#its whats inside forbes

[emily-in-crisis]

MAJOR SPOILERS FOR NETFLIX'S IT'S WHAT'S INSIDE!!!!!!!!!!

i'm thinking about netflix's new film it's what's inside and how the big reveal at the end that forbes was actually his sister beatrice who had body swapped with him and the noticeable difference in personality and temperament between beatrice-forbes at the party and actual forbes. in the flashbacks scene where they were explaining forbes character they mentioned he was a cool fun guy but quick to extreme anger and would lash out when provoked. but at the reunion he seemed so chill (little did we know at the time hehe). however when we meet the actual forbes (while he's in beatrice's body) he has road rage, literally picks a fight with another driver, yells in wedding guests faces and tackles who he thinks is his sister to the ground. I know I'm rambling but I like how they showed the noticeable differences in personality between the two and kept the description of his personality consistent from what he was originally described as in his introduction scene. I think it really sold it for us that they were body swapped

[davidwthompson]

Credit: Greg Jardin via IG

[violet-n-butterflies]

{Switch It Up - Forbes Blomquist}

Summary: You were the Dom, the Dom that likes to tease your sub and partner: Forbes Blomquist, and it seemed as if you were always going to be on top, but it seemed he had other plans, did those other plans involving you finally submitting on your knees for him?

Warnings: Profanity, Sexual references & sex scenes (described), Degrading, Spanking (Receiving & Giving), Master/Mistress - Slave/Sub, Switch Forbes and (Y/N), Overstimulation, Impact Play, Cunnilingus (F Receiving) & Unprotected Sex (Reader's on the pill).

Quick Disclaimer: Minors DNI and this takes before the events of what happens in the movie as there will be a mention of Beatrice and also the college incident as well. So yeah, and if you’re uncomfortable with BDSM, please skip this one for your matter then.

Y/N P.O.V

"You know, Forbes, sometimes I think you're a bit of a masochist," You chuckled before tossing your wet hair towel at his feet at the end of the bed after you had just finished your shower, a hot steamy shower that you were expecting him to get aroused by.

Forbes was in the midst of typing away on his laptop for work, barely flinching. He grabs the towel and proceeds to get up from the bed you both sleep on to head towards you, making you smirk until he goes past you to put the towel away, ignoring you and heading back to his spot.

You were surprised by his ignorance of you, especially since you're still naked with only your body towel covering you. You thought maybe he was just busy with work so you decided to go back to the bathroom to get finish getting change until you saw your new lingerie pair you from Forbes, which sparked an idea in your head....

As you finished changing into your set, you headed back to the bedroom until you heard something inside, which made you take a peek, only to realise it was Forbes was masturbating... but to a video you recorded for him while he was away for business. You decided to head back into the living room to grab a package you ordered a while ago from a....special website, as you you needed for a little…. Funtime between you and him.

As you walked quietly back into your bedroom doorway, you heard his little moans, and the sounds from your video got a bit louder the closer you got to him. As soon as you in front of the door, you opened the door slowly while he was doing it, luckily for you his eyes was closed so you could easily walk over there to him, watching him be so immersed in this was turning you on so badly, but you had to do something so as he was still immersed in it, you decided to yell out his name to get his attention, causing him to be surprised and flinch immediately.

“Aww, did you get scared by mistress?” you said in a soft yet mature tone until you moved the laptop away to give you more space to get in front of him. You saw how he was looking, how he looked so wimpy yet adorable with the little sweat on his forehead forming from his little session.

As you wiped his sweat with the back of your hand, you began to lick the sweat off your hand to tease him even more before turning around to look at his laptop to watch the video you sent him.

“Mmm, were you watching mistress videos she sent when she was missing you”.

You decided to start the video again while getting up off the bed to then bend over to make Forbes see your pussy peeking through your new lingerie set. As the video began to play over again, you got back on onto the bed again to start moving your hip around on top of him to make him look at you even more, even beginning to make moaning noises to tease him even more.

“Mmm, do you miss me, do you miss me that much baby, do you miss me so much you just wanna…start fucking me immediately”.

You were teasing him so much you didn't even notice a smack on your ass, causing you to open your eyes immediately.

“What the fuck, did I tell you to-”.

It was Forbes, but now he's acting different, now he's acting like the…Dom…

You tried to get up but he was so quick and swift you didn't even noticing him pinning you down to the bed immediately, he even took your wrists and began to handcuff you, (how did he, fuck, the drawer!) you were so focused on what was happening you even forget you and him share a special drawer, he even decided.

“You thought I haven't been missing you mistress, why do you think I keep watching your videos of yourself over and over again, cause it turns me on so badly, I even wanted to just stop being the sub for a moment and just….let me take over you like how you do with me.”

As he was speaking to you about how much stuff he wants to do to you, you noticed a sound being turned on…a vibrating sound…and you only know what that means…

He begins to lower himself down to your core level, causing you to be anxious and as he begins to wrap his fingers around your panties, he moves them down to your ankles, leaving your core to be openly exposed for his eyes…and for your toy that is now placed on your clit, now it's causing you to make genuine moans and noises now due to what's happening.

“Aww, come on, you should be familiar with this, I mean you did it to me several times and made me watch you do it to yourself while I was being restricted, but now I understand why you like to do it to me. It’s so much fun, seeing you squirm like this even though I have this on the lowest setting”.

With that, he increases the speed setting even higher while also changing the setting to a different pattern, making you squirm and moan even more due to how good it feels but also nearly getting you close to overstimulation. But at last, he lifts the toy off your clit, bringing a nice sense of relief to you, or that’s what you thought at the time until he brought another surprise, he moves to get up so he could take your panties off and he was finished with that, soon begins to play with your clit and now your hole, even beginning to insert a finger inside you, making you feel a sense of pleasure from how you now have something inside you, and you didn’t want it to stop, and it seemed he didn’t want it to stop as well.

You noticed how the video that was playing was now being replaced by another video, this time was the one you and he recorded for your birthday when he was feeling down about what’s been happening with his sister so you came up with the idea to record it so you could show him how much you love and care about him. And with that, as the video kept playing, he began to pull his fingers out of you, leaving a wet trail behind that began to drip onto the sheets until he moves his fingers into your mouth, making you taste your juices after he played with your pussy.

With a little bit of ease and teasing, he slides his pants and boxers off so he can proceed to slide his nice cock into your tight little hole, making you and him moan and grunt due to how good it feels to both of you. He starts nice and slow so you and he can get used to it since it’s been a week since you and he had any type of sexual intercourse but not until he tells you to get in all fours to begin getting rough as he proceeded to spank both of your ass cheeks but you didn’t mind it since you were into it, plus it helps Forbes release his anger since you knew he has a temper, and it would even get you more turned on than anything.

After a few minutes, he starts to get a bit faster and a little harder now, even moving his hands into your bra which was still on your body until he took it of, which caught you off guard since he was just using his hands around your butt but also made you a bit more animalistic now, which made Forbes even get more aroused and more primal.

“Do you like that..do you..like that you..little pain slut, I bet you like it since you’re my.. little pain slut, don’t ya, do..you like it when I’m..like this with you”.

You couldn’t even reply to what he was saying to you, with him pounding into you numerously while also adding more marks onto your body, he was genuinely making you surprised by how he was with you, even though you both were switches, he was normally more on the submissive side since he was more busy with stuff and normally went to you to relief him of stuff, the only time you ever saw his dom side was during the aftermath of the college event.

But now that you’re seeing his dominant side now, it was only making you wanna cum even more than before with how he was with you, with how your stomach was turning into knots and how you began to tighten yourself around his cock, he probably picked up that you’re going to cum soon, but he had other plans…

In a quick motion, he pulled out, making your body go from an energetic high to a crashing low, but he had other plans so he proceeded to make out with you so animalistically you didn’t even hesitate to kiss him back as you two begin to make out with each other.

But he pulled away since he decided to lower himself down to your pussy to do some more teasing and pleasuring, he begins to eat you out as if you were an ice cream sundae that has a once-cold chocolate topping on it that was starting to melt due to the body heat. And you loved it, you couldn’t help but rub your hands through his brown hair due to how much pleasure you were getting from this. But of course, he wasn’t gonna make you cum via cunnilingus.

And with that, he slides himself back and takes advantage of the freedom aspect as he raises your legs over his shoulders to get deeper into you, obviously making you more overstimulated due to how deep he was inside you, even making you roll your eyes back due to the overwhelming pleasure you were getting from him, at least you didn’t have to worry about him cumming inside you since you were on the pill anyway.

As the minutes passed into nearly an hour, the both of you were feeling something, and that something was the both of you nearly close to cumming. The two of you were both wild animals, moaning and grounding uncontrollably while you were yelling his name out so badly and how he was calling you names like slut, bitch & little pain slut. And since you both were about to cum, he moves your legs off his shoulders to around his waist cause he grabbed the vibrator and began to press it against your clit while he was still fucking you, causing you and him to experience euphoria for a split few seconds before you both finally release, making both your juices and his cum mix with each other.

After a while of cockwarming due to how the feeling was, he proceeded to pull out of you, making the cum that was inside you leak out a bit. He begins to pull you closer to him so the two of you can cuddle with each other, but not before he gets up so he can clean you and tidy you up, something that you would do with him whenever you finished up with him. But this time it was so nice and so rewarding, especially since he grabbed the wet cloth from the bathroom to tidy you up and also clean up the mess on the bed as well.

While he was tidying up the bedroom, you went to the bathroom to do a quick little cold rinse to wake yourself up while also cleaning the mess that was on your body as well. But it’s not too long before Forbes joins you in the shower, cleaning himself up from the mess as well. While you two were showing, Forbes began to make conversation about what just happened, switching back to his nerdy self.

“So how did you enjoy that whole thing”.

“I fucking loved it, you should try dominating more often”.

He flushes from the compliment you gave him about his performance in the bedroom, even giving his signature smile as well.

“Really?”

He says shocked by your reaction and what you just said about it.

“I’m being serious, I liked what you did there, was about time you released some tension and also tapped into your dom side, was kinda rewarding if I were to be honest”.

“Why’s that?”

He asked, confused because you mentioned it being rewarding.

“Cause I get to have you explored your dom side, you haven’t been a dom ever since what happened at the incident”.

You could see how Forbes is getting a bit moody lately due to things like work and family issues as well. Still, you always ensured that Forbes was your main priority and that hopefully he could manage his quick temper, even though inevitable, still manageable. He could see that in how you were with him, and he loved you for you and how you were the only person he had kept in contact with ever since what happened.

After you two finished your shower, you got changed and headed to the lounge room. Then you realised that the laptop and video were still on, so you got up to turn those off and went back to resting on the couch with Forbes. You two spent the entire night watching stuff while having some Uber Eats and continued with it until you two passed out while cuddling with each other…..

Best Fuck Sesh Ever….

*Phone lights up*

(Reuben)

“Hey, Forbsies, long time no see”

“I was wondering if you’re coming to the pre-wedding?”

Hello everyone, this is my first fanfic written on this account and I figured the first person I should write about was none other than Forbes Blomquist (AKA David W Thompson) from It's What's Inside for my first story, and I definitely had a blast. so go ahead and watch It's what's inside, it's a great film, and who knows where this story might go.....

[monapearlquo]

Sorry to anyone I told that I was writing an it's what's inside fic, I AM doing that and it's coming along but I've been dealing with midterms and family emergency drama so it's taking longer than expected 😭 but it WILL happen I swear

[usedpidemo]

Voguish (Itzy Ryujin)

(Thank you for the commission! I hope its to your liking.)

—————

If you had any other choice, you’d rather be stuck at where you were previously: earning a modest income, just enough to get by from job to job, performing straightforward work, and most importantly, friendly clientele to attend to. It wasn’t surprising; you knew this industry was built on the backs of some of the most snobbish, arrogant people you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting, but—

“You’re late. Again.”

Shin Ryujin was probably among the absolute worst.

If you’re going to make an honest assessment, Ryujin isn’t that bad. Serving as her head stylist for the better part of a year, she’s by far the client you’ve spent the most time with. She doesn’t talk a big deal about the money she’s making or prattle into a conversation intricately designed to inflate her ego to the moon, unlike some of the other A-listers you’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working under. 

However, her attitude is definitely up there.

It’s not even a little over a minute. In fact, you’ve been standing at her entrance door two minutes before the clock hits ten. Doesn’t matter if you’re in the right; her style, her rules. She doesn’t care that you're sweating buckets rushing her newly minted outfit from across the street up to the 27th floor. Any moment where she doesn’t look like a million dollars is a moment wasted.

“My apologies, Ryu—”

Ryujin’s glare puts the fear of God into your soul. “What did I say about using my name?” 

You pause. Gulp your throat. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Shin.” 

“Hmph.” Grimacing with disgust, she hastily snatches the dress from your possession, proceeds to slam the door on you, tone bordering on shouting, “Come inside. You’re late.”

Entering the door shortly after, you’re welcomed by a film crew in the process of recording her as she struts around the living room suite holding your dress in her hands. If there’s anything you’ve learned from attending to her, she’s as effortless of an actress as she is as a model. The moment her eyes face the camera, she instantly transforms into the picture perfect icon that has all of social media buzzing.

Moving out of the way has become muscle memory at this point. When she’s in front of the cameras, you’re merely an onlooker. 

“So this is my outfit for tonight,” she says enthusiastically into the camera, proudly flaunting the outfit—a convincing facade to the untrained eye. For the press, she’s this likable, larger than life figure living her best life, attending all these invitation-only parties and wearing the most stylish dresses. 

“It was a risque design, and I wanted to try something bold for once. It was love at first sight when I saw it,” she comments, and you know very well this wasn’t her first choice. They won’t know that this was the 12th option, handpicked just last night after weeks of trial and error, only to be thrown away right after. At her request, you had it ordered on incredibly short notice, and the plan almost fell through. It was hard to deny Ryujin’s wants, no matter how impractical or unfeasible they were. 

In a way, this was to be expected. Ryujin emanates this young, it girl energy. Like any aspiring icon, she usually wants to stand out from a usually safe crowd. Not that it hasn’t stopped you from interfering a handful of times, much to her annoyance. After all, you’d assume she was going to a casual party or some red carpet event, not a prestigious gala with some of the biggest people in the world in attendance. You name it: politicians, CEOs of tech giants, industry titans who make the cover of Forbes and Time every other month. There are high standards that must be kept, and she’s doing anything but uphold those standards.

The camera pans away from her, and she immediately tosses the clothing aside with zero regard whatsoever. You manage to save it before it becomes near valueless. No matter how bothersome she acts, you can’t bring yourself to call her out on her antics; not just because there are several careers at stake, including yours, but you know what she’s capable of doing when her patience exceeds breaking point. It’s a firsthand experience to catch Ryujin in a state that isn’t picture perfect.

“Where are you?” Ryujin shouts from the other room, irate. “Slow as ever, my goodness.”

When you approach her, she’s on her phone, seated in front of the mirror with her legs crossed, having commanded the camera crew to vacate the room, leaving you alone with her. It’s only when you are together that she’s her true self, and it’s not far from what you usually experience even with other people around. They understand it’s in their best interest not to interfere.

Turning her eyes, she catches you idling with her sharp stare. “Well? Are you just gonna stand there and look at me all day? You already do that on the regular.”

Her behavior’s something neither cameras nor testimonies will ever publicly reveal: that Ryujin’s practically a spoiled brat behind closed doors. Any attempts to expose her have been silenced by huge settlements, NDAs, and every legal bind in the book. And when those don’t work out, there’s the strangely coincidental disappearance of potential witnesses that read like every tin-foil hat post written by some gullible conspiracy theorist on the internet. 

In retrospect, perhaps there’s some merit to the rumor that her father is supposedly the head of some mafia organization, but you digress. She has never brought her personal history up in interviews, other than she’s been adopted by the founder of a relatively unknown investment firm. An elaborate lie.

She’s engrossed on her phone, unable to keep herself still while you struggle to apply makeup on her face. Time’s of the essence, she usually says, but she’s purposeful with how much time is wasted, with the primary objective of finding an excuse to lay on you. It was never going to be fair from the start. All the moments where you were late, in her eyes, were intentionally done to put you in the wrong. 

To be fair, the numerous stylists who’ve taken care of her warned you in advance. You couldn’t deny the opportunity for a huge paycheck.

“Miss Shin, please stay still,” you say, carefully stringing your words together, delivered in the least offensive tone possible.

To your surprise, she complies. It’s a miracle. She never obliges with your requests, let alone direct commands.

Applying the rest of her makeup takes only minutes. Usually, you’d be going back and forth, and you’d be in front of the mirror for hours. See how easier everyone’s job is when all parties cooperate and collaborate effectively? You’re doing your part like it’s second nature; you only wish Ryujin was this accommodating more often, and not whether her brain flips a coin to determine her attitude for the day.

“You look amazing, Miss Shin,” you comment, staring at the mirror, her face radiating with the glow of a million bucks.

Taking her attention off the phone, even if it’s only for a second, proves to be a chore, as proven by her particularly grumpy expression. She scans herself, peers through every little detail in the mirror—showing more interest in herself during this brief moment than her dozens of photoshoots over the last month—and gives the smallest of nods. You even see the tiniest of grins escaping her lips, too.

Her steely attitude unwavering, she commands you, sternly, “Bring me the dress. Now.”

A clap of hands and the door opens like magic. Your co-stylist briskly walks toward you, outfit in hand, promptly handing it over before immediately leaving the room. No words are necessary; she makes it clear who’s allowed to touch her, let alone dress her, and it’s only you. Handling Ryujin was as meticulous and methodical as preserving a historical treasure.

She finally gets off her chair, hands prepared to loosen her robe before something catches her attention. “Door.”

It’s common sense. You hurry over to the opened door, slam it shut. Then the magic happens.

Ryujin nonchalantly slips her bathrobe off her shoulders, letting it freely fall to the floor. She’s draped in nothing but the thinnest of underwear, her asscheeks openly poking through the fabric. It’s amazing how she’s allowing you to see her like this, her barest, when most of her shoots and red carpet dresses have been nothing but conservative. Sometimes seductive, but mostly safe. There’s nothing left for your imagination. On the other hand, you’re so used to this vivid sight, it’s almost part of your daily routine. You shouldn’t be fazed, but her perfect figure has you staring, shamelessly, like it’s your very first time seeing nudity.

At times, it leaves you vulnerable. Like now.

“You were doing quite well too,” she comments, snarkily, gazing at your blank expression through the reflection, snapping you from your daze.

Gulping your throat, you find yourself embarrassed, ears flushed red. Even while you go through the methodical process of measuring and dressing her, the shame lingers. You find yourself unable to glance at the mirror. The very few flashes and glints that meet you when you turn you face your reflection, you find her suppressing a tiny giggle. 

As you put on the finishing touches on her outfit, she brings the point home, “We’re already late by an hour.”

A quick look at your watch tells you it’s almost eleven. Ten minutes before the next hour. At first glance, it’s still early, but it can be deceiving. Parisian traffic is notoriously unforgiving, event or no event, showing no partiality. Getting from one place to another is a whole day’s work.

Then you remember the fans and paparazzi congregated at the hotel’s entrance. This crowd that you had to brute force through just to get her dress on time. The hotel security can barely hold them back, and you can hear several sirens screaming miles away, most likely police presence. Many persons of interest will be gathered in one setting, after all.

“How do you feel, Miss Shin?” you ask, taking a step back to let her soak in her meticulously curated appearance. 

She blinks rapidly. Then she takes a deep breath.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

—————

Everywhere you look lies nothing but chaos. Chaos and cameras.

Barricade is filled with an indistinguishable mix of both paparazzi and media from all over the world. Lights, whether from above or from cameras, flash in every direction that it’s almost blinding. Deafening shouts pierce through your ears that whispering is impossible. You’ve been to as many red carpet events as these journalists and photographers, but you’ve never attended an event of this magnitude until now.

Left and right, there’s a random celebrity being interviewed by a news junket. The women you spot are dressed to the nines, adorned in colorful and graceful garb, while the men are decked as if they're attending Sunday service. You can see it now: another round of fashion bloggers berating and cursing the men for their simplicity and lack of creativity, but that’s to be expected. 

Your phone vibrates from within your shirt pocket. It’s Ryujin, having disappeared somewhere in the crowd.

> Where u at? 😤

You immediately reply back. Your conversations have been practice for your future relationship:

> Can’t find you in this crowd 

> Taylor Swift is just across me XD

> Scarlett Johannson too

> And I think I saw Zendaya and Yuna talking with each other, can’t confirm though, they’re far away

To which she answers:

> Stop playing around.

> Get over here NOW

> Do you style any of them? 

> You don’t.

> Come here. NOW.

It’s a simple but strong warning. Aside from the fact that you’re there to attend to Ryujin’s needs and not larp as a celebrity, there's a change in her attitude during these events. She becomes strangely more attached. It’s become a byword for you to mention other women around her, yet she interacts with them in a friendly light for the cameras to see.

Ryujin’s preoccupied with what’s presumably the umpteenth interview of many when you finally reunite with her. She takes another moment to pose for the next wave of cameras, picture perfect as always, then after, she finally turns her gaze, meeting yours. It has been ten minutes since her last text, and you have many reasons to say why you’ve vanished.

None of which truly matters.

“There you are.” She says, glaring angrily at you, tone laced with contempt, sounding like you were gone for days.

“I can explain, Miss Shin,” you try to say, but it has no effect as she approaches you, careful as ever to keep a picturesque facade in front of the media. You can see her holding herself back from popping a vein. “Apparently President Biden and his wife are in attendance and we were told to make way for his entire security team—”

The way Ryujin pulls you by the ear while you both retreat from the chaotic crowd is comical. In a sea of cameras and eyewitnesses, some tabloid’s bound to catch you, take the unfolding scene out of context, and write a rushed article that spreads like wildfire, but no, it doesn’t draw an ounce of attention. She's a small fry in a pond of bigger fish, after all. Over your corner, you see a dozen Secret Service slowly guide the president along the carpet, parting everyone around old Joe. In a way, watching him brings you to a strange realization: that you can empathize with the poor geezer. You’re both in the same predicament, being strung along to places you have no zero interest in.

It’s an effective distraction. An air of tense, awkward silence falls upon you both as you stare at each other, your personal conflict hidden away from the public eye. You open your mouth, about to say a word, and—

Whack!

Ryujin hits you with the hardest of palms, all her pent-up frustration released with a single, powerful smack of your cheek. The force echoes throughout the enclosed space like thunder. Your lips draw a little blood. A quick rub of your face reinforces the consequence for your actions. Rough. Still, to say she looks unhappy after enforcing her will upon you is an understatement.

And just when you try to open your mouth (without the intention to complain; you’ve given up at this point), she follows it up with a second slap, with about half the impact of the first. This time, the other cheek. Her gaze is scathing, lethal, hypnotic—as if challenging you to try her already short patience. Say something, motherfucker, is subtly etched on her expressive lips without the need to verbalize them. 

Another tense moment of silence. She makes sure your eyes never leave her contact. When it finally breaks, her judgment echoes in your head like the toll of a death bell—a lingering reminder that you’ve truly fucked up.

“You’ll be seeing me after tonight,” she says, each word delivered like an arrow straight to your heart. Before facing the world again, she adds another devastating blow, “My hotel room. Midnight. Sharp.”

—————

For the most part, in the eyes of the public, you seem to have done a fantastic job styling Ryujin for tonight’s gala. Within hours of the event, numerous articles published of the event list her among the best dressed stars, praising the bold nature of her outfit, as she intended in that vlog-style video from earlier. It’s all smiles as you watch her from afar, casually mingling with every celebrity in attendance. In case she needs to remain fresh, have new makeup applied, or change into a new dress for afterparty purposes—sometimes all of the above—you’re closely on standby. Ultimately, she doesn’t; not a single time she has called or texted for assistance. In a way, it’s alarming.

Her reminder sticks firmly on the back of your mind. Every word she says, she means it—no matter how small or big they are. It lingers even as her personal driver and bodyguard messages you with the instruction to return to the car, where she’s mysteriously absent, having been commanded by Ryujin herself to send you and the rest of her personnel home. It’s uncharacteristically strange; either she’s changed her mind and is having a good time at the event, or she’s probably drunk out of her mind, and the latter is typically the norm.

When you retreat to your room, you nervously watch as the clock slowly ticks towards the inevitable. It’s like witnessing your death. You know you can’t stop it, and you can’t look away, either. With the understanding that you’ll likely see the sun rise when it’s all said and done, you don’t even bother to slip into your sleepwear. 

The clock turns midnight. Seconds later, you receive a text on your phone. The message. It immediately disproves any theory or hope of meeting her good graces:

> Meet me in my room. Don’t even think about hiding or running, cause I will know

Of course you comply; you really have no other choice.

Five minutes later, you’re at her door again, with nothing but your suit, ready to face her judgment. It swings open of its own accord. Without any formalities, you step inside the familiar living room, now tidied up and cloaked in near darkness—a stark contrast to the mess it looked earlier in the day. Not a sign of her presence can be seen or felt. If you’ve been feeling uneasy before, now you’re straight up anxious, and the terror leaves you pale.

The door slams shut. Now you’re completely in the dark, with nothing to latch or cling to but your own resolve, which is slowly fading too. You want to speak her name, but you know you’ll be trying fate again, and fate has dealt you a cruel hand already. You didn’t want to fall even further. 

Your slow breaths are the only sign of life.

And the faint voice in your ear.

Wait—

Before you know it, you feel your throat tense up and your body tremble frantically. Faint shadows coil around your waist and neck, and in that moment, your fate has been sealed. 

“At least you’re not late this time.” Ryujin whispers into your ear. Then your eyes snap wide open.

“Agh!” 

A powerful surge of pain overwhelms your entire body, renders you weak in the knees. You fall to the ground, barely keeping yourself from completely melting onto the carpet with your hands. Still, the pangs remain too much. You can barely hold up on all fours, let alone move your arms and legs. 

It’s not enough. A soft hand hovers across your arched back, brushes through your hair, before it’s immediately followed by a direct blow to your nape. Your shout of agony reverberates throughout the dark room while you’re forced further down on your knees. Nearly forced into a prostrate position, you’re barely holding on. Another hit of this force could knock you unconscious, maybe worse.

“You’re going to learn your lesson today,” says Ryujin, strutting from behind you, cloaked in what appears to be a white gown. She’s holding something that you can’t identify, but you can tell she’s not in the mood to play games. Sparks of electricity flash and fade close to her hand. It was a taser all along. You probably would have guessed that from the intense shocking pain you’re currently feeling.

“Bedroom, slowpoke,” she sternly commands you as she saunters toward the room first, leaving you alone to pick yourself up. You’re still reeling from the two shocks of electricity applied to your waist and neck; it stings. Your body struggles, aches, cries out in despair, but you ultimately muster up enough power to follow her minutes later.

What greets you in the bedroom is a dimly lit bed, with Ryujin as its centerpiece, and both ends of her figure bathed in a faint wave of orange lamp light. She’s draped in nothing but the same hotel-issued bathrobe from earlier, her legs crossed, gazing at you from behind designer shades, smirking with malicious intent. It’s regal, seductive, inviting, intimidating. You honestly could stare at this sight all day long.

Before you entertain the thought, she cuts it off. “Strip.”

Her gaze lingers as you quickly bare yourself in front of her. She grins, giggles, adjusts her glasses with each piece of clothing removed. It flashes at her widest when you’ve divested your shirt and your pants, revealing your chest and your evident bulge, unknowingly growing hard behind the elastic fabric. It seems to spark a new idea within her, even though she’s the type of woman who follows through with her plans after they’ve been organized and premeditated.

She hops off the bed, slowly saunters toward you with trained, modellike fashion, using you as a makeshift catwalk. Turning the corner, she retreats behind your back, gripping a hand on your neck, craning the other down your bare chest. Her tongue tickles the back of your ear, which morphs into the smallest of smooches while she drags you to the bed like a hostage. As she hauls you over the mattress, she continues to feel your skin and body, your ears titillated by the gentle moans and whimpers from her sultry lips.

Your bump knees with the bed before she sends you flying over the edge. Temptation comes knocking at the door of your suppressed lips; you’re itching to cry out in pain, pleading for a bit more consideration. You know it’s a futile effort. When it comes to sex, Ryujin was anything but gentle. 

“Don’t look. Stay still.” 

Following her command is second nature to you; even when your positions were interchanged, it was merely an illusion—you were never in control. Ryujin plants a palm around your throat, forcing your stare against the bedrest. The clanging sound of something resembling a belt or a buckle keeps you curious. Tense, breaths keep you calm. Deep down, you know what’s about to happen; there’s no stopping it, you can only brace for impact. 

In the gap between the point of no return, she tells you her mindstate, how her frustration and apparent jealousy never receded. “I hated every minute I spent there. You have no idea how difficult it was to keep a face in front of everyone, especially after seeing Yuna. Fucking. Yuna.”

Your reaction comes out, not through coherent words, but through a labored groan. You feel her finger circle rings around your ass, sticky and wet. Of course she was there, social media couldn’t stop buzzing about her appearance—and she rarely shows up to these galas. Now it’s all making sense. After all, you were Yuna’s stylist before Ryujin snatched you away. 

Ryujin continues to apply lube around your sensitive hole, occasionally fingering you. Holding in the groans from the discomfort proves to be impossible, but she prefers to hear you whine, especially when her name is spoken. It’s the perfect reprieve from the evening’s frustrations, keeping her from raising her voice to the ceiling. “She pisses me off so fucking much. First stealing my thunder at every fashion week, now this? I thought she hated art galas?”

It’s evident that she doesn’t like Yuna in any shape whatsoever. If not for the cameras and all the famous people in the building, she’d already be trading blows with her. If there was any one person she wanted dead, it would have to be Shin Yuna. Of course, knowing this, you never included your time with her on your job application, let alone mention the fact you briefly spoke at the event behind her back. She was in an already spiraling mood, and you didn’t need to make it even worse.

“I was thinking of using dildos for tonight, maybe just my fingers even, but I don’t think it’ll be enough. I really hope you understand.” That last sentence—she sounds apologetic, remorseful, but the warning is ultimately shallow; she’ll rough you up, wreck you, ruin you, and enjoy every moment of it. You’re merely a blank canvas to her twisted fantasies.

“Oh, oh–fuck!” She cries out, joining your deep scream in harmony as she plunges the dildo into your warm, wet hole. This isn’t your first experience on the receiving end of Ryujin’s strap, yet every plunge feels as destructive and spine breaking as the first. No pleasantries or formalities, just apply the lube then hit. The idea of teasing you goes against her very blunt, assertive nature.

“Shit—oh fucking shit, you’re so goddamn tight,” she says, snaking a hand around your waist as her plastic dick slowly penetrates your hole, little by little. She has you grasping at pillows, staring at the ceiling then down to the sheets, until you find the twisted image of her hips slowly pounding against your ass, letting the pleasure of pegging overwhelm her. It should be excruciatingly painful, an agonizing reminder to never get on her wrong side, but no, there’s something hot about getting dicked by a tough woman like her that arouses you.

Eventually, she comes to her senses, finds her footing, and remembers that she’s meant to punish you, not reward you. She knows how good you make her feel, even if your cock is meant to be inside hers, not the other way around. You can’t help speaking your mind, and it boosts Ryujin’s ego to the moon. “Please. Fucking use me, Miss Shin. Fucking ruin my hole like how I ruin yours, miss.”

Even upside down, you can see how visibly delighted she is to hear those words every single time. Can’t hide that wide smirk plastered on her lips, no matter how upset she is. It’s intoxicating. No matter how hard you’re huffing, the pleasure she derives from using you keeps you going. 

Slamming your eyes shut, Ryujin does what you both want. Fucks you with her dildo hard, clenches and quelches with each careful, intricate stroke. Sometimes you’re in that position, taking her ass and ravaging her body as your own. Now it’s her turn, and she’s been taking after you. Between thrusts, she slaps your cheek, pulls on your neck and hair. You’ve built this alarmingly toxic work relationship, but the sex has never felt this invigorating, so cathartic. The perfect use of frustration to be channeled into something pleasurable and rapturous. 

You’ve never seen Ryujin this focused, this committed to wrecking you. She’s using your hole with such ferocity you think she’ll make you bleed out. Behind those glazed, pleasure-filled eyes, she sees nothing but red. Difficult as it is, you follow a string of moans from her lips hidden beneath a continuous echo of groans from your end. It doesn’t help that these walls are thin and everyone on this floor can hear your escapades.

Neither of you care. There’s a good reason as to why she booked the whole floor to begin with.

The bed quakes, and quakes, and quakes—until it doesn’t. 

A puzzlingly calm fills the room after countless minutes pass. Ryujin’s frantic breaths close the silent gap, having pulled the dildo from your hole. It’s slick. You realize the change of pace. 

“Miss Shin, why did you stop?”

She doesn’t reply immediately. When she does, she’s still catching her breath between spoken words. “I told you—it wasn’t going to be enough. Lay down for me, will you?”

Without a second thought, you comply. This gives you an opportunity to truly see her in the flesh for the first time tonight. She’s wearing a combination of corset and lingerie, her juicy thighs layered with lace garter. Hopping off the bed, she unbuckles the strap around her waist, tossing it aside to the floor. You then focus on her plump ass, accentuated by her slim thong.

Damn, she looks better now than she does naked. You feel proud that she’s wearing your tailor-made lingerie.

Before you entertain the thought of undressing the very underclothes you’ve prepared for her, she slips the boxers off your ankles. She climbs onto the bed, stands atop you. Even with her short stature, in this position, she’s larger than life, a dominating presence that only desires complete control. 

“Hmm, I don’t know what I should do. I could let you fuck me, but that doesn’t sound right for a punishment,” she comments, playfully placing a finger on her chin, jokingly thinking. For a brief moment, it does appear that she’s stumped.

When the idea hits her, her eyes widen, and she has this self-conceited look, as if she’s got it all planned out. 

She reaches a hand down to her knee, slowly peels one of the stockings down to her ankles. Then she does the same for the other half. The way she positions both legwear on your cock is intentional; it’s to stir the idea of pounding into her cunt a real possibility. Your gaze remains fixated on Ryujin’s face, ever flawless in her scantily-clad figure, being her model self atop you. 

As she tugs on the lace of her panties, you start reacquainting your mind with the image of her tight cunt. She lowers it, barely down her thighs, enough space to tease, enough to make your heart race. Her attention is nowhere close to you; she has other priorities, and fingering herself is one of them. She rubs a digit around her heat, moans out in ecstasy with the same energy as getting fucked. The trembles of her body send aftershocks that reverberate all over the bed. 

It’s already hot enough to get fucked by Ryujin’s strap, but this—the sight of Ryujin pleasuring herself, mouth gaped wide open—is a hundred times better. This is the same reaction she has shown throughout the numerous times you’ve railed her, even though you’ve seen that face during sex. Against the mirror, against the water’s reflection, against the tinted windows of her cars—her face serves as motivation that keeps you hard whenever she demands it. Your hands begin to move on their own, reach down to the groin unknowingly, unsure of whether she’d want you to masturbate or not.

You feel your hard cock, already partially soaked with precum, dripping on her garter. As much as you want to keep them on, you can’t go against the deep seated urge to masturbate with her. Her foot begins to lean against your waist, right as you begin to stroke your shaft with your fingers. Moaning alongside her, you thrust your hips upward, passionately murmuring her name, with nothing but a singular thought: her pussy.

It’s etched on your needy lips. “You’re so sexy, Miss Shin. Please let me fuck you, God—”

She whines as though your hot breath is against her neck, growling a tone higher than normal. Her left foot is slowly clenching around your balls, the other at the bridge between your thigh and your crotch, gently nudging your free hand to move aside. She’s beginning to apply pressure on you, perhaps a subtle gesture to make you stop and give way for her feet to take over, but you’re engrossed in the moment to fully realize. Then again, subtlety isn’t her speciality.

It’s only when her foot presses down on your active hand that you slow to a complete halt. You gently rest her soles on your shaft, slowly wrap her soft toes around your tip. For the most part, their grip is shaky, but when they stick, they feel so slick, so warm, and significantly better than whatever effort your fingers can muster. She can’t wear heels without a few kisses placed on them, you recall; something about being Cinderella growing up, how she prefers to be treated, to receive nothing but showers of praise and attention, and you’re doing just that.

Her digits seemingly acknowledge what they’re stepping on, and soon enough it becomes the perfect makeshift ring to stimulate your cock. Her toes just feel the best, most direct spots around your sensitive shaft, gradually building momentum for when you eventually paint her pretty feet. At least, that’s the goal. You’re both drowning in pleasure, chasing separate highs, but using each other’s bodies as conduit for your own personal gain.

And it’s not that she doesn’t know; she knows. You’ve caught a glimpse of her half-lidded eye peeking down. She sees it, merely chuckles at the notion, and continues to finger herself atop your helpless body. Mutual trust brings you together; she won’t stop you as long as you won’t do the same to her.

“Yes, fuck, I’m gonna cum so hard,” you say, breaths hurried, and it isn’t a matter of if, but when. “Every part of you feels so good, Ryu.”

You’re past formalities at this point. She’s too far gone to care that you've called her by her casual name. Her fingers, both slick and warm at once, are catching fire from the frenzied pace she’s rubbing her clit, certain her dripping juices will find solace on your splayed figure. Racing with her orgasm, her underwear is halfway down her meaty legs, her very foundations shaking. Inadvertently pressing her foot tightly on your cock, she’s holding on for dear life, and it threatens to steal your soul before you reach that immaculate high.

With friction at an all-time high, one rough, slippery slip between her toes, all while your loins burn , moving as if you’re burying yourself deep in her cunt, eager to fill her with seed. The thin thread snaps. Sends you careening over the edge.

Your fall is accompanied by the endless scream of her name. To have your cock be graciously drained by her feet, it would be disrespectful not to. She’s still going, chasing that high even as your cum geysers all over her feet, spills over your knees, your belly, on the sheets, as if her own slick didn’t already make an utter mess of this five-star bed. You’re mentally cheering her on, distracting yourself from the endless cascade of seed gushing beneath you. 

This disastrous mess finds you again, this time in the form of Ryujin’s orgasm. She orgasms, cries her loudest cry, her features at their most corrupted. Her pussy gushes like a rushing waterfall, completely soiling her legs and panties with her slick juices. Your groin manages to salvage whatever her thighs haven’t absorbed, and it’s a sticky pool that latches onto her dainty feet. When she steps off your cock, the squelch of wet seed splatters on the sheets until she touches the ground.

You both take some time apart, let the aftermath of your orgasms fizzle out. Ryujin assesses the damage to her body; she’s still a model, after all. She hastily rids of the soiled underwear, treating it like some kind of contaminated object that can only be cleansed by fire. From the looks of it, she’s committed something dangerous, and you’ve done something scandalous. 

“Shit. We got carried away,” you say, lifting your head from the bed, panicked.

“No. You got carried away,” she replies, facing you with that familiar icy gaze. The honeymoon period is over. “Did I allow you to plant my feet on your cock? Huh?”

Swallowing your throat, you understand that she’s technically right, but also, she most certainly enjoyed the feeling of stepping on you—something you can use against her. Still, Ryujin’s word overrides all reasoning, no matter how logical they are.

You see her facade fall apart when she approaches you again. She climbs onto the bed like a cat, arches her back, and sends you back down to the mattress when she pounces on you. On her lips is the widest smirk you’ve ever seen on her. 

She wants more.

Rising to her feet, she plants her toes directly on your chin, oozing with the remains of your cum mixed with hers. “You did this, now you’ll clean it up.” 

As your tongue laps it up, she occasionally disrupts your rhythm by kicking you several times. Not that you’re hurting her (you couldn’t even if you tried) but for the delight of bringing you misfortune. It’s completely in line with the typical abuse and inhumane treatment you face from her during work hours. You won’t complain, but that was never in the cards, anyway. 

“I can’t believe my stylist is a complete freak. Fucking hell,” she comments, glaring you down as you give her toe the occasional kiss. She’s visibly disgusted by the realization sinking in, but deep down, she knows you’re the exact stylist she’s been looking for. 

—————

And as if that’s not enough, she’s found a punishment perfectly suited for you. 

“Just so you know, you’re not getting paid after the stunt you pulled on me today,” says Ryujin, in reference to your accidental disappearance during the red carpet. You’re laid out on the floor, prone, your groans stifled by the living room carpet. Meanwhile, her feet tread all over your bare back at a steady tempo, leaving what could have easily been hickeys red marks and footprints on your skin.

“How long do I have left, Miss Shin?” you ask, voice almost indiscernible.

“About ten minutes,” she replies, looking out the hotel room window, watching dawn slowly break over the Parisian sky. “Don’t ever disappoint me again, do you understand? Freak.”

——————

(A/N: First commissioned work complete! Definitely exploring elements out of my specialty, did you expect her to peg OC? Fun dynamic to write, thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can send me a commission :D)

[taylorswiftstyle]

Out and about | New York City, NY | December 5, 2023

Jimmy Choo x Jean Paul Gaultier 'Leather Wedge Pumps' - $2,450.00

One of Taylor’s go-to heel brands is Jimmy Choo so opting for this brand doesn’t necessarily come as a surprise, but what does is the bolder choice to go with this limited edition shoe co-designed with JPG.

The design takes what’s otherwise a regular pointed black pump and gives it a twist with a plexi wedge heel - modernizing the stiletto and also giving it an artistic form.

The pointed toe is also not typically something that Taylor opts for, but its elongated silhouette once again (to me) calls back to that Miss Americana red carpet outing where she also (again, rare occasion) opted for pointed toe boots. Given that in the last week we’ve seen multiple high profile business accomplishments in the press by Taylor (highest grossing tour by Billboard, Most Intriguing Person by People, 5th most powerful woman in the world by Forbes), it doesn’t feel like a stretch to me that she’d be revelling in a shoe that feels more powerful by extension and business-y.

Another fun fact? The wedge was designed to reference the “iconic architectural landmarks of the two brands' home cities: Paris with the Tour Eiffel and London with Big Ben asymmetrically encased inside each heel.” An interesting homage.

Worn with: Stella McCartney coat and skirt, VRAI + Jacquie Aiche + Louis Vuitton jewelry, and Sheertex tights

Photo by James Devaney via Getty

[luvyeni]

hi i love your writing added member and the perverted members could you write more like the nct members being perverted and possessive with the only female member too stray kids and txt

—｛🎂｝PERV/YANDERE MOMENTS WITH 6TH MEMBER; W/ TUBATU

pairings. OT5!tubatu x 6thmember!reader

wc. 1.1k

warnings. yandere/perv!txt , possessiveness, manipulation, unprotected sex, groping

synopsis. different scenarios with perv/yandere!txt and the 6th member.

—｛🍰｝... SOOBIN ⋮ cumming to pictures of you !

he seen the perfect picture of you , it was from one of your concert fit , he always thought you looked so sexy in it , his cock always got hard when you wore it.

"oh..oh fuck!" his fucked his fist , his phone in his hand as he examined the picture of you that he found on twitter , your cleavage popping out from the top of your shirt a little , soobin knew he was a perv , but he couldn't help moan your name thinking his was alone as he fucked himself to his orgasm. "soobinie." you walked into his room , thinking he was calling you , your eyes going wide. "sh..shit , im sorry , i didn't mean you interrupt you " you turned to walk out but he stopped.

"love , why don't you come over and come here and make your leader cum."

—｛🍰｝... YEONJUN ⋮ stopping you from seeing other idols !

yeonjun looked through your phone , all the different numbers of idols in it , reading a bunch of messages of people inviting you out.

"you're not going out." you whined , grabbing his arm. "why , it's just to go out for meat with yujin." you said. "and jake , don't lie to me baby , i looked through your phone." you frowned. "you can't stop me , i want to go." he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue , before he grabbed your jaw. "you're so bold now baby , how about i send your friends , that cute little video i took of you yesterday , think they want to see that." you shook your head. "n..no."

"then be a good girl and tell them you can't go out."

—｛🍰｝... BEOMGYU ⋮ watching your ass in the practice room mirror !

beomgyu was losing all his marbles as he watched your ass dance in mirror , the way it moved as you did the dance , he was counting down until the next break for everyone to leave.

as soon as the last person left , he was coming up behind you. "g..gyu , what are you doing?" you felt him grinding against you. "you feel that princess , you did and that ass of yours , its perfect." he bent you over the couch , pulling your leggings down. "gotta hurry babe , don't have long." he pushed inside of you , covering your mouth as he fucked into you. "go..gotta be quiet , don't want them to hear you getting fucked during practice , like a slut." he groaned.

"gonna fuck you until you're dancing funny."

—｛🍰｝... TAEHYUN ⋮ forbbing you to do sexy stages !

taehyun watched as you practice for your upcoming solo preformance , it was really sexy , taehyun didn't want anyone else but him to see this dance.

"what are you doing?" he scoffed. "the dance." you said , turning the music off. "why you aren't doing it." he said. "i already told them i was , please taehyun just this once , i just want to try it." you said. "you want them to see you as a slut." you shook your head. "because that's what they'll call you." you frowned. "b..but im not." tears wielding in your eyes. "i know that baby , but they won't care , you can kiss your career goodbye." he said. "i..i won't do it." you said. "good girl." he hugged your body , squeezing a little too tight.

"ask to do the dance again and you'll regret it."

—｛🍰｝... HUENING KAI ⋮ "helping" you fix your clothes !

kai watched as you tugged at your shirt , trying to cover up your cleavage , smiling knowing he was the one who gave them the wrong size for you , so it would be too small.

"let me help you." he pulled at the shirt watching your tits bouce as he tugged on it , his cock getting hard. "k..kai." you said as his hands grazed over your boobs. "wow , they're really soft." you softly moaned as he squeezed them. "you like that." he lifted your shirt. "can i suck on them?" you nodded he pulled your bra down , "k..kai we don't have long before we have to go." you sighed as he sucked on your nipple , already thinking about the next time he was gonna fuck up your size to do this again

"don't worry baby , you'll be begging to fuck no matter how much time we have left"

©️LUVYENI

[sgiandubh]

When clueless, silence is golden

I was just browsing around while looking for something completely different and stumbled upon this quintessential Mordorian POV:

Disclosing a username is crass and I usually never do this, unless really necessary and relevant. So spare me the ad hominem argument you usually fumble around with, Disgruntled Tumblrettes. Yet, for all its intellectual paucity, this is interesting dissection material, since clearly this person hasn't got the slightest idea of what she is so confidently talking about.

First scenario at play: The Tasting Alliance, 'a company no one has ever heard of', booked and paid for the suite.

Not necessarily booked, nor necessarily paid, madam. In the real business world you are so clueless about, these arrangements are seldom - if ever - monetized. It's rather all about barter.

That company no one ever heard about - except, perhaps, #silly and totally irrelevant Forbes (https://www.forbes.com/sites/joemicallef/2023/04/13/the-tasting-alliance-and-reserve-bar-are-set-to-launch-top-shelf/?sh=b45f7085f6f1) - is the parent company of the San Francisco World Spirits Competition (SFWSC), largely acknowledged as at least one of, if not the world's leading spirits award contest. Google is your friend, you should try it some time:

The operative info here is that this evaluation comes from the Beverage Trade Network, a professional portal for spirit dealers. Having determined this, Tasting Alliance's IG number of followers is completely irrelevant, since we are talking about two very different targets, here. Its real leverage and weight on the global market does not really need the boost of an aggressive social media presence and the kind of events it hosts are not your favorite junior hockey league or elementary school cake and bake sale.

Let's look a bit further. It takes one click to get on the Tasting Alliance's website (https://thetastingalliance.com/). Granted, not all the information you need to understand its business model is right there and I had to go dig a bit (not without some help - merci encore!) to even get a grip on how these wheels are really turning.

The way they sell themselves is sober and confident. And completely disinterested in social media impact, to be honest:

So, in lieu of glitz and sequined bras, we have a success story in its own right, which started in Frisco in 1980, then continued in 2000, with the addition of the San Francisco World Spirits Competition. Further expansion followed in 2018, with the New York World Wine & Spirits Competition and 2019, when Dias Blue set a firm foot on the emerging Asian market, with the Singapore World Spirits Competition.

I doubt an explanatory drawing is needed as to the why of this expansion choice: it's all about baijiu, the old/new Chinese sorghum spirit and the everlasting love of the Far East for anything fermented. Lao-lao, the unspeakable Laotian homemade rice whisky, comes immediately to the mind of this blogger: the last bottle I saw, somewhere along the unexploded ordnance ridden Route 13, had a plump snake inside, as a naïve Viagra of sorts. Took a mouthful and thought I was going to die - but when spending the night in a longhouse with the Tai Lü people, you can't afford a faux-pas, can you? /end of travel memories intermezzo

By all my estimations, The Tasting Alliance is very profitable business. Let's unpack ( for current fees, see source: https://callingallcontestants.com/contest/2023-san-francisco-world-spirits-competition/):

Considering the 500 USD fee /entry (550, in 2023) in the competition and the fact that in 2022 there were approximately 5000 entries in the Frisco spirits' competition, we have a very rough turnover estimation of 500x5000= 2.5 million USD. That figure is just for one of the spirits competitions, mind you, and does not take into account what the winners probably pay for the right to mention their medals on their bottles (I am yet to see them on the SS gin bottles, btw), nor the multiple sidekick profit (e-shop sales, consulting and/or other distribution deals, etc). So, at the end of the day, I would comfortably multiply that base by 4, assuming a similar scale for all the other events they organize, which takes the yearly turnover at around 10 million USD and keeping in mind this is very probably a conservative estimation. I also assume costs are negligible, taking into account the discretion with which major players traditionally operate on that particular niche. Real expenses are probably limited to the activity of a handful of offices, sparingly and intelligently staffed. Advertisement is probably bartered and social media, well... you just saw the effort, haven't you?

But then there's the brand's real power on that market and this is the right time to talk about influence and impact. Perhaps this recent (2021) Men's Journal article will help us see better: https://www.mensjournal.com/food-drink/inside-the-san-francisco-world-spirits-competition

With a bit of luck, this could happen:

Sounds familiar? Of course and I bet that was S's strategy. If you imagined him doing the same exhausting booze tour every year (groping on top and seriously cringe on the sides), I think you might want to reconsider. I told you Sassenach Summer was a sandbox for more serious things to come and until now I have no reasons to change my mind. He did it for a reason and, mind you, that reason is not that the booze did or does not sell. It does. Restaurants start to feature it. Podcasts are being produced. The press starts to mention it (that recent New York Times article is evidence enough). This is not Lucky Luciano dealing in bootleg alcohol during the Prohibition and making obscene money over a fortnight. This is a serious business project that was delayed by COVID. That's all. And it takes time and patience and consistence. We know he has all those aplenty.

We also have the totally inane take on production costs for that podcast. It suddenly made me remember again my media expert past. It is with complete and educated confidence that I tell you: a potential 5K USD extra cost for renting that damn suite for the day is peanuts, even for a two-minute clip (let alone, in reality, a podcast interview, and I stand corrected if wrong), if such costs are covered by The Tasting Alliance. But my money is on a barter with The Shutters on the Beach, which would be, again, common business practice.

Second scenario: 'Shutters comped the room for free promo (...) for an actor most people haven't heard of.' You can throw timelines down my throat as many times as you wish and tell me he already stayed there several times and yell and screech, but here is what I think. Shutters didn't comp that suite for S, an actor most people haven't heard of, a decent, hard working start-up entrepreneur. If so (I doubt it), it would be logical to think Shutters comped that suite for The Tasting Alliance, which has a long documented history of partnerships with hotels that host their competitions:

So Shutters might have comped that room for a major player of the alcohol lobby world, happy that S, a returning client, picked them out of several possible options, because it was convenient. I don't believe for a second he stayed there.

This guy knows what he's doing and C's gin success completely depends and I bet will rely on that relentless networking effort. If anything, the Keepers of the Quaich recent development is only confirmation of all the above. But that's another story - very soon on this page.

IYKYK. The rest is uneducated cackle. But Mordor people were never the brightest bulbs in the fandom's chandelier, were they?

[artemisravencourtney]

Klaroline WIP Wednesday: Those Violent Eyes Ch5

(Klaroline peeps please tell me if I'm doing this wrong, it's my first time trying WIP Wed)

TW: Very brief mentions of past SA

He muses out loud, more so to himself than Stefan, “We could imprison him? I happen to have some options beneath the manor that should do nicely for now.” “Imprison him until when? He’s obsessed with Katherine, he won’t just give up on the idea.” Klaus waves a hand, “Until it’s appropriate to kill him.” He says flippantly. “Weeks, decades, centuries, who knows?” He shoots Stefan a pointed look, then, “Your brother’s days are numbered, ripper. He lives because I allow him to, but I will tire of that eventually.” Comprehension dawns on Stefan’s face, and the hybrid realizes he’s given too much away. “Because of Caroline. You’re keeping him alive until she gives you permission to kill him.” It’s not entirely the truth, but too close for comfort, regardless. Stefan smiles then, tone friendly, “You like her.” He’s brought back to his upbringing, and Mikael’s wicked glee whenever he’d find a weakness in his least favorite son. His ‘father’ could poke at anything that touched a nerve until the words hurt almost as much as the blows, all without ever losing that hint of sadistic pleasure that came with causing his distress. Klaus won’t allow Caroline to be poked at. “Your brother is a rapist.” He says slowly, “I don’t have to like her to want him dead.” Stefan only smiles wider, eyes sparkling in amusement. “No, but you’d have to at least respect her to wait for her permission to kill him.” He raises an eyebrow at that, “Your bar for what constitutes as respect is pitifully low.” The ripper shrugs, allowing him to relax slightly (though he suspects they will be revisiting this conversation at a later date). “Maybe. Anyway, we can imprison Damon until you kill him, but that might raise some questions. He’s friends with the town Sheriff, they have lunch together every week.” He pauses, noting the scowl on Klaus’s face with a healthy degree of trepidation, “If he goes missing, she’ll catch on.” Klaus Mikaelson is not a good man. He will be the first to admit that. Not with pride, but not with shame either. It’s an intrinsic truth, one his mother knew long before he did, one that he stopped trying to outrun the day his Wolf was bound. Klaus is objectively a terrible person, a questionable brother, and a monster among monsters. He murdered his own mother, for crying out loud. But the very thought of befriending a woman like the sheriff, laughing with her while committing unspeakable crimes towards her beloved daughter in the shadows? Pretending to be her ally, while you destroy the one person most dear to her on this earth, and ensure she’s none the wiser? All for no apparent benefit, aside from blood and your own twisted amusement? Klaus is not a good man. But there exist evils he isn’t capable of. Something snaps inside of him, dark and foreboding. “You wouldn’t happen to mean Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes, would you?” At Stefan’s answering nod, he feels a startling clarity wash over him. There’s no seeing red, no fiery hatred, no bloodlust. Instead, he feels swept underwater, awash with a bone-deep chill the likes of which he hasn’t felt since his last winter as a human. Idly, he wonders if this icy, detached thirst for vengeance weaving its way through him is what Elijah feels on a daily basis. He’s always been the hot-headed, mercurial one of his siblings, and he prefers it that way, but perhaps there’s something to be said about this cold, calculating fury. “Change of plans, then. I have a much better idea.” He unlocks his phone again, scrolling to another contact, “You might want to book a hotel for tonight, preferably under a different name”, he says, typing away. Stefan says something in response, but the sound is garbled and far away as he hits send.

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

Ψ M is for Maraclea: Chapter Seven

M is for Maraclea: Following an accident you had over summer break, you find yourself in limbo after being legally dead for several minutes. Now an outcast at boarding school, you end up finding comfort in a strange boy named Nigel. As winter draws near and tragedy strikes, your only reprieve from madness comes from a mind much like your own.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Nigel Colbie x Fem!Reader, NAMED Reader for Plot Reasons, There Are A Lot of DARK Themes.

Word Count: ~2.5k

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You stand before the mirror, the velvet dress draping elegantly over your frame. Its rich hue contrasts sharply with your skin, giving you an almost ethereal appearance. The three-quarter sleeves hug your arms snugly, and the square notch neckline reveals just a hint of collarbone yet not scandalous enough that one of the nuns would faint in shock.

You slip into the black heels, feeling their height lift you slightly off the ground. The click of your steps echoes softly in the quiet room as you walk to your jewelry box.

Opening it carefully, you stare at the collection of your mother's pieces. Each one holds a memory, a piece of her that you keep close. Adopted or not, she was still your mother and you treasured what little you had left of her. Your fingers hover over them before picking up the golden English lock earrings. They glint in the dim light as you fasten them to your ears.

Finally, you reach for the pearl necklace. Its luster has dulled slightly with age, but to you, it's perfect. You hold it for a moment, feeling its weight in your hands and recalling how it looked around your mother's neck. With a deep breath, you clasp it around your own.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror again. For a moment, you're not just Mary Forbes; you're someone stronger, someone who carries her mother's grace and resilience. The coldness that usually clings to you seems to dissipate slightly as you stand there, dressed and ready for the night ahead. Nigel's warmth still lingers on your lips.

Stepping back from the mirror, you take one last look at yourself before reaching for your cost. You wrap it around your body and button it tight as you head out of your dorm room. The hall is crowded by equally well dressed girls, all chatting together in preparation of the play tonight. A tribute. Susan's death has affected the play, but the understudy is prepared and the head of the two schools boy agree that the play shall go on in Susan's honor.

You were to be the pianist of the night, Michael nowhere near ready to preform and yet another tribute to Susan since you had been her dorm mate.

You walk with the other girls, their laughter and chatter blending into a single, indistinct hum. The cold air bites at your cheeks, but instead of welcoming it, you wish for Nigel's warm touch. Your heels click against the cobblestone path leading to the boys' academy. The sky above is a deep navy, stars faintly twinkling against its vast expanse.

As you approach the cathedral, its towering spires loom above, casting long shadows on the ground. The entrance is adorned with garlands of evergreen and holly, a somber reminder of the season's festivities juxtaposed with recent sorrow. You follow the group inside, the warmth of the cathedral enveloping you immediately.

The girls in the play scatter, heading to their designated areas to get ready under Ethel's watchful eye. You peel off your coat and drape it over a chair in the changing room. The familiar weight lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of duty and expectation. The pearl necklace feels heavier now, as if reminding you of the evening's significance.

You take a moment to adjust your dress, smoothing out any wrinkles and ensuring everything is in place. The mirror in the changing room reflects back a determined face; you nod at yourself before stepping out.

Navigating through the cathedral's grand hallways, you find your way to the seating area where your father and brother are waiting. Alex spots you first, standing up and waving slightly to catch your attention.

"Mary! Over here," he calls out softly.

You weave through the rows of seats until you're standing beside them. Your father looks up from his program with a small smile, pride evident in his eyes.

"You look beautiful," he says simply.

"Thank you," you reply, offering a small smile in return.

Alex's eyes linger on you for a moment longer before he speaks again. "Are you ready for tonight?"

"I have practiced," you say, glancing around at the gathering crowd. Your gives you an approving nod.

Your father places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I am sure you will preform beautifully. Susan would be proud." He then walks off leaving you with Alex. Alex takes your arm and leads you to the side room adjacent to the cathedral. It's quieter and a breather from the crowd of guests.

"He's been preening about you all day," Alex mutters, picking up a lighter and reaching for some unlit candles.

"Preening over what?" You ask, reaching out to run your finger over a nearby prop. "My ability to stay silent and play the piano?"

"You're really good at it, sis," Alex reminds you, his eyes lingering on your body. "You wear mothers pearls."

You nod, fingers instinctively touching the pearls. "Yes, I thought they would be appropriate for tonight. You know how father is."

Alex's eyes soften, and he leans in closer. "She would be proud of you, too, you know."

You nod again, not trusting your voice to stay steady. The memory of your mother hangs between you both, a silent acknowledgment of her absence and influence.

You watch Alex strike the match, its tiny flame flickering to life before he uses it to light the first candle. The scent of burning wax mingles with the cathedral's aged air, creating a nostalgic ambiance that pulls at your senses.

As he moves on to the next candle, the door creaks open behind you. A well-dressed couple steps in, their presence immediately commanding attention. They look slightly out of place, their polished shoes and elegant attire contrasting with the worn wooden floor.

"Hi," Alex starts, glancing up from his task. "I'm sorry. You've got to go round to the front of the church."

Before the couple can respond, Nigel strides in with his usual confidence, his eyes brightening as he spots you and Alex.

"Jack," Nigel greets warmly, looking between the couple. "These are my parents, Helen and John." He turns towards the couple with a broad smile. "This is my best friend, Jack. He's working on the play."

Nigel's gaze then shifts to you, and for a moment, you feel exposed under his intense scrutiny. He hadn't seen you in anything but your school uniform and jacket. You give him a soft smile .

"And this," Nigel continues, his voice softening, "is the lovely lady Mary, sister of Jack. She is the pianist tonight."

Helen steps forward first, her eyes softening as they land on you and then Alex. "I've heard lots about you, Jack," she says warmly. "It's lovely to meet you." Then she turns her gaze to you. "And Mary, I fear our son has not done justice to your beauty."

You manage a small smile in response, feeling a strange mix of emotions swirl within you. You wonder what Nigel has spoken to them about you. At least Helen appeared to like you. Alex stands a bit taller beside you. "Nice to meet you both," he replies, his voice steady despite the underlying tension. "But, uh... I'm sorry. I've actually got to head up with this to the stage and Mary needs to warm up."

Alex ushers you towards the practice piano behind the stage, his grip on your arm firm but gentle. The noise of the gathering crowd fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic sound of your heels clicking against the floor. You feel a pang of anxiety twist in your stomach as you approach the familiar instrument.

"Mary, focus," Alex whispers as he glances over his shoulder at Nigel's parents, who are now engaged in conversation with some of the other attendees.

You steal a quick glance back at Nigel, standing there with that ever-present smile that fills you with warmth. His eyes lock onto yours for a brief moment, and you feel a burst of warmth fill you.

"Here we are," Alex says softly as you reach the piano. He lets go of your arm and gestures towards the bench. "Take a seat and start warming up. I'll be right here."

You nod and slide onto the bench, your fingers hovering above the keys. The smooth, cool surface feels reassuring under your touch. Taking a deep breath, you begin to play a simple scale to loosen up your fingers for the night.

As your fingers dance across the keys, you steal another glance back at door to the chapel. Would he fill you wish warmth as your fingers pluck a symphony?

"Mary," Alex's voice cuts through your thoughts. "Focus."

"I am, brother dear," you snip at him quietly, your fingers gliding over the keys effortlessly.

Your fingers move with a fluidity that feels almost natural now. The simple scale you started with has evolved into a soft, haunting melody, one that fills the room with an almost palpable atmosphere. You lose yourself in the music, letting it numb the thoughts that crowd your mind.

"Mary," Alex says again, softer this time. You don't look at him but you can feel his eyes on you, watching every move. It's a mix of worry and pride, the same blend of emotions he always carries when it comes to you.

The door creaks open, and you hear Ethel's sharp footsteps approaching. Her presence is unmistakable—stern and commanding. You don't need to look up to know it's her; the air itself seems to tighten with her arrival.

"Mary," she says, her voice crisp and clear. "It's time for you to take your position at the piano."

You stop playing and turn to face her. Ethel stands there in her usual no-nonsense attire, her eyes scanning you from head to toe. She nods approvingly, perhaps noticing the pearls around your neck or the way your dress falls just right.

"You're ready," she states more than asks.

You nod in response, rising from the bench. Alex steps back slightly, giving you space but staying close enough that his presence remains a comfort.

"Follow me," Ethel instructs as she turns on her heel and heads toward the stage area. You fall in step behind her, feeling the weight of the evening settle onto your shoulders once more.The hallway leading to the stage are dimly lit, casting long shadows on the floor. Your heels click softly against the polished wood as you walk, each step bringing you closer to your role for the night. The murmurs of the audience grow louder as you approach, a hum of anticipation filling the air.

Ethel stops just before reaching the stage entrance and turns to you one last time. Her eyes soften ever so slightly—a rare occurrence—and she places a hand on your shoulder.

"You'll do fine," she says simply before turning away to address some other matter.

You take a deep breath and step forward onto the stage area. The grand piano stands there, gleaming under the soft lights like an old friend waiting for your touch. You glide over to it, each step measured and deliberate.

You sit at the piano, fingers poised above the keys. The audience settles into their seats, a hush falling over the room as anticipation thickens the air. The lights dim slightly, drawing all eyes to the stage.

A tall man steps forward, his presence commanding attention. He clears his throat and begins to speak, his voice resonating through the cathedral.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight's performance of Lord Tennyson's play Becket."

His words hang in the air for a moment, allowing the significance of the evening to sink in.

"The presentation of this play has seen its own vicissitudes," he continues, "with the tragic death last month of Susan Mueller."

A murmur ripples through the audience, a collective sigh of remembrance and sorrow.

"As a gesture to her memory," he says, pausing to let the gravity of his words take hold, "her parents asked that the play should proceed. So we dedicate tonight's performance to the memory of Susan Mueller."

Silence follows, heavy and respectful. The man steps back, giving you a nod. It's your cue.

With a gentle press, you begin to play. The first notes are soft and mournful, setting the tone for the evening. The melody flows from your fingertips effortlessly, filling the cathedral with a haunting beauty that seems to resonate with every heart present.

Actors step onto the stage with grace and purpose, their movements synchronized with your music. Your music intertwines with their voices, creating a seamless blend of sound and emotion.

As the final act concludes, you bring the melody to a soft, poignant close. The silence that follows is heavy, then broken by applause. You lift your hands from the keys and bow your head slightly, acknowledging the audience's appreciation. The actors take their bows, and you join them for a brief moment before slipping into the background.

You linger behind the stage, your fingers aching from the performance but your heart feeling strangely light. The noise of congratulations and chatter fills the air as people begin to disperse. You rub your fingers, trying to soothe the dull throb in your fingertips.

Nigel appears beside you as if called by your thoughts. He holds out a single red rose, its vibrant color standing out starkly against the dim surroundings.

"For you," he says, his voice soft but carrying an unmistakable intensity.

You take the rose from him, your fingers brushing against his as you do. The touch sends a shiver through you, a warmth that contrasts sharply with your usual craving for cold.

"Thank you," you whisper, looking up into his eyes. Nigel's blue eyes are dark and intense, holding you in their gaze. You feel the warmth of his touch linger on your fingers as you clutch the rose.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice low and concerned.

You nod, swallowing hard. "I think so. It's just... a lot and my fingers ache."

Nigel's eyes hold yours as he gently takes your hand. His touch is soft, almost reverent. You feel his fingers wrap around yours, warming your colder ones instantly. He lifts your hand to his mouth, his breath warm against your skin.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you watch him, entranced by the tenderness in his gaze. He presses his lips to your fingers, one by one, as if trying to kiss away the pain that lingers there. Each kiss is light and delicate, sending shivers down your spine.

You can't help but feel a strange mix of emotions—comfort, vulnerability, and something else you can't quite name. His eyes never leave yours, and for a moment, it's as if the rest of the world fades away.

"Better?" he asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, unable to find the words to express what you're feeling. The ache in your fingers seems to lessen under his touch, replaced by a warmth that spreads through you.

"Thank you," you manage to say, your voice barely audible.

Nigel smiles, a small but genuine smile that reaches his eyes. "Anything for you, my lovely Maraclea."

Date Published: 6/30/24

Last Edit: 6/30/24

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[davidwthompson]

David W Thompson as Forbes Blomquist

It's What's Inside (2024) -

Directed by Greg Jardin

[tartsinarat]

here’s the redesigned and rewritten boyyyyyy, so meet Olly or Oleander Snapdragon, he’s a massive tsundere and the grandchild of Terra Snapdragon.

He’s really passionate in the arts and theatre, but unfortunately it’s to the point that he can’t stand mediocrity and will say it to that person’s face if they don’t meet what he believes is the standards of a good actor or artist. This is because he puts extremely high standards on himself due to the expectations of his family name, so he expects everyone else to also do the same. But he does believe that anyone can act if they try hard enough, also his advice as blunt as they are is his way of being helpful and he even offers to spend his time helping who ever he deems needs his help whether they like it or not.

He’s actually apart of the Oracle track and not Plant, Terra wasn’t really into the idea and is constantly bugging him to change tracks so he can be like her. That probably won’t ever happen because he enjoys Oracle too much. (Fun fact, him doing oracle magic is because of his name, oleander is believed to have been the source of the oracle of Delphi’s high priestess’s premonitions as the plant is a hallucinogenic because of its high poison so it’s a neat reference) Olly is really gifted at prophecy magic, he randomly goes into dream like dazes where he mentally and physically feels as if he’s inside the events going on but because of that he struggles with figuring out what’s real and what’s not which tends to cause panic attacks because of the horrifying events that may happen in the future but he never truly gets the context of it until it happens.

The thing about oracle magic is that you can know the future, but it may not be the future that eventually happens. This is because there’s multiple pathways that can happen which causes change and so it’s hard to hone in on all of them without going mad (which is why the head of the oracle coven couldn’t predict the future and Belos’s plans. He was too overconfident in his abilities and saw the one future that what Belos had originally said was going to happen during the day of unity happened so he was completely blindsided)

Olly and Pip were originally pretty good friends when they were younger because Pip used to sneak into the theatre when nobody was there to escape from Boscha and Olly would stay late after acting class to practice even more so they both ended up scaring the shit out of each other and they become buddies because Olly needed and audience and Pip needed someone who Boscha doesn’t dare to bully (Olly is insanely good at bullying boscha right back) so he gets left alone. This was until Olly had a prophecy moment and realised that Pip is cursed and could attempt to attack him at one point in the future, they ended up having an argument and what he predicted ended up happening but in a different way to what he thought would happen. Pip’s curse does act up due to the high emotional levels going on but it’s only after Olly gets closer that Pip pushes Olly away and runs out. The way that Olly thought it would go is that Pip pounces on him and attacks him.

After that drama both Olly and Pip refuse to interact with each ever again; Pip because he’s mad that Olly stopped being friends with him because he thought he was going to attack him and Olly because he thinks he was still in the right because it could have gone that way.

They eventually do talk with each other but that’s only after Luz does wacky hijinks and Pip gets involved completely by accident as Luz first meets Olly when she finds out that Hexside offers a theatre club and meets him. Luz originally thought Olly was pretty mean because of how blunt and critical he is, Luz manages to join the club much to Olly’s dismay because he thinks that Luz isn’t actually serious about it so they butt heads a lot. This was until Luz becomes patient zero of a musical zombie apocalypse at Hexside because she found a phantom of the opera like mask in the box of forbidden props and puts it on because she was being silly and then gets possessed by the evil spirit of the mask who wants to control the whole world through musical theatre lmaoo

here’s possessed Luz btw but its a really old drawing because I drew it before the revamp because this a rewrite of an idea from the og Golden heir au before I redid it to post it on tumblr, so she’s based more on the og show design rather than my au version, I was too lazy to redraw it rn soz :{

Pip and Olly end up having to work together as the last two people left in Hexside who aren’t apart of the musical theatre hivemind in order to save everyone and the boiling isles from being a mindless singing zombie. they end up being buds again after talking through it as they run away from the singing dead

Think “the guy who didn’t like musicals” but Paul succeeds through just his pure hatred of musicals and that’s Pip’s experience of this situation

[averseunhinged]

it's wip wednesday! hooray. my actual ongoing wip are all kind of at a point of almost doneness where i should stop sharing snippets from them, so here is a thing from the archives. no idea when i might finish this, because of all the other things.

technically, it's a soulmates au, but doesn't really get into all that until like ten pages later.

The young woman who opened the door was none of the three he expected.

"Hi," she said hesitantly, elongating the word. "Can I help you?"

"The answer to your question is entirely dependent on whether you're planning on using that," Elijah pointedly looked down at the crossbow held nonchalantly in her hand.

"Oh!" she yelped and easily swung the heavy weapon up behind her back. "That's nothing. It's...a prop! Made of Styrofoam. My friend's a drama major. No big deal."

He heard a sigh from further inside the room and the approach of bare feet in sandals. A slim, pale hand appeared from behind the door and opened it wider.

"Well, you tried," Caroline Forbes said with an exhausted tilt to her inflection. "Points for thinking fast and coming up with a solid, truth-based lie. Would've been better to avoid flashing medieval weaponry around in the hallway in the first place, but you did stick the landing." She focused her attention back on him. "I thought that sounded like a Mikaelson. Hello, Elijah."

"Miss Forbes."

"Well, at least you know each other. I'm Ivy," the other girl cheerfully introduced herself and held out her hand for him to shake.

"Did you not learn your lesson the last time?" Caroline pushed Ivy's hand down and scooted the other girl back into the room. "Don't try to make friends with supposed friends of friends who turn up out of nowhere!"

"I'm already dead, what else could happen?"

"You could always be more dead, or about a trillion other awful things. Do you want to get shot in the head? I've been shot in the head. It sucks. There. The benefit of my experience. No need to do your own research."

"I give you my word no harm will come to your," Elijah paused and then questioned, "sireling?"

"Adopted. Her sire's an idiot, but he's an idiot I inherited, and unfortunately, I'm attached to him now." She sighed and looked over her shoulder. At what, he wasn't sure. "Okay, I'm kind of on a time crunch, so you should come in. No," she commanded, pointing one stern finger at him, "shenanigans. I will be super upset if you do any heart-ripping."

Elijah solemnly traced an X on his chest and said, with gravity, "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Oh great. More hilarious jokes." Caroline stepped back and waved him in. "You all have the worst sense of humor. Like it's seriously terrible."

Whitmore was one of the oldest universities in the American South, and a wealthy one at that. Judging by its size and appointments, Caroline's dormitory room looked as though it had originally been a common room. There was typical evidence of young women--cosmetics and jewelry, warring perfumes, several brassieres hanging over the back of a chair--but there were also stacks of old, rough-bound books and an open train case smelling strongly of a witch's tools of the trade. Spread across one of the single beds and the surrounding floor area was an incongruous array of weapons.

The other girl, Ivy, was on the floor, peering at a rectangular, carved box. "Stilettos of Suffering?" she read from the small, engraved plate on it, confused.

"Not shoes, obviously, and not cute. They're like icepick knives with a curse attached, so don't open it. Witches," Caroline shook her head and sketched out an exasperated gesture. "They say we're nasty pieces of work, but I've never wanted to liquify someone's internal organs with a single poke."

With all his family had gone through over the past year, Elijah had to agree. "Vampires do tend to be a bit more direct."

"So," Caroline said cheerfully, taking the stilettos away from Ivy and placing them back in an old footlocker with respectful precision, "I don't know what you need, but Elena had a psychotic break on witch LSD and made the incredibly constructive decision to have her memory erased and Bonnie's dead. Sort of. Maybe." She toed off her sandals next to one of the clear beds and shook a pair of black trousers out of their precise, folded square. "It's complicated. Damon's unavailable, plus he sucks, and Stefan just won the award for biggest jerk ever, and he didn’t even have his humanity off this time. Oh, and there's this stupid Traveler barrier around Mystic Falls. You stop being a vampire and then die the way you died if you cross it. So, probably don't do that. Or do, if you want to. I don't know what's in your life right now. That's between you and Jesus." She squinted at him and tilted her head. "Or maybe Thor, I guess? Because Vikings."

Elijah hummed. "I'm not in correspondence with either one, and my to do list has far too many items left undone, at present, for a suicide attempt."

"You and me both, buddy."

"And as fascinatingly convoluted as that sounds," he began, placidly watching as she tugged on snug jeans under her pretty, pink sundress, bouncing a little bit from their tight fit, "I've already located my quarry."

She froze at his congenial tone, slowly removing her hands from underneath her dress, where she had finished fastening her jeans, and looked at him in quick-dawning denial.

"Oh no," Caroline insisted, shaking her head, her thick ponytail and the late summer humidity ringlets framing her face bouncing from the force of it. "No, no, no. I have my own idiot to rescue from his poor decision-making skills. I don't have time to get sucked back into your idiot's bad choices."

"From what I understand, Miss Forbes, my idiot just so happens to be your idiot as well, and perhaps even more in need of rescue."

[slackville]

Sandy Koufax had trouble getting the great Roberto Clemente out.

Someone once asked Sandy how to get Clemente out and he quipped: “I have no idea; roll the ball to the plate?”

But even great hitters struggled against the man known as The Left Hand of God.

What made Sandy Koufax so hard to hit?

Pete Rose answered this question during an interview in which he graphically described Koufax’s curve ball and how precipitously it dropped. Rose found a melon in a basket of fruit and threw it straight down on the floor, hard. “How the hell you gonna hit that curve ball?” Rose asked the interviewer.

And it wasn’t just Rose.

"Hitting against him is like eating soup with a fork," Pittsburgh Pirates slugger Willie Stargell said.

"It drops like a chair whose legs collapse," Koufax’s catcher John Roseboro said.

"Sandy would strike me out two or three times a game. And I knew every pitch he was going to throw: fastball, breaking ball or whatever. Actually, he would let you look at it. And you still couldn't hit it!" — Willie Mays on ESPN Classic's SportsCentury series

When Yogi Berra watched Koufax pitch during the 1963 World Series after having gone 25–5 in the regular season, Berra said, "I can see how he won 25 games. What I don't understand is how he lost five." Fortunately, Dodgers shortstop Maury Wills solved the mystery when he responded, “He didn't lose 5 games, we did.”

“He was truly magnificent.” — Hammerin’ Hank Aaron

In an interview, Bud Selig said the only pitcher he ever heard Hank Aaron complain about verbally was Sandy Koufax. After Koufax had out-dueled the great Warren Spahn, beating the Braves 2–1, on the departing plane trip an unhappy Aaron told Selig, “Boy, I’m glad I don’t have to face him again!” And Aaron was one of the few batters to have any success against Koufax. When asked in interviews to name the most dominant pitchers he faced, Aaron would immediately name Bob Gibson and Koufax, followed by Don Drysdale and Tom Seaver. Amusingly, Aaron said, “If you didn’t hit Drsydale, he was going to hit you!” The great home run hitter and baseball ambassador had a great sense of humor as well.

Superior hitters like Mays, Aaron, Rose, Stargell and Berra found Koufax baffling, so just imagine what it must have been like for ordinary hitters to face him.

Paul Reidl confirmed what great hitters have said about Koufax’s curve and its precipitous break: “I watched him pitch several times from behind home plate at old Forbes Field. His curveball, quite literally, fell off a table. Never seen anything like it. Batters would just flail at it.”

Pete Rose said Koufax had a “great fastball” and pointed out that he struck out over 1,000 batters in his (Rose’s) first three seasons in the NL. That’s averaging 333 strikeouts per year, back when it had never been done before. In fact, Koufax had set the NL record with 269 strikeouts in 1961, breaking a 58-year-old record set by the great Christy Mathewson. It’s easy to forget that, before Koufax, no NL pitcher had really challenged 300 strikeouts in a season. But Koufax would go on to destroy his just-set strikeout record with 306 in 1963, when he became the first unanimous winner of the Cy Young Award back when it was for both leagues, then an otherworldly 382 in 1965 when he won his second of three Cy Youngs.

“You pitch outside, you throw inside,” he liked to say" - Jane Leavy, Sandy Koufax biographer

“Show me a guy who can’t pitch inside, and I’ll show you a loser.” - Sandy Koufax

“Pitching is the art of instilling fear.” - Sandy Koufax

Unlike his partner in pitching crimes, Don Drysdale, the great Sandy Koufax didn’t have to go headhunting to instill fear. He did it with a rip-roaring four-seam fastball and a curve that broke down like it had a gravity accelerator. Those were his primary pitches, and Koufax also threw a forkball and change-up to keep batters off balance and confused about what was coming next. As if they weren’t in enough trouble already!

Ironically, Koufax became the strikeout king by abandoning his fastest pitch for a somewhat slower fastball he could control better. Here’s how it happened …

The turning point of Koufax’s career came in 1961 when catcher Norm Sherry told him to slow things down and concentrate on throwing strikes. "Sandy, you could solve your control problem if you'd just try to throw the ball easier," Sherry said. "Just get it over the plate. You've still got enough swift on it to get the hitters out." Koufax took the advice and the rest is baseball history. But the mind boggles at what he might have done with better control of his fastest fast ball.

Rose told the interviewer that he hit .175 against Koufax, and could only hope to hit his weight (202 pounds) but couldn’t even do that. This is the all-time hit king, who hit .307 against Bob Gibson, .340 against Juan Marichal, .531 against Warren Spahn, and “wore out” Don Sutton, Bob Welch and other top pitchers of his era. But the best Rose could hope for was to hit his weight against Koufax, and he couldn’t even manage that.

I became a good pitcher when I stopped trying to make them miss the ball and started trying to make them hit it.

#MLB #Baseball

[sotongueincheek]

It's What's Inside: Depiction is not endorsement

I saw a tweet that was claimed that It's What's Inside's message was that being a bad boyfriend is worse than being a pedophile. And I just didn't read it that way at all...

Okay, so people are going to have their own readings/understandings/interpretations of the movie, and none of those things are definitively right or wrong…but I have thoughts. In an interview with Gizmodo/iO9, director/writer/editor Greg Jardin was asked outright if Cyrus deserved to be framed for murder. He has decided to stay neutral on where he stands as he likes that this is a question that folks are asking/discussing.

Personally, I just don't think Jardin is condoning anything that transpired in the movie. He's telling a story that, along with exploring identity and desirability in a social media-laden world, it's also a story about consent and consequences - whether those consequences are just or unjust is not the point. We live in a world where we all face consequences, and unfortunately, we sometimes face consequences because of the action of others, even if we don't deserve to. This is a cautionary tale more than anything.

Every single person in that friend group made a choice, and in the thrill of the moment, agreed to play this game. None of them could've fathomed/had any forethought as to where that choice could lead them because they only focused on what they had to gain from it, never really grasping what they had to lose.

All of them at some point completely lose their bodily autonomy (or did they give consent when they agreed to continue playing the game?). The only winners here are Shelby and Beatrice (and Dennis in a way - he nor his corporeal self faces any consequences for statutory rape. And that' lack of accountability has its own consequences). Reuben and Brooke are dead due to selfishness and recklessness; and Dennis and Maya had to see their corporeal selves brutalized because of it. Cyrus is in jail for a murder he didn't commit due to Dennis's pettiness and then Shelby refusing his alibi for her own selfishness. Forbes has lost all control of the thing he was supposed to be in control of and that has caused a ripple effect. And Nikki - arguably the most innocent of the bunch - has her body completely hijacked with the implication that she might never get it back. Those are the consequences, fair or unfair. It's what happens when we make choices out of our own self-interest without thinking about how it'll impact every(one)(thing) else.

And a note on Shelby while I'm here... In the same interview I referenced above, Jardin said that Shelby is the main character, so I get why she has the ending that she has. Shelby and Cyrus's relationship bookends this movie. Are we supposed to root for Shelby? Eh, I don't care. Is she meant to be "likeable"? Eh, who cares? I don't think Shelby is meant to be some righteous hero (I'm sure Amy Dunne would LOVE her. teehee). Again, this is a cautionary tale. Shelby is what happens when social media gives us a complex about who we are, along with the fact that the girl was gaslit for nearly a decade by a man who made all of their problems her responsibility, and she was popping Xanax...she was already existing with warped neuroses. This is not me excusing/justifying her actions. This is my understanding of consequences. Shelby as a character represents a cultural consequence.

Anyway, my long-winded way of saying depiction is NOT an endorsement. And I don't think Greg or his movie are taking any moralizing stance here. I'd love to hear other thoughts/perspectives.  

[laufire]

red queen theory: the rabbit is faster than the fox because the fox is chasing its dinner. the rabbit is running for its life.

– Caroline Forbes, "For Whom the Bell Tolls" (The Vampire Diaries).

[Caption: four large gifs with subtle red tones of Max from Black Sails accompanied by the quote written above. The first gif shows a close-up of her expression as she silently observes and considers the man Marion Guthrie is asking her to marry to rule Nassau through him; she's wearing a red dress and jewels. In the second one, Mrs. Mapleton is whispering in her ear as Max observes the room from above, while Jack calls her "the true power here". In the third one, she's in the bathtub, illuminated by sunlight coming through a window, bitterly saying "I built this from nothing. And none of it is real." The last one is a close-up of her expression as she talks to Anne about her past, saying "But inside that room was peace. That is what home is to me."]