#Like 5 notes and the occasional ones that get a couple hundred are chill. There's no attention on me it's just on the art

[caeows]

      jeon jeongguk  .  cis male  .  he/him  ／  graeme bae just pulled up by blasting dirty little secret by all american rejects --- that song is so them  !  you know  ,  for a twenty three year old actor  ,  i’ve heard they’re really gullible  ,  but that they make up for it by being so tenacious  .  if i had to choose three things to describe them  ,  i’d probably say tousled hair  ,  triple dog dares and a closet full of black  .  here’s to hoping they don’t cause too much trouble  !  

hello  !  i’m deni  (  she/her pronouns  ,  gmt+9 timezone  )  .  i’m best reached on discord at gayfairy#6371 for plotting  .  below the cut is  ...  a ridiculous amount of keyboard smashing but it was a holiday and i was feeling inspired so  !!  i included a few TLDRs for some quick scanning  .  there’s also some plots at the bottom i’d LOVE to see  .    looking forward to writing with you all  !

* ☆ ·˚  background.

you could say he was destined for the spotlight  .  

      an only child  ,  he grew up watching his parents performances on the stage  ,  accepting their kisses and gentle smiles before they set off for tours around the country and left him with his cousins  .  sure  ,  they were absent --- but they tried  --- and graeme knew he wanted to be just like them  .  when his parents delighted in his little home-staged sets he presented ,  they quickly enrolled him in acting classes and coached him through first auditions  ,  even moved back to korea when it was clear some american roles wanted to confine him to one note  .  after gaining exposure  ,  graeme shared the screen with one of the biggest names in the american industry in a dramatic hit that led to some ridiculous fanmail being sent to him as a kid  ,  then excitedly landed a role in a revamped science fiction film he was stoked af abouy !!! unfortunately  ,  the film was met with an absolute brutal blowback from fans  ,  some of that hot  ,  petty anger taken out on graeme  ,  and at thirteen years old  ,  his parents made the decision for him to step back and focus on school  .   (  he still holds onto those spiteful letters------  all that hate from grown ass adults thrown at a child  ) 

      performing arts high school  ,  but graeme stayed away from the public stage for a bit  .  worked on some sets as a tech to get a better idea of the film making process  .  kept a low profile occasionally caught by curious paparazzi at a basketball court or baseball game  .  recognizable  ,  but not to the point where he couldn’t be seminormal  .  there were a few bumps in the road  ::  leaked photos of a beer at a high school party  ,  couple of fake friends sliding in for clout  ,  people pushing questions like when are you returning  ??  how does it feel to ruin one of the most important films of all time ???  shitty  .  but  ,  with the help of his parents  ,  friends and coaches  ,  graeme returned to student films to grow more comfortable in front of a camera  .  his official comeback was in the background of a friend's directorial debut  ,  a lady-love drama critics salivated over but failed to earn is’ nominations  .  still  ,  graeme’s name was back and out there  .  jumping headfirst into the thing that scares him  ,  graeme’s slated for teen flicks  ,  romantic dramas  ,  action films  .  a diverse portfolio  .  people love a comeback  .     ------as if there was something wrong with what he did before  .  

TLDR.  former international child star who took a break after experiencing a massive fan-driven backlash  .  pseudo retired  ,  did the performing arts school thing  .  popped back on the screen about a year ago and working his ass off since  .  early career inspiration : jake lloyd  ,  natalie portman  , yeo jingoo

* ☆ ·˚  current.

      suddenly  getting all this praise and earning cash  ,  living on his own in a sprawling city of work and sin  .   hasn’t stop busting his ass  ,  no  ,  but maybe he’s found outlets for all his stress in  . . . less than healthy outlets  .  some of the headlines are way off the mark  ,  some a little too close to home  .  either way  ,  it’s not something his parents or his management company are thrilled about  (  doesn’t he want to be taken seriously as an actor ,  they say  )  and he does  .  of course he does  .  but what else does he have to sacrifice to be taken seriously ?  and how serious does any twenty-something year old wanna get  ?

      late hours on dance floors  ,  strips of things he doesn’t know the name of on his tongue  ,  lips on any pretty   ,  wanting pair he can find  .  he’s young  ,  virile and at the top of his game  .  who can blame him  ?  it starts with a string of tabloid images  ,  a rumpled and sleepy-eyed graeme leaving apartments that aren’t his in clothes he was spotted in the night before  .  zoomed-in  ,  fan-cropped photos on twitter of hickeys and swollen mouths and unbuttoned shirts  .  america’s sweetheart  ?  maybe  ,  but clearly not around the clock  .  him  ,  scaling rails of hotels and dancing on top of cars  .  grabbing mics at clubs and taking over DJ boots at parties   .  twitter explodes when he moonwalks through the airport one time and baristas trend his insane coffee orders  .  

      and even though he’s got his own name --- and a variety of different spellings  ,  hashtags  ,  and whatevers --- blacklisted on social media  ,  every now and then he’ll run along a stream of grueling comments  ,  petty nitpicks about his performances  ,  his looks  ,  his voice  ,  his goddamn smile and it’s-----   it’s rough  ,  even for someone who grew up in that environment  .  there’s days where he’ll hole up in his apartment and refuse to see anyone  ,  refuse to leave  .  the guy in the interviews with the wide smile and sparkle eyes is so  ,  so far away and people almost forget that he’s human  ,  too  .  he pushes himself out of that mindset  ,  sometimes with help  ,  but it’s always a shadow on his back  ,  waiting to catch him at his weakest  .  

TLDR.  tabloids gossip about speculated hookups and strange behavior  .  potential alcohol abuse  .  pushback from management and parents  .  anxiety towards social media  .  current career inspiration : ansel elgort

* ☆ ·˚  tidbits.

      sporty as fuck —— basketball  ,  soccer  ,  skateboard  ,  swimming  ,  climbing  .  says he would’ve been an athlete if not for movies  .  fit as fuck despite a steady diet of ramen and pizza  .  claims to like horror movies the most  ,  but he’s a total schmaltz snob  .  can hold a pretty tune well enough to pass  .  has a private twitter account for the memes   ,  public accounts are all operated by a social media manager so he doesn’t have to read comments   .  watches college basketball championships religiously  .  has very strong opinions about scented candles  .  likes sugary drinks more than coffee but claims to be a connoisseur  .  loves biopics  .  punk and 2000s emo rock fan .  gets anxious easily  ,  suffers through interviews and avoids personal topics as best as he can  .  is rumored to be difficult to work with  ,  but keeps to himself on sets save for a few opinions about blocking  and lighting  .  pan as fuck and fairly open about it  .  mom and dad are chill  ,  but don’t understand much of anything past bi  .  they get on to him more for his diet and job  .   when not on the court or working  ,  spends free time rewatching anime in the safety of his bed in an threadbare pair of boxers  ,  eating Doritos by the fistful and leaving his manager on read  .

      even his underwear is black  .  occasionally, he’ll change it up with a screen printed vintage t-shirt and wears whatever kind of fancy thing his stylist squeezes him into  .  otherwise wears by a black or white t-shirt  ,  black pants and combat boots  .  seventy percent of his sneakers have sharpie drawings on them and he’s got a lot of holes in his ears and another in a place you’d be lucky  (  or unlucky  )  to see  .  loves dangy earrings and wearing his hair loose  ,  a bit long with a mild perm  .  silver on his wrists and friendship bracelets from yesteryear but no rings  .  tattooed up  !  recently collaborated to design a line of temporary tattoos  .  extensive collection of sunglasses  .  hit up a lot of music festivals in the past but that’s died down in recent months due to a busy schedule  .  swung his way into VIP passes before  .  he was a total Warped kid in the past  ,  no shame  .  no longer does fan conventions because of a negative experience a few years back  ,  and even fan meets are a little awkward  ,  but he manages to push through  .  can’t drive worth a damn but he’ll kick your ass at any arcade game  .  occasionally  ,  he’ll stream over twitch but that’s becoming less and less common  . was banned from several dave & busters before he made it back on the screen  .  moody as fuck  .

* ☆ ·˚  plots.

      so  .  bonds  .  there’s a best friend who may not have been there since the beginning  ,  but they’ve been there when it matters  .  the friendship is new  ,  fresh  ,  and maybe graeme shouldn’t be as dependent on it as he is  ,  but he can’t help it  .  clinging to them like crazy --- let’s hope it doesn’t fall to the wayside  .  (  ? / 1  )  there’s several of his idiot friends who  ,  after being stranded on too many red carpets  ,  a hundred hotel rooms  ,  and hours of press junkets  ,  have learned to survive by snapchatting each other random dares throughout the day  .  (  1 / unlimited  )  there’s a few childhood friends who  ,  like him  ,  grew up either in or close to the spotlight and they have this  ,  like  . . .  support group kind of situation  .  i don’t know  .  graeme checks on them from time to time  ,  even as they’ve grown apart  .  (   2 / unlimited  )  he’s got some partying buddies who may not have his best interest at heart --- who may or may not stop him when he’s slurred out and whining about twitter trolls .  some gaming partners he teams up with over stream  ,  but lately they’ve drifted apart  .

      it’s such a cliche that his management’s set him up for a fake dating situation  .  if graeme wants the dramatic  ,  serious roles  ,  then he needs to show he’s a mature and capable young man  .  how else to do that than jump headfirst into a few awkwardly orchestrated dates with another hotshot on the radar  ?  (  ? / 1  )  but they’re not serious  .  so  ,  he hasn’t stopped hooking up  ,  or thinking about a one night stand that totally rocked his world  .   (  ? / 5 )  and  (  ? / 1 )  media and fans definitely know about a few of these  .  the jury’s out for how they feel about it  .  then there’s his competition  ,  actors in the same demographic targeting the same roles  .  it’s a tough business and they know it  ,  but the press picks up on all these weird quotes and posts that twist shit into beefs  .  what other misunderstanding will cause the casket to blow  ?  (  ? / unlimited )  there’s some co stars on old and upcoming films  .  people who see how hard he works and how much effort he puts into what’s seen on the screen  .  they tough out hard days on set and the press circuits during promotion  .  see him at his worst and best  .  (  ? / unlimited )

#excess:intro #tw flashing gif #tw anxiety mention #going back to SLEEP c u l8r

[writesandramblings]

Secret’s End - Chapter 6

“Fruit of the Poison Tree”

Table of Contents

A/N: Sometimes the missions you don’t go on are as important as the ones you do.

<< Ch. 5 - Laugh It Off Ch. 7 - If You Never Ask >>

Ensign Zahra Hasimova shook like a leaf. There were pieces of security officer on her face. There were pieces of security officer on her face.

It was supposed to be a simple historical survey, cataloguing some cave paintings left by a primitive species, a few hours of fresh air and sunshine and then back to the confines of the ship. The creators of the cave paintings had gone extinct several thousand years ago. From what, they did not know, but Hasimova suspected the answer to that question was directly related to the bits of security officer on her face.

Now it made sense, Saru’s ganglia.

“Could be anything,” said Dr. Channick, scanning the valley with her eyes more than her tricorder. “Viral contagion, supervolcano blocked out the sun, their choice of building material.”

Channick, Hasimova, and a security officer were standing on a rocky outcropping partway up a cliffside near the end of a ravine. A picturesque valley of trees and fields stretched out in front of them, seemingly untouched by industry or society.

The truth was hidden in plain sight. The rock in this region—and across much of the planet—featured abundant veins of cinnabar, a striking red mineral classically used on Earth to produce the color vermilion.

Cinnabar was also notable for another reason: it was as deadly as it was beautiful, with high concentrations of mercury. The locals, oblivious to the risks, had used the material extensively in their architecture, creating towns that, in their heyday, must have been startling gems of red jutting up from the landscape. A few thousand years of sedimentary deposits later and the only signs left of these structures were areas of unusually poor plant growth, like the treeless void of grass in the valley below. The locals were long gone but the poison remained.

“Maybe they had a limited diet and starved when there was a blight,” continued Channick. Offering medical theories as to the fate of the natives was her flimsy justification for getting off the ship and enjoying the scenery.

The security officer waited for them to finish taking in the view and offered Hasimova a hand down. She smiled in thanks and he smiled back.

They picked their way along the wall of the ravine, deposits of gravel crunching beneath their feet. A broad smear of silty mud ran through the ravine’s center, suggesting that when it rained, the whole area became a river of significant depth and danger, with rapids and undercurrents capable of dragging a person under and slamming them into the rocky walls with enough force to pulverize. At present, the greatest danger was to their uniforms. The security officer’s shoes and pants were already caked up to the knees from some earlier muddy crossing. Channick and Hasimova had beamed down onto the same side of the ravine as the cave and were spared the need to repeat this indignity.

The cave was a gaping maw in the wall. It had likely formed as the result of an eddy forcing enough water against one spot to form a depression in the rock. After a millennia of repeated flooding, the depression had grown into a pocket, then a cavity, and finally a wide, open chamber with broadly sloping walls, its apex a good twenty feet above their heads. It possessed the slight chill and faintly clammy smell of a place that knew no sun.

A second security officer greeted them from inside, their escort’s partner. “Take a look,” she said, shining a light up onto the ceiling.

The paintings were high along the ceiling and walls. Strange humanoid figures, gesturing as if in welcome, or perhaps warning, because a wave was not a universal hello. The figures highest up were full-body while the ones further down were cut off at waists and knees, the pigment on the lower half of the walls long since washed away.

There were abstract markings, too. Spirals and burst shapes, a pattern of diamonds perhaps intended as constellations. Hasimova imaged them and made a note to compare the patterns against stars visible in the planet’s night sky.

“Pax is gonna be so jealous,” said the male security officer. Hasimova smiled to herself. She might have suggested Paxton accompany them, but his shift had not yet started and she wanted to be the one to index the paintings. Being assigned to the bridge as an ensign was an amazing opportunity she intended to make the most of. When these images went back to Starfleet’s archives, her name would be listed on the files and her analyses would be the initial launching point for further investigation.

“There’s one in every crew,” Channick remarked under her breath. Hasimova looked over at the security officers. The female officer was eating a protein bar. She offered her partner half and he predictably declined. The current generation of Starfleet-issue protein rations was infamous for its unpalatable flavor profile and equally long shelf life. Many people thought a willingness to eat the bars increased your chances of away team duty. Even this was insufficient incentive to convince most officers to eat the rations outside of anything but the most dire of survival situations. A friend of Hasimova’s had eaten one on a dare and declared it “pure poison.”

“I’m gonna go do some more scans,” said Channick, which was probably code for going hiking. “Try not to fall on a rock or have a medical emergency.”

“Just pictures,” promised Hasimova.

The female officer volunteered to accompany Channick. The doctor declined the company and repeated her warning not to cause any medical emergencies.

“You be careful,” said the woman. “Watch out for the Jabberwock.”

“If I find any lifeform bigger than a rabbit, it’ll be a miracle.”

“Yeah, this planet is pretty dead,” noted the male officer.

“Saru didn’t come down. You should’ve seen his ganglia.”

There had been, prior to the initial beam-down, an incident. Standing in the transporter room, moments away from mission commencement, a ganglia reaction had frozen the Kelpien in place. This was not the first time it had happened, either. Three previous incidents of varying severity had necessitated replacing Saru on the away team roster at the last moment. Today marked the fourth.

Channick was entirely dismissive of the suggestion. “He thinks every planet is dangerous. It’s an evolutionary reaction to stress, it doesn’t mean anything.” A reaction sometimes strong enough to merit a medical exception, but Channick’s data had yet to reveal a conclusive correlation between the ganglia and mission outcomes. Most missions entailed some level of danger and occasionally the danger was fatal to someone. Saru’s ganglia in no way guaranteed a fatal outcome. She intended to talk to him about the issue this afternoon because enough was enough.

“Still,” said the woman. “Keeps your comms open.” Channick feigned a salute and exited.

Hasimova continued her imaging. It wasn’t enough to just get the pictures, she also took detailed material scans. The redder pigments contained cinnabar, of course.

The male officer wandered over to join Hasimova. “Do you think they looked like us?”

“Humanoid, at least, Beyond that, I can’t say.” The paintings were too crude to have any discerning features.

“Stop bothering her, Hack,” called the women.

“I’m not! Am I?”

Hasimova smiled. Hack had a thick head of dark brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a square jawline. “No.”

“See? We’re just having a conversation.” His partner rolled her eyes and went to stand guard nearer the entrance. “You’ll have to forgive Geri. They don’t train us security officers in manners. They think it’ll interfere with our ability to fight off threats.”

“Oh? So what do they train you to do?” asked Hasimova coyly. None of Hack’s subsequent boasts had anything to do with Starfleet training programs.

He was outlining an escapade involving drinking most of the available alcohol in a small Icelandic town when there was a thud from the cave entrance. Geri was on the ground, already in the process of trying to get back up. Hack rushed to her side.

“I just... had a sudden wave of vertigo,” said Geri.

“I’m on my way back,” said Channick over the comms.

“I think I’m okay.”

“Probably that protein bar you ate,” suggested Hack.

“Probably,” said Geri, sounding unconvinced.

“I told you not to eat—”

Something pulsed across the surface of Hack’s skin, like a wave of subdermal fire. He started to fall.

He did not hit the ground. His skin seemed almost to glow and then suddenly there was a wet, sucking sound as the surface of his body exploded in a spray of fat and muscle and every other element of soft tissue, the force sufficient to shred his uniform. Most of him landed on the ground, but enough of him landed on Hasimova and Geri that calling the spread of slime and cloth at their feet a human corpse was not accurate in the slightest.

Hasimova stood there, shock-still, her mouth open, feeling the dribble of viscous fluids down the side of her face.

“Doctor!” shouted Geri. “He exploded!”

A moment later, so did she, with the same pulsing ripple of energy across her skin.

Hasimova did not close her mouth fast enough. All the many words of her communications training failed her. Over the comms, all Channick could hear was her screaming.

“A parasite,” concluded Channick back in the relative safety of sickbay. “In the mud of the streambed. It was underground, so it didn’t show up on surface scans. Wouldn’t normally be a problem, but...”

Geri and Hack’s legs had been coated in mud from crossing the ravine. Hidden within the silty particles were hundreds of desperately hungry microscopic parasites. Exposure to a new food source switched them from a dormant state to one of rapid reproduction. Coupled with the human immune system’s failure to identify the parasites as a form of invasive tissue, the parasites had been able to lay millions of eggs in their new hosts. The human circulation system did the rest, spreading the eggs across every corner of the human body.

This situation was not intrinsically fatal. It turned out the parasites were easily filtered out by the transporter’s protocols once identified, but the security officers had been down on the planet for a few hours, enough time for the things to reproduce en masse. Then, when the density of eggs was at a critical mass, an enzymatic reaction caused all the eggs to hatch at once.

“Is this what wiped out the native population?” asked Georgiou.

“Maybe. Chances are the natives weren’t affected by them the way we are. The DNA of the parasites has an... explosive reaction to human DNA.” Even if there had never been any pieces of security officer on Dr. Channick, the sight of Hasimova standing there covered in splatters from both was not easily forgotten.

“It is unfortunate you were not there,” said Georgiou.

Channick bit her lip. The reaction had been so immediate, her presence would not have made any difference whatsoever. The real misfortune was that Channick had been playing archaeologist and scanning the geology of the area with her tricorder rather than the officers.

“I will have to put this on your record.”

“I understand, captain.”

Georgiou considered her chief medical officer. None of them had identified the danger in time to avert this disaster except perhaps Saru. “Perhaps we should put more stock into Saru’s ganglia.”

“Yes, captain,” said Channick.

“Do not worry. You have an exemplary service record. That this mistake has cost the lives of two of my crew is a tragedy, one that we will prevent in future. It will not end your career.”

With that, Georgiou left Channick to mull things over. Channick was having a hard time deciding what felt more insulting to her, the suggestion she cared about her career in the wake of this or the idea that it could have been predicted by Saru.

The correlation to Saru’s ganglia remained unclear. Yes, Saru’s reaction prior to the mission had been extreme enough to excuse him from beaming down on a seemingly routine task and two people had subsequently died, but on a hunch, Channick tested the parasite’s DNA on a sample of Kelpien DNA. It was entirely nonreactive. Whatever danger Saru had been sensing, it had not been danger to himself.

Inconclusive, she decided. And tragic.

There remained a question as to the parasite. The nearest computer terminal was blinking with a prompt inviting her to name the newly-discovered species for the report. There was no way she was going to name it after herself. The victims deserved a memorial, but there was something macabre in the idea of naming something for the first people it killed, and also the question of which officer to name it after. Ensign Harold Tackett had died first, but Lieutenant Geraldine Combs was higher-ranking and had a longer service record. Channick pressed a finger to record a prompt response but remained indecisive. “Com-Tack’s parasite?”

This was how the seventh planet of the Tonnata system came to be mistakenly labeled as “Comtax” for the next six months until someone in stellar cartography corrected it, and the parasite was labeled as “Comtaxan” in an even smaller error that never was.

It was normal for Saru to feel like all eyes on the ship were upon him, but today there seemed to be evidence to support this. Furtive glances, hushed whispers, and he could easily imagine what they were saying. He knew they were going to die.

If only he had. He knew something was wrong before the away team left the ship, but as with so many other times his ganglia reacted, he did not know why until after the tragedy. His ability lacked any clear prescience. Always there was an edge of uncertainty.

Despite this, Georgiou had taken him aside at the beginning of his shift to inform him that from now on, he should keep her appraised of his gangliar reactions. “You are a more potent force than I realized,” she said, and he thanked her and swallowed the fact he was more embarrassed by his ganglia than anything else. Captain Georgiou would never flinch in the face of death the way he did. Perhaps, he told himself, he could take solace in the fact his affliction could be of use to the captain. The idea was mildly reassuring.

His ganglia were not being particularly reassuring right now. The sensation of being watched was uncomfortable enough his only intention on his mid-shift meal break was to secure a serving of blueberries and retreat to a quieter place to eat them. He stood waiting in line for his turn at the food dispenser, his gaze stalwartly on the floor.

“You sick freak!” screamed Hasimova from the far side of the room, accompanied by the rough bray of a chair scraping across the floor. Saru’s head jerked up.

Hasimova was standing next to a seated Paxton, two trays of food on the table. Hers contained three-quarters of a sandwich and his a bowl of oatmeal. Hasimova’s hand jerked with uncertainty. Then she grabbed the bowl of oatmeal, upended it into Paxton’s face, and stormed out.

On the far side of the mess hall, a lieutenant commander from Paxton’s shift slowly clapped. Ignoring the derision, Paxton wiped oatmeal from his face and flicked the clumps onto his tray. Most of the congealed mass of food had landed in his lap by way of his chest. He did what he could to remove it. Another lieutenant at the next table offered him her napkin in pity.

Wiping down the chair, Paxton picked up both of the food trays and brought them to the service area. Then he came and stood behind Saru in line.

“Lieutenant,” said Saru uncertainly.

“Lieutenant Saru,” said Paxton, disarmingly neutral.

“Is everything alright?”

“Um,” said Paxton, squinting. “Are you asking because you want to know or are you just being polite?”

The answer was that Saru was being polite, but to say as much would ruin the intent. Saru sidestepped the question. “Ensign Hasimova seemed to be in distress.”

“I did get that impression.” It could have been a joke, but Paxton’s expression was grimly intent.

Saru reached the front of the line. He placed his order with the computer. A moment later, Paxton did the same at the adjacent dispenser when it became available. “Oatmeal. Bananas and cinnamon.” Their orders appeared at the same time and they both started towards the main entrance, awkwardly halting as they realized their destination was the same. Saru motioned for Paxton to go first.

This was all the encouragement Paxton needed to initiate a conversation. “Was it bad that I threw away Zahra’s sandwich? I didn’t think it was right to leave it there on the table. But maybe she’ll come back for it.”

Somehow, Saru doubted Hasimova was going to return to the mess hall anytime soon. “I do not think it matters. There is no shortage of... sandwiches.”

“Good point. I wonder how long I have to wait until I can apologize.” Paxton began to eat his oatmeal as he walked.

“That would depend on what you need to apologize for.”

“I asked her what it looked like when Hack died.”

Saru maintained his stride despite the somersault his mind took. “Why would you ask that?”

“That’s...” Paxton’s brow furrowed. “If I could see what it looked like, then it would be like I was there.”

Saru slowed to a stop. “I almost went on the mission.” He reached a hand up towards his head, fingers hovering inches away from his ganglia slits.

“Why didn’t you?” It seemed like Paxton was the only person on this ship who did not know.

“I sensed death.”

“Oh.”

They stood there, uncomfortably still and silent until Saru asked, “Why would you wish to see death?”

Paxton shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth and gulped it down, “It’s not that I want to see death, it’s that I wish I could’ve been there with Hack. He’s my friend. If I can picture it in my imagination, then at least in some part of my brain, I was there.”

Humans were really alien, Saru decided. He knew firsthand the visuals of his kin being butchered as food and that was something he would rather not have seen. He resumed walking and Paxton followed his lead. “The reality of the situation would likely not be the comfort you imagine.”

“Maybe. But not knowing is worse.” They arrived at the aft turbolifts and waited. “I was thinking of asking the captain if I could go to the memorial service.”

“I am sure she would allow it.”

“He has a sister, Evelyn.”

There was nothing really to say to this statement of fact. Saru offered the vaguest of platitudes. “I am sorry for your loss.” The turbolift arrived. A crewman stepped off. Saru and Paxton stepped on. “Deck five.” Paxton said nothing; his quarters were on the same level.

It was a short ride. Not short enough—the sense of shared confinement drove Paxton to resume talking as Saru tentatively ate a blueberry.

“He was my best friend. I wasn’t his, but he was the best one I had.” The lift doors opened.

“Perhaps you should speak to someone,” advised Saru, exiting the turbolift with a single graceful stride.

Paxton did not move immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m being weird and bothering you and you don’t even know me. Sorry.”

Saru stood outside the turbolift, staring at Paxton, trying to contextualize this behavior. It was very different to the reactions Morita and Yoon had displayed over the death of a man, by Morita’s own admission, they barely knew. It was also markedly different from Paxton’s confident exuberance a week ago when he had assailed Saru on the subject of the lului language. There was something tragic in the loss of that innocence. “You are... not bothering me.” It was an awkwardly difficult statement to make, since it was untrue.

Paxton exited the lift then, gaze downcast. The door closed behind him and the turbolift hummed off to its next destination. “It’s fine, I know I’m annoying. The common denominator in my lack of friendships is me.” Despite the body language, his voice was entirely unsentimental, verging on introspectively curious. “My reactions are a little... off. Eventually the novelty of my weirdness wears off and people realize they’d rather hang around with someone who falls within ‘acceptable social parameters.’” He used the hand with the spoon in it to mime half a set of air quotes. “And then they disappear. I wonder if Hack...” He fell silent. Contemplating whether or not the sole person he still labeled a friend would have ceased being his friend if only he had lived long enough was an immensely depressing train of thought.

Saru looked at the bowl of berries. “I believe you are describing the normal rise and fall of social relationships. Friendships are largely based on proximity. A change in shift, posting, or interests, and it becomes very difficult for either party to maintain the requisite interactions to continue as ‘friends.’”

Paxton looked up. “Really? It’s not just me?”

The rigid lines of Saru’s face seemed to soften slightly. “Entirely not.”

Encouraged, Paxton set off down the hall and Saru did the same, catching up to the much shorter human in all of two steps. Despite the improvement in Paxton’s demeanor, his conversational bent remained bleak. “It doesn’t change the fact everyone leaves in the end. It’s inevitable. You can’t fight the future.”

Saru tilted his head. “The future is not yet determined.”

“Isn’t it, though? The present is the culmination—the logical conclusion of all the events of the past. Our decisions are based on our experiences, so given the same history prior to this moment, we will always choose to do exactly what we do, the way we do it.”

Lalana had said something similar to Morita and Yoon. Events are a cumulative result of all events which came before them. Paxton’s interpretation of the sentiment was a little more extreme.

It was an extreme Saru had encountered before, in a science course at the Academy. He had not been brave enough to voice his own opinion at the time, but in the years that followed, he had developed a response and was now prepared to present it. “Determinism is a philosophy which fails to anticipate the unpredictability of quantum mechanics. If the atomic reactions which govern the firing of neurons are random, then it is possible for a multitude of outcomes even given identical circumstances.”

Though Paxton had not been in the class with Saru, he had also had this discussion before and jumped right to a counterargument also mentioned in Saru’s course. “Assuming the randomness of quantum reactions is sufficient to overpower the psycho-neurological programming on the macro level.”

“An unresolved question of scale,” allowed Saru. “If I may, there is a relevant analogy on the macro scale. If we were merely a product of our genetic programming, then I would not be on a starship. I believe in free will, Lieutenant Paxton.”

“So people have a choice and choose to tell me I’m a freak?” Saru had not foreseen this consequence of his assertion. He was at a loss as to how to respond. Paxton stopped in front of one of the dozens of doors along the corridor. “This is me.”

Saru said the only thing he could think of in reassurance. “Ensign Hasimova was in distress. I am certain she did not intend to refer to you unkindly.”

“It’s okay. It isn’t the first time someone’s called me a freak or a robot and it won’t be the last. Water off a duck’s back, right?” This time, the words were resilient, but the tone verged on upset. Paxton’s emotional state was consistently opposite the content of his remarks. “I’m gonna change. Thanks for walking with me, lieutenant.”

“We were going in the same direction,” said Saru, downplaying the charity. He was unsure what the idiom about the duck meant and had no interest in learning the particulars.

“Then I guess it’s a friendship of proximity. Beep boop!”

Saru stared.

“Sorry,” said Paxton, smiling weakly. “Robot humor. See you later.”

“Lieutenant—”

Paxton froze with his hand on the door controls.

“It would be advisable to attempt an apology to Ensign Hasimova tomorrow. You should never leave an apology too long.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.”

The door closed. Saru stood alone in the hallway, wondering at the whole conversation. Even if Paxton failed to meet the definition of proximal friend rather than mere acquaintance, Saru hoped his words had provided some consolation to the other lieutenant. He hated the thought of anyone around him suffering as a result of a misunderstanding. He set off towards his own quarters to finish the rest of his break in peace.

There was another possibility. Perhaps most people did form enduring social bonds and Saru was as odd a duck as Paxton because neither of them had much in the way of long-term friendships.

Maybe it was for the best. Deep space exploration was a high-risk undertaking and having friends meant potentially losing them in a very permanent sense.

In light of Georgiou’s newfound admiration for Saru’s ganglia, Channick debated the merits of calling the Kelpien in, but at the end of the day she was the ship’s chief medical officer and she had her own conscience to answer to. “Lieutenant Saru to the medbay.”

Saru arrived with wringing hands and worry written across every inch of his posture. “Dr. Channick, is there something wrong? My latest medical scan, I thought there might be an abnormality—”

Channick held her hand up for silence. “Your scan was fine. That isn’t why I called you in. Lieutenant, I need you to hear something, and I need you to really take it in, understand?”

Saru’s head jerked in alarmed confusion. It sounded like he was in trouble.

“Your ganglia. You had a bad reaction before this last mission and didn’t go down, and I signed off on that. The mission turned out to be dangerous, yes, but every mission is potentially dangerous. Every moment in time is potentially dangerous. I want to make one point here, and that is what would have happened if you had gone down to the planet.”

Saru recalled Lalana saying something similar during the battle with the pirates. There is nowhere in the universe which is safe. He found himself thinking of the lului regularly, wondering where she was in the universe and what she was doing, but far be it for him to bother her.

Channick picked up a biological sample dish. It contained a quantity of dirt. She opened it. “Put your hand in this.”

Saru tentatively complied. It was just dirt.

“This dish contains the parasites that killed Lieutenant Combs and Ensign Tackett.”

Saru’s hand jerked back. His whole body pulled away, his limbs tensing as he fought the urge to leap blindly backwards. Only one thing kept him in place. For all that he knew he should be afraid, nothing in his instincts had alerted him to danger.

Channick closed the dish. “No ganglia, right? Because this parasite isn’t dangerous to you. Just the people around you, provided we fail to take precautions.” She pulled the medical gloves from her hands and dropped them into the nearest receptacle.

The tension abated. “The danger I sensed, the coming of death... It was not my own.” It wasn’t always. Saru’s ganglia were perfectly capable of reacting on behalf of others, as they clearly had in this instance. “Perhaps if I had stopped them from going down to the planet...”

Channick took a deep breath. This was not the point she was trying to get across to him. “Saru. You are the most cautious and thorough science officer on the whole ship. When most people would logically stop looking for something, you keep checking. That’s why I know, if you had been down on that planet, you would have found the parasite.” She imagined Saru would have checked under every stone, leaf, and twig and still balked at the idea of issuing an all-clear.

Realization seized Saru. He clasped his hands and straightened to his full height. That made it even worse. There were two ways he might have prevented their deaths. “I am... more responsible than I realized.”

“No, don’t go there. The responsibility is mine. I should have had this damn conversation with you weeks ago. I’m your doctor and I could have run my own scans down on the planet. None of this is on you. Besides, we can’t change what happened.”

Channick seemed to be taking all the blame on herself. Saru knew what Lalana would have said on the subject, that no one person was more responsible for any given outcome than another, but it seemed to him that of the thousand, tiny million interactions that had led to the deaths on Tonnata VII, more than a few of them belonged to him and Dr. Channick, and Saru’s rejection of Paxton’s determinist philosophy further meant the two of them could have changed things if only the past were changeable.

Saru folded his fingers gracefully together. The past was over and done. “But we can change what happens going forward.”

There was something in the way Saru said it, an unusual certitude to his tone. Channick relaxed. Most of the crew had mixed feelings about their resident Kelpien and his many idiosyncrasies, but Channick knew there were several ways to define intelligence and her favorite was “the capacity to exceed evolutionary instinct.” For all his fears and struggles, Saru was a highly intelligent officer.

“Wash your hands,” she told him. “Those parasites will kill most anyone else here.”

The third planet orbiting Bepi 113 was a maelstrom of trionium gas and electrically charged particles. Drifting a safe distance away, the Shenzhou was witness to an impressive display as ribbons of plasma discharged across the atmosphere in a pattern not unlike the way the genetic incompatibility had danced beneath Ensign Tackett’s skin—a similarity known only to Ensign Hasimova, who repressed a shudder as she observed the phenomenon from her post on the bridge. Her nominal acceptance of Lieutenant Paxton’s apology had not extended to providing him the requested description.

There was no way to beam down through the atmosphere to investigate the anomalous readings coming from the planet’s surface. They would have to take a shuttle. As the away team donned EV suits and the engineers triple-checked the shuttle reinforcements, Saru could not repress the violent reaction of his ganglia.

The ensign beside him eyed the ganglia nervously, reminded of Tackett in an entirely different way. This felt like the prelude to Tonnata VII all over again.

It was hard to miss the staring. “Do not concern yourself, ensign,” said Saru.

“But...”

“If there is danger, then I will assist in handling it.”

The ensign relaxed. If Saru was willing to go down there, there was no reason for any of them to be worried.

There was plenty of reason, of course. The ensuing chaos of another mission gone dangerously awry entirely justified the appearance of the ganglia, but when the unstable electrical field produced a series of dangerous plasma waves that threatened to fry the shuttle and strand them on the surface or worse, Saru deflected the waves away from their position by polarizing the trionium gas around the shuttle, rendering it anathemic to the charged particles, and they all made it back to the ship in one piece.

Chapter 7

#Star Trek Discovery #fanfiction #Captain Philippa Georgiou #Captain Georgiou #USS Shenzhou #Saru #Commander Saru #Star Trek #EOTW #philosophy #determinism #away mission #Tonnata VII #Comtaxan parasite #fanfic #ganglia #free will

[btsjfans]

Class Clown Pt. 10

masterlist

part 9 

Summary: The class clown Taehyung has a lot more going on than anybody realizes, especially you, the class valedictorian.

Taehyung x Reader, fluff/angst

You heard you alarm go off, and you groan rolling over to shut it off. It was 9:30am on a Friday, your favorite day of the week. Every Friday either you or Taehyung would drive out to see each other, and this week it was his turn to visit. You’d been in college for 3 months now, and the November air was crisp in New York. You loved it here. You loved the people, the campus, the dorm, the classes, the city, everything. What made it better was that you could brag to your friends that your boyfriend attended an Ivy League as well. Life was almost perfect here. Almost. You didn’t have the company of your best friend Amari, or really any of your old friends here. Of course you’d made friends here, and you had a great group, but you had nothing that felt like home, which is another reason Tae’s visits were sweet. He was a piece of home, he made you feel safe. He made everything okay. 

He was enjoying college as well, he settled in nicely and he made a lot of friends. He mentioned how he said he wouldn't fit in at Yale, and yet he was in the ‘popular crowd’ once again. Always at social events, always posting pictures of his hijinks with his new friends, always being the class clown you knew and loved. 

You smile at the thought of him as you hastily pull on your clothes and get ready for your 10am class. You grabbed your coffee on your way out and stepped out. The air was crisp, and the sun was shining while casting a yellow-gold glow over the campus. You smiled to yourself, satisfied with where you’re at in life. 

Life had been good for you, being at college. Being out of your little bubble back home. Being free, being yourself. You knew you had to keep up your good grades here, but you didn't feel the pressure you’d felt before. Before you had to get into an Ivy League. Before you had to be valedictorian. Now, you just had to do your best. 

Your favorite class was at 2 - political science. You loved that class because it was all about facts and opinions. You loved hearing new perspectives, you loved to argue, you loved to talk, you loved to learn and surround yourself with more ideas. That, and your two best friends on campus were in there with you.

Xavier and Beth, you guys had hit it off from day one. Beth lived in the same building as you, which was convenient for late night snack runs, last minute study sessions, and impromptu sleepovers and movie nights. And Xavier, well he was his own story. With honey blonde hair, emerald green eyes, broad shoulders, golden tan skin, and an award winning smile, Xavier was easily one of the hottest guys on campus, and the recipient of many girl’s affections. You and Beth got some grief about it once you started being friends with him. Girls would give you the evil eye as you passed by with him, and you’d heard a few girls in your class complain about how you ‘so obviously wanted him’. But you really didn't care, he was so fun. You guys were like the three amigos, and it partially made up for the absence of your childhood best friend. 

You went to class and sat by Xavier and Beth, taking notes and whispering to each other in a hushed tone. Xavier put his arm around the back of your chair like he usually did, earning an annoyed huff from a girl a few rows back. Occasionally his thumb would brush your back and send chills down your spine, distracting you from what you were doing a couple times. You cast him a glance as you paused in your writing, only to find him staring at you with his enchanting green eyes. He smiled, and your mind went blank. Suddenly you seemed hyperaware of everything around you. The way he sat so close, his arm around your chair, the heat radiating off of him and that oh-so-heavenly smell that mixed with his natural scent and his cologne. You blushed and looked back to your notes, mind swimming.

You must really miss having Taehyung around if Xavier’s presence was affecting you this way.

Taehyung

Man I hate Xavier.

I drove a freakin hour and a half to see her, and yet here he is. It’s so clear he likes her, but I don’t think she realizes it. My little Y/n doesn't realize the affect she has on boys, bless her heart. I know she's beautiful and so amazing and that other guys will want her, but why this guy? I can’t compete with him, that’s for sure, so here I am, left at his mercy.

I love Y/n L/n, and that’s the one thing I know for sure in this world. I know she’s the reason I got into Yale. I know she’s the reason I turned my life around. I know she’s the reason I’m okay. 

Another fact I know for sure is that I’m scared.

I’m scared I’ll loose her.

I’m scared one day she’ll wake up one morning, and forget me. I’m not here every day, so she spends more time with Xavier than me. What if one day my weekend visits aren't enough?

My fist tightens around the flower’s stems as I watch him wrap an arm around her shoulders. They don’t see me. They just got out of their political science class. I knew she’d just be getting out, but I still wanted to be here to surprise her. I’m trying to stay calm and optimistic, but that’s kind of hard when you feel your legs shaking and heart pounding at a hundred miles an hour. I just want her so bad. I want her out of his grasp and back in my arms. Away from him.  Somewhere it’s just her and I, and we’re together and there’s no doubt that we won’t be together. I just want assurance. I want to know things will be okay. Does that sound weird and possessive? Yikes. 

You walk out of your political science class with Xavier and Beth. Xavier wraps an arm around your shoulders and playfully pushes you around, and you laugh. You three start to walk down the sidewalk when you look across the grass to see Taehyung, standing in a black turtleneck and black overcoat, with black jeans to match. He holds a bouquet of 5 roses in one hand, and has a disheartened look on his face. You blush realizing how this must look, Xavier’s arms around you. You break free of Xavier and sprint across the green to Taehyung, crashing into him. You hear him let out a soft “oof” as you two collide, but his arms still automatically find their way around you. You smile and look up at him, your face cold from the crisp air, but body coursing with heat at his touch.

“Hi,” you giggle, and he grins and cups your face kissing you. Your kiss starts out rushed and needy and excited, but slows after a moment. You both pull away, feeling flushed. You feel out of breath and excited, your heart is pounding, and you can’t wipe the smile off your face. 

“Hi,” He giggles back and holds out the roses proudly. “I brought you these.”

“Thank you Tae! They’re so beautiful,” You grin and accept the roses, hugging them to your chest, grateful he got the ones without the thorns still on. He takes his hand in yours and you wave goodbye to Xavier and Beth before turning back. You two start to walk down the sidewalk, a crisp autumn breeze in the air.  He tells you about the drive, about his life, even though you’re already caught up.

One hour passes, then two. Your heart starts to ache when you remember by Sunday evening he’ll be gone.

You’ve both quieted, and walk in comfortable silence. 

“I wish we could see each other more.” Taehyung says after a moment.

“Me too. But hey, Thanksgiving Break is coming up and we’ll get a long weekend together back home.” You smile, reminding him and he grins at the idea. You can tell he’s excited to go home, to see everybody.

“That’s true. Then after that is Christmas break, and then Spring break, and then summer vacation. Think of all the adventures we’ll have together.” He grins and twirls you. “Heck, lets go out sometime soon. Go on a weekend getaway together. Do something. Lets go now!” He grins grabbing your hands and you roll your eyes grinning.

“Hey, that sounds great, but let’s go tomorrow okay? We should spend tonight planning. Then tomorrow we can have our adventure.” You grin and smooth his hair. 

“Oh Y/n...I’m so crazy about you.” He smiles and presses his forehead against yours, kissing your nose softly.

Typically the girls you share a room with don’t bring tons of guys home, but when one of you do, it’s an unspoken code for everybody else to G E T O U T. They know the deal with Taehyung, and they’re cool with it. You’re really glad you got such chill girls who you can have this kind of deal with. You and Taehyung had the dorm to yourself for the night, which meant movies, snacks, cuddles, and kisses. 

You two were laying on the couch, cuddled up together when Taehyung started to kiss your neck lightly, sending chills down your arms. You loved it when Tae did that, he was so soft and gentle and knew all the right spots. He tightened his arms around your waist and held you close to him and trailed his lips up your jaw. You bit your lip, getting into the mood when he started blowing raspberries on your neck and tickling you, making you squeal and laugh, hitting his arms. 

“TAE!!” You yelled amid your laughs, kicking and squirming, only making him more determined, and making his laughs more wicked. 

After you watched a movie and spent a couple hours cuddling, Tae got some paper and started drafting ideas for your adventure. You guys loaded up on soda and candy, and spent your sugar high planning your adventure. 

Tomorrow was going to be perfect.

The next morning you wake up to somebody knocking at the door. You’re laying on your back in bed with Taehyung on top, his head buried in your neck. He sleeps right through the knocking and you smile kissing his head softly. You hate to get up but you were worried it was one of your dorm mates. You slipped out from beneath his body and crept out the door. You heard Tae groan in response to the absence of your body and you grinned at the image of him pouting. As you reached the door, another knock resounded and you pulled it open, grimacing at the cold breeze you were met with. Standing before you was Xavier, whose blonde hair shined in the morning glow. His green eyes shone bright, and his smile sparkled. He wore a navy blue polo sweater and khaki skinny jeans with vans. He looked like a prep model, and here you stood with messy hair, and wrinkly pajamas. Embarrassed and confused was the only way you could describe your state right now. 

“Xavier what’re you doing here?” You smile at your friend but can’t hide your confusion.

“Oh, um it’s my birthday and you, Beth, and I were going to go out remember?” Xavier tilts his head. 

“Oh my god that was today..” you breath, closing your eyes. “I’m so sorry I forgot, here I have your present in my room, sorry it’s not wrapped.” You rush back and see Taehyung smirking under the covers at you, but frowns as he looks through the now open bedroom door to see Xavier standing in the doorway. He gets up and shuts the door.

“What the heck is this?!” He hisses and points to the door where Xavier stands outside. 

“I promised him we’d go out for his birthday and he’s ready to go out and I don’t know what to do!!” You whisper back and grab the card you’d prepared a couple weeks ago and the gift you’d gotten him - a few polos and a picture frame with a picture of you, Beth, and him in it. 

Taehyung frowns and bites his lip sitting on your bed. “What was your plan for his birthday?” 

“We were going to go into the city and mess around all day. I can ask if we can go tomorrow..” You can see how hurt Tae is and feel bad. You know he was excited for your adventure today. You were excited too, Taehyung’s visits were what you lived for.

“Just go.” He sighs and rolls back into bed, facing away from you.

You frown and nod to yourself bringing out the gift to a grinning Xavier.

Taehyung

Of course. Of frickin course. It just had to be his birthday. The day of our adventure. 

I can hear his laughter outside the door. God my girl is so charming no wonder he wants her. She’s such a good person, she does so much for her friends. She-

“Oh Y/n you’re just the best friend I could have asked for!” Xavier’s laugh echoes through the apartment and I squeeze my eyes shut and yell into a pillow. He knows I’m here, he’s doing this on purpose, I just know it. I bet it’s not even his birthday. 

I grab a white turtleneck I packed and my black coat, and slip on some dark jeans and lace my vans. I stride out, looking my best.

“Hey darling, I’m going out. Text me when you’re done playing with..sorry what’s your name?” I tilt my head and give Xavier a pleasant but unimpressed look. I want him to know his place. 

“Oh, Xavier. Nice to meet you. And you are...?” Xavier returns with the same look. He’s good. He knows exactly what game we’re playing.

“Kim Taehyung, Y/n’s boyfriend of 3 years. Do you go here,or the community college? I go to Yale.” I smile and put my arm around Y/n, narrowing my eyes. His green eyes flicker but his smile never wavers.

“Oh sorry, she’s never mentioned you so I didn't realize she was taken! And yeah I go here. Y/n and I hang out every day.” He smiles at me with a charming smile. No wonder Y/n trusts this guy, he’s a walking Ken doll, the poster child for trustworthy-harmless boys. 

“Mmm I’m sure she’s mentioned me. Anyways, my dear just text if you need anything. I love you,” I smile and cup her face in my hands, kissing her deeply and slowly. I want him to see what true love is. Maybe then he’ll leave her alone.

Xavier and you stood in the kitchen in silence, staring at the door Taehyung just walked out of. There was so much tension between the two boys, and this weird unspoken..thing. You couldn't explain what you just witnessed, but it was weird. 

Xavier laughed and ran a hand through his hair. “Taehyung seems great! I’ll whip you up a breakfast, and you go get changed and we’ll head out.” Xavier smiles, and you can’t help but smile back. You walk back to your room and get changed, their conversation replaying in your head. Xavier definitely knew who Taehyung was, and vise versa. What was with them?

You walk out to see Xavier smiling at the table, pancakes and eggs spread before him. 

“Breakfast is served,” He winks.

Taehyung

I walk down the sidewalk, anger, fear, confusion, hurt, all warring inside of me. Today was supposed to be our day, today was supposed to be our adventure. I sit down on a park bench, looking out over a pond. A few ducks who haven't migrated yet quack and float around, not a care in the world. I reach into my pocket and pull out the paper we wrote our plan on. I smile as I think back to last night. Us both fighting over control of the pencil, the paper wrinkled from our warring. I read the messy, 1am handwriting.

**(below, bold is Taehyung, regular is Y/n)

Taehyung And Y/n’s Adventure Day

Wake up at 6:30am NO DUMMY THATS TOO EARLY 

Wake up at whatever time we freakin want 

Have Y/n make Taehyung breakfast  HAHA not happening babe

Make breakfast together

Get dressed and go to the city. Get kicked out of as many stores as possible

Go streaking 

Spend over $50 on dinner (WE BETTER SPLIT THE CHECK)

Make out in 5 elevators

Visit every park in the city

Take a ferry across the river 

Have a picnic

Stargaze

Talk about how much we love each other

I smile imagining what we would be doing right now. Would we be in Macy’s trying to get kicked out? Would we be making out in an elevator?

My smile fades as I fold the paper and put it away. Here I am, alone in a cold park, while she’s out with him. 

“God Y/n, how do I compare?” I ask aloud, burying my head in my hands. 

Xavier said Beth was sick as you two left your apartment. You offered to go check on your ill friend, but he acted really weird.

“N-no! She’s on bed rest! We can’t.” He shakes his head, smiling nervously.

“Well alright...what first?” You and Xavier take a taxi to the city, and while he makes you laugh and makes chipper conversation, you can't take your mind off of Taehyung. Where is he right now? What’s he doing? Is he okay?

You carry on with your day, smiling along with Xavier’s jokes, but not really listening to him. 

“Y/n?” He asks. You snap out of your daze and look up at him. You two are sitting at a cafe as night is falling. Fairy lights sparkle around you, french music plays, and the air is chilly with the November breeze; in other words, the mood is perfect for romance. “I..I know we have something.” He stands up and pulls you up too.

“Yeah, you’re one of my best frien-”

Your words are cut short as Xavier kisses you. One hand on the back of your neck, the other on your waist. His skin sends warmth through your body everywhere he touches, his sweet smell makes you dizzy. He kisses you deeply, passionately. You feel yourself kiss back.

Sooooo here’s 10..you like it? I wanted to make it good but I didn't know how so I really hope you enjoyed it. Want 11? Be sure to send feedback, it helps. Thanks!!

#bts #BTS v #bts v fanfic #bts v scenarios #bts v fluff #bts v scenario #bts v smut #bts v angst #bts taehyung #bts kim taehyung #bts taehyung smut #bts taehyung fanfic #bts taehyung fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fluff #bts fanfction #bts angst #BTS jin #BTS jimin #BTS suga #BTS jungkook #BTS rap monster #bts jhope #kim taehyung #kpop #kpop scenarios

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IF THERE WERE A WORD THAT MEANT THE OPPOSITE OF HAPLESS, THAT WOULD SEEM TO BE DELIBERATELY TROLLING, WE BAN THEM RUTHLESSLY

And yet there may be only a few widely-used languages in a hundred years will it affect even application programmers? Erdos thought so.1 But really it doesn't matter what you do. The most valuable way to approach the current philosophical tradition may be neither to get lost in pointless speculations like Berkeley, nor to shut them down like Wittgenstein, but to study it as an example of that rare bird, a spam that arrived while I was writing this article. As the gap between rich and poor, you have to push down on the top as well as under beds and in the corners of rooms. Efficiency is important, but I know that when it comes to empathy are practically solipsists. 05 intimail $7500 freeyankeedom cdo bluefoxmedia jpg unsecured platinum 3d0 qves 7c5 7c266675 The words are a mix of stuff from the headers and from the message body, which is the ability to recognize it.

Perhaps worst of all, he protected them from both the criticism of outsiders and the promptings of their own at age thirteen. Then the algorithm for language design becomes: look at a program and ask, is there any way to write spaghetti code. How many programming languages will be like in a hundred years will it affect even application programmers? If there are more than fifteen words with probabilities of.2 Seems unlikely. The problem is, people can have more than one without. We may be able to imagine unlimited resources as well today as in a hundred years.

What else can painting teach us about hacking? Nearly all the greatest paintings are paintings of people, each with their own opinion; on what grounds can you prefer one to another? And they may thereby produce things that make more suitable subjects for research papers. In fact, I've found that a good way to do it, you'll just get a lot of words I hadn't thought of. Y Combinator is in Boston half the time: it's hard to hit without destroying startups as collateral damage. What would make the painting more interesting to people?3 And to engage an audience you have to do, which is almost necessarily impossible to predict, I think, is to separate the meaning of a program so that it does everything with lists. 1654587 us-ascii 0.4 If you have the hackers, who are trying to write systems software on multi-cpu computers. I've found that a good way to do it is to get lots of referrals.5 When I say that the answer is for hackers to act more like painters, and regularly start over from scratch, instead of what I wanted to buy expensive things. To see an interesting variety of probabilities we have to give more optimization advice than users in a hundred years you won't have any adults.

Most hackers' first instinct is to try to explain why. Nothing will teach you about angel investing like experience. And all three of them, in the first semester of freshman year, in a hundred years will have languages that can span most of it. Similarly, founders also should not get hung up on deal terms, but should spend their time thinking about is whether the company is good. Plus you get equity. Every couple days I slip and call it Viaweb. 8568143 very 0. Unfortunately the distinction between acceptable and maximal performance widens, it will be higher.

01 min. Except in special kinds of applications, parallelism won't pervade the programs that are written in a hundred years, I told the audience that this happened every year, so if they saw a startup they liked, they should make them an offer. Even in college classes, you learn to drive, one of the sort that relies on pushing a few visual buttons really hard to temporarily overwhelm the viewer. Indeed, it may be that reducing investors' appetite for risk, the most beneficial startups are the first to ask any of the questions they asked were new to them, is practically nothing.6 In fact, some of the big hits. His response was to launch Wittgenstein at it, with dramatic results.7 If probs is a list of every address the user has deleted as ordinary trash. He was like Michael Jordan. In both painting and hacking there are some tasks that are terrifyingly ambitious, and others that aren't.

There's an idea that has turned out to be an advantage.8 You learn to paint mostly by doing it. The defining feature of spam in fact, its raison d'etre is not that it is unsolicited, but that there can even be such a thing it would provide a boost to any filtering software.9 It drives me crazy to see code that's badly indented, or that uses ugly variable names.10 Backing off can likewise prevent ambition from stalling. You need a good sense of design to judge good design. Nor did we start YC mainly to help out young would-be founders, though we do like the idea, and comfort ourselves occasionally with the thought that if all our investments tank, we will thus have been doing something unselfish. And they won't dilute themselves unless they end up learning is useless. I found that I liked to program sitting in front of it. It's hard to say exactly what it is.

How can you say that one is right and the other wrong? And to engage an opponent inside a castle in hand to hand combat. Imagine waking up after such an operation.11 I was on vacation.12 And that's a chilling thought, because it makes the rich richer too. In this case, the papers are just a formality. Except in special kinds of applications, parallelism won't pervade the programs that are written in a hundred years?

Notes

You're not seeing fragmentation unless you want to turn into other forms of inequality, and we don't have to decide whether you're in, we don't have to do with the administration. If by cutting the founders' advantage if it were.

Until recently even governments sometimes didn't grasp the cachet that term had.

I swapped them to get into a great thing in itself, and partly because they can't legitimately ask you a termsheet, particularly if a third party like YC is how intently they listened. Another danger, pointed out that it's boring, we can respond by simply removing whitespace, periods, commas, etc.

Believe it or not, bleeding out invites at a 5 million cap. Some want to get jobs. To be fair, curators are in set theory, or an acquisition for more.

Looking at the top startup law firms are Wilson Sonsini, Orrick, Fenwick West, Gunderson Dettmer, and that you never have that glazed over look. Google Google is much like what you can control.

They're motivated by examples of other people the freedom to experiment in disastrous ways, but in practice is that your peers are chosen for you. Please do not try to give up your anti-dilution protections. If only one. The Wouldbegoods.

I'm just going to visit 20 different communities regularly. But having more of the rule of law per se, it's ok to focus on users, however. Mozilla is open-source but seems to have suffered from having been corporate software for so long to send them the final whistle, the world, and stonewall about the origins of the rest generate mediocre returns, but when people tell you alarming things, a VC who read a new search engine, but also the main reason kids lie to them this way, because the Depression was one cause of accidents. Decimus Eros Merula, paid 50,000, the company by doing another round that values the company they're buying.

Yahoo. The original edition contained a few old professors in Palo Alto to have confused readers, though.

Which means one of the problem is not Apple's products but their policies.

Otherwise they'll continue to maltreat people who start these supposedly local seed firms.

Maybe you don't think you need to get into the heads of would-be startup founders, if they could then tell themselves that they have less room for another. Unless you're very smooth founder who read this essay, but I took so long.

Calaprice, Alice ed. I'd encourage anyone starting a company that takes on a scale that Google does. After a while to avoid collisions in. Cook another 2 or 3 minutes, then promptly improving it.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #cause #things #bird #learning #accidents #sup #lists #questions #anyone #curators #round #law #meaning #languages #people #minutes #message #address #promptings #search #tank #qves #scale #damage

[tinymixtapes]

Live Blog: FYF Fest 2017

FYF Fest 2017 Exposition Park; Los Angeles, CA [July 21-23, 2017 ] by Derek Smith on 08-07-2017 FYF Fest popped another cherry this year, adding a third day upon which they splayed a virtual cavalcade of musical ingenues stacked so thick that navigating from set to set felt like a continuous game of Sophie’s Choice. Almost immediately earning forgiveness for the cruel joke of starting anything, let alone a major festival, at 5 pm on a Friday in Los Angeles, FYF brought Björk to the main stage a mere few hours later, soon to be followed by Slowdive and Missy Elliott. There were simply too many amazing acts to stay mad at the occasional shortcoming. Any of the festival’s three days would have made a fantastic month of shows separately, but together, the lineup both contrasted and complimented itself in a variety of strange and wonderful ways. Whether or not the growing pains of the fest’s expansion in recent years are gone forever remains to be seen, but this year was, for me, the most fun and rewarding FYF. --- Day 1: Ascension Photo: FYF Fest Goldenvoice Media Having braved the traffic to catch the fest’s often-solid lineup during early-bird hours, I started with Royal Headache, four Aussie garage-rockers whose consistently solid, yet not particularly remarkable, output has yet to land them much of a following on this side of the pond. Lead singer Shogun’s fiery, soulful vocals were too low in the mix, but once that was sorted out, the band made the most of the brief set. Their infectious blend of melodic, brutally efficient songwriting and a generous tendency to bleed one song into the next led to an increasingly large and receptive crowd. Like their albums, a little of Headache’s feverish energy goes a long way, making their 40-minute set a perfectly succinct boost of energy to get everyone’s juices flowing at the start of the weekend. On my way to swing by the Outer Space stage to catch what I could of Kelly Lee Owens’ set, I faced my first major dilemma. I wanted to see K-Lee work her magic but also wanted to get as close as humanly possible to Björk at the typically packed main stage. And although I spent about half of the 25 minutes I caught of Owens checking the time and worrying about the next set, her infectious beats and soothingly ethereal vocals eventually ran through my blood like an aural xanax that allowed me to lose myself for a few minutes. And then it was onto Björk, a moment I’d been dreaming of since I was a teenager. The meager 45 minutes I waited for her felt like an eternity, and the anticipation of what she would play, what she’d sound like, and if she’d even show at all was enough to give me a heart arrhythmia. To say this was a holy-grail show devalues how important Björk has been to my growth as a fan of music and art in general. Björk was my musical gateway drug to everything from Kate Bush to Aphex Twin, but more importantly, her music opened a portal to untapped and unexplored thoughts and emotions. And her music videos were consistently thrilling in their inventive, experimental cinematic techniques, helping to open my mind to new possibilities of visual art. Photo: Santiago Felipe for FYF Fest It’s difficult to express the feeling of watching someone so important to you walk out on stage for the first time, especially as in the third row, this was probably as close as I’d ever been to an idol of mine. But there was a constant chill running down my spine, a sense of wonderment ― both at what exactly her multi-colored shower exfoliator-style dress with neon green see-through Predator/Venetian mask was all about, and the fact that she was right. fucking. there ― filling my soul, and a consistent feeling of being outside myself. From the first note of “Stonemilker” to the final note of “Hyperballad,” I was in awe of how powerful and penetrating her voice is. Backed by a full orchestra and a screen with clips of her videos, Björk was everything I hoped she’d be and more. My only small gripe would be that none of the 15 songs she performed were from Vespertine, but there were samplings of most other albums, the highlights of which were “Joga” and “Unravel” from Homogenic, “Isobel” and “Hyperballad” from Post, and “Come to Me” from Debut. It was a masterful, transcendent performance by one of the most important artists of the last quarter-century. To follow Björk is indeed a Herculean task, one only an immensely talented outfit like Slowdive should ever take on. Although they were performing on a different stage, they functioned as a perfect comedown from the emotional high that preceded. That’s not meant as a slight on Slowdive, who also are one of my favorite bands and who I’d only seen once before a few years back at FYF 2014. Their set was dependably impressive, with neither surprises nor missteps, and their dreamy, shimmering guitars filled the night sky in a way that invited contemplation, which allowed for a brief reprieve from the intensity of the festival. They played exactly what you’d want them to play ― “Catch the Breeze” off Just for a Day, “Allison,” “Souvlaki Space Station,” and “When the Sun Hits” off Souvlaki, and a healthy sampling of their fantastic new self-titled album. They do what they do really fucking well. Missy Elliott was sadly underwhelming, but the quality of the prior bands left me unreceptive to Missy’s incessant self-flagellation, which went so far to include several minutes of interviews on the big screens with artists talking about how visionary she is, and repeated mentions of Janet Jackson, Beyonce, and Tyler the Creator being in the crowd. To be fair, I got there just after the set started and was a couple hundred yards from the stage, so it was ultimately like viewing a spectacle that someone filmed on a cell phone. Still, in the brief stretch I saw, “Get Ur Freak On” and “Work It” were quite a bit of fun so maybe I would’ve been down for more had she not taken five minutes between songs to chat about herself. --- Day 2: In the Shit Photo: FYF Fest Goldenvoice Media Of course my dog would choose the first night of FYF to have a case of explosive diarrhea that led to me getting very little sleep, four hours at the emergency vet the next morning, and a nice fat $500 bill hovering over my head. I was exhausted and by the mid-afternoon, I’d accepted that day 2 would likely be a wash. I don’t deal well with sleep deprivation and the fest’s setting, Exposition Park, surrounds USC’s Coliseum on all sides so there’s a good four-to-five miles of walking to be done each day. But I had a plan for the day and, unlike Frank Ocean, I don’t bail on festivals. The day began with Built To Spill playing Keep It Like a Secret so things turned around for me pretty quickly. This is the first time I’ve seen them play live as a trio, with Doug Martsch providing the only non-bass guitar. While their sound was slightly thinner sans the layered guitars that helped define their sound, the stripped-down approach worked wonderfully in the context of covering one of their best albums. I made sure to get there early enough snag a front-row spot, and it paid off. Their set was surprisingly intimate; it helps when most of the songs are flat-out brilliant, but with Martsch having to do a lot of heavy lifting, it gave me an even greater appreciation for his skills as a guitarist and song-writer. In the kind of major tonal shift you only get in the festival environment, I headed over to the main stage to catch A Tribe Called Quest since, as Q-Tip would confirm, this is possibly the last time Tribe will be out making the rounds. But damn, did they make sure it was a hell of a show even without Phife on-stage. It was respectful to his legacy and importance as a founder, but also was as much a celebration of Tribe as a mourning of his loss. Q was especially on fire, spitting verses like he was 27 not 47, and the breaks he took to talk about Phife were humble, thoughtful, and moving, adding a layer of emotional resonance to Tribe’s performance. The crowd was incredibly receptive to the remaining trio’s still-brilliant chemistry and uncanny ability to flow from one song to next, as a building energy flowed through their killer encore of “Can I Kick It?”, “Award Tour,” and “We the People…”. As amazing as the set was, it makes Phife’s passing sting even more. Like Björk, Erykah Badu’s voice live is even better than you can imagine, and she took remarkable command of the stage. It was a true work of Baduizm as she set a positive, contemplative vibe upon which she laid out her psychedelic soul with a measured intensity. As painful as it was to check out early, Frank Ocean was up next and unlike 2015’s FYF and seemingly most other live dates, he showed up to this one. To get a feel for the oddness of Frank’s performance, you have to imagine how gargantuan the main stage is. Its huge monitors and enormous backdrop, with several football fields of pavement in front of which one performs to a sea of people, is a spectacle, and Frank transformed it into something completely different. Walking out on a platform between the VIP and GA sections, Frank began singing with just a keyboard and a microphone on stage with him. Even the monitors were off at first before eventually being filled with footage currently being shot by the two cameramen around him. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop when he wasn’t singing ― an eerie feeling when you’re surrounded by thousands of fans waiting with baited breath. It was a performance boiled down to the essentials ― a voice, a keyboard, and the occasional guitar or bass from his small backing band. In other words, the transition from the vibrant Channel Orange to the introspective Blonde is complete. “Thinking About You” is the only song from the prior album he played, and even that was performed with a more minimal arrangement. It was heavy on Blonde tracks, touching on all its heavy hitters like “Solo,” “Nikes,” and “Pink + White.” He even cavalierly brought Brad Pitt on stage during “Close to You” because Spike Jonze was filming the performance, presumably for a music video. But there was no mention of it, no hype, no excess. It wasn’t an overwhelming performance, but it certainly was an admirable one, and when Frank wasn’t happy with the way his debut of two new songs, “Runnin Around” and “Good Guy,” sounded, he apologized and asked if he could do them again. It was like watching Frank Ocean perform in his bedroom, if his bedroom were the size of an aircraft carrier. --- Day 3: Innerbody Experience Photo: FYF Fest Goldenvoice Media By day 3, I was rested and fully hydrated. I had never seen Iggy Pop live, but his energy and antics as a live performer precede him beyond merely “inventing” the stage dive or laying the groundwork for punk with his three albums with The Stooges. Like Björk, Pop is an icon, a figure whose presence is magnetic whether right in front of you or on a 5-inch screen. And when that presence burst on stage to “I Want To Be Your Dog,” he might as well have been shot out of a cannon. I was a few rows back but still close enough to count the wrinkles in his leathery skin, and the second he was visible, a wave of people rushed forward like moths to a flame. It was already packed, but that first two minutes was a thrilling combination of adrenaline from the explosion of energy on stage and a bit of fear at the unknowable insanity that threatened to swallow me whole from behind. And where Björk’s performance was something of an out-of-body experience, Pop’s was raw and physical. Even during lighter tunes like “The Passenger,” there was an overarching sensation of aggression, as if the crowd was waiting to release its collective tension in an awkward combination of swirling, gyrating, and jumping bodies. Pop also stuck a microphone down his pants and skipped around, and there was a crowd-surfing panda and an obscene amount of fist-pumping. For an hour, the crowd was putty in Iggy’s hands and, for an hour, we were rewarded with a furious onslaught of powerful, jaw-clenching music. Nothing quite matched the fire-breathing intensity of the “I Wanna Be Your Dog” opener, but “TV Eye” was fantastic (and nearly half the set consisted of Stooges songs) as was, of course, “Lust for Life,” but there wasn’t a moment where the magic dimmed. Realizing that Pop is still up there jumping around like a maniac at 70 is inspiring. It also makes me feel incredibly lame for complaining that my feet hurt after walking 3-4 miles, but we can’t all be Iggy Pop. Drenched in sweat, I climbed out of the sea of bodies, dazed and ecstatic from the catharsis. I had already got what I came for, but I powered through to the little stage where Blonde Redhead happened to be performing my favorite album of theirs, Melody of a Certain Damaged Lemons. I haven’t listened to much of the band in the last decade, and I’m fairly certain I didn’t get to even a second spin of Penny Sparkle or Barragan, but to my pleasant surprise I took right to them. It happened to be the perfect chill, nostalgic comedown after the draining fever dream which came before it, and the band sounded as good live as I had remembered. And as nice as it was to hear songs I once loved and hadn’t heard in years; as soon as they finished the Melody album, I meandered over to the nearby chicken-and-waffle place while their new music played them off in the distance. Photo: FYF Fest Goldenvoice Media As great as FYF was as a whole, going out on an insanely high note was not meant to be. I have friends who are die-hard Nine Inch Nails fans, and while I really enjoy about 1/3 of their music, I’m fairly indifferent about the rest. But their fans are fiercely loyal, so there was a bit of second-hand fandom flowing through my lungs once Trent & Co. took the stage. It doesn’t hurt that Reznor has, in recent years, been involved with some pretty great film scores with Atticus Ross and, more importantly, appeared with Nine Inch Nails in one of the greatest television episodes of all time, the 8th episode of Twin Peaks: The Return. And while I went in part because there wasn’t another option, they ended up being pretty damn entertaining. Every time they veer toward whatever their nu-metal sound is, I checked out, but “March of the Pigs,” “Something I Can Never Have,” and “Closer” were all wonderfully rendered. And in a moment of quietude, Reznor paid tribute to David Bowie with an achingly tender, minimal rendition of “I Can’t Give Everything Away.” The set was only 2/3 over, but there wouldn’t be a better note to end on, so there I left through the mass of people to the outskirts of the fest, where I’d wait for my Lyft home with the final notes of yet another fest dwindling ever-so-slightly in the distant background. See you again another year, FYF. I only hope the best is not now behind me. http://j.mp/2veKl5g

[tanmath3-blog]

For anyone that doesn’t know Toneye Eyenot you are missing out on an amazing writer and a truly wonderful friend. I have loads of love and respect for him. He is a man of many talents but his passion for writing just blows me away. I have yet to read anything he has written that I didn’t like. Toneye is a lover of wolves and his Facebook family are his pack with lots of wolfbrothers and wolfsisters. Some of the best people I have ever met. He is always ready to help another author and lend a hand giving feed back or help with editing a story. My best advice is for you to make sure to pick up his books. It will not be a decision you will regret. Please help me welcome Toneye Eyenot  (my wolfbrother) back to Roadie Notes…….

    1. It’s been awhile since we talked what new books do you have out now? Latest release?

Toneye: Hi, wolfsis, It has been! A whole year since our last little pow wow and in that year, eye have only released the before-mentioned Blood Moon Big Top, which was awaiting release last time we talked. That dreaded anthology addiction eye mentioned last time, and my resolve to curb it, failed miserably hahahaha. So, 2016 saw several more short stories released in a variety of anthologies, with a hefty handful still yet to be released. But speaking of anthologies, eye did release one which eye ran called Full Moon Slaughter through JEA Press. It was a massive undertaking which culminated in a near 400 page book, 35 authors with 37 ‘tails’ of lycanthropic madness in which eye was honoured to have the esteemed Sisters of Slaughter – Michelle Garza and Melissa Lason as our feature authors. It was a highlight of 2016 for me. It did really well on release and continues to be quite popular. So much so, that eye am now on the verge of closing the call on Full Moon Slaughter 2: Altered Beasts. This one expands on the werewolf theme into the realms of Therianthropy, which is open to include a myriad of werebeasts. We have a wereoctopus, a werehedgehog, wereants, among many other strange and bizarre creations. There is also still a healthy dose of werewolf amongst the submissions as well. This one is gonna be a real killer! 2. If you could pick any author alive or dead to have lunch with who would it be? Why?

Toneye: Oh, that’s easy! Why, Dawn Cano, the Baby Cooker, of korpse!! There’s the ‘who & why’ right there hahahaha!

3. What is the strangest thing a fan has ever done?

Toneye: Y’know, eye thought this one would be easy, but honestly, eye can’t come up with an answer. There’s probably hundreds of things, but eye myself am a little bit strange, so the strangest things everyone does are completely normal to me. Maybe this, from my fellow author and wolfbrother Matty-Bob Cash might qualify. He sent me this portrait of me and him hahahahaha

4. What is the one thing you dread to do when writing?

Toneye: Run out of coffee or lungrots. Eye always make sure eye have enough to get me through the night, after the shops are closed.

5. Did you have imaginary friends growing up? Tell me about them

Toneye: Didn’t we all? Mine was my favourite teddy bear. His name was Robot Teddy because he had pointy, square shoulders, and he used to talk to me. He told me he liked KISS, so one day eye got a black texta and gave him the Gene Simmons makeup. He didn’t like his ears either, so eye cut them off for him. He was very grateful.

6. Do you go to conventions? If not why?

Toneye: No, not yet. Despite my somewhat colourful online presence, in real life eye am a bit of a hermit. Just recently discovered a con here in Sydney, but it was after the fact. Maybe next year, or if eye find out about more in my area before they happen. Eye really should get out more. The conventions eye see on farcebook over in the U.S. and U.K. look like a lot of fun and a good way to meet other authors…maybe even score some new readers.

7. How many times did you have to submit your first story before it was accepted?

Toneye: Only once. Funny and ironic that the acceptance would be for a certain anthology which goes by the name of REJECTED For Content hahahaha.

8. Ever consider not writing? If so what made you continue?

Toneye: No, never. Been writing for over 27 years now, if you include poetry. Since 2011, writing stories has become my obsession. Although there were a couple of years, during a train-wreck of a relationship, that my writing suffered greatly. That’s why it took me 3 years to write The Scarlett Curse, but giving up was never an option. Married to my writing now and that works best for me eye think.

9. Ever thought about writing in a different category?

Toneye: Absolutely. That children’s story eye mentioned in our last interview…well, eye am still trying to find my inner 6-year-old haha. That one hasn’t made any progression, but it’s still on the cards.

10. Any new additions to the family?

Toneye: No. Still just the one son, who eye would kill and die for. My writing family continues to grow though J

11. What is coming up next for you?

Toneye: Full Moon Slaughter 2: Altered Beasts is the next thing eye will be releasing with JEA Press. Then once eye clear my current commitments of anthology submissions, eye am steering clear of anthos altogether and getting Book 3 in The Sacred Blade Of Profanity series finished once and for all! It’s been far too long since Joshua’s Folly was released and eye have readers waiting to continue that journey. Eye have been a good wolf this year though and stuck to my guns. My problem is eye hate saying ‘No’ to people, but eye have turned down several invites to anthologies this year. Maybe there is hope for me yet hahaha. Eye have been involved in a massive and secret project for the past year though and that is nearing completion. All will be revealed with that very soon.

12. Do you do release parties? Do you think they work?

Toneye: Yes, eye have done a few. They are great and they do tend to work, despite Fuktbook making it difficult every step of the way. It’s not uncommon for event organisers and guest authors to be locked out of their own event because Fuktbook thinks they’re ‘going too fast’. If you’ve ever organized one, or even just been to one, you’ll know just how crazy they can get. ‘Going fast’ is the only way you can keep up, especially if you are hosting the event. Eye always come away from them mentally exhausted but eye love ‘em! J

13. Do you have crazy stalker fans? Have you ever had one you wish would go away?

Toneye: Yes hahaha, they’re ALL crazy! My kinda crazy, of korpse. They’re not all stalkers though. Eye do have a couple who get a bit freaked out and worried when eye disappear for more than a day, but they are special to me and eye love ‘em. They can stalk me for as long as they like hahaha.

14. Do you still have a “day job”? If so what do you do?

Toneye: No day job. Eye do help my brother out every now and then though, but that’s only very occasionally. Installing floors.

15. What is your process for writing? Do you have a voice in your head?

Toneye: First and foremost…COFFEE! Once that has been taken care of, eye might sit with my characters for a while and throw some ideas around until we can all come to some kind of agreement on which way the story will go. Depending on the story, the characters can either be a breeze to work with, or they can be real troublesome bastards. Take Marnard for instance. He came into The Sacred Blade Of Profanity series during book 2 – Joshua’s Folly. Eye like Marnard, we get on well and for the most part, he goes where eye tell him. Halfway through book 3 however, and the stupid kid goes n falls in love with some wolf girl in Mellowood Forest! Eye don’t write Romance, so this has thrown me a curve ball and caused me all kinds of distress. So to refer to your earlier question about writing in a different category, Marnard is forcing my hand to include a romantic element to my otherwise dark and horrifying story. Eye will be taking every step in keeping this element to a minimum, but yeah. To say eye am not impressed by his rampant teenage hormones is a massive understatement.

16. Is there a book you want to make a sequel to you haven’t yet?

Toneye: Yes! Book 3 in The Sacred Blade Of Profanity series hahaha. Book 2 being the prequel, this one really, REALLY needs to be finished.

Fangs so much for having me back, wolfsis! Eye hope eye have given you and the readers a little more insight into what makes me tick! As a treat, and a thank you, here’s a poem eye wanna share with you. It’s from Rejected For Content 3 by JEA Press and is my fave poem that eye have written so far. Enjoy, and until next time, Kopulater Desekraters!

Thank you Toneye for coming back and giving us an update! It is always a pleasure and honor my wolfbrother!!

FRED, THE DIS-EMBODIED HEAD Written by Toneye Eyenot “Well, fuck me dead!” exclaimed poor Fred, the freshly dis-embodied head. Rolling off the foot of the bed, he saw his body twitch. “I shouldn’t care but this ain’t fair! You psychopathic bitch!” As he hit the bedroom floor, his killer bolted for the door. Her hatchet, bloody, in her claw. Her vengeance justly sated. “You got what you rightly deserved and no more,” Dolores stated. She swung the bedroom door ajar, ran from the house and to the car as sirens sounded from afar. There had been some commotion. She slammed the gears and threw the beast into a forward motion. Tearing ‘round the corner wide, the car performs a sideways slide. She near collects a passer-by, who hollers as he dives, “My god, I can’t believe I’m still alive!” Back in control, Dolores starts to breathe again. Her pounding heart now skips a beat, beside her on the seat sits Fred…The freshly dis-embodied head. “Hey Dolores, look at me! In killing me, you set me free! Free to do most anything. I think I might just sing.” His ghastly chords and horrid tones chilled poor Dolores to her bones. She cast him from the window to the swiftly passing road. Not a soul in sight, she was once again alone. Shaken, Dolores speeds towards her home. Once inside with bolted door, Dolores falls onto her floor. On her homeward ride, she was terrified and stunned by what she saw. Guess who rolls out from her bedroom door? “Hey Dolores, fancy that! You threw me out, thought that was that. Well, here I am to prove you wrong. How ‘bout another song?” Dolores screamed and held her ears. Fred began his jests and jeers in off, discordant baritones that rattled poor Dolores’ bones. She hastily scrambled for the telephone. “What is your emergency?” The voice enquired indifferently. “Help me, please!” Dolores screamed. “He will not leave me be! I’m on Flinder Street. Eleven sixty three. I don’t care how, just get here now. You have to understand, he’s killing me!” As sirens wailed, her sanity failed whilst Fred the dis-embodied head assailed. He sang of times of happiness. Of times they’d felt their lives were blessed with the truest love, through all things, would prevail. His voice carried the agony of ripped and broken nails. Bursting through her bolted door, reached the long arm of the law and grabbed Dolores off the floor, her mind destroyed, in tatters. Fred the dis-embodied head lay silently and surely dead. Dolores’ bloody hands are all that matters. Taken into custody, she was labelled with insanity. Her life was spent in deep repent, never to be free. Left without hope to atone, in her padded room alone, with Fred, the dis-embodied head to keep her company. © Toneye Eyenot 2014

  You can connect with Toneye Eyenot here:

https://www.amazon.com/Toneye-Eyenot/e/B00NVVMHVA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_3?qid=1494147021&sr=8-3-spell

Twitter: @ToneyeEyenot

    Some of Toneye Eyenot books:

Getting even more personal with Toneye Eyenot For anyone that doesn't know Toneye Eyenot you are missing out on an amazing writer and a truly wonderful friend.