#i saw this tweet yesterday and this scene popped into my head IMMEDIATELY

[oblivionmads18]

[softly-savage-mint-yoongi]

Estiferous;

es.tif.er.ous /adjective/ Producing (much) heat. Pairing: Chanyeol x f.reader Rating: angst Words: 3k I spent the entire day in a seething rage about certain events that happened yesterday and so, this was born. In part because the lovely @saebyeog-i just adores him with her entire being and we’ve not stopped talking about everything wrong with the entire situation and how much he deserves to be LOVED.

“Good morning on this fine twenty-ninth of October! It’s a chilly one out there ladies and gentleman. Those gray skies are here to stay today, and it looks like the rain will be steady through most of the evening,” says your partner from his place at the left side of the table. He glances sidelong at you as he turns back to his notes, “Ah, Y/N you’re looking so happy about that!” You blink once, caught in your daydream and stumbling for a response. Looking at the cameras positioned in your direction, you quickly recover, “Even with the chill and the rain I just love this season.” The man beside you gives a flamboyant chuckle that turns your gut, “What do you love about it?” “The colors,” you reply with honesty directed toward your viewers, “They’re like fire. The last reminder of the Summer warmth.” Your co-anchor touches at his in-ear briefly, “Oh, speaking of fire, take a look at this!” He spins his chair to face the large monitor that serves as the background of the studio, “Breaking news of a rogue Evolved out on the streets!” The way he says the words fill you with horror while you force your body to turn. On the screen, a shaky, grainy video- clearly from a cellphone some yards away- shows a disaster scene. Dusty clouds and smoke drift in thick and thin wafts across the screen, and the back of a tall and gangly man comes into view. Immediately your body stiffens as you watch his frame against the backdrop of a burning building. There is no air in your lungs, turned to stone as you absorb the video progression. Whoever filmed this is clearly terrified, by their deep breaths and coughing, high on adrenaline. There’s a barricade of fallen metal. You hear the man taking the video shout in warning, whispering an ‘oh my god’ as a dozen large steel pipes fall on top of the man he’s filming. Some grunting and distressing sounds pass the few seconds it takes for the next moment to come. Through the smoke and dust renewed, something glows faintly at first beneath the pile of metal. Then, between the haze, the video catches a form rising from them, accompanied by the sounds of heavy metal banging against the ground. One glows to a white-hot redness before bending and falling from what appears to be the Evolved’s hand. ‘Holy shit, what kind of monster is he.’ Says the owner of the recording in a choked whisper, clearly filled with absolute terror. You’re still frozen to your chair with your heart thudding loudly in your chest as you watch the rogue man change. Gently at first as if he appears to be lit on fire slowly, until everyone watching realizes he is engulfed in flames of his own making. Oddly, he checks over both shoulders before he takes off into the burning wreckage of the building. The moment the video ends, your co-host whirls back toward the cameras with too much enthusiasm, “Amazing, aren’t they, folks? What a world it has become!” He pauses, looking over some new papers that had been passed to both of you. Looking down at your own, you read the words as they’re said by your partner, “Wow! Looks like this video was taken by someone who had just escaped that building with their life! Then this Evolved showed up right before the fire department.” It makes you jump as another video pops up on the screen behind you, of two children animatedly talking, albeit a bit hoarse. ‘It was amazing, like PSSSKKKHHHHHHAAAAA!’ says the smaller one, throwing his smoke-stained hands up into the air and then coughing. The larger child nods along enthusiastically, ‘Yeah, yeah! This guy came and grabbed the metal stuff in the way and, and-‘ he tries to find the words but needs to stop for a drink of water from an woman that coddles them both on a hospital cot. ‘-and he melted it all away like this. Hhhhnnngggg!-‘ he says, clenching both of his tiny fists and squeezing his face tight to make a bending motion. The smaller one interjects by jumping off of the cot, ‘and then he helped us outside.’ He looks sad for a moment before he shrugs and adds, ‘But I think he was shy ‘cause he wouldn’t come outside with us.’ ‘Go find the firetruck!’ hollers the older boy in a mocking tone. ‘But what do we say to the man, boys?’ the person filming asks, clearly the father. ‘Thank you for saving us!’ the boys chime together with grins too big for their cheeks. You smile to yourself, thinking of the kindness shows to these two children in such a scary situation. It doesn’t last, as hell breaks loose with the very same video of the Evolved across several social media sites. Tweets and Instagram shares and YouTube reaction videos. A few that are impressed to see such power from an Evolved, and a rogue one no less. Although much more common in today’s world than generations past and protected under their agencies, they are still the minority. Most of the buzz around the now viral video is alarming. Hateful spews of threats and accusations that this rogue started the fire himself. Calling him Hellspawn, or the devil himself. Threats and ugly words thrown around out of fear and jealousy. A few demanding the Manifestation Rehabilitation Center arrest him and lock him up so he isn’t a danger to society. “You heard it here first, Channel sixty-one news station. We’ll be right back,” says your co-anchor. He stands from his chair and adjusts his tie, stretching his back, “What an awful creature,” he comments dryly under his breath. It’s enough for you to catch. “What did you just say?” you ask him from your seat, back straight as a spring board. He looks at you blankly, and you decide in that moment that you hate his over-gelled slicked back hair and his tie is the ugliest shade of puke green you’ve ever seen. “Come on now, you know that thing probably started that fire. It’s lucky everyone made it out alive, but what about the damage?” It takes you a moment to consider his words and if he is really standing here in front of you or just a dirty apparition, “Excuse me?” He has the audacity to sneer, “What?” “That ‘creature’ you just called him, is a person! He didn’t ask for that manifestation!” you scream at him. The director and camera coordinators all jump, spilling coffee and turning back toward you at the news table. Even your co-host seems to fumble for words at your outburst, “Are you really so small minded? You’ll jump to that conclusion without all of the information?” He raises his hand at you to speak, “It’s probably true though. Looks better for the news at least. You saw how quickly it we-“ “Stop talking! This is unbelievable! You want to know who the real monsters of this world are?” your anger is rising like acid up the column of your throat, “You are! People who only care about their fucking money or their fucking story or their five fucking seconds of fame!” You spit more words at him before he can make a rebuttal, “You don’t give a shit about the people your stories might hurt? Are you so content with yourself that you don’t have an ounce of shame for the words you say about others? Are you serious right now? Have a bit more compassion for humanity!” He laughs. The man within striking distance of your palm actually laughs. It is as the phrase ‘I don’t care.’ Leaves his lips that your palm meets his cheek. It stings harshly, but your refuse to let it show. And then you walk out, flinging your fistful of notes in the air to scatter about the news studio as your heels carry you sharply across the floor and out the door with your coat and purse. ______________________________ “Unnie, I’m so sorry.” You mumble, wiping at your tears and sniffling to keep them at bay as you walk. On the other end of the line, a woman coos at you, “Don’t worry about it. Are you okay?” You feel terrible. Channel sixty one was the only news station that would even look at your resume straight out of college, and only on Yoora’s word that you were perfect for the junior anchor position that got you in the door. A year later and you were promoted to anchor, gleefully dropping the ‘junior’ title from your work. Thankful to her as always, you feel even worse as you admit that you walked out. “I just quit,” you say in one breath, “Unnie they were talking about Chanyeol.” The other end of the line goes quiet for three seconds, “Where is he?” You sigh, tilting your head to hold your phone between it and your shoulder so you can unlock your car while the other holds your umbrella. “Not sure, but I have a feeling I know. I’ll text you when I find him. I’m just… I’m really sorry after all of the hard work you did for me.” She hums, “Seriously don’t worry about that. We’ll figure it out later. For now, just make sure he’s okay, please.” “On it,” you whisper, ending the call as you situate yourself in your car. With both hands on the wheel, you take off in the direction he’s most likely to be. _________________________________ Nearing late afternoon, you’ve decided there’s only one place left to find him. His G65 is tucked nicely under the foliage of a large tree. It’s the only one left in the parking lot when you pass by the only other car on their way out of the park. You don’t bother checking your phone. He’s not answering anyone’s messages or calls and he’s turned off his location. Luckily, you had your gym bag in your car, intent on having gone today after work. Running shoes and a hoodie are much better for this kind of weather as you hunt for the man you love. It doesn’t take long to find him, since the park is scarce otherwise and he never carries an umbrella. He only ever needs to for the sake of his attire. Pulling open your messages, you text Yoora that he’s safe. You save her the detailed description of your lover; sitting on a bench with his ear pods in and the length of his legs spread out into the walkway, comfortable in his slouched position. He’s wearing his scuffed-up converse, favorite jeans and a large gray hoodie. One hand, large even from a distance, is extended in front of him. You know, even from this distance, he is watching every droplet evaporate from his skin. It is obvious in the Summertime, in the way his body steams as if it were asphalt when he doesn’t care to regulate his external temperature. You smile when he lets the hand drop to his lap and his head lulls back against the bench. He exhales into the chill, a gently puff of humid white from his volcanic chest into the late October breeze. It pulls a quiet laugh from you. His head rolls in your direction, and he is not surprised to see you standing ten yards away. His expression doesn’t change, but you know it isn’t personal. His cheeks, usually high and glowing, have deflated to sag near the down turned corners of his lips. Although he still exudes warmth, it makes your heart feel chilled. As you approach, traces of his tears become evident, pink around his round eyes- staring up at you from his resting spot. “You okay?” you ask, moving your umbrella away from yourself to shield him, “Your clothes are getting soaked.” A dissatisfied hum is your only reply at first, until he sits up and grabs your free hand to tug you closer. In his hold, you let him guide you to stand in front of him so he can comfortably wrap his arms around your hips. Leaning his head into your stomach, Chanyeol sighs. “You know you saved someone, Chanyeol.” You speak the words into the breeze with such conviction, letting your free hand raise to pet his hair. Even without the sun, you are happy to notice you can still see the auburn riding the waves of his chestnut curls. “It doesn’t matter. So many more hate me for starting a fire,” he mumbles into the thickness of your hoodie. Dropping your umbrella, you sink into a squatting position between his knees and revel in the warmth of his skin against your palms where they touch his cheeks, “But you didn’t start that fire.” He groans, voice cracking with stress, “Everyone thinks I did. It’s all that seems to matter. They are making jokes about it, too.” “I don’t think you did.” For the first time, he meets your eyes. Hesitantly, “I know.” He pulls you back up against him, hugging you into his larger frame as if you were his favorite stuffed animal, but commits nothing to the conversation otherwise. “What if you signed with an agency?” you wonder aloud. Sure, conversations had come and gone about it before, when they first began gaining popularity and legitimacy, but Chanyeol had always shrugged it off for the sake of keeping his manifestation private and doing what he wanted. He hadn’t thought that far about it, thinking there would never be a need to expose himself. “Might have to now. Still don’t want to,” he admits. “Why did you risk yourself then?” He lifts his chin and tilts his lips onto yours briefly, “The kids. They wouldn’t have made it.” The words are sobering to you, as they probably were to him. “You did that for them?” He takes a deep breath through his nose. It’s clear he is exhausted, “Would you have?” “Without a second thought.” You wrap his head in your arms again, leaning down to kiss at the crown of his head and inhaling his scent. Smoky and warm, tinged with the fresh rain. “That’s why I think you should find an agency.” Chanyeol hums, squeezing you tighter, “Later. For now, let’s go home and forget about the world for a while.” He kisses you again, “Thank you for finding me.” “I will always come to find you. I just want you to be safe and happy and loved,” you remind him gently, stealing a kiss on your own from his perpetually pouted lips. He takes your hand and stands, giving you the tiniest smile- just an uptick at the corner of his lips- at the happy sound you make when he squeezes your hand in his. It is unusually warm, like always. He takes the umbrella from your other hand, looking every bit like a normal couple trying to shield themselves from the chilled rain under one small piece of fabric. Chanyeol stops a few feet from the gate you came through, and his hand grows hotter in your hold. Enough that he lets you go and subtly moves you one step behind him, “Can I help you?” Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed a man leaning against the grill of Chanyeol’s Mercedes. He’s wearing a black overcoat, bucket hat, and dark sunglasses. Even without the weather, he is immediately suspicious. The man smiles, lifting himself from the car and uncrossing his arms. He looks down and back up, lips twisted in a smirk. Not quite cocky, but almost. Chanyeol must be able to feel something off because he reacts with one small puff of flame from his breath. You don’t miss the way he spreads his fingers wide with the hand he keeps in front of you, alerted by the way his fingertips become daker pink and then red as if sunburnt. The man approaches gracefully, and something feels a little cold. You watch, transfixed and a little afraid of the way the rain doesn’t quite seem to touch him. “Easy there, let me make this a little more comfortable,” he says mysteriously with a quick look around. You immediately notice the way the sound of rain on your umbrella has stopped. Chanyeol noticed too, and hesitantly moves the umbrella. Above your heads, the rain is not suspended. Upon closer inspection, you can see it is moving around you three instead. “See? Now she won’t get wet, right?” says the man, grinning. He removes his sunglasses and lifts his head to meet Chanyeol’s eyes. “Can I help you?” Chanyeol asks again, a little less polite than before. The man, clearly an Evolved, clears his throat and holds a card out to your boyfriend, “My name is Junmyeon. CEO of JM Enterprise, an agency for Evolved.” Your lover stills, relaxing from his threatening posture. You peek around him, curious, “Wow.” Junmyeon smiles at you, “I’m particularly selective in recruiting myself. I’m looking for a partner whose manifestation is complementary of my own. Natural element types if you will.” “Are there more?” Chanyeol asks quickly, his curiosity getting the better of him. Junmyeon smirks again, a bit lopsided. “A few. Currently, five including myself. I’d like you to make it six.” “I’ll think about it,” Chanyeol agrees a bit reluctantly, clearly finished with the conversation. He takes your hand once more and moves past the CEO toward the cars. “Oh, and miss Y/N?” calls Junmyeon. Both of your heads whip back around to face him. He holds his sunglasses with both hands, sliding them back over his eyes, “We could also use someone of your journalist talent, since you’re looking for employment now that you quit.” You squeak, trying to ignore Chanyeol’s wild eyes boring into the side of your head, “You quit your job?!”

[tune-collective]

Meet the Fyre Fest Attendee Who Live-Tweeted the Island Disaster

Meet the Fyre Fest Attendee Who Live-Tweeted the Island Disaster

Fyre Festival attendees were promised paradise on a private island, only to arrive in the Exumas, Bahamas, on Thursday (April 27) to find a half-finished festival site, uninhabitable accommodations and hundreds of fans pleading to get out.

The images of what was promised and what was actually delivered have dominated coverage of the failed festival, with many in the media turning to a Twitter feed run by a 32-year-old blogger named Seth Crossno from Raleigh, N.C., who uses the pen name William N. Finley IV. Crossno’s photos on Instagram and Twitter were some of the most widely shared images from Fyre Festival, giving the rest of the world a peak at the train-wreck festival that vastly under-delivered and was eventually canceled.

Billboard tracked down Crossno to discuss his experience on Exumas and learned how his images and social media posts resonated with hundreds of thousands of people watching from afar.

Why did you decide to attend Fyre Festival?

I needed a vacation. I haven’t been on one in a year and thought, ‘Cool, look at all this stuff I get to do at Fyre Festival.’ I think of myself as an influencer through my blog, which started out as a satire on the whole Raleigh scene. But once I landed at Exumas and saw the festival site, I was like, ‘All right, there’s no satire here. This is all real.’ So, I just started reporting what I was seeing. Then the media started reaching out, like rapid fire. I was just like, ‘Yeah, you can use this.’ I didn’t think my photos and tweets would pop up on the front page of every single site covering Fyre.

This sums up Fyre Festival. #fyre #fyrefestival #fyrefest pic.twitter.com/x4xcFBL8Yg

— William N. Finley IV (@WNFIV) April 28, 2017

Your photos were everywhere. At times it seemed like you were the only one there posting images.

That’s what I don’t understand. When we first got there, I asked myself, ‘Am I the only one who had higher expectations for this event?’ but it wasn’t long before my friend turned to me and said, ‘We’re getting off this f—ing island.’ I was like, ‘No, let’s give it an hour or two’ before admitting, ‘Okay, this really is terrible.’ Why did nobody else tweet out that this was such a shit hole? I don’t know.

Did you feel a sense of responsibility to report what was happening on the ground?

Yes, eventually, after I realized that a lot of my tweets were getting picked up by the outside media. 

But everyone was reporting the wrong name for you since your account has you listed as William N Finley IV.

Well, that’s the thing. I use that account for satire, but this was real and I didn’t have time to explain that because so many people were following me.

Your Periscope video has now been viewed over 175,000 times. Were you surprised that many people were tuning in?

Not really. People love a train wreck, especially if they’re people you both envy and want to be given a comeuppance. There was a lot of misinformation. It wasn’t $12,000 a ticket like many in the media were saying. I paid $4,000 — the VIP Artist Pass I purchased was $2,700 and I owed my buddy another $1,300 for my share of the $8,000 VIP villa we were supposed to be staying in. Yeah, that’s a lot of money, but that’s what I thought it would cost to spend four nights in the Bahamas hanging out with A-list celebrities. I was supposed to be flown in on a private plane with Wolfgang Puck making me omelets for breakfast. For $4,000, that’s pretty damn cheap. 

Did they have a VIP villa ready for you when you arrived?

No, and when we landed we could tell immediately we weren’t on a private island. We were on just a part of a larger island. It felt like a rock quarry or something. And you pull in and there’s just cars everywhere and trucks and people, and you just come up on all these disaster relief tents everywhere. We thought, ‘What the hell is this?’ And then, they dropped us off right in the middle of this crowd. And there’s just a huge line, and nobody’s telling you anything. And you’re standing in line, and that Billy McFarland guy is standing on a table trying to answer questions. But nobody can hear him. He looked like an idiot standing on this table, telling the people who rented villas to just go grab a tent. Any tent. And then people started running to the tents, grabbing up tents that had been assigned to someone else. It seemed like no one was in charge.

At what point did you just decide to get out and head to the airport?

Around 11 p.m. We had been kicked out of multiple tents and never actually shown the location of our VIP villa. We headed to the airport having no idea if it was actually open. Thankfully it was. We got there at 11:30, and the flight came in at 1:30 in the morning. And we got on and they were manually writing names and passport numbers down, but the manifest wasn’t checking up with the head count because a couple of people were still drunk and not listening for their names to be called. So they made us all get off the plane and get back on, checking us one by one. By that time, we sat on the plane again for another couple hours and then we had to deboard again because the crew needed a break. By this point, we’re now locked inside the airport because people kept walking outside to smoke, and because the place was so small, accidentally walking on the runway.  So they put a chain and bolt lock on the door, and it go so hot that this guy passed out. Then we finally got a plane at 7:30 or 8:30. Around like 9:30 or 10:00 we got on, took off, and finally got in about 11:00. 

At one point while you were still on the island you tweeted out a picture of a notepad that appeared to belong to one of the festival organizers. Where did you find that?

Billy McFarland was standing on this table to try and tell people what was going on and the notepad was on that table, and then it fell on the ground. I took a bunch of pictures of the notepad — what I didn’t show were pages with hundreds and hundreds of names, all hand-written.

Also, we found a notebook from one of the Fyre Fest planners on the ground. It is amazing. #fyrefestival #fyre pic.twitter.com/jFib0nO2RW

— William N. Finley IV (@WNFIV) April 28, 2017

Yesterday Ja Rule issued a statement promising fans that Fyre Festival was not a scam. What did you think when you heard that?

I never thought it was a scam — that implies there was some intent to defraud. I honestly think it’s a mix of total incompetence and the people putting it on really sucking at their jobs. But I will say there was a lot of things that changed as the event approached. At first it was supposed to be on a private island, but then it was moved to a section of an island next to a Sandals resort. I kept giving them the benefit of the doubt, probably to subconsciously talk myself into still going. I mean I was in $4,000 on this thing.

One of the most famous photos to come out Fyre was a picture of a sandwich with just bread, cheese and lettuce. Was there other food?

Yeah — there was a tent with sandwiches and another section had dinner with barbecued chicken, pasta salad and a bread roll. It wasn’t that bad.

The dinner that @fyrefestival promised us was catered by Steven Starr is literally bread, cheese, and salad with dressing. #fyrefestival pic.twitter.com/I8d0UlSNbd

— Tr3vor (@trev4president) April 28, 2017

So the picture was a misrepresentation?

Well, that was one of the options. Cheese sandwich. There was no menu. You just walked up to a table in a tent and they handed you food and then pointed you to a big basket of chips and some apples and oranges. It felt like a summer camp mess hall. Most of the people working the kitchens and food were from the Bahamas and they were extremely nice considering the terrible situation.

Did any part of the festival site feel like a tropical paradise?

No. Not really. It was mostly gravel and grass. There was some sand in front of the stage, but they just dumped it here to make it feel like the beach. But the rest of the island was gravel, dirt and mud. Thank God it didn’t start raining.

Any regrets?

I’m not sure, but I do know I convinced a lot of people not to show up. So many people reached out on Instagram and Twitter asking about the festival. I told them, ‘I wouldn’t come to this. It’s not what you think it is.’ And a lot of people said ‘Thanks a lot, I’m canceling my tickets.’ I was just happy that no one else would have to go through this. 

This article originally appeared on Billboard.

http://tunecollective.com/2017/05/01/meet-fyre-fest-attendee-live-tweeted-island-disaster/