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creatchie8 · 2 months ago

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Rodeo Queen

Summary: As a two-time Rodeo Queen and a skilled barrel racer, you are asked to be a guest judge at the Amelia County Fair. You learn quickly it is going to take more than your charming personality to gain the respect you deserve

Pairing: Rhett Abbott/Rodeo Queen!Reader

Warnings: Minors DNI! Oral (F receiving), unprotected pinv sex, a tiny angst, alcohol consumption, light bondage

A/N: I wrote this instead of working on my finals, it was an idea I just couldn't shake. I am obsessed with the idea that Rhett folds for any strong independent woman

Word Count: 5,000ish

As you walked out of your trailer, a crisp breeze hit your face. Much to your relief, it cooled you down significantly, the space heater in your trailer running the whole time you were in there getting dressed and doing your makeup.

Your sister, also known as your ‘personal stylist’ insisted it was much too cold out for it to not be on. Even when you assured her it was only fifty degrees outside.

Now here she is walking beside you in a giant puffer coat while you try to tune her out and focus on calming yourself down. No matter how many rodeos you went to, how many speeches you gave, how many parades you've rode in, all of it still riddled you with anxiety.

It did not help one bit that everyone in the ‘Riders Only’ prep area was gawking at you. You did stick out like a sore thumb.

Decked out in a gorgeous scarlet button up, adorned with detailed black beading along the collar and cuffs and matching chaps over your bootcut jeans. Atop your head sitting a black wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

Though, the most glaring of all would have to be your pearly white sash, dark cursive letters writing out ‘Canyon County Queen’.

Nearing what you assume to be the other royalty court, you look extremely overdressed. Silently, you curse your sister for suggesting this outfit.

“That’s Miss. Amelia County over there, Alexis is her name. Taylor is Miss. Junior-” Your sister starts, whispering in your ear before you wave her away, already stopping in front of the two girls.

Politely, you introduce yourself and your sister, shaking hands with them. Taylor immediately lights up with recognition, giving you a toothy smile as her braces glint in the stadium lights. Alexis is equally as nice, more quiet and reserved compared to her younger counterpart.

It didn't take much waiting near the green utility gate before handlers approach the four of you with horses.

“Is this one mine? Oh thank you- gosh he’s handsome!” You gush to the man bringing a stunning bay with white markings on his face towards you. You shake his hand (if being a rodeo queen has taught you anything, it’s how to give a good handshake) and take the reins from him. He introduces himself as Bill, the man who you had emailed earlier this month when you were looking for a horse to ride this weekend.

“Do you have your phone? Give me your phone, it’s almost call time.” You hear your sister behind you say, already reaching for your back pocket as you spin around to face her.

“Here-” You take it out of your jeans and roll your eyes playfully, “Don’t be bad while I’m away.” You chide and kiss her cheek before slotting your foot in a stirrup and hoisting yourself up on the huge horse with minimal help from the handler.

“His name is Merlot, my daughter’s horse.” Bill explains, rubbing the palm of his hand over the horse’s neck before a younger man comes up and hands you the American flag pole to hold.

“Well, be sure to tell your daughter thank you. She’s a very lucky girl.” You grin down at him before being called over to where the gate opens up to the arena, following Alexis and Taylor.

An older woman with a very professional demeanor greets the three of you before briefly explaining the game plan, arranging by flags with you last to enter. Merlot shifts beneath you, stepping back as Alexis’ horse flicks him in the nose with her tail as you wait for the opening music.

Soon enough, some random rock song plays and you are off, pressing your heels firmly into Merlot’s sides to urge him along with the other horses.

You grip the wooden pole and his reins tightly, plastering the biggest smile on your face as he enters an energetic gallop. Your body rocks with the power of his strides, the roar of the decently sized crowd making your body buzz with excitement as he takes you in a circle around the ring.

“And last but not least holding the American flag, Idaho’s very own Canyon County Rodeo Queen! First claiming her title in 2023 and again in 2024, this two time winner hails from Wilson, Wyoming. A skilled barrel racer and coming from a long line of pros, we are lucky to have her as a guest bull riding judge tonight!” The announcer roars through the crackling intercom system. Your palms prickle with the thrill of it all, coming to a stop and facing the audience with Alexis and Taylor on either side of you.

Carefully you transfer the reins to your other hand, waving to the crowd and blowing an air kiss to them as he finishes reading the bio your agent sent. You can feel Merlot’s back legs lock as you sit there half listening to the announcer, his warmth and heavy breath beneath you draws your full attention away from the national anthem. You watch as his ears twitch and you pat his neck reassuringly as Merlot pulls on the reins.

With the anthem done, you take him back through the gate, keeping a smooth trot till you find Bill and the young man with him. They help you dismount, your boots kicking up dust as you land, thanking them again and venturing back to the trailer where you have no doubt your sister is.

You do have to admit, without your chaps on it is kinda cold out here. Only a few steps out of your trailer you turn on your heels and sprint back inside, your sister already calling after you. You return with a heavy brown bomber jacket on your shoulders, fixing your hair as the two of you make your way over to the judge’s station.

It’s more modest than you are used to, just a folding table with chairs pressed against the fence on the opposite side of the opening gate. A darker skinned man sits there with a pen in hand, ordering the scoresheets.

“You must be David Acothley. I’m-” You start, extending your hand towards him.

“Miss. Canyon County herself, pleasure to meet you.” He interrupts, taking your hand. His eyes are like warm chocolate, inviting you in as he gestured to the empty seat beside him. You turn back to your sister and bid her goodbye as you sit, taking your stack of the sheets.

“You sure you know what you're doin’?” He asks, handing you a pen.

Internally, you roll your eyes and cringe. Your previous positive thoughts about him disappearing into annoyance.

“Yup.”

And you refuse to make anything but curt small talk with him the rest of the night.

“Now up is Wabang’s very own hometown hero, Rhett Abbott! Let's show some love to our local boy!” You hear over the speakers, the crowd quite possibly going crazier than when you were announced. You see a tall man enter the chute, his hair was longer, neutral brown in color. Number eleven was pinned to his back, the paper looking small compared to his wide shoulders.

With a sharp nod, the gate springs open and the massive beast bursts from its containment. Powerful muscles rippled under its dull black coat in an attempt to kick Rhett off. The arena is full of motion, the bull’s thick hooves tearing up the ground.

He’s not keeping his heels up. You think to yourself, pen tapping on the paper. The eight seconds seem to last forever, nearing the end his rhythm is off, already slipping to the left side before his time is up.

His control is way off.

As soon as his body hits the ground you scribble on your sheet.

Fourteen for the bull, sixteen for Rhett.

When you glance over at David’s sheet, seeing that he scored the bull seventeen and Rhett twenty-one, your opinion might not be very popular then. The runner takes the two of your sheets before you can even comprehend and runs it to the announcer’s booth to display it on the board, a total of sixty-eight.

You can hear the crowd’s disappointment echoing through the arena and your eyes flick to the now standing cowboy. His face was turned to the screen, angled towards you. Rhett was quite handsome, you could tell even yards away from him. A strange feeling of warmth and a flutter in your chest took hold of you. So distracted you almost didn’t catch the look of dismay in his face before exiting the arena.

Music played over the speakers, the random podunk dive bar you were at was lively with people. Some of the barrel racers took pity and invited you to go drink with them. You jumped at the chance, eager to leave the trailer you had been in for the past two days.

You had never changed so fast, scrubbing off your stage makeup and reapplying a more natural, minimalist look as a few girls stood in your trailer out of the cold. Trading your dressy button up for a branded quarter zip you finally blended in with the rest of them.

You were already recognizing some of the men you judged, unable to recall their names as they slid up next to you to talk to the girls you were with. A few chatted with you, asking how the Canyon Night Rodeo scene was and if they should go next year. You were excited to talk with them, telling them all about qualifying and next year’s dates.

Playing pool with your newfound friends nursing a beer which had long gone warm, you feel a firm tap on your shoulder. Setting down your drink on an empty nearby table, you turn, tipping your hat up to see better.

Above you stands a tall, broad man. You recognized him after a few blinks. Rhett Abbott, Wabang’s Hometown Hero.

“Hey Rhett, finally sick of Cowfish?” Joked the woman standing across the table from you.

“You know it, Sandy. This is a better bar anyways.” He responded, still looking at you with smooth blue eyes. His chin was scruffy, facial hair dark compared to his freckled skin.

“Sure it wasn't cause they kicked ya out?” She ragged, pulling giggles out of the rest of the girls, but he ignored her.

Rhett was crossing his arms, swaying the tiniest bit. Curious, you cocked an eyebrow, wondering if he was drunk. It was like his shoulders were straining against his long sleeve carhartt, the blue sleeves hugging his biceps.

“Hi Rhett, I’m-” You start, trying to make this whole situation less awkward, you could feel your friends staring holes in your back.

“I know who you are.” There was no malice, or really anything in his tone, just calm and steady as if he wasn't tapping his fingers almost nervously against his biceps.

When you got back to the trailer, you were going to pull your hair out. Interrupted again, it was like no one really cared who you were beyond the frills and white sash, even when you were wearing street clothes. You swore your eye twitch as you tried to muster up a smile that probably looked like a grimace.

“What’s with my score?” He asked, just as if he was wondering why the sky was blue.

“Your score? What do you mean?” You laugh, glancing back at the rest of the girls before going back to Rhett. You had scored so many men that you barely even recall who topped the chart and was going out tomorrow night.

“You gave me,” He huffed out a laugh and shook his head, “a fourteen and a sixteen. David told me.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. Why did this David guy have so much beef with you? You didn't even know each other. That’s probably why no guy had stayed longer than to pick your brain on how to get ahead in the sport. Who knows how many guys he told about their less than desirable scores.

“Listen Rhett.” You stated, stepping closer to him and straightening your shoulders, not eye level to him but tall enough so it didn't feel like he was intimidating you. You were close enough to smell him, salty and earthy with a hint of smoke, like he had a cigarette earlier.

“I don't know what David told you, but I only give scores that people deserve. I have no prejudice against you or any other bullrider here. I’m just doing my job.”

“Do you have the qualifications to judge?”

Now that stung. It stung worse than when your childhood horse Oswin kicked you off and you believed for weeks that you broke your ass. Faintly, you could hear the barrel racers talking behind the two of you, the sound of them playing pool long gone. The kind part of you tried to reassure yourself that he was just some poor drunk, to just ignore him.

“Do you know who I am? And don't say ‘Rodeo Queen’ cause that's not my name, buddy.” You snarked, planting your hands firmly on your hips. You await his answer, raising your eyebrows in question as he opens his mouth and shuts it with a click, looking down at his boots.

“Right. So next time you wanna talk to me about scores, how ‘bout you address me by name and we can be civil.” You turn back to the pool table and grab your beer, taking a long swig and cringing at the warmness of it.

“Just cause you're some legend’s daughter doesn't give you the right to judge hard, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

Spinning right back around, your skin burns with animosity. You step up to him again, toe to toe. Even as he stumbles back you step forward again so you are basically nose to nose. Strange electricity crackles between the two of you as you press the lip of your bottle into his chest.

“Okay then, how ‘bout this. Your control is way off, and by the way you hold yourself,” You look him up and down, taking in his stance, and fuck, why does this dickhead have to be hot, “I suspect it has something to do with your core. That’s what's causing you to start slipping off the bull early and why your feet can't stay up.” You practically hiss, refusing to back down without a fight. You didn’t come this far to bow down to a shitty bull rider with an ego.

Then something happens, and you swear you might be hallucinating. In Rhett’s clearly drunken state, you could've sworn the side of his lip twitched up in a smirk. It only lasts a second and you chalk it up to the dim bar light. It still makes an odd ache between your legs, realizing you two had been sharing breath and his eyes were fixed on your lips.

Not wanting to waste a good night on an ignorant man, you step away and call over your shoulder, “And if I remember correctly, you still made qualifiers. So I'll see you tomorrow, Rhett.”

And you did see Rhett that next night, it was almost like he made sure of it too.

He just so happened to be right near the entrance gate when you were mounting Merlot for the opening ceremony, chatting with who you assumed to be his friend.

Rhett tipped his hat forward in a greeting, pulling a glare out of you. And now you have to listen to your sister gush about ‘that mysterious man’ and how pretty he was right up until you galloped away into the ring.

Pretty fucking annoying. You think to yourself, and stew for the rest of the evening.

You don't dare say a word to David when you join him to judge, now hyper aware of every time he looks over at your paper. Not that you cared at this point, tomorrow you would be driving back to Idaho never to think about Wabang and its residents ever again.

Taking a deep breath as you hear Rhett’s name get called, you bite the inside of your cheek as he slides into the chute. The bull thrashes once, the sharp bang echoing through the arena, not even giving Rhett enough time to tie himself on.

Out of the gate he looks better, maybe he actually listened to all the things you told him last night. He’s stiffer though, which does help him keep his feet by the bull’s shoulders but it interferes with his rhythm. He was too focused on staying upright, causing him to not be able to move with the bull.

The bell sounds and he falls, feet slipping on the dirt as he tries to get away.

He was significantly better than last time, but far from perfect.

Sixteen for the bull, eighteen for Rhett.

Curious, you look over at David’s sheet. A twenty-one and twenty-two, which makes a total of seventy-seven. You don't even bother watching him find out what his score is, you just arrange your papers and get ready for the next guy.

You're fiddling with the generator outside your trailer when you hear your name called out behind you. Getting up, you brush the dust off your jeans before turning around and locking eyes with the last person you want to see.

“So you finally figured out my name, huh?” You ask and kneel back down to the generator, praying he leaves. You hear his boots move closer to you, stopping inches away from your crouched form. There was hardly anyone still here, most of them out celebrating or sleeping in their trailers.

“Listen, I wanted to apologize for the way I acted last night. My momma raised me better than that.” Rhett admitted softly, “A couple of us are headed to the bar in a little and I was wonderin’ if you'd join us?”

“Thanks, but I doubt I’m welcome. I reckon David has told everyone how badly I fucked them by now.” You huff, and Rhett’s silence is all you need to hear.

Standing up and turning around, you stumble back with how close Rhett is, narrowly bumping right into his chest. You cross your arms and notice that he’s just in his button up, striped and blue, he looks infuriatingly good.

“Have you also come to question me about your score?” You ask, it's cold enough that your breath creates steam in the nighttime air.

“What? No I- I came here to apologize.” He furrows his brows, shoving his hands in his pockets. His admission to defeat makes you huff in annoyance.

“Really? You're not the tiniest bit curious why I scored you the way I did?” You pressed.

“Okay well maybe I am. But that was an afterthought to the apolo-” Rhett starts, taking off his cowboy hat and running his fingers through his hair. Hair that you wanted to touch, hair that you desired to feel the texture of.

“You were too stiff this time. Yes, your legs were up which earned you some points but it's not all about that.” You interrupt, gesturing to the arena, “Now, because of your vest I couldn't tell if it was mostly in your stomach or back, but-”

“Oh so you're the expert now?” Rhett grumbled, looking to the sky.

“Yes, actually, I kinda am. You have to be more than a pretty face to win a Rodeo Queen title.” That same funny feeling leaped into your throat as you argued with him. And although you were outside, it felt as if the atmosphere was shrinking even though you had all the room in the world to back away.

“I’d like to see you ride a bull then.”

“Oh trust me, I can ride a bull.” You quipped, turning away and walking towards the stairs to your trailer. But before you could climb the first step, a strong hand grabbed you by the elbow and pulled you back. You make a soft umph sound as you hit his chest, and the next thing you know his warm lips crash against yours.

It was a sharp contrast to the cold outside, the heat increasing as you kissed him back, wrapping your hands around the back of his neck and pulling him in. Rhett walks you backwards so your body connects with the side of the trailer, the freezing metal zipping through your decorative button up. The sudden temperature change draws a whine from your chest, only halfway emerged before Rhett swallows it up, his hands pulling your waist in close.

You pull away for just a moment, Rhett now kissing your jaw and nearing your neck, “Inside-” Is all you manage to get out before he’s biting at your neck, his cowboy hat knocked off his head and now resting on the ground.

Pushing him away, you bite your lip. Although your red lipstick said it was smudge proof, it somehow ended up leaving a light sheen of pink smeared over his mouth. He follows you inside, tossing his cowboy hat on the couch as you lock the door.

“Wait, isn't your sister staying here too?” He asks in a hushed voice, as if she could jump out at any moment.

“Yeah, but she’s out.” Is all you can say before crossing the short distance between you two and kissing him again. It doesn't take long to get you both out of clothes, your pearl snaps coming undone easily to reveal your lace balconette bra, your jeans already unzipped by Rhett’s wandering hands by the time you pushed open his own shirt.

You were mesmerized by his bareness, Rhett’s torso perfectly displaying softness and pure muscle. Your stomach flips as you look down to the bulge in his blue jeans. Catching his hands trying to pull your own jeans over the swell of your ass, you take him to the small bedroom, if you could call it that.

You push him to sit on the bed, sheets still messed up from this morning. Stepping back, you push your jeans down, kicking them and your boots behind you. Rhett impulsively reaches out, hooking a finger into your thong before you smack his hand away.

“No touching.” You chide, watching him nod like a big, dumb puppy. His obedience causes the inside of your thighs to tingle, his eyes almost looking sorrowful as you reach behind yourself and unhook your bra, tossing it to join your jeans.

In just socks and panties, you step between his jean-clad thighs, running your fingers through his hair and kissing him. He tentatively touches his fingertips to your sides, so light you could barely feel them. They inched their way up your body before stopping before your breasts, pausing for a moment then swiping his thumbs boldly over the underside of them.

Catching his wrists, you push his hands down and away from you, halting your kisses.

“What did I say about no touching, Rhett?” You firmly scold, watching his eyes widen and his cheeks grow impossibly redder, the flush continuing down to his chest.

“Take off your pants.” You command and let him go, watching as he jumps up and kicks off his boots, nearly tearing off his pants and boxers. His cock slapped against his lower stomach, the thick head a deep purple with the lack of attention. You start to wonder how far you can take this, break down this cowboy you hardly know.

“Get to your knees.” You say simply, watching as Rhett pauses only for a moment before dropping with a soft thud to the linoleum. His nose is basically touching the fabric of your thong, his warm breath fanning over you. Dropping your panties you tangle a fist in his hair and spread your legs a bit, pushing his face closer.

It doesn't take much convincing before his hands are on your thighs, urging them further apart. His tongue parts you with ease, a moan already rattling in your lungs. He laps at you like a man starved, stubble chafing your inner thighs as his brow furrows in concentration.

With his eyes closed you can see a few small freckles marking his eyelids, though you only notice it for a second until he sucks your clit in his mouth, your vision going blurry. It doesn't take long till you are pulling him away by his hair, a string of drool connecting his mouth to you as he parts. You don't even notice how bad your legs are shaking till he loosens his grasp on them.

Your hand cups his jaw, thumb running over his swollen pink lips before you nod to the bed, unable to speak. He clambers up to the bed, his knees popping as he stands. Crawling over his naked body, you straddle his narrow hips and pin his hands above his head, kissing down his neck. You suck a sneaky bruise under his collarbone, feeling him wiggle under you.

Looking up, you try to find something to restrain him with. The only thing nearby is your sweater resting on a pillow, and surely that won't do. Then you remember a certain something hanging from the wall behind you.

Getting up and snatching it from a nail in the wall, you return to your earlier position with your silky white sash in hand. Rhett looks up at his hands as you tie them together with the fabric. And you know your sister will be screaming about it later but you really can't find the mindset to even care right now.

Gently, you trail your manicured fingernails down his wrists and then his biceps, all the way down to his chest and torso till you wrap a hand around his thick cock, smearing the head through your dripping folds. You can feel his breathing quicken as you lean down to whisper in his ear.

“I'll show you how to ride a bull.”

And his gasp when you sink down will forever be one of the sweetest noises you will ever hear. His fists clench as you lower yourself slowly, your nails biting into his ribs. You pant till you're lightheaded, the stretch almost too much. Fully seated, you let your head fall back and a long whine escaped your throat. No matter how many times you blink, it’s still blurry, the ceiling nothing but a flat plane of color.

“God- you’resofuckin’beautiful-” Rhett praises you in one breath, his muscles getting twitchier the longer you wait to move. You grind down on him, his pubic hair just the right amount of friction to rub your swollen clit on.

Lolling your head back up, you bite your lip, raising yourself up a few centimeters before dropping back down, testing the waters. The sting is glorious and you can hardly keep your eyes open. Rhett struggles against the sash, clenching and unclenching his fists as you tentatively ride him. The cursive letters are all wonky, pulled tight against his wrists. You could bet money the tip of his dick was pressing hard against your cervix as you struggled to take him whole.

You can already feel sweat gathering in the pits of your knees, a sheen covering Rhett’s flushed chest as he panted and groaned, begging for more. The drag of his cock filled you to the brim, making you unable to take a breath when you were fully seated. You move your hands to his chest, thumbs brushing over his pink nipples before leaning down and sucking one into your mouth, pinching the other.

“Please darlin’ I- ohh…” Rhett whimpered, skin stretched thin over his chest and showing his ribs and he squirmed under your touch. His pleading tone made your pussy clench, a swell of ecstasy shooting you right in the chest.

You take pity on him, sitting up and quickening your pace as you steady yourself on his chest. The bed rattles under your motion, the mattress squeaking with effort. You can feel his hips canting upwards in an attempt to meet yours.

Slowing, you lean back and plant your hands firmly on his thighs behind you. The new change in position already has you keening, the head of his dick pressing into something that causes stars to burst behind your eyelids. A spot that you could never quite reach with your fingers when you were masturbating, a spot that has you choked up and gasping as you ride him.

Riding him recklessly, you feel a familiar pressure build in your lower half. You steady yourself on one hand, the other massaging your clit to bring you closer and closer. The two of you have locked eyes, half-lidded yes, but all you need to communicate as words die on your tongue. Your cheeks are burning, hair sticking to your forehead while beads of sweat run down your spine.

“Rh-Rhett… I’m gonna- I’m gonna-” You start, lips tingling as you fail to finish your thought. He was already nodding, a fist grasping at the pillow above him and you genuinely thought he was going to shred it.

The balloon inside you pops violently, so much so it has you bordering on dizzy and sick. A wet gush dampens your inner thighs and all of Rhett’s lower stomach, the frantic slapping of his hips on your ass turns increasingly wetter. It takes everything in you to hold yourself upright, gasping for air as your vision tunes in and out.

Catching yourself on his chest as you fall forward, he lifts his thighs and pounds into you like a jackhammer. Faintly you can hear him crying out your name like a prayer, as if it would be the only thing that could save him. His motions grow sloppy till he stops, the feeling of his hot cum pumping into you like a mini orgasm and zapping you back to life.

Your throat was sore from crying out, nose burning from hyperventilation. Placing soft kisses on Rhett’s warm neck, you blindly reach up and somehow untie him. His wrists are red and bordering on raw from struggling. The fabric is wrecked and stretched thin, the letters no longer spelling out your status.

It gets thrown off the bed in exchange for kisses from Rhett. With his hands finally free he cups your breasts and gently tweaks your nipples, smiling against your mouth when you whimper.

“Don't leave for the bar.” You murmur against his plush lips, his cock still inside your cum-filled pussy.

“Wouldn't dream of it.” He mumbles in return, rough hands smoothing down your bare back and making you shiver.

Maybe you will return to Wabang after all.

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melanieph321 · 1 month ago

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Ruben Dias - The Award Part 1/15

Prologue Part 2

Alright here we go. Hope you like it 👉👈☺️

Kiera Reed, upcoming superstar, the new it girl, multi Grammy Award winner…or so she wants to be. Realizing that the music industry has little to do with talent and a lot to do with status, Kiera is willing to do it all to give her music the recognition it deserves. Even if that means fake dating the stubborn, inconsiderate and undeniably arrogant football player, Ruben Dias. It is through lies, schemes and hurt that the "couple" comes to know each other. But through passion, love and sacrifice Kiera and Ruben go through lengths to help each other achieve their dreams.

Enjoy! ✨️

Seventy pounds for a new set of braids was crazy, and that's besides the cost of hair extensions. That's why, no matter how much money Kiera was making as an artist, she would never become careless with her money. Especially when her cousin Angie could do it all, knotless, dreads, a wig, a weave. You name it, cousin Angie could do it.

"Did you say seventy quid for what, four bundles?"

"Yes Ang, and that's before adding the fee for washing and drying."

"That's crazy. These celebrity stylists need to be locked up for real."

"That's what I said!"

Their laughter rattled the walls of Kiera's hotel room. Kiera, seated on the floor while cousin Angie stood over her, finishing up Kiera's half braided scalp.

"Girl, hold still or we're going to be here for another hour." Kiera's head was pulled back to stop her from moving around so much.

"Ouch. Careful Ang."

"Then hold still. Don't you need to be at the radio station at three?"

"And the studio at six. Please, no need to remind me." Kiera looked through the calendar on her phone. There were a lot of marked dots just for this weekend. Her manager and Odell must have seen it fitting to squeeze in as many appearances while they were still in Manchester. Kiera should have known that an Awards show was only the beginning to the longest seventy-two hours of her life.

"What time will you leave the studio?" Angie asked. "My friends from uni are looking to party."

"Hmm, can't say." Kiera swiped through her calendar again, checking today's agenda. Her studio session would keep her busy for at least four hours, and after the dinner reservation with Odell there wouldn't be much time to party. "I dunno, Ang there's this football game on Sunday and you know how Odell is. I can't be too hungover even if I'm just supposed to make an appearance."

"No, I get it. Would it be okay though, if my friends and I came around here when you and your hubby are out for dinner?"

Kiera chuckled. "Yeah, sure. Feel free to empty the mini bar."

"You read my mind."

The girls were back to mindless snickering, and once again Kieras head was tugged backwards.

"Ouch, Ang. Stop that."

"Hold still!"

Kiera had a minor headache by the time she arrived at the BBC radio station in Manchester. She was only scheduled to be on for the hour so chugging down a Panadol on the car ride there would have to do. Or so Kiera thought.

She was scheduled for a smaller interview with the radio stations junior hosts, three young women and their poor sound technician who didn't look to be older than nineteen. With the four of them boxed in the room together there wasn't enough air to go around once Kiera arrived with her throbbing headache.

"Give it up for Kiera Reed everybody, Britain's upcoming superstar!"

Kiera received a round of applause upon her arrival.

"Thank you, that's more than a generous introduction."

She had yet come to terms with her many achievements these past months. The recognition she was receiving was humbling and a little intriguing. However, it was easier for her to talk about her music with her younger audience since they were the ones who inspired her the most.

"So tell us Kiera, how long have you and Ruben Dias' been dating?"

"What? Who?"

"Yeah, tell us," The girls chanted. "Don't be shy. We saw how the two of you were cozying up to each other yesterday at the EMA's. Come on, we want all the tea."

"I wasn't— Who the hell is Ruben Dias?" Kiera was bewildered by the accusations. Certainly because her boyfriend, Odell, would be listening in to the show. It dawned on her though that the giddy women were referring to the man at the award show from last night. The way he had…had… Kiera had yet found the correct words to reminisce about what happened at the event. She had felt anxious on stage, unable to present the award for the best new artist, when Ruben, her co-presenter lifted the burden of her shoulders by well…welll…

"Okay, I take it that the two of you are keeping things private." The girls rolled their eyes in annoyance. "But if we played a game of Fuck, Merry, Kill, where would Mr Ruben Dias place?"

"Pardon?" Kiera could feel the Pandanol evaporating from her body with the way her brain was pounding in her head. She expected to do a serious interview about her music and her career. But it seems like she was set up with yet another basement talk show, who thrived on solemnly speaking on celebrity gossip. Despite her disappointment Kiera knew better not to trash the vibe, and would do her best to play her part just like she was trained to do.

"Would you fuck, kill or merry Ruben Dias?"

Kiera cleared her throat. "Ruben Dias and…?"

The girls shifted their heads. "What do you mean?"

Kiera smiled, a fake smile, as if excited to please their needs for details on her private life. "Well…Ruben Dias and who else? Fuck, Merry and Kill usually includes more people to pick from, no?"

"Oh my god, yes! Of course." The girls were bouncing in their seats like young school girls. They put their heads together and whispered some names between them.

While she was momentarily ignored Kiera glanced at the blushing sound technician and gestured towards her wrist for him to tell her how much time she had left on the show.

"Eh, fifteen minutes, Miss."

"Thank you."

"Okay, we've got it!" The girls exclaimed, having successfully assembled a trio of men for Kiera to fuck, merry and kill. "Ruben Dias, Central Cee and eh…Princess Kate Middleton."

"Right." Kiera sighed internally. But to get things over with. "Kill Central Cee, obviously. He's just a kid." They were actually around the same age, Central Cee and Kiera. But the gasping protests that followed her choice told Kiera to stand by it. Though, her next decision was a bit trickier, and rightfully controversial. "Fuck Kate Middleton."

"Really?" The girls were giggling, blushing and giggling to a point where their faces turned bright red. "You're such an icon for saying that. Princess Kate Middleton, really? I reckon she would be shit in bed."

"Emma?"

"What? She would be. Most Likely."

It was a dreadful fifteen minutes. The most dreadful fifteenth minutes in Kiera's twenty-five years of life. Was this really what she had to do to fulfill her dreams, a life of entertaining the public with her private life? She had started out singing in church somewhere in Erdington, Birmingham. When Kiera's dreams were solemnly her own. Now her dreams were being shared with the world. Torn by it. All in the name of live entertainment.

"What about Ruben Dias?" One of the girls asked.

"Oh, right." Kiera was brought back from her thoughts. "I'd marry him, I guess."

"So, the two of you are dating?"

"What, no. I have a boyfriend."

"Ruben Dias?"

"No, his name is Odell. He's my…."

The BBC Radio jingle shook the studio, startling only Kiera.

"Well folks, looks like that's all the time we have for today." The girls took to their microphones, a sudden professionalism in the way they went about. "That was a lovely game of fuck, merry and kill with none other than Britain's newest superstar, Kiera Reed! If you want to hear more from her you can catch her newest single, Pipe Dreams, right after this short break."

The girls got up from the table as the commercial played in the background. They thanked Keira for her participation and wished to have her back soon.

Not even an hour later a car was sent to Kiera's hotel to pick her up and take her to the studio where Odell and the producers were waiting.

"Hi babe, how was your day?"

"Awful." Kiera was glad to be swept up in her boyfriend's embrace, inhaling the smell of his fruitful aftershave.

"Awful? Didn't the Radio show go well?" She was tilted back in his arms, Odell tracing his thumb along Kiera's eyebrow. He possessed the loveliest pair of eyes, a mix of green and blue. Rare for someone of his complexion. She had really struck her luck being discovered by him. He was truly her partner in crime.

"No, didn't you listen in?"

His guilty eyes told otherwise "Sorry babe. I guess I missed it. But hey, listen to this sick beat that we've been working on."

What followed was a long studio session, stretching well into the night. Kiera was left with a sore throat after recording her vocals on over 20 tracks. And forget about the dinner reservations. By the time she and Odell got back to the hotel, all restaurants in town were closed.

"You sleep tight. I'll be back to pick you up in the morning."

"Can't you stay for a little bit?" He was truly a gentleman, her boyfriend. In the beginning of their relationship Kiera was told that it was because of their age gap, Odell being well into his thirties. That their relationship wouldn't look good in the eyes of the public. But as the love between them matured Odell eased up on his fear for public display of affection, even though he and Kiera had yet spent a night together, their similar religious upbringing preventing them to.

"I'll be back first thing in the morning." He assured, allowing himself to kiss Kiera good night. She fell asleep, dreaming of that kiss, that and other things involving Odell's lips roaming her body. She had never desired a man as much as she desired him, even though they both agreed to save themselves until marriage. However, Kiera wouldn't mind breaking a few religious rules, not if it was done in the name of true love.

*******

The next morning was as hectic as the previous. Despite her drunken rampage with her uni friends, Kiera's cousin Angie showed up at the hotel just in time to do Kiera's makeup ahead of today's appearances.

"Since when do you watch football?" Cousin Angie asked, amused to hear that Kiera was personally invited to watch the fixture between Everton and Manchester City. Angie herself had never witnessed a game, despite having spent three years living in the heart of football legacy, Manchester City.

"It's Odell." Kiera sighed. "He really wants to go, but I don't know. We received the call after the EMA's by some publicist on one of the teams. I think they're only doing it because they feel sorry for what happened."

"You mean how you got all choked up on stage." Angie chuckled. "Yeah, trust me, we all felt sorry for you."

"I didn't choke up." Kiera snapped. Her protests earned her a slap by a makeup brush.

"Will you relax? I was joking." Angie brushed off the excess powder on Kiera's cheek. "People could barely tell how nervous you were."

"You really think so?"

"Yes. I only know because you told me. Besides, what really got people talking was you with that man's lips in your ears."

"Oh, will you shut up about that."

Angie laughed as she dodge Kiera's swinging arms. "No, but seriously. What did he say to you?"

"Who, Ruben?" Kiera's arms stopped swinging.

"Ruben is he? So you know him by name now."

"Shut up. I won't tell you what he said if you don't." It was becoming annoying, her cousin Angie, another person to remind Kiera of how a man, a complete stranger, had to come to her rescue during the most humiliating night of her life.

"Okay, okay, I'll stop." Angie assured. "Now tell me what he said."

"Fine." Kiera sighed, reminiscing on what it felt like, having someone as tall as Ruben towering over her like a guard on duty. It was embarrassing to say that Kiera's desire for Odell had momentarily been mixed up with the events of that night. While she adored her boyfriend's lips on her body, Kiera's fantasies were getting invaded by the sensation of a gentle caress, just below her earlobe. Ruben's lips, whispering such sweet endeavors to a woman he just met. "You did good." Kiera muttered, the words barley audible in the silence of the hotel room.

"Come again?" Angie frowned.

"I said, you did good."

"Who?"

"Not who, me. Or at least that's what he said."

"Who, Ruben?"

Kiera bit her lip, nodding her head.

"Ruben Dias? The Ruben Dias whispered the words — you did good."

"Kiera." She shyly added .

"Huh?"

Kiera looked to her hands. "He whispered, You did good, Kiera. Very good."

"Great. That's just fucking great."

"What is?" Kiera turned in her chair, regarding her cousin who looked to want to stab her eyes out with the tweezers.

"I can't believe you get to live out my fantasies of having two lovers yearning for you."

"I don't have—" Heat rose to Kiera's pampered face. "I barely know Ruben. Sure I'll see him today at the game, but I'll be there with Odell, my boyfriend, to relieve your memory loss." Kiera withheld the fact that after learning her rescuer's full name at the radio show, she had spent the rest of that lonely evening googling her knight in shiny armour. Of course, leaving her terribly guilty for reliving the humiliating events of that Award show, purly in the hopes of putting a face on the voice that still raised the hairs on the back of her neck. It happened just at the thought of his lips in her ear. A thought that had occurred more than once since it happened.

"I dunno Keke." Said Angie, unable to talk and do makeup at the same time. "After your little radio show yesterday and the fact that you're seeing him again today, the universe really seems to want you and this guy to reunite, you know, to keep the flame he lit alive."

"What flame? You're delusional." Kiera said bitterly. "Now finish my makeup or I'll tell aunt Tamika that you're failing uni." To this she earned a laugh from her favorite cousin. It was pure luck that the EMA's happened to be in Manchester this year. Usually the two of them wouldn't have had a chance to get together until the holiday's, at least not now when Kiera's career was really taking off.

Prologue

Part 2

#fanfiction #football imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football angst #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine

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ask-the-denalis · 3 months ago

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I got a curious question for the whole coven

You guys were turned in different time periods way back when, but you guys also went through a bunch of different time periods, just going through the centuries. As well as moving around at some points going through different languages and perhaps the ever changing slang/lingo/phrases

Did you guys ever have trouble with learning a new language? Or when different time periods came, and updating phrases and such? Like, do you guys ever slip back to maybe really old phrases some people might not use? Do you ever get frustrated when an old word that perfectly describes something no longer gets used and there isn't an equivalent in the modern day?

Like, do you guys ever slip back to maybe really old phrases some people might not use? Do you ever get frustrated when an old word that perfectly describes something no longer gets used and there isn't an equivalent in the modern day?

*cough* Tanya *cough*

Katrina...

Pay her no mind, Carmen. Any kind of recognition will only further encourage her.

Pfft.

Hello love,

as my sister so charmingly pointed out, I am indeed quite fond of maintaining a sophisticated manner of speech. There is a certain grace to it that, unfortunately, seems to have gotten lost somewhere along the way as the centuries progressed.

And thank God for that.

I agree with Tanya. It is truly a shame...

That being said, I aim to preserve this family´s linguistic heritage, as far as I can. With...varying degrees of success.

Bite me.

However, I think I speak for all of us when I say that adapting to any new language has been fairly uncomplicated. Our kind is quick to adjust, if needed.

Yup. We´re awesome. (I´m the best though.)

Sure.

Agreed!

Indeed.

Yours truly, 💋

- Tanya, leader of the Denali coven

Sooo...

I think I can answer all of the above in one and the same way:

No.

...

I dunno what else you want me to say, honestly. It´s as simple as that. 🤷‍♀️

"Simple" describes it well...

Stay charged! ⚡

- Kate the Great

Hello mortal,

as Tanya already mentioned, learning a new language (or any skill, for that matter) comes with little difficulty for us. One of the "perks" of our nature, I guess...

And the muscles.

As for "updating phrases:"

It's quite similar to the language matter, I'd say. We´re quick to adjust, if needed. In fact, I'd argue that most of us see it as a welcome change...

Hm...

Say it louder!

I myself don´t have a preference for any particular style of speech. I use of a variety of them, depending on the situation as well as my mood that day.

The mood in question: 💩

Do I ever get frustrated? Getting "frustrated" would imply caring enough to let it ruin my day. I can think of a million better ways to spend my time.

Her majesty doesn´t concern herself with common folk problems.

Busy Regards, 📖

- Irina Denali

Hello dear!

And what a clever question! Or rather, questions. 🤭

First and foremost, I find that every time period I have experienced so far has had its own pleasures and deserves recognition. While I agree with Tanya that the older, more formal ways of speaking carry a certain charm, that doesn’t mean newer generations don’t offer something of equal value. They each have their own merit.

I suppose...

Well said, my love.

With that said, I never really minded adapting my vocabulary to current times. On the contrary, I found it quite exciting! When one lives for as long as we do, you take any chance at "staying sharp" that you can get. 🤭

I was just glad to see ppl finally getting that stick out their asses.

...However, I have to admit that I find myself "slipping back" from time to time. As they say, old habits are hard to break. 🙈

I cherish those moments. They´re quite fetching. ;3

With love, 🫶

- Carmen, passionate home stylist

Greetings,

as you might have discerned from my previous remark, I myself practise a more...traditional form of speech. Although, I must admit, it is less a matter of preference and more a matter of...well...habit, for lack of a better word.

You are too precious, my heart. <3

Nevertheless, it was quite disheartening to see long-established linguistic customs disappear over the centuries.

Truly...

Now, as my coven members rightfully stated, our kind is quick to adapt to new circumstances. My penchant for a more formal manner of speaking is purely habitual, as mentioned beforehand.

Meaning: Your inner party animal´s just waiting to come out. B)

I also agree with my wife that there is value to be found throughout many stages of linguistic history. It would be rather presumptuous to assume that one era holds supremacy over the rest.

Yes...how presumptuous indeed...

As for "getting frustrated:"

I think you will find that I am rather composed fellow. :)

This coven is truly blessed to have you, dear.

No shit.

"Composed" is one way of putting it. ;)

One of the countless reasons I fell for you, querido. <3

Best wishes, 🙏

- Eleazar, admirer of the written word

#ask the denalis #tanya denali #leader of the denali coven #kate denali #the great #irina denali #carmen denali #passionate home stylist #eleazar denali #admirer of the written word

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mariailoveyou-guerin · 9 months ago

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His stylist can’t dress him for sh*t but GOD I love him he’s such a great genuine person been fan of him since 2011 and I always reminded off how an amazing lovely person he truly is he deserves everything he’s getting and more he deserves all the recognition this rise and attention hype hes gotten and is still getting couldnt be happier for a person other then Mike F another man of mine I’ve liked long before people recognised their true raw talents(about time too) and incredible personality!

it’s fcvk his horrible character Bridgerton and Shonda but thank you also to them for giving him this chance for the recognition and acknowledgment still big FCVK Shonda tho I could never give her 10s bc I don’t like her

#mike faist #jonathan bailey #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton

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bigassbowlingballhead · 2 years ago

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so according to variety magazine/website both rise of pink ladies and city on fire do quality for emmys. so in both shows which actors deserved the honors and why

for rise of the pink ladies

the girls

Cheyenne Isabel Wells (Olivia) i think deserves at least a nom for rise of the pink ladies, she was so good all season at everything. Her comedic timing, dramatic beats. She was believable as a teenage girl hopelessly in love with her teacher and trying to move on past him to someone better and more age appropriate.

Tricia Fukuhara (Nancy) absolutely deserves recognition for her comedy. She had me in stiches every time she appeared on screen. She may not have had that much of a storyline until the later part of the season, but she delivered every time. Her intensity of the comedy really sold it for me.

Supporting girls

Madison Thompson (Susan) I'm a little biased, because I'm a sucker for a "defrosting ice queen" trope. (think brooke davis, naomi clark, blair waldorf)

her storyline was tragic and she started off so frigid and sealed off, rightfully with what's happened to her. But watching her soften and open up, she really did an incredible job.

I do think they might manage a nom for original score or original song. (the cynthia and lydia one, the name is escaping me)

As for city on fire

Jemima Kirke (Regan) broke my heart some many times especially in the flash back where it explains the rift between her and William. And then during the blackout in the finale with Keith, she really carried the adult storyline for me.

and as much as I love and adore city on fire, I don't really see any other acting noms coming from the show, however, art direction????

Rebecca Lord-Surratt (art director) city on fire was one of the most beautiful things I've seen this year. I loved everything about the stylistic choices made and like the popart motif worked into the real world through Sam's eyes???? so incredibly well done.

#in reality i don't see any of these coming true #i think both of these shows will likely be overlooked at any major award show #these type of shows tend to be #rise of the pink ladies #city on fire #Cheyenne Isabel Wells #Tricia Fukuhara #Madison Thompson #Jemima Kirke #Rebecca Lord-Surratt

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amitynoida02 · 2 days ago

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Fashion Designer Course at Amity Noida: Your Runway to Success

Fashion is more than just clothing; it’s a statement, an art form, and a thriving global industry. If you have an eye for creativity and a passion for design, a Fashion Designer Course can be your stepping stone to a rewarding career.

Amity Noida offers a Fashion Designing Course that blends theoretical knowledge with hands-on experience. This program equips students with the essential skills to thrive in the competitive fashion industry. Whether you aspire to become a designer, stylist, or entrepreneur, this course will set you on the right path.

Why Choose a Fashion Designer Course at Amity Noida?

Industry-Focused Curriculum

A Fashion Design Course should not only teach design principles but also prepare students for the real-world fashion industry. Amity Noida ensures that students gain insights into fashion trends, garment construction, textile science, and digital fashion illustration. With an industry-aligned curriculum, students are well-prepared to meet the demands of the fashion world.

Hands-on Learning Approach

Unlike traditional courses, Amity Noida’s College Fashion Designer Course**** emphasizes practical learning. Students get access to state-of-the-art design labs, workshops, and internship opportunities. From sketching designs to creating finished garments, students experience the full design process firsthand.

Exploring Career Opportunities in Fashion Design

Diverse Career Paths

A Fashion Designer Course opens doors to a variety of career opportunities. Graduates can work as fashion designers, merchandisers, stylists, textile designers, or even start their own fashion brands. The fashion industry offers numerous avenues for those willing to explore and innovate.

Internship and Placement Support

Amity Noida bridges the gap between education and industry by offering internship and placement support. Through collaborations with leading fashion houses and brands, students get the chance to work with professionals, gaining valuable industry exposure and networking opportunities.

Learning Beyond the Classroom

Industry Visits and Guest Lectures

A successful Fashion Designing Course should offer more than just textbooks and lectures. Amity Noida organizes industry visits, fashion shows, and guest lectures by renowned designers, allowing students to stay updated with the latest fashion trends and innovations.

Participation in Fashion Events

Students enrolled in the Fashion Design Course at Amity Noida get opportunities to showcase their work at prestigious fashion events. These platforms help students gain recognition and practical experience, preparing them for a competitive industry.

How to Enroll in the Fashion Designer Course?

Admission Requirements

To enroll in a College Fashion Designer Course, candidates should have a creative mindset and a passion for fashion. Amity Noida offers flexible admission criteria, ensuring that students from diverse backgrounds can apply.

Scholarships and Financial Aid

Amity Noida believes in nurturing talent by offering scholarships and financial aid to deserving students. This initiative helps aspiring designers pursue their dreams without financial constraints.

Conclusion: Take the First Step Toward Your Fashion Career

Fashion is an ever-evolving field that thrives on creativity and innovation. The Fashion Designer Course at Amity Noida provides students with the right skills, exposure, and industry connections to build a successful career in fashion. If you dream of making a mark in the fashion world, this course is your perfect launchpad.

#fashiondesigncourse

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ogradyfilm · 2 months ago

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Recently Viewed: A Diary of Chuji’s Travels

Although he is widely regarded as a pioneer of the jidaigeki genre, Daisuke Ito’s directorial efforts remain elusive in the West. Fans of boutique home video distribution labels (including Criterion, Arrow, and the no-longer-defunct AnimEigo) are probably more familiar with his work as a screenwriter; during the chanbara renaissance of the 1960s, he contributed scripts to some of the most entertaining entries in the Zatoichi and Sleepy Eyes of Death series. Fortunately, the universe tossed an early Christmas present my way: the opportunity to see A Diary of Chuji’s Travels—often considered to be his magnum opus—on the big screen.

And what a delightful experience it was! Despite existing only in a heavily truncated state—like many silent era productions, the currently available print is cobbled together from disparate sources, and several fragments remain lost—the movie never feels incomplete, thanks in no small part to its episodic narrative structure (originally, exhibitors would have presented these now-compiled chapters in a serialized format). Ito adapts the adventures of the eponymous folk hero—a chivalrous outlaw akin to Robin Hood—with aplomb, deftly juggling various moods and tones: pathos, humor, romance, tragedy, suspense. The scene in which our ailing protagonist—partially paralyzed by a chronic illness—evades the combined forces of the local police and a rival gang is particularly thrilling, showcasing the kinetic camerawork and frenetic fight choreography that were apparently the filmmaker’s stylistic trademarks.

Japan Society’s screening of the feature was accompanied by a pair of live performers that deserve recognition. While benshi Ichiro Kataoka's narration seldom deviated from the perfectly legible intertitles, his excellent comedic timing consistently enriched what might otherwise have been rather dry exposition, and his infrequent embellishments were always welcome additions to the text. Musician Sumie Kaneko’s evocative instrumentals (which utilized both shamisen and koto to great effect—an impressive display of versatility) and mournful vocals likewise elevated the material, lending the action an appropriate sense of gravitas and poignancy.

Between A Diary of Chuji’s Travels and BAM’s The Art of the Benshi program, 2024 has been a real blast from the past, providing a fascinating glimpse into a relatively obscure period in the history of cinema. I sincerely hope that the trend continues next year and beyond; the increasingly rare craft of “talking the pictures” ought to be preserved for future generations.

#A Diary of Chuji's Travels #Daisuke Ito #Kunisada Chuji #Ichiro Kataoka #Sumie Kaneko #Japan Society #Japanese cinema #Japanese film #silent cinema #silent film #silent movie #jidaigeki #jidai-geki #chanbara #chambara #benshi #film #writing #movie review

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mi6011jesspark · 4 months ago

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Podcast titles that caught my eye

when did we start kissing?

Why are deep fakes happening?

would you want to meet an alien?

How could spider sex unlock secrets to engineering?

why do we develop bad habits?

can data find me a date?

Where is my hoverboard?

why should we cuddle?

Can computers predict crime?

What did Hollywood get right and wrong in these films?

should robots have an ethical black box?

I though it best to scroll through all possible podcasts to get a feeling for what type of topics would be discussed. While scrolling, a few jumped out at me as topics I'd like to explore further in this process.

These were just the first few that leapt out. I have however listened to some other podcasts while in the shower, they have some great concepts but weren't interesting in the animation ideas they generated (see next post)

Simplified explanations for why these podcasts intrigued me

-when did we start kissing?

positive topic and just a question i feel like id like to know. Romance is such a large part of our culture and i would like to exlore that.

can explore different ways to convey that 'fuzzy feeling' people get and ways to portray different sensations. (that sounds weird)

-why are deep fakes happening?

an issue that is prevalent within modern society, korea is currently in the middle of a 'scandal' revolving the exposure of a large group of men (crime ring if you ask me) that have deepfaked the women in their lives into sexual and explicit scenarios and sharing that with their peers on a communication app called telegram (Nth room scandal but deep faked)

also ai is rooting itself into our industry so can explore that, would lead to a cool visual style choice

would you want to meet an alien?

yes i would.

can open the door for a more character design focus (design of the alien) but also just fun stylistic choices.

podcast explores the issue of resource inequality which is something i am passionate about.

how can spider sex unlock secrets to engineering?

id be surprised if anyone didn't have their interest peaked by the words spider sex if i'm being honest. i feel like people will expect me to choose this topic as it sort of links to my aesthetic (spiders = creepy = goth) but also like the exploration of two things that seem completely separate from each other.

why do we develop bad habits?

i feel like this would be helpful to explore as last year was pretty rough and i am on the road to bettering myself. although i feel it may also be a little disheartening to reflect my struggles into a project like this.

can data find me a date?

the idea of something as human as romance / feeling and the robotic-ness of data and algorithm is a weird mix. how does life become lifeless?

where is my hoverboard?

could really explore the retro-futuristic theme which would be great from a design point. like exploring where we thought humanity would be.

why should we cuddle?

cute idea, could have some nice visual exploration. just a nice theme to explore.

can computers predict crime?

again algorithm vs human is a cool concept, i have interests in true crime so this is a good topic to explore.

what did Hollywood get right and wrong in these films?

obviously i have interests in film as i run the film society. could tie into my outside interests

should all robots have an ethical black box?

enjoy how the idea is presented as a story rather than an open discussion however it does make it slightly more difficult to figure out how to be more creative with the idea as opposed to being more exploitative with visuals and ideas

who was Henrietta Leavitt?

Like exploring astronomy, could lead to cool visuals. Also enjoy exploring 'history's forgotten women' who should have received the recognition they deserved.

are bats superheros or villains?

i like bats, they obviously fit into my aesthetic but i also just think they're really cute. Like the idea of exploring why they were demonised and how it may not be fully justified.

does love have a scent?

could be really fun to explore, also a fun question. not much more to say.

are parallel universes real?

i like this idea, especially fun as it is beginning to be explored more in the media. eg in the MCU

where does human life begin?

This question is always important, also relevant within recent society (think roe v wade in america)

what are the origins of earth and the solar system?

Again a question that always intrigues me, i like the whole philosophical pondering around it

what are the origins of the universe?

similar to the above 2 reasons

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savage-kult-of-gorthaur · 1 year ago

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"THE MOST VICIOUS OF ALL": HEAVY 30th TO THE "WOLVERINE BLUES" LP -- UNLEASHED ON THIS DAY!

PIC(S) INFO: Spotlight on the 30th anniversary of the "Wolverine Blues" LP, the third studio album by Swedish death metal band ENTOMBED, released on 4 October 1993 by Earache Records. The album displays a completely different sound from previous releases, combining elements of hard rock, heavy metal, and hardcore punk in a style later dubbed "death 'n' roll" or "rot 'n'roll."

"ALBUM OVERVIEW: "ENTOMBED, one of the premier death metal bands of the early '90s, boldly ventured into new musical territory with "Wolverine Blues," the band's third excellent album in a row. "Wolverine Blues" is such a departure from past efforts, in fact, it's debatable whether this music even qualifies as death metal, given its standard rock characteristics: comprehensible vocals, steady tempos, and verse-chorus-verse songwriting.

None of these characteristics is associated with death metal, and indeed, purists might perceive Entombed's development on "Wolverine Blues" as an abandonment of the very principles that won the band such underground acclaim in the first place. Some purists might even go so far as to consider the album a sellout. Most reasonable listeners, however -- including even the most impassioned death metal purists -- will likely find much to appreciate on "Wolverine Blues."

It's that impressive. For sure, Entombed's previous albums, "Left Hand Path" (1990) and "Clandestine" (1991), were excellent, among the finest death metal efforts of their time, but their stylistic trappings were well evident. The growled vocals, breakneck tempo shifts, and amorphous song structures, to cite a few key characteristics, were fairly inaccessible to the type of mainstream metal listener who would consider METALLICA or PANTERA extreme.

"Wolverine Blues," on the other hand, is that rare album brutal enough for the death metal crowd yet at the same time accessible enough for the metal mainstream. For instance, the vocals of Lars-Göran Petrov are mostly comprehensible; however, they're delivered with such ferocity, they're as powerful as, if not more so than, the most guttural death-growl.

Likewise, the guitars of Uffe Cederlund and Alex Hellid riff along at a steady tempo, but they're so heavy, they cut like a buzzsaw (as on "Heavens Die") and pummel away like a jackhammer ("Demon"). Along with the drumming of Nicke Andersson, which is hard-hitting yet never to the point of blastbeat, it's the songwriting of "Wolverine Blues" that is most removed from the confines of death metal.

These are especially distinctive songs by ENTOMBED, every single one each unique in its own way and graced with a memorable hook, particularly the album standouts "Wolverine Blues," "Hollowman," and "Out of Hand." Clearly, a lot can be made of ENTOMBED's bold venture into new musical territory with "Wolverine Blues," and you can bet metalheads will debate the album's stylistic merits for years to come.

What's beyond argument, though, is that "Wolverine Blues" is the third impressive effort in a row by one of the best metal bands of the early '90s, and as impressive as the past two albums were, this one is by far the most inviting and most deserving of widespread recognition."

-- ALLMUSIC (review by Jason Birchmeier)

Source: https://www.picuki.com/tag/entombedband (all pics found on Picuki).

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buscandoelparaiso · 6 years ago

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i just watched anitta’s visual album and honestly 👑 👑 👑 👑

ariana grande WHO?

#his stylist and make up artist are HEROES honestly #and the whole concept of every video the difference of the sounds and the styles #a great job tbh #she deserves more recognition #she sings in 3 languages!!!!

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jlwilliams-us · 2 years ago

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The Second-Greatest American Ballet Choreographer You Never Heard Of

[Originally published in October 1995]

Ask a balletomane to list some major American choreographers, and the odds are good that Lew Christensen will not be among the first that leap to mind. Thumb through a few general reference works — or even dance-specific ones — and you're likely to find him mentioned only as a secondary entry, if at all.

It's not that Christensen is obscure. Well-informed ballet enthusiasts know the story of Salt Lake City's three Christensen brothers — grandsons of an immigrant Danish balletmaster — who brought ballet to the western United States: Harold, the progenitor of Ballet West; Willam, the founder of the San Francisco Ballet; and Lew, its artistic director from 1952 until his death in 1985. Or they may recall Christensen as the nation's first homegrown premier danseur: the first American to dance the title role in George Balanchine's Apollon Musagète, and later principal dancer with Balanchine's seminal Ballet Caravan.

As a choreographer, though, Christensen seems to have drifted away from the reputation mainstream. Although he created more than 100 works — including a genuine historical landmark (Filling Station, 1938) and a much-loved minor classic (Con Amore, 1953) — comparatively few are staged today. And few younger choreographers, even those he brought to the San Francisco Ballet, chose to follow his stylistic lead, as Arlene Croce noted in a 1978 review.

"Oddly enough, their work — on this showing, at least — derives from everywhere but the Christensen repertory," she wrote. "Maybe he's just too eccentric, and maybe his mind does wander, but it is a choreographic mind of no small distinction. The Christensen ballets hold a provocative secret. They ought to be much better known than they are."

Today, Christensen enthusiasts still feel that his works deserve more recognition than they're getting. Among those trying to do something about it are two of his San Francisco Ballet alumni: Richard Carter, now balletmaster of the Miami City Ballet, who stages Christensen revivals throughout the country; and Robert Vickrey, now artistic manager of Pittsburgh Ballet Theater and former artistic director of Nebraska's Ballet Omaha company -- where he became one of the few contemporary artistic directors to build a Christensen repertory from scratch.

Between them, the two may know Christensen's works from more angles than anyone else alive. From the 1950s until Christensen's death, Carter served him at various times as dancer, ballet master, production manager and technical director. During his nine years at the helm of Ballet Omaha, Vickrey inaugurated the "Lew Christensen Project," introducing audiences to a rotating trio of ballets selected from the choreographer's early, middle and late periods: Filling Station, Con Amore, and Il Distratto (1967.) Both men are quietly but firmly convinced that Christensen was one of America's greatest choreographers — possibly the second greatest, after Balanchine, and entirely different in style and approach.

Carter, a sincere Balanchine admirer, nonetheless shows no reluctance to mention Christensen in the same breath. Often, he finds that the clearest way to illustrate a unique characteristic of Christensen's style is to point to Balanchine for contrast.

"Balanchine used to say that ‘ballet is woman.'" he said. "Lew Christensen must have said ‘ballet is man.' All his works are male-oriented. Balanchine glorified the female… Lew was more interested in the male dancing.

"The role of Mac [in Filling Station] he choreographed for himself, and no one has ever been able to do it like him. I've seen movies in the Library of the Performing Arts in New York, and it's incredible! He was a great male dancer. There was one step in particular where he'd do a series of turns in a circle, and he used to do them so fast that he'd lean into the circle. When he went to set the work on me – I couldn't do that! No one could do that! So he had to rechoreograph it. Of course I was really disappointed that I couldn't live up to his expectations – and then years later I saw that movie, and I thought, ‘My God! He was a strong, strong dancer.' As strong as I ever saw.

"Balanchine had become an American, but came from a European/Asian influence. He had his ideas set before he came here. But Lew was American from the very core. He grew up in Utah. The ballet Filling Station is the first *American* ballet – did you know that? Not very many people do. It had an American theme, American composer, American choreographer, American scenery and costumes, and was danced by Americans. There was not one European in it. It preceded Billy the Kid, which a lot of people think is the first American ballet, by about nine months.

"All Lew's works, I must tell you, have that same signature. Balanchine was able to choreograph Americana…he picked up things that he saw in America and put them, in an ingenious way, in a ballet. The "Rubies" section of Jewels – it's very American, jazzy. The last movement of Concerto Barocco starts with the Charleston step. This is Balanchine.

"Lew, on the other hand, didn't pick up and use tricks like that. His [movement] themes were very American to begin with. I don't know how to articulate the difference. I can feel it, but I can't tell you what it is. One of the differences is the flourish of the port de bras, the arms. Balanchine had a very rococo arm – actually it was French, wasn't it? He got it from Violette Verdy, very flowing. Whereas Lew thought that was too much, and he made it very square, very basic. And he wanted dancers to dance that way – not with all this affectation, if you will. That's one of the differences."

Another difference, Carter said — one that sometimes makes it hard for today's dancers to learn Christensen's style — is that his basic "atom" of choreography was different from Balanchine's.

"Lew choreographed in phrases," he said. "Like sentences, you know: da-dum, da-dum, da-da-da-dum – that was all one step, although it was a phrase of music. Balanchine didn't do that – Balanchine choreographed steps. It's hard to imagine the difference – but to a dancer, it's a world of difference.

"The steps that Balanchine created are phenomenal. Absolutely phenomenal. He did things such as, just a simple chaîné turn, just a chain of turns: in one ballet he would do it turned out, then in another ballet he would do it turned in, then in the next ballet he would do it in first position, next ballet he would do it in fourth position. It was incredible – he would take steps and do them in a different way, and that's the miracle of Balanchine. It was incredible the way he did this.

"But Lew related directly from the music – it came from the music. I don't know if Balanchine ever tried to do that – he never tried to explain the music. He went beyond the music, into another level. Lew tried to explain the music, the phrasing."

Getting dancers to grasp this key difference is a major challenge in staging Christensen's choreography, Carter said. "It's hard to get them to dance in terms of phrases," he said. "That's very difficult. The last company I was [staging a work] in, for the Russians it was like pulling teeth. In the Russian training, they do a step, and stop. They do another step, and stop.

"This isn't that way. Each time you bend your leg, that's a preparation for the next step. You go up, you come down, you go up again. And then you go up again. You just keep going. Russians aren't used to that. They're used to going up, down, and stop; and then you start the next step – up, down and stop. I had to get very angry and insist, and carry on, and create quite a scene to get these people to understand what I was talking about – that you can't adapt the work to you; you have to go to the work. You can't change ballet to you – you've got to become a dancer."

Even Christensen's methodical working style was diametrically opposed to Balanchine's, the two recalled.

"He'd always try to plan his patterns absolutely." Vickrey said. "He'd come into rehearsal with specific plans.'

"…Which was absolutely anti-Balanchine," said Carter. "Balanchine asked Lew to do a work; it was called Pocahontas. Lew was very enthusiastic. He came in with all these reams of notes and everything. He came into the studio – and Balanchine came and took his notes! ‘Now, dear,' he said, ‘just paint.'

"And Lew said, ‘What?!' He couldn't believe it! Lew told me this on the Q.T. – we got drunk one night, and he was telling me - he said, ‘I used to write the stuff on my shirt, and sneak it in when Balanchine wasn't looking.' He couldn't remember all the stuff!

"Balanchine was just the opposite. I used to watch him, and he was a genius. He used to come into the studio and say [imitating his voice] ‘Now, dancers, here's what we're going to do,' and then WHOOSH! The stuff would pour out, and people were trying to remember it, and it was crazy – it was coming out so fast you couldn't memorize it. And he'd get irritated if he had to go back. He was overwhelming, really.

"But Lew wasn't that way. Lew would come in, and everything was sort of planned out – he'd have worked it out at home, and he knew what he was going to do when he got there."

That preplanning extended beyond choreography to every aspect of theater, Carter said:

"He used to build [model] theaters, with lights and everything. One of his in-laws invented Celastic…it's a plastic-impregnated cloth. You'd put acetone on it, and put it over something, and it would take that shape. You could make almost anything with it. He used to make molds and then cast these proscenium arches; he'd have a whole theater, complete with fly curtains and everything, and he'd even have little spotlights made out of flashlights. And he used to manipulate these and work out his ballets.

"He knew a lot about theater. If you look at any of his ballets, they're very carefully thought out. He had a lot of background in technical theater – he knew a lot about lighting, he knew a lot about backdrops, props and all that kind of stuff. Did you ever see A Masque of Beauty and the Shepherd? It's lost now – I mean, I could reconstruct it, but… anyway, it was a charming work. It was about the Judgment of Paris – the apple, and the three goddesses vying for the apple. At the very end of this ballet they constructed a big ship, right on the stage, in front of your eyes, that happened so fast it was just BANG – ‘What? How'd you do that?' It was incredible, actually incredible. He knew how to do these things.

"Balanchine, you know, was just the dance; he didn't like a lot of scenery and costumes. He didn't do that until later, when he got into the State Theater, and it looked awfully bare. But Lew incorporated all these various theatrical things at all times, and used them in an intelligent way. He was interested in that kind of stuff, and ways that he could use it in dance."

Christensen himself attributed some of his theatrical savvy to his pre-ballet days on the vaudeville circuit. And it was there, Vickrey thinks, that he picked up another trait: his willingness to make his ballets entertaining. This accessibility, he said, makes Christensen's repertory ideal for artistic directors who need to program both for artistic quality and for audience-building appeal.

"A lot of what I always liked about his works is that they are so accessible," he said. "I think a lot of that goes back to his vaudeville history, to pleasing an audience. Trying to be intelligent about his work, and trying to get his ideas across choreographically – but always knowing that he needed to please his audience. Especially in a situation like San Francisco, where he had to sell those tickets – people had to come back."

"I read a review that said, ‘An intelligent person can see the San Francisco Ballet and come away rewarded,'" Carter said. "But I think an unintelligent person can go and see some of Lew Christensen's works, and come away rewarded too. It sort of hits you at all levels. It's not so esoteric that it's only for aficionados."

Another Christensen asset for artistic directors, Vickrey said, is flexibility. Most of his works don't demand a large corps of perfectly-matched dancers, because Christensen seldom had that luxury himself.

"He didn't necessarily have what San Francisco Ballet has now as a standard of style, or what New York City Ballet has that's come out of their school," he said. "He would have a group of dancers – some from the school, some from here, some from there, some from everywhere – and he would just work with what he had, and make them look brilliant. Some of them were brilliant, don't misunderstand me. But…"

"He worked with the people who were available to him," Carter said. "Who he had in Ballet Caravan…weren't the finest dancers in the world. They had certain capabilities, and that's the way the steps came out.

"Now, the beauty of that is that you can take a work like Filling Station and go almost anywhere with it. You have two central roles, Mac and the Rich Girl, who are dance roles. You have to have some ability to do those roles, you see? The rest of them, you don't! The last company I was in, I actually had a girl do the State Trooper and a girl do the Thief – dressed up as a man. The truck drivers – one of them was a Russian, more of a character dancer – he came from the Moiseyev [folk dance company.] He didn't even have ballet training. And yet we were able to set it on them, because these steps are more universal, and it's more acting than actual dancing."

So why is it that this versatile, accessible, creative, decent artist ("He was a gentle man," said Carter; "a nice guy, really a nice guy.") is not more famous as a choreographer? Carter has a blunt answer:

"The reason Lew is not more famous is that he left New York! And went to San Francisco, and that's 3,000 miles away. The center of dance has always traditionally been New York. It hasn't been until recent years, with jet airplanes, that it's been simple to get to the West Coast. In the ‘50s, on a propeller plane, it took about 14 hours – it was a long, harrowing trip.

"And I think that one other problem with his fame [or lack of fame] was that he himself was more of an introvert. He was a shy man; he never tooted his own horn."

One consequence of this neglect, Carter said, is that Christensen's ballets are gradually disappearing.

"The Christensen legacy has really been lost in the San Francisco Ballet, in a sense," he said. "What they tend to do now is throw on a token Christensen work for the season, and so these works are in danger of being lost. There are a couple, I'll tell you, that are lost, and will never be done again; one of them was one of the finest works he ever did, Don Juan. It was phenomenal."

In this, as in other areas, the Christensen story is eerily reminiscent of another Dane's: a man of the theater, a champion of the male dancer, a lover of musicality and humor; famous in his own time, but later obscured by geography and shifts in critical taste; his legacy now imperiled by neglect in his "home" company. Could Christensen be America's 20th-century counterpart to August Bournonville?

Bournonville, at least, was rediscovered eventually. Christensen, his admirers believe, is still waiting for the renaissance he deserves.

#ballet

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bffsoobin · 4 years ago

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fond

➤idol!yeonjun x non!idol reader, pure fluffy goodness, yeonjun gets teased a lot lmao

↳yeonjun has always been a hard worker; reaching above and beyond the expectations of every person he’d even met and even himself. There was only one part of his life he knew was impossible to better--you. In Yeonjun’s eyes, you’d never been anything less than perfect from the day he met you. He never lets you forget it either, even if everyone else was beyond tired of hearing it.

Word Count: 1,501

Requested: yes!

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff, very small sprinkle of angst (self-doubt in reader)

A/N: I wrote this super fast so it may not be my best work but it felt really good to get something out and posted again! Love you all, hope you had a happy holiday!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“Are you sure they want me to come?” You asked, shifting anxiously on the balls of your feet. “I mean, it seems like a thing reserved for just the five of you- celebrating the album- and none of the other guys have significant others to bring.” Yeonjun stopped in his tracks, leaving his shirt halfway buttoned up. Gently, he ran his warm hands up and down your arms. The sun had begun to set at some point while you were getting ready, and the light cascading in through the window opposite you washed Yeonjun in a golden ring of light.

You were so distracted by the sight that you almost missed the words coming out of his mouth.

“Baby, the guys love you. And they want you to be there. I promise. I wouldn’t ask you to come if it weren’t true. Hell, I wouldn’t even be going myself if it weren’t true. I’d much rather stay here with you and cuddle.” Your heart softened at his reassurance, anxiety bubbling away from your bloodstream in a few instants. Humming happily, you crushed Yeonjun into a hug that felt as if it could meld your bodies together.

Yeonjun lead you into the reserved restaurant with his fingers linked between yours with such fervor he might as well have glued your palms together. For that you were grateful though, because the party which you’d expected to be just the other boys and a few staff ended up being much more expansive. You spotted several important producers and a few other idols who had the time in their schedule to come and celebrate with their friends. The thrum of your heart kicked up tenfold as Yeonjun lead you through the crowds, eyes turning to him and his head of bright pink hair immediately. Damn him for always being the man of the hour. The two of you had almost made it to the safety of his table; so close in fact that you saw Soobin waving at you enthusiastically and pointing at a pair of empty seats saved by jackets and hats. Mere feet away, Yeonjun was stopped in his tracks by someone you only recognized vaguely, but knew instantly was of importance. The man was tall, handsome and well dressed, balancing a bottle of beer between his fingers with practiced ease.

As the two of them chatted about the album and general comeback procedures, you felt yourself becoming more and more out of place. For Yeonjun’s sake you plastered on a gentle smile, nodding along to whatever words were being exchanged between the two of them.

“...her name?” You caught the tail end of the sentence just in time to see that the man was gazing down at you. You glanced between him and Yeonjun, trying to collect any information as to why you were being addressed.

“I’m Y/N,” you offered carefully, not sure how they’d arrived at this topic. Yeonjun squeezed your hand reassuringly, running his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Well, I had no idea that Yeonjun had a girlfriend,” the man simpered. “What exactly do you do?” The implication of his words hit you like a MAC truck. What did you do? What did you do to deserve to be here, rubbing elbows with these famed people?

“She’s a student, actually! She’s always busy with school work or research.” Yeonjun cut in, voice rising protectively. “She pretends it isn’t a big deal, but she’s pretty high up in her department, got all the professors to love her. And she’s on track for a really cool internship- right baby?” He shot the conversation back to you, attempting to ease the tears crawling up your throat.

“Oh, it’s not that big of deal, I don’t know if I got it yet, so-”

“Shush, it’s amazing. And there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re the most qualified person for the position. You’re amazing,” Yeonjun beamed down at you warmly, a blush cropping up along your cheeks as you fought the urge to cover your face. Yeonjun quickly exchanged his goodbyes with the man and lead you finally to the table where you could take a deep breath. As soon as you settled into the chair next to Soobin, Yeonjun began to apologize in a hushed voice.

“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t think that he would say anything like that. You know that you’re amazing, though, right? I don’t want you to ever believe that I’m not proud of you, or you aren’t amazing because you aren’t an idol. I love how hard you work at school, I love that you aren’t busy with all the stupid idol things that I have to do. You’re such a positive light in my life, such an amazing person. I’m so happy that I know you. Seriously, I can’t imagine not knowing you. You know I love you, right? So much.” Your heart swelled, pumping so rapidly that it felt like it might fall out of your chest. All of the tension you’d felt during the conversation was completely gone, replaced by a pleasant buzz of happiness that only Yeonjun could provide you with. Despite the business within the restaurant, it felt as if you were in your own little bubble with Yeonjun alone, focused only on the gentle cadence of his voice and the steady heat radiating off of his body. His eyes were soft and round even under the concentrated eye makeup you’d helped him apply before leaving your apartment as he watched you carefully.

“I know, and I love you too,” a smile split your face before you could stop it, straining the muscles in your cheeks until they stung.

“Trust me, Y/N. We all know.” Taehyun laughed, causing the other three to nod in agreement.

“Seriously, he literally talks about how much he loves you all the time. Sometimes even in his sleep he’s asking where you are-”

“Hey! Stop it, you little-” Yeonjun growled, sending a menacing look toward Taehyun.

“No! Keep it coming, tell me more,” happy to encourage the teasing of your boyfriend, you leaned back in your chair and picked at the shared plate of fries that had appeared in the middle of the table at some moment.

“Oh, there was that one time we were in the studio and we couldn’t find him anywhere, like we even sent managers out to find him and everything and it turned out he got caught up talking with some random lady outside about you because he saw her carrying a bag you’d like.” Beomgyu offered, eyes sparkling at the chance to make fun of Yeonjun freely.

“Or the time when we were trying to film an episode of TO DO and he kept checking his phone because he was waiting for you to send a good morning text. The stylists were so mad that he refused to take his phone out of his pocket and they had to give him a top that would cover them.” Soobin jumped in this time, grinning just as wide as you were at the realization that Yeonjun was much more whipped for you than you’d ever estimated.

“And lets not forget literally any time we have extra time at the dorm and want to watch a movie or play a game. He literally always asks if he can invite you. At one point it was like nine days straight and when we said we’d rather not have a guest he pouted in his room instead of playing with us.” Your eyes grew wide with recognition at the story, as you remembered the exact time Soobin was referring to. You had, quite honestly, grown tired of visiting the dorm every single night after class but you did it anyway for the sake of spending time with Yeonjun.

“Did you guys know that he came to my apartment that night and complained that you were being mean to him?” Yeonjun whined loudly at your words, burying his flaming face into his own hands and letting out a defeated groan. He knew it was all true, and he was no stranger to admitting his attachment to you, but hearing it all at once made him shy.

“It’s okay, Junnie. You know I love how whipped you are for me,” you teased, rubbing the nape of his neck with delicate fingers in an attempt to get his head off of the table.

“I am not whipped!” He protests, sitting back up and trying his best to glare at you and his members. His face was still tinged with red, evidence of being caught in a lie.

‘If you’re not whipped, then what would you call it, hyung?” Hueningkai questioned, taking a poignant sip of his drink all while keeping his gaze locked onto Yeonjun. The entire table, sans Yeonjun, snickered together as he opened and closed his mouth in quick succession, trying to find the right words.

“I’m not whipped. I’m just...fond.”

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bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher · 4 years ago

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My dearest bouncey! I have a prompt for you if you like: Witchers as a 90s/2000s boyband 😂🤷‍♀️💖💖💖

Ellie, darling, this started as 500 words and turned into like 3.2k words and also a piece of art so... thank you so much. also shout out to my amazing art pal @mawbwehownets for the little comic!!

this contains lots of 90′s/early 2000′s nostalgia so there is also that

tw: hornyish, smooching, perilous music video situations (corny)

---

“Do I have to?” Geralt groans, letting his forehead thud down against the linoleum surface of their tour bus’s shitty dining table.

“Yes,” Vesemir says. His tone leaves no room for argument or whining. “But what if I let you pick the winner personally?”

“There have to be like fifteen thousand letters to go through! How will I manage that in less than two days?”

“There were a few more than fifteen thousand applications, Geralt. There were probably closer to five hundred thousand.”

Lambert wolf whistles and Aiden claps.

Geralt grimaces and keeps his face hidden against the table, releasing a slightly muffled: “Fuck.”

“Language,” Vesemir frowns. He tugs gently at Geralt’s loose ponytail and the singer lifts his head up from the table again, looking at his manager with beseeching eyes. “Anyway, we’ve narrowed it down to about fifty. You can go through those and choose whichever person you’d like to play your love interest. But you have to give me an answer by Friday. The shoot is in three weeks and whoever wins this stupid competition will need time to make arrangements.”

“I thought we were footing the bill for their food and their hotel room,” Geralt raised an eyebrow. “What would they need to arrange?”

“Not everyone can board their pets at the flick of a wrist, dude,” Lambert scoffs from his seat on the couch. Aiden lies draped across his lap, as usual, and the two of them are halfheartedly watching The Lion King. They can only watch movies when the bus is stationary, otherwise the VHS player might move too much while running and damage the film inside the cassette. Even taking advantage of such a rare opportunity, Lambert and Aiden still seem more interested in each other than Jonathan Taylor Thomas’s voice acting.

“Lambert has a point,” Vesemir sighs. He scrubs his hand over his lightly whiskered face like a tired grandparent and sighs again, more heavily. “It’ll be good for you boys to have a normal person around for a few days. Maybe they’ll be able to put some things into perspective.”

Geralt can only roll his eyes a little bit and thank his manager regardless of his own feelings; he and the rest of TW5 owe the seasoned musical expert their entire careers. Without Vesemir’s help and mentorship they would never have made it past their first disastrous record deal. They certainly wouldn’t have reached the heights they’re at now, enjoying international fame and recognition.

The begrudging frontman accepts a heavy plastic bin of file folders from Vesemir and sets them down next to his bunk. “Are these organized in any particular way?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.”

Geralt digs his hand into the pile and pulls out a piece of pale-pink stationary, eager to get started and, by extension, get finished. He can already tell that it’s going to be a long couple of days.

---

“I want this one, please, Ves.”

“Huh?” Vesemir looks up from his palm-pilot. Geralt is standing in front of him and trying to hand him something.

“I want this guy to be in the music video with me.” Geralt holds out the letter again, fingers trapping the accompanying polaroid headshot with great care. A pair of bright blue eyes stares up from the photo, highlighting the subject’s bright smile and unruly mop of messy brown hair. Vesemir tries to hide his amusement; totally Geralt’s type, if the big oaf could admit to having one.

“Alright. I’ll get everything in order. We start shooting in two and a half weeks so get your asses to the gym, please.”

“Yes, Ves,” all five young men chorus.

“Tomorrow,” Coen mutters a moment later than everyone else, not glancing up from his composition notebook. Vesemir nods in understanding. Coen is the best lyricist of the lot and it’s easier to let him work when inspiration strikes than beg him to focus when he can’t get a solitary idea to stick.

“So why’d you pick that one, Ger-bear?” Lambert drawls. Aiden nods and leans against Lambert’s side. Geralt can’t help the mild jealousy that overtakes him every time he sees his bandmates touch each other with such casual affection. He wants that intimacy, that softness behind the veneer of famous indifference. He wants someone to hold.

“Yeah. What drew your attention to that poor unfortunate soul. Was it the floppy hair, the big blue eyes, or the dopey grin?” Aiden smirks.

“Hmm.”

“Fuck you,” Eskel sighs, looking between the two troublemakers with the tired gaze of an eldest sibling, “Fuck you for even asking in the first place and expecting a straight answer.”

“Straight is the furthest thing from his answer,” Lambert chuckles. He is promptly smacked in the head with one of the couch’s hideous throw pillows. The youngest member of the band rubs the side of his face and chuckles, “Alright, I deserved that one.”

---

“Holy shit!” Jaskier practically screams. “Holy motherfucking shit!”

“What!?” Yennefer comes flying around the corner. “What’s wrong!?”

“Nothing is wrong, Yenna! Everything is awesome! Everything absolutely fucking rocks!”

“Did you get hit on the head by a falling branch between here and the mailbox or what? You were whining about your finals work not five min-”

“Look at this!” Jaskier shoves an open envelope into her hands and cuts her off. Yennefer reads the watermarked documents once. Twice. Her eyes almost pop out of her head when the words and their meanings finally sink in.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No, I am absolutely not!” her giddy roommate cheers, bouncing up and down in place. “I did it! I won!”

“Holy shit.”

“I know! I get to kiss Geralt deRiv!” he practically cackles. Then freezes. “Holy fuck I get to kiss Geralt deRiv.”

“You said that already,” Yen teases. She shoves the paperwork back into his hands and grabs a takeout menu from the junk drawer near her hip. “Since you won the makeout lottery, you get to buy lunch. Lucky bastard.”

---

“So this will be your dressing room,” someone’s underpaid PA says, ushering Jaskier into a small, bright room. “Priscilla will be here shortly to get you into hair and makeup.”

“Oh, uh- thanks!”

“Yup.”

And with that, the young man disappears back down the hallway toward the sound stage. Jaskier jogs his leg anxiously as he waits for Priscilla to arrive, nervous and otherwise totally alone in the huge grey building. As the minutes tick by and his heart rate rises, Jaskier’s intrusive thoughts make an unwanted appearance: What if they forget about me being here? What if there’s been a mistake and they accidentally hired two love interests and I just sit in here for hours all alone while-

“Hi!” a bright, peppy blonde woman flies through the door and startles him back to reality. “Nice to meet you, I’m Priscilla! You can call me Priss; I’ll be doing your hair and makeup for the video this week!”

“Oh… hi. I’m Julian, but I prefer Jaskier.”

“Lovely! Well, Jaskier, is your hair naturally this color?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Perfect! I don’t want to mess with such a lovely shade of natural brown, but do you mind if I give it a bit of a trim? I have a few ideas for styles right here in my book- How do you feel about some feathering back here? I think-” she fluffs a few of the hairs around the nape of Jaskier’s neck “-I could really bring out the curls if I adjusted the length a bit and used some product.”

“Just, uhm, go for it, then! Feel free to make me as pretty as possible!” Jaskier declares. He’s committing to this experience wholeheartedly, determined to allow himself every opportunity for positive change. He wants to really let himself enjoy it, and he needs a haircut anyway. Priscilla spends an hour washing, cutting, drying, and styling his hair into a lovely fringed sweep across his forehead. It ends just above his brows, giving his face a slightly softer shape than usual. He grins over his shoulder, “I love it! I’m going to miss you when I’m back at Oxenfurt. Good stylists are so hard to find.”

Priss blushes and nudges against his shoulder, “Oh, you little charmer.”

“I mean it,” he says, examining himself in the mirror. “I look like I could really be worthy of a heroic rescue! This is going to be such a fantastic memory, and I appreciate it. Thank you so much.”

Priss bites back a genuine tear and smiles, “Now that your natural prettiness has been mildly enhanced, let’s get you over to wardrobe, shall we?”

“Wardrobe? Do I have, like, a costume? What’s the music video even about?”

“They didn’t tell you any of this when you got here?”

“Not… not really.”

“Well, my darling, I think you’re really going to like it; they’ve got you in Versace for the first scene.”

“Versace!?”

Then Jaskier is being ushered into a bright, colorful room full to bursting with grim-faced, middle-aged women and he loses track of his only braincell for the rest of the morning.

---

“You must be Julian!” Lambert declares, bounding up to him and grinning. It’s a feral, animalistic grin and Jaskier resists the sudden urge to take a step back.

“I prefer Jaskier, if you don’t mind too much,” Jaskier corrects him quietly. Lambert rolls his eyes in a long-suffering kind of way and throws a meaty arm around the shorter man’s shoulders, completely ignoring the wardrobe technician’s wincing as he wrinkles the expensive silk jacket.

“No need to be quiet and polite around here, my dude. We’re just a bunch of rowdy idiots, aren’t we, guys?”

“Hell yeah!” Aiden calls back. Eskel sighs like the put-upon nanny in a Victorian Redanian comedy.

“Speak for yourself,” Coen barely lifts his frosted tips up from his book long enough to speak. Geralt is-

Holy motherfucking Britney Spears on toast.

Geralt is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen in his short, unfulfilled-until-right-now life. Forget Ralph Macchio. Forget Leonardo Dicaprio and Kate Winslet and Winona Ryder. This man is… Geralt deRiv is… he’s the picture of perfection. And he’s right there, standing in front of an elaborate party set with his thick, beautiful arms crossed over his chest and his eyes trained on the floor, as if willing it to swallow him whole. Jaskier realizes that he probably didn’t have any choice in the matter; maybe this was just as awkward and uncomfortable for Geralt as it was for Jaskier.

“Ger-bear!” Lambert whoops, yanking Jaskier closer to the brooding frontman. If only he were brave enough to struggle for escape; alas. “This is your boy-toy for the week. Goes by Jaskier, apparently.”

“Nice to meet you,” Geralt manages to grunt. “How did you like the script?”

“I haven’t uh- I haven’t actually seen it?”

“Shit. Fuck. One second,” Geralt huffs, disappearing into the crowd of technicians and machinery operators and PAs. Jaskier loves him already, for real. Sure, he was pretty in the music videos and promo material, but the way he said fuck like it was the noblest word he could think of… Geralt interrupts his train of thought by coming back with a sheaf of papers clutched in his hand. He shuffle-shoves them into Jaskier’s arms immediately. “There you go.”

“Thank you!” Jaskier smiles. It’s genuine and shy, more tenuous than his usual goofy grin. He flips through the pages, glancing between the script to his expensive suit, “So I’m guessing we’re at a party for this scene? Or something?”

“This is… where we meet. This is where… you and I uh…”

Jaskier’s eyes scan the page as Geralt’s ability to speak slowly leaves him.

Lover ENTERS LEFT, dressed to the nines. Lover adjusts their tie/boa and takes a look around the room. S/He looks sad and a little hopeful. PULL BACK to Geralt, who approaches slowly. Their eyes meet. HOLD SHOT. PULL BACK as they move towards each other. Geralt pulls Lover into his arms and they begin to dance.

“Oh, wow.”

“I hope it’s okay! If you’re not comfortable with that kind of thing we can-”

“I’ll be alright, thank you. I came here to put my acting chops to the test. Well, that and meet my favorite band, of course. Thank you again, by the way. It’s been wonderful so far and I really appreciate you allowing me to be here.”

“Allowing? Psh. Geralt ha-” Lambert is cut off by Aiden, who elbows him sharply in the side. “Ow! What the fuck, babe?”

“I knew it!” Jaskier crows, distracted. “I knew you two were an item!”

“They’re not exactly subtle.”

“They never confirm anything either,” Jaskier retorts. Geralt shrugs his acknowledgement and moves back towards the set. Jaskier follows after the taller man like a lost puppy, eyes flicking from one thing to the next, hungry for detail even in his anxiety ridden state. This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience and he doesn’t want to waste a solitary second of it. “This is incredible, really just...wow. You guys do this all the time? You get to make tiny little movies for already great songs that you get to perform for millions of adoring fans? And you get paid!?”

Geralt hadn’t ever really thought about it like that. He’d been raised in the industry. He’d signed to Kaer Morhen Records as an early teen because his mother was a member of the Board of Directors and he’d been making music ever since; an outsider’s perspective to things was… new. A little strange. “Yeah, I guess that is pretty much what we do.”

“Wow.”

“It’s not that exciting, I promise.”

“Have you ever written a fifteen page paper about the history of lute-string design and manufacturing?”

“No.”

“Then kindly shut the fuck up about what I should consider exciting,” Jaskier grins. Geralt is immediately and irrevocably smitten. Fuck. It hasn’t even been fifteen minutes! “So, which door am I entering from?”

“Left,” Geralt points. Jaskier skips over and begins to introduce himself to the sound and lights crew. His smile seems to be as infectious as his cheer and soon the entire set crew is smiling at one another. There’s been a literal shift in the atmosphere; if he didn’t know any better, the TW5 frontman thinks Jaskier might be some kind of magical creature, because he can’t just be human. Geralt is well and truly fucked, and everyone in the band already knows.

---

“What do you think?” Jaskier asks, slipping anxiously from behind the changing screen. The Versace is gone and in its place are a pair of tight, high-waisted blue pleather pants and a billowing white shirt, which has been strategically ripped in several places to reveal slivers of the lightly tanned skin that lies beneath. He looks like he’s in desperate need of rescuing. He looks like every fantasy Geralt has ever had about the perfect guy. He looks like a fucking dream.

“Nice,” he says.

Lambert and Aiden wolf-whistle and cheer as they approach. Aiden claps twice, loudly, and shoots Jaskier a set of finger guns, “Hot damn, baby. You single? You lookin’ to mingle? Because I am bi and spoon like a Pringle.”

“First of all, babe, I love you but that was the most horrific combination of words yet known to man. Second of all, yeah, I’d dump Aiden for you for sure,” Lambert adds. Jaskier is at a total loss for words. His mouth hangs open and his breath comes in uneven little gasps for a moment.

“Uh… I- Thank you?”

“Oh god, Eskel! Eskel, he’s short circuiting, do something.”

“You absolute-” Eskel groans and makes his way over to the gathered group. He tugs Jaskier away and over to the other end of the set, where a comically huge rocket/bomb (Jaskier can’t tell) is standing at the center of a vaguely science-themed room. A laboratory, maybe? Or like, a really weird spacecraft? A hospital run by rocket scientists? It doesn’t matter, it’s the Evil Lair of the Villain and that’s where Jaskier is being held captive. “Here, Cameron and Elise will help you get set up for the next scene. I’m sorry about the boys they’re... gay?”

“I understand,” Jaskier nods sagely and Eskel relaxes. Then for comedy’s sake he adds an equally dramatic, “I too am... gay.”

The set dresser, an electrician, and a few specialists (likely a rope rigger among them) come over and tie Jaskier to the bomb/rocket/villainous mechanism, ending his conversation with Eskel, who is now in a much better mood than he was before.

Jaskier is told to make sure his hands are crossed behind the small of his back and the director instructs him to wiggle back and forth “as convincingly as possible without actually getting loose or moving the ropes too much”. Which is manageable, he supposes.

“Then, when the chorus comes up, we’ll get a few shots of the boys dancing in front of you,” the director continues to explain. That’s… kind weird, but okay. I’ve seen weirder. “Then we’ll do the action shots, with Geralt rescuing you. Are you okay to do the kiss, or would you rather not? We have dynamic shots with or without, so it’s totally up to you.”

“I’m fine with that,” Jaskier smiles shyly. “I consent to be smooched.”

“Adorable,” Lambert calls. Jaskier blushes and the director shoots Lambert a glare.

“He’s already pink enough, don’t make me change my gels you little shithead!”

“Sorry, Pierre!”

“Fucking sorry my ass,” Pierre grumbles beneath his breath. Then he smiles at Jaskier. “Do something nasty to him for me, will you? Not too nasty but… just a little?”

“I’ve got your back,” Jaskier winks.

“No plotting! Not fair!” Aiden whines.

“You have a team,” Pierre retorts. “Now I have a team.”

“Rules are rules,” Eskel sighs. “Now can we please shoot this damn video?”

“Right,” Pierre claps, getting everyone’s attention. “Places!”

---

Geralt races up the stairs, trying to keep the long sleeves of his black mesh shirt from catching on any of the set pieces. The solid black t-shirt he’s wearing underneath makes his arms and back look bulkier than normal; it’s a visual technique to make him look larger than Jaskier, whose billowing white shirt will hide how wide his shoulders actually are. Fuck, those are some nice shoulders. And the smattering of dark chest hair that peeks from the front of the college student’s shirt? Geralt wants to bury his face in it.

Okay, focus.

He reaches the top of the set and rushes towards Jaskier, ripping the ropes from around his torso and pulling him close. He cups the back of Jaskier’s head with his upstage hand, framing the slightly smaller man for the camera and making him seem even shorter, another trick of angles and body posturing. Geralt plays Jaskier like an instrument, bending him back by placing his downstage arm around Jaskier’s waist, pressing their mouths together and holding them still for as long as it takes the director to yell, “Cut!” with a satisfied tone of voice.

Geralt’s suspicions are confirmed when Pierre laughs and claps some more and cries, “Print it, lads! That was a one-take wonder!”

He tries to ignore the way Jaskier’s shoulders slump as if disappointed. “Good job,” he manages to say.

“You, too.” Geralt wishes he could keep a picture of Jaskier smiling in his back pocket forever. No other sight could light up the world so effortlessly. “Thanks for being gentle.”

“I’m trying to sweep you off your feet,” the singer shrugs. Jaskier wiggles his eyebrows and follows Geralt down the narrow set stairs.

“Are you, really?”

“Is it working?” Geralt asks, turning to look up at Jaskier. The student pauses to look at him and his foot catches on an uneven board. He topples forward with a short cry of surprise and seems surprised when Geralt reaches out to catch him. “Jaskier!”

“Oh my god!” Lambert races over, Aiden hot on his heels. “Are you okay, dude?”

“I’m fine,” Jaskier laughs, a little breathless. “Just a little shocked.”

“You should take him to get a snack or something,” Eskel says, nudging his shoulder against Geralt’s. “He’s been busy all day and hasn’t even been to craft services.”

“You haven’t eaten?” Geralt asks, honestly baffled. Jaskier shakes his head, face heating once again. He wishes he could stop blushing, but Geralt’s presence seems to make it impossible. He wraps one arm around the younger man’s temptingly slender waist and leads him towards the food carts. He shoves a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of punch into Jaskier’s hands, not giving him a chance to argue. “Here, I’ll have something, too.”

“Thanks,” Jaskier smiles, understanding that he is, in turn, being understood. They sit comfortable folding chairs off to the side, food spread across their laps. Jaskier laughs and chats around his mouthfuls, pulling things from Geralt like his favorite color and his least favorite nicknames. Songs he liked and dances he disliked.

“You made it fun again, today,” the singer smiles. “Thank you for that. I wish you could be here for every video shoot.”

“Looking for another member of the band?” Jaskier jokes, doing some half-hearted jazz hands. Geralt shakes his head and laughs.

“I wish we were,” he sighs. “But I guess five is the magic number.”

“Makes the dances look cooler,” Jaskier nods. “I agree with whoever made that decision. I wouldn’t dare ruin the aesthetic.”

Geralt laughs again and Vesemir turns to look, honestly shocked at the volume of the sound.

“Plus, you can’t be the frontman if there’s no front.”

“Shut up,” Geralt chuckles, still grinning broadly.

Vesemir makes a phone call.

---

2 Weeks Later, Backstage in Kaedwen

---

“He’s been sulking like this ever since Jaskier went back to Oxenfurt,” Lambert whines. “C’mon Vesemir, do something.”

“What do you want me to do, make Geralt’s boyfriend appear out of thin air?”

“Not my boyfriend,” Geralt growls, stomping past his bandmates and manager. He can’t help but feel grumpy. Jaskier had been like the sun, bringing light and wonder to everything he touched, and without that joy around it doesn’t seem worth the extra effort to smile. So he’s been moping.

“Fucking hell,” Vesemir sighs. “Thank goodness I thought ahead.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asks, joining the little group in the hallway outside the dressing room. “What did you think of?”

“Three,” Vesemir smiles, glancing at his watch. “Two… One…”

“Boooooys,” echoes a high tenor. “Where’s my welcome wagon, Vesemir?”

“Jaskier!” Aiden practically screams, leaping out of the dressing room and flying down the hall. Lambert follows at a sprint and Vesemir hears the resounding oof oh fuck of both giddy musicians hitting their mark.

Geralt comes back down the hall at a jog, eyes searching frantically. “I thought I heard-”

“Geralt!”

Vesemir’s heart clenches in his chest at the way Geralt’s face lights up. At the end of the hallway, surrounded by spilled luggage and apologetic boyband members, is Jaskier. Geralt floats to him, it seems, like he’s dreaming the whole thing. Jaskier takes his hands and then releases them and wraps his arms low around Geralt’s hips instead.

“I missed you the most,” he whispers, just for Geralt to hear. “Couldn’t sleep without listening to your CD. I know it’s silly but I really like you.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers reverently into his shaggy brown hair. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to do my thesis on pop culture’s relation to music history,” he says. “And then the manager of TW5 called Oxenfurt and offered me the opportunity to do some… first hand research while I worked on finishing the paper.”

“R-Really? You’re going to be here… every day?”

“Do you… do you not want me he-”

Geralt kisses him before he can even finish the question. It’s a stupid question anyway, of course Geralt wants him here. Wants him right here, kissing him silly. The singer presses his lips desperately, crushingly against Jaskier’s; he never wants to part from this man again. He never wants to be without that glorious laughter and contagious liveliness. Who knew that life could be so full of delight and happiness if he only let it?

He kisses Jaskier for all he’s worth and more, pouring his heart and soul into it. When they pull apart, both gasping for air, Geralt asks, “Stay with me, Jaskier? You don’t have to do anything I just-”

“I’d love to be the big spoon,” Jaskier winks, whispering again. “Thank you, Geralt, for the rescue.”

#geraskier #bouncey's buddies #prompt fill #geraskier fic #geraskier ficlet #geraskier fluff #getting together #boyband au #geraskier boyband au #the witcher five and their hit song 'please lambert stop farting on the bus'#ellie has the braincell #thirsty jaskier #thirsty geralt #soft geralt #protective geralt #clumsy jaskier #soft boys content #bouncey's endless au collection #bouncey's endless getting together fics

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interact-if · 4 years ago

Photo

Day 7 of the Pride Month interviews! Please perceive the lovely Astra! :elmofire:

Astra, author of Unmourned

Pride Month Featured Month

You are V. Frankenstein, a science prodigy with an ambitious streak a mile wide. The eldest child of the Frankenstein family, you went to university to further your understanding of the world, and made a name for yourself as a hard-working innovator and radical thinker. Unsatisfied with the academia-approved learnings your teachers saught to instill upon you, you’ve instead turned your attention to a goal more suited to your ambitions: discovering the secret of life.

After spending the better part of a year perfecting your craft and selecting the finest speciments for your experiment, you succeed in doing what none thought possible — you’ve reanimated a body carefully pieced together from multiple corpses. Now, it’s time to face the consequences of your actions.

Demo: TBA

Tags: retelling, thriller

(INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT UNDER THE CUT!)

Q1: Tell us a little bit about your project(s)!

Unmourned is a retelling of the classic Frankenstein tale, where you take control of the eponymous V Frankenstein and have the power to change the direction of the story. The story starts with your giving life to The Creature, and how you choose to react to that will have rippling effects throughout the story. Not only are you able to shape your relationship with the person you've reanimated, but the rest of the cast will react and adapt to your behaviour too. Unmourned is a story about identity, family, and accountability, and about how sometimes letting go is better than clinging on.

Q2: Why interactive fiction? What drew you to the medium?

I've been a fan of visual novels for several years by now and had kind of passively discovered some published interactive fiction games a couple of years ago, but it's only last year that I really discovered the interactive fiction community, and that's what made all the difference. Seeing all these passionate authors putting in hundreds of hours telling these captivating stories and always pushing the limits of what has been previously done was an enlightening and motivating experience. Just the sheer amount of personalization and immersion offered by the medium was a big selling point for me. When I discovered Twine, and all the ways you could customize your story telling experience, I knew that I found my medium.

Q3: Are your characters influenced by your identity? How?

I think they definitely are; in particular, being able to explore The Creature's journey to discover themselves and how their identity shapes the way they interact with the rest of the world is a very cathartic experience. I've known I was bisexual since I was about 10 years old but coming to terms with being nonbinary is definitely a more recent development, and I'm excited to explore every character's relationship with their gender identity and sexuality. All the characters are bisexual, but they still have their own preferences and past experiences that influence the way they approach new relationships. It's important for me to show that bisexuality isn't a monolithic experience.

Q4: What would you like to see more of in LGBT+ fiction?

LGBT representation that does not rest solely on the identity of the main character. I feel like often, the only character able to be trans or nonbinary is the main character, there are few if any LGBT characters, and the romance options' sexuality is so intrinsically tied to the player's identity that sometimes it feels flat. I want to see more well-rounded characters throughout the cast, that have their own identities, that have had relationships before meeting the main character, that have their own preferences and motivations. I think making the entire story and side characters' personal development revolve around the main character is a formula that got popularized by published authors and that is currently being challenged by smaller authors, which is great! I'm excited to see where this new movement goes.

Q5: What or who are some of your biggest inspirations?

I think this is a complicated question to answer, as I've been an avid reader for almost 20 years now, so I've been slowly absorbing my favourite parts of all the media I've ever consumed. When it comes to interactive fiction, I find all the authors willing to put themselves out there and share their passion with the world super inspiring; I believe I'm very lucky to have been welcomed in such a warm community. When it comes to traditional book authors, I think Mark Z. Danielewski inspired me with the way he constantly reinvents the printed medium to enrich his story telling – his experimental typography and constant innovation are amazing. Stylistically, I've always been a huge fan of Kurt Vonnegut and Roger Zelazny, and I've no doubt my writing reflects that.

Q6: What’s a super vague spoiler for your current project?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Q7: Lastly, what advice would you give to your readers?

I believe every single person has something worth sharing with the world, and you simply need to find what that something is for you. Whether it's art, fiction, music, or anything else, what you do is deserving of recognition. I think it's very easy to fall victim to the thought that everything has been done already and that it's impossible to create something completely original and innovative (I would know, I've done it too!), but it's very important to remember that none of those other works have been created by you. Regardless of what you're sharing with the world, you'll always be bringing your own personal touch, and that's what makes the magic!

#if: events #Pride Month 2021 #pride month #queer authors #queer creators #queer fiction #interactive fiction

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