#to believe something fully without knowing the bulk of the situation first

[sams-venting]

this fandom fucking hurts

mentally, emotionally, physically. It hurts so much

I had my very first panic attack because of the false allegations placed onto me a year ago is cropping back up, only this time worse. The fucking thumbnail artist reblogged it for gods sake! Everyone now sees my mistake and my year of trying to become a better person is worthless. I want to relapse so badly. I want to grab that same fucking knife and make another attempt because then I know for sure it can’t continue to haunt me. because people don’t care that I still to this day feel guilty for everything that I did. I was pushed so far by them that I thought I had to self harm in order to make up for it, I almost actually did but I was forcibly switched out by one of our gate keepers. People don’t care if I tried to get better. They only care to condemn me because the doc left out so many important details such as I was the one to inform them it was grooming. I was the person who told them what they went through shouldn’t have happened. I was more than willing to do anything that I could to make it up to them and I did. They just couldn’t stop being mad at me. It’s understandable given I am not owed acceptance or forgiveness for what I did. But people won’t ever know that because I try to keep personal details in private. It’s even worse now that the doc doesn’t bother to censor anything, even the porn that I drew of myself! Big blogs like the thumbnail artist willing rebloged a doc knowing their audience is minors! My sexual preferences are personal ! I feel violated! I feel exposed and scared!

No one that would have the reach would be willing to give me the benefit of the doubt because The thumbnail artist already reblogged it with tags that pointed to it being only a year ago as early. This could’ve happened 2 or 3 years ago and it still would count as early

why am I constantly villainized by everyone?! I try and try and try and try!!! But it’s still not enough!! Nothing I do ever is enough for people!!

I had to delete this app and my bookmarks of it because of how badly this all was affecting me. I was getting physically ill. I had a migraine so bad the pain was white. Fuck!!

I’m a physically and mentally disabled adult who has to juggle some sort of stress 24/7. I can’t get a break! What more do people want from me?!

.

[ckneal]

So, in the domestic AU, where Michael is brought back as human post-series and gradually adapts to human life over time, Adam could not be happier for Michael when lands his first book deal. Michael going from correcting his dad’s overzealous fans online about his family history to writing his own creative works is a big deal, and Adam fully appreciates the significance of that. However, taking Michael’s writing to the professional level does come with one fairly big, unforeseen complication. In that, for the first time, Michael has an income of his own. Which is problematic.

“Adam, what is a social security number?”

Because it means he now has to legally be a person.

Michael and Adam had managed to go back in time and fix a few things to restore Adam’s identity as a functioning member of society before the rapture, courtesy of Michael’s late powers. It had helped that Adam’s body had never been found after his first death, according to the official record. However, the issue of Michael’s sudden appearance in the world as a flesh and blood human had managed to slip everyone’s mind until Michael was faced with a multitude of paperwork, asking all the very normal, very mundane, very inescapable questions that are usually asked in situations where someone is expected to get paid.

Adam quickly gets Sam and Dean on the phone. As much as he hates going to them for help—especially with anything Michael-related—he knows that he and Michael aren’t equipped to come up with answers on their own. And he’s proofread enough of Michal’s fanfics to know Sam and Dean probably are.

“Wait, he’s writing books now?”

“Can you set him up with a fake identity or not?”

“That’s a little more permanent than what we normally do. . .”

“Is that a no?”

Adam waited while, he assumed, his self-proclaimed family silently deliberated the question via an exchange of mimed arguments. Finally, Sam’s voice came through the speaker, “Okay, we know someone.”

And that, is how Adam and Michael came to meet Charlie Bradbury.

Adam took a week off from work to make the trip to the bunker out of season—having last been there for Christmas and not having expected to back until Easter, as per their every-other-holiday agreement. He arrived fully expecting to spend the bulk of his time negotiating the terms of assistance. After all, Chuck’s writing had left a bad taste in the collective mouth of everyone involved, and he could guess how it must look to find out Michael was heading down a literary path of his own. But then he was pleasantly surprised when they walked down the stairs and his usually-exhausting brothers promptly led Michael off to take a series of pictures against a blank wall, and Adam was passed off to their friend, who claimed to have the whole thing nearly wrapped up. She just needed to iron out a few final details for Michael Edlund’s manufactured identity.

And it was such a small detail. He and Michael might have been back on the road later that same day. But Adam just had to ask, “Edlund?”

His brothers’ friend, without taking her eyes off her computer screen, slid a paperback across the table to him and tapped the cover. Supernatural by Carver Edlund.

“What else would it be?”

Adam skipped over the obvious answer about Carver Edlund being a penname. “Well, we kind of assumed it’d be Milligan.”

That got Charlie to look up from her screen. “You’re married?”

“Yes?”

“That wasn’t in the books!”

“Well, we weren’t exactly main characters. Can you change it?”

“Uuuuuh. . .” Charlie then made a series of rapid-fire clicks, opening and minimizing screens on her computer so quickly that Adam couldn’t believe she was actually reading anything. He’d gotten up and started trying to per over her shoulder when Charlie finally hit him with the fateful, “No.”

“No?”

After all, how hard could it be to change something like that when you’re inventing a new person from scratch? Charlie, however, was not inclined to agree. “Maybe if we’d done this when you first rejoined the living, but it’s been too long now. At this point, it would be easier to cook up an identity for Michael and just have you marry him.”

Which was not an answer to Adam’s question, and he opened his mouth to say as much. And Charlie smoothly shut him down when she turned her computer screen around and showed Adam his own tax filings from the past few years. On which Adam had listed himself as single.

Michael, as it so happened, was making his way back to them at that moment, shrugging back into his hoodie after Sam and Dean had made him change his shirt no less than five time so that his false ID pics would seem more authentic. When he asked what was going on, Charlie answered him with a smug, but still very sincere (Charlie DID like Adam and Michael on principle), “Mazel tov.”

If Adam’s demeanor at the onset gave off the impression that he did not want to get married to someone looking in from the outside, well, Adam could understand the confusion. While Adam himself was perfectly happy letting the simple exchange of vows that Michael and Adam had done in the cage roughly half a millennium ago stand as their only ceremony, he wasn’t against a repeat in front of his brothers and their weird friend. What Charlie—and later, Sam—picked up on was actually more akin to preemptive exhaustion. He took a deep breath and set it aside as Charlie explained the situation to Michael, and Michael’s eyes light up--just a bit. Michael was also clearly intentionally keeping his face still to stifle his reaction as he cast a quick, measuring look in Adam’s direction.

“It’s a quick fix,” Charlie was saying, this friendly, naïve woman who mistakenly thought that the timetable was the issue. “We can go into town and apply for a marriage license today, have someone get ordained, it can all be legally squared away in no time.”

Adam then leaned over and whispered to Michael, “Go on, call her. I know you want to.”

Because weddings, of course, required witnesses. And recognizing that Adam and Michael intended to retain their identities indefinitely, Charlie cautioned them to keep everything as innocuous as possible. And as such, she was quick to outline what, as Michael’s supportive partner and beta reader, Adam already knew.

“Sam and Dean are either legally dead or wanted internationally, I forget which. I have a strict policy against legal documents, and Cas—well, I guess Jimmy Novak’s good to go. But you’ll need one more. Do you know anyone?”

One hastily booked overnight flight later, Sam understood Adam’s resigned demeanor, when Becky Rosen burst into the bunker and slapped a binder full of color-coded tabs as meticulously organized as anything Michael could have put together, and with 100% more glitter, onto a table in their library. It was five inches thick.

“Okay, Michael, we have a lot to cover in a few days. Let’s start with cakes. Are we buying or are you baking?”

Michael raised an eyebrow at Becky.

“Right, dumb question! Get me a list of ingredients. Rod’s making a grocery run on his way here.”

Standing in the map room, mystified, staring—because Becky hadn’t even knocked, she’d just walked right in, and Sam was probably wondering how she even knew about the bunker at all (poor fool didn’t realize what Adam had accustomed himself to years ago: that between Becky and Michael, THEY KNEW EVERYTHING), Sam rather stupidly asked, “Who’s Rod?”

At which point, Becky whirled around, spotted Sam. And after roughly ten seconds of staring while her face turned red (and after Adam saw Michael shove the table a few inches, jostling Becky) Becky said, “My husband!”

Which did nothing to help explain the situation to Sam. “Why is your husband coming here?”

“Well, I’m not going to spend the week with my ex-husband without inviting my husband-husband to come along! It’s important to make sure he doesn’t feel excluded in these types of situations, Sam.”

“It’s about respecting each other’s comfort level, Sam.”

“That’s exactly what it is, Michael! So, for the theme—”

“I was thinking of that one piece by—”

“OH YES! Hang on, I know exactly who you mean!” As far as Becky and Michael were concerned, Sam might as well have left the room, as they began flipping wildly through the binder.

Sam blinked at the two of them, still lost. Adam could tell that Sam was still invested from the way he craned his head, trying to look at the pages. “Is that—fanart?”

Adam, who had strategically taken a seat in one of the padded chairs off to the side of the library, close to where Dean kept a decanter of surprisingly good scotch, whistled to get his attention, already holding a glass out for Sam, as Michael and Becky began discussing their favorite aspects of various fanartist depictions of what a midam wedding would look like.

It was only 8am.

Two hours later, a similar scene occurred when Dean walked into the library wearing a bathrobe and sweatpants.

“The hell is Becky doing here?!”

“Well, I’m not going to let my best friend and almost step-son get married with absolutely no fanfair.”

“You’re—”

“Oh! That reminds me, Michael: What room were you thinking for the ceremony?”

“I was thinking the third floor ballroom.”

“We don’t have a ballroom,” came from Dean, who evidently did not know better.

“Or a third floor,” then came from Sam.

Right on cue, Michael and Becky exchanged a look and promptly began laughing. Fighting for breath, Becky managed to eke out, “Not according to the limited-edition blue print included in the collector’s re-release of Supernatural book nine.”

Adam watched Sam and Dean open and close their mouths like fish, before looking to Adam for help, but there were no allies when Michael and Becky got together.

"Okay, Michael, we should get to work. But first—where is it? I need to see it."

Michael, who had been leaning uncharacteristically far into the table he was sitting at in the bunker library then unfolded his hands and leaned back, revealing the iconic Winchester initials that had been carved into the wood, and patiently waited while his best friend and almost stepmother screamed in glee.

(Follow up wedding post here)

[yujaecha]

BTS at a Carnival Date | Scenario/Imagine

Info: fluff & tiny angst

Pairing: BTSxReader

Warnings: Alcohol, drunkenness, fainting

A/n: Loved doing this request! I loved the idea of a fun carnival vibe, though through writing, I don’t think I’ve ever been to an actual carnival! Can you believe that? Haha, I’m hoping my imagined idea is good enough! I’m picturing like brazil-carnival-colourfulness, like Rio carnival, which may be a little stereotypical, but I love the idea of this kind of energy!

NOTE: Y/F/N = Your friend's name and Y/F/BF = Your friend's boyfriend.

If you would like to make a request for a scenario, imagine, reaction, mtl, ship, or anything really take a look at my faq, and then drop me a request.

Song rec: Carnival B.A.P

Jin

You and Jin had wandered around the carnival for a few hours; the crowd had spread to the side street parties after the main procession. There were so many people around still, drinking, eating, dancing, and generally having fun. It was even beginning to get dark, but the atmosphere was still so vibrant and lively.

“Should we head home soon?” Jin inquired, as you weaved in and out around people. You absolutely did not want the night to be over just yet.

“I’m kind of hungry actually, why don’t we get some food then head off?”

“Ooh, good idea,” he scanned the small and tightly packed street

“There’s a table over there. Let's grab it quick before it gets taken!”

“Good spot!” You said, rushing towards the space. Fortunately, you managed to get there before anyone else.

“We can’t leave this spot until we are ready to leave; it’ll get snatched up so quickly." He said, looking around at the crowd; it even seemed to be getting busier compared to before.

“Did you enjoy the carnival?” You asked him. You hadn’t been seeing each other for that long, a few weeks, really. You were still getting to know each other, so you didn’t know if your suggestion to go to the carnival was a good one.

“It was great Y/N, really!” He was all smiles, which made you smile too.

“Ah, I’m glad.” You took a sigh of relief hearing he had enjoyed the date.

“Remember that man in the procession, the one in all blue on the stilts?”

“Yeah! He was super impressive; I couldn’t dance wearing those!” You admit.

“I’d love to see you try!” You both laughed. You continued to talk about the carnival, and Jin, perhaps accidentally, suggested you should both go back the following year together.

“Together?” You repeated, you didn't mean to sound surprised, but deep down, you didn't expect for him to suggest it so confidently.

“Of course!” He says firmly, making you blush. You both ordered some food and continued to talk about everything and anything. The food arrived, and it was incredible! Street food is seriously the best.

Eventually, you were reaching the end of your meals, and Jin noticed your shift in mood.

“What’s wrong Y/N?”

“Oh, I just realised that once we’ve finished the food, we should probably leave. The thing is, I’m just having so much fun.” You admit.

“I suppose… We’ll have to get some dessert then?” He suggested with a smirk. He clearly didn’t want to leave either.

Jin left the table in your hands to get something sweet for the two of you, meanwhile you leant on the table, far more tired than you had realised. You were so zoned out, you didn't realise Jin had returned, only when you felt something pressed onto your nose, buttercream frosting! You wake up out of your daze in shock as Jin giggles.

“Wakey wakey!” He laughs uncontrollably.

“Oh no, you didn’t!” You said, grabbing a small piece of cake and flicking it towards him. He stared in shock as it hits him in the cheek and a mischievous look appeared on his face in response. He flicked another piece towards you and you again back to him.

“Food fight!” you hear someone from the next table shout, and within no time, food is flying everywhere, and the whole of the street party is taking part in the madness!

Once everything had calmed down, you and Jin fell into each other’s arms, exhausted from the long day and then the food fight. You notice Jin staring at your lips.

He leans in “Oh. You have something there…” and picks off a small piece of cake frosting from the side of your mouth with his, rather teasingly. He smirked “got it.”

Suga

Yoongi really was not vibing the atmosphere of the carnival. He was complaining a lot about anything and everything.

“It’s so loud.” He groaned.

“It’s just music and people having fun! Stop being so grumpy.” You replied; it was your idea to go to the carnival in the first place, and you didn’t appreciate his attitude.

“There are so many people, too many!” He added. You decided to just let him carry on and walk with him without. It was your idea to come to the carnival after all, so you weren’t going to let his sour mood ruin it.

You weaved about, walking slightly ahead of Yoongi. There were many food and trinket stalls dotted along the carnival route, slightly away from the main bulk of people. But you couldn't help but feel a little deflated; you were missing the main spectacle to keep him happy. You grabbed some food and stood at the side to eat as all the tables were taken. You attempted to make conversation, but you’re pretty annoyed with him yourself.

“This is so good!” He declared, the first positive he had said thing all day.

“Well, at least one of us is having a good time.” You joked sarcastically, not really paying attention, trying to see the floats over the crowd. Your tone caught his attention, and he finally noticed you looking longingly at the procession and understood what his constant comments had done.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” He looked at you. “I was just hungry, and it's hot. I shouldn’t have complained so much…” he trailed off a little.

“Don’t worry,” you sigh, “It’s not really your sort of thing anyway, is it?”

“That shouldn’t matter. I should have tried more; you wanted to come here, so I should have tried harder, for you.” He said earnestly.

“Let’s try and squeeze our way through? See what's going on?” He suggested, finishing up the food quickly.

“Are you sure?” you asked, and he nodded enthusiastically in response, a complete mood 360; I guess the food gave him a boost of energy.

You both try weaving through the spectators, but it’s no good; the crowd lining the procession is way too dense. Defeated, you decide to give up, but Yoongi knew it was pretty much his fault you didn’t get a spot earlier.

“Ah! I have an idea!” He said as he looks around “Stay right here for a minute, don’t move an inch!”

You stand there for a while wondering what he has up his sleeve, until he returns with a wide smile.

“Follow me!” He said excitedly, grabbing your hand and leads you to a nearby café. Confused, you follow him inside and up to the upper floor. The large room was cool away from the sun, and two glass doors that opened to a balcony with a perfect view of the carnival below. “Much better, huh? I think this is the best view.” He said, leading you out to look down at the procession, putting his arms around you as you both lean on the balcony rail and watch, away from all the crowds and commotion.

“I guess this way it’s the best of both worlds.” You laugh, leaning back into his chest. He really is good at making up for any moodiness. “Remind me to make the most of post-hangry Yoongi again! He's far more romantic than normal!”

J-Hope

Hobi would be so, so excited to be going on a date to the carnival; he’d literally be even more smiley and excitable than usual! He’d dress up pretty “loud,” if you get what I mean, and he would really embrace the day and overall vibes. It’s a place you can both fully immerse yourselves with music, dancing, and fun – his ideal date, really. I feel like he'd be the most likely one to plan this day solely by himself too.

The floats began to pass by gradually as the main part of the carnival began. You were both locked together, and he was pointing out anything and everything excitedly to you; it was such a rush to the senses.

“Ohh, look at that!” He said excitedly.

"How do they do that?" You said, staring at the float passing by.

“Look at that guy’s outfit!”

"He's so flashy!" You laugh together.

"I'd totally wear that." He said, leaning his head onto yours as you continue to look upon the brightly lit festivities.

"You'd look great too." You said matter-of-fact.

"You think so?" He asked excitedly.

"You look good in everything!" You replied, making him squeal cutely.

Suddenly, Hobi's expression changes, as the music, good music began to get louder and louder, more upbeat. You see his expression shift from joy, to curiosity, to a wide-eyed look nodding his head towards the road.

Before you know it, he had pulled you out into the procession, and he was shaking his hips like he’s part of the carnival from the beginning. Of course, he was encouraging you to dance too, you were just laughing at him and the situation. You had just been watching so peacefully, and now you were right in the middle of everything. At that point, what did you have to lose? You danced with him, and, for the most part, blended in with everyone else, but to the two of you, it was as if you are the only two there.

His eyes light up when he sees a nearby bloat with bright glittering lights, and you already know what he’s thinking.

“You can’t!” You said.

“Oh, I definitely can try!” He replied cheekily, giving you a mischievous smile. You couldn't help but cringe at his confidence; you really didn't understand how he did it. He disappeared behind the float, and you walked tentatively alongside, expecting him to come back disappointed, but next thing you know, he emerged atop the float, waving at you to come closer. You approached, so many people’s eyes are on the two of you now. He held out his hands.

“Come on! Get on with me!" And you did, because why the heck not? It was carnival after all, and you were there to have a good time! Somehow the two of you were receiving some of the most cheers from the crowd, or Hobi’s dance moves were at least!

“I can’t believe you!” You said, leaning towards him.

“You love it! Isn’t this way more fun than just watching?” He asked; you couldn't help but agree.

RM

You and Joonie had planned your whole vacation around this one day, you had never experienced a large-scale carnival like this, and you were both so excited. However, there was one issue, the traffic was mad!

You hadn’t really thought about the people, just the celebration. You both sat in the taxi, facing away from one another in silence for a while. You knew how irritated he could get when things didn’t go to plan, so you thought it was best to just remain quiet to avoid an argument.

“I’m sorry,” he finally piped up; you looked at him questioningly. “I should have thought of this; I didn’t think it would be this crazy.”

“It’s fine! We didn’t know.” You assure him. “It’s as much my fault, really don’t beat yourself up over it.” His expression didn’t shift. He began to talk with the taxi driver, seeing how easy it would be to turn around to head back to the hotel.

Defeated, you glanced out of the window and noticed other people abandoning their cars and approaching the carnival on foot. “Wait, don’t turn around!” You suddenly insisted, making both Namjoon and the taxi driver jump. “How long would it take to get there on foot?”

The driver explained it would take about a twenty-minutes to walk, if you were quick and told you a few shortcuts to take too.

“Come on!” You said, grabbing NamJoon’s hand. “If we run, we might make it for the big finale!”

“I don’t know, it’s quite far…” He said, looking in the direction of the carnival. He glanced at you and then his frown shifted to a smile “Do you know what? We’re on vacation! Why not?”

“Yes! Amazing, we’ll have to be quick, though!”

He flashes you a competitive look, a look you know well. “I’ll race you.” He said with a smirk.

“Oh, it’s on, Joonie!” You said back, “be prepared to lose.”

“Hah! We’ll see about that!” He said, grabbing the car door handle, making you do so also reflexively. You both exited the taxi (You paid the driver dw!) and began to run. NamJoon kept grabbing you from behind to sabotage you when you overtook him, and you could hardly run with the laughter between the two of you.

Fortunately, you managed to make it in time, and you managed to beat him too!

“I think looser has to buy drinks.” You insisted, out of breath.

“Hey, that wasn’t part of it.” He replied, also puffed out.

“Well, I’ve just decided that it is.” You said with a smirk and he nodded.

“Whatever you say, speedy.”

You wandered around for ages after the carnival was over, cooling down in the evening breeze. It was absolutely brilliant, more than you had imagined it to be, albeit a somewhat different experience.

Jimin

You had been stood now for a while, and you were cursing yourself for not buying that drink when you saw the seller just a while earlier. It was so hot, and you were feeling a little overwhelmed by all the people, colours, noise. It was a sensory overload.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jimin asked you once again, noticing your change of expression. You really didn’t want to let on that you were uncomfortable, so faked a bright smile.

“Sorry! I was just zoning out there.” You lied. He giggled at you before putting his arm around your shoulder affectionately. He returned his gaze to the floats and sways of people passing you by. Jimin would point out little details, but you couldn’t really focus and found yourself feeling very dizzy and lightheaded. He was so engrossed in the carnival procession, especially the dancing, and you were trying your best to be all smiles and play your part, but the sun shone down hot and heavy onto your head. Someone bumped into you both from behind, pushing you forward slightly.

“Woah, watch where you’re going!” You think you heard Jimin say, but that’s when the world started spinning, and your vision blacked out entirely.

You woke up away from the crowd a little, laying on your back. You weren't sure how long you had been out of it, but the atmosphere was still busy, and the air was still warm.

“Drink this Y/N! You’re okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” You heard a familiar voice trying to comfort you from above, but you could hear the slight panic in his voice too.

“I’m okay, I’m okay!” you said, trying to sit up, but Jimin held you back.

“Not so fast! I don’t want you fainting again!” You complied, leaning back into his embrace. He leant forward, fanning your face with a pamphlet for the carnival.

“I’m sorry,” you said, defeated. “I really wanted you to enjoy the carnival, but there were so many people, and it was so hot and-“

“-It’s okay!” Jimin said, cutting you off. “Really, I’d much rather you were okay than anything.” You sighed in agreement, with a pang of disappointment through you.

“I’m really okay now. Let’s go back and watch the rest.” You insisted.

“Oh, no way! I asked some guy to go and find a medic. You’re not moving an inch until they get here.” You couldn’t help but love how protective he was. Just a short while before, he was engrossed in the carnival, but now it was like you were the only thing that mattered to him in the world, as you lay in his arms.

The medic came, gave you the all-clear after a while, noting it was probably heat exhaustion. Jimin promised to take better care of you from then on, and you hated how he seemed to blame himself for not taking more notice when you aren't as cheery as he had expected watching the carnival. You tried to insist on returning to catch the end of the procession, but he wouldn’t let you leave the seat they had found for you. You were all pouty and felt undeniably guilty for ruining the day.

“I won’t let you stand and watch, but I suppose I could carry you?” He said, turning around and holding his arms outstretched for a piggyback.

V

It was your first date with TaeHyung, and you were really regretting your choice of location. You had only just arrived, but you were already struggling to hear each other or even walk next to each other it was so crowded.

“Why don’t we go over there? It looks a little quieter,” you queried.

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked, leaning in towards you to hear you better.

“Oh, um, I said-“

“-Why don’t we go over there?” He interrupted, not hearing you. “It seems a bit less busy.”

You nodded in agreement and made your way towards a slightly more open space. It was no use, every time you tried to talk; something stopped the two of you from hearing each other; the band passing by, a child crying, two people stood near you laughing. You were beginning to worry it would ruin your chance with him altogether; a first date is enormously important after all.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty?” He asked you, shouting a little to be heard.

“I could have something,” you replied.

“Cotton candy?” he asked, pointing at a vendor.

You headed over together. He ordered one cotton candy and a bottle of water for each of you. You walked around the parameter of the carnival sharing the sweet treat; it was a little easier to hear each other there but still not good.

“Thank you for buying that. I’ll get the next thing,” you insisted, he laughed.

“It’s lively, isn't it? The carnival.”

“Yeah…” You looked around awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”

He stopped walking, turning towards you. “Why are you apologising? I don't mind it.”

“Because it’s such a bad choice for our first date, we can’t even speak.”

“Hmm, how can we fix this…” He thought hard, “Ah! I know,” He placed his arm around you swiftly, pulling you in close to him. “This is better right?” You panicked internally but tried hard not to let it show. You just nodded; after all, it was a lot easier to hear each other, if nothing else.

You continued, now far closer than before. As you walked, you spotted a group of kids dancing to the carnival band down a small side street away from the crowd. You giggle, looking at them having fun; Tae took note.

“Hey, you guys have some great moves!” He complimented them, approaching them “Do you think you could teach us how to dance like that?”

“Yeah! We’ll teach you!” The smallest one replied eagerly, pulling at his hand “you can be my partner.”

“Oh, I actually want to be Y/N’s partner, see she’s my date for today, and I wouldn't want her to be upset if I danced with someone else.”

“Ohhh, you’re on a date!” The kids replied in unison, eyeing the two of you.

"You’re really cute together!” The little one said with a wide grin. “That’s okay, I’ll dance with my brother, and we’ll show you, just copy us, okay?”

“That sounds great!” He replied to the kids, who had gotten very excited to teach two grown-ups their dance.

Tae took you by the hands, and sort of following your instructors, you danced together, laughing constantly.

“You two! Hurry up, the main float is coming!” A woman’s voice sounded behind you, the kid’s mother presumably.

“Ow, but we wanted to stay here!”

“No, come along now!” she insisted.

“I guess we have to go now.” The girl pouted.

“Well, thank you for teaching us your dance moves!” You said, leaning down to her “you’re a great teacher.” You held out both your hands for high fives, and she perked up slightly. Her brother high fived you too, and Taehyung held his hands to them too.

The kids left the side street leaving just Tae and yourself behind and suddenly the quiet between you seemed even louder than any noise from the whole day so far.

“We could stay here and dance some more?” Taehyung suggested, breaking the awkward space between you and stepped forward, holding his hands out to you again.

“I’d like that.” You admitted and took his hands once again. You began to dance, only he held you slightly closer this time…

Jungkook*

You and JungKook approach the carnival hand in hand; you were so excited. You noticed he seemed a little quiet, but it was the first time he was meeting your friend, one of your best friends from when you were kids too. You had arranged for him to meet her at the carnival; in theory, taking some of the awkwardness away. Plus, she was bringing her boyfriend too, so there was someone for Jungkook to get on with, and he wasn’t left out while the two of you caught up. You spotted them first and ran excitedly towards them. You had known your friend for years, and didn't mind her boyfriend, though you never really saw just what she saw in him.

“This is him then! Nice to meet you Jungkook, I’m Y/F/N” She said holding out her hand to shake, you instinctively laughed at her formality.

He shook it tentatively with a slight giggle. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot!”

“Good things,” you assured her, as your friend shot you a worried look. “Of course! Always good things.”

“So, this is the most recent addition to your long list of lovers then Y/N?” Your friend’s boyfriend joked, mocking your tragic lack of romance in the past, which he and your friend were all too aware of.

“Long list huh?” Jungkook asked surprised looking at you, you thought you saw a speck of jealousy but shrugged it off, he already knew your history, you had both been very open from the start.

“Ha! Yeah, as if!” You scoffed.

The four of you headed towards the carnival, where people are already gathering for the main procession along the main route. You all stood together, you and your friend reminiscing about old times. Jungkook listened to your old stories attentively, laughing along, while your friend's boyfriend wasn't really paying much interest. You looked towards Jungkook, who was staring at your friend's boyfriend as his girlfriend spoke, you could now tell for sure he was a little annoyed towards him.

“Are you okay?” You asked in a lowered voice, so the other two didn’t hear.

“You're not close with T/F/BF?”

“Not really, no. The three of us went to school together but I didn’t really know him much until they started dating.” You assured him. "Why?"

“He seems... uninterested.” He said, trailing off.

“He was just joking earlier, about my love life, I promise you.”

“No, no, I trust you, Y/N, really. I just didn’t appreciate the joke, nor his general attitude.” He admitted.

“Well, he’s just a bit of an overly confident guy; he doesn’t know when a joke is too much.”

You continued to watch the carnival together and decide to head away from the crowd for a drink.

“How much of a lightweight are you then, Jungkook?” Your friend’s boyfriend asked mockingly as you approached a pop-up bar. Oh dear! You look at Jungkook, who rolls his eyes.

“You want to see?” He asked him confidently, not breaking eye contact.

“Oh my gosh! Yes! Drinking game!” Your friend said excitedly, and you groan.

“Really, are we doing this?” You ask. Jungkook shoots you a look you recognise. He’s getting competitive.

Many, many rounds later, Jungkook slammed the glass down first. He had downed that one easy while Your friend’s boyfriend was struggling. Your friend was rubbing his back for encouragement, but it was no good; he turned to throw up.

“I guess I won?” Jungkook said, standing up with a wide grin, leaning towards you for a victory hug.

“Wow! I didn’t know you could drink so much!” You said, kind of impressed.

“Yeah, I really can’t. Please help me stand up straight,” he said with a low laugh; he was leaning on you heavily.

Your friend helped carry her boyfriend off, and they went to grab a taxi home. You left Jungkook on the road curb while you went to get him some water. When you returned, you dropped down to sit next to him. The carnival was coming to an end and the crowds dispersed. He rested his head on your shoulder and let out a big exhale.

“I think I’ll need some help standing up.” He admitted with a drunken chuckle. You sighed but agreed to look after him. It was hardly the way you had wanted the day to go, but you couldn’t help but be proud he put your friend’s boyfriend in his place and won, so you’d let him off this time.

*Not implying Jungkook os a drunk or anything just FYI!

[more-than-a-princess]

@awesomeuchuu​ asked: Do you feel awkward/nervous/etc trying to get to know people? What is something you want people to know right away about yourself? What are some things you worry about in terms of new people?

Anxious Munday meme - accepting!

Do you feel awkward/nervous/etc trying to get to know people?

Not usually? Admittedly, I do tend to wait for people who followed me first to reach out after I follow back. Mostly because I can’t often tell if someone just wants to read my posts, even as a fellow RP blog, or wants to interact. And I’ve dealt with quite a bit of the former, leading to muns taking offense that I want to interact with their muses when they followed me first.

The most awkward situations are trying to plot and the other mun replying with “Whatever you want to do is fine!” or not wanting to plot at all. Or being forced into a ship or verse without even asking me: I see this often with the Chiaki Nanami/Sonia Nevermind ship (which I ship platonically but not romantically) or forcing me to interact, through dashcomm or asks, in my Despair!verse (this verse is very rarely used on this blog, and never for a first interaction. Mostly because it’s a ton of trigger warnings and I prefer not having to tone down my content because of it). 

What is something you want people to know right away about yourself?

The three biggest things: I write a lot, I’m (usually) slow at replies, and I sometimes just feel certain threads/verses/interactions more than others, and that’s not your fault. 

I put it in my pinned and my rules, but overall I’m a multi-para to novella roleplayer. While you will likely see one liners and short para replies on this blog, they’re usually crack and reserved for muns and muses I’ve got character development and many past interactions with. They’re fun for a break or as a throwaway or crack thread, but that’s not the bulk of this blog, and most of the time I do prefer longer threads.

I also am slow at replies, especially if you’re used to getting thread replies in 24-48 hours or less. My current turnaround time is 14 days or less, which I’m mostly able to stick to at the moment. This is due to the longer thread style and the fact I’ve got a full-time job, several other hobbies, and am trying to move into my new house at present (I’m currently in the hell that is the packing stage. Thinking about the amount of zeroes I’ll be writing on my downpayment wire is...humbling). I’m hoping by the end of April, my queue will be able to post at 2x/day again instead of 1x/day, which is easier for me to handle right now.

And finally, there’s some character dynamics/verses/interactions I tend to have more muse for overall. In some instances it’s new and fresh, in others it’s a familiar rapport. But most of the time, I just have more ideas for those interactions and will reply and queue them a bit faster. It’s not a slight against my partner as a person, it’s just where my inspiration goes and good writing chemistry. While muses have ship chemistry, I fully believe different roleplay writers have writing chemistry of their own: different writing styles, plots, and interests may inspire some muns while repelling others. And that’s just fine!

In general, I do try to have one active thread with everyone who wants to write. But I don’t always have muse for more. It happens.

What are some things you worry about in terms of new people?

I used to have a lot more worries, like writing style and if we had a bunch of mutuals in common, would they write with me too.

Now, it’s mostly boiled down to one of these two issues (beyond the usual incompatible writing style/forceship/uncomfortable content/etc):

1. You’re writing a canon muse and I have no idea who they are (And I don’t know a lot of canon anime and game muses. Especially video/computer game muses. Unless you write from Danganronpa, The Nonnary Games, an otome title, and possibly Persona 5, assume I likely don’t know who your video game muse is). This happens quite a lot actually, but the problem I run into is that the mun in question either doesn’t want to plot or discuss any sort of interaction so we can figure out a verse/common ground that works for us, or they just don’t have any rules or character info available at all.

It gets really uncomfortable when said muns get offended that I don’t know who their super popular muse is and refuse to make a rules or about page, either.

To that end, it can be easier sometimes to approach fandomless OCs in that retrospect: many OCs I’ve come across do have fandom-specific verses, but also more general verses that I can usually work with. Unless it’s a magic/high fantasy verse, or something with a lot of combat/fighting scenes. Those are my least favorite things to write. 

2. You’re posting starter/meme/interaction calls and getting many (a dozen, two dozen, sometimes more!) replies and then post how difficult it is to keep up with them. There’s nothing wrong with that! It just shows a lot of people like to write and interact with you. However, I’m a bit wary of blogs like this because I feel that I only add to their stress and our thread(s) won’t go anywhere because you have a lot on your plate. I may try to wait to interact with you when you have fewer interactions, or at least don’t sound overwhelmed by all of your replies and threads.

[pathogenliliaceae]

Let the games begin. To go off on: Mia. To explore changes, potential, concerns, etc: Jill.

Oh! Cooperation is lovely! Thank you, Anonymous! This may be a bit longwinded... We'll give Mia a go first.

My Thoughts on Mia Winters:

I make no secrets that my analysis on Mia will be full of speculation. Quite honestly, though she's been in more games than some of our series protagonists, there isn't much that is truly known about her (Ha, I put "it" and had to correct myself). She is full of mystery, and while that functionally works for Ada and her behind-the-scenes mischief, there is something that absolutely irks me about the enigma that is Mia's purpose.

I think this is why: While Ada ends up being beneficial in some circumstance, Mia finds herself in need of rescuing. We are two for two, at this point. Her presence in both games is inconsequential. Everything that happens involving Mia could have been just as easily expressed in a memo or through cutscenes. Those of you who enjoy her will defend that she did not ask Ethan to come and rescue her in Seven, but truly I am not entirely convinced nor sure of how much of Mia's actions are the E-001 mould or are her own. Therefore, we cannot pick and choose.

We can, however, analyse what Mia was like prior to the E-001 infection.

Let us talk first about the organisation she finds herself involved with. The Connections, founded by Brandon Bailey, who you may recognise from memos in Five- a protégé of Dr. James Marcus. From what I can tell, The Connections does not have much to do with anything other than the E-series. They (he?) attempted partnership with HCF in the early 2000s, but the only bit of information I can find about what they did states that they only managed to "revolutionise" mind-control experiments through the use of fungus. Fungus which they obtained from Miranda under the false pretense that they would use it to resurrect Eva. Right, then- Mia joins them in 2010.

The timeline is a bit wonky in this bit, but stick with me as I try to make some sense of it. Mia and Ethan date in Texas (video games tell me that the most awful things happen in Texas) in the early 2000s, and marry in 2011. Therefore, it is (hopefully) assumed that their relationship was at least somewhat serious prior to Mia joining The Connections in 2010. One would assume that they engaged and Mia celebrated by becoming a bioterrorist. I understand, though. Weddings are expensive.

Mia keeps her job a secret from her to-be, and later- current, husband. She tells him she works as a "worker for a trading company", which- shame on Ethan for not asking more questions to uncover that elaborate ruse. That story falls apart if you brush it with a feather. She even calls the transport and handling of Eveline a "babysitting job" in her video to Ethan at the beginning of Seven. Oh, Ethan, you absolute moron. We should expect that he does suspect something, at least, as in her second video that she attempts to send she states "You're right, I have been lying to you". In October 2014, Mia and Alan spirit Eveline away, intentionally across the Atlantic, and presumably transporting her to Miranda, because the BSAA uncovered the facility (I am unsure where the facility Eveline was conceived in is located. I assume Texas, as Mia joined The Connections in Texas, and Louisiana is on the way from Texas to Romania). I am aware that some articles state that the Annabelle was headed to Central America, but I cannot find citation of it in a memo, nor remember it in my playthrough of Seven. She is "killed" (fails at containment) whilst "trading goods" (smuggling a sentient bioweapon). Ethan presumably moves on with his life, all the better for no longer having Mia as a spouse. ... Until July, 2017. All bad things happen in July in this series. Arklay, Lanshiang, now this.

As we cannot be certain that Mia is not lying, due to her track record, I will state that we cannot be sure that she did not lure Ethan to Dulvey, and therefore is entirely involved in the events of Seven, from transport to finality. Mia, canonically, unfortunately, is "cured" with the serum and evacuated from the Dulvey Estate by Blue Umbrella (which I take absolute issue with).

I've said this timeline is a mess, and my thoughts are equally messy, so I apologise again. We'll move on to Village and the bulk of what I suspect is Mia's covert (if you could call it covert) allied relationship with Miranda. Previous to October 2014, Miranda travelled to The Connections facility that was housing Eveline. There, she met and conversed with both Mia and Alan. Both were working in tandem for and with The Connections, and both were intimately involved in the E-series.

Back to the whole transporting Eveline across the ocean bit, because I've just had a thought, just WHO approves of transporting a BOW of Eveline's calibre without containment measures and protocols? Oh, yes, it could not possibly backfire that we've given everyone out of the know the impression that this is a family with a not-at-all-dangerous small child. Yes, a gun will fix it. Perfect. Whose idea was this? Mia? Alan? Brandon? Whomever, you're thick.

Anyhow- I wholly and fully believe that Mia's involvement in Village and, by proxy, with Miranda, is willful. They had met before, and by extension had worked together, on the E-series project in specific regard to Eveline and the moulded. Rosemary is born to Mia and Ethan, and the BSAA relocates the Winterses (this still makes me laugh as it does not, at all, roll off the tongue) to Romania. I am not one hundred percent certain how this comes to be the location, as I have faith that Mia would know that Miranda operates nearby. There is too much happenstance for it to not be purposeful. That, however, involves Chris in some fashion and I cannot make that connection in a way that I enjoy it. I like to imagine that Mia simply expressed that she had always wanted to visit Romania, and the BSAA bungled it accordingly.

A bit more on the BSAA in this whole instance: While I do find them entirely insufferable, an utter joke at times, I do believe that some of them are at least somewhat competent. Yes, even Miss Valentine. Canonically, The Connections has a mole in the BSAA. The Connections, who hired Lucas Baker as Head Researcher in the E-series project. The Connections, who trusted Mia to transport a sentient BOW without containment measures. Has a mole. In the BSAA.

Sure.

Anyhow, this "mole" provides Miranda with intel of where the Winterses are living, that they've just had a baby, that both Mia and Ethan are living fungal colonies, and therefore, perhaps, maybe, Rosemary may be a suitable substitute for Eva. Bit of a leap of logic there, but I digress.

This "mole" in the BSAA must absolutely be Mia. I do not think so much it's that she's in the BSAA so much as that she is privy to whatever intel they would have regarding her family because she is a part of it. Again, she would have know they were close to Miranda. "Remember that mouldy pseudo-child BOW that my organisation promised you? Have I got news for you- my husband and I have gone stale, I've got a daughter, and I'm right in the neighbourhood!"

It ultimately makes more sense in the whole of how the universe operates that Mia and Miranda would be in league with one another. One does not simply make connections in... Well, The Connections... For all this to be coincidence.

Miranda takes Mia's forme and then goes on to impersonate Mia for days, her confrontational attitude goes unnoticed by Ethan because Mia's mould-type is of the toxic variety. Allegedly, Mia is captured and holed up in Miranda's lab having been experimented on. The only supporting evidence to Mia having been experimented on is in Eugen's Diary, stating that Miranda asked Eugen to bring her medical equipment and drugs on Wednesday, 3 February 2021. On Friday, 5 February, Miranda had taken Mia's place. And, of course, Mia's claim that she was experimented on and held hostage. I have one question of all of this:

Why would Miranda need to experiment on Mia if she is infected with the same E-series mould that Miranda already has samples and an unlimited supply of due to her proximity to the megamycete? Mia does not state that she is special after being rescued by Chris, only that Ethan is special. I would argue that both are rather run-of-the-mill, but again, I digress. Simply put, I don't believe that she would need to. Us scientists are not in the habit of wanting to perform experiments for the sake of using up supplies.

Furthermore, when Chris finds Mia in Miranda's lab, she is "imprisoned" in oddly the same way as she was in Seven. Behind bars, but unrestrained. In Village, Mia even has relative access to a weapon which she tries to attack Chris with. While Miranda is a mimic, after having obtained target DNA, I do not imagine that it would be easy to have mistaken Chris for Miranda. Unless Miranda regularly comes down to her lab as other people, which would be rather amusing- though setting up for a massive security issue.

If you were to imprison someone for experimentation, it's likely you wouldn't give them anything they could possibly use to attack you with. At least, that's how I would do it in the off chance that for whatever reason I became interested in imprisoning someone against their will for the purpose of science. (Do not read into this, Christiana.)

I believe that Mia intended to attack Chris, and after failing miserably, played the damsel card.

I will end this rambling on this note: She is entirely rude, confrontational, and hostile for someone who has just been rescued from imprisonment and had their baby saved. Honestly, if this is her default personality, who could fault Ethan for not noticing his wife being replaced for three days?

In short: Ethan should have saved Zoe instead. Mia Winters is a false-protagonist who has found herself in more than a few suspicious situations, has proven from the beginning to be a liar, and already has the connection with Miranda that might foster her involvement in the events of Seven and Village.

I'm certain I've missed something further that would be worth discussing. We will cover Jill in another entry as this has run much too long already, and it is time for my job as a worker at a trading company.

[girlpornparadise]

Bonding

Pairing: Dr. Price (Maurice Compte)/f!Reader (Perfect)

Word count: ~1000

Premise of the movie: He's some kind of mad scientist doing something futurey (?) There's pretty young people everywhere. Pretentious nonsense is said in abundance. The dude is his son I think? And messed up. Then like REALLY messed up. Can't even gif it it's so bad.

Anywho, Dr Price. Let's make him a psychiatrist.

This really is one of the worst movies I've ever not really watched. Here's some of my head garbage.

"Here at the institute we work on trust. You must trust me completely."

You swallow thickly and nod.

"Can you do that?"

"Yes doctor Price." You say in some kind of trance. He's magnetic for sure.

You are led to your room and you situate yourself to the building. Places to eat, places to relax, offices for treatment.

The first session you sit on a couch and talk about yourself. Your feelings, your fears, your trepidation at this process. He listens intently, scribbling in a notebook. His eyes are kind and patient.

The second session is much like the first, and are a daily occurence. He opens up a little about himself as part of his philosophy of trust, but nothing earth shattering. Just enough to humanize himself.

Sometime in the second week you find him sharing your couch. Gradually his hand finds its way to your knee, then your thigh a few sessions later.

The discussions are getting more intense, and the physical contact is increasing to match.

In the fourth week you enter his office and you find him sitting on the couch, he pats his thigh indicating that today that's where you should sit. You do as you're told. 

"We are entering the stage of true intimacy." He states. "We must trust one another fully for the research to be completed."

His voice is soft, just above a whisper, and you lean in to hear him. 

The questions are much the same but the tone has shifted. You are feeling his voice reverberate, catching hints of his breath against you, taking in his scent, and feeling his arm across your back and hand on your thigh to steady you.

This form of treatment continues for a week and you find yourself leisurely draping your arms around his neck, feeling his big hands rove across your body, sharing the occasional bit of laughter.

Then one day without thinking, you gently caress his face. When his eyes meet yours he smiles. He has achieved his goal, and you are his to mould as he sees fit.

He leans in to kiss you, but you pull away. The smile leaves his face.

"I'm afraid." You whisper.

"You have nothing to fear, we are each other's now. I am as much yours as you are mine." 

Your mind is pliant, but you know your bond is strong. Is this love?

You decide it doesn't matter, the labels, the research. You are here only to chase the euphoria of being claimed by this man.

He moves to stand and you are motioned into standing too.

"Take off your clothes."

You hesitate.

"Trust me." His voice earnest.

You do as you're told.

He removes his shirt and sits back down. You resume your previous position on his lap and he begins to caress you.

He leans in once more for a kiss and this time you reciprocate, unleashing the pent up passion he had spent a month cultivating. His satisfied hum trembles through you both.

As he palms your breasts you sigh and run your hand along his muscular chest, steadying yourself with your other hand on his equally muscular back.

The intense kissing continues until he finally breaks away.

"We will continue our next phase of skin to skin contact tomorrow." He tries to maintain his composure as he says it, but his lips are lightly swollen, matched by the swollen bulge in his pants. He retrieves his shirt and dismisses you, leaving you with unfulfilled desires and a restless sleep.

The next day you enter his office to find him staring at you with hunger in his eyes. "I must admit, this has all happened much faster than I had anticipated." He stalks towards you and palms your jaw. "Do you trust me?" 

You nod. You do. You genuinely do.

"Then take your clothes off and lay down on the couch."

You do as you're told.

Your obedience is complete at this point.

He too strips and as you situate yourself as commanded you see his erection approach at your eye line. You gasp at the impressive sight.

He parts your legs using his own and you spread yourself eagerly for him. As he kneels over top of you, he leans down and kisses your face. He is a gentle lover and you whimper and squirm beneath his bulk. His soft ministrations draw both your blood and emotions to the surface and you feel your entire being raw to this powerful man.

He pulls back and enters you with just enough force elicit a cry. He begins to rock his hips and you match him, pulling him deeper into you.

He kisses your mouth as you moan into his, his hands firmly tilting your head to his liking.

It strikes you as a surprise how quickly it approaches and how strong the cascade is when you cum. Your panting only encourages him and he rocks faster with more purpose. As he spills into you, face tense, muscles strained, you feel complete. As though this month of bonding has been brought to completion and with it the peace you sought by coming here.

"You are mine now." He smiles. It is both kind and possessive.

"I am." You sigh contentedly.

You are still unsure of the purpose of the institute, or even the nature of his research. You came here to heal, and you believe in some twisted way, you have done just that. One thing is certain however, you are now part of his cult. 

[unholyplumpprincess]

Desire

Commission for the ever so cute @candy-diick with a heaping helping of Caustichound ft-ing them going from FWB to lovers in this case of: Caustic is emotionally constipated, PLEASE someone peg him lovingly.

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Caustic/Bloodhound

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Caustic in cute lacy lingerie, biting, bruising, dom Bloodhound, Bloodhound has a vulva, strap ons, monster strap ons, piercings, Bloodhound hcs mentioned, FWB arrangement to lovers, uhhh mildly public first scene so uhhh, exhibitionism kinda.

Words: 4.2K

___________________

It wasn’t every day you met someone like Bloodhound. A fearsome apex predator in the arena, just as they were a mysterious enigma out of it. They stalked and hunted contenders in the games just like they were nothing but deer for their sacrifice. Never treated it like it was a game, more of a religious experience.

It was of no surprise Caustic became interested in how this hunter worked. Bloodhound was a mysterious ally and foe, more active talking when on a squad, and ever respectful when sticking a knife in your throat. It appeared they did not play these games for the money or the glory, they appeared to be doing their gods’ wills.

It was interesting to think that someone such as Bloodhound, almost feral yet beautifully regal, would ever bow their head to someone they could not see.

Fascinating, if you were to ask Caustic that is.

~Rest under the cut~

There was such power behind everything they did that just sparked something in him that Caustic hadn’t felt in- well, awhile. Some sort of interest, the need to pick them apart, to know them inside and out. He wanted to know why the bulky armor if their build was smaller underneath- wouldn't they be even more agile without such bulk in the way? He wanted to know why the mask, was it a religious thing or was there something more lying just underneath the surface?

How did they get so good wielding any blade? Why ‘the Allfather’? How could they hit their target straight on and not brag about it, but instead humbly accept the kill and offer it to a being that could not be seen?

What, on any planet, made Bloodhound tick?

It starts off as an innocent fascination, Alexander tells himself that much when he’s not in the ring. When the games weren’t going, he tries not to think about them. They way their weight on top of him before they sheathed a blade in his throat had him going more than anything. How watching them lie prone on a building near him on his squad, pulling a trigger and seeing the flex in their forearms and bicep had him fighting to tear his gaze away.

All...innocent curiosity. He just wanted to know who Bloodhound was.

That’s all.

A lie he can believe until the legends are offered dorms to stay in to be close by. A compound for all of them. A few of them are friendly to one another, after a few tense days. Alexander tries to stay mostly out of the way, not looking to befriend.

Until he sees Bloodhound much later, dressed down and out of armor. In skin tight black jeans, a high necked tight tunic, a leather jacket with feathers on the shoulders and a mask to cover their lower face with sharp teeth painted on it. Red glasses cover their eyes and their crimson curls are pulled back into a braid. And his whole world seems to stop.

Even just seeing so little of them as he could. From their sharp, black painted nails peeking from fingerless leather gloves, to how decorated their ears were in gold piercings. To how he could feel their piercing gaze on him from across the hall as they made their way out.

It made sense for them not to wear their gear in public- people would recognize them by their signature helmet and mask. But, like that? They were an anonymous person.

A beautiful, anonymous person.

From then on? Alexander can’t stop his dying curiosity. A small taste of flesh, a hint of a person underneath, and he had to know more. Had to know the why’s, had to know the how’s. It’s not an obsession, a curiosity, he’d put it. He had already been curious in them before, but now?  

Oh, now it was hunger.

Perhaps he watches a bit too closely in later games when they are on the same squad. A few times Bloodhound asks if he is alright, a gloved hand clasped on Alexander’s shoulder and he can practically picture their concerned face as they ask, “Are you alright, felagi fighter? Your strength does not leave you from the heat?”

Caustic about vibrates when he’s been caught, shrugging them off and offering a shaky exhale from his own mask, followed by, “I am quite alright. Don’t fret, I shall...catch up in a moment.”

From then, Caustic starts to take notice about how they notice he’s watching them. It’s little things, such as a small tilt of their head, the gleam of their goggles giving nothing away. However, he can feel the intensity of their stare on him. Curious and cautious.

Yet, they don’t tell him off for it. So, like any good scientist, he keeps watching. Making his own observations, doodling them when he can in his journal that he kept on hand for field discoveries. From how their body curves at certain angles to how they become a feral beast when they suddenly snarl, shout to the sky, and take off in a frenzy of slaughter.

The upcoming match, it’s Bloodhound, Caustic, and a newcomer on a squad. Bloodhound seems agitated already on the dropship, rolling their neck and balancing weight from foot to foot. Yet, in the arena they seem calm and calculated as usual. Keeping communication with the squad and marking the tracks of other people in the arena.

The newcomer doesn’t like being bossed around, is some snot nosed man who huffs and takes off. Saying he won’t be treated like lesser just because they’re a legend. Polite as ever, Bloodhound bows their head and offers for him to offer his assistance to the squad. Which results in him exploding and storming off- promptly ending up on the scoreboard as ‘out of the game’.

Which leaves them alone. Something Caustic had been with them before, except this time felt...different.

They take a more authoritative tone to keep them both alive and standing. Caustic doesn’t argue against them, following their every move. Trained like a dog at the beckon of their hand to approach to the fist they make when Bloodhound wordlessly tells him to stop.

Truly, it isn’t in Caustic’s best nature to be getting hard over this, but he can’t help it. The full effect of it is when they shove him into a corner, hands on either side of his body to keep him from being seen by a squad running by and chasing another. Their smaller body doesn’t move an inch from his, shoved into a tight corner, their head turned to listen to the noise outside. The sounds of gunfire, then soon quieting down to a full squad down and the sounds of looting, then they leave.

But all Caustic can hear is his own heart pounding and how Bloodhound’s breaths are quiet and timed, while his are almost panted out. Trying to squeeze his chubby thighs together to keep from acting like this. So... depraved, almost creepy, he thought.

He thinks he’s gotten away with it.

He thinks he also gets away with how much he’s been watching them, how his eyes trail for far too long.

He thinks he’s gotten away with all of it, up until later.

Bloodhound confronts him after the small celebration of the champions, with him and Bloodhound coming in second place. Bloodhound had slinked off to not be apart of the limelight, while Alexander had stayed behind a bit longer to catch a glimpse at the champions.

When he’s walking through the halls, he can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up on end. But before he can act upon his instincts, he’s shoved back into a wall. A smaller frame presses against him, fingers twisted in his shirt now that his gear for the ring was removed. His eyes widen, looking down at Bloodhound who was still fully geared up, the little trinkets on their helmet clinking with the soft sway of the strings.

“You have been watching me.” They state clearly, almost agitated it sounds like. Alexander would smile at the situation, but he knows better than to provoke them. So, he’s smart, he stays silent, watching as they take a step closer to really press him into the wall. He can’t really help himself, his breath hitching and his hands going to grab them, but when they snarl he quickly lets his hands retreat.

With Alexander’s hands now resting fingertips on the wall, their shoulders relax a bit. They scoff at him once no response comes, letting their hands untwist from his shirt so they can boldly rest them at his sides. Almost hesitating as they trail down to his hips, goggles set intently on his face. Yet, Alexander can only give the briefest of nods. As if telling them it’s alright.

“You have been studying me.” They state bluntly once more, hooking fingers in the belt around his waist to yank him closer. Their smaller body able to fit between his thighs that he parts willingly. How curious, they wonder, but not before huffing once again.

“You have been hard while watching me.” Bloodhound growls out, letting one of their hands trail down his hip to cup his crotch upon that word. They feel a thrill shoot up their spine when Alexander grunts, tipping his head to the side like rightful prey the way he exposes himself.

Oh. Oh, he liked them treating him like this. How curious indeed.

“What have your studies shown you?” They continue, letting their gloved hand roughly feel the outline of his cock with small squeezes. They almost drop their tone, surprised at his size, but when he lets out a small groan in the back of his throat they snap back. “That you like having your throat ripped out by my blade? That you would prefer that I use my teeth?”

Alexander’s breath catches and he nods his head without thinking. Helpless as they feel him up. Bloodhound is in awe at him, how they’d taken the stance that perhaps he’d be more dominant in the bedroom. And yet, seeing how he tilts his head, flushed all over his freckled face, oh how could they not indulge him?

“Come.” They murmur, just loud enough for him to hear. Bloodhound could laugh at how obediently he perks up, following after them as they push him into a nearby room. A supply room with a mirror on one side of the room and the other side covered in different gear for newer people. It’s easy enough to slip in, shutting the door and sliding a nearby jacket under the door so it would act as a doorstop long enough. Just in case.

Alexander is as obedient as ever when they point to the floor wordlessly. Bloodhound would be lying if they said they didn’t get satisfaction out of watching him drop to his knees so eagerly. Gingerly, their gloved hand fits into his hair, giving him a tug until his face is pressed to their crotch.

“What an eager boy.” They coo, hearing him inhale their scent and nuzzle his face there. As if he’d dreamed of this moment, or perhaps thought this in fact was all a dream. Alexander doesn’t even need to be told what to do, just eagerly working on their pants and hooking his fingers into their boy shorts. Tugging their pants down to mid-thigh with their underwear and about whines when he sees them.

Soft, dark red curls rest on the mound of their cunt. Darker at the slit where they’re wet already with a juicy clit peeking out from their plump lower lips. Alexander shakily exhales, using two fingers to part them open to watch their inner lips blossom open like a flower. Pink and shiny already with slick as their clit juts out like an invitation.

A small tug on his hair and he’s immediately sealing his lips over their clit. Suckling eagerly as one hand keeps them parted, framing their clit with his fingers as his other hand holds onto their toned thigh. Squeezing in turn when Bloodhound sighs with pleasure, letting their head thunk back against the mirror.

“Mnh-” They moan out softly when Alexander laps at them. From hole to clit in a few strokes, moaning at their taste in turn. He can’t help it, having ached so badly for this moment. His cock is aching in his pants, throbbing and imagining them cruelly crushing it with their boot. But, instead, they laugh softly at him. “Ah- so eager?”

Their answer is a wet, open mouthed kiss on their clit. Getting so lost in their taste and scent that he starts to nose his way up from just about their hole to their clit. Smearing their slick on his face as his tongue stays out to lick up their taste with absolutely no shame.

A messy eater, Bloodhound notes, using their hand in his hair to fist the strands at the root and shove his face back into them. Hissing when he gets more eager, bringing the hand from their thigh to stroke two fingers at their entrance. Waiting for them to spread their legs wider before he presses them inside. Licking and sucking at their clit, curling his fingers inside of their tight walls.

Bloodhound cums with a snarl, one that he’ll keep in mind as they hold him still to their cunt. Letting Alexander lick desperately at them until he’s pulled away. He’s left to pant, fingers gently pulling out of them so he can lick the mess off eagerly before trying to make a show of his straining cock.

“Please-” He finally says, eyes almost teary as his hands paw at their thighs. He looked absolutely pathetic, cock trapped in his pants onto his thigh with a darker spot at the head where he was leaking pre-cum.

Instead, they huff at him, nudging at his cock with their combat boot. “Surely you can beg better than that.”

--

That was months ago where Alexander’s...’obsession’ turned out to be a long term thing. Friends with benefits, as he had put it. Watching as Bloodhound had tilted their head curiously at the term before accepting. It blew off steam for both of them, as well as providing Bloodhound with more reason to take the lead in most occasions.

Alexander thought it was rather nice. They were very attractive, smart, a tremendous tracker, and both a great rival in the arena as well as a squad mate. To be on their good side was a win in his book, it meant he had the upper hand in most occasions.

Well, against everyone except for Bloodhound, that is.

Alexander found his role in the bedroom to be that of underneath the hunter. Bloodhound liked playing with him very much. From tying his cock with a ribbon to trying shibari, to making him cum multiple times from simply jacking him off or even putting their talented, pierced tongue to work. Alexander had also found, through these romps, that Bloodhound had quite the oral fixation. They enjoyed anything in their mouth from fingers, to his cock, to even his tongue on the rare occasion he was allowed to kiss them.

No penetrative sex. If at most, Bloodhound would let him cum on their cunt or in their underwear or use their thighs so he could sob and beg them. But, they would not allow him inside. Alexander didn’t mind, ever obedient and happy with their arrangement. Except, feelings started...happening.

He didn’t mean for them to. Yet, over the months of being in this arrangement with them, they’d started showing more. From their face where he could see the jagged claw mark scars going down their face and framing their blinded eye, appearing like a miniature sun. To how their full lips quirked into a grin, showing off sharp canines and dimples as they’d turn their head too quickly for him to get a full image.

To how their voice was smooth, yet strong. How they purred out what a good boy he was, to taking care of him afterwards.

To...how Alexander’s heart twisted and tugged every time they brushed careful fingers through his hair, tucking strands behind his ear and asked if he was alright.

As much as he...liked their arrangement, he was afraid that feelings were becoming too strong. Bloodhound liked the openness in their talks, perhaps he could talk to them about it. Yet, after a week he comes to the conclusion that perhaps it wasn’t romantic attraction, perhaps it was just desire.

So, Alexander brings it up casually to them. One night while they are coming down from a high, pulling off his face as they bask in their glow.

“Would you ever consider penetrative sex?” Alexander asks bluntly, rolling to his side to look at them. In turn, Bloodhound knits their thick brows back at him, cocking their head to the side in a wordless question. “I mean- would you perhaps be comfortable with...fucking me?”

Upon Alexander rephrasing it, with his cheeks glowing rosy, Bloodhound hums in return. Propping themselves up on their elbow and pushing their curls out of their face. They ponder for a moment, biting their bottom lip in a way that has Alexander’s heart fluttering- a thing he blames on desire.

“Yes...Let us discuss boundaries and how you would like it, first, before we act upon it.” They finally say, rolling onto their tummy with a yawn and taking his pillow, nuzzling their cheek into it and smiling lazily at him. “Perhaps after some rest.”

It was just his desire that makes him breathless.

It was just his desire that makes him yearn to brush the hair from their face and caress their cheek.

Just desire.

That’s what he tells himself again when they’re in his room next week. Dressed in that black outfit that sends his heart racing, their mask thrown somewhere else in the room and their glasses set aside. They have him against the door, one hand twisted in his shirt to yank him down a bit to their level, the other grabbing his cock through his loose sweatpants.

Alexander is a mess as they kiss him, a rare treat for him. Their tongue licks into his mouth, licking over his tongue and letting him taste the cinnamon-like tea they had earlier. Feeling over their barbell in their tongue with every swipe they give him. Eventually, Bloodhound pulls back once satisfied, letting their sharp teeth dig into his bottom lip with another squeeze to his dick.

“Get on the bed.” They snarl, pulling away from him and watch him quickly obey orders. Hurriedly climbing onto the bed but not before they stop him with a simple hand in the air, open palmed. Wait. Wordless commands. “Strip. Let me see if you could obey a simple order.”

Alexander’s cheeks flush red. He doesn’t back sass, doesn’t huff, but he does briefly avert his gaze. Fingers messing with the bottom of his t-shirt before he slowly pulls it up. Revealing his fluffy, rounded tummy and then slowly further up until baby pink lace is revealed. A simple lacy bralette that’s rather flattering to his shape.

“All the way.” They urge him, shrugging out of their own jacket and tossing it to the side. Walking towards him like a predator stalking its prey with small, precise steps. Alexander, ever one to obey, strips out of his sweatpants as well. Revealing his large, thick cock trapped in lacy pink panties with a little black bow on the front. His cock is resting more on his hip than anything under the strap of the panties, clearly having been straining. Poor thing.

Bloodhound’s eyes scream approval as they look him up and down. How his chubby thighs tremble and his fingers curl into the bed under him, his face burning red to his ears. His tongue flicks out anxiously over his lips, immediately catching how Bloodhound’s eyes lock onto it.

They come over, knocking his legs open on the edge of the bed where he sits. Easily standing between them and grabbing his chin in their manicured fingers, tilting his head up. “Such a good boy, are you not? Look at how eager you are to be fucked by me.” Their voice is low, a powerful vibration as Alexander can only nod feverishly in reply, as best as he can with the firm grip on his chin.

It doesn’t take long before Alexander is lying back on the pillows. His hole is stretched out by four slick fingers and his cock is peeking out from the top of his panties now. Leaking onto his abdomen with Bloodhound above him, their own clothing removed down to a sports bra and the boy short harness they wore. A large cock resting inside of it.

With Bloodhound having vitiligo, there wasn’t anyone who made a cock with their skin tone, and besides they preferred ones like this. A monstrous looking dildo, almost plant-like in appearance. Soft pink and as thick as three fingers at the beginnings already, ribbed down to the rounded shaft and the dark green, leafy-like. A small tube went underneath, the syringe resting on the hip of their harness for easy pushing. The syringe containing quite the handful of cum lube.

There is only a moment where Bloodhound goes slow and it’s upon first entrance. Lining up and pressing inside slowly until the base is flush with Alexander’s ass. Petting over his chubby, shaking thighs that rest over their hips. Bloodhound squeezes fondly at him, murmuring soft praise. “Good boy- look at how pretty you are. You take me so well. Just relax.”

The throb in Alexander’s heart is not just from desire.

He swallows thickly, giving a small nod for them to move, but they don’t. Stroking over his thighs and over his lace-clad cock. Waiting for him to verbally say when he’s ready. Knowing better that he liked the ache, but they only wanted to wreck him this go around. To see him cry. To hear him say their name like a prayer.

The warmth in Bloodhound’s heart is not just from desire.

When Alexander finally breathes out his approval, they’re right on him. Stopping their soft petting to now claw at his thighs, using him as leverage to pound their hips into him. Pressing their hips flush to his soft, chubby ass again and again as the sound of flesh against flesh resounds through the room.

Bloodhound’s teeth find his shoulders and neck again and again. Sucking a hickey between his pecs before pushing his bralette to the side to seal their lips over a nipple, followed by a soft bite to the pillowy flesh.

Alexander’s hands try to grab at them as noises rip through him that he wasn’t ready for. Cries and loud whines escaping his throat as they angle their hips perfectly to nail him on his prostate again and again. His blunt nails dig into their back, holding them closer until they’re squashed against him pleasantly. Each thrust of their hips letting his cock rut up against their abdomen.

Each wet squelch of their cock pressing into him is a second closer to him cumming. Alexander’s eyes are glassy, tears welling up in pleasure and emotion as one hand comes up to grip at the hair at the nape of their neck. Not quite yanking, but holding them firmly to the crook of his neck that they attack with their sharp teeth and insistent sucking.

He loved them.

Oh, he loved them.

With the sudden wave of emotion followed by another slam into his prostate, Alexander is gone. Crying out as blinding pleasure washes over him. Holding Bloodhound to his body as one leg rests around theirs, tucking behind one of their legs to keep them still and steady above him. His thick cock jerks weakly as it spills a copious amount of cum, a weak sob leaving him when he notes how full he feels. Catching Bloodhound’s hand moving from their hip where they pressed the syringe down to fill him up with cum.

As they both begin to settle, Bloodhound is quick on the routine. Carefully pulling out but taking the time to spread his legs and watch the faux cum spill out onto an awaiting towel under Alexander’s hips. They hum in approval, stroking his thighs as they slip out of their harness. Paying no mind to how their slick leaves a patch on it or how flushed their own clit is.

Instead they focus on getting a wet, cold towel and cleaning Alexander up. Washing off the cum on his tummy and taking care to avoid his cock. They murmur praise and adoring words as they kiss at the bruises and bitemarks on his neck, kissing at the shell of his ear in a way that sends shivers racing down his spine.

“Hound?” He murmurs, voice tired and hoarse from all his moaning. Bloodhound hums in response, taking care to towel off any remaining bodily fluids on his abdomen. “How would you feel about...dating next?”

Perhaps Alexander expected another reaction rather than to them laughing, watching as they lie down next to him, resting an arm on his chest to hold him. Fingers gently toying at his bralette. “You are very courageous these past two weeks, hm?” Voice playful and soft as they playfully snap the bralette’s strap to make him jump.

With a warm kiss to his cheek, they smile there. “Consider yourself mine until you can no longer handle me, Alexander.”

Theirs...

He liked the sound of that.

[sincerelyreidburke]

Now that the door of angst has been opened I'm curious, how (if at all) does the toxicity of Nando's past relationship with N*te affect how he acts in his relationship with Quinn?

Thank you for this question, anon! There’s a lot to unpack with regard to the impact of Nando’s relationship experience on not only the way he does his relationship with Quinn but just generally on his life.

In this post, I told you that N*te was a shitty boyfriend, and that their relationship was actually pretty toxic. Now, in response to this ask, I want to take a deeper dive on that, in terms of telling you how it affects Nando and also what that means for him and Quinn.

So: here we go! This got really long, so I’m sorry in advance.

TW: body shaming, general emotional manipulation.

(Ask me anything about the crickets!)

- My favorite way to describe Nando is “a big boy with big emotions”, because that’s exactly what he is, and always has been. Feeling and processing emotion honestly and forwardly is part of his personality, and Mama Hernandez— along with, in a twist on traditional toxic masculinity, Papa as well— raised him to always keep in mind that emotions are healthy and there’s no need to beat them down.

- So in relationships, that translates a certain way— when being a boyfriend, Nando is affectionate, doting, sweet, et cetera. He pours a lot of love onto people, not just in romantic relationships but in his family and friend circles. If he loves you (whether romantically, familially, or platonically), he won’t be afraid to show it.

- Or at least that’s how it is in a healthy situation. And as he have discussed, the situation with N*te is not healthy.

- Now, the thing is. Why would two people get themselves into a relationship that’s not enjoyable or healthy? And the answer to that question is because that most relationships, even toxic ones, start out pretty good. N*te is Nando’s first boyfriend, and their earliest stages of dating are like most other early stages. It’s that “we mutually like each other and there’s something starting between us” feeling that tends to make you really soft.

- And Nando... latches onto that feeling. No boy has ever paid attention to him the way N*te does during that early stage, and he jumps at the chance when they actually become official. He’s about 16, and super gay and touch-starved, and he’s never been in a relationship in his life— so he’s eager. He’s excited. He’s very happy.

- For awhile, things are okay. N*te willingly got himself into this because he liked him, and Nando is a good boyfriend; he does nice things for him and goes out of his way to pander to him and just generally tries to please. Getting attention like this is nice for N*te. It’s why they last so long, ultimately.

- But the thing is, it’s not healthy.

- Because the biggest problem is, N*te can be a little bit of an asshole, and he is constantly making Nando feel like he’s too much. I mean too much in several senses— too loving, too loud, too himself, et cetera. Eventually, the honeymoon phase of dating ends, and N*te starts getting annoyed with him really easily. He’ll be moody for no apparent reason, and he’ll pull back when Nando pushes, and it’s just.... not a good time.

- Nando thinks this is his fault, and rather than own up to the fact that he’s being wishy-washy, N*te feeds right into that and lets him think it’s his fault. He’s constantly dropping little comments about how Nando needs to calm down or stop being so obvious. And this isn’t a closet issue, because they’re both out; it’s an issue of N*te getting embarrassed and ashamed of the level on which Nando wants to show how much he cares about him.

- So this goes on. They date for a long time in high school terms, about a year and a half. Why doesn’t Nando leave? Because that’s his first boyfriend, and he is desperate to please him and work it out, and besides, N*te is only moody some of the time, and it’s always when I deserve it ‘cause I’m being annoying, so really, it’s my fault. (That’s the manipulation talking.) Why doesn’t N*te leave? Because here’s a partner who would literally do anything to make him happy. Nando is constantly thinking of him, doing nice things for him, and trying to make his life better. In high school, who can walk away from that?

- The other huge part of this is the body image thing, and I want to talk about that because it’s important in a number of senses. N*te is really, really bad to Nando about the way he looks. Nando is big and sort of chunky, and he never has a problem with that about himself before N*te is in the picture. N*te is constantly making little comments to him, like do you really need to eat that? and are you sure that shirt fits you? and (this while Nando is trying to cuddle or something) stop, you’re too big to do that, get off me.

- Nando internalizes this. He starts to genuinely believe that there’s something wrong with his body, and he feels awful about himself for it. N*te completely witnesses this damage he’s doing to Nando’s self-esteem, and he does nothing about it; he feeds into it, if anything. Why? Because N*te is a body-shaming little fuck.

- In short— and I know this is getting long before I get to Quinn— N*te keeps Nando around because he’s fully aware that Nando would do anything to make him happy, and honestly, it’s convenient to have that in his life. Nando is sure that if there are ever problems in their relationship, they’re his fault, and he needs to just stop being too much to fix them.

- We all know what the fate of that relationship is once Nando gets to Samwell.

- Anyway, I went into that long digression because I wanted to more thoroughly explain the problems with that relationship, and the toll it takes on Nando’s general self esteem and self-perception. N*te makes him feel like shit, and he doesn’t let himself fully understand that until after they’ve finally broken up.

- So N*te is gone. But the lasting effects of having the only relationship he’s known be a super toxic one.... those are still there.

- Along comes Quinn.

- We know the Nando and Quinn courting story. They have a lovely little meet-cute, and then a reconnection after they’re both too gay and stupid to get each other’s numbers the first time around. After that, there are two or so weeks of spending time together before they actually become official.

- The becoming-official fic and the first kiss fic are the same fic. The bulk of it is in Quinn’s POV, and I did that for a reason. Quinn spends most of it trying to figure out why Sebastián hasn’t asked him out yet, and then he ends up being the one to do it, at the very end.

- Let it be known: this is not because Nando doesn’t want to ask him out. It’s because Nando has the lasting belief from his only previous relationship that he is too much, and that he’s too affectionate, too pushy, too forward— so he doesn’t want to become too much for Quinn. By being the one to ask him out, he thinks there’s a chance he might scare him away, or make it all too big too soon.

- He really likes Quinn, and his thought is that he does not want to mess this up by being his annoying self. So he wants to let Quinn do this at his own pace. Nando is also conscious that Quinn has never had a boyfriend before, so there’s that, too.

- Their first kiss is mostly a mutual thing. They’re both thinking it, and they both want it, and it happens.

- The beginning of their relationship is a lot of touch-and-go— Nando constantly asking if it’s okay if he does something (is it okay if I hold your hand? or *in public* can I kiss you here? or *while snuggling* am I crushing you?), and Quinn telling him, of course it’s okay, Sebastián.

- He also apologizes a lot. I’m sorry if I’m being too much. You would tell me, right? If I was? It’s okay if I am. I can be better. Quinn reassures him. He’s patient and caring, and he doesn’t want Sebastián to think for a second that he’s too much for him.

- As a result of Nando’s internalized low self-esteem, a lot of the milestones in the relationship happen at Quinn’s pace. Nando was the first one to say I love you with N*te, so he waits for Quinn to be ready to say it to him— even when he’s been thinking it. When they start to move toward more intimate stuff, he lets Quinn dictate how and when it develops. Quinn is okay with this because they’re still on the same page about everything, but he definitely notices it and understands why.

- So he’s constantly reminding him that it’s okay to be forward if he wants to be, that it’s okay to be really sweet and affectionate— because, as Quinn tells him all the time, he loves those things. The big emphasis on emotion and the super loving side of him is part of what makes Nando himself. And Quinn loves him for himself. He tells him this regularly.

- Basically: Quinn helps him un-learn the repression of his romantic self that he internalized during his relationship with N*te.

- And Quinn is fully aware that Nando second-guesses himself sometimes directly because of N*te. They have the “sharing past relationship experience” talk pretty early on, and Nando tells him the whole N*te story, and Quinn gets mad. Not at Nando, but at N*te for putting him through that. He hates that somebody hurt him like this, and from that point forward Quinn vows that he’ll help him see himself the way he sees him.

- Nando finds it really hard to believe, at first, that Quinn likes and actively wants this unfiltered version of himself. But it gets much easier as it goes along. He lets himself open back up, and he doesn’t feel like too much anymore. He’s enough for Quinn, and that’s all that matters to him. Quinn is extremely patient with the un-learning process, and he encourages him to treat him the way he wants to, without holding back.

- I have been on this for quite a long time, but there’s one more thing I would be remiss to leave out of this psychological dive, and that’s Quinn’s impact on his body image. I’ve said a few times that Quinn loves the way he looks, head to toe, and that is absolutely true always and forever.

- It’s actually probably one of my favorite parts of their relationship. Nando is really hesitant at the start, especially in intimate moments, about his body and whether Quinn even really wants to touch it or see it. Quinn wants to shut that fear down as effectively as he can.

- Because he loves it. He loves his height, and his broad shoulders, and his big strong arms, and especially he loves his stomach. It’s a free pillow, and also just, there’s so much of him for Quinn to love on. Quinn is tiny and he’s so very not tiny, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

- So that means a lot of Quinn vocalizing that while they’re alone together, plenty of you’re so beautiful and let me look at you and I wouldn’t change a thing about you. It’s very soft and very sweet, and Nando sometimes almost cries because of just how much he loves him and loves this and how much better this is than anything he knew before it. With Quinn, for the first time, he’s okay with the way he looks. He learns to love himself, actually.

- For example.

(Kind of early in their relationship, right around the time they’re crossing lines into slightly more intimate behavior, but they haven’t gone far yet at all.)

(They’re in Quinn’s room, making out, and Quinn puts his hand under his shirt. Nando kind of recoils a little.)

Quinn: Oh. Wait. (Sensing he crossed a line Nando isn’t ready for.) I’m sorry.

Nando: No— I’m sorry.

Quinn: What? (He takes his hand away.) Why are you sorry?

Nando: Because I just... I’m not, like, jacked under there, or anything.

Quinn: I... didn’t think you were?

Nando: Then why did you put your hand there?

Quinn: Because I like your stomach?

Nando: (He’s quiet for a second, and then,) You do? (Pause) It... doesn’t gross you out to touch it?

Quinn: My goodness, Sebastián, gross me out? Of course not. It’s just the opposite.

Nando: (In disbelief.) It is?

Quinn: Of course it is. (He inches his hand back under there.) Can I— is this okay?

Nando: It’s okay if you’re okay with it.

Quinn: I’m very okay with it. (He smiles.) C’mere. Let me show you.

(And he does.)

- Anyway. I know I’ve been going on for quite some time. But the biggest thing here is that where he’s second-guessed himself before, Quinn helps Nando learn to love himself.

- And he finally gets to be the loving, doting, overly emotional boyfriend he’s always wanted to be.

- Quinn is a big fan of that.

- I love them so much and I’m emotional. We love Nando actually getting to be in a healthy and loving relationship.

Thank you for the ask!

[johnboothus]

EOD Drinks With Garrett Oliver Brewmaster at Brooklyn Brewery

In this special episode of “End Of Day Drinks,” VinePair’s editorial team is joined by Garrett Oliver, brewmaster at Brooklyn Brewery. Oliver is a man who wears many fancy hats, but the past year has seen him stuck inside like the rest of us. This, he explains, led to the launch of the Michael James Jackson Foundation for Brewing & Distilling.

Oliver tells us how 2020 events sparked a realization that being Black and “seen” isn’t as good as actively bringing others into the fold. He sees formal education as the key to long-term careers for BIPOC in beer and spirits.

Listen online

Listen on Apple Podcasts

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Or Check out the conversation here

Cat Wolinski: Hello, and welcome to VinePair’s “End of Day Drinks” Podcast. I am Cat Wolinski, VinePair’s senior editor, and I’m joined today by VinePair’s editorial team including Joanna Sciarrino, Katie Brown and Emma Cranston, and Elgin Nelson. Our guest today is Garrett Oliver, who many of us know as the brewmaster of the Brooklyn Brewery. He’s also the author of “The Brewmaster’s Table,” editor in chief of “The Oxford Companion to Beer,” a James Beard award winner, and lots of other things. Garrett, welcome to the show.

Garrett Oliver: Thanks for having me.

C: I really appreciate you calling in today. I know it’s not as fun as having you in the office over some beers or some cocktails, which I think you also tend to enjoy.

O: Hopefully pretty soon. I’m fully juiced up with Moderna. I’m so happy to actually see people again.

C: I am very excited for everybody who’s getting their shots, so congratulations! There are a lot of things that we would like to hear from you about today, from the Michael J. Jackson Foundation, the Museum of Food and Drink exhibition, and the Brooklyn Brewery, of course. The new beers, the continuing growth abroad, including in Chile. Now, what I really like to start with is: What does a day in the life of Garrett Oliver look like? How has your role as the brewmaster at Brooklyn Brewery changed over the course of the last year through the pandemic?

O: Well, I would say that thankfully, I have not been ill at all. I haven’t even had a common cold. Outside of that, my wife might have been more radically changed, I would say, than most people, because my normal year would have included about 10 countries and meeting thousands of people. It’s certainly bizarre to go from that to being stuck inside your own house. I was actually traveling so much that, even though I didn’t really complain about it, I actually wanted to spend more time at home. Watch out for what you wish for, because I got a lot more of it than I was bargaining for. I tried to, as everyone has, make the best of it, but it’s been a bizarre year.

C: Yeah, I was going to say I can’t imagine how a globe-trotting, dinner-party-hosting man of mystery like yourself has been operating in these circumstances. I know one of the big things that you were able to accomplish this year was launching the Michael J. Jackson Foundation, and you recently announced the first five award recipients. I would love to hear more about the foundation, how you created it, and how these scholarships will honor the legacy of your good friend.

O: Oh, well, thanks for that. I didn’t lose 10 pounds, I didn’t learn French or read the great book if I ever had the time. In the wake of the social movement that we saw last summer, these were plans that I already had. But with the globe-trotting part, came a difficulty in focusing on a task this large. It’s a strange thing. It gave me the opportunity to actually focus on the founding of the foundation. Now, what the Michael James Jackson Foundation for Brewing and Distilling does is actually pretty simple. We provide funding. Let me go back, I will say we award scholarship awards for technical education in brewing and distilling. I was just being interviewed about this today by some folks from Brazil, and they were asking about what the American brewing industry looks like. Even though various racial groups that are not of European extraction are nearly half the country, they make up only a couple of percent altogether of people working in brewhouses and distilling houses. There are lots of historical reasons for this. People tend to think that this is because African-Americans, Latinos, Asians, and indigenous people are not really into craft beer, which is not true. This was something that people made up. Not true at all, number one. Number two, there are a number of reasons why this has happened. Many of us in the industry have actually participated in the perpetuation of this situation, even without intending to. I think what we’re doing with the foundation is simply moving one toggle. One of the barriers is that you need to either have experience, or you need to get an education, a technical education, if you want to work and have a future in brewing or distilling. Education is very expensive. It is worthwhile but very expensive. African-Americans, for example, have 10 percent of the family assets of European Americans in the United States. I want to repeat that. Ten percent. People find that difficult to believe but it’s true. I’m not talking about income. I’m talking about money that you might put your hands on to pay for something. Ten percent. So when you have a course that costs $10,000, $16,000, this becomes a nearly insurmountable barrier for the vast majority of people of color in the United States. You will also hear this barrier of wanting somebody with two or three years of experience. Well, where are you going to get those? If there’s nobody there, then nobody can have two to three years of experience. If you can’t afford the education, you can’t get there. This means perpetuating the situation essentially forever, so we’re looking to break that cycle.

C: Yes, and you’ve awarded some really interesting and inspiring individuals who you can talk more about, if you like.

O: They’re inspiring and amazing people. We are expecting that in future years, we’ll get to a point where we are going to be able to take people who don’t even have a foot in the door of the brewing industry or the distilling industry and bring them in at this early stage. We’re starting with people who have a foot in the door. Maybe they’re even doing well, but they don’t have a technical background that will give them a career. It’s similar to working in a kitchen. You can become a good cook in a kitchen being taught by the chef, by rote. If nobody ever took you through all the backgrounds of things and how to make all the foundational sauces, it is going to be hard for you to advance and become a great all-around chef. It’s possible to be a great cook without actually having the training to be a great chef. Now, it’s not the only way that you can become a great chef, professional training, but it is one path. It is the professional training path that we are facilitating for people.

Joanna Sciarrino: Hi, Garrett, this is Joanna. I was wondering what the process was like in finding these recipients?

O: First, we put it out, and we did it entirely over social media. They went out in two rounds, so when people got in touch with us, then they were let through a gate to a place where they could upload all sorts of stuff. We tried to lower the barriers so it wasn’t a complicated thing to do. People could upload videos that would then go into a file for us. We have nine board members. We actually spent hours and hours reviewing every one of 100 or so applicants that came in. It came down to about 14 finalists and we interviewed all of them. Then, there were just many hours of discussion before we arrived at five individuals. It’s also important, I think, to note that I hope I’m going to be able to live up to and we will be able to live up to this as an ambition. If people did not get this particular scholarship at this time, we don’t view that as the end of the process of trying to work with them. As I was saying, there are many paths. There are other scholarships. There are people we know who are offering internships. There are all sorts of things that are going on, and what we’re looking to do is to use the access and connections that we have to help out anybody who comes in front of us and is serious. Even if someone did not win the scholarship, that does not mean they won’t hear from me next week with three other opportunities that are not directly through the MJF. I regard the work that’s visible as being the 20 percent of the iceberg above the water in the cliché, and the 80 percent is below the water. The 80 percent is actually the bulk of the work which is not the part that people are donating money for, which is paying for technical education, but it’s at least as important. We have already, well before this, gotten people jobs where they have been offered equity as brewers in new breweries. That is at least as important as what we’re visibly doing.

C: Yeah, it seems there are more of these internship opportunities. We had Beer Kulture working with several organizations. We had Tiesha Cooke and the Bronx Brewery on the show recently with these technically focused training opportunities, which is certainly a barrier. It makes sense to me, too, coming from the Brooklyn Brewery, as a much larger organization and one that is focused on future thinking in terms of quality control and learning those basics. The rules that you can’t break and then the ones that you can, in order to become successful in these fields.

O: Yeah, and there are a lot of people who came up as I did the old-fashioned way. Some people start as the dishwasher or they are behind the bar or they get an opportunity to work in the brewhouse. They show some aptitude and work their way up but possibly when the time comes and someone says, “OK, I would like you to change the recipe so that it’s much more bitter, the color goes this way, and it’s slightly less sweet.” That person may or may not know what to do, because they’ve been taught how to brew, sure, but they haven’t been taught the underlying science. One way or another, you need to fill all that in if you’re actually going to have a career rather than a job. Jobs are great, but we are hoping to help people build careers, and the people to whom we’ve given these scholarship awards, we expect to see them in positions of influence where they are going to be able to hire other people. Eventually, I hope, we will see tasting rooms and taprooms that actually look like America. Because right now, we all know that they don’t. As I’ve said to many people, “OK, imagine this. If you are a person of European extraction, suppose you love natural wine and you’re really into it, or you love cocktails, craft beer, but every time you wanted to have these things in a public setting, everybody in there was Black. You were the only white person in the whole place, every time. How would that be for you?” If the answer to that is, “Oh, that would be fine,” one, you’re probably lying and two, you’re a bizarre person. No, it’s not normal. It doesn’t look normal, it doesn’t feel normal. That’s the world that people of color live in this country and in this business. When we walk in, we’re often the only one in the room, and it’s bizarre.

C: I am heavily nodding my head, but you can’t see me. Yes, that does sound super uncomfortable.

O: Yeah, when you reverse it, people say, “Ohhh.”

C: Exactly, then you notice.

O: Yes, you notice. If you’re white, you never noticed that there was only one Black person in the room. You’re there with your friends. You’re doing what you’re doing. Why would you notice that? It is the truth of what goes on, especially at the higher end of food and drink and whatever else in the United States. It’s not that people aren’t interested, it’s not that they don’t have the money, in many cases, to at least afford a beer in these places. It’s partially that there is this vibe being given off that you’re not welcome in here. Part of that vibe is not actually hiring anybody or having people in the business who might bring their friends and relatives to your business and spread the love of what’s supposed to be going on in the world of drinks.

C: I totally agree. It’s something I found really interesting with some of the biggest leaders around racial equity and equality in beer over the last year. We heard this with Marcus Baskerville from Weathered Souls around the “Black is Beautiful” campaign. You didn’t know you’d end up an activist. You start looking into your own experience and then realizing you have this role or job where you didn’t face that much adversity personally. Then, you realize there are so many reasons behind you being the only one there in that room. Is it accurate to say that you had a similar feeling around the time you launched the Michael J. Jackson Foundation?

O: Absolutely. I have to say that to a certain extent when people would talk about intersectionality, I didn’t really understand what it meant when I read the word, but I didn’t really understand a lot of parts of what it truly meant in real life. Look, there were times when I was poor, where they came and turned the lights and gas off. I mean, poor poor. But by and large, for most of my life, I grew up fairly middle class. Yes, I had teachers say and do racist things to me, but I grew up in the ‘60s. We powered our way through a lot of situations.

C: Wow. Did you grow up in New York?

O: Yes, I grew up in Queens, New York. Growing up, I had parents who really drove home the importance of education. I saw many people who were every bit as smart if not smarter than me, who had wonderful families that got shoved to the wayside by the tremendous drag forces of this society trying to put you down. Just because I managed to claw my way here is not in some way indicative. It’s like people saying “Oh, well, things have changed, Obama has been president for eight years.” Well, look around. That has not done anything for the average person walking up and down the street. It was awesome, but it hasn’t fundamentally changed people’s lives. I came to realize that representation was not simply being there and being visible. It’s great to be visible, but that does not mean that we’ve done anything for anybody.

C: You can still be doing very much and inspiring people. Obviously, you accomplished many things in your 27 or so years at the Brooklyn Brewery, but yes, it’s also looking at how you can bring more people in.

O: You get to a point where you have political and social capital of some sort. I watched, over the past year or so, people who have a voice out there, like Tom Colicchio, whom I’ve known for 25 years, speaking out on social issues. I would say to myself, “Well, if I have a platform and people are going to listen, then what are you going to do with it beyond being able to get yourself into reservations in places that are tough to get into?” The fact that the chef will take your phone call is awesome, but are you actually using that only for yourself, or are you going to do something for somebody? It became important to me over this last year that whatever position I might have achieved becomes meaningful beyond me. Michael Jackson, who we’re talking about — obviously, your listeners will know that we are not talking about the pop star. A lot of people don’t really realize at that point, years on from his prime, what a massive figure he was in food and drink in the 20th century. Craft beer as we know it worldwide almost certainly would not exist without his writings. He sold about 15 million books in 20 languages. Nobody came anywhere close to him. I don’t know whether the old wine writers of the day like Hugh Johnson ever sold that many books, but I doubt that they were that influential, but they were big names in their day. Michael was very distinctly and noticeably anti-racist, and he did things about it. Sometimes it shocked people, including in 1991 or 1992 when he almost single-handedly put me on a panel of six people to choose the Champion Beer of Britain. You had a bunch of people sitting there in that room in London, a room where no Black people had ever been, and you had a young Black guy from Queens. “Who is this guy and why should he be here to choose champion beer of Britain?” At the time, Michael was basically a deity. He would say, “Garrett is the guy.” It was things like that, the wind in my sail, that helped me get to where I am now. The American ideal of the self-made man is a truly corrosive and ugly thing. It is not true, it’s a lie. It’s always a lie. I think that we should be relying on one another because we have to.

Katie Brown: Garrett, this is Katie. I have a question that relates to this. I was wondering what you think that breweries and beer drinkers can do to follow in those footsteps and be anti-racist. This past year, there’s been a lot of beer collaborations and there have been ways to donate. What do you think are the most helpful ways and the best things that people are doing to help?

O: Well, I don’t know who it was that said it, somebody a lot smarter than me, but they were talking in this case about Black people. You can apply it to whatever group you want to try to bring some benefits to. What they said is, “OK, whatever it is that you’re doing, you feel like you’re doing, if Black people can’t use it to get a job, eat it, drink it, spend it, or live in it, then the person for whom you were doing this work is you.” When you think about that, you understand that things are not tangible. For example, the notion of “Oh, I became president, I did this. I did that.” Yes, I went to a couple of marches, too. I’m not saying people shouldn’t go to marches, but don’t fool yourself into believing that is direct action if nobody can do anything with it. Then, you are not bringing the benefit that you thought you were. When I went to approach this, I said what would be actually effective? What would actually change somebody’s life? What would actually put them in a position of power within this industry where they could affect change? The MJF has turned out to be very streamlined in its focus, and we are not at all saying that this is the only path. There are 20 different paths. We’re just choosing one because to say we’re going to do everything is, one, a function of the ego because you’re not going to save the world. You’re not going to do everything for everybody. Why don’t you just try to do one thing as well as you can? That’s what we’re trying to do. We’re trying to mostly do this one thing as well as we can, and we think that it will make some difference. Then, you will have 20, 30, 50, or 100 other organizations who will make some difference, and together we’ll all get something done.

Elgin Nelson: Hi Garrett, this is Elgin. This is a perfect segue to what I wanted to touch on, which is mainly about the Museum of Food and Drink. For our listeners that are familiar, the museum uses exhibits to change the way people think about food and drink. I know the museum holds exhibits that highlight African-Americans in culinary, brewing, and distilling. Much to that effect of the National Museum of African American History and Culture that serves the same way with the Museum of Food and Drink. Can you speak on your experience and your role with that?

O: Well, it’s certainly been exciting preparing for that exhibit, which is called African American: Setting the Nation’s Table. We were just about to open that exhibit at the top of Central Park on Fifth Avenue and that’s when the pandemic struck. We had just about finished the exhibit when the pandemic prevented us from having our opening gala and then, of course, from opening the exhibition at all. Now, what the exhibition is about is the largely untold history of African-Americans and American food. People tend to think that, “OK, the African-American contribution to the American food world is in soul food and barbecue,” which is absolutely true. What people don’t know is that even haute cuisine was brought into the United States, practiced, taught, promulgated, and developed entirely by Black people. If people have this idea like, “Oh, some dude must have come over from France in 1790,” no, there was no French dude. It was James Hemings, who when he arrived back — still enslaved to Thomas Jefferson after Thomas Jefferson’s stint in Paris as our ambassador — he had been put through all the major kitchens of Paris and came back as by far the most accomplished chef in the United States. Then, he started to pass that down, and then it moved up through the hotel systems, which is where haute cuisine comes from in the United States, including the Grand Hotel, which basically had an all-Black staff. That input is something that came to us entirely through African-Americans, and we have been cut out of the story that we actually told. The same is true in brewing, where African- Americans did almost all the brewing in the United States up through the Civil War. Who do you think was actually brewing the beer? Every single African society in the South, East, or West, traditionally, is centered around brewing. Brewing is central to all African societies. Yet beer is seen as European. We have a partial history told in so many things. This is actually not only an inspirational but fascinating history, because people have been told that they were not part of and their families, were not part of something that they were, in fact, integral to. The Museum of Food and Drink did a great job telling the story of Chinese food in America, which is totally fascinating. That story was also tied up in racism, politics, etc. A lot of people had never heard of the Chinese Exclusion Act until they came to an exhibit that was ostensibly about Chinese food in America. Then, they were reading about how we ended up having Chinese food as a major American food to the extent that it is the most popular type of restaurant in the United States. People will look at it, and say, “Well, wait a minute, that’s interesting, how did that happen?” Somehow, Asians disappeared personally from this scene. You go back to the ‘40s, ‘50s, and ‘60s when you can start to hear about great chefs, and you don’t know any Chinese people. Almost nobody does. They became the top propagators in that type of restaurant in the United States, and nobody ever heard of them. That’s what America does. It wipes out a lot of people’s histories. Part of one of the many things the Museum of Food and Drink is doing is telling people the truth. That truth — which is often fun, interesting, sometimes disturbing, but always enlightening — about their food.

Emma Cranston: Hey, this is Emma. I just want to circle way back really quick and ask one last question for the listeners at home. Especially for those looking to learn about beer and brewing through the internships or programs you’ve discussed. I’m curious about how they can study up at home or outside of a brewery. I read that you’re the editor-in-chief of “The Oxford Companion to Beer,” so how can people harness that text, whether they’re beginners or pros at home? What role does the text play for both those who are essentially self-taught, as well as those who may be training to be cicerones? Also, how do you feel that text influences the larger beer world?

O: Well, thanks for the question. I’m certainly gratified by my first book, “The Brewmaster’s Table,” which came out in 2003. That book is still in print and sells more than it did 10 years ago. I think that speaks to the development of craft beer in the United States and people’s interest in it. The fact that what we used to call the gas station beer list, where they have had a few of the major brands, which you would see in top restaurants, is no longer the beer list you’re going to see. It may not be as developed as it should be, but you’re going to see some good stuff on almost every restaurant list which you didn’t use to see. Both of those books, “The Brewmaster’s Table” and “The Oxford Companion to Beer” are widely used, which is great. There are a number of other great books that are out there. We’re reading Randy Mosher’s “Tasting Beer” and a number of other ones. Cicerone is doing a great job of basic education all the way to advance education for people, especially those who are going to be on the serving side of the equation of beer, which is, frankly, where the rubber meets the road. Having young people in the restaurant and sommeliers as well, understanding the world of beer. I think these days people tend to think that a sommelier is a wine waiter. That’s not a sommelier. An actual sommelier is not a wine waiter. The sommelier is somebody who’s supposed to curate your experience of drink. That includes beer, wine, and cocktails. Real sommeliers like Roger Dagorn, who was at Chanterelle in those major years. Eric Asimov and I went there once about 15, 20 years ago, and Roger took us through the most amazing tasting of sakes. At the time, I didn’t really know anything about sake. I drank sake, but he was taking us through sweet, dark, and aged sakes. He knew all about these, plus he could talk his way around beer and knew his way around a cocktail. That’s a sommelier. You don’t see those as much as we used to. Juliette Pope was another one when she was at Gramercy Tavern. A real sommelier. I think that these books are helpful when it comes to building that culture back into the drinks culture. There are so many online resources as well. We’re just learning the basics at home. The great thing about beer is that, frankly, your entry level is about as easy as it possibly could be. You can have a good article, go to Whole Foods, spend $20, and get yourself a good beginning education in four, five, or six different beers, and understand style. The great thing about that is if you understand a little bit about beer, what it tastes like, what the various types are, and how you might want to do stuff with them and with food, your life will become slightly better every day for the rest of your life.

C: Oh, so true!

O: Isn’t that the best you can possibly do? There are many things in your life that are going to make things a little bit better everyday. You discover jazz, and your life becomes a little bit better every day for the rest of your life because now you discover jazz, whereas maybe a few weeks ago, you’d never really listen to jazz. Things are better. That is the critical thing that we’re able to do is learn something brand new. When I discovered fermented fish sauce and I really discovered how to use it at home and cooking, it changed my life.

K: It is such a game changer.

C: Oh, my gosh. All very true words.

O: Beer is the secret sauce.

C: Beer is a secret sauce to all things. That’s a really great way to end our conversation. Thank you, Garrett, so much for sharing these pearls of wisdom. I hope — and I know that the rest of the team hopes — that we can share a beer with you sometime in person soon.

O: Absolutely. Thanks for all the great work you guys are doing at VinePair. I’m reading your articles and stuff online all the time. It’s great to see people out there doing the work, because Lord knows, we need it.

C: Thank you so much. I really appreciate that.

Thanks for listening to this week’s episode of “EOD Drinks.” If you’ve enjoyed this program, please leave us a rating or a review wherever you get your podcasts. It really helps other people discover the show. And tell your friends. We want as many people as possible listening to this amazing program.

And now for the credits. “End of Day Drinks” is recorded live in New York City at VinePair’s headquarters. And it is produced, edited, and engineered by VinePair tastings director, yes, he wears a lot of hats, Keith Beavers. I also want to give a special thanks to VinePair’s co-founder, Josh Malin, to the executive editor Joanna Sciarrino, to our senior editor, Cat Wolinski, senior staff writer Tim McKirdy, and our associate editor Katie Brown. And a special shout-out to Danielle Grinberg, VinePair’s art director who designed the sick logo for this program. The music for “End of Day Drinks” was produced, written, and recorded by Darby Cici. I’m VinePair co-founder Adam Teeter, and we’ll see you next week. Thanks a lot.

Ed. note: This episode has been edited for length and clarity.

The article EOD Drinks With Garrett Oliver, Brewmaster at Brooklyn Brewery appeared first on VinePair.

Via https://vinepair.com/articles/eod-drinks-garrett-oliver-brooklyn-brewery/

source https://vinology1.weebly.com/blog/eod-drinks-with-garrett-oliver-brewmaster-at-brooklyn-brewery

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Kintsugi of the Heart (Steven Universe)

 Chapter 1: Steph

Next Chapter: Here

Summary:  Kintsugi - Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold.

Or:

Steven shattered Jasper in a fit of rage. He tries to fix the only person he thinks he needs to, himself, by traveling into a different timeline and taking his younger self away to try and repair the damage inflicted upon him in his childhood. Only now his younger self is placed in the guardianship of someone else unstable and losing himself by each passing day.

Author Note: 

Please do not read this story if you are a minor, the relationship depicted is not only toxic, but dangerous. This story is not based in reality and if you ever feel like you are in a relationship similar to the one in this story, platonic or romantic, please find help out of that situation. 

...

It was a sunny day in Beach City. 

It was always a sunny day in Beach City, it rarely rained or snowed. It stayed hot most of the year, and like most of the year, he had been left on his own for about two days now. Pearl, Garnet, and Amethyst had to go do Gem Stuff, and Greg had to do actual work at the car shop. There is a mudding truck event nearby and some of the drivers swear by Greg’s handy work at car hygiene. He thought of going to help his father- but on days where he was loaded with mud-covered trucks, he seemed to only distract his father.

He had spent most of the morning playing his console games, reading comics, watching movies and playing with his toys- but after spending the better of a couple of days doing these things, he felt that he couldn’t spend another moment in the house alone. Without many options, he had tried to dial up Connie, but the house phone wouldn’t answer.

He hung up the phone, flopping on the couch with an exasperated sigh. He allowed the phone to slip off the couch as he stared at the ceiling with a pout. It was only the afternoon, how could he already be out of things to do? He stared at his feet above him, resting on the wall by the couch as he laid there on his back, just vegetating for the time being. 

He hasn’t tried to go to town at all today. 

That perked his interest, as he sat up from the couch, lifted up by his elbows. Surely one of the townsfolk would have time for Steven and his antics. He slid off the cushion of the couch with a new plan of action. It took him a moment, but he got off from the couch, grabbing the phone to place it back on the landline hook.

He placed the phone back on the hook and left towards his room to get ready for the day. Wiggling up his jeans, he got on flip flops, ran a wide-tooth comb through his curls, and grabbed his burger bag. He was equipped for his visit to town!  

His first trip was the Donut Shop, with the few dollars he had left, he got himself lunch of a few donuts and after fifteen minutes of talking with Sadie, she left for her break and Lars was less enjoyable for chit chat for a longer period. He found himself out after a bit of back and forth with the more grumpy employee. 

Peedee had work, and most of the other townies he was hoping for a visit from were either busy, working, or out of town. Even the popular kids had taken a road trip to the city. He wasn’t exactly sure where Onion was- and he was still banned from the amusement park and arcade for something he vaguely remembers. 

Feeling defeat, he returned home, slouched over with his paper bag dragging behind him. He descended the long stairs, feeling bored already. Maybe there’s a rerun of Crying Breakfast Friends, he could take a nap- and hopefully, the gems will be back. 

He stepped onto the porch, lost in his running thoughts before he caught a glimpse inside the beach house and, for a moment, was stunned by the sight past the mesh doors and clear windows. 

A form, unable to be recognized yet was lazing over the sofa, relaxed with their legs crossed. He couldn’t stop the grin that spread over his face. The gems had to be home, and he knew that must’ve been Amethyst on the couch! He raced inside, almost dropping the donuts as he shouted his welcome. 

“Guys! I’m so ha…” His mind drew a blank at the sight before him. He found himself frozen as he stood before a stranger in his home, scrolling through a phone he didn’t know the model of. The teenager had relaxed in his home as if he was on his own. Steven couldn’t find the words, standing aimless at the front door- sent into shock from a stranger.

Maybe it wasn’t the fact there was a stranger. 

Maybe it was because the stranger was a fluorescent hot pink, buff like an action movie with an amazing looking pompadour hairstyle to boot. His chin had some unshaven scruff of a beard, and his clothes were worn and torn- but his black had the same star as his. 

The stranger only looked up when the screen door shut behind him, Steven was far too in a daze with the sudden events to hold the knob or notice the door shutting. He turned sharply at the sound, wincing as he heard a simple hum come from the man on the couch, turning his attention over his shoulder to gawk at the teenager.

“Oh! You’re here,” The glowing pink male before him laughs, standing up as he dusted himself off. He pocketed his phone, leaning on one leg in his stance as he casually crossed his arms. He acted as a friendly guest rather than a home invader. “I was kinda worried, don’t want to meet the gems before you.” 

“Who.. are you?” 

“Oh!.. uh.” The man seemed uncomfortable with the question. “I’m, well…” The man placed his hand on his hip, using his free hand to scratch the back of his neck in a sudden nervous fit. Steven turned fully to the man, awaiting the answer. He looked familiar to his dad- if his dad was buff and young. The man was tall, Steven could tell the stranger could tower over him greatly even if he was at the entrance door- and the man was still standing by the couch. 

He didn’t want to get close, as the man released a few more clumsy chuckles before he finally answered.

“It’s kinda complicated- but I’m your brother, from another timeline.” He gracelessly began to make finger gun gestures in the direction of the younger with both arms. “It’s like the hourglass- but no one dies..” Quickly adding the last bit, he was smiling sheepishly at the hopes of the child’s reaction, there was a pause in time, and the sweat on the brow on the man was growing thicker.

“Whoa.. like, that Dogcopter movie, where his alternate timeline’s owner comes to help him save the world from Cattruck?” Steven grinned, fisting his hands in anticipation of the answer. He had taken the half-witted, on the fly answer and believed it.

The room fell in silence,  the man rapidly blinking a few times as his brow raised before his face relaxed. A smile formed on his face as he continued. “Yes, exactly like that.” Before he could speak, he was interrupted again.

“Woow!” Steven abandoned the fried dessert’s bag, running up to the man and pulling up his pink shirt to reveal his stomach, “Do you got one- like me?” He flopped his hand onto his stomach, allowing it to jiggle as the other man only shook his head, lifting his tattered shirt to show his own gem.

“‘Course I do.” The other male seemed more confident now, lifting his ripped top to showcase his glimmering gem. 

“Woh…” Steven’s eyes turned into stars as he stepped closer to the man, who was more than happy to have his trust. The younger’s fingers brush over the gem before he scrunched as he realized the already flawed logic of the older’s words. “Wait, how could mom give us both a gem?” 

“Like I said- it’s complicated. But that’s not important right now.” The mention of their mother seemed to make the other male uncomfortable, something flashed over his features- but it didn’t last long. His cocky smile and demeanor were back within seconds, ready to change the subject. “I came to help you, Steven.” 

“Oh?” Steven fidgets with his shirt lightly, looking up to the stranger. “How can you help me? Is there an evil Steven? Are we gonna team up and stop-”

The man took a sharp, loud inhale as if he was gearing up for a speech, successfully making the younger quiet down. His hands interlock at his torso as he began, in a tone of someone reading a script rather than speaking to someone organically. “I came to help you with your powers, I wanna train you.” 

“Whhaat!!” The younger boy shrieked, making the other grab lightly at his ear in shock. The boy was excited, shaking his fists lightly as the stars in his eyes only brightened. He grins, unable to even dampen the expression as he lightly bounces on his feet. “Did you train the other me- um, your brother in your dimension?” 

“I, uh... I did.” The pink-skinned man nodded quickly, smacking his lips at the question. “And now I’m gonna train you.” He turned from the boy, who followed his shadow like a lost puppy. He returned to where he sat at the couch, plucking a pink jacket that wouldn’t seem to fit someone of his bulk- and pulled out a glass-like box from the pocket.

“Can I go do Gem Stuff after I train? I’ll be a Crystal Gem, then, right?”

“Of course you will… You’re going to help a lot of people.” His voice was soft, but the tone was blank, sober in a way Steven couldn’t read. He simply stood beside the man, who for the first time since he realized he was in the room stopped looking at him.

The man pressed his thumb down on the top of the surface causing a bright light to fill the lid, transforming the box into a flat tile structure that covered to the floor the moment he tossed it. The once solid box became like a thin floor padding with a single half circular orb in the middle of it. He flung the pink jacket over his forearm, taking Steven’s arm and guided him towards it.

Being brought closer, he could see the shine from the polished black, he couldn’t put a finger on what the material was, it was like a plastic steel hybrid. The tile was a large square on the floor, enough room for multiple feet to stand on it.

Steven bent down, looking over the odd new technology. The man released the boy’s arm as he inspected the new gadget. He hasn’t seen anything like that before, no gem tech ever looked sleek and dark like this. He glanced back to the man, the pink teen seemed to always have his eyes directed on him.

The eye contact felt heavy now, as Steven turned his eyes to stare at the blackened flooring.

“What is this?” Steven pokes at it once, the man only offering a shrug. 

“It’s a teleportation device. It’ll take us where we need to go to train.” The man stepped onto the newly blacked tile, as soon as he stood on it, a holo touch screen came up from the orb in the middle of the square structure. His fingers went to work, using his fingertips for a scan and soon typing, the chirp made the man hum in approval. 

“C’mon Steven, we’re going.” The pink male gave no effort as he lifted Steven from the collar of his shirt,  plopping him on his feet upon the tile.

“Wait- how long? I don’t even - what’s your name?” It seemed to finally hit him that he was being whisked away somewhere, with someone he didn’t know. The man’s expression stayed somber, as he kept a firm hand on the younger’s shoulder so he couldn’t step off. 

“Call me Steph.” 

It was the last thing he said before tapping the holographic screen once as the two disappeared from the living room in a burst of light.

...

This is a very short chapter! I think this is the first time I ever wrote a chapter of any story under a week, it only took a few days, which is crazy? I am a very slow writer, so I loved it! Hopefully I can continue to push chapters like this out!

[reckoningss]

Mercy Springs - Four

Summary:  Mercy Booker holds these truths to be self-evident: animals are significantly more relatable than people and working as a veterinary tech in a sleepy little town is as close to the “good life” as she’s going to get. When a strange man shows up at her clinic after hours with an injured dog, she has a decision to make – go on living the quiet life she’s come to know, or open the door to the exhilarating unknown.

Pairing: Pete Castiglione/Frank Castle x OC (Mercy Booker)

Warnings: Language, Violence

Wordcount:

A/N: Sh*t’s about to get real

Four pairs of pale, bruised hands reached for her. Mercy kept swinging. She flailed, wielding the bat like the lifeline it was, only just keeping her attackers at bay. They rushed in and retreated with every arc -- ebbing and flowing -- their eyes glittering. All jagged teeth and breathy laughter like a pack of hyenas. 

That made her the prey. 

The cap of the bat met the wall, shattering one of the clinic’s many certificates and littering the floor around her sneakered feet with more glass. Something in her chest tightened; she’d swung wide, only a few inches or so but the movement was enough. One of them rushed in, his clammy heat enveloping her. Bony hands clamped down on Mercy’s tricep halting her backswing. She jerked back, threw her shoulders and center mass away from the hooded assailant, but his fingers dug into her flesh -- dimpling, bruising with a strength that his lean figure belied. 

“Gotcha.” Sour air washed over the side of her face as he hissed. 

Mercy almost flinched away, but she gritted her teeth and let loose a growl. It was deep and angry, a warning with no action to back it up, but the rumble in her chest set her blood racing. Hot. Ready. She was going to fight like an injured animal and they’d have to put her down to get out of here alive. 

Another stalked forward with arms outstretched. Mercy leaned back into her captor, her shoulder forcing air from his lungs as she kicked out as his companion. Her foot caught the interloper in the jaw -- hard --skin molding to sneaker, something in there cracking. His lips sprayed an arc of blood against the wall, one of the doctor’s diplomas dappled a vital red, and he stumbled back, clutching with shaking hands at the dripping carnage of his mouth. Beneath the gasping gurgle of his throat the clack of teeth against linoleum. 

Mercy’s heart sang. She helped things for a living-- fixed broken creatures. She’d set countless bones, stitched wounds, and administered aide without the slightest concern for all the scratches and bites. But right now, at this moment, Mercy wanted to break. To shriek and rage and tear into with her teeth.  

 “Bitch!” someone shouted. 

She lashed out again when another approached, but this one was ready and quick, wrapping long fingers around her ankle and yanking. All of Mercy’s weight came out from underneath her -- her world tilting, that weightless sinking feeling in her stomach. The bat slipped from her grasp. 

Mercy hit the ground hard, pain radiating up and down her spine. Gasping, mouth agape like a fish out of water, lungs useless and unable to take in air. A high ringing sounded in her ears, overtaking all of the sounds around her. She hurt. Ached. Pulsed. Her head, her back, her hands and feet. She could have cried her breath came back to her, flooding her lungs with air.

There was no time to cry. No sooner had she started coughing than they hauled her up, the wooden shaft of the bat beneath her chin, depressing her newly reopened esophagus. She wrapped her hands around it, trying in vain to lift it from her throat. 

“Ah ah ah.” The leader was in front of her now. His switchblade glittered as he waved it in her face. “Behave.”

Mercy knew he was aiming for intimidation; she wasn’t very adept at people, but that much was obvious. But she didn’t still against her captor’s chest out of fear, it was simple self-preservation. Survival instinct. Turning inward and delving beneath the staccato hammering of her heart, Mercy could only find the faintest layer of fear. She tried to summon it, to cultivate it, but mostly she felt anger. 

That’s not the correct response to this situation.

But she was angry.  Furious. Vengeful. And if she was going to die, she’d rather feel fire than ice. 

“We asked you nicely before,” the leader whispered, his voice rattling low like a snake. “We won’t be so nice anymore.” 

“Fuck you.” 

The words were out of Mercy’s mouth before they’d even fully conceptualized in her mind, but there they were. Hanging over her head like the blade of a guillotine. The leader’s face darkened beneath the overhang of his hood. His knife and teeth flashed.

“Have it your way.” 

Mercy had always prided herself on being particularly observant. Sure, she couldn’t always decipher all the things, but she noticed them. Which is why it came as a surprise to her when a dark figure materialized behind one of her attackers. It wasn’t there and then it was, palming the head of the young man and slamming it into the wall. One of the frames splintered with the force. Another hail of debris on the littered floor. Another body slumped among the wreckage. 

“What the fu-” 

The grip on the bat to Mercy’s throat had loosened ever so little and she took the opportunity to launch back and headbutt her captor in the nose. Pain blossomed in the the crown of her head, but she grasped the bat and wrenched it from free. 

“You fucki-” 

Mercy chocked up on the familiar grip and swung at the same time she turned. Wood crunched against the attacker’s shoulder, sending him to the floor in a yelping, agonized heap. She held the bat on him even as she craned her neck to view the chaos behind her. 

The figure had already subdued the other interlopers. The one she’d kicked lay unconscious, bleeding onto the tile. With one seemless movement, the figure slammed the leader to the floor and sank the knife into his thigh. The hooded goon howled like a wolf caught in a bear trap and promptly fainted. 

The figure stood to full height again, shoulders barely rising after the feat of fighting off three people. Mercy pointed the cap of the bat at the center of their chest. 

“Don’t come any closer!”

The figure bared its palms before raising a hand toward its head. Mercy hefted the bat onto her shoulder again. “I swear to God.”

The figure pulled the hoodie from their head, revealing a familiar face. 

“Pete?” 

His face looked austere in the dim light filtering in from the streetlamps --deep set eyes and high cheekbones. Mercy nearly dropped the bat in relief. She might’ve hugged him, but she rarely initiated physical contact, especially not of her own free will. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Are you ok?” Pete ignored her question, taking a step toward her, hands still upturned. “Did they hurt you?”

Mercy shook her head. Her back, head, and arms would disagree with her, but she’d come out of this ordeal on the winning side. “Not really, no.” 

Pete took another step forward, entering her bubble, the inner sanctum of her personal space that she kept, largely, impenetrable. Even Dr. Leibowitz knew not to invade her bubble on most days. Mercy breathed through her nose, taking in his cherry wood smell and standing stock still. He was closer than she allowed most people, but he’d just saved her life so she would tolerate his closeness. For now. 

He didn’t touch her, just looked at her intently like he was scanning her for injuries. She knew that had to be what he was doing, it didn’t make his proximity easier. His breath feathered over her face, prompting Mercy to shut her eyes. She hated his nearness but, at the same time, she liked it too. It made her feel safe. Her fingers flexed around the baseball bat, wanting to curl into the soft fleece of his jacket and pull him in. 

That has to be the adrenaline, she told herself. You were this close to losing your life and now you’re going crazy. 

“You should call the cops.” Pete’s deep voice pulled her from her thoughts. “Are they already on their way?” 

She shook her head. “I didn’t get to call them before...” Her eyes flitted over the five prone bodies on the floor, some still as the grave. 

Pete strode over to the reception desk and snatched up the landline. He extended it toward her expectantly. “Call the cops.” 

“I will.” Across the skin of his exposed forearm, a red slash. She took hold of his wrist, ignoring the phone altogether. She was surprised that her skin didn’t crawl when it contacted his. It warmed. “Let me take care of that first.”

Pete tried to shake off her grasp. “It’s nothing. You need to get the police out here.”

“You need to be gone before they get here.” 

“You expect me to leave you alone here? With them?” The disbelieving arch of a brow. 

“They’re all half dead,” Mercy exaggerated. “And I have a bat.”

“Mercy.” He said her name like a whole sentence. Mercy--full stop. She found herself looking up into his dark eyes, full of something she couldn’t quite place. She wanted to believe it was concern. And maybe fondness.

“I will call the police, but you have to be gone.” He looked as though he wanted to argue but she cut him off. “I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, Pete, but I don’t think you want the authorities poking around. I’ll tell them it was one of their own. Tell ‘em he ran off.” 

She took the phone from him, ignored the graze of her fingers against his. “Please.” 

Pete wasn’t happy about it, but he left. Steel-toed boots crunching through the splintered wood and shattered glass. Mercy watched his wide back disappear into the night after he stopped to give her one final reluctant glance. Only then did she pick up the receiver with trembling fingers and dial those three numbers.

While she waited, wiping Pete’s finger prints off the door and carefully from the handle of the knife, she found something. Crushed beneath the bulk of an overturned chair. She pulled it out with careful hands and cradled it as the telltale red and blue began to strobe across the clinic’s interior. 

A wrecked bouquet of blush-colored flowers, stems snapped and petals strewn and wilted. And tucked into the sweet smelling destruction, a card that read: 

thank you -P. 

[chenoehi]

My thoughts on Grammys, BTS, and the Academy's supposed 'diversity'.

Can't do 'Keep Reading' on mobile guys so if you don't care about it keep on scrolling.

.

The only BTS music I thought might have a slim chance for a nomination was "Boy With Luv (ft. Halsey)" as a pop duo collaboration. That was it. Anything more than that was just wishful thinking.

The Academy (both Grammy and Oscar's) talk about diversity when controversy comes up, they give some Black artists and actors awards, they look like try-hards, and then the next year they repeat history. Each year more men continue to be nominated than women, even in years that women dominated the industry. Each year artists who push boundaries continue to be overlooked or less favored than more traditional artists. Each year recognition continues to be bulk awarded to the most basic artists with the most basic styles with the most basic music, often times the same (mostly white) artists each year. No one get me started on always having to award artists like Taylor Swift or Ed Sheeran or Adele each year they make music, despite whether or not what they put out is actually good, original, or better than what they did the year before. I'm not singling them out, but I think they illustrate my point. I will make one exception for Adele because she is a phenomenal singer, although I did not personally believe 25 deserved to sweep; I've been told by fans that Ed Sheeran is a good performer, so I'll give him that but I'll keep my thoughts of his music and the rest of my opinions to myself. But I get tired of artists like these getting nominated every time or almost every time they put music out and then getting awards every time they're nominated, hence sweeping. It gets tiring when the music that frequently-awarded artists put out sucks and they keep raking noms because of who they are.

There is absolutely nothing BTS or any other Asian et al. artists can do to beat that system. None of the criticism in the world has changed it thus far and I don't know that anything ever will. It's a hard institution to tear down. They will use "diverse" artists for ratings by inviting them and having them hand out awards and, in BTS's case, making such a big deal as to even display their Grammy outfits in the museum, and then they will refuse to nominate them.

It's a back handed compliment to non-Western artists. The Academy is saying they're good enough to help win over a predominantly younger and more diverse generation of viewers but they're not good enough to be awarded for their achievements.

What's worse is, the only expectation I had was for the Academy to invite them as performers despite whatever minuscule nomination they might have garnered, because it's been clearly hinted they would attend another Grammys and the Academy would frankly be fools to not have them perform after the shitstorm going on the pop industry rn. If you know anything about the Taylor Swift situation (you may not be able to tell which one because there are always so many) who knows if she will be performing this Grammys, and her medley of her songs was supposedly going to be a highlight; something's always stirring things up so who knows if certain artists don't end up going at all or bow out of performing. Ariana Grande bailed on the 2019 Grammys because the Grammy producer wouldn't let her perform songs she wanted to, and these kinds of disputes happen and artists who are nominated become no-shows. So, the opportunity to invite a group with a huge following, who have already proved to increase ratings, seems like a sure move right?

But BTS can't exactly perform at the Grammys if they're not nominated for a Grammy; I don't see them doing a tribute any time soon either. And if the Academy even dares to invite them at this point for a performance it will be an insult and a transparent ratings grab. BTS may still go to avoid appearing as if their pride has been wounded or just because they want to go regardless. They know better than their fans how it feels to lose, to be discarded, to be overlooked. This is happening to them first and foremost, not us. And if they decide that they will deal with this the same way they dealt with all their other struggles, to push on, perform for their fans, and use the opportunity of exposure for what it's worth, then support them and their decision. I, for one, won't be watching it live regardless of whether they are there. If all the Academy wants is ratings from BTS fans when they are fine with treating them like garbage, they won't get ratings from me.

I fully believe that the Academy is not only discriminatory to non-Western, non-white artists but that failing to nominate BTS for any award at all is out of fear. Fear that their traditional, safe artists will be offended and boycott the awards if they lose out on a nomination, fear that their fanbases will retaliate, but more importantly, fear that BTS or any other gigantic force of a non-Western artist may be a shoe-in for whatever award they are nominated for and potentially sweep if allowed to compete with all other artists. This comes after BTS won Best Group at the Billboard Music Awards this year. Their first time being nominated for a major U.S. award category. It wasn't even a Best New Artist schtick. It was a main category and they were up against established, popular, Western groups like Imagine Dragons and Maroon 5. It comes on the heels of Super M earning number 1 debut album and beginning a successful tour they are on right now. It comes after Blackpink performed at Coachella and toured the country. It comes after NCT 127 and ATEEZ toured the country. Even TXT, a months old group, had successful showcases in major U.S. cities.

The Academy is too racist and xenophobic to acknowledge Asian artists--they always have been and they always will be. The most diversity we'll see is the nomination of Black artists, but still only 2 were nominated for SotY whereas 4 were nominated for RotY. I don't know the exact numbers, but any time I've ever kept up with the awards I don't see very many other diversity groups being represented in nominations either, such as artists with disabilities or LGBT artists who have different gender expressions and identities or sexual orientations that impact their music, performance, and artistry. Halsey's intimate performance at the BBMAs with that female dancer was huge because that's just not something that's really done. Still. And any time it does happen it's a Britney and Madonna moment all over again, it's a fetish to everyone. Progress has been made but it's very minuscule in comparison to the 'diversity' touting approach they've taken.

I'll just leave the words of this morning's Rolling Stone article here:

So, the Academy selectively extends its diversity goodwill just as they always have. No shade to the artist, but just using this example of Lil Nas X versus BTS, you have a young Black, gay artist who started his career in late 2018. He's nominated for some of top Grammys with a minimal discography--an 18-minute EP. This is groundbreaking, it's great. BTS, a 6-year-old established group of young Korean artists who break nearly every record there is and dominated Western charts this spring, and they continue to chart Billboard and Western streaming platforms. They earn no nominations.

The two artists ironically happen to have a collaboration in the form of Old Seoul Road.

Congrats to Lizzo and Lil Nas X (that's not shade at Billie btw) but this tweet from the New York Times is so unbelievably misguided because the Academy's conception of diversity is like seasoning with mostly salt, a little pepper and no cayenne (hate to use that analogy but am I wrong?):

I do appreciate that some artists who don't get nominated a lot got nominations, but looking at the list of top awards I just can't imagine how some of those got through. And I listen to a lot of different music and some BTS stans may have know idea who the fuck Bon Iver is and I'm not saying they don't deserve nominations period, but when you look at the list it's just mind boggling how a song like BWL that was listened to and appreciated like a summer anthem would be could not be included in that mess. (Vampire Weekend for Album of the Year, what, who the fuck, is that, they've been around since 2006, that's when I listened to nothing but metal and rock and I don't, know who the fuck this obscure band is? I may have heard of them once eons ago but they apparently made no impression? I'm sorry). I won't go as far as to say BWL was a Western summer anthem because much of the gp still doesn't know them, this is true. But apparently that's never stopped the Academy before. Bonus, anyone remember Bon Iver winning Best New Artist over Katy Perry all those years ago? No, just me? Good times. (Respect to Bon Iver, I'm just making a point that a lesser known artist won that award over a popular artist and the public went "waH?" Bon Iver being nominated for Record and Album of the Year this time honestly has the same effect as before because what is Hey, Ma even. I listen to Indie music so. What it is.)

Anyway. That's my thoughts. Expect nothing and you won't be disappointed is a myth. You will always have room to be disappointed in humanity.

Edit: while I'm at it, a big, massive fuck you to the Academy for never nominating Halsey for Without You.

[hotsexydorks]

Can I ask for a continuation of the Derek/Harris verse? Maybe Derek still has to ‘visit’ Harris every now and then for a full weekend even in college? Maybe he becomes the breakout star basketball or swim jock. Getting all the NCAA attention. But when he goes back to Beacon Hills, he’s just Harris’s jockslut. Harris loves inviting people over to watch a prerecorded game of Derek’s while Derek is doing another type of live ‘performance’.

[Detention Verse] - Thanksgiving : Derek/Harris

It had been a few months since Derek left Beacon Hills, he moved cross country, moved in with his sister, started a new life and never looked back. Well almost never.

The memories of graduation day were still as fresh in his mind as they were when they had just happened. Derek didn’t know how many times he had cum or how many loads he had taken in the classroom he only remembered that when he got home his phone was full of evidence of his debauchery. Just swiping through them had Derek’s hole fluttering against the thick plug that Harris had put in him. 

Those same pictures were still on his phone, still saved there in a hidden folder. His dirty secret. His own private collection. One that only grew from that point on, as his going away present the teachers had decided to send Derek clips and pictures they had all acquired of the jock being their slut. Despite how much Derek tried to forget and move on he couldn’t. That night had changed everything. 

All those extra lessons, those hours with Harris and the other teachers had changed him. It had made everything different. 

When he first moved to New York Derek tried to stop himself. He tried to not think about it. But his body wouldn’t let him. His body reminded him constantly of what he was missing. What he was craving. It was a full month before Derek finally broke. 

~~~

He couldn’t take it anymore. One night after trying to drink the thoughts away Derek went to his room and locked his door. Pulling out a hidden box from his wardrobe Derek wasted no time. 

Derek tore off his clothes not caring where they went. It was like an explosion of clothes by the time he was naked. He lay down on his bed and raised his legs. There wasn’t anything slow and sensual about it. He didn’t waste time running his hands over his body and teasing his nipples or fingering himself open. There wasn’t any time for that. 

The only bit of waiting Derek did was when he coating the tip of the dildo in his mouth. His tongue swirled against the cool silicone. Spreading his spit on the head before he used it against his hole.

It was only just the head but that one touch against his hole shocked Derek to life like nothing he else had in a long time. All this time he had been trying to replace that itch that his body yearned for. He used alcohol, working out, even trying some weak ass study drugs. But nothing took away that edge, that need that had been growing in him since he left home. 

Whether he was being loud or quiet Derek didn’t care. He wanted it and it was so close he could taste it. The dildo wasn’t large, it was just a regular sized dildo but after a month of not having his ass played with the freshman was tight again. Tight enough for Derek to whine in annoyance from not being able to fit in the dildo at first. 

Laying there on his back Derek started to get flustered at the feeling of being so close yet so far. His body sweat from the building anticipation and then the subsequent blue balling that was happening. 

Something that had been so smooth before was now so difficult. In a moment of frustration Derek dropped his arms and sighed loudly. Trying to think back, think at how he used to do this. Thinking back Derek thought about that graduation day where he had taken the teachers cocks so easily. While it affirmed that Derek could do it, the memory didn’t offer any guidance in this situation. 

The more Derek thought the more he remembered how good it felt. How much he tried to fight it before, but now it was different he was searching for it. 

Unable to take it anymore Derek grunted with anger and threw the dildo on the ground. “Fuck this.” He cried. But even with his failed attempts his cock was still rock hard from just entertaining those feelings. 

With hands freed Derek raised his legs again, spreading them as a shaky hand darted down his body. It made its way straight to Derek’s hole. It was slightly wet and fully responsive. Quivering to Derek’s touch he started to rub at the opening. With one hand on his hard cock and the other one his hole, Derek moaned in delight. 

Dildo be screwed. That wasn’t the effort. Derek teased his hole and jerked off his cock with poor strokes. This was all new to him and he didn’t know what he was doing. It was all that damn teacher’s fault. If Harris hadn’t touched him he would have been fine. 

Harris. Derek felt his hole throb at the memory of that man. His fingertip sinking into his ass but never pushing in. Each stroke made him fall deeper into his bed in pleasure. Derek’s legs grew weak and fell down. Raising his hips Derek changed the angle of his fingers against his hole. The attention to his cock was waning.

With each touch on his hole Derek felt himself growing louder and bolder. No longer holding his cock Derek used his other hand and played with his body. Grabbing his ass and squeezing his. Feeling the cheek in his palm Derek never noticed how soft his ass actually was. It filled his palm and was flexible to his fingers. 

“Oo.. ooohh fuck…” Derek yelled out. His fingers were rubbing constantly against his hole and that brief moment took him away. His mind went blank. His body started to move on his own as he came over his hairy chest. Splatting up his body and even hitting his face. 

Derek panted in his post orgasmic bliss. The high leaving him with a clearer mind than he had had since moving here. He smiled widely and even started laughing. Why had he even stopped doing it in the first place. 

~~~

It was Thanksgiving by the time Harris heard from Derek again. After his former student had left the county Harris gave him space. He knew it was only a matter of time before all his hard work paid off. There wasn’t any rush. 

However what he got back from New York wasn’t at all what he had been expecting. In the short while Derek had moved away he had grown so much. The teen was no longer growing, he had grown. Derek had changed so much that at first Harris didn’t even recognise him. 

The beard, the sunglasses, a leather jacket that was waiting for him to fill out. A form fitted henley and dark jeans. Everything about Derek had changed in just a short amount of time. He wasn’t a cute high school graduate anymore. Derek was turning into a man. 

“Hello Mr.Harris.” It took Derek speaking for Harris to even recognise him. 

“Derek?! My.. you’ve changed.” He smirked looking his slut up and down. Not missing the blush that Derek was sporting from his obvious gazes. 

“Can I come in?” Derek asked the other, stepping into the familiar house even without his answer. Nothing really was different, some new pieces of furniture but to Derek it still all looked the same. 

He stood silent as he gazed around the house. Memories and sensations rushing through him. Even Harris’ chair was still the same, the same chair where Harris would sit and watch Derek bounce on his cock for hours as his extra class. 

“How is New York Derek?” Harris asked after he closed the door, locking it behind him. There wasn’t going to be any reason for Derek to leave any time soon. 

“Huh.. Oh New York is good, fun. It’s not like Beacon Hills at all.” The jock spun around to face the man. Derek licked his lip after he spoke. 

Harris didn’t need the words from Derek. He knew why Derek had returned; Why he came back to this house. The teacher stepped forward and took a hold of Derek’s chin in his hand. Tilting it up for Derek to look up those few inches in difference. 

“Welcome back slut. Let’s see how well you remember everything I taught you.” 

Taking charge again Harris stepped in and crashed his mouth against Derek. Unlike all those times before Derek didn’t fight against the male. He pushed into the kiss and even moaned openly. 

“I see it’s not only your looks that have changed.” Harris smiled approvingly. He let go of the other and moved over to his seat. “Why don’t you show me just how much you’ve changed.” Spreading his legs Harris stroked his bulge slowly. The anticipation of seeing how different Derek actually was making his cock grow hard. 

Derek blushed deeply as he took the old spot that he used to stand at. Shrugging off his coat there wasn’t any song and dance. It was all smooth and practised. He kept his eye contact on the older man as he worked bit by bit. 

First it was his jacket. Taking it off revealed how much Derek’s body had bulked in the time he was away. Then it was his henley which revealed a nice surprise for Harris. 

Not only had Derek grown out his body hair, managed to somehow get abs of a god but there was also something else. Harris raised his hand, signalling to Derek to stop. 

“Derek. Is that a nipple piercing?” Harris couldn’t help the teacher tone in his voice. He couldn’t believe it. His slut had aged so well. 

The man got up and pulled Derek closer to him, his mouth latching on to the man’s nipple. Playing with it in his mouth. 

“Nhnn someone said they feel good.. so .. ahhh.” Derek moaned loudly, the words were broken and disjointed while he ran his fingers through his old teacher’s hair. “Mmh Mr.Harris..” 

The teacher’s hands reached out for Derek’s ass. His palmed at it quickly before his hands pulled the jeans down. Yanking them away and roughly pulling the college jock’s body around.  

“You know I’ve been keeping an eye on you from here. Recorded all your games. I even started to think that you’d forgotten about me.” Although he never got around to watching them he did keep tabs on Derek and his new life. Harris pushed Derek over his chair making him kneel on it with his ass in the air. He spread the other’s cheeks and licked at the rim, pushing and prodding with his tongue. It didn’t take long for Harris to realise that his looks weren’t the only thing his slut had been working on.

“But I can see..” Harris pulled away from Derek’s ass, his fingers dug deep into the other’s round ass. 

Pulling them apart showed off Derek’s hole, but more than that it showed off how soft and open the male’s hole was. Even just from Harris’ hands the hole spread slightly and showed how ready it was. 

“You’ve been a good boy haven’t you Derek, have you found some dirty men up state to keep you busy?” Harris pushed two of his fingers into the waiting hole. It was tight and hot. 

Whimpering loudly Derek brushed the hair from his face. “Uh huh…” His voice was soft and broken. “I tried to resist but.. I couldn’t. But it was so hard.. My body wouldn’t stop crying out for it. I tried everything but I couldn’t take it anymore. At first I thought it’d be okay if I just played with myself but it wasn’t enough.” 

Derek pressed his forehead into the top of the couch. Biting his lip from pleasure that was almost overwhelming. “I.. I broke.. I joined.. Ahh.” The cuts in his sentences were filled with moans, sounds of whimpering and gasping as the other showed off his ability. 

Armed with the knowledge about Derek’s body he knew all the buttons, all the spots, each and everything on his body that made the male go weak. Harris was the one that found them in the first place. 

“Keep going.” Harris said to him. As if to coax out more of the story from him his tongue pushed into Derek’s hole and ate him out even more. Tasting him on his tongue again was delightful. The small bit of stubble he had grown during the holidays scrapped against the hole, making sure to rub against him while he ate him out. 

“Uh nn.. I joined a dungeon club… That’s where…” Derek reached behind him and spread his cheeks for the man. “I…” The jock panted against the couch while he tried to look back 

“Please.. Harris!! Please fuck me…” It had all become too much for Derek. Between the mental build up he had up until now to how Harris was teasing him there wasn’t anything he could take any more.  

“Pl-please…” 

Harris’ pride shone through his grin. Derek had turned out better than he had ever imagined. Maybe it was time to reach out to his friends in New York, there were plenty of people in Harris’ contacts that would love a piece of Derek. 

The teacher had already unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. Standing up he spat down at Derek’s ass. Using the head of his cock Harris rubbed it against the wet hole. Slapping him with his hard cock. 

“I knew you’d come back to me ass first, but I never thought you’d come back to be with even more training under your belt.” 

Once Harris was finished spreading his spit against Derek’s hole he wasted no time in shoving his cock into him. If what Derek had said was true then Harris didn’t need to take his time. There wasn’t a need for him to ease his slut back into it. 

Harris pounded at Derek’s hole treating his returned slut to a piece of the cock that he had missed for so long. The cock broke his hole and turned him into this hunk of a man. He grinned, pulling at Derek’s hair he yanked the other’s head back. Exposing Derek’s neck for the teacher to kiss at. 

The man grunted against the other’s body, his balls slapping harshly against the welcoming hole. Derek’s voice filled the otherwise empty house with howls of pleasure. Sounds of the twisted perversion he had come to love so much. 

“Ah-- ahhhh!! Good.. So Good. Missed your fucking cock.” 

Harris’s cock was ready to unload into the other but he wasn’t. Pulling Derek’s body upright he reached around and started to play with the other’s pierced nipple. His sensitive nub was hard. Harris knew how sensitive they were because after all he was the one that trained them that way. 

It took hours upon hours of sense changing teasing but the first time they saw Derek cum from just his nipples, that was a reward upon itself. 

“Harris.. Sir.. I’m…” Derek tried to warn the man. But there wasn’t any let up. He continued, Derek even thought that the male went even harder. His thighs strained against Harris’ trusts. All the force that Adrian was using would have been enough to buckle Derek over if he hadn’t been as strong as he was.

“Milk my cock Derek. Do it.” 

Bellowing out in a strained voice Derek’s body felt like it was being shocked. Shaking and gritting his teeth as he came over himself, drips of his cum leaking onto the seat of the couch. 

“Fuck..” Harris let out a loud groan as he could feel Derek’s orgasm from inside the other. Squeezing him and milking his cock. He grunted through his final few thrusts before he filled the other’s hole up with cum for the first time in nearly half a year. 

But he wasn’t finished with him yet. Harris pulled out of Derek and sat in his chair patting his lap. Derek knew what that meant. Climbing the sides of the cushions Derek positioned himself over the man’s cock before sinking back down and riding him again. But unlike all the other times Derek was riding him with pleasure and vigour. Touching his body and showing off how he moved for the man’s cock. 

“Such a good boy.” 

Derek whined at the praise, smiling and biting his lip. He knew he wanted to savour this for as long as he could. 

Watching Derek on top of him Harris smirked and reached into his pocket for his phone. He started to text different numbers, engrossed in his phone while Derek rode his ass down on his cock.

“What are you doing?” He asked the man. Derek had known how to read Harris’ faces for a long time. Something had caught his attention more than Derek’s ass. 

“Oh don’t put on that face.” Harris patted Derek’s cheek, tapping at the pout that had formed on his face from not getting his attention. “I’m just arranging a few things. No need to worry your pretty hole about it too much.” 

The man pulled Derek down sharply on his cock. Forcing all over his length into him. “Remember what I told you Derek, when you ride a cock you have to ride it balls deep.” Harris spanked the other’s ass for his laziness. 

“Yes Sir..” Derek whispered. His head rolling back as he felt free to indulge himself as long as he wanted on the man’s cock. 

“We should have a few hours before they arrive, I just invited some friends over to help welcome you back to town.” 

Derek’s cock twitched as he realised what the man had done. 

“So why don’t you say we get you all nice and warmed up before your old friends come over.” Harris grinned mischievously at Derek before he dove at Derek’s nipples and his hips started to buck some more. 

~~~

True to Harris’ word it was dinner by time people turned up to the house. Teachers, Coaches, even some new faces that Derek didn’t recognise came up to the house. 

“Welcome gentlemen, and to our new faces II hope you’re keeping well. As you know it is the season of giving thanks, remembering our good deeds and behaviours and celebrating in hopes of all of that continuing.” Harris had a glass raised while he gave his speech. The men hadn’t been told what was happening. Not even the ones that Derek recognised the most. 

“I called you all here for a Thanksgiving celebration, and there will be a celebration.” The men all hollered at the temptation of a party. “And what better way to celebrate than watching a game!” Harris switched on the tv to show one of Derek’s matches 

The video started with shots of Derek’s previous matches, his top plays and score card. Some of the teachers began to recognise the name and put the pieces together that this was the same Derek that had recently graduated. His appearance made some of the men wolf whistle at how Derek had changed in the time he had away. Amazed by his transformation.

“Skkk..” Harris breathed through his teeth shaking his head as the men had started to watch the match. “Oh how reckless of me! I forgot one more thing. I mean after all what’s a game without some entertainment?” Harris gestured behind the group of men. 

From a closed door Derek emerged, sporting an all together different uniform than what was on screen. He had sweatbands on his wrists and a white jockstrap that had ‘#1 Slut’ written across the band. His nipples were hard and red showing off how long Harris had played with them. The framed ass also bore a tally mark on his ass of how many times Harris had already bred him. 

“You all remember Derek, don’t you?” He asked, pointing out the jock behind them. “He’s changed a little from his high school days, but I thought it would be nice to watch one of his matches with him here. See how our school’s old sports star is getting on in New York. Oh and he’s also very generously offered to be our entertainment for today’s party. ” 

Derek blushed as he walked into the room and lay on the empty coffee table. He wasn’t embarrassed, he was excited. He was full of energy and never wanted it to end. Raising his legs up Derek showed off his plugged up hole to the men. 

“Please use me.”

The words barely left his lips before Derek had been swarmed by hands and mouths. They pulled and pushed all over his body, his nipples, his abs, no part of him was safe. Cocks slapped against him and soon he had one in each end. 

“Welcome back to Beacon Hills, Derek.” Harris’ patted at his sluts head gaining puppy love drunk smile back at him before his face was lost under the sea of men. 

[vulpinmusings]

Letters from Buxcord #3 - Bayou Basilisk

Mystery 3 of my group Monster of the Week campaign (See Episodes 1 and 2 here) concluded last night, wherein we had a most unpleasant experience in the local bayou.

Samantha,

I’ve struggled over whether or not to write this letter for weeks, uncertain if it’s worth the effort if I can’t even send it or the previous ones to you.  I just decided to keep carrying on for two reasons: because I know you’ll want to know my stories once I return and I’ll appreciate having these letters on hand as notes, and because writing them will make me retain a hope of returning eventually.  

I make a promise, I will get back to Taryn.

I just don’t know if it’ll be through my own efforts.

So, why was I so down?  I went to see Madam Weaver to see if she was as informed as her note claimed.  She lives in a somewhat run-down part of Buxcord, but her own house is in great shape.  Weaver’s an older lady and definitely well attuned to the ways of magic, although I can’t quite place what her personal style is yet.  She gave me some insight into this universe’s magic, and apparently the streams are individually far more potent than I’m accustomed to using, so my issues are less a matter of mis-aligned Weaving than creating overloaded Weaves.  That’s going to take a fair bit of time to adjust to; I may have to unlearn everything I’ve assumed about the ratio of strings in a Weave to the power and versatility of spells.

It could also be a result of magic not being as widely used here as it is in Taryn or most of the ‘verses along the Chain, or part of the fallout of recent events. Madam Weaver told me that not too long ago, but before I arrived in this universe, there had been an explosion of magic on the scale of a uranium bomb which had caused a kind of “refreshing” of the magical energy in the world.  That wave I suffered through prior to the incident with the pig-faced murder ghost might have been an aftershock of that explosion; if so, it’s the first one to have occurred.

None of that is what distressed me though.  What did it was Madam Weaver’s knowledge of inter-universe portals.  To summarize, if I wanted to create a stable portal to Taryn from Buxcord, I would need to sacrifice something that originates from my destination universe. Something more… substantial than some of my cards or other personal possessions. I’d have to give up part of myself.  The only other option right now is to sit tight and wait for someone – be it Rubia or that skvetchte Raposinho that got me into this mess in the first place or our friends at the end of the Chain – to figure out how to pinpoint my location in the multiverse and cast a portal my way.  And that without any of you actually having this letter in front of you to inform you of my situation!

Also, “True Name” magic is apparently more than just a charlatan's facade for coercion techniques in this universe.  I haven’t had any reason to question my defenses against such things here yet, except for the fact that I did get mind-controlled that one time by a form of magic I still don’t fully grasp...

Bah re...

Might as well put what just happened into this letter, try to end it on a more upbeat note.

Although magic is not a commonly accepted reality around here, I’ve managed to establish enough of a reputation as a solver of problems to pull in enough money to afford the rent on an apartment.  You’d laugh to see how empty it is, but I at least managed to acquire a couch so I have somewhere soft to sleep.  A few days after moving in, I was awakened by a knock on my door.  It was a young man leaning on a cane, one of my new neighbors who goes by Rocky.  He asked me for my help in locating his missing twin brother, William, who had left the previous evening claiming a sudden need to test one of the new boats at Bayou Boating, and had not returned.  Always eager to be doing something, and needing a bit of a refresher to the finances, I set off immediately.

My first clue that things were going to be more interesting than a simple missing person’s case was bumping into the ever-uncanny Nollthep just outside Bayou Boating.  Once again, the fellow was on an errand for his mysterious boss, who wanted a mage to lend them a hand.

I must admit, I’m growing slightly suspicious of Nollthep.  Last time we worked together, he was seeking a Wiccan, and after the pig-face was dealt with I saw Penelope Clemonte’s name on the official list of its victims, when I know she was in perfect health.  Now, here Nollthep was looking for a mage and being very intent on the word “hand.”  Partly out of my ever-honest nature and partly out of a desire to try and protect any innocents, I volunteered that I am a mage.

We went inside the Bayou Boating storefront to find the last member of the unofficial “Buxcord Weirdness Magnet” trio, Lea, observing the company’s boss, Fitz, dressing down two of his employees over a missing boat.  When questioned, none of them knew where William was but were willing to believe he was responsible for the missing boat.  Fitz had already called in the police and was in a very bad mood, so it took a lot of fast-talk and at least one dose of Lea’s charm magic to convince him to let us go out into the bayou with another of his precious fan-driven boats.  He only agreed on the condition that one of the employees, Piper, came with us and drove the boat.

Nollthep, in his usual straightforward style, dragged poor Piper out to the boat and hacked the mooring rope apart before anyone could make a move to untie it properly.  As we started out, following the usual route used for testing new boats, Piper and Lea realized they knew each other from early childhood and spent a while catching up.  I didn’t pay them too much mind, being more focused on looking for signs of William and his boat.  I don’t recall what I said, exactly, but some comment I made to Nollthep’s rambling prompted him to pull out his own eyes and swap them around, much to Lea’s horror. Somehow, Piper failed to notice the trick. How Nolly’s managed to last so long with next to nobody suspecting him of not being human, I may never know.

As we drove by the second of many islands in the bayou, we spotted a boat upturned on the shore.  Piper brought us in for a closer look, but after a thorough search of the island we found no signs of William or any other human presence.  As we boarded our boat, I saw Rocky in the near distance in a small motor boat, so we went over to ask him what he was doing.  After all, he’d asked me to do the bulk of the foot-work.  As Piper was helping him onto our craft, Lea spotted something moving in the water and floored the accelerator, nearly knocking the rest of us off our feet, and ramping off the back of the 20-foot long python that was starting to breach the surface.  As she was not sitting in the driver’s chair, Lea’s control over the boat was lacking, and we ended up whirling around and crashing into the snake and throwing everyone but Rocky into the water.  Nollthep sank like a rock and stayed under for a few seconds before teleporting himself back onto the boat.  As for myself, I managed to call up a swell of water to shove the snake back long enough for Rocky to drive over to us. Nollthep locked eyes with the snake and froze for a crucial moment before throwing a handful of his exploding powder, buying enough time for Piper to get out of the water.  As Lea was trying to follow suit, however, the snake charged in and slammed the boat, launching Lea into the air, where she proceeded to defy gravity until Rocky hooked his cane around her ankle and pulled her in.

The snake – basilisk, rather, for that’s what I soon determined it was – tried to wrap me in its coils as I struggled toward the boat, but Nollthep caught it around the neck with his chain of handkerchiefs, freeing me to climb back aboard and give the basilisk a perfunctory fireball in the face. Piper took control of the boat and whipped us around to head back to the docks at speed.  The basilisk made chase as Nollthep threw his cards at it to try and convince it to leave.  It didn’t break off, though, until Rocky leaned against Nolly for balance, raised his cane, and channeled a beam of ice magic through it at the basilisk.

I do seem to be attracting all the local mages as hoped, albeit slowly and sporadically.

The police still hadn’t arrived when we returned, and Fitz was none too happy to learn we’d basically accomplished nothing of note.  William was still MIA, the stolen boat was still marooned, and there was skvetchte big snake swimming around Bayou Boating’s tour area.  Actually, the snake bothered him far less than it should have, since he declared he fully intended to open the tours in two days’ time as scheduled, man-eating snake or no man-eating snake.

As we stepped outside to discuss our next move, Nollthep unexpectedly blinked away for about a minute and returned with a white dove that took an immediate and insistent interest in me and Rocky.  Nollthep claimed the bird, which he called Sven, was a new friend, but he seemed nervous and more jittery than usual with it around.

I wanted to consult with Madam Weaver about how to deal with the basilisk, to confirm its weaknesses and find out where to obtain what we would need, but I was uncertain about introducing her to Nollthep just yet, so I convinced him and Lea to let me go alone.  The Madam informed me that basilisks are fatally allergic to weasel blood and griffon tears and that the lab that had produced the Santa-squatch and not-deer from back around Yuletide might be able to provide the materials.

When I returned to Bayou Boating, I found Lea yelling at Nollthep about him attempting to kidnap Rocky via teleport and misplacing the man.  The police had also arrived in my absence and Lea had barely managed to convince them there was a dangerous snake in the bayou, so they were waiting on Animal Control rather than heading out in their own boat.

After assisting Lea in brow-beating Nolly into teleporting around town to find Rocky, Lea and I made our way to the lab.  Nollthep popped into the lab well ahead of us, much to the annoyance of Professor Thomas, before rejoining us just outside and proceeding to annoy the professor again via the intercom.  I shoved Nolly aside and told the professor our reason for coming, and he invited Lea and me in.  Nollthep had to stay outside, as Thomas believed he’d done something bad to the former Professor Case.  So, that was another mark against Nolly…

As it turns out, Professor Thomas’s lab holds a wide variety of tissue and fluid samples from all kinds of creatures, mundane and Mythic, explaining where Case had acquired the materials to make his Christmas monsters.  Thomas handed over a vial of weasel blood without much comment, but was hesitant to give up his only sample of griffon tears, as he was hoping to use them to save the beasts from either current or eminent extinction.  We managed to come to an agreement: I could have the tears in exchange for bringing Thomas a sample from the basilisk, Nollthep, or both.  It was a fair enough deal.

Back at Bayou Baoting, Lea went inside to work her magic on Fitz so we could take a boat out again. While she was doing that, Nollthep got the bright idea of building a boat of our own using the wood from the docks.  He ripped out a good part of a pier before I managed to stop him, and he only did a half-baked job at fixing the damage, all the while twitching under the stare of the dove that I’m sure is not actually a dove which was still insisting on using me as a perch.

Lea came back with Piper in tow, and we launched back into the bayou.  As we neared the island where we’d found the basilisk the first time, Nollthep saw something hanging in a tree and swam over for a closer look.  As the boat drew nearer, I saw Rocky’s cane floating in the water, fished it out, and then looked up to see that it was Rocky himself stuck in the tree.  I tried to levitate him down, but I must have over-corrected for the power difference because the spell fizzled quickly.  Lea jumped out to catch Rocky and wound up floating under her own power again.  As I held out the cane for them to use to haul themselves back aboard, the basilisk’s head emerged from behind the tree and locked eyes with me.

Some say the stare of a basilisk is instant death, but I can say with authority that the Buxcord variety at least merely instills a partial paralysis.  Lea panicked and tried to fly away, dropping Rocky onto the boat and drawing the beast’s attention.  It lunged at her as Nollthep, who had teleported back to the boat, tried to hit it with his explosive powder and only succeeded in momentarily blinding everyone on board.

While I struggled to overcome the double disadvantage of sluggish muscles and abused retinas, the basilisk bit Lea in the leg and pulled her into the water. She she reacted by causing a nearby tree to slam into and ensnare the snake.  As Lea climbed aboard the boat, Nollthep lassoed the basilisk to try and pull it closer and I applied a Tangler to twist its head around for a dose of weasel blood and griffon’s tears.

Lea, in a panic and maybe a bit delirious from basilisk venom, attempted to fly away.  Nollthep pulled her back to the boat so he and Rocky could attempt first-aid. Nollthep revealed a rare moment of actual knowledge in attempting the method of sucking the venom out of Lea’s wounds, which he actually managed to do.  He then swallowed the venom, revealing the incompleteness of his knowledge.  Rocky’s contribution was to try and seal the bite wound with ice.

As this was going on, I was force-feeding the basilisk.  The weasel blood and griffon tears didn’t kill it immediately, but it still had a violent reaction. Convulsions and blood from the mouth, all that good “dying from the inside out” stuff.  Lea and I sped the process up via another tree slammed into the basilisk’s back and an explosive fireball to the head.

Meanwhile, Nollthep tried to expel the venom from his system as quickly as possible and shed around half his skin in the process, much to Rocky’s disgust.

I grabbed a floating chunk of basilisk from the water and bit of Nolly hide, figuring there was no sense in not giving Thomas both of the things he’d requested if they were both available.

Once we got back to shore, Rocky and Piper loaded Lea into a golf cart and took her to the hospital, adamantly denying Nollthep’s request to join them.  Once the two of us were alone, putting aside that creepy dove, I took the opportunity to lay out a long list of advice for Nollthep regarding his erratic, uncanny, and decidedly not-human behavior.  He thanked me for the input, and we went our separate ways.

I had pegged Nollthep for a non-human from the start, and that engendered a feeling of camaraderie with him, but I find myself starting to question the wisdom of treating him as an ally.  Even ignoring his version of normal behavior, which has grown harder and harder to excuse over the months, there have been two instances of people who Nollthep has shown high interest in and survived encounters with dangerous entities only to later come to harm.  Once is chance and twice is coincidence, but if something happens to Rocky or someone at Bayou Boating…

I’m not sure what I’ll do, yet, but it probably won’t end well.

So much for upbeat endings.

- Ash

[howdoyousayghibli]

Ashitaka and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Boar

To say that Princess Mononoke (1997) has a lot going on is an understatement; as Wikipedia puts it, this is a “Japanese animated epic historical fantasy war film,” and it has a lot to say about violence, environmentalism, and imperialism.

For those who haven’t seen it, the briefest of summaries: After being cursed by a rampaging demon, young Ashitaka seeks a cure from a forest god, only to be caught up in a conflict between the forest spirits, an industrial town, and the forces of the Japanese empire.

I think there’s a lot in this movie that, even after three viewings, goes over my head — and a lot of that comes from the fact that this movie is very rooted in Japanese history and culture. In my opinion, it’s still enjoyable and valuable to people without that background, but I imagine there’s got to be something lost in translation. Before I get into that, though: is this a good movie?

Movie Good Y/N

Are you kidding? It’s Princess Mononoke. This movie is an achievement. On a technical level, the animation is astounding even by Ghibli standards. There’s one or two effects (ok, exactly two digital effects) that haven’t aged particularly well since 1997, when I’m sure they were groundbreaking, but on the whole this is a beautiful movie. Every scene is replete with striking imagery. This film represents director Hayao Miyazaki at the top of his game.

Princess Mononoke also features a large cast of fully realized characters. Like most Ghibli movies, there isn’t an obvious villain to be defeated; unlike most Ghibli movies, that’s because most of the characters are villains in one way or another. This movie really leans into gray morality and the idea that violence taints all parties involved, but that message could have come across as cynical or preachy if the characters felt like they only existed to demonstrate this idea.

Instead, the murky morality feels like a natural extension of the well-written characters. People have conflicting interests and the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and that really comes across here. If you rescue society’s outcasts and treat them like real human beings, but you put them to work in support of something terrible, are you a good person or a bad person? This is the kind of question that Princess Mononoke will leave in your brain, like a grain of sand in an oyster.

Yes, But: The Dub

Unfortunately, Princess Mononoke is not a perfect movie — at least, not in the form I first saw it in. To be blunt, the English dub for this movie is not great. You’ll find no general judgements here on the virtues of subs versus dubs, but in the specific case of Princess Mononoke, I really have to recommend watching it in Japanese with English subtitles.

Part of the problem is some odd choices in translation — even the English name of the movie, "Princess Mononoke", is a bit misleading*. A lot of the dialogue is oddly repetitive as well, with lines like “Shut up! Stop that noise! I’m trying to do accounts so be quiet!” and “Yup, I suppose, yeah.” Watching it with subtitles shed some light on things that sounded a bit odd the first time around. The shoddy translation is especially disappointing after having just watched Whisper of the Heart, which has great dialogue throughout.

However, the bulk of the reason for watching it with Japanese audio is that the English voice acting for Jigo the monk, a major role in the movie, is just awful. If you’ve ever heard someone translating live, it should sound familiar — as if they’re just rushing to keep up with the material they’re translating and have no time to inject emotion or personality. It’s made all the more jarring by the expressive face of the character; there’s a complete disconnect between his voice and his face that brings the entire movie down whenever he’s on screen.

The rest of the English cast members do as well as they can with the sometimes clunky translations they had to work with. Claire Danes in particular does a good job in her leading role as San, lending a Carrie Fisher-esque sense of gumption to the character.

Despite some localization problems, Princess Mononoke is a beautifully animated movie featuring a rich cast and complex, interesting themes. If you haven’t already, you should absolutely see it.

So, it’s a good movie. But what is it about?

Studio Ghibli Refuses to Glorify Violence

Princess Mononoke is, at times, a very violent movie. The thing is, the violence in this movie is graphic, but it’s not graphic. Princess Mononoke neither flinches from violence nor glorifies it. In the opening scene, Ashitaka does everything he can to resolve the demon situation peacefully, but he’s also clearly prepared for violence, and practiced in dishing it out. On his way to the village, Ashitaka encounters a few young women; they don't engage in the fight, but they are carrying large knives. Studio Ghibli’s not trying to sell you a world without violence, but it is trying to convince us that it is at most a necessary evil, and not something to be celebrated.

An older target audience could’ve been an excuse to go wild with fight scenes and violence; instead, the closest thing we get in this movie to a real fight scene lasts barely any time at all before our hero steps in and ends the fight as unceremoniously as possible. Ashitaka even willingly leaves his weapons behind heading into a dangerous situation; he believes that violence will only beget more violence, and that a loftier solution is called for.

Princess Mononoke literally demonizes violence. Ashitaka gets what are essentially superpowers, but he never once revels in them. He’s horrified by them, and by what he does with them. Throughout this movie, violence — whether receiving it or doling it out — turns good spirits and good people into monsters.

Like Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, Princess Mononoke advocates for pacifism, but neither film shies away from the sacrifices required by that philosophy. Peace and trust can win the day, but you may not come out the other side in one piece. Is it worth it? Ashitaka thinks so, and Hayao Miyazaki hopes you will too.

Next up: My Neighbors the Yamadas! I have no idea what to expect from this one, folks. Isao Takahata’s films have been hit or miss for me so far, so we’ll see!

*The English title implies that Mononoke is the name of the titular princess, which led to confusion on my part when we learn her actual name, San. “Why even bother with the whole Mononoke thing,” I wondered, “if it’s not even her name and no one really calls her that?”

The Japanese title is Mononoke-hime; -hime means princess, so all good there, but mononoke is a Japanese word, not a person’s name. It refers to spirits or supernatural beings of a certain type, often a vengeful sort. Knowing this explained a lot to me — the more accurate English translation would have been something like “Monster Princess.” Mononoke-hime is a title used by the people who don’t know her actual name, because that’s what she is to them: a mononoke princess.

Now, I get why they didn’t go with “Spirit Princess” for the name of the movie, but it would have been easy to dub in a few lines explaining the term (“She’s a mononoke - a vengeful spirit!”).

Alternate Titles:

Princess Monoannieareyouokay?

Notes:

the umbrellas are so good; attention to detail, like ashitaka stringing his bow

why do the kudama have butts

the road to hell is paved with good intentions; the decisions of lady eboshi/iron town make sense individually but are awful in aggregate

looooove the apes’ voices

the regurgitation scene sure happens

and keeps happening

omg yakul is the best dog

[healisms-blog1]

❝ the good girl is always a ghost, the body is always a wound. ❞

( katherine mcnamara. 23. she/her. ) we spotted MARIELLA CAULFIELD around toledo today, just another gear in the machine of the apocalypse. i heard she is a MEDIC for CAMP SEROTONIN. i guess it fits, seeing as she is known to be + resilient & + charitable, as well as - impatient & - naïve. they often have fade by lewis capaldi in their head while they work. i wonder if they’re prepared for what’s coming ? ( faye. 22. est. she/her. n/a. )

life as she knew it,

Born to Louise Brodeur and Darby Caulfield in the midst of a very cold winder night in Leavenworth, Washinton, Mariella Caulfield was the product of a unconventional relationship. Despite their new addition, both refused to settle down into an indifferent, loveless marriage and instead agreed they would work to raise their daughter separately. Once she was able to walk she would spend time split equally between Washintong and New Orleans, Louisiana. It was often that her parents fought on what values to instill into her, their core values and expectations never quite lining up.

Her father wanted her to be raised to live life as she pleased, whereas her mother would have preferred she was brought up in a more traditional sense. As a result, Mariella had very different relationships with her parents. To her dad, who she mirrored in more ways than one, she could do no wrong. Her mom on the other hand, she had grown to detest her daughter more and more with every visit. She reminded her too much of her father, a man she loved more than anything to hate.

The friction between she and her mother eventually came to a boiling point at age ten when child protective services were called to their townhouse by a neighbor. The elderly women next door often overheard screaming between the two of them and worried she might be abusing her child. The charges were investigated and eventually dropped, but the memory of being ripped from everything she knew and ( while briefly ) shoved into foster care has always stuck with her. While Louise was technically not guilty of anything, she did very little to prove otherwise once her parental rights were restored.

Even as a young child Mariella was the type who wanted to get out and explore, to meet as many people as possible and learn from them as she went. Being raised by two teachers really set her love for learning into motion. Knowledge above all else was something her childhood was rooted in, and the fever to learn stuck with her well into her time in school. There was no one subject she enjoyed more than the other, but she had a particular penchant for STEM classes. She went through all the changes in potential career growing up; from wanting to be a ballerina, an astronaut, to even considering following in her parents footsteps and becoming a teacher; which is how they met.

On a particularly hot afternoon in the middle of summer, her father began complaining of chest pain and shortness of breath. At first he assured her that it would go away, he would be fine. But as the night persisted and he wasn’t getting any better, she dialed 911 in the hopes that emergency response would make it on time. From the minute she arrived at the hospital she was captivated by the process and found herself asking questions to anyone who would speak to her. Mariella was thirteen then, and everything seemed to have fallen into place. Funny as it was, she found her calling through her father’s heart attack.

It wasn’t until she reached university that she really started experiencing the world for what it was, and she quickly felt like a fish out of water among the masses. As such it was rare you’d find her without at least two books tucked under her arm. Being a medical student took up the majority of her life, the courses work-heavy and requiring immense concentration, but she tried to be as social as she was dedicated to her education. Given she graduated high school at fifteen, the girl pushed herself to mingle with people across the board rather sticking to one fixed set of friends. At her core she believed all people had something more to discover beyond what was shown at face value, thus she made connections wherever she was able.

Graduation from Med school arrived in a whirlwind of emotion, mostly exhaustion and relief. While as happy as she was to be finished with the bulk of her studies and onto the next stage of her impending career, Mariella knew this was one of the last times she’d have to well and truly enjoy being young before fully engulfing herself into the workforce. So, rather than sticking to her typical plan, she decided to celebrate on an impromptu trip to Ireland, setting off with nothing but a quickly packed suitcase and whatever money was left in her bank account.

the start of the outbreak & onward,

September 25th, 2015. Crowded among a group of strangers underneath an airport television, word of the outbreak begins spreading on television. Everyone within the confines of the Louis Armstrong airport in New Orleans were on edge following the story dropping, numerous people began panicking. Rather than feeding into outcry, as nothing around her seemed to be out of the ordinary, she pushed it from her mind as she boarded her connecting flight to Europe. Only, the plane never left the ground.

Ten minutes after their plane finishes boarding, all of the passengers find themselves face-to-face with one of the creatures. Being small and quick on her feet played in her favour as she quickly maneuvered through the plane, narrowly escaping the bloodbath with her life. A good few of them survived the ordeal and decided to stick together, spending the initial night of the outbreak holed up in a supply closet. The group separates the next morning, each hoping to return to their respective families. She, however, blindly decides to make a run for it.

Alone, unarmed, and terrified, she did the best she could for someone in her situation. They—whatever they were—began surrounding the gas station she holed herself up in, making any chance at escape very slim. Convinced she’d die there, whether by starvation or from being attacked when the reinforcements on her door gave way, Mariella began plotting an escape route. She knew very little about the outbreak as it stood, but was observant enough to notice that if they were distracted by a loud noise, she could make her way around without much trouble.

The next week or so is spent coming in and out of abandoned houses and scavenging whatever she can carry. Mostly everything she took was medical supplies, building herself quite the kit should she need to help someone in need. By that point her initial adjustment to the new world went by quite horribly. As time passed she quickly found that the more ‘savage’ way of living was not the one for her.

At first of the mind that the creatures were still people underneath the dirt and decay, Mary refused to kill them. To her, they could still be saved. There would be a cure. There had to be, right? Before she joins a group or finds a solid place to call home, a close encounter with a hoard is what changes her mind. Someone steps in to save her, and she’s felt indebted to them ever since. The near-death experience acted as a wake up call, and from that point on she stopped avoiding the inevitable; to survive, the undead had to be exterminated. The possibility of a cure ( or at the very least a vaccine to help the remaining humans ) still plays in the back of her mind.

The person that rescued her disappeared as quickly as they swooped in to aid her, but she got lucky shortly after and found a few people to travel with. Everyone within her group seemed to be handling the transition with relative ease — whereas she found herself keenly aware that she would not survive long if not for having capable people surrounding her. Though she may not be the greatest in combat or of much use when it comes to scavenging, she knows she’s a valuable asset in other ways, happily putting her medical knowledge to good use.

January 14th, 2016. Catching wind of a camp called Serotonin beginning a slow recruit of people with varying abilities, Mariella is among the first to offer her expertise. Thankfully she’s welcomed with open arms and feels she may have found herself somewhere much more permanent to call home. Trust doesn’t come so easily in their new world, though she’d certainly lay her life on the line if it came to down to protecting her people. Any people, actually, because prioritizing human life above all else is her number one goal. When she’s not tending to the ill or injured, the young woman proudly acts as a morale boost, doing whatever she can to keep everyone around her going. Where most people have seemingly given up hope on there ever being a way out, let alone a real chance of survival to the end, she remains fixed in her belief that there are better days ahead of them.

misc,

Basically, she’s kind, gentle, soft, dedicated, passionate, thoughtful, stubborn.

She’s a certified Mom Friend™ and proud of it.

Would literally go to any length necessary if it means keeping those she cares about safe. She honestly just wants to save people in general !!!

She tends to see the best in people, even those who don’t deserve a moment of her time, and tbh, she’s not to be trusted when it comes to making allies; she’s liable to take in the wrong people and get herself killed.

She’s not helpless, she can get things done when needed, but she can’t fully defend herself. Aka, she ABSOLUTELY needs training.

wanted connections,

I’m not very picky, I’d love any and everything under the sun, but here are a few potential ideas:

Maybe someone she met travelling between baton rouge and the reservoir, who helped keep her alive and she aided them medically

Friends and/or a close/best friend

A good influence, someone who brings out the less tense, more relaxed version of herself

Maybe an ex or a past fling??? idk

Someone to help train her!! homegirl really needs to learn how to use a gun and fight (honestly, bc Kat has good content from Shadowhunters and Arrow and I rly want to use it)

People outside of her camp that she helps, bc honestly she wouldn’t be able to resist doing whatever she can to  aid people, especially helping a rouge if they came to her

idk just pls gimmie all the connections/plots AhH!