there is an emotional payoff as well. Quicksand can be seen as a symbol of feeling trapped or stuck in a situation or relationship that is difficult to escape from while losing control when every struggle only leads to further entrapment. Psychiatrists are beginning to recognize the exercise as powerful therapy. Also, when the people are in the pit, they leave messages of hope and resolution to people metaphorically trapped and without the ability to escape or control. Mostly though, our clients submerge for shits and giggles.

IR: Finally, what are your personal favorite quicksand scenes?

PV: The Princess Bride when Westley is briefly trapped in a quicksand pit before being rescued by his love, Princess Buttercup. Romancing the Stone (1984) when Kathleen Turner falls into a quicksand pit while trying to retrieve a treasure map. She is eventually rescued by the hero Jack Colton. The Mummy Returns (2001) when Rick and Evelyn O'Connell (

[saltrock006]

随分と設定変更がなかったが、

キャビ・シミュを少しばかりイジった。

Driveを上げるとハリが出て、

Presで少しザクザク感を加えてみた。

CranberryはTrebleを下げる。

若干コンプレッションが増えたような気がする。

ディレイも小変更。

[saltrock006]

分かりにくいが、5150 Overdrive、キャビ・シミュ(下)、

コーラスの設定を変更してみた。

これだとAmpManに替えなくてもいいかな〜

音作りが上手くいかないのは、

いじれるファクターが多過ぎるのかなって思った。

それで、もっと単純化しようとしたのだが、

結局は元に戻ってしまう。

何度か繰り返してたら煩わしくなって、

Black Spirit 200 Floor辺りを買おうとした。

しかし、考え方によってはコントロール出来る範囲が広く、

まだまだ設定を試してみる価値は十分にあるハズ。

全てをコントロールしたいと始めた訳だし、

更なる試行錯誤は必要だな。

恐らく…

[scroll-of-thought]

Care to elaborate on this co-op horror game? it sounds interesting, most horror games i’ve seen are single-player

Thanks for the ask 😀 it’s always re-enrgizing when someone is interested in your work! I'm not sure how much I should talk about before we do our social media thing, but screw it, I’m half the studio, I can probably give you the basic concept.

You're part of a group of urban explorers who investigate haunted and paranormal locations. Upon finding a location you'll be tasked with random or procedural goals to complete while exploring. These could be anything from "take pictures of 5 creepy things" to "document an EMF reading, spirit box/EVP, etc. with ghost hunting equipment". There will also be keys scattered around the map that will unlock the next section of map, and more goals with each unlocked section.

At some point, as you progress, one of a few random monsters will be let loose into the arena to hunt you and your friends. You'll have to evade the monster while completing your goals and escaping with your lives.

The inspiration for this started as "Hey, what if games like Pacify, Devour, and Lunch Lady didn't suck?" And if you haven't seen those games, they basically boil down to wandering around a map and collecting notes, or miscellaneous items and then using those items on a different item, and then turning them in at a finish line to win. Think the old Slender games, but with a couple extra steps. Also the AI is always really bad in those games.

And that turned into us coming up with better mechanics and ways to improve and innovate on that subgenre of “collect the things while a monster chases you”. We figured out how to reuse the networking and AI we used on a different project which never found a publisher. I’ve been making some nice horror maps. And before you knew it we’re getting to something that looks like a real game 😄

One of the things that will feel really good is the different monsters have different AI. So you might get a monster that's blind, but can hear really well, and you have to avoid making loud noises or stepping on noisy things. Or you might get a monster that has IR vision only, so it can't see your flashlight, but it can see your night vision camera's IR light, and you might need to take picture with the night vision camera to complete a goal.

You can also distract and scare away the monster with different things, like flares or fireworks. But flares don't scare a blind monster, and fireworks might not scare a zombie, but attract it instead. So the tools we give you will interact differently with the monster, depending on what monster spawns. (And you can select a random monster, or pick one you want to play against in the lobby menu, because it's really annoying if you want to practice against something, or try out the new one, but it never spawns randomly). The design goal here has been to avoid some of the systematic strategies that a lot of games like this have, where you start forming habits and always bringing the same equipment because it’s what always works.

So without turning this into a full essay, we wanted to see if we can do better in the horror collectathon subgenre, and so far I feel like it’s going to be a lot more engaging, especially as we focus our development time on diverse enemies and interesting interactions.

We’re hoping to actually start posting stuff on twitter soon, but right now everything is just grey boxes moving around and placeholder graphics. Once things are a little prettier, we can start sharing stuff about the game. If you’re interested, follow us on twitter @GamamiDigital and by september we should have a ton of clips and screenshots and maybe some more formal Q&A stuff. It’s just me and my one friend doing all this, so it’s not going to be AAA, but we’re doing everything we can to make a solid indie game.

[efectoscuster]

#Repost @richardcolemanrock ... Electroacústico. El 15 de mayo llevo también la guitarra eléctrica a mi show en @rondemanabasto Armé este liviano y poderoso setup con el que puedo resolver y potenciar el audio de la Godin 5th Ave Uptown que tanto me gusta, sin llevar amplificador y sin sacrificar audio. Input > Cube Fuzz Tone Bender> Cluster Jaminabox18 Overdrive > NUX Tape Core Deluxe> NUX NSS-5 Solid Studio IR & Power Amp Simulator> Output. @godin_guitars_argentina @cube_efectos_ @efectoscluster @nuxefx @breyer_musica ENTRADAS EN VENTA, CAPACIDAD LIMITADA preguntar en @rondemanabasto #richardcoleman #richardacústicos #eléctrica #pedalboardoftheday #fuzz #tonebender #overdrive #jaminabox18 #tapedelay #spaceecho #ampsimulator #pedaloftheday #elusoincorrectodelospedales (en Cluster) https://www.instagram.com/p/COOND84nW2U/?igshid=ys2tjxjo10v1

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 42

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3

Chapter 37 / Chapter 38 / Chapter 39 / Chapter 40 / Chapter 41

Read on Ao3

Virgil looked up at the knock on the studio door. It was rare for anyone to disturb him up there, out of the way of the rest of the house. The knock was light though, hesitant and slow between beats, which perhaps had him wiping the paint off of his hands faster than necessary. 

“Yeah?” He called, already running through guesses of who it might have been. 

“It’s me,” Alan responded, the door cracking open a fraction as he stuck his head in, “Can I come in?”

Virgil couldn’t remember the last time the teen had visited the studio, as uninterested in art as he could possibly be and not seeing the point. Virgil hadn’t taken it to heart, Scott had gone through a similar phase though had been somewhat less vocal about it than Alan had been. He had assumed at the time that it was an attention tactic, aiming to get a rise out of him and draw Mom’s attention when she had been spread thin running both IR and the business. 

What Alan hadn’t realised that he only had to tell Mom he wanted something and she would come running. 

It was the advantage of being the youngest. 

“What’s up?” He frowned as his younger brother hesitated inside the door, his hands clutching at his holotablet in a way that he remembered John doing at a much younger age. 

Alan shrugged, “John’s fighting with Ridley, Scott’s angry, Mom’s busy, and Gordon’s swimming.”

Virgil knew better than to think he was fifth on Alan’s list of people to go to. Depending on the situation, John or Gordon were his usual go tos. 

“So it’s my lucky day?” He grinned as he flopped down on the sofa in the room, patting the cushion next to him, “What do you need?”

Still hesitating, Alan took a breath, glancing down to his tablet and then back to his big brother. Virgil could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was holding himself straighter, taller, despite the worry in the cerulean blue of his eyes. 

“Mom can’t stop me from going to space, not if I get my permit through the Earth Space Council.” 

He raised an eyebrow at him, Alan was still a minor, not quite sixteen and not quite old enough to be seen as an adult in his own right. Virgil knew that a permit for a kid of Alan’s age would need parental signatures. 

Shaking his head he sat straighter, “I’m not singing the permission for you Alan.”

The youngest shook his head back at him, “Wasn’t gonna ask you to. I just needed your help checking my answer to one of the questions for the mock exam.”

Virgil frowned at him, not quite sure he was following as Alan finally sunk down next to him, tablet forgotten to one side as he sighed and shrugged.

“I saved John’s life. It’s not fair that I can prove just how good a pilot I am yet still be grounded.”

Virgil nodded once, seeing exactly where it was going as Alan continued.

“So I looked in to getting my space license, and I thought, maybe, if I can prove to Mom that I can pass all the tests, I can persuade her to sign off on it for me.”

Sighing, he lifted his arm across Alan’s shoulders, pulling him in despite the squeak of protest.

“It’s not that simple Allie.”

Alan grunted in protest as he shoved against the solid muscle of Virgil’s arm, wriggling out from under his hold with a glare.

“I flew Thunderbird Three Virgil! I was up there doing maneuvers that even the pilots of Little Lightning struggle with. John basically lives in space and we need a pilot for Three!”

He could see his brother's point. Gordon had already discussed it with him quietly over a work out the previous night. The logic was there, but the kid was just too damn young.

Alan was still Mom’s baby, always would be. Virgil could hardly see her coming around to the idea that in just a few months the baby of the family would be old enough to join the academy. 

Even he had to shake himself, questioning just where the time had gone. It wouldn’t be long before Gordon was passing out as an official team member. With how they treated the family fish being hardly different to a fully fledged member, sometimes Virgil forgot that his copilot wasn’t actually truly qualified.

“And what if Lightning is busy?” Alan pressed, “What then?”

Virgil shook his head, “We still have Ridley.”

He didn’t expect the scoff and roll of the younger eyes, “Ridley doesn’t even like Three. She said it’s too big and flighty.”

“It’s something though.” Virgil countered with a sigh and a shrug. Drawing Alan back into his side again he squeezed tight, “It’s not that we don’t want you on the team Allie, but I’m afraid you’ve just gotta be patient. Just give it until your birthday, then we’ll have a better hand to persuade Mom with.”

“But what about my space license?” He whined, eyes darting back to the holotablet, “Can’t I just get my qualification for that now?”

Patting his shoulder, Virgil nodded, “I’ll talk to the others, see if it’s something we can talk them in to,”

His face brightened as he straightened, suddenly returning the hug as he threw his arms around Virgil’s neck, “Thank you.”

Hugging him back, Virgil sighed, “You’ll get there kid, I promise.”

Another knock on the door made Alan pull away too fast, all wide eyed and tense again as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

Virgil supposed that being a teenager, being caught hugging his big brother was probably just as bad. 

Scott stepped in before Virgil could answer the knock, glancing between them with his own wide eyes. HIs shoulders were straight as he held the door, his mouth unable to hide the smile that was clearly trying to break free.

“You guys need to come quick. That Eos thing has picked something up, a signal, it says that its source is the same as the last one we couldn’t descramble.”

Alan was up and out of his seat before Virgil could move, “Why didn’t you call us!?”

He had sprinted off before Scott could say more, no doubt headed for the lounge and answers that their eldest brother couldn’t give. 

Virgil followed more sedately, raising an eyebrow at Scott as he passed him.

“You think…” He found he couldn’t say the words, that there was too much weight in them, too much hope. 

“If there’s anyone it could be.” Scott shrugged with a slight shake of his head, almost as if he were scared of admitting it himself.

Taking a breath he pulled the studio door closed behind him before following Scott down the hall.

“You know why Allie’s up here, right?”

Scott snorted, “Something to do with flying Three?”

Virgil had to scoff, was the youngest really so predictable? Both knew he was desperate, they all knew exactly what he wanted in the long term and just how soon he wanted it to happen. Scott was on Mom’s side though, determined that he was too young, that he had to work for it the same as the rest of them had. 

“He did save John the other day.” Virgil shrugged as he reached to summon the elevator, “And he flew her damn well.”

It wasn’t something any of them could deny, they’d all seen the feeds from Five’s external cameras, they all knew how skilled the youngest was on the sims. Now he had proven himself in the real world, and putting him off would soon be impossible. 

“He’s applying for his license from the Earth Space Council. If he gets that, there’ll be no stopping him.”

Scott stepped into the elevator, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow at Virgil, “So what are you saying?”

Leaning on the wall opposite his brother, Virgil shrugged. Scott knew exactly what he was getting at, he didn’t need him to spell it out. 

If it meant a shift in favour of what Alan needed though…

“None of us can deny that he’s a natural at flying.” Virgil told him, “More of a natural than any of us, which says something and you know it.” 

Flying was in the Tracy genes, it was simple and natural instinct to all of them to some degree or another. 

“He at least needs to be sixteen,” Scott sighed after a long moment with only the hum of the elevator to fill the silence, “After that we might consider it.”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile, “Is that the big brother or the commander talking?”

Scott was fighting a smile as his eyes flicked up to him, “Don’t, okay?”

As the doors before them opened, Virgil straightened and took a breath, “Let’s go and find out what this signal is then.”

[gaynkles]

What Is Class-D Amplification?

In case you're under the feeling that Class-D intensifiers are only 'two letters more awful' than Class-A models, reconsider: Class-D innovation is having an expanding effect on the live stable world by offering more force with less weight than any other time in recent memory. We discover how and why...

Each stable architect has an assessment about amplifiers. What's more, amplifiers, they positively all stable unique. Blending comforts? The distinctions there are down to offices and operational comfort. Be that as it may, power speakers? Aside from 'greater is better', who could get amped up for an amp? The force enhancer, potentially a few of them for a live show, sits in a rack and continues ahead with its activity. The innovation is full grown and there isn't too much contrast between power intensifiers, so you just pick a solid maker and the necessary force rating. Rack up, and you're finished.

We should be appreciative that power speakers are so uninteresting, supposing that they're uninteresting it implies that they function admirably. To be sure, the force speaker is a standout amongst other performing bits of pack in the whole stable framework, regarding recurrence reaction, contortion and clamor. Present day power enhancers are additionally commonly a really dependable pack. Speakers of old used to pass on all the time as their transistors immediately combusted. Be that as it may, presently, on account of productive cooling and insurance hardware, power-amp disappointment is a similarly uncommon occasion. (On the off chance that you don't find that in this way, look to your cooling — free wind stream is an absolute necessity).

All things considered, makers don't prefer to rest. They have to improve their items ceaselessly, ideally to increase a bit of leeway over their rivals and urge us to purchase a greater amount of what they make. As it occurs, there is still opportunity to get better in the field of intensity intensifiers. More Watts for the buck is one way they can be improved. Essentially more Watts in a solitary enhancer is another. A third likely zone for advancement? Make them lighter! On the off chance that you've at any point invested energy fixing amps and amp racks, you'll thoroughly understand that.

Here's a decent inquiry: exactly why are power enhancers so substantial? Power doesn't gauge anything, so why amps have so much mass? There are two responses to that. One is the transformer that changes over the mains voltage into a lower voltage reasonable for the amp's hardware. On the off chance that an amp is evaluated at 500 Watts, for example, the transformer must have the option to gracefully such power, and the sky is the limit from there. So it needs generous copper windings and a massive center's; will undoubtedly be overwhelming. The other possibly huge thing is the warmth sink. Not the entirety of the power provided to the enhancer hardware is changed over into valuable force sent to the amplifiers. Some is squandered as warmth, and this warmth must be scattered, in any case the amp will cook. So the yield transistors are dashed to a huge, finned heat sink with a wide surface territory that can lose heat effectively, especially when utilized related to a fan. The facts demonstrate that warmth sinks can be produced using a lightweight metal, for example, aluminum, and smart plan can make the heatsink part of the amp's structure. All things considered, everything includes and the regular force amp is a quite profound monster.

To lessen the heaviness of an enhancer, there is a basic arrangement: don't squander so much force. On the off chance that no force were squandered, the transformer could be a lot littler and a warmth sink would not be required. Unmistakably, there never will be a 'no-squander' speaker, yet the more proficient an intensifier is, the lighter and littler it tends to be. So in live stable, where power amps are utilized in amount, proficiency in an intensifier is an entirely attractive quality. In different regions where power speakers are utilized, for example, home hello there fi and studio checking, productivity isn't such an issue.

This carries me to the subject of this article: Class-D enhancers. The entire explanation behind presence of Class-D is productivity. Evidently, there must likewise be Class-A, Class-B and Class-C, and one would expect these to be prior turns of ridiculously, before D in the letters in order. I will clarify how Class-D functions, and why it is reasonable for live solid. Above all, I will need to clarify how each one of those different classes work check here 

In The Beginning...

In the event that you know nothing about gadgets, don't stress. All things considered, don't stress a lot — I'm not going any more profound than a current comprehension of how a battery and bulb work will bolster. (Obviously, a little information on sound signs won't go awry.)

In the first place was the single-finished Class-A speaker, as appeared in Figure 1. I've rearranged the schematic to show just the yield gadget, which is the place the contrasts between the classes are characterized. In a straightforward speaker like this, the sound information signal — a little substituting current (AC) — streaming into the base of the transistor ('b') controls a bigger direct current (DC) spilling out of the yield of the enhancer's capacity flexibly through the authority ('c') and producer ('e') to earth. The pieces of the circuit I have forgotten about 'inclination' the transistor with the goal that when there is no information signal, the yield voltage (ie. the voltage at the gatherer) is a large portion of the all out gracefully voltage. This permits the yield voltage to shift both all over to an equivalent degree, to reproduce the AC waveform of the information. In the event that the voltage with no info signal present was to be something besides somewhere between zero and the full force flexibly voltage, at that point unavoidably one portion of the waveform would come up short on volts before the other, restricting the measure of intensification accessible before the waveform would be cut

We should see what happens when the information signal voltage to the transistor is low. The transistor will permit just a minuscule current to stream between the gatherer and producer, in this manner the voltage at the authority will be nearly equivalent to the full flexibly rail voltage. So the heap (the amplifier) is driven with a high voltage and a solid current — Ohm's Law, V=IR (Volts = Current x Resistance), directs that current stream is consistently relative to the voltage applied and the opposition inside the circuit. On the other hand, when the information voltage to the transistor is high, the gatherer producer some portion of the transistor will lead. The voltage on the gatherer will turn out to be low, so the heap (the speaker) is driven with a low voltage and just a little current (Ohm's Law once more; the opposition of the speaker continues as before, however the applied voltage is presently low, so the current stream is low). As the info signal waveform taking care of into the transistor cycles here and there, so does the yield voltage. The yield voltage is a greater form of the information voltage — which, obviously, is the general purpose of enhancement.

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This brings up certain issues. Initially, for what reason is the heap (the amplifier) not just associated between the gracefully rail and the gatherer? The appropriate response is that, on the off chance that it were, a current would consistently move through the amplifier, in any event, when no info signal was available. That would a) be inefficient, and b) dislodge the cone of the amplifier from its rest position, in any event, when there was no sign. The subsequent inquiry is why would that be a capacitor (C1) between the authority and the amplifier? The appropriate response is to forestall the real (DC) current of the force gracefully arriving at the speaker, as it's just the adjustments in voltage that we are keen on, and a consistent applied voltage would, as above, balance the cone from its rest position. (For effortlessness, I'll forget about the clarification for the resistor.)

This straightforward speaker is known as 'single-finished, Class A'. It has just one yield gadget, and when there is no sign the current through the yield transistor is in any event as incredible or more noteworthy than the greatest current that ever courses through the amplifier. So the Class-An intensifier is working completely in any event, when there is no sign! A Class-A speaker can just ever be 25 percent effective, as per the science. So in any event, working at its best, seventy five percent of the info power is squandered.

You Push, I'll Pull

Figure 2 shows an elective procedure, as a push-pull enhancer yield stage. One transistor 'pulls' the voltage up on the positive half-pattern of the waveform. The other transistor 'pushes' the voltage down on the negative half-cycle. All things considered, that is the kindergarten clarification. We should glance in somewhat more detail...

In this variant, I have indicated both a positive gracefully rail and a negative flexibly rail, just as an earth precisely in the middle of in voltage; zero volts truth be told. A solitary finished (positive-or negative-just) power flexibly can be utilized, however a double rail gracefully is better, as no DC-blocking yield capacitor is essential. This is on the grounds that, when there's no sign, the two terminals of the amplifier are at zero volts, so no current streams and there is no DC to be blocked. You will see that the transistors are marginally unique to one another. The upper transistor (Q1) is the thing that we call 'npn', implying that it will direct among gatherer and producer for a positive voltage at the base. The lower transistor (Q2) is 'pnp', implying that it will lead among authority and producer for a negative voltage at the base. In case you're into hardware as of now, you will have seen that there is another contrast among this and Figure 1. In Figure 2, the amplifier is associated with the producers of the transistor, as opposed to the gatherer of the transistor in Figure 1. This implies all the voltage intensification needs to go before this stage. This piece of the circuit is answerable for conveying a high current to the amplifier. However, don't stress a lot over that; it doesn't influence my clarification of the speaker classes

[locustphotography]

Here a tiny walk through my production studio located in Friedrichshain-Berlin. Video shot by @pablocamachofilms /// #Mixing and #Mastering according today's standards for #Digital and Physical distribution. Using a solid mixture of #Analog Modelling software with a wide range of #classic and #modern characters.// /// #Reamping through VSTs and Real mic'd Amplifier: _#Marshall #JCM900 head _#Blackstar S-100 head _4x12 Stereo Marshall cab with Vintage 30'S _Lepou Plugins with diverse IR's _Amplitube 4 _TH-U _SM57 and Condenser Microphones// /// #Production and #Sound Engineering for albums, singles and demos. Bring your ideas and we develop every inch of it and mold it until a final wide and loud product ready to go on your platforms of choice.// /// #Vocals, #Horns, #Strings, #Percussion, Reed and Woodwind instruments #Recording with the combination of choice from my Condenser and Dynamic microphones. Scarlett 18i8 preamplifiers with up to 192kHz sampling rate.// /// #Drum #Sessions delivered in time, according your music necesities. Up to 10 channels on 48kHz 24bit. Edited, Mixed or simply Raw. #Heavy Metal, #Punk, #Progressive, #Rock and Roll, #Hard Rock, Fusion, #Funk and World Music -Sonor Force Drumkit with multiple sound, heads, sizes and microhpone options, 3 different Snares with unique properties. -Meinl and Paiste cymbals// /// VST processing for your midi tracks. We count with the following Vst Instruments: -Addictive Keys (XLN Audio) -ANA 2 (Sonic Academy) -Bass Station (novation) -Brass 2 (arturia) -CS-80V2 (Arturia) -FabFilter ONE -Fabfilter Twin -Jupiter-8V2 (Arturia) -Labs (Spitfire Audio) -LegacyCell (Korg) -Lounge Lizard EP-4 (applied Acoustic Systems) -Minimoog V (arturia) -And many many many more //Reasonable prices for the modern musician and we also offer optional photographs and filming of your performance with a DSLR Canon HD camera// (at Berlin, Germany) https://www.instagram.com/p/CC3Tih7p7Jn/?igshid=1d7zvln8bjzqb

[zeldauniverse]

Fitness games have had an interesting journey through the annals of video game history. From the Power Pad on the NES to Dance Dance Revolution’s dance mat, they have seen a lot of ups and downs. It wasn’t until the launch of the Wii and Wii Fit when fitness games became a huge deal. Why just play video games or just go to the gym when you can do both at the same time?! That proved successful as Wii Fit (and its enhanced version Wii Fit Plus) sold a combined 43.8 million units, making it one of the best-selling games of all time, even beating out games like The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.

Since then, everyone has tried their version of a fitness game, but nowadays fitness games are becoming less common. Once people started getting tired of that type of game, most companies and developers changed course and began work on other things. Not only that, most fitness games present themselves as exactly what they are. “Oh you’re called ‘Fitness Boxing’? So you box to the beat and do fitness? Cool.” They stay in their lane and don’t try to be anything else.

This is where Ring Fit Adventure, the latest game from Nintendo EPD, tries to break the wheel. From the initial teaser in early September to the announcement trailer, we saw people having fun with a ring and a strap, and then we found out it was an RPG. It feels like someone went, “Final Fantasy, but Wii Fit?!”

It’s not exactly a combination you’d think were synonymous with each other. However, Ring Fit Adventure manages to blend them well enough to harbor an enjoyable experience while also making you sweat.

Full Disclosure Nintendo of America graciously provided us with a review copy of Ring Fit Adventure for the Switch. This review is based on version 1.1.1. As such, the new additions will be accounted for.

Meet the newest Switch accessory

What’s interesting about Ring Fit Adventure is that it markets itself as an adventure game. You fight monsters, explore fictional lands, and collect items on your quest. It just so happens to be an adventure game that you control with your body.

Ring Fit Adventure’s centerpiece is the unique pair of controllers you use: the Ring-Con and the Leg Strap. The Ring-Con is a heavily modified Pilates ring. The main difference is that Pilates rings normally have two hard plastic handles with concave sides with padding so it can be comfortable when doing thigh workouts. The Ring-Con replaces those handles with some small padding for your hands. As someone used to a normal Pilates ring, it feels a little strange, but it’s something you get used to. Then there’s the Ring-Con attachment itself, where you put the right Joy-Con. The Joy-Con’s accelerometer and gyroscope detect the Ring-Con’s position, whether you’re pushing in on the sides or pulling them away from each other. The IR sensor also tracks your heart rate by placing your right thumb over the sensor. It seemed to be fairly accurate, as it was within a 1 or 2 bpm difference when compared to my Apple Watch.

The Leg Strap is far less high tech — it’s literally a thing that you strap to the center of your left thigh and put the left Joy-Con in. That’s it. The Joy-Con itself does the work of making sure your leg is in the right position for the exercises thanks to its gyro and accelerometer.

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Admittedly, the story doesn’t try too hard to immerse you, but it still tries.

At the end of the day, however, the technology is nonetheless impressive.

One thing I do appreciate about the game is that Nintendo tries to make this game a circular experience. When you load into your file, the game asks if you want to warm up with some dynamic stretches before you jump in  so you can get your body ready and avoid straining or injuring yourself. During the game itself, it’ll ask you after a while if you want to keep going or cool down. When you decide you’re done for the day, the game asks if you want to do some static stretching as a means to cool down. This structure gives a nice arc that, as someone with a movement background, I appreciate.

I’m going on an Adventure!

The story is fairly standard. You control an athlete who meets a sentient ring, and together you explore the world and fight a bodybuilding dragon named Dragaux (yes, you read that correctly). You explore many worlds, help people along the way, and gain new abilities by constantly butting heads with Dragaux.

The plot is cookie cutter, but it also doesn’t try to be anything it isn’t. The basic story line works here. It’s moderately self-aware in parts, and it’s mostly enjoyable. It’s a tad basic at times, and Ring (the only character who is fully voiced) tends to repeat lines a bit, but it’s not enough to ruin the experience.

Expecting too much from the story would be a mistake, but it will help you pretend it’s not just exercise.

The game itself is very straight forward. Levels consist of two different modes — exploration and combat. The exploration is on rails, which makes sense because you move in one of two ways, either jogging or running in place or by doing small bends (what Nintendo calls “silent mode”). Silent mode is supposed to be a way to play the game without disturbing people by running in place. It was also the mode I used more because I dislike running.

As you traverse the levels, you can pull and push the Ring-Con to release gusts of air to hit boxes and suck up coins. Additionally, you can use the Ring-Con in other positions for specific actions, like pointing it down in order to jump, twisting it from side to side to row across a river, or pushing inward with your abs to destroy rocks blocking your way. You’ll gain experience as you continue, making you more formiddable in combat.

Speaking of combat, it plays out like a traditional turn-based RPG. You attack by doing various exercises from one of four different groups: Arms (upper body), Stomach (core), Legs (lower body), and Yoga (dynamic poses). The game telegraphs how long you hold the pose and then the release of it triggers the attack. Some of the exercises make you hold position for a while (the squats are rough), while others have you move to the beat. Certain enemies are affected more by specific moves; for example, red enemies are susceptible to exercises focusing on upper body. You get to decide what exercise to use, or you can shuffle the exercises, so there is a variety. The game also aids you in combat with lots of outfits and smoothies, Ring Fit’s equivalent to potions. Outfits have a set attack and defense stat like any armor in a typical RPG. There are also smoothies to consume, which have various effects ranging from from healing damage to boosting attacks of a specific type.

You face Dragaux multiple times through your adventure, and he does have some variety in his attacks. He’ll occasionally throw boxes at you that you have to shoot with the Ring-Con, in addition to just flat out attacking you. The game also doesn’t penalize you should you die in boss battles either — it will let you just skip right to the boss fight if you want to. That choice is nice.

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Ring Fit Adventure sticks fairly well to many traditional RPG elements.

That includes the nemesis that monologues and swears this meeting will be the last.

It’s not as complex as franchises like Final Fantasy or Pokémon, but it does enough to be enjoyable. And with 20 worlds to explore, there is enough content here to last you at least 20-30 hours of just adventuring alone. Additionally, during your quest, you’ll come across certain minigames. These minigames, like trying to get points by tilting your body side to side, add an extra bit of variety to the overall gameplay.

Ironically, where Ring Fit Adventure drops the ball a bit is in its overall design and music. When I think of an adventure game or an RPG, I expect a vast array of beautiful trees, vistas and dungeons. Ring Fit sets its levels in one of three locations — a trail through nature, where you explore vistas and go through caves; a wooden obstacle course built in a dojo-looking area complete with treadmills, hoops, and more; and a ruins area for the boss fights. It got to a point where I noticed how often the areas cycle between each level. After a while, it does start to feel stale.

Ring Fit Adventure’s music is pulsing, upbeat, and modern to pump you up, but most of it is also forgettable.

Music is vital to how RPGs and adventure games create the mood you should experience in combat and cutscenes. Ring Fit’s music is pulsing, upbeat, and modern to pump you up for the exercises you perform. This is great for a fitness-centric game; however, most of the music is a bit forgettable. The music often gets drowned out by the sound effects and Ring’s lines, and, when you do hear it, it doesn’t really feel like I’m a hero exploring the world and fighting monsters. I feel like I’m in a fitness studio. For a game that’s marketed to be an adventure game first, it feels like they came too short.

Additional fun to be had

Of course, the adventure is only one part of Ring Fit Adventure. The game also provides some additional modes if you don’t have time to spend on the main campaign. The Quick Play mode has a fairly robust set of minigames and exercises you can do, separated into three categories: simple challenges (where the goal is to get the highest reps possible); minigames (more specific exercise with concrete goals, like making pottery while squatting to raise and lower the hands); and sets (consisting of pre-selected exercises from upper arms to glutes or from aerobics to flexibility). You can adjust the strength setting to make things easier or more challenging depending on your ability, and these modes are a very good way to quickly target a small set of muscles.

Your scores for these are also put online to see how well you stack up against other players. At this point, the rankings are all that online is really utilized for. It’s sort of disappointing that Nintendo didn’t add a way to play the adventure mode with online co-op, but maybe that’s just me.

There’s also Custom Mode, where you can make your own workouts using all sorts of different exercises. They have some preset options, or you can pick and choose from the standard Upper Body, Core, Lower body, and Yoga menus.

At least the devs acknowledge you’ll be binging Netflix at some point. “Multitasking,” indeed.

Lastly, there’s Multitask Mode, where you can work out using only the Ring-Con while you’re not playing the game. Basically it records the number of presses and pulls you do with the Ring-Con while the Switch is in sleep mode or turned off. Once it’s enabled with the right stick, you can continue doing other activities, like watching The Mandalorian on Disney+ (at least that’s what I’m doing) and exercise while you do it. The next time you boot up the game, you’ll get a bonus in the Adventure Mode according to how many presses you did. It does limit you to 500 reps, which seems low to me, but considering that most people are going to just sit and watch a movie or a TV show for more than two hours while exercising, I understand.

A nice way to gamify exercise

Despite the story falling a bit short, Ring Fit Adventure is still a very enjoyable experience with a lot of replay value. It has several different modes to play, a terrific variety of exercises, and is great if you want to get some workouts in when you don’t feel like leaving the house because of bad weather. If you’re a fan of the hardcore mechanics of RPGs like The Elder Scrolls, Final Fantasy or Pokémon, Ring Fit may be basic, but that’s not what it places its emphasis on. The mechanics are accessible so that anyone can pick it up and enjoy it, and maybe It’ll get people into traditional RPGs. The only thing holding it back is not doubling down on the adventure/RPG genre in terms of scenarios and music.

Score 7.5/10

Review: Ring Fit Adventure may be basic, but it nevertheless makes exercise fun Fitness games have had an interesting journey through the annals of video game history. From the Power Pad on the NES to…

[jimintykookies]

Pairing: hoseok x female reader

Genre: phoenix!AU, smut, angst, fluff

Warnings: intercourse, oral (male and female), loss of virginity (female), major character death (non-descriptive)

A/N: Here it is, my first fic on this account. I’m so excited to debut my writing on here and even more excited to do it as part of a collab full of wonderful writers (many of whom I look up to). If you would like to check out their contributions to Cryptaesthesia, the link is here. I hope you enjoy and please, please, please leave feedback. Love ya!!

“Don’t forget to remind your parents about the conferences.”

You watched fondly as your hoard of kindergartners ran off to greet their respected parent or guardian. Your smile widened, quietly observing them excitedly explaining the events of their day. You loved your job and you loved your kids. Each one was special in their own unique way: Ella built towers with anything she could get her hands on, Lucas was the master painter and Bianca and Taylor were the Double Dutch queens.

You were familiar with most of the parents as well. There was the group of ‘Mean Girl’ moms who actively shamed anyone who gave their kids so much as a cookie. Rachel and Elliot Kasper were the young, dreamy couple who were so in love it was disgusting. Mrs. Wells was the Master of the Bake Sales, who made the best chocolate chip cookies you’d ever had. And then there was Kim Taehyung: the hot single dad with eyes of honey and a heart of gold. He had moved to the states a few years ago with his daughter Jisoo, and you couldn’t exactly blame the moms who would swoon over him at PTA meetings. Between his caramel hair, puppy dog eyes and a jawline that could cut diamonds, no one could blame you for harboring a little crush on him. It didn’t help that the sound of “Miss. Y/N” rolling of his tongue was enough for your panties to become ruined. How can someone’s voice be deeper than the Pacific ocean?

Your eyes quickly found him as they ran over the school courtyard. He was crouched beside Jisoo, golden skin glistening in the early May sun, lips stretched into a large smile as he chatted with his daughter. You mentally cursed how good he looked in a plain black t-shirt, because no human should look that hot. And those arms, god those arms. You could barely breathe when his biceps flexed to pick Jisoo’s backpack.

You lingered in the courtyard until you were sure all your kids were gone before slowly dragging yourself back to your classroom. Due to school policy, you were required to stay for another hour before you could head home to your couch and a warm cup of tea. Doing your best to fill up the time, you stop by the teacher’s lounge to make yourself a cup of bland coffee, an important aid in making your way through grading thirty-two math tests. You loved to teach, but grading had to be one of the worst jobs on the planet. While your kids were wonderful, you couldn’t say the same about their handwriting. You had suffered through many a headache trying to decipher e’s from c’s and h’s from n’s.

Sure enough an hour later you were sitting at your desk rubbing your temples. Accompanying your growing headache was the familiar queasy stomach and empty chest. These phenomenons make up what you call the Feeling. The Feeling had plagued you since you were eight years old and you accidentally set your Barbie doll on fire.

For the most part, it had been a quiet Tuesday evening. Your parents had gotten into another fight, but that wasn’t exactly out of character at this point. You were alone in your room about to make Ken kiss the bride, when you heard a loud crash from the kitchen. You jumped at the sound, heart beating fast. Crashes often meant ugly fights and because of this, loud noises set off your fight or flight instincts. When you looked back at your doll, you found that your dear Barbie, along with your hand, were ablaze. Despite the fire, the burning sensation was nowhere to be found, and despite your surprise, you made no sound. Instead, you stared at the flames until your breathing and heartbeat slowed and the fire extinguished itself. The doll was a melted, black mess, but your hand was otherwise untouched.

That was the first of many times you accidentally set something on ire. Byt the time you were eleve, your pyrokinetic abilities were somewhat under control. As far as you were aware, nobody else knew about it and that was the way you wanted it to stay. However, your control over your flame had a direct relationship with the Feeling. As your control grew, the Feeling grew in tandem. You don’t know exactly how to describe the Feeling, but the closest you had ever come was it felt like you were missing the other half of your soul. At first, it was just a lonely thought it the back of your mind, but as you matured, it became more physical and more distracting. It was a dull ache most of the time and just enough distraction would make you forget about it, but some days it screamed at you, making it hard to focus on work and at its worst, leave you bedridden. You were to afraid to go to a doctor because while you didn’t know the exact cause, you were fairly certain that it was connected to your powers and you weren’t in the mood to become some lab experiment.

Today it hadn’t been too bad, but without proper distraction, it still bugged you. You had found over the years that peppermint tea eased the feeling a bit, so you found yourself once again in the teacher’s lounge, boiling a steaming cup. You were in the middle of stirring in some honey, when Kim Namjoon, the vice principal, approached you.

“Hey, Y/N.” He smiled fondly at you.

“Hey, Namjoon, what’s up?”

You liked Namjoon. Not romantically, but as a person. He was intelligent, funny and genuinely cared about both the staff and the kids. He had amazing ideas about how to make the students learning simultaneously more fun and more immersive, all while providing constant support for the teachers. He would make a much better principal then Min Jinsoo, who only liked his job for his pay.

“I got your field trip approved.”

A few weeks ago you had sent in a request for a field trip to a local dance studio that offered classes about movement for younger children. You were currently leading a unit on health and exercise and you figured this would be a great way to get the kids out of the classroom. When you had told Namjoon about your idea, he had immediately been on board. However, Jinsoo was an absolute stinge, and rarely granted field trip requests. This time, however, you seemed to have gotten lucky.

“Really? That’s great. What did you have to bribe Min with this time?”

“Bribery? Don’t you know who I am? I charmed him with my outstanding rhetoric.”

You raised an eyebrow. He sighed.

“Free coffee for a month.”

“Jesus, Joon, you didn’t have to do that!”

“A ‘thanks’ would have been sufficient.”

“Well, thank you. This will really mean a lot to the kids. We haven’t gone on a field trip since October.”

“No problem. You know the kid’s education is the most important thing to me.”

“I do, but we both know how expensive Jung’s prefered coffee is.”

“I never promised him that. If you think I am bringing anything other than that gas station shit, you are sadly mistaken.”

“Well, thanks still. Anyway, I better get going. I have a crap load of tests to grade. As much as I love these kids, their handwriting is really something else.”

“Aish, I know. Good luck. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Kim.”

An hour later, you’re finally done with checking the tests and entering the scores into the gradebook. You pack up your stuff, grab your coat and keys and head out to your car. The one positive about staying behind to grade tests, is that it means you miss rush hour. Instead of an hour, your drive home only takes thirty minutes. However, by the time you make it home, the Feeling begins to take over. You immediately make yourself another cup of peppermint tea before curling up on the couch and putting a show on Netflix. You can’t really focus on the plot though, because the Feeling is slowly taking over all of your senses. You hated when it got like this: all consuming, demanding that you pay attention to it. What you hated most is that there was no way for you to fix it. For all you knew, you would spend the rest of your life like this and if the pattern continued, it would only get worse.

You ended up giving up on watching the show and instead making yourself a light dinner before going to bed at six-thirty. You don’t fall asleep for a long time, tears streaming down your face as you longed for someone to comfort you, to tell you it was okay. When you can no longer keep your eyes open, you fall into a dreamless slumber.

HOSEOK POV

“One and two and three and four and…” Hoseok had long cutout Jimin’s counting, his only focus being his body and the music.

He loved the feeling of the solid, hardwood dance floor beneath his feet. With each step he felt more alive and he could feel a rush of energy run through him every time he breathed in. He threw his body into every leap, every step, every beat. Dance was his life and he communicated that with his movement.

He got so caught up in dancing that he hadn’t realized that Jimin had stopped moving. One second he was flying through the air and the next he was colliding with Jimin’s hard body before falling to the floor. He put his hand out to catch himself, but his weight was too much for his wrist and he cried out as sharp pain shot up his arm.

“Fuck, Hobi, are you okay?”

Jimin was immediately hovering over him, as he rolled on the floor clutching his wrist.

“Ahh, shit it hurts.”

“Do you need me to take you to the hospital? Do you need painkillers? Ice?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Just help me up.”

Using his good hand, Jimin lifted him to his feet and helped him hobble to the front desk where they kept a mini-fridge with ice. He hissed when he felt the cold against his now swollen wrist.

“Are you sure your fine?” Jimin’s voice was shaking with worry.

“I’ll be alright. Go back to dancing, I’ll be in in a minute.”

Jimin cast him a worried glance, but listened to him anyway. As soon as Jimin was gone, Hoseok channeled the energy that was always bubbling in his core to spread out down to his arm. He sighed in relief as the swelling went down. He became so relaxed, that he didn’t notice that he had set fire to the towel he had wrapped around the ice.

“Fuck. Shit. Goddammit.”

He quickly beat out the flame before throwing the towel in the trash, hoping no one would notice it. It wasn’t the first time he had accidentally set something on fire and he doubted it would be the last. Ever since he was eight years old, he had been setting random things aflame. Lucky for him, the only person who had ever caught him was his school’s druggie. The kid had blabbered to everyone on campus about Hoseok’s powers but every had passed it off as an LSD induced hallucination. Despite having them for his entire life, he had no idea where his powers came from, he just knew that they were accompanied by the strangest ache he had ever felt.

He waited a couple more minutes before heading back into the dance studio. Jimin had just finished running through the song again and was brushing the sweat from his forehead.

When he saw Hoseok, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Hey, what are you doing? Shouldn’t you be icing that?”

“It’s fine, just some temporary pain. I’m good. Should we run it again?”

“Actually, we have some kids from a local school coming in in a couple days. I was hoping you could teach it because it’s my parent’s 50th anniversary and I have to help with the party.”

“Uh, sure. How old are they?”

“Around five or six. Kindergartners.”

“Aww, just little kiddos.”

Hoseok had always had a soft spot for little ones. They were always so adorable, prancing around the studio, attempting to follow his instructions.

“Yeah, it’s a field trip from the local school. I think you’ll really like the teacher. She’s hot.”

Jimin sent him a wink and he rolled his eyes in response. Over the years, Hoseok had found himself perpetually single. Don’t get him wrong, he had got his dick wet plenty of times, but every relationship he had found himself in felt suffocating. Jimin, however, was a hopeless romantic and made it his life mission to find the girl of Hoseok’s dreams. This teacher was only one of the billion that Jimin had tried to set him up with and he doubted this one would be any different from the rest. Still, there was a part of him that hoped that she might fix the hole that was becoming more and more obvious every day.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. You had never felt this good in your entire life. You had just stepped into the dance studio to meet the instructor for your class, normal procedure. However, as soon as his hand clasped yours in a friendly shake, it felt like your entire body was healed. You almost jumped in surprise at the sensation and it took you a solid minute to recuperate from the shock. Throughout the class you found yourself trying to find ways to get as close to him as possible: the nearer you were, the more euphoric you felt. The hole that had began to become unbearable the last couple days, was suddenly gone. During the lunch break, you found yourself talking to him. The conversation was easy, and while you normally felt anxious around guys, you felt completely safe around Hoseok. He was handsome, a good dancer, and the absolute sweetest around the kids. You prayed to god he was single, because you weren’t sure you would be able to handle of the pain of him having a girlfriend. You dreaded having to leave. You didn’t know if you would ever feel like this again.

Sadly, all good things come to an end. You almost wanted to cry during your departure, but instead were forced to help manage your small children. When you shook his hand in goodbye, you felt a small piece of paper being passed to you. When you glanced at it, you were elated to see the ten digits scrawled in blue ink. You couldn’t help the smile that grew across your face and when you glanced back up at him, you burst out laughing at his cheesy wink. You didn’t notice your scarf in a crumpled heap in the corner of the dance studio, but Hoseok certainly did.

You at in your desk chair, lazily swinging back and forth, while you debated whether or not you should text him. You hadn’t had much dating experience in your life (read: none at all) and the last thing you wanted was to come off as too eager. That being said, you were eager to see him again. You longed to feel the comfortable ease that came with being around him and his gorgeous smile. You began to swirl into an anxious spiral, mind switching back and forth to the point that you felt a headache begin to form. You were so deep in your thoughts, that you didn’t hear the knock on the door or see Hoseok walk in.

You glanced up in surprise, “Oh...what are you doing here?”

He broke into a gentle smile as your tongue tripped over itself, which in turn made you smile as well. Just him being in the room made your mind calm and your anxiety quell. That all disappeared when you noticed the scarf, your scarf, in his hand. You come to the fast and disappointing realisation that he is not there for you, but simply to return your belonging.

“I’m here to return this...”

His voice was soft and unsteady, breath quick. He almost seemed nervous.

“...andtoaskyouonadate.”

He spit the words out so fast, it took you a moment to comprehend what he had just said. When the realisation did hit you, you opened your mouth before closing it in complete disbelief.

“I..well..um..you wanna go on a date? With me?” You couldn’t keep the disbelief out of your voice.

“Well..uh..yeah. Ya know..if that is something you would like?”

It was a good thing no one else was there to see you because you were both a blushing mess. Hoseok hadn’t actually gone a date with a girl in years (he was pretty sure casual one night stands didn’t count as dates) and you had never been on a date at all. You hadn’t even had your first kiss.

“I would like that...a date..that...we should do.”

Your nervousness seemed to cure him of his, as he burst out in the cutest giggle you had ever heard (keep in mind you work with five year olds).

“Thank god, if you had said no, I swear I would’ve died.”

You smile, the butterflies in your stomach still fluttering, but no longer preventing you from being a coherent human being.

“I’m just happy you’re not just here to return the scarf.”

“I’m happy you left it so I had an excuse to see you again.”

You giggled.

“So how does dinner and a movie next Saturday sound?”

“It sounds just perfect.”

“Well I should probably go, it’s Jimin’s birthday and if I don’t pick up the alcohol for his party, I don’t know if you will ever see me again.”

“Well then you better go, I don’t want a missing man as my date. Text me the details?”

“Sounds good.”

Time goes by slower than you would like, but now Hoseok texts you daily and that keeps your impatience at bay. By the time Saturday evening rolls around, you are a chaotic mess, trying to figure out what to wear. You always thought it was stupid how much time and effort put into getting ready for these kinds of things, but now you fully understood the pressure of trying not to look like you tried too hard, but also like you tried a little. Society is stupid like that. By the time you were walking out the door, you had spent nearly three hours on your hair, makeup and outfit, and you swore to god if the date went well, Hoseok was going to have to deal with you being a mess from now on.

You meet him at a new Mexican restaurant equidistant from both of your houses. You almost choked when you saw him, his usual attire consisting of sweatpants and loose tees replaced with a leather jacket and black skin-tight jeans. He looked god-level good and you wondered how soon you could get water because, goddamn, if you were going to get through this night you were going to need a lot of it.

As it turns out, despite his “bad boy” outfit, Hoseok was the perfect gentlemen. He held the door open, offered to take your jacket, and pulled out your chair for you. Just like the other day at the dance studio, conversation with him was as easy as it had ever been. You felt completely relaxed, and despite your generally closed off ways, you were willing to be completely vulnerable. It was simple and easy and you didn’t have to think about anything.

Everything was going great until you left the restaurant to walk to the nearby movie theater. You were halfway there when you ran into the one person you would pay money to never have to speak to again: Jeon Jungkook, your high school crush.

You and Jungkook had been in the same friend group in high school and were actually fairly close. You had spent many a night helping his piss drunk ass home and sobering him up so his father wouldn’t get mad and beat him again. You grew closer as more and more of your friends either graduated or became self-righteous jerks and by the end of your junior year, you considered him to be your best friend.

But then something changed. Jungkook grew distant within a matter of weeks, only talking to you when absolutely necessary. You were left heartbroken and confused, but when you tried confront him on the matter, he left you with more questions, then he answered. You later learned that he had found out about your little crush on him and instead of handling it like a mature human being, he ditched you out of embarrassment for your “pitiful ass” (his words apparently).

“Oh hey.”

Hey. Those were the first word to you in ten years, after abandoning you when he was all you had left.  You glared at him, hand tightening around Hoseok’s.

“Hey.”

Your voice was quiet. You didn’t know what Jungkook wanted, but that didn’t stop you from being terrified that he would say something to make Hoseok never want to talk to you again. You were so happy for the first time in your life, and here was the one person who might just ruin it for you.

“Who’s this?”

Hoseok looked back and forth between you, clearly confused.

“This is my..uh..ex-friend, Jungkook.”

“Now that’s no way to introduce your best friend from high school.”

You hated that he looked so happy. That he was confident. You had wanted the world to rip him apart for what he did to you, but instead it seemed to only have built him up more.

“What do you want Jungkook?”

Despite your attempts to control it, you were sure both men could here the anger laced in your tone.

“Gosh, Y/N, I was just trying to be nice.”

“Oh, now you’re being nice? Maybe you should’ve tried that a couple years ago.”

This seemed to tick Jungkook off, his brows furrowing and his lips curling in a spiteful frown.

“Well sorry I didn’t want your pathetic ass trailing around behind me like a lost puppy.”

He turned to Hoseok.

“Let me give you some advice man, get out while you still can. She’s just an attention seeker and a clingy bitch. God, I can’t believe I was ever friends with you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and before Hoseok can say anything in response, you were bolting down the street in the direction of your home, not looking behind you once.

Over the next few weeks you ignore Hoseok’s calls and texts, too embarrassed to talk to him. Over the course of the next month, you flirt with Taehyung and he ends up asking you out. You agree. He was much more confident than Hoseok and even though you didn’t feel the same relief as you did when Hobi was around, you thought that maybe getting out into the dating world would help fill up the hole that had gotten worse since you stopped hanging out with Hoseok.

Taehyung picked you up at your apartment before driving you to mini-golf. Like Hoseok, he was a perfect gentleman and the conversation was easy, but you didn’t feel the connection you had before. After letting you beat him (even though he denied it ferociously), he took you to a quiet cafe near your home. You were talking quietly about various teaching methods when you saw him.

Hoseok look tired and distraught as he dodged the barista’s attempts to flirt with him. You tried to focus on your conversation, but your eyes kept wandering back to where he was standing, waiting for his coffee. He hadn’t seemed to notice you yet and it was a fact you were thankful for. Despite the fact that you weren’t interested in Taehyung romantically, you didn’t need yet another date ruined by a ghost from your past. However, you’re luck seemed to runout when his eyes glanced over you. You could see the exact moment he understood what he was looking at.

A look of determination came over him as he grabbed his drink before beelining straight towards your table.

“Why the fuck are you ignoring me?”

You flinched at his sudden harsh words and you would’ve paid a million dollars to get swallowed up by a giant hole right then and there. Tae looked at you, obviously confused. You gulped audibly before opening your mouth.

“Hi, Hoseok.” You heard your voice shake and your will to live shrunk even smaller.

“Just answer my goddamn question, Y/N.”

You looked apologetically at Taehyung, “Can you excuse us for a moment?”

He nods, still confused.

You grabbed Hoseok’s hand and drag him outside of the coffee shop before turning to really look at him for the first time since your date. You could now clearly see how unwell he was. His lips were chapped and the dark circles under his eyes made him look almost dead. Edward looked more alive than him.

“Well?”

His voice wasn’t annoyed, just exasperated.

“I’m sorry.”

You looked up at him from under your eyelashes.

“That’s it?”

“No. I am really sorry. I shouldn’t have ignored you, I was just embarrassed. Jungkook, the guy we ran into, I used to have a thing for him and he found out and he thought I was pathetic because of it so he stopped hanging out with me. I just didn’t want you to think about me the same way he did. I..I really like you, Hoseok and I didn’t want you to hurt me like he had.”

Hoseok stared at you blankly and you felt the butterflies in your stomach begin to swarm with anxiety.

“Please say something.”

He looked at you in the eyes and you see his facial features begin to soften.

“I would never think of you as pathetic, Y/N. I’m sorry if I ever made it seem like it was even possible for me to think that. I really like you too, if you haven’t noticed and I haven’t felt this way about someone for a really long time. I just thought I had screwed up somehow, which, admittedly wouldn’t have been the first time. I just…”

You cut off his rambling by attaching your lips to his. He stood frozen in shock for a few moments before his brain registers what’s happening. He then begins to his move his mouth against yours. You felt a wave of warmth wash over you and your entire body relaxed into him. You don’t notice the heat at first, you are so consumed by the feeling of Hoseok’s lips on yours. The light is what drew your attention away from his mouth and to your arms, both of which were on fire.

You draw back in a panic, a yelp released from your mouth.

“Oh my god.”

You had set Hoseok on fire. You knew your powers would be a burden, but you had never imagined something like this would ever happen. By now, of course, Hoseok had noticed the flames too and was also in a state of panic.

“Oh shit. Oh my god, I set you on fire. Fuck, fuck fuck.”

“Wait, what?”

You pulled back.

“You set me on fire?”

Hoseok looked at you confused. It then came to both of your realisation that neither of you were screaming in pain, as one who was on fire would.

“Wait, can you…?” You looked up at Hoseok with bright eyes, “Can you light things on fire?”

Hoseok nodded slowly like he was afraid for the truth to come out. He looked down at the ground almost embarrassed.

“I can too.”

At that, his head snapped up and looked you straight in the eye.

“You’re lying.” His voice was rough, but you could hear a glimmer of hope in his undertone.

“I’m not. See.”

You lifted your hand and produced a small flame from your palm. As if in a trance, Hoseok’s own hand came out to brush the tip of the fire. When he deemed it harmless, he grasped your hand in his own and pulled you in for a hug.

“I’m not alone,” he whispers shakely.

His arms were tight around you and you once again were overwhelmed with feelings of comfort and belonging. After a long minute, he pulled away again, eyes glassy and lips curved into a shaky smile.

“Look, Y/N, I know that we haven’t known each other that long, but for the first time in my entire life, I feel like I belong somewhere and that somewhere is with you. So would you be willing to do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”

You looked up at him, eyes wide and heart open before nodding as tears began to trickle down your cheeks.

“Yes, Hoseok, I would love to.”

With that he pulled you in for a kiss, this one a bit more reckless and messy. You got caught up in how safe his arms felt and how euphoric your entire being was just because his lips were on yours. You never wanted the moment to end.

Eventually you pulled back when someone clears their throat. You find Taehyung standing outside the cafe door, looking a bit awkward.

“Uh, I’m gonna head out.”

“Oh god, Taehyung, I’m so sorry. This isn’t anything against you, I swear. You’re a really great guy-”

“It’s fine. Seriously. Look, I think your cute and I would have loved to date you, but just from looking at the two of you together, I can tell that he’s the one you should be with.”

A small smile graces your mouth at the comment.

“Thanks for being so understanding. I’m sure you’ll find the perfect girl out there somewhere.”

“Thanks. Have a great night, Y/N.”

“You too, Tae.”

With that he walks away, leaving you to sink into your new boyfriend’s arms.

You had never believed in fairytales and had a general distaste toward rom-coms. With your life being so bitter and lonely, you found it hard to believe anything close to the semblance of true love could be real. Hoseok completely flipped your world view. With him, everything was easier, lighter. If you were having troubles with work, he would be there to rant to and then take you to get a cup of coffee.

You had discussed your powers and found your experiences to remarkably similar: you both set things on fire at a young age, before gradually gaining control of it. You both had also experienced the missing feeling in your soul which had only grown with time, but most importantly, you both knew that that hole was gone as long as you were with each other.

Despite his disclaimer of not having a girlfriend since his junior year of high school, Hoseok went above and beyond in your relationship in ways that made you feel like you might be an inadequate girlfriend. The dates he planned were always fun and interesting but he also had an interesting knack for knowing when you just needed to stay in for the evening and watch movies while cuddling.

Somewhere along the line, the question of sex came in. You had barely kissed anyone before Hoseok, much less ever had sex and you were very embarrassed to admit this to him. He, however, was very understanding, and was willing to wait as long as you wanted.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he had said, “I would love to fuck you into high heavens right now, but I know that losing your virginity is scary and I don’t want you to feel any pressure whatsoever.”

You had felt much better after that and neither of you had touched the subject since. Before you knew it, you had almost been dating for a year. Your life had become the life you could only have dreamed of twelve months ago. Even Namjoon had mentioned how much happier you seemed.

You had gotten to know Hoseok’s friends as well and you often hung out as a group. You had grown especially close to Jimin, who was constantly trying to woo Hoseok’s other close friend, Yoongi.

“I just don’t understand,” he would complain to you, “I know he likes me, so why does he give me the cold shoulder all the time. We literally slept together. He had his dick inside me for fucks sake!”

“Maybe he’s just scared of commitment.”

“Scared of commitment my ass, what more could you need when you have my peach butt on demand 24/7.”

For your one year anniversary, Hoseok planned a picnic on the beach. You ate chinese takeout since neither of you could cook for shit and talked while watching the sun set over the ocean. After eating, you strolled along together, barefoot in the sand, hand in hand. You would playfully splash him with your foot and he would threaten to throw you into the chilly water. Your conversation was careless and free and your heart felt light. You wouldn’t have changed a thing, even for a million dollars. Eventually he stopped walking and pulled you to face him.

You looked up at him and giggled, but your smile dropped when you saw how serious he looked.

“What’s up?”

You felt your stomach sinking.

“I just wanted to take a moment to say how much you mean to me, Y/N. Before I met you, I didn’t even realise how shitty my life was. It was all grey and boring and sure there were times where I was happy but for the most part I was lonely and tired. And then you came in and you lit the entire thing up. The past year with you has by far been the best in my entire life. I feel so happy and free and like there isn’t a thing in the world that could change that. I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much and I just wanted you to know that.”

You felt the tears as they poured down your cheek. You were breathless, barely able to comprehend what he was saying.

“I love you too, Jung Hoseok.”

With that, he pulled you in for a kiss, his hands grasping your cheeks. His kissed you with such a ferocity that it felt like he was trying to transfer his soul into you. You were faintly aware of the fact that you were in public and that your bodies were probably catching on fire from the intensity, but you couldn’t find yourself to care. You just wanted to be consumed by Jung Hoseok.

You pulled away first when your lungs began to burn from the lack of air. Hoseok looked down with you and you would have to be blind not to see the pure adoration that filled his eyes.

“I have one more thing to ask.”

“Anything.”

“Will you move in with me?”

You don’t even think before nodding. And then you are kissing again. That’s when you realise you want him. All of him. You loved him and he loved you and there was no one else on the planet you would ever want to be with.

“Hoseok...I want to do it. Tonight.”

His gaze felt intense as his brown eyes met yours.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

“We’ve been together for a year and I love you so fucking much Jung Hoseok. There’s no one else in the entire world I would rather do it with.”

Once he realized that you were really serious about having sex with him, his entire demeanor changed. His eyes darkened and you giggled as he grabbed your hand dragging you back to the car.

“Eager much?”

“Look, I love you, but I haven’t had sex in like a year and a half. Forgive me if I am a bit excited to finally fuck the love of my life.”

You giggled again.

Despite his eagerness before, Hoseok insisted on taking it slow. Instead of pushing you up against the wall as soon as he closed the door like you had wished, he made you sit on the couch while he “got ready”. You let him, wondering what in the world he would possibly need to change in order to have sex. Maybe he was cleaning his dick. You giggled at the thought.

However, all traces of humor were erased when Hoseok guided you by the waist to his bedroom, only for you to find the room lit up with candle light.

“Sorry that there aren’t any rose petals, but I didn’t exactly have any forewarning so I hope this works.”

“Hoseok, this is perfect. You’re perfect. I love you so much.”

With that, his lips are once again on yours and you’re being pushed back until your legs hit the bed and you fell backwards onto the plush mattress. Hoseok’s hand found your breast and he softly groped it, enticing a soft sigh from you. He took the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Lewd smacking noises fill the room. Yearning to be closer to Hoseok’s solid body you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, and pulled him as close to you as possible.

Hoseok’s hand moved from your tit, and traveled to the hem of your sundress, where he began to draw small, teasing circles. You arched your back into him, a small moan slipping out of your mouth. His erection is pressed against your thigh, and you feel a small bubble of pride swell up in you. You had spent so much of your life doubting how you look and how you act, but here you were with a man who found you overwhelmingly attractive and on top of it, loved you with the depths of his soul.

You soon pulled away from the soft comforts of his mouth, only to tug at the hem his t-shirt before he gets the hint and removes the offensive fabric. You had seen Hoseok shirtless many times before, when he was swimming or dancing or during one of your many make-out sessions, but his broad shoulders and tight abs never failed to make you clench your thighs to together.

Hoseok noticed your stare and chuckled.

“As much as I appreciate you appreciating me, I think it’s only fair that you remove a little something too, princess.”

You felt your core tighten at the pet name, and you found yourself eagerly shrugging the dress over your head before you threw it off the bed to join Hoseok’s shirt. Your simple lace bralette and lavender cotton underwear weren’t exactly the sexiest lingerie one could wear, but the dark look in Hoseok’s eyes could have fooled you.

Then he was crawling back over you, lips attached to the side of your neck as he helplessly rutted down on your thigh. Your threw your head back in a moan when he bit down on a particular sensitive spot near the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Expletives fell from your lips as pleasure clouded your mind and you felt the wetness in your panties soak through the flimsy material.

One of Hoseok’s callused hands managed to make its way down your side before it resumed its place on the inside of your thigh. This time he moved them slowly upwards until you could swear you could feel the heat of his fingertips through your underwear. He lightly pressed on your clit, testing the waters before your soft gasp led him to add more pressure, rubbing in gentle circles. You whined at the motion, the unfamiliar feeling of someone else touching you there sent you into a heated frenzy.

“Fuck, princess, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?”

The low timbre of Hoseok’s voice rendered you speechless and you could only whine in response. He pushed the cotton aside before he  continued his previous motions. The direct contact almost felt too much, your nerve endings on fire. Your fingernails dug into the bare skin of Hoseok’s back and he let out a low growl in response. He removed his fingers from your core, leaving you a whimpering mess in his wake. His fingers found their way to the clasp of your bra before swiftly undoing it. The moment the garment left your body, insecurity flowed through you. You resisted the urge to cover up your exposed chest with your arms. Hoseok seemed to notice the doubt in your eyes and in response, smiled down at you.

“It’s okay, princess. You’re fucking perfect. There’s nothing you need to worry about.”

His words soothed you and you relaxed as his palm slowly grazed against the side of your breast. You felt his lips slowly kiss down your chest before wrapping around your nipple. The sensation was completely foreign to you and your brain completely blanked as his warm tongue delivered soft licks. His fingers came to pinch the other nipple and you let out a high pitched moan in surprise.

He soon abandoned you breasts in favor of kissing down your abdomen. Your skin tingle and his touch only served to further electrify you. Upon reaching the hem of your panties, he kissed around the edge of the band before he grasped it with his teeth. Your lustful gaze followed him as he drug the fabric down your legs at an infuriating pace. Once the underwear had joined the ever growing pile of clothes, his lips attached themselves to the inside of your thighs, leaving small, deliberate bites that you were sure would become purple marks by morning. He moved himself to comfortably sit between your legs before glancing up at you with dark eyes.

“Is this okay? I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

You whine.

“Yes, it’s fine, just please touch me.”

Permission granted, he dove in, taking a tentative lick, before the soft lips that you loved so much wrapped around your clit. He moaned at the taste and you threw your head back, unable to comprehend how you got so lucky as to have this beautiful man, laying before you, eating you out like there wasn’t a finer meal in the world.

“Princess, you taste like honey. I can’t believe you’ve been keeping this from me all these months.”

Words failed you and you responded by clenching your thighs around his head, trying to bring him closer to you. Your eyes shot open when you felt the tip of his finger gently prod at your entrance, before he slowly slipped inside. You looked down to find him gazing at you intently, trying to gage your reaction. You gave a small nod of encouragement before leaning back into the pillow. Hoseok’s finger grazed your walls just the right way and you began to feel the start of a knot forming in your lower belly.

When he deemed you ready, he slipped in a second finger to join the first and this time the stretch was a bit more painful. Once you adjusted, pleasure sang through your body and the knot began to tighten.

“Hoseok,” you eked out, “I think I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah, baby? Well then go ahead, let it go.”

It took only a couple more well aimed thrusts of his fingers, before your core tightened around him and white hot euphoria blinded you. If you were anymore coherent, you might have been worried about his neighbors hearing your scream, but your mind is instead a foggy mess and the only thing you could think about is how much you want him inside your pussy.

After you recovered, you dragged Hoseok up to meet his lips with your own, while your hands traveled down to his belt, quickly undoing the buckle. You reached your hand into his boxers to give him a few encouraging strokes, to find him nearly fully hard. He eagerly pushed down his tight jeans and taking his underwear off with them.

“Are you one hundred percent sure about this?”

“A thousand.”

With that, he reached up to grab a condom from his bedside drawer and quickly rolled it on. You felt him line up with you and you began to feel a little nervous. Would it hurt? How much and for how long? Hoseok catched your apprehension, and reached up to gently caress your cheek.

“Hey, it’s okay love. I’ll go slow and if it hurts just let me know. It’s all about communication.”

You nodded, your nerves calmed a little. True to his word, he pushed in slowly. The stretch was indeed painful and you winced slightly at the sting. Hoseok’s hand never left your cheek, wiping away the couple tears that fell. Once he was fully seated inside you, he stopped.

“Let me know when I can move. Take all the time in the world.”

“Okay.”

He leaned down to kiss you and you stay like that for a few minutes: his lips on yours, his cock connecting you in the most intimate way possible. There was a magical feeling to it, like all the stars in the heavens had aligned in just the right way. Everything felt perfect and you never wanted to leave his bed ever again.

Eventually, the painful stretch turned into a dull burn and you gave him the go ahead to move. He started slowly, thrusts steady and strong. You let out little moans as the rest of the ache fades into a delicious pleasure. The feeling seems to be catching up to Hoseok too, because he began to lose his rhythm, releasing little groans along the way.

“Fuck, princess, you feel so good. I never wanna leave your pussy, baby.”

“Hoseok, shit, keep going. Faster, baby, faster.”

He heeded your demand and his thrusts speed up, leaving you a mess underneath him. All you could do was moan, nails digging into his back. Your feet locked around his waist in an a desperate attempt to pull him closer to you. Your cries were getting louder and his grunts had turned into moans. The knot once again began to form in your abdomen.

“Fuck, Hoseok, I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Me too, princess, me too. Fuck, you feel so good.”

Neither of you noticed the fire beginning to burn, too caught up in your embrace. It started in your hands and moved up your arms and to your chest. The heat from the flames only fueled your pleasure, your sea of euphoria drawing back to form the tsunami that is your approaching orgasm. Hoseok’s thrusts began to stutter, balls tightening, moans reaching their peak crescendo.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Come with me, princess. Fuck, I’m gonna, I’m gonna…”

With that your both reach your peak, your pussy clamped down on him while he filled the condom. The flames intensified, as if your climax was their own personal brand of fuel. The euphoria that washed through both of your minds is so intense that you can’t even remember your own names. As the waves begin to calm, all you can think of is Hoseok before your mind faded to black.

You blink awake only to be greeted with harsh white light. You couldn’t remember much, other than passing out after having the best orgasm of your life. You quickly come to the realization that you are no longer in Hoseok’s bed or even his apartment. Instead, you are sitting in a plush chair, that is not entirely unlike a throne. The floral sundress you were wearing at the beach is replaced with what you can only describe as the most luxurious sheet you have ever felt forming a makeshift toga of sorts.

What the hell? you think.

As your eyes finally adjust more fully to light, you find that Hoseok is sitting next you in a chair and donning a toga similar to your own. The chairs are placed at a grand marble table which is in the center of grand marble room. The roof seems to be made of glass and behind it, the source of the blinding light shines through. Across from you sits a being, who seems not to ascribe to gender but rather transcends it to become (objectively) the most beautiful human being you have ever seen.

Hobi is the first to speak, as you are too lost to form words.

“Where the fuck are we?”

The being across from you chuckles at his question, mouth opening to show glowing white teeth.

“Ah, such harsh words. I forget how crass the human mind is. You are in what I like to call a transitional space.”

“A what?”

This time it is you who asks the question.

“A transitional space.”

“Transition between what?”

Despite your question, you’re beginning to feel a sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Between this life and the next. This room exists only for us to talk and once you leave, it will never exist again.”

“Wait, go back. What were you saying about our lives?”

Judging by the look on his face, Hoseok is slowly coming to the same conclusion that you have.

“You, my loves, are dead. During the final moments of your consummation of your love, the fire that burned quietly in your soul for the duration of your life finally consumed you and left you as nothing but ashes on white sheets.”

And there it was. You were dead. You had no idea why and you had no idea who this person or thing was, but something told you that this was part of something much bigger than you would’ve ever imagined.

“And who are you?”

Hoseok looks surprisingly resigned. During the course of your relationship, you had noticed that Hoseok didn’t take well to drastic change, yet here in this room, facing the most drastic change of all, he didn’t even bother to frown.

“I am Fatum, better know to you English speakers as Fate. And you are my children.”

Both of your eyes go wide. Fate looks calmly back at you and you become faintly aware that their irises slowly change color like the colorful LED lights on Hoseok’s car stereo.

“You and your deaths are part of a saga that has been drawn out over many eons. Once long ago, I had a lover, Ordo. They were my single purpose in life, the focus of all my energy. But sadly, good things rarely last forever in this universe, and they ended up betraying me. I had no choice but to destroy them. Instead of getting rid of them completely, I took their soul, combined it with a part of mine and split it in two. Those two new souls are you.

“You became my pride and joy and slowly the pain I felt about Ordo’s loss was replaced with my abundance of love for you. In fact, I became so attached to you that I made it impossible for your souls to ever be destroyed, even by me. But then you grew older. You became wary of me and began to act out. In the end, you followed in Ordo’s footsteps betraying me and my work for the good of the universe.

“This time, however, I could not destroy you like I had with Ordo. My blind adoration for you prevented that and so I cursed you instead. For the past several eons, you have been cast onto Earth in the form of humans. Since you are technically the same soul split into two bodies, separation for long periods of time is quite emotionally draining. Lucky for you, I cursed you so that you would eventually find each other and in the presence of your other half, find the most euphoric happiness ever known.”

“Excuse me if I don’t understand how that would be considered a curse?”

Fatum turns to face you and you shiver as his eyes seem to bore through your soul, the very one he supposedly created.

“Well, you see my love, your happiness has a...let’s call it an expiration date. Humans, the silly things, always seem to succumb to intercourse when they discover who they believe to be the love of their lives. You two are certainly no exception. Your curse comes in the form of death during the...uh...climax of your first time together. You then come back here to meet me, where I have explained this story to you a thousand times over.”

“And then what?”

“And then, Hoseok, I send you back to Earth to reborn yet again as another human only to live out the same fate.”

Fatum chuckles at their own joke.

“What about the fire?”

“The fire, my dear, is the only part of your former form that you retain. Before taking the form of an infinite number of humans, you were what you people call phoenixes. Your fire resides in your soul, which you know I cannot touch. In fact, that is where I got the inspiration for your curse. You know, the whole bursting into flames before being reborn schtick.”

“Yeah, yeah, we know. What now?”

Hoseok seemed to be getting impatient with Fatum’s long story. He wasn’t good at sitting still for long periods of time and you had been sitting here for, well, you didn’t exactly know, time was somewhat elusive in this interdimensional space, but it seemed like very long.

“You get reborn obviously.”

The smile Fatum offered looked like an attempt offer a kind reprieve to the crazy story that had been forced down your throat, but it came off as chilling and a shiver was sent down your spine as a result. And then the world faded to black once more.

The fall air was chilly and you were forever grateful for warmed air of the local cafe. It was mid-October and the weather had just begun to cool off from the intense heat leftover from summer, but the mornings were just nippy enough to make you reach for an extra jacket and scarf.

Despite being seven-thirty on a Saturday morning, there was still a bit of line, and you distracted yourself by looking around the quiet cafe you had come to love. Now in your second year of college, you found that the atmosphere provided the peace you needed to study, unlike the library near your dorm. Despite strict rules to keep the noise down, there was always someone breaking them.

You finally made it to the front of the line, only to be greeted by an unfamiliar face. You frequented the place enough to know all the staff, yet before you stood a boyishly, handsome man with the brightest smile you had ever scene. Something about him struck you as familiar, but you brushed off the feeling, dismissing it as your intuition going crazy from lack of sleep.

“Hi,” he greeted you, “I’m Hoseok, what can I get for ya?”

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. Please feel free to leave feedback. My inbox is always open to anyone. If you would like to help me determine where I head from here in terms of writing, here's a link to a survey. Thanks for reading. 

[dweemeister]

Joker (2019)

On March 30, 1981, John Hinckley Jr. shot and nearly killed United States President Ronald Reagan, wounded a police officer and Secret Service agent, and permanently disabled Press Secretary James Brady (whose death in 2014 was ruled a homicide from the gunshot wound thirty-three years prior). Found not guilty due to insanity, Hinckley obsessed over Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976) while planning his actions. Like Taxi Driver’s protagonist Travis Bickle, Hinckley plotted to assassinate a famous politician. Besotted with Jodie Foster (who starred in Taxi Driver) and disappointed by not attracting her attention after stalking her, Hinckley planned the assassination attempt to impress the actress.

Hinckley and Taxi Driver were both on my mind when watching Todd Phillips’ Joker. Not only do they share thematic connective tissue and similar color palettes, but both films have been plagued by discourse about whether they will inspire someone to commit horrific violence – I respect Taxi Driver as one of the best films released in the 1970s, but it is not something I could rewatch easily. Filmmakers, indeed, should have a sense of social responsibility in their creations. Joker, as a character study first and foremost, paints its politics in broad strokes – preferring to submerge, as character studies should, the audience into the mindset of its protagonist. Joker invites the audience to empathize with a tortured soul who, failed by the state and refusing to hold himself responsible for his worst actions, consciously moves beyond redemption. That point, where the Joker is beyond redemption, is found where Batman fans know him best: murdering only to see if that murder is funny. Whether he reaches that point within the bounds of this film is up for debate.

It is 1981 in Gotham City. The city belches with urban malaise. A garbage collectors’ strike roils the city; socioeconomic inequality is rife; “Super Rats” plague the streets; the municipal services are overwhelmed. Arthur Fleck (Joaquin Phoenix) is a clown-for-hire living and caring for his aging mother, Penny (Frances Conroy). Money is sparse and one of the few joys Arthur and Penny have is Murray Franklin’s (Robert De Niro in a role not far removed from his turn in 1983′s The King of Comedy) primetime talk show. Arthur suffers from random paroxysms of laughter (a real-life affliction known as emotional incontinence, among other names) that, at the very least, invites disdainful looks from strangers who then avoid him. Arthur is seeking help for his depression and other unspoken problems, but Gotham’s social services are soon defunded by the city government and various other events force him to his breaking point.

Also featured in this film are Arthur’s hallway neighbor Sophie (Zazie Beetz) and cameos from Thomas Wayne (Brett Cullen), a young Bruce Wayne (Dante Pereira-Olson), and Alfred Pennyworth (Douglas Hodge).

The film does not glorify any of its hideous violence, but those who are not critical consumers of media will interpret this film how they will. Nevertheless, Joker is less on the side of its protagonist than the likes of Alex DeLarge in A Clockwork Orange (1971) and will likely result in a similar reverence once this film has exited theaters. Within the film’s confines, there is nothing surprising about any of its violence; how the violence happens is shocking in its immediacy and realistic ferocity. It is contextualized as being the inevitable result of a sociopolitical system that cares not for the downtrodden, the mentally ill – to reiterate, Phillips is painting with broad political strokes. Arthur, who keeps on seeking professional help and ways to quell his silent rage, is attempting to stay his destructive behaviors long after his first homicide (as the film does not glorify violence, it also does not target those with mental illness; it directs its ire towards those without sympathy for the mentally ill). Those efforts are stymied by factors beyond his control – an almost-plot twist to shock even ardent Batman fans, the idolization of an unnamed clown who has executed three members or accomplices of Gotham’s elite.

It is here that Joker separates itself from the social cynicism and post-Vietnam War disillusionment and of Taxi Driver; it is here that Philipps’ film becomes just as much a reflection of the era it was released in and the nation of its origin as Scarface (1932 original with Paul Muni), Bonnie and Clyde (1967), and The Dark Knight (2008) once did. Those films respectively capitalized on fears of Italian and Irish mafias making urban centers their criminal playgrounds, countercultural diehards claiming free-wheeling Jazz Age outlaws as their own, and a vast surveillance state crafted to declare war on terrorism. For Joker, the societal diagnosis by Phillips and co-writer Scott Silver (2010′s The Fighter) is double-sided, damning those with and without power. The film decries individuals and groups who deify charismatic or compelling figures claiming their actions and/or rhetoric to be indicative of the common person’s interests. These revered figures incorporate grievance into their persona, weaponizing the language of victimhood not only to bring attention and (justifiably or unjustifiably) force change on a problem, but to absolve themselves of their personal sins. They are, dare it be written, populists. Beware those who invoke “the people” to vindicate their crusades.

Arthur Fleck, as an underemployed clown, does not ask for the attention of the masses. He wishes, “to bring laughter and joy to the world,” yet finds fulfillment in making a handful of children’s hospital patients smile. During Arthur’s first appearance as Joker, he assumes the accidental and public mantle that has set Gotham aflame – legitimizing the homicides he has committed and the public’s brutalization of authority figures by playing victim. He is consumed in self-pity; his words become a simplistic screed. Notice how appealing his words are, how rapidly rhetorical animosity precludes political violence. In Joker’s darkest sequence, the protagonist will destroy the last remnants of Arthur Fleck and become the popular icon of violent upheaval rarely seen in any of his depictions in DC Comics. This is Joker at its most dangerous, if only because of how violence – whether in oppression or in resistance – is as integral to the United States as political compromise.

We hear these beats of populism elsewhere, too, mixed with capitalist can-do. It is present in Thomas Wayne’s television appearance announcing his candidacy for Mayor of Gotham City – “I alone can fix it,” this man of wealth implies. This is a departure from otherwise sympathetic depictions of Bruce Wayne’s father over the decades in Batman comic books. As a plot development, it (along with the “almost-plot twist”) seems unnecessary if only to ground Joker in the Batman mythos. Contrast this to the Marvel Cinematic Universe, where ill-intentioned, humorless capitalists operating within the military-industrial complex are repelled by the wisecracking “good” capitalists within that same system (see: Tony Stark). Murray Franklin, as a talk show host, concocts a scheme to bolster his ratings by humiliating someone in a worse life station – no background checks needed, let alone any semblance of attempting to understand his subject. Thus, Gotham is subject to personality- and grievance-based politics wrung through the corporate avarice of Network (1976). Joker may not have to space to critique capitalism in its entirety – it is a character study, after all – but the entire apple barrel seems spoiled here.

The least controversial element of Joker is Joaquin Phoenix’s magnificent lead performance. Phoenix has made a living playing men whose lives contend with inner turmoil and unsympathetic worlds. His work in The Master (2012) remains has career-defining role, but as Arthur Fleck and as Joker – through the pained laughter spells, his bodily contortions with his ribcage jutting from his frame, and a brooding nature tempered by an initial gentleness – this will be the role that crosses artistic and popular boundaries that segregate filmmaking. Phoenix may now be defined by this role, as Cesar Romero (a solid contract actor for 20th Century Fox despite being typecast as a Latin lover) and the late Heath Ledger (whose work in The Dark Knight overshadows the rest of his filmography) have been.

Director Todd Phillips, best known for The Hangover series, does an excellent job making Gotham City a character. So often consigned to be the faceless and unfortunate city wracked by domestic terrorism from curiously-named villains, never in a film has Gotham seemed like a place with its own history and haunts. The scenes on mass transit alone sell the city. Phillips’ indulgence for slow-motion (with cinematographer Lawrence Sher’s fawning camerawork) during dance sequences and almost constant dollying can be irritating. One montage between Arthur Fleck and Sophie – specifically, when he enters her apartment, confirming how unreliable a narrator he is – displays a lack of trust in the audience to make their own inferences.

Icelandic cellist and composer Hildur Guðnadóttir has crafted a score for her second film for a major American studio. Guðnadóttir’s career has been defined by an unpleasant mix of bass strings, percussion, and synth, droning repetitively, lacking the emotional catharsis that the films she has worked on are striving for. Her work on Joker is an improvement, but this is as difficult a listen as Joker is to watch. The score is almost entirely texture, not melody – melody is for those older films with sugary sentiment and Hollywood endings that do not reflect life’s ugliness, we are increasingly told. Outside of those with an ear for experimental classical music or instrumental music that groans amelodic passages rather than combining lyrical voices, this music has almost no life outside of the movie. Finally, Guðnadóttir’s style fits the film she has scored for.

As a psychological character piece, the only way that Joker could have secured a wide theatrical release in 2019 would be to tie it to bankable comic book lore. Even as Phillips pitched the idea, Joker faced stiff resistance from Warner Bros. executives – including former chairman Kevin Tsujihara and Greg Silverman – who still had the 2012 massacre in Aurora, Colorado on their minds (that tragedy took place during a screening of The Dark Knight Rises). Warner Bros. noting how poorly Zack Snyder’s vision of DC Comics adaptations was faring, needed to extricate itself from Snyder’s adolescent approach.

In the months before Joker’s release and even within the film, Warner Bros. has embraced its past. Of all of Hollywood’s major studios, Warners always seems to be the most conscious and celebratory of its history*. During the 1930s, Warner Bros. became known for the darker content of its films (its rivals MGM, Paramount, and Fox preferred spectacle, maximizing production values, and prestige pictures). The studio became the spiritual home of the gangster film and hardboiled dramas that pushed the boundaries of violence in American cinema – but not for the sake of depicting violence. Even in their musicals (a genre stereotyped as pure escapism), Warner Bros. layered progressive social commentary amid economic depression. Joker – though its own commentary could be more focused and succinct – inherits the legacy of The Public Enemy (1931), I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932), Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933), and its numerous Warner Bros. ancestors.

How curious that a drama with origins from superhero comic books has been little praised for not following the assembly line production methods of numerous films from similar source material. Cinephiles fret, correctly, that movie theaters are becoming a home to superheroes/villains and explicitly-for-children animated features to the exclusion of everything else. The mid-budget character piece is endangered; certain genres have vanished from theater marquees. Joker, to some consternation, has it both ways. It is an excellent, arguably irresponsible, work to be seen with wary eyes.

My rating: 8/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found here.

* Okay, okay you classic film buffs who have already recognized Joker’s references. Modern Times (1936) and Shall We Dance (1937) are from United Artists and RKO, respectively. But both films have long been part of Warners’ library by acquisition.