#really said meatier ya know | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nikkialena · 2 years ago

Text

Godzilla x reader Rodan x reader Ghidorah x reader Kong x reader

An impatient sigh spilled from your maw as you huddled in the grass; claws digging small ravines in the soil, leaving deep indents. Your tail swayed slowly carefully not to catch his attention; you'd spotted this Kaiju near skull island multiple times now.

It had been months since he first appeared and still he hadn't shown any signs of stopping, so you decided to add him to your diet but that proved to be tricker than expected.

He was a flying Kaiju who rarely came close to the ground, preferring to stay a float in the air, and you couldn't really blame him many Kaiju eat other kaiju and he wasn't exactly on the bigger side.

You would've alerted Kong but he had more important things to handle, besides this wasn't something you couldn't handle.

You'd been studying him; watching carefully and learning his patterns, and what you learned was he liked squid, every now and then he'd circle around dive into the water and pluck out a squid Kaiju.

Which is why you'd asked Bridget to swim closer to the surface, right on cue he began circling, and you prepared to pounce your muscles clenching in anticipation.

As soon as he closed his wings diving for the water you pounced, springing from your hiding spot amongst the foliage, catching his neck in your jaw and dragging him under the surface.

You could feel the panic in his body from your jaws snapping down; and his thrashing legs kicking against your stomach.

You wheezed a little letting go of his neck but sinking your claws into his wing,

pulling his flailing form towards you.

You felt his claws dig into your sides scratching at your scales, which you barely paid heed to as you kept him under the water.

You had a small set of gills imbedded in your neck that way; you could breathe on land or in the water, although you mostly resided on land, with a flap of his wings one of his claws managed to catch your eye and you hissed in pain.

Loosening your grip enough for him to fly out the water; but you quickly refocused sinking your teeth into his shoulder and throwing him on land.

He landed unceremoniously on his side as his wings flapped wildly trying to right himself, but you pounced on his chest using your weight to pin him down.

Although he'd almost thrown you off multiple times now, he was kinda strong for such a average Kaiju, deciding you'd had enough you allowed color to pool into your dorsal plates, and he immediately froze.

That's more like you thought with a snort and a nod of your head, "who are you" you hissed, but his eyes remained glued to your dorsal plates, rolling your eyes you raised a paw flexing your talons.

Getting the gist he swallowed loudly "uh i-im R-Rodan" he said, voice wavering slightly and shifting between his native language and common.

You rolled your tongue over your fangs in thought, how fitting, you think.

"What were you doing here" you asked, tilting your head curiously.

"I wuh uh," he stammered, until you set your claws on his chest, "I-I WAS UH...I was just making a report and getting some lunch".

"Funny you should say that" you hissed voice deepening into a growl, all color drained from his face, and he began thrashing around again desperately.

When your teeth sunk into his shoulder he screeched and stopped thrashing; "WAIT WAIT WAIT, YOUR HUNGRY I-I-I CAN BRING YOU FOOD.. SOMETHING BIGGER MEATIER THAN ME".

You sat back a bit allowing the blood to dribble down your maw; "I'm listening" you responded coldly, seeing you pause he sighed in relief.

"Uh there's.... there's plenty of Kaiju...spider Kaiju, horse Kaiju, crab Kaiju, all bigger and tastier than me, so if you let me go I'll bring one back for you".

You mulled it over for a second before turning to glare back down at him, "and how do I know once I let you up you won't just disappear".

"I am a man of my word and I swear I will bring back something twice my size"; he pleaded, "your not all that big ya know sure you back it up".

"Trust me you'll eat good" he said with a hint of pride, "alright" you hummed letting him slightly, a look of relief crossed his face as he sat up "but if you don't return just know I have your scent and I'll hunt you down and eat you alive".

And just like that fear settled right back into his eyes, he took off with a single beat of his wings and you watched, until he was nothing more than a tiny spec.

Satisfied you stood up walking back to your den laying down for a quick nap; ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gojira had been enjoying a long needed nap when he was suddenly woken; a low growl rumbled within his throat as he pried open an eye.

The sound of shuffling feet drew him into alertness and he let out a long sigh, slowly stretching out his limbs and shaking them out.

His tail lazily swished behind him as he stood up, padding over to where he knew he saw two familiar figures.

"Ah Gojira!" called out the crab Kaiju as Rodan pinned him down, his voice sounded panicked, but anyone would be panicked if they were being attacked.

"RODAN WHAY THE HELL I'M TRYING TO SLEEP", he hissed glaring at the pteranodon Kaiju who looked pretty battered.

Roderan backed away from Gojira looking sheepish "sorry Gojira, it's just I promised this sexy female well... whatever you are that I'd bring her back something else twice my size and tastier...and who doesn't love crab".

Gojira blinked rapidly as he tried to make sense of the words; "what" he finally managed,with an intentional glare Rodan chuckled awkwardly.

"Well; while I was doing the morning report for you today, I stopped to have some lunch when this beautiful female,...uh you stopped me, and she was like I'm going to eat you. And I was like but maybe don't though; so then she said ight but like I'm hungry, so I said".

Growing irritated Gojira grabbed him by the peak; "summarize immediately", Rodan nodded, and Gojira let go "of I don't bring back this crab Kaiju she's going to eat me".

Gojira closed his eyes; that was a lot of information in a short time, "where"

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

Wow; color you impressed you thought as you circled the dead crab Kaiju, you hadn't expected him to be able to pull it off, "I guess you are capable Rodan".

His chest puffed out a bit at your praise "told you I'm a man of my word princess"; you gave him a curt smile, "alright your free to go now" you said with a wave of your claw.

He saluted you and flew off; and you began tearing into the crab, eating every last bit of meat, part of you wondered, if he knew crab was your favorite or if it was just dumb luck.

Either way he didn't really seem to pose a threat to Kong or the island dwellers; and you could probably let him off the hook, he may even turn out to be useful in the future. Halfway through you're meal you felt off; almost like you were being preyed upon, but who would be dumb enough to try and hunt you.

You'd quickly grown to be the biggest Kaiju on the island; replacing Kong a month after the whole Mina incident, he was still bulkier than you.

But whatever your species was didn't seem built to be bulky; rather slender and fast, Kong was still stronger than you, although, you probably could put maneuver him in fight.

Not that you would ever need to fight; a snap drew attention, your ears swiveled back and forth as you raised your head, tensing a little bit.

"Kong"; you called out uncertainty present in your voice, your senses telling you something wasn't right, "WRONG TRY AGAIN" came a booming voice.

But before you could even turn your head you were tackled off your feet; panic shot through you as you struggled against your attacker only for them to pin you.

You kicked and scratched but it was futile they held your face to the ground; "so I heard you tried to eat my messenger.. that's a first didn't think anyone was stupid enough to try that. But you know there's always one in the bunch", "I'm sorry I'm so sorry", you began mumbling toñhia distaste.

"Shut up"; he hissed but you were too panicked, "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm-", "SHUT THE FUCK UP BITCH", your mouth immediately snapped shut.

He growled at you and you noticed how similar he looked to you; he was a bit bulkier than you and he didn't have any horns; but your dorsal plates, face and skin and were all very similar.

You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off; "no we are not the same species, I thought so too, but I'm bipedal your quadrupedal I'm bigger your a lot skinner you look like me but your not".

He said with a huff; "but you look similar enough that I think we'll get away with it"; "away with what" you asked timidly, "ever heard of sexual dimorphism?"

You shook your head no and he sighed rubbing his face, "it's when opposite sexes of the same species look different, from now on your a female Titanus Zilla capeche?"

You nodded "good" he continued, "you're going to help me with a few things now let's go", with that he got off you and began walking away but you paused.

Opening your mouth you were going to protest; until his dorsal plates lit up and he scowled over his shoulder, "I wasn't asking" he growled.

With a sigh you followed behind him.

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

#godzilla #monsterverse #fire rodan #king kong #reader insert

5 notes · View notes

bubblyani · 5 years ago

Text

The Right Flavor

(Jim Davis x Reader)

A Jim Davis One Shot

Rating: Mature

Author’s Note: Been having a rough week and finally felt like writing again. Ended up writing this as a result. Really wanted to write something for Jim Luther Davis. And glad I finally did. Enjoy !

Whilst tapping your feet in rhythm to the retro Korean bop playing in the background, you stared at the glass freezer door, debating with yourself with one question: Vanilla or Rocky Road?

It was your off day. Your grocery shopping would be completed at this time of night, but you made an error, and had to run back for ice cream. To your embarrassment, deciding on a flavor was a dire task.

There was hardly anyone in the Korean store, yet somehow you felt you were being watched. Looking over your tense shoulder, it suddenly relaxed the moment your eyes met his.

Sporting a buzz cut and a suit, he appeared tall. His sharp, handsome features were noticeable even as he stood across the room by the alcohol aisle.

Being a woman of the streets, you knew what a man wanted when he looked at you. Their eyes could never lie of their intentions, for in their orbs it was raw and unedited. But his gaze, it was different. It was playful, flirtatious in line with the definition of “smooth”. As he found you staring back for a few seconds, he could not help but flash you a small smile. And the moment he did, it surprisingly sparked something inside of you. It excited you, for it was purely simple. The simple act of attraction. The non-complicated kind. The one with mutual consent.

Pressing your lips together, you smacked them, hoping the red lipstick was still intact, hoping it would highlight them enough to become a key tool for your inadvertent seduction. Tossing your loose hair to the side, you hoped your hair was shiny and fragrant like it was hours before. The moment you felt his eyes undress you, a warm sensation grew between your thighs. You gulped. The thought of his robust frame against you, was certainly heat inducing.

It had been a while since you felt this way about anyone. And clearly, you’ve missed it.

“Ey! Mamacita*...” You sighed heavily.

Enamored by the man away from you, you failed to notice the stranger who had appeared just next to you. By his goatee and baggy clothes, you guessed him to be one of the rookies in Fleco’s gang. And his gaze definitely screamed “I wanna bone you, bad”

“Sorry...Not tonight” you said sternly, turning back towards the freezer, “Office is closed”

“The fuck does that mean?”The young man snarled, deciding to take action by forcefully grabbing you by the arm. Turning back to him, you struggled to pull away.

“Stop touching me!” You yelled. “You ain’t working in no office!”

“That’s not what I meant...”you replied, sighing in the midst of your struggle to break free “Jeez! you stupid” Which certainly hit the Rookie’s nerves.

“Bitch, who you callin’ stupid?” He yelled, pulling you close to him, “You just a hoe, you ain’t got fucking work hours, come here!” Drawing up a knife from his pocket, he began to force himself on you for a kiss.

“NO! stop!” You said through gritted teeth.

“Hey! ASSHOLE!”

A deep voice filled your ears with cool clarity, making you wonder whether it was who you thought it was. And to your relief, the man in the suit suddenly appeared before you two.

“The fuck-“ releasing you, Rookie began to recklessly charge at him, “-Ow!” You watched with a dropped jaw as the rookie was disarmed within seconds, pinned to the ground with expertise by the man.

“Hands off her, alright?” The man breathed in rookie’s ear menacingly, “Or else you dead! I know where ya live” Whimpering, rookie fled the store in a flash with cowardice, leaving the two of you behind instead.

His voice may have been threatening, but on the contrary it calmed you immensely. The way he stepped up to defend and protect you, it aroused you.

“Do you really know where he lives?” You asked him, panting. The buzz cut youth scoffed.

“Fuck no” he drawled with a chuckle. Finally understanding his strategy, you both burst into laughter. You could not help but admire the beauty of his smile.

“I’m Jim, by the way” he said, extending his hand to you. “Y/N...” you said, shaking it with enthusiasm, indulging the tremors that coursed through your body by his touch.

“So uh...you decided on a flavor yet?”Jim asked in low voice, making you chuckle. He certainly had been watching you from afar.

“Well I was about to...” you said softly, causing him to take a step closer to you with curiosity, “but suddenly... I’m in the mood for something...meatier” You purred, biting your lower lip. You prayed for him to heed to your desire, and by his darkened eyes, you were assured he had.

For he surprised you by pushing you up against the freezer door, attacking you with a hungry kiss within seconds. Overjoyed by his response, you kissed him back with a mutual starvation.

Funny how someone unfamiliar, could suddenly become the most familiar person in a mere few minutes.

Being a woman of the streets, feelings never came into consideration during work. You may sell your body for a buck, but your heart could never be bought. Neither was your own true carnal desire, your hunger. That was strictly personal.

But,all that professionalism crap flew out the window the moment you laid eyes on Jim. And the moment his lips landed on yours.

His kisses were lethal, drugging you as his tongue begged for an entrance. You tasted the beer he had gulped down, you tasted the weed he smoked but more importantly, you tasted his lust that formed the second he saw you.

“Ya! Y/N!”

Breaking away, you looked over to find the Korean Owner of the store peep from the counter. Given his expression , he appeared furious. That was when you realized the crime you and Jim were about to commit: Public Indecency.

“...knock that shit off before I kick you out!” The owner yelled.

Fuming with passion, you felt Jim grow angry. But before hell broke loose, you held him back, distracting him by placing his hands on your waist.

“Sorry Oppa**! ” You apologized in Korean, resulting the owner to calm down, and resume in his usual business. Looking back at Jim, your eyes widened by his impressed expression.

“You speak Korean?” Jim surprised you, inquiring in Korean.

“A bit” you replied with a chuckle.

Eyes falling on your now-swollen lips, Jim was hypnotized by you once again , leaning forward to steal another kiss. This time it was slow, yet passionate.

“Your place or mine?”

He grunted with desperation, pressing himself against you, signaling his growing erection. Excitement in you skyrocketed. Yet you maintained your cool.

“You got a car?” You inquired back breathily. Jim nodded, moaning softly against your lips as you stroked his manhood over his pants.

“Then let’s defile that car, Papi!***” —————————————————— -Definitions- *Mamacita: Spanish Colloquial Term for “Hot Mama”

**Oppa: Korean Term for “Older Brother” or Respective Term for a male who is old enough to be an elder brother for a woman.

***Papi: Spanish Colloquial Term for “Daddy”

Check my MASTERLIST here :)

#christian bale #harsh times #jim davis #jim luther davis #jim davis x reader #jim davis x woc reader #batman begins #the dark knight rises #the dark knight #dc comics #freddie rodriguez #david ayer

60 notes · View notes

archadianskies · 5 years ago

Text

the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn

@dbhrarepairs Sunday Day 7: Free Day; Fantasy + Supernatural; RK900/Simon

It is an unspoken rule: you are safe in Jericho. There are no ranks, no royalty, and certainly no witch hunters. Simon’s worked hard to keep it this way for five years now and strives to ensure it will stay as such in the years to come. It is, by all accounts, but a humble bakery in a bustling integrated town and it’s not the biggest nor the fanciest, not by far. But for Simon it’s home. Literally. He and his twin brother Daniel live upstairs.

Jericho’s reputation means it has its fair share of interesting patrons, most of whom Simon has eventually befriended. Most notable are those from the castle: Royal Scholar Joshua, Royal Protector North, and the princes themselves; Prince Leopold and Prince Markus. Not that Simon ever set out to sell to castlefolk but apparently no one makes berry loaves quite like he does or so Prince Markus says- something something his magic imbues baked goods with emotional properties.

The Autumn Harvest Festival is soon to be upon them and Simon is kept busy, so busy he’s enlisted the help of fellow baker Kara and her little daughter Alice. She even manages to ensnare her towering husband Luther to help by heaving sacks of flour freshly packed at the mill and bring them to the bakery. King Carl will throw a grand celebration that will last all week, and the town will near triple in size as visitors flock in from out of town. It’s exhausting work but incredible money and Simon knows he can’t pass it up. He’ll spend the next week deep in preparation.

It’s one sunny afternoon, tempered by a breeze carrying the chilling promise of winter, that a new customer wanders into Jericho. It’s too early to be tourists and it’s too late to be a regular patron.

“Hello, welcome to Jericho.” Simon greets the older, greying man. He has tired warm eyes, his face weathered by time but also slashed with curious scars. “What can I get for you sir?”

“I uh, I’m new here. Me an’ my boys just moved in, just outside of town by the forest.”

“Oh! You bought the hunter’s cottage.” Simon smiles warmly. “I’m glad. It’d been empty for so long now and it’s at such a lovely location.”

“Heard a lot about this place.” He mumbles gruffly, scratching his nape. “My sons, they’re…different. ‘Specially the younger one. I just wanted to suss this place out before bringin’ ‘em in.”

“They’re safe here at Jericho. No judgement, no hunters.” Simon vows solemnly. “They can eat here and my brother is a potions master so they’ll have plenty to drink of whatever their heart needs.”

“Hank Anderson.” The man introduces himself, and when Simon shakes his calloused hand he sees ropey scars all over it too.

“Simon Lambert.”

“I know I’m a bit late for the morning loaves but you got anything heartier? Meatier?” Hank looks around, curiously inspecting this and that.

“I still have a beef steak and peppercorn pie, how does that sound?” Simon offers, and Hank breaks into a grin.

“Sounds perfect.”

*~*~*

North perches up on the counter, plucking a blueberry tart and dropping a couple of coins into the till. “Saw that the hunter’s lodge was bought last week.” Her speech is muffled by her chewing. “A family?”

“Yes, a father and his sons.” Simon sighs and sweeps a few crumbs off the counter, trying to shoo her off to no avail. “I met him the other day, he seems nice. Curiously covered in scars though.”

“A soldier? A knight?” North guesses, expression piqued with interest. “Another hunter?”

“I don’t ask questions here.” Simon reminds her lightly, pouring her a glass of chipper tonic to boost her afternoon mood. “I hope to meet his sons soon. Maybe Alice will have a playmate, the dear girl’s been so lonely.”

“Hey, you got any of the cinnamon scrolls left?” She nearly tips over the counter in her attempt to peek behind, and Simon lunges to steady her.

“North!”

“Well do ya?” She grins at him, puffing a lock of hair from her face. Her magic emanates from her, an aura like wildfire, and sets her brown eyes ablaze. He rolls his eyes.

“I do. Two to go like usual?”

“Yeah if I don’t feed Josh he’ll just work til he passes out. Or try and eat his books, I dunno.” She drops more coins into the till as Simon carefully places the sticky scrolls in wax paper. “Tell me about the new family when you meet them, okay? I’m pretty curious. And y’know, doin’ my job. If he’s some shady guy then the Fam needs to know.”

“Will do.” He promises, handing her the scrolls and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Take care and say hello to Josh for me.”

*~*~*

When Hank visits the next day, there’s a huge dog at his side. It’s easily the size of Alice, and should it stand on its hind legs Simon knows it would probably see eye to eye with Luther himself. The bakery isn’t too full, but it isn’t empty either and the customers eye the canine warily. “This is err, this is Connor.” Hank gestures at the canine who immediately sits and offers what Simon thinks is a rather cute doggy smile.

“Can I pat him? PLEASE?” Alice pipes up, peeking from behind Simon. “He looks SO fluffy!”

“He is fluffy, little Miss.” Hank chuckles. “Go right ahead.”

Alice darts out from behind him and rushes to the dog, immediately sinking her hands into his fur. “Hiiiiii Connor! I’m Alice!” Connor responds by flopping down and rolling over, showing his belly as his tail swishes side to side happily.

“You know,” Simon comes around to stand beside Hank, arms crossed, “I thought you said you were going to bring your sons here. There was no mention of a very large but very cute dog. What breed is he? Goodness he seems like a hunting mastiff and wolf hybrid.”

“...We’ll go with that, yeah. I never really did know.” Hank shrugs, grin a little self-conscious. “I didn’t raise ‘em, I sorta...just...took them in. They needed a home and someone to care for them.”

“Them?” Simon echoes, brows raised. “There’s another?”

“Uh yeah, there’s two of ‘em. This one is Connor, the other is Ronan. He’s not too good with people yet he’s sorta jus’ hiding until he gets used to this new place.”

“Two sons and two dogs, goodness me.” Simon laughs. “Well, feel free to take a seat and choose something to eat. I’ll pour you some of Danny’s restful tea.”

He loses himself to the humdrum of work, occasionally glancing over to where Hank is sitting on a bench by the window, his dog becoming a bed for Alice as she naps then and there atop his fluffy fur. It’s a steady trickle of customers, and plenty of soft amused smiles are coaxed from them when they see the little girl and the very large dog. The afternoon passes by, mellow and golden like time trapped in honey, and all too soon he’s counting the coins in the till and Kara is sweeping the floor.

“Ah shit, I’m so sorry I guess I dozed off.” Hank chuckles, smile sheepish as he scratches his nape and stifles a yawn. “Guess that tea worked, huh?”

“I’m glad it did.” Simon smiles, bending to run his hand through Connor’s fur now he’s no longer handling foods. “You’ve been so well behaved, Connor, what a good boy.” He tweaks the tip of his ear playfully and the dog chuffs in response, squirming and wriggling until its sitting upright at attention.

“Connor! I got you a snack!” Alice’s voice calls out sweetly, and she hurries from the kitchens holding a tray of meat scraps left from the beef pies. All too late does Simon see the knife teetering on the tray, and how Alice’s foot catches on the broom as Kara sweeps.

“Alice-!”

There’s a blur, something dark and fast, inhumanely fast knocking Simon over and lunging for Alice and when Simon’s senses catch up to him, there’s a very naked young man holding her with one arm, and holding the knife in his other hand.

“Connor!” Hank nearly upends the table in his rush to cross the distance, and the very naked young man seems to belatedly notice he’s caught the knife blade-side in his hand. There’s blood running in rivulets from his grasp, there’s meat scraps all over the floor, and there’s a distressed girl in his hold who suddenly bursts into tears.

“Alice! Oh Alice!” Kara retrieves her daughter, and Simon still isn’t sure what is happening is actually happening.

“...Your dog is your son.” Simon manages at last. Hank’s shrugging out of his coat and wrapping it around the very naked young man.

“...Err, yeah.”

“...I’ll get some bandages and salve.” He declares, and just leaves for upstairs.

With Kara and Alice sent home, Simon closes the bakery more for his own sanity than to keep it from prying eyes. He just needs time to process this, that’s all. He’s a witch, Jericho has always been a safe haven for witches whose magic had been exploited by the humans for a decade before King Carl’s adopted witch son fought hard for the right to be equal. Jericho has seen all sorts of magic users, even those with daemons, but this? This is magic he’s never encountered before.

When the initial shock has faded, and Connor’s in a set of Danny’s clothes with his palm tended to and healed, Simon decides the right thing to do is pack some leftover meat pie and walk the Andersons back to their cottage and hear them out. There is no judgement in Jericho, afterall, and Simon likes to learn about his patrons.

“I uhh,” Hank sighs, scratching his beard and looking over at Connor. “I used to live in the neighbouring kingdom. My son Cole and I got into a nasty carriage accident in winter. He’d just turned six, love and light of my life. I rushed him to the closest healer but he’d been out with his friends, using red ice crystals.”

Simon winced. Red ice was a byproduct of common potion-making; red quartz that had its power depleted, but when heated by regular human flame and inhaled, could give the human user intense and vivid highs using the distorted remnants of magic. As much as the King tried to control it, especially since his own flesh and blood son was addicted to it, it’s still rampant in the kingdom. Simon remembers that well, and he also remembers befriending Prince Leo and listening to his sorrows and letting him weep and rage and just be. He recalls the withdrawals but he also recalls the bud of hope blossoming into friendship, friendship between a witch and a human. Red ice destroyed lives, but only if people failed to nurture those under its power.

“There was a witch who came to my aid and though they tried their best, worked for hours trying to heal Cole, he passed away.” There’s great sorrow there, a gaping chasm of grief Simon cannot ever comprehend. He reaches out and gently squeezes Hank’s shoulder.

“And then Hank found my brother and I.” Connor pipes up with a small smile. “We were being trained to become attack dogs by witch hunters.” The smile vanishes. “It was...a very cold, cruel upbringing. I was given to Hank as a trial to see if I could be weaponised by humans.”

“Didn’t sit right with me, seeing someone reduced to a dog meant to just obey without question.” Hank says gruffly, shaking his head. “I could see he was something more. When Ronan came along I just knew I had to give them a better chance.”

“It took us a while to find ourselves.” Connor confesses, his smile returning though it’s tinged with sadness. “We were mindless attack dogs for a while still, until we could break out of our conditioning.”

“And you’re more human than some sorry sods I’ve dealt with.” Hank grumbles, eliciting a laugh from Connor.

“Oh! I-” He smiles brightly, not bothering to finish his sentence before he breaks into a run and starts to strip off his borrowed clothes, near tripping flat on his face when he shucks off the boots. Connor leaps forward fluidly and then there’s the large brown shaggy wolf bounding ahead, playfully tackling an even larger, even darker wolf. The two roughhouse enthusiastically, oblivious to the way Hank rolls his eyes as he and Simon make their way down the path to the cottage, the abandoned clothes draped over Hank’s arm. When they’re close enough, the darker wolf sits bolts upright, Connor still pinned under him. He sniffs the air and then focuses his startling grey eyes on Simon.

“Ronan, this is Simon.” Hank says slowly, grasping Simon’s elbow to stop him. A sliver of fear pinches Simon’s spine as he realises his muzzle is stained with blood. Connor wriggles beneath him, managing to butt his brother on the underside of his jaw with his head. It breaks Ronan’s stare, and he nips at Connor to chide him. Hank’s grip on Simon’s elbow is strong, and he guides him forward very slowly. Ronan snaps to attention again, eyes locked on him. Simon takes a deep breath, uncovering the pie and holding it out.

“I’m the baker at Jericho.” A pause, voice soft. “And I’m a witch. I thought I’d come introduce myself, since I met your father and your brother earlier today.”

“You’ve been hunting, haven’t you boy?” Hank’s voice turns warm and fond, and he steps ahead of Simon to reach out and gently muss the fur between Ronan’s ears. The wolf noses his cheek affectionately, chuffing in reply. “Yeah you stink of raw meat. Did you leave some for your brother? Of course you did, I know you did.” He laughs as Ronan presses his nose to his neck before resting his large head on Hank’s shoulder. “Alright alright, round the back and wash up. Simon’s come all the way from town with a very nice pie for us.”

Where Connor is all warm browns and soft friendly smiles, Ronan is cold greys and reserved observations. He is, as Hank noted, wary and sussing things out. They share the pie, and they converse, with Ronan making the occasional comment. Simon keeps the conversation honest and light, giving as much as Hank had given. He talks about a loving family before their magic manifested and being turned out on the streets and becoming a kitchenhand. Of learning how his emotions could be infused into foods made with his own hands, of how Danny could do the same with liquids. Nights spent feeding each other hopes and dreams and comfort. Ronan watches him with interest, brows creased. To steer the conversation away from darker thoughts he tells them about all the early mistakes, how Danny had forgotten to feed the yeast so the dough didn’t rise enough and when Simon baked it it tasted of bitter annoyance. They all share a laugh, and Simon notes with amusement the Anderson brothers tip their head back to laugh just like their father only their teeth are far more sharp.

“Ah it’s late, I must head home. There’s dough to prepare before bed.” Simon stands to excuse himself, and Ronan stands immediately after.

“I’ll walk you home.” He falters a little when they all blink at him in surprise. “It’s dark, and the roads are dangerous at night.”

“Well.” Simon smiles. “I guess I’ll be the safest traveler in the kingdom tonight.”

It’s true. There certainly can’t be any traveler safer than he, not with a giant wolf padding by his side. Ronan is hyper alert, sniffing the air and looking this way and that, striding just a little ahead of Simon to scout the area. Where Connor can vaguely pass off as a large crossbreed, there’s no mistaking Ronan and his hulking form. They aren’t affected by the moon as told by those old tales, no their form is more akin to putting on another set of clothes, Connor had told him. It’s simply another way to be.

When they reach the town gates, Simon turns to his personal guard with a smile.

“Thank you for being such a gentleman, Ronan, I do appreciate it.” He reaches out without thinking, surprising the both of them when he gently pats his head. “I hope you visit Jericho soon.”

He visits him the very next day, in fact. Even as a human, he’s taller than most and cuts an imposing, intimidating figure. Ronan enters the bakery hesitantly, still unsure, still trying to find his feet amongst humans. A pair of young women dart him glances and smiles, giggling to themselves and whispering furiously as their cheeks pink with blush. Simon agrees that yes, Ronan is rather handsome, though he’ll never say it aloud.

“Hello Ronan.” He greets with a bright smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“I...wanted to see you. And Jericho.” He adds almost as an afterthought, and Simon ducks his head with a laugh.

“And here you are.” He gestures at one of the empty tables. “Take a seat, I'll bring you something to eat and drink.”

There’s a lull in customers so Simon takes a seat opposite Ronan, cup of tea in hand.

“You mention your brother working here but I haven’t seen him.” Ronan comments, looking around.

“Danny works for one of the court officials most of the week, so he just prepares the brews on the weekends.” Simon explains, taking a sip of his favourite warm and calming tea. “Most people come here to buy breads and don’t tend to stay and eat so it’s not like we really ever run out.”

“So it’s mostly you?”

“Yes. I love it here.” Simon smiles. “It’s my own little place. It brings me joy when people enjoy my food and that in turn helps me make more food for them to enjoy.”

*~*~*

It becomes a routine, having at least one Anderson, if not all three, visit him at least every second day. Simon ends up setting a large meat pie aside every time, so he can drop by after closing and off them the ‘leftover’, and once the pie is eaten Ronan will walk him home. He takes great comfort in his company, the large hulking wolf a warm presence at his side and Simon does indeed feel much safer even if Danny complains of him reeking of dog. With the festival drawing ever closer, Hank and Connor are employed by the guards as part of extra security measures meaning Ronan is often the only one at home after Simon finishes closing the bakery. Not that he minds, since little by little Ronan’s opening up to him and the conversation flows easier, is less stilted and hesitant. He finds himself looking forward to their time together, and revels in each little personal victory whenever he manages to coax a smile or an ever elusive laugh from the other man.

He sends Kara and Alice home just as the sun dips below the horizon. The festival is in two days time and at the end of each day the bakery is completely empty of goods as people stock up. It’s a good feeling, a feeling of pride and accomplishment that also translates into flavourful, rich foods with every new batch Simon makes. The regulars know that the sweetest, happiest pastries must be bought just before the festival when Simon’s riding the giddy feeling of anticipation and excitement. He can’t fault them; it’s true, after all. He makes sure to set aside a whole basket of goods for the royal family, and this time he also sets side a richly stewed mushroom and beef pie with spices baked into the crust for the Andersons. The bell above the door tinkles, and heavy footsteps plod into the bakery.

“I’m sorry but we’re closed!” Simon calls out, wandering back from the storage room. There’s a gang of broad muscular men led by a severe looking man in black robes.

“Oh we know.” He smirks, and his eyes are cold as ice. “So this is Jericho, hm? A filthy little rats nest for all the rats to scurry to.”

“Everyone is welcome here in Jericho,” Simon says firmly. “Even witch hunters. So long as you leave your prejudices at the door.”

They laugh at that, and the leader steps closer and closer to Simon. “You think you’re safe here? That just because you’ve made fancy rules we’re supposed to obey them? Your kind are meant to serve us.”

“And this bakery does indeed serve bread to humans.” Simon points out lightly with a faint smile. “As it does to witches.”

“Not anymore.” The man snarls and backhands Simon before grabbing him by the throat. “Just because the King adopted a filthy witch doesn’t make it all better. Your kind will never be equal to us.”

He claws at the man’s hand, trying to gasp for air. His henchmen laugh and begin to smash the chairs against the tables, against the shelves, against the windows. Simon manages to kick his assailant square in the chest, causing him to stumble back and let him go. It only enrages him further and Simon’s vision bursts into stars as the man punches him to the ground. A boot plants itself on his head, pressing him down onto the floor and Simon watches helplessly as the men ransack his beloved bakery and ruin the next day’s preparations. He thanks the Fates he locked the storage before stepping out, and that he’d sent Kara and Alice home already.

“Captain Perkins! We have to go!” One of the men shout, and there’s a commotion as they all rush to leave. Captain Perkins stares down at Simon like he’s stepped in filth, sneering at him before pulling his foot back and kicking him in the stomach.

“This isn’t over yet, vermin.”

It’s fine. It’s alright. No one else got hurt. The gift basket for the royal family is safe and sound, and for all the destruction the men didn’t even think to steal the money from the till. Though Simon supposes this wasn’t for monetary gain at all. He sits up gingerly and then properly vomits red, his head spinning and his stomach sore. His vision still pulses with lights, his jaw aches and his limbs don’t want to listen to him. It takes him four tries to get to his feet, and he only succeeds because he scoots ever so slowly over to the counter. His palms are shredded from the broken glass but he’s upright now, and somehow, somehow all he can think of is that he’s late and Ronan will be waiting. So he gathers his travelling cloak, places the pie very carefully into a basket, and leaves through the back door.

It’s fine, everything is fine and Simon’s not sure if it’s magic or just his own stubbornness that takes what just happened and locks it in a box, throws away the key, and buries it in a grave. He has a cemetery for events like these, like his parents throwing him out with Danny when their powers manifested, like being chased from their town, like the time Danny got sick with fever and almost died and said the most horrible things to try and get him to leave so he wouldn’t fall ill too. It’s fine. It’s gone.

A big dark wolf bounds out from the forest behind the hunter’s cottage, its gait springy and joyful before it turns into an urgent run as Simon limps down the path. He clumsily tugs at his travelling cloak as Ronan shivers back upright, his face a mask of horror as Simon hands him his cloak so he isn’t standing there naked.

“Simon-!”

“Ronan it’s cold, wear this.”

“You’re bleeding, you’re-!” He pulls him into his arms suddenly, sniffing and nosing him and Simon tries to batt him away in surprise.

“You smell like a hunter. A witch hunter-” Ronan decides whole sentences are too much for the moment and simply scoops Simon up into his arms and rushes him inside, ignoring his protests. He sets him down on a chair in the kitchen. “Wait, I’ll get Hank’s healing kit.”

Simon feels a little embarrassed. He’s fine after all. Oh and the pie is fine, he discovers triumphantly as he places the basket on the table and unearths the lovely creation still wrapped in a tea towel. Just needs a bit of time in the oven, and it’ll be ready for dinner.

“Simon what happened?” Ronan demands, reappearing with a small chest in his hands and proper clothes on his body. “You reek of witch hunters and blood and- and- something else. Something familiar but I can’t place it.”

The chest is placed on the table, Ronan glancing at the pie briefly before he opens the kit and fishes out a small bottle and some gauze. Gently, ever so gently, he daubs tonic on Simon’s injuries.

“Simon? Please talk to me.” There’s a plea in his tone, panic in those stormy grey eyes that Simon’s always fancied were beautiful.

“Oh um,” his tongue feels thick and heavy in his mouth like he’s stuffed it full of flour. “Um. A band of witch hunters ransacked Jericho and destroyed all my furniture and they ruined my festival preparations but it’s ok I saved your dinner.”

There’s a moment, a pause, a long drawn out pause as Ronan looks at him in utter horror.

“What?”

“Oh and the gift basket I prepared for the Manfreds, that’s alright too. And the till. They didn’t take any money and no one was hurt so it’s okay. It’s fine.”

“You were hurt, Simon!” Ronan near shouts at him, panic leaking into his voice. “They hurt you!”

“I’m okay. I sent Kara and Alice home before they arrived. A shame about the bakery though, they really did just...break...everything…” It takes him far too long to realise he’s crying, that tears are running down his cheeks and he’s gasping for breath and his stomach still feels tight and raw. “They destroyed everything and I won’t have anything ready for the festival and we really needed the money, I was going to buy Danny a new cloak and a pretty bonnet for Alice’s birthday and-” He’s sobbing now, and the physical pain somehow feels right, too, a rightful mixture of heartache and a stomach ache and a jaw ache and a headache. Ronan’s still looking at him in horror, and then he’s leaning forward and wrapping Simon up in his arms and Simon nearly howls with sorrow as he cries and cries and cries.

He’s not sure how much time passes but the door is kicked open and Connor leaps through in his wolf form before scrambling back into a more humanoid form. His teeth are still wrong, his ears still a little pointed and tufty. “I smelled blood! I smelled witch hunters! Simon what happened?!”

“That’s exactly what happened.” Ronan snaps, though the anger isn’t directed at Connor at all. Simon manages some sort of noise, a confirmation of sorts as he clings to Ronan, cheek mushed on his shoulder. He’s tired but he’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Hank huffs and puffs into the cottage a short while after, throwing Connor’s clothes to the side the moment he sees Simon’s sorry self.

“Shit, Simon! What the fuck happened?!”

“Captain Perkins.” Simon recalls belatedly. “The witch hunters- one of them called the leader Captain Perkins.”

Connor and Ronan freeze, eyes wide.

“Perkins oh that sick motherfucker.” Hank curses, rage in his eyes. “He did this to you?”

“He destroyed Jericho too.” Ronan adds curtly, lips pulled back in a snarl. “And he made sure to do it a day before the Festival.”

“Um, I did manage to save dinner though?” Simon gestures at the pie.

“...Simon, that’s-”

“Very kind of you.” Connor says gently. “I’ll get the oven going. Dad, can you make tea?”

“Err, right. Yeah. I can make tea.”

“It’s best if you get out of these clothes and into some clean ones.” Ronan helps him up and Simon’s legs are as wobbly as a newborn foal. Spots wink in and out of his vision and he winces, clinging to Ronan tightly. “It’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you Simon.”

They have pie while he wears Ronan’s clothes and they sip tea Hank made and all the while Connor and Ronan exchange venomous glances, seemingly having an entire conversation without words. Or maybe they did use words. Simon really can’t concentrate. He’s given something purple to drink and very gently guided to a large bed and heavy quilts are tucked over him and he thinks someone brushes his hair back from his face and kisses his temple but he’s not sure if that really happened or just something he wishes happened to him. Simon sleeps and he doesn’t dream of anything.

When he wakes it’s late, far too late for baking loaves and pastries, and it should horrify him but if there’s no functioning bakery then it’s really not a problem is it? There’s a bowl of fruits and a glass of juice on the bedside table along with a note telling him to stay here and rest. Alright. He can do that. What else is there to do, anyway? He nibbles on blueberries and some apple slices, drinks the glass of sweet peach juice and then slumps back under the quilts. He sleeps and dreams of picnicking under starlight with a large dark wolf curled at his side.

When he wakes again it’s late, so late the sun is long gone below the horizon and the nightly chill has filled the house. A wolf’s howl breaks through the quiet, joined by another a moment later. Simon smiles sleepily, testing his feet on the floorboards and finding being upright agrees with him again. Snagging his cloak from the stand, he wraps it around himself before stepping outside. He can see Connor and Ronan in the distance, heads tipped back as they howl in harmony. They turn to look at him, their movement as one, before Connor breaks away and runs back into the forest. Ronan remains still, unmoving, like a statue carved of granite. Simon sighs. He has to do all the work around here apparently. Closing the distance between them, Simon realises he may not have the nose of a wolf but Ronan reeks of blood. When he’s close enough, he can see the wolf stained in red, not just on the muzzle but all over his entire body as if he’s soaked himself in it. Which he has, probably, and a hysterical little giggle escapes Simon when he realises this is the fate of Captain Perkins.

“I see you and your brother went hunting tonight.” Simon reaches out slowly and runs his hand along the side of his muzzle, the fur wet and sticky with fresh blood. “Tasty?” The wolf pulls back its lips in a snarl of disgust, huffing his disagreement and Simon laughs. “No, witch-hunters probably taste foul. All that hate in their veins rotting them away. Best you didn’t feast on them.” He’s trembling- from fear or exhilaration he’s not sure. Maybe both? Quite possibly both. It’s the thrill of exhilaration that leads him to wrap his arms around the wolf’s neck and he doesn’t even mind the blood. “Thank you. Now he’ll never hurt anyone ever again.”

There’s a rush of magic, a thrum so strong he feels it in his bones and all at once he’s embracing Ronan in his human form. He wraps him up in his cloak. “You really ought to have waited until we were inside you silly dog.” He scolds lightly, lips curved up in a teasing smile.

“My brother and I run hot, it takes a lot for us to feel cold.” Ronan mumbles, his mouth still stained red. “It’s you who should still be inside.”

“I’ll go back in a second.” He takes a moment to fuss over him, to slick back his dark hair damp with sweat and blood so it doesn’t stick to his face. “Really though, thank you.”

“Hank has made sure to notify the King himself, and Jericho will be rebuilt. His Majesty granted you access to the royal kitchens so you can still bake while your bakery is reconstructed.” Ronan speaks so earnestly Simon feels overwhelmed tears prick his eyes.

“Does the King know what happened to Captain Perkins?”

“...He fell to beasts in the forest. He shouldn’t have tried to travel after nightfall.” Ronan says lightly, a grin twitching at his lips.

“It’s because he didn’t have a guardian at his side.” Simon quips. “Otherwise he’d have been the safest traveller in all the kingdoms.”

Ronan looks at him with such fondness, leaning in to bump their noses together in a gesture that strikes Simon as rather puppylike.

“I’ll protect you, Simon. If you’ll let me.”

Simon doesn’t answer right away, taking a moment just to admire Ronan Anderson under the bright moonlight naked as the day he was born save for Simon’s travelling cloak. He knows he should feel horrified. The brothers are, in some way, monsters to be feared. There’s something humorous about all this, though, about everything that’s happened, that’s led to where they are right this very moment. It’s a funny little turn of events, and he chooses to see it that way, chooses to bury another box and in that box is the fear that should have been felt.

He realises he loves him in a monstrous way, that all this feels right and sanctified and just. He presses his mouth to his, and their first kiss tastes of death and victory at all once.

“I’d like that very much.”

#dbh simon #rk900 #hank anderson #dbh connor #detroit: become human #dbh kara #dbh alice #tw blood #tw gore #dbhrarepairs #annie writes: dbh #sorry for the lateness fam i was at my parents' place this weekend #today's song is Shrike by Hozier

15 notes · View notes

guoidrafts-blog · 7 years ago

Text

d004

Jiwon’s eyes lifted from the glass screen of his phone as he heard the familiar scuff of converse on poorly waxed linoleum floors entering their homeroom classroom– her usual time: 6:56. A lazy grin spread across his lips as Irene made her way leisurely over to her assigned seat, regretfully being placed right in front of the infuriating senior who seemed to really enjoy talking to her this last month. When her eyes caught a glimpse of his smirk the hazel orbs rolled back so hard they about fell out of their sockets and Jiwon had to suppress his laugh at her annoyance at him– hitting its peak already and it wasn’t even 7 A.M. yet. A new record for him. Irene dropped her backpack onto the ground rather gracelessly and made it a point to try and ignore him today, clearly not being in the mood for more interrogations. But the week long Spring Break had done little to quell Jiwon’s concerns for his boyfriend/not boyfriend and he’d yet to hear even a peep or see a sign of the red haired sophomore boy. Irene was his only connection. He gently tapped on the girl’s left shoulder blade, glancing at the clock to see that he had a solid 15 minutes to speak to her before their final bell rang.

“What?” She turned around without a fuss or resistance, but the glare in her eyes ripped through Jiwon’s soul and his resolve soon faded. He liked to think of himself as a dominant force– maybe even a commanding person, aggressive, harsh, but Irene had this thing about her that could easily bring him to his knees in, fear? No, it wasn’t fear. It was deeper than that.

“How was your break?” He gave her an actual genuine smile and bit his bottom lip to hold back the chuckle at the look on her face. She was shocked, expecting him to get straight to the point as he usually did. She blinked once, twice and then a third time before the death grip she had on the poor dull green plastic chair slowly loosened as she seemed to be forming an answer in her mind. “F-fine,” he didn’t think he’d ever heard her speech falter like that before, “what is it ya want, trust fund?” She blurted out, tone back to being annoyed, dripping with that familiar disgust.

“First of all, I’d like it if we stopped this hostility. I think I’ve spoken to you enough that I’ve earned you calling me my actual name and not trust fund.” Jiwon rolled his eyes, his patience with her fading quickly at her attitude, this was getting annoying. “You know my name, Irene. And I’m not even rich, fuck off with that stuff okay?” His request came out more pleading than assertive and he really hated himself in that moment.

Irene chewed on her plump bottom lip and nodded, turning more in her chair so her legs were in the aisle between the rows of desks, her eyes trained on him now. “Okay, Ji-Jiwon,” She spoke his name slowly, hazel orbs searching his own onyx ones, a silent gesture to make sure she’d said his name correctly. A ghost of a smile formed on his lips as he nodded in approval after a moment and her eyes lit up briefly, proud of herself– so all those conversations with Byeong and Sejin hadn’t been for nothing. She felt like an accomplished student. “What do ya wanna know?”

Jiwon’s eyes looked her figure over, taking in her appearance which seemed to change drastically for only having been away from her for a week. Her hair was the same color which he was surprised at, quite frankly, but the rest of her was so different. His dark eyes roamed her lithe frame starting with her oddly gaunt face, sunken in eyes complete with puffy eye bags met with sharp, high set cheekbones– those were all familiar, though the eye bags were certainly deeper, more prominent than they had been before. Mid-terms, he’d easily explained away to himself. But her cheeks themselves were chubby– odd? Her body had clearly gotten thinner, her arms themselves even hidden beneath a baggy zip-up hoodie that was definitely borrowed still could easily be seen to have gotten thinner. The jeans she wore barely clung to her legs when a week ago they fit so snug around her much meatier thighs, even her pale skin looked strange. Wait, Irene wasn’t pale.

Jiwon worried at his bottom lip, she seemed to have gotten a shade or two paler. Her hands looked like they had bruises on them, the faded purple and yellow marks standing out so vividly against the sickly looking skin that stretched over her knuckles. It looked so thin– frail.

Irene lifted her arm up, snapping her finger in front of his face to break him from his trance and when her loose sleeve fell down to the crook of her elbow, he saw it– two small puncture wounds. They were faint but they were there, perhaps highlighted by the purple bruises forming around them. Irene noticed his eyes dart down to them, quickly gathering up the sleeve and pulling on it, covering her whole hand and tucking her hands safely between her thighs. She cleared her throat, moving to turn back and face the front of the classroom before Jiwon grabbed her shoulder, stopping her, his fingers dug into her skin. The muscles underneath his fingers were tense and solid as she sat rigid in her seat and perhaps he had gripped her too hard but he was so angry just then. He didn’t even know why.

“Irene.” He saw her wince at his tone, but she didn’t resist against him, instead she stayed still, lifting her head back up to meet his cold gaze.

Her hair, he noticed now, was a knotted mess, even more so than usual. He wanted to brush it for her just to see some sort of normalcy for the fucking girl. The normally wavy and shining brown locks were a greasy, stringy mess, all tied haphazardly into a half up, half down style bun with loose strands falling out and covering most of her face. Again, he noticed something else that slipped his gaze earlier– more bruises, these one obviously visible, at least to those who were looking. There were two long oval bruises against the side of her neck and another just above her right eyebrow. What the fuck?

“What the fuck happened to you?”

1 note · View note

theworstbob · 8 years ago

Text

the thing journal, 5.14.2017-5.27.2017

the pop culture things i took in over the last week, and also the week before that this week because last week i couldn’t make a post. last week: american ultra, take this waltz, freddie gibbs, direct hit!, the wild reeds, jackie kashian, rory scovel, sam outlaw. this week: mary j. blige, diet cig, smino, shalewa sharpe, bad suns, room, groundhog day (the musical), brooklyn nine-nine s3, in transit, interstellar

1) American Ultra, dir. Nima Nourizadeh: This film wanted to be like five things all at once. It wanted to be a stoner comedy, it wanted to be a send-up of action thrillers, it wanted to be just a straight-up action thriller, it wanted to be an epic romance, it wanted to be an indictment of the surveillance state. I don't think it was any of those things. It was a largely enjoyable hodgepodge of ideas. There were moments it took seriously that could have been served with some comedy, there were moments it seemed like it was making fun of the stupid idiot characters when it needed to be there with them, like, I'm not gonna call it a failure because I never felt like it was wasting my time or like it was aggressively awful, but I couldn't get a handle on what I was supposed to be getting out of this film. It tried to be so many things and ended up feeling like nothing. If it had stuck with one idea -- if it were JUST a movie about this stoner idiot who suddenly sees everyday objects as instruments of death, and it was just about him and his idiot girlfriend running from the CIA and there wasn't this whole other plotline involving drama at the CIA, if it could have just been THAT, they might've had something, but they had this, which was fine, but it wasn't something.

2) Take This Waltz, dir. Sarah Polley: I discussed this on the Fall Out Boy blog, but that scene on the ride at the theme park is such a cool scene. I can see how an older Bob or a younger Bob might think this movie's kinda bullshit, it is very much a Pretty White People with Problems movie, but it's also a movie about being in your late 20s and only just realizing, oh shit, I HAVE to be an adult now, the things I do today might be the things I do forever, I need to figure out what I really want while it's still permissible for me to figure things out, and it really speaks to me. Sarah Polley's a rather dope director! Let's see if sh -- oh okay cool one more movie, wellllllllllp.

3) You Only Live 2wice, by Freddie Gibbs: Y'know what if this gets billed as an album, I'm gonna treat it like an album, length be damned. Eight songs is enough to be considered a thing IT WORKED FOR KENDRICK AND CARLY RAE DAMNIT. The opening track has maybe my favorite lyric ever: "No sleep, bags under my eyes are designer." I am going to remember that lyric for the rest of my life. It seems like a fine enough intro to Freddie Gibbs, who is a thing I am given to understand I would enjoy, and I'm excited to get into his meatier offerings.

4) Wasted Mind, by Direct Hit!: ...So remember how my computer got partially zapped last week and I lost Internet access and thus the motivation to do Internet-related things such as write my assigned blogs? Yeah so I completely forgot about this. I vaguely recall it being fine. I sort of recall it dealing with alcoholism, or lyrics relating to alcoholism, and wanting to structure this capsule around how this songwriter is recounting his pain and struggle through the thing he is best at doing, and my reaction to it is "You get a B!" but, like, I listened to this on a bus ride home ten days ago, and I wasn't too into it as I was listening to it. Only so much room, ya know? If I remembered every (pop/)punk album I ever listened to, I wouldn't remember all the tennis fun facts. And those are much more valuable. Tennis fun facts could conceivably be answers to bar trivia questions. No one was asking for this capsule.

5) The World We Built, by The Wild Reeds: The harmonies on this album are fucking nuts. This is an album I've listened to three times in the last couple weeks, and I liked it more with each listen, found new things to dig with each spin, some music thing I'm not smart enough to relay, some lyrical twist I was too preoccupied to notice. I'm sitting down with all these capsules on a Saturday night, trying to hammer a bunch of these out so I can get this sweet hot content to y'all as promised, but I kinda wanna shove this deep inside my wormholes again Sunday morning just so I have it fresh in my mind what makes this album so awesome. If you're reading these words, then of course I said "nah" and wrote my Saturday night post, which is "dope af country girl group plays songs that are hella good," and while I think the statement itself has merit, it could use a few more points of support.

6) I'm Not the Hero of This Story, by Jackie Kashian: Definitely my favorite unit of comedy released in 2017 so far. Like, the beginning, "I'm not a political comedian, but uh, I guess I have to be now?" is among the best opening bits I've ever heard. And the political comedy doesn’t feel forced, feels of a whole with the material prepared before we all went to hell. Like, the joke about being told by a minority friend trying to assuage her post-election fears, “Jesus, have you never been disappointed before?” is as much about her Midwestern emotional unavailability as the jokes about visiting her father in the hospital. (I might be over-analyzing this. Everything is either over-analyzed or under-analyzed here. ONE DAY I’LL ACHIEVE BALANCE.) It’s a strong album.

7) Dilation, by Rory Scovel: I think this was fine! As far as something I listened to because I recognized the name from Competitive Erotic Fan-Fiction goes, it was greatly enjoyable. I'm not sure how much value can be derived from a deep critical look at a six-year-old album by a dude who may or may not still be active, but if you need 40 minutes of comedy, and you've exhausted all the known brands and don't wanna revisit something you've already heard, this will provide adequate amusement.

8) Tenderheart, by Sam Outlaw: Definitely more Tender than Outlaw. I sort of shied away from Sam Outlaw for a little while because he has a stupid fucking name, but I always knew him as a dude I'd like if I gave him a chance, so I gave him a chance. My instinct was right. It's not a bad album? It's just, I dunno, soft. And that's OK. I can see it was intended to be soft, and it is not its fault I prefer to be hit with a sledgehammer than with a pillow. It did its thing, and it's a mostly good thing, and it's a thing better than 99% of the country music offerings. It just didn't do my thing.

9) Strength of a Woman, by Mary J. Blige: I think in YAS I mentioned that I appreciated Shakira's latest thing because it was specifically Shakira on the track; it was a Latin pop music veteran making a Latin pop song, and the floor on that sort of thing is insanely high. I got a similar sort of vibe from this album. I knew going in that this wouldn't get anything lower than a B+ from me, because the name attached to this album is such a strong name that it would have to take an extremely weird departure for me not to be into this, like a Metal Machine Music-level noise experiment for me to go "enh, I don't know." This kinda sounds backhanded, I think sometimes I use high floor when I mean low ceiling, but trust I loved every second I spent with this album, like this album is legit great, I listened to it twice over the Internetless weekend, I guess I just took 100 words or whatever to tell you that this thing you can tell is great from the artist turned out to be great.

10) Swear I'm Good at This, by Diet Cig: I thought this was nice? It's a nice indie/punk album about being young in 2017. I think, when I mention the floor of a Mary J. Blige album, I'm discussing the floor as it relates to the general population; there isn't a soul alive who'd come away from a Mary J. Blige album and not give it a B+. (Well, OK, there are, it's called Strength of a Woman for a reason.) For me, the floor for this sort of album is a B+, and it rests comfortably on that floor, sprawled out under a sunbeam like an adorable kitty cat. I love this! I can understand for a lot of people this would be nothing. It's slight, a little wispy punk thing, not the statement of purpose provided by The Bombpops or Bad Cop/Bad Cop, but by gum, if Amazon is going to tell me I'll like something because I enjoyed Paramore, by gum, I'm going to enjoy it.

11) blkswn, by Smino: This dude can do some crazy things with his voice. I usually check my phone to see what the song title is when I listen to an album (I like to know where I am), but I had to turn the screen on multiple times during each of this dude's songs just to make sure there weren't any features. I don't know about his range, I'm not here to discuss the technical aspect of singing, but he has this wide array of voices he can channel, so you never know quite what you're gonna get from song to song apart from a surprise. This is a talented kid. I'm excited to see him harness that.

12) Stay Eating Cookies, Shalewa Sharpe: So, I was raised on Comedy Central Presents specials, right? So many of the big names in comedy, I became first acquainted with via their half hours on Comedy Central. Does this mean there was a time when I thought Mitch Hedberg and Dane Cook were equally funny? Of course. But it also means I forged a deep enough love for the medium that I could eventually suss out who was Good and who was Bad. And this is what I love about 2 Dope Queens: it's positioned to be Comedy Central for a generation that has little use for cable, to fill for dorky kids the same role Comedy Central filled for me, except better, because they're going to be a tad more diverse. There's so many cool comics I might not have heard about without 2 Dope Queens; I think I listened to the Michelle Buteau album after I started the thing journal and loved it, and I haven't been able to get Kevin Yee's "I Fucked Your Dad" out of my head since I heard it. But this. Holy shit. Shalewa Sharpe is the best comic so far I've come to by way of 2 Dope Queens. I'm legitimately angry this woman's outlook has only been in my life for six days. Like, she has one line, one throwaway line, that elicited a noise from me I legit have never made in fifteen+ years of being aware I enjoyed comedy. This is the best unit of stand-up I've taken in this year, and y'all need to get up on it.

13) Disappear Here, Bad Suns: It makes me happy to know there's always going to be dudes making music like this. This sounds like someone gave Jimmy Eat World a more adventurous rhythm section. So like, my usual mode of consumption when I listen to music on the bus is, I'll queue up an album, and when that album finishes, I'll look for something else. I try not to have anything queued up, because I don't want to spend time with the thing I'm currently listening to wondering what I'll listen to next. (I think this was something they discussed on my beloved, departed Nothing to Write Home About, how from the second you purchase/add an album online, your preferred streaming service is already telling you to move on and buy the next thing, and I try to catch myself in those moments where I'm a distracted listener. Everything deserves my attention, and for the most part, everything gets it, even if half these capsules are more about how I take in pop culture than about the actual item of pop culture.) I put this album on repeat, because I wanted to spend another 50 minutes with these songs. It's not the same reaction I had to The World We Built, where I wanted to catch all the things I missed. I knew what in this album worked for me, it was emo-tinged post/punk about depression that absolutely grooved, I just wanted to be with this album longer.

14) Room, dir. Lenny Abrahamson: I was a little uncomfortable with this movie, because while I think they coaxed a great performance out of the kid, I don't know how aware the kid was of what he was doing? Like, when a horse wins the Kentucky Derby, the horse has no fucking clue it won the Kentucky Derby, it's just a fucking horse standing there, and it makes me uncomfortable to watch an event where the principal players aren't aware of what they're doing. The kid is more aware of his surroundings than the average horse, I'm sure, but is he going to watch this movie in 11 years and be proud of what he did? I dunno, I think every film should be animated, I'm going to mention this again when we get to Interstellar, THIS MOVIE WAS GOOD NONETHELESS. As someone who didn't have the greatest childhood, this movie was dealing with parenthood in a way I thought was powerful: it was asking, "How does a parent justify to their child the decisions they made when raising them?" It's a question the mom is asking herself all throughout the movie, and she's so lost in looking for the answer that when other people ask her questions along those lines she hits her low point, but it also asks, "How do kids accept the decisions their parents made?" The kid is obviously five years old and isn't totally aware of his surroundings, but he does have some vague cognizance that his situation prior to the events of the film was pretty fucked up; the film never jumps forward in time to when the kid is an angtsy goth looking for pot outside the mall, so we don't see how he deals with the full realization of his parentage and his upbringing, but he has some clue, and the film shows that kid accepting his situation as best he can while learning earlier than most of us that his mom is a flawed person. I loved a ton about this film, though, real talk, if I had known my computer could stream movies in 1080p without ever buffering, I might have picked a more technically impressive feature. "Wow, first time watching a film in HD, let's see this indie drama about familial relationships! You can see every detail in the shed!" (Also, that scene where the best cop in the world figures out how to extricate Ma from the shed with like seven words from the kid was so well done.)

15) Groundhog Day, from Tim Minchin et a;: This didn't land for me. It's more than the fact they wrote out Ned Ryerson, though OBVIOUSLY that didn't help. I think Groundhog Day is just... Like, that's a hard film to write, and in film, you get the luxury of being able to cast a Bill Murray as an irascible gentleman. You can't be irascible on Broadway. It's hard to be sarcastic when you're projecting. I think they did an admirable job of trying to adapt the film, which truly does not lend itself to a musical, into a musical, but they shouldn't have been asked to do that very stupid job. Of all the films. There's barely music in it.

16) Brooklyn Nine-Nine s3, cr. Michael Schur & Dan Goor: For 3/4 or so of this season, I was having a chill time, if not a great one. I thought it had set their sights on "enjoyable cop hang-out sitcom," and I can get behind that, if not necessarily be stoked on a potential s4. And then they added the Jason Mantzoukas character, and the show found a gear I would never have guessed it had. The mob storyline is EXACTLY WHAT THIS SHOW SHOULD HAVE BEEN DOING THIS WHOLE TIME, a Hot Fuzz-esque parody of cop movies/shows told with love for both the genre and the characters. It let the characters be good cops, like in the final two episodes where they have to foil the mafia and the FBI, but it allowed just enough room for them to be adorable dum-dums, like in "Cheddar," easily my favorite episode in the series to date. ("Cheddar" had so much, not the least of which was Boyle finding his home as an actual Mr. Magoo for 20 hot minutes.) Plus, at one point, Andre Braugher says "I can't even," and he manages to find the exact syllables in that phrase on which to put these subtle but undeniably incorrect inflections. Like, even when the show was settling for B-s, it was worth sticking with just for Andre Braugher (and Terry Crews and Stephanie Beatriz). The end to s3 was so strong, I'm psyched to see how they take s4.

17) In Transit, by Kristen Anderson-Lopez et al: So here's what's cool about In Transit, right? So like, I was never into Hamilton, but I do love the concept about a hip-hop musical about a Founding Father, because what better way to recount a nation's origin than through a genre of music which originated from the nation? The a capella musical takes a similar tack: it's a musical about a mass of people in New York, being sung by a mass of people. Like, none of the stories are really new: someone has anxiety about the future, other people have anxiety about relationships, this dude needs to come out of the closet but hasn't, it's all been done, but the a capella arrangements seem to indicate that the writers know these are things everyone goes through, so they have everyone sing them. It's not just the lead who's frustrated by the arc of her professional and creative careers, it's everyone in the office lamenting that they work in an office and not where they want to work, and the fact there's a chorus of people having these problems helps make this musical something more than "we're in New York and don't know what we're doing," which isn't my preferred thing to listen to. I don't know if that was the intent, it might not be given that I implied the stories being told were generic and unambitious (like I've said what I wanted about Hamilton, but that's a musical with chutzpah far beyond just the hip-hop influence)? But it feels bigger than it does.

18) Interstellar, dir. Christopher Nolan: I was always gonna watch this film, but no doubt the impetus behind adding this to the end of the week was, OK, NOW let's christen the new computer. Let's get this Christopher Nolan sci-fi epic, and let's see the true power of HD. (HD, surprisingly, looks a lot like regular TV but slightly fancier. I do wanna watch Kubo and the Three Strings again tho.) First of all, this did not need to be three hours long. I did not need to devote three hours of my life to this film. At the same time, though, I'm not sure what you cut from the film; it's over-long, but it never felt bloated, it at least felt like every scene had purpose. And while I'm never THAT into films where actors are acting at things that aren't there, I think there was enough of a human element established that I never felt unmoored from the film's world(s); there was always Matthew McConaughey's relationship with his daughter keeping this film grounded, even in the scenes where the characters recited science at each other. (I do wish the film hadn't asked me to believe Matthew McConaughey and Jessica Chastain were the same age. The age gap is narrower than I would have expected from Hollywood, but eight years is STILL A FUCKING LONG TIME.) And, man, it is rough times watching a movie about the earth beind destroyed and science being devalued in 2017. It's kind of amazing that this dystopian society being imagined in 2014 is, like, today's society, we are ten years away from only eating corn and failing to find new planets because we stopped being curious and started hyper-farming.

0 notes