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goblinkingdomsblog · 3 years

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Bts as mafia series ask

What will they do after kidnapping agent yn who is not willing to give info

What will they do after kidnapping agent y/n who is not willing to give information

Members: all BTS.

Genre: mafia!AU, reaction.

Premise: you are a police agent who was captured by one of the most influential members of the criminal organization you have been investigating for weeks. He's trying to get information out of you through interrogation, but you're not going to give in, no matter what. So he needs to think of a new plan.

TW: a little bit of (V) = Violence, but more of (S) = Safe for reading and (Sg) = Suggestive.

Mafia Series Masterlist

Mafia Series Plot

I don't know if this is exactly how you imagined your request, but I hope you enjoy it. ;)

"Precious information is always worth it."

Namjoon:

You were tied to the chair for a long time, until he came and released you. You immediately thought about the easiest escape route, but the abandoned, damp pavilion in which you were, behind huge boilers, seemed to have no end.

He smiled calmly, standing a few feet in front of you with his arms crossed.

- Agent Y/N. What an honor. - his voice was sympathetic, lulled by a hoarse and low tone - I've been looking for you for a long time. I heard you're trying to get me in trouble.

You laughed bitterly, spitting on the floor to get rid of the taste of the gag that had been in your mouth just minutes before.

- I feel really sorry that I didn't cause more problems, then.

Surprisingly, he laughed back, as if he were in the presence of a rebellious child who he needed to educate.

- You didn't answer the questions my subordinates asked you, did you?

- I will never reveal anything. You can send those dumbasses back and make them punch me more. - you touched your aching jaw with your free hands, without looking away from the one who you knew were the leader of the Organization - I can deal with them easily.

With his arms crossed, he rubbed his expensive shiny shoe on the floor, lifting his index finger.

- Oh, no, no. That was my mistake, caused by a wrong choice of members. Let's say they are not exactly the smartest members of our... company. I'm sorry about that. - he laughed quietly, adjusting his glasses over his nose with the casualness of someone who was shopping at the supermarket.

- So what are you going to do, you bastard? - you grunted, trying to distract him just to have time to think of a good way to get out of there.

He laughed again, a short, somewhat dangerous laugh.

- Courageous. - he murmured, with a sharp gleam in his dark eyes. He stared at you for a long moment before proceeding - Well, violence is almost never the best option. It is always better to treat the guests with whom you want to have a conversation with calm and courtesy. And, of course, without haste.

Feeling a cold shiver down your spine, you stayed still.

- I have all the time in the world, my dear. I can wait until you're ready to start. - with a singing smile that exposed two deep dimples, which now seemed sharply malignant, he turned to the darkness - Ah, and don't even think about running away. If this place already seems big to you, know that it is bigger than you think. And there are some rather interesting obstacles around here.

With one last look over his shoulder, the faint moonlight that came in through the windows reflecting off the lenses of his glasses and preventing you from seeing his eyes, he clicked his tongue.

- But, if you insist on trying to escape... - he pronounced, as if he considered the whole situation a great pleasure, and not a threat - I wish you good luck.

Seokjin:

You were in a small house, surrounded by at least 4 tables full of electronic equipment, computer parts, baubles and dust.

The man seated in front of you, with his chin in one hand, kept his eyebrows raised. By moving your hands tied behind your back, you tried to free yourself from the wheelchair in which you were trapped.

- Stay still. - he murmured, harshly. His expression was divided between apprehension and irritation.

- I am still. It is kind of difficult to make any movement while you are tied to a chair.

Without paying any attention to you, he rolled his eyes.

- I don't know why they thought of me as the right person to fulfill this mission. As if I had nothing more important to do. - his face, beautiful as a carved brilliant, was extremely expressive - And now, to make things worse, you still don't want to collaborate with the interrogation!

You smirked, shaking your head in the middle of the room with brown walls and orange lamps.

- I'm sorry for being a stone in your path. I bet if you let me go, you would be relieved. - your tone was acidic.

Bitting his lower lip, he snapped his fingers. With an impulse from the floor, he slid the wheelchair in which he was sitting to one of the tables, turning on one of the computers.

- Actually, I have a better idea. - he said, his plump lips curving into a smile as his fingers typed quickly, as if he were thinking of a joke that only he understood.

After a few quiet seconds, in which the only noises in the house came from the computer, he turned towards you and rotated the computer screen to your direction, so that you could view it entirely.

- I think you will be the one relieved when you collaborate with my questions. - he murmured, pointing the image on the monitor: the security cameras on the street in front of your family's house, recording everything in real time. It was even possible to spot your mother through the window - It's not that hard to find out certain things on social media, you know? I would recommend you to be more careful from now on.

Your smile died on your face, replaced by an expression of fear.

Yoongi:

The stone basement under the busy bar was a much darker place than it had seemed at first. The endless noise of parties was able to hide the most diverse noises.

The man standing at the door, talking to two others who remained in the shade, seemed completely calm. Which was the total opposite of how you felt.

Trying to shake your body to get rid of the rope wrapped around your entire torso, you groaned. You knew that dozens of bruises would form on your arms because of the effort, but you couldn't stop trying.

Dismissing the two henchmen, the man near the door turned in your direction. Approaching with his hands in his pockets, he stopped a few inches away, bending to reach the height where you were trapped.

- As you didn't want to answer when I asked patiently, I decided to change my approach. - with a slow, almost lazy, gummy smile, he took his hands out of his pockets, revealing a pile of pills.

Knowing what "industry" he was in, you were sure those pills were drugs. Although you were afraid of what might happen, you would never let it show.

- What are you going to do? Forcing me to swallow and kill myself from an overdose? - you almost spat, bending forward in an attempt to hit him with your head.

He laughed, and his laugh was a little choked. He smelled of cigarettes, both in his baggy clothes and on his breath.

- Don't be so hasty. I already said that I am very patient, so I would never force you to take one of them. - he shook the pills in his closed fist, letting them make a noise - I'll let you choose one of them.

Grunting, you turned your head.

- The choice is entirely yours. You may take a sweetie pill, which just makes you more relaxed to answer my questions... - his expression went from amusement to a somber seriousness, while he averted his eyes downwards - or you may take a poisoned one that will kill you. Sadly you don't have the option of not taking any pill.

Smiling again, exposing his gums in a way that made his expression frighteningly youthful, he shrugged.

- I hope you have a good eye for analyzing pills. Or at least a good tolerance.

Hoseok:

He was smiling in your direction for good 3 minutes now. Sitting upright, his knees 5 centimeters away from yours (that were tied to each other), he looked like an experienced dealer wanting to convince you to buy something.

You were already so tired that you felt almost ready to "buy it".

- If you tell me some very simple details of the investigation, I promise you will be released without any injuries. - his face was soft and friendly, and he spoke with such conviction that it was easy to accept.

You were sweaty due to the fact that you had been struggling in that chair for hours on end, trying to break free. That damn apartment seemed to be in the end of the world, because no one on the floors above or below made a sound.

It was time to try something different, to put pride aside. You had full faith in your ability to act.

- Do you... really promise? - you asked, in a weak voice and with an innocent expression, which made apparent the tiredness you were feeling (on purpose, of course).

He broke into a big smile, crowned by his shiny, aligned teeth. He looked cheerful as a child who had just won a candy.

- Of course, my dear. - he replied, lightly touching your hand tied on the arm of the chair. His fingers were warm and soft.

You smiled back "timidly". You would lie masterfully, until you convinced that man to let you go. You knew you were able to do that, because it was a necessity.

- Then... I will collaborate.

Caressing your hand briefly, just before letting go and looking you in the eye, his smile lessened a little.

- Just know that liars are not treated so politely. - he murmured, in a practically humming way - And I always know when someone is trying to deceive me, my sweet. Always.

Suddenly, the touch of his fingers no longer seemed as gentle as before.

Jimin:

The man's eyes seemed to burn in his face, just as the hate burned inside you. He was lying beside a round table, stripped, staring at you through half-closed lids.

- This is kind of kinky, don't you agree? - he asked, breaking the silence, his legs spread in a careless pose as he watched you.

You wanted to scream. You pulled your arms out, listening to the clink of the metal rings and then feeling the physical immobility. Being chained to a cement wall by your wrists and ankles, standing for hours, was far from any pleasurable idea. That was a fucking torment.

- Fuck you, you crazy bastard! - you grunted, your voice hoarse in your scratched throat - If I ever have the opportunity, I swear I'll kill you!

He didn't smile, but something in the curve of his eyes exposed the fact that he was enjoying the scene. In a leap, he rose from his chair, an evil idea igniting in his mind.

- What if that opportunity reveals itself now? Could you kill me? - he purred, approaching cautiously. You didn't know if he was teasing or threatening you, as his body movements were unreadable.

- Chained here? How fair is this clash? It is obvious that you will win. - you spoke through, your head hanging forward. You were an accomplished fighter in the police, but no one with their arms and legs trapped would be able to win a hand-to-hand fight.

- Of course I'm going unchain you. I'll even give you some time to warm up. I like fairness in this type of game. - the way he spoke, with pleasure, showed an insatiable desire for combat. You wanted to punch him.

- How can I be sure that you will not cheat? You are a fucking mafious.

This time, he laughed sharply, putting his hands on his stomach.

- I promise you that our fight will be fair, based only on the skills of each one. Especially because, if I win, my only prize will be to chain you back on this wall right here. - he got close enough to hold the sides of your waist with his hands, more firmly than expected. You forced yourself not to shudder - And while I really appreciate the sight, it is nothing that I haven't already seen.

You thought about attacking him right there, but it was better to wait a little more. Using his hands on your waist as a support, he started to unchain you.

Taehyung:

The boy was standing, his back against one of the only walls of the ruined building. The empty terrain you were on was extensive and the wind was blowing strong, turning all that vastness into a damn desert of grassy ice.

You were standing a few feet away, with nothing to hinder your movements. Still, you couldn't move, as you knew he had confiscated your loaded gun and was now keeping it in his pants pocket, ready in case any attempt was made to escape. You didn't want the same thing that happened to your two coworkers, now two bodies lying on the ground in the woods, to happen to you.

- Will you tell or not? - the man asked, boredom evident on his face. His voice was low, peaceful as a lullaby.

- I won't. - you said, shivering from the wind and nervousness. Nothing mattered now, not even your life: you had vowed to keep the investigation a secret, and that's what you would do. You would die with honor, just like the others.

Arching one of his thick eyebrows, he remained still. His mouth went up in one corner, in a angled smile.

- Ah, too bad.

- Shoot fast, can you? - you shouted back, extremely tired of it. You wanted it to end fast.

- I will not shoot you. You are useful, unlike your unintelligent colleagues who tried to attack me.

You clenched your teeth, the sound of the wind almost deafening your ears.

- What are you going to do then?

Wiping the hair off his forehead, which insisted on sliding in all directions, he waved a hand, turning the loaded revolver in one finger.

- Ah, I decided to let your teammates answer the call that the... deceased agents sent on the radio. They will get here behind this wall, as it is the easiest way to access the terrain. - observing the barrel of the gun and then opening the magazine to see how much ammunition was inside, he continued: - It is always good to practice my shooting from a long distance, just to not lose the practice.

Wide-eyed, the scenario in which your colleagues were killed one by one by shots from a hidden sniper crossed your mind. It was terrible.

- But, if you like your colleagues very much and decide that your willingness to offer information is greater than my intention to play target shooting, it may be that things happen in a much easier way. - he stated.

Jungkook:

He almost never looked up from the ground, and when he did, his eyes kept hidden under the brim of his hat. Not that it was easy to spot anything inside a dark and metallic bunker, in which you could barely move because you were handcuffed to the table fixed on the floor.

After hesitating for a long time, the man with tattoos on his fingers sitting in front of you finally spoke:

- You have to answer. I am here just following orders, and you are delaying my other appointments. - if there was something behind which he could hide, he would probably do it. But not out of fear... it was for another reason.

- I already said I won't tell you anything. You can kill me already, dumb child. - you almost roared, the rage accumulated in hours of silence revolting inside you.

Yes, even though he was partially hidden by the shadows, the fact that he was young was evident. More a shy boy than a silent man.

His eyes widening in shock, he stepped back a few inches. With an increasingly wheezing breath, he got up and walked to a door in the corner of the bunker.

- You're making things more difficult for both of us. - he said, with a dangerous tone.

Opening the hidden door with a single movement of his drawing-covered hand, he revealed a gagged figure, struggling and muttering in a useless way: your partner in the police and best friend, Denyel.

You gasped with fright when his figure became visible, his body covered in sweat. With a sudden tug, the tattooed man dragged your friend over to the chair where he himself had been sitting before, forcing him to settle down.

- With each denied answer, a little bit of his life is gone. - the boy's voice was now expressionless, and his hands moved quickly as he took dozens of knives from the belt under his coat and placed them on the table, with a clang - I can make it drag on for hours, believe me. I know exactly how much "life" to remove until there is no more of it left.

That's it for now! Did you like it? Tell me your opinion and your suggestions, my dear reader.

If you want to request anything, send me your ideas!

The images used on this post are not mine. Credits to the owners.

Kisses from the Goblin Kingdom! :)

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hes-writer · 4 years

Text

Routine

Summary: y/n catches harry live streaming a show

Warning: smut

Word Count: 2293 words

___

University was no joke. It’s expensive for sure. Harry had a full-time job at the beginning of the semester working at a cafe near his flat. He soon found out that that wasn’t the best idea. Maybe because he didn’t manage his time right or it was simply too exhausting for him to work late hours when he had to take mandatory morning classes. His next solution was more--risky per se.

Harry had always been confident with his body. He ate well; loading up on fruit smoothies and veggie shakes every morning to accompany him on his early morning workouts. The sweat beading in between his toned pecs made him revel in the accomplishments of self-care, washed away as he palmed his face underneath the stream of the locker room shower. His wet curls stuck to his small ears as he pulled his sweater over his body, exiting the gym with a bag slung over his shoulder, plucking a peace sign to the person at the front desk as he left the building.

It started off as a blog; posting pictures of his body that he worked hard on. The narcissist in him craved the compliments of strangers drooling over his muscles and shapely body. Sometimes the messages he received were explicit, but he also couldn’t help the arousal flowing through his veins as blood pumped towards his cock. Thus, the next part of his routine was to go home to his flat and strip his body off of his clothes. His webcam would be switched on with a push of a button, his long fingers floating over the keyboard as he signed in to his account.

Speaking of, the meat between his thighs plumped up with the lingering thought of user ‘sweetgirl112’ messages last night. How much she wanted to tuck his thick length in her mouth, how much she craved to feel his large hands adorning her body. God, she had such a way with words and here Harry was with an erection pudging up in his lycra leggings. An outline of his mushroom head visible through the tight material. He played with his bottom lip as he waited for the traffic light to turn green. One hand tapped against the steering wheel in a rhythmic pattern, his mind drifting away to how it would feel like to have those pleasures within his reach.

But he didn’t.

He rushed off from his seat, quickly locking his car and keying the front door to his flat. Harry was hornier than usual today, thanks to sweetgirl’s lovely messages from last night. Harry rolled his eyes at the effect the stranger had on him. He dropped the chain dangling from his fingers on the bowl beside his door, sighing with excitement as he toed off his runners.

On the couch, Y/N snoozed with her mouth agape, hair messily splayed across the pillow he provided her. He almost forgot she had slept over last night during their movie night. She insisted to sleep on the sofa despite Harry offering his bed to share between the both of them. In the end, both of them slept on the uncomfortable cushion cuddled up into one another. The distance between them was non-existent but Harry found it endearing the way Y/N cuddled up into his body in order not to fall off the edge, snuggling into his chest with a quiet snore after jolting when one of her legs tumbled of the border.

Nonetheless, that meant that Harry had to tone his volume down a bit, keeping a keen ear to make sure his noises don’t wake her up or arise any alarm from his friend. He crouched down beside her sleeping face, waving a hand over her eyes to make sure she was still in a deep sleep.

“Hope yer’ having sweet dreams,” His thick accent made the words stick to his tongue, lazily drooping like honey. Harry pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring the way his heart thumped as she smiled slightly in her sleep, humming with satisfaction and cuddling closer to the pillow clutched between her arms.

Adorable, Harry thought.

Soft footsteps tiptoed over his bedroom, shutting the door gently. He stretched his arms to remove the black sweater over his head, ruffling his curls in the process. His nose hooked at the opening, muffling his breath for a bit that had him tumbling down on the end of his bed with a slight bounce. Harry is clumsy.

He managed to remove the rest of his clothes without further trouble, leaving him in his boxers briefs and socks which he would take off when he got situated in his office chair situated in front of his computer. His set up was on the corner of his room, facing the door. It was a bit odd at first but Harry learned to make it work.

Harry pushed two pumps of coconut-scented lotion into his large palm, lathering his upper body with a subtle sheen, moisturizing his biceps to appear shiny. The excess cream was rubbed along the nape of his neck, massaging the tense muscles along the way. A swift glance at the time at the bottom corner informed him that he had five minutes left until his scheduled show would begin. In preparation, Harry gathered the items he might need during his session. A bottle of clear, water-based lube, a bullet vibrator that recently joined his collection of toys and a silicone cock ring that looked to be a struggle to fit around his plump dick. He set the items aside on the table in front of where he would be sitting.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, hands grasping the width of his hip as he opted to check on Y/N again. She was a heavy sleeper and the show will probably take around thirty minutes to do, minus the foreplay and all of that. It was still pretty early in the morning too; around ten-thirty, surely she’d stay put till then. He peeked his head through a small gap in his door, craning his neck to catch Y/N shifting just in time to rest on her other side.

Pretty soon, the webcam displayed a green dot at the corner and his screen was loaded to a black screen. The chat indicated that there were currently twenty people watching him. The total viewer count increased with each passing second that had Harry grinning to himself. Once the camera was adjusted to where it cut off around his neck, he sat back in his spinny chair, splaying his wide palms on his muscly thighs.

20 seconds left.

Harry could feel his cock grow in his boxers, the anticipation of his fans commenting on dirty things that they would like to do to him left his imagination endless. A blurt of precum stained the inside of the fabric, dotting the area a darker colour. He sighed deeply, wide eyes watching as the countdown changed.

5...4...3...2...1

In a blink of an eye, Harry’s toned body was showcased on the screen, allowing him to view what his viewers had the pleasure of viewing. The ‘LIVE’ sign blinked repeatedly.

“Hello,” Harry drawled out purposefully using a deeper tone to set the mood. “How are you today?” His fingers stayed hung over the armchair, griping it slightly when comments started rolling in.

“How’s my baby? Are you needy for me?” He found that the best way to ensure as much of connection between his viewers was to speak as though it was a one-on-one conversation. “Because I am,” A hand crawled towards his crotch where his half-massed dick rested on his upper thigh, the head prominent against the tight briefs.

Making sure to keep his face out of view, Harry leaned forward to read the remarks.

User12314: i love your tattoos

User48529: what i’d do to have my hands on you

He chuckled to himself, rubbing up and down to tease himself and them even more. Various 'pings' littered the room with Harry thanking each of them as much as possible.

“I’d love to have my hands on you too,” He gave his cock a gentle squeeze, sucking a breath through his gritted teeth at the sensation. “Wanna feel your body on my skin,” Harry released a throaty groan as he shifted to pinch at his nipples, “Would ya’ let me touch your breasts? I bet they’re soft and perfect for my hands,” His thumb rubbed circles on his top two nipples, shivering slightly.

One palm cupped his balls, thumbing at the middle as the other continued the ministrations on his chest. This went on for a couple more seconds until he pulled his hands away to rest on the ferns tattooed on his hips, rubbing the skin there sensually while he spoke, “Y’wanna see my cock? It’s so hard for you,” The head twitched twice, forcing an involuntary moan to leak from his plump lips.

User09321: yes please

He sighed at the message, his stomach burning with the need to just wrap his fingers around his dick and jerk it till he cums. But he couldn’t do that—at least not yet.

___

Y/N woke up from her slumber, dizzy and discombobulated about where she was only to realize that the ache in her lower back was caused by Harry’s uncomfortable couch. Her phone buzzed beside her; an alarm to wake up to watch a show. Not just any show—a filthy, dirty cam boy who hadn’t left Y/N’s mind ever since she discovered him for the first time a few days ago. She was drunk on wine and barely remembered what the live stream had contained. He was hot, that much she knew.

He wore a dark red sweater that covered his body which Y/N found quite adorable. Yet at the same time, his fist peeked out from his bunched sweater paws to desperately tug at his cock while endless whispers and groans flowed from his mouth through the speakers. His covered body arching against his seat, the walls behind him a plain white. Apparently, he was feeling like a sub that day and asked permission to touch himself like a good boy, pleading to cum. His audience couldn’t resist the whine in his deep voice, shooting streams of cum on his sweater, staining the fabric and probably ruining it forever.

Just before the live stream ended, he reminded everyone when his next show was--today-- and in her drunk daze, Y/N must have set up a reminder on her phone, completely forgetting that she was to hang out with Harry the day before. She rubbed the ball of her palm against her eyes, willing away the sleep on her lids. Sitting up on the cushion, she looked around Harry’s apartment to find the curly-headed boy.

“Harry?” She called out, checking his kitchen to find it empty. She went to his bathroom to freshen up, picking up her toothbrush that Harry had sweetly brought her after Y/N stayed at his place more times than both of them can count. After spitting out the foam pooling in her cheeks, Y/N dabbed the corners of her mouth with a soft, fluffy towel.

As she exited the bathroom, Y/N opened up the web browser in incognito mode, refreshing the link from a few days ago. The page loaded slowly, enabling Y/N to continue searching for Harry. She absent-mindedly walked to Harry’s closed bedroom door—the last place she had yet to look. Her phone produced a muffled sound when it finally loaded. She rapidly typed out a comment to send.

“Can’t take it anymore,” The man said, “I‘ve gotta touch myself but I’m wishing it’s you wrapping your hands around m’cock,”

Y/N could feel her thighs tighten, standing in front of Harry’s bedroom.

Sweetgirl112: touch yourself for me daddy. i wanna hear you say how good it feels

Harry growled upon seeing the message and its user, pulling the fabric down and letting his dick hit his skin with a faint slapping sound on his flushed stomach. Shaky fingers teased his length, tracing of the prominent veins that pumped his cock with blood. “Mm, it feels so good, love,” His thumb spread the liquid seeping at the tip, making sure to lube the head of his dick for a smooth stroke.

With distracted thoughts, Y/N pushed the bar handle down, a gentle bump knocking the door open.

She couldn’t believe her eyes when the loading screen on her phone mirrored the sight in front of her; Harry’s head thrown back, resting against the head of the office chair. Her phone cut off at the veins stretched over the expanse of his neck. His heaving chest glistening with sweat and the faint smell of coconut lingered in the air. His fist pumped his long cock up and down, squeezing at the tip to produce a dollop of wispy pre-cum. Closed eyes blocked his vision from Y/N standing frozen on the door, gazing back and forth towards the device on her sweaty palm to the even hotter view right in front of her.

A resonant sound of ‘pings’ pulled Harry out of his pleasure, lifting his head with the aim to thank whoever tipped him but was taken aback by the sight of his friend at his doorway.

“Oh shit,” He mumbled, impulsively clutching his full balls cradled between his fingers. Harry’s green irises were hooded, observing Y/N’s face with such intensity that it made her want to cower back. His two-front teeth grazed his bottom lip before parting his sweet mouth in a silent gasp at a particularly good stroke. “Wanna join me, baby?”

——

Let me know what you thought!

——

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641 notes · View notes

mangozcat · 3 years

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. lee donghyuck x fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. fluff 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. he hates summer. he has such a hatred for leaving his house, spending time in the burning hot sand and doing anything besides playing video games at home. that’s why, when you suddenly show the boy a piece of your mind about how he stole the corndog you ordered from the truck nearby, he slightly warms up to the idea of summer.

𝐃𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎. @marklyxxi nik my beautiful ray of sunshine!! I was gonna dedicate this to you even before we talked about it in our dm’s, to be honest. it’s been such a wonderful ride so far, and why not show that in a story? this story was honestly inspired by my original hatred for making mutuals (mainly because of drama on my previous blog) and how you came along and just made it disappear like k bro I see you. much love babe <3, and if you’re reading, I hope you enjoy!

𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑. he enjoyed the trips, liked the sun, but he hated the blistering heat and endless girls at the beach throwing themselves at him, and of course, he’d also just rather be inside. indoors had air conditioning and gaming setups. and what did outside have? some tumbleweeds, most likely. not like haechan left his house enough to know.

overall, summer had far more cons than pros, in his opinion.

that’s why, as he was forced to sit out in the sun, staring out at some ocean shore, he felt nothing but annoyance towards his friend. it wasn’t his choice to be at the beach, he was left with no other option when jeno threatened to take away his computer. after all, who would willingly go to some sand-filled land that always burned your feet, had potentially dangerous sea creatures washing up every day, and held very high risk of death by drowning.

yes, because some people do in fact sign up to be a lifeguard, only to stay on their phone the entire shift without a care in the world for that one swimmer struggling to stay above the water. or several, depending on what business days the ocean chose to show up for work.

“you should maybe stop glaring at the water as if it hurt you,” jeno said, an eyebrow raised as he glanced over at his friend. haechan only responded with a short, meaningless hum beneath his breath. rolling his eyes, jeno took a handful of sand and tossed it in the other’s direction, grinning maliciously.

he merely narrowed his eyes, not amused at jeno’s antics. turning back towards the tide, he muttered under his breath about how gaming would be far more eventful than staring at the ocean mindlessly. to which jeno replied with a curt, “then stop staring at the ocean and be productive, you fucking dumbass.”

haechan was, yet again, not amused.

“look,” jeno said blankly, shaking haechan’s shoulders to grab his attention. the boy looked at him, although reluctantly, through his bangs. “I brought you here to help you get out of that house, idiot. not to torture you or bother you, but because I somewhat care about my roommate.”

“yeah, yeah,” haechan said, huffing out. it might not have been jeno’s intentions, but bringing him to the beach alone was bothersome. what was he supposed to do here? all he knew was online, electronic. and suddenly his environment is changed so drastically that it made his head spin.

what was a gamer supposed to do at the beach, with no electronics?

haechan glanced around, taking in the sight of the beach for what seemed like the first time since arriving. there were plenty of people in the water, splashing around joyously. somewhere down the sandy plain was a volleyball net, where children were tripping while chasing after the ball, not mindful of their feet whatsoever. but, every time, they managed to get up, smile, and return to what they were doing. there was a food truck near the entrance, and he smiled to himself at the sight of one of his favorite things: food.

“and of course, I don’t want you to be a virgin forever,” jeno concluded, making haechan immediately groan. he wasn’t a virgin, and jeno knew that pretty well, but it was always going to be a running joke that he was; all because jeno, and several of their friends, thought that he couldn’t dedicate more to a girl than he was dedicating to his games.

maybe they weren’t too far off. simply elbowing his friend in the side, haechan pointed towards the food truck. jeno grinned at the sight, saying, “oh, so now you’re interested in the beach? wow, if only I had known that all it took was food, I definitely would’ve bribed you sooner.”

“y’know, I suddenly don’t want food anymore.” haechan huffed out, glaring at his friend. jeno immediately frowned, holding up his hands in surrender at the genuine look of annoyance on his friend’s face.

“fine, fine!” jeno said, breaking into a smile as he quickly dropped his hands to tickle viciously at haechan’s sides. the boy yelped out, his cries quickly turning into laughs of both joy and pain. haechan couldn’t determine which was more powerful as his brain quickly mushed over at the brain numbing sensation.

“s-stop it!” he cried out, tears forming in his eyes as he clutched at his stomach with one hand while another weakly reached to clasp around jeno’s wrist. jeno simply laughed loudly, continuing his torment. when haechan finally seemed to have enough (mostly because he was whining about how he was gonna pee himself soon), jeno finally stopped.

giving haechan some time to recover from the abuse, jeno waited patiently, chuckling occasionally at his friend’s expense, until finally speaking. reaching his hands back to haechan’s sides, making him cry out even though he wasn’t touching him, he said, “do you promise to attempt to have fun?”

“n-nope!” haechan said, giggling mischeviously as he tested his friend.

jeno simply shook his head, putting his hands on haechan’s sides finally, ready to start tickling again (but with no remorse this time), hyuck immediately cried out, whacking his hands away. whining about how he was “sensitive”, he finally agreed to attempt having fun at a place he despised.

his first idea had been to go to the food truck. if he was going to have fun at the beach, the only reasonable explanation for it would be the endless supply of snacks in his stomach. of course, it just so happened that when he arrived, they were fresh out of what he wanted most; corndogs.

“well, promise over, I tried. can we go home now?” haechan said eagerly, turning to walk towards the direction of where jeno’s car was parked. instead, he was met with the man’s hand on his shoulder, turning him back around with a tsk under his breath.

“nice try,” jeno said, nodding to himself before straightening his expression completely. “but no.”

haechan whined as jeno pushed him, using both hands on his back to force him forward, sliding him soundly. he started ranting loudly, making jeno groan out as he was forced to carry both his mental and physical weight back to where their towels were on the ground.

“it’s actually impossible to have fun at this place, jen,” he said matter-of-factly, even pointing a finger up to further accentuate his point. “it’s hot outside, the water is freezing- and you know I don’t do well in climates where the temperatures are completely opposites at times! -and they’re fresh out of corndogs, and I have no phone!”

when he didn’t hear a complaint or argument from jeno, he turned around. suddenly realizing that jeno had stopped pushing him at one point and that he was ranting to himself, standing alone in the middle of the beach, he nodded. “ok, well that’s not awkward at all.”

he stumbled over to a nearby towel- one that he swears is his -and sat down, leaning back to stare up at the clouds. realizing that was a dumb idea as the sun burned a simmering beam of light right into his eyes, he covered them. seeing red, rainbow colored specks behind his eyelids, he sighed to himself. he hadn’t even been at the beach for an hour and he was already, as expected, miserable and bored out of his mind.

sitting up, he rested his chin on his knees as he glanced around. he could’ve sworn he left a bag with sweats laying right at the end of the towel. jeno must’ve put them in his car, haechan thought inwardly. continuing his inspection, he suddenly spotted it; a gleaming, greasy, yummy looking corndog.

it was just sitting there, in all it’s glory, making his mouth water.

he deserved the snack. he wasn’t too sure why it was there or how it had gotten there, but he, yet again, assumed that jeno had worked his magic to get him a corndog. after all, he did want the boy to have a good time; and what better way than to get him a corndog, like he wanted?

eagerly reaching his hand toward the plated snack, he immediately bit into the food. it tasted good, but yet again, he expected no different.

until, of course, it was whacked out of his hand with a sandal. haechan immediately yelped at the burning sensation erupting on his hand, rubbing at the soft skin. he glanced up at the attacker, eyes widening when he saw a girl standing before him, looking furiously as she eyed, not him, but the corndog laying in the sand a few meters away.

oh.

well, that’s not good.

he hopped up, sending her a charming smile before darting away, panicking inside as he ran to the opposite side of the beach, where he realized his towel was. fucking dumbass, he said in his head, should’ve realized that wasn’t mine at first.

he had many regrets, but taking a bite of that corndog wasn’t one of them. or at least, he confidently said that in his head before realizing that the girl was right behind him. he turned at the feeling of a tap on his shoulder, having to glance down slightly to meet eyes with her. she had her eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her chest, sandal still in hand.

under any other circumstances, he would’ve found the girl attractive. but he had enough common sense to realize that it wasn’t a moment to fantasize when she looked murderous.

“now listen here, you corndog thief!” she bit out, jutting her bottom lip out in a pout as she thought of her words carefully. cute, he thought as her facade dropped for a moment. “that was the last corndog and I paid four of my precious dollars for it, sir, so you better buy me another one.”

“but they’re out!” he whined, annoyed at the thought of obeying her. she suddenly snapped her head at him, pushing close, looking like a snake ready to bite. he yelped, jumping back a short distance before rasping out a, “ok, ok! fine, I’ll buy you another corndog when they make some more.”

jeno wrapped an arm around haechan’s shoulder, chewing a corndog between his teeth as he grinned at the two. they both looked at him, surprised and furious. he only smiled to himself, taking a slow and teasing bite as he said, “sorry, guys, this is the last one.”

and haechan swore he had never tackled someone sooner.

he still owed the girl a corndog, but when she jumped to immediately help him tickle jeno until the corndog stuck to the sand beneath them, he figured it wouldn’t be so bad if he had to come back to repay his debt.

#lee haechan #lee donghyuck #kpop #writing #for nik <3 #fluff #nct dream #nct 127 #nct fluff #haechan

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prorevenge · 4 years

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[Long] How we destroyed our teacher and principal:

Apologies in advance if some details are blurry as this happened almost 14 years ago. Also, this is going to be a long one, so bare with me, I swear the result is worth it, at least it is to me.

The beginning: It all started when I (M25) was 12 years old. My grade 7 teacher (M46 at the time) was infamous for being intimidating and, in my opinion, abusive to his students. He was the disciplinarian of the school. He was in charge of keeping track of detentions and announcing who will be sitting every Friday during assembly.

We suspected at that time that the reason why he never got fired was either because his students were too scared to report him, or because of the fact that the principal was his brother-in-law.

Reasons why I hated him: He was constantly making vaguely racist remarks, complaining about the "New South Africa" and constantly bringing up how his life was better during the Apartheid regime (He's a white guy who was raised on a farm).

I always felt like he had an issue with me as a person because I'm a practising Muslim. He would make the class laugh at how "funny" Muslim women looked with their heads "wrapped up". His jokes about Muslims missing out on eating bacon were endless, in fact, he one day purposely stood in front of my desk eating a cheese and bacon panini.

He used to often rant about how the school is no longer a "pure Christian institution as it once was back in the day". He would say these things and glance at either me, my twin sister, or the black students in the class who practiced their own African religions.

When it was his birthday, my mom encouraged me to buy him a gift. I spent of my pocket money, which was already limited (my parents didn't believe in allowances) to buy him a big slab of chocolate and a long piece of Droëwors (dried sausage). Throughout the day, he would get gifts from students in his class and others.

He would get up from his desk to greet and thank them, and then shake their hand. I remember noticing this because I always found it weird when students shook hands with teachers because of how small our hands were compared to theirs.

However, when I gave him my gift, all he did was look at me for like a second, look away and nod his head slightly. I remember being thankful for not offering my hand out for him to shake because I thought he might have ignored it in front of the entire class. To say I felt like shit is an understatement.

The experience that made me hate him the most happened just before we wrote 2nd or 3rd term exams. I was walking with my friend David (fake name) back from the tuck shop during interval. We took a shortcut between the English and Afrikaans kindergarten classes and saw a group of boys huddled together.

One of them walked towards us and I saw that he had one of those camping multi-tools with the folding knife out, and instantly got a fright. He told us "Give me your stuff before I cut your neck" and then started laughing and walked back to his friends. It was clearly a joke but David looked close to tears and I had a very bad fright because of what he done. I told the guy (Fake name Xander) that he's not allowed to have knives at school and that I'm going to tell my teacher.

We walked straight to our teacher and when we spoke to him, David burst into tears.

We told him what happened and David was sobbing when he said he felt like he was going to die. Our teacher barely looked up from his computer while we were speaking and when he asked for the guy's name. We told him the name and he said he will deal with it and for us to go out for interval again.

I went home and told my mom who I felt didn't fully believe me at the time.

The next day we saw Xander were basically making fun of him for getting into trouble with our teacher and likely getting expelled at worst, or sitting a Saturday detention at best. He laughed back at us and said our teacher just came to his class, asked to speak to him and told him to never bring it to school again. No detention. No suspension. Basically nothing. He still had the knife on him for the rest of the day before.

We were so upset we went back to our teacher and I told him that Xander said that he didn't get into trouble for having the knife. He gave me the ugliest look as if I was bothering him, and coldly said to me that maybe I should fix my late-coming problem before I try to get other people in trouble.

I would come late 4 or 5 times a month because my mom's car's battery terminals were broken so the battery would run flat and she couldn't afford to have it fixed. She had to put the neighbour's battery in her car, start it, and then idle it while she took that battery out and put her own battery back in to charge up. My mom taught me the value of always having a number 10 spanner in your car lol.

I felt betrayed by my teacher. The person who was supposed to make us feel safe while we were away from home.

When I spoke to my friends about it, they told me that Xander was actually the principal's son, meaning he was my teacher's nephew. I decided to take the opportunity to speak to my friends about getting evidence that our teacher is treating students unfairly.

3 of my 4 close friends had camera phones. I sat in the far left corner, my one friend sat in the opposite corner by the door, our other friend sat in the middle, and the last friend was right at the back of the class by the window on the left. One thing about our teacher: he did not give a fuck about where we sat as long as we answered him when he done roll call and didn't bother anyone when we swapped seats.

We came to an agreement that whenever our teacher would sound like we was going to say something vaguely racist or islamophobic, we would all discreetly take videos of him.

Any private conversation we had with him was voice recorded on our phones. We caught him on camera telling a really racist joke about black people, and saying that Hindus must have a lot of problems since they have so many Gods. We caught him saying a lot of bad things, but a lot slipped through our fingers because we weren't fast enough.

It was extremely difficult to keep our friend group motivated to record him and not tell anyone else about it. It was especially difficult because at the time I had a hand-me-down Samsung D900 which was seen as an expensive phone at the time.

My mom prohibited me from taking it to school. She instead bought a cheap R79 ($5) phone for us that could only make calls and send SMS's. This was in case she needed to reach us in an emergency. I got caught several times sneaking my camera phone to school. My biggest mess up at school was when my mom phoned me on my Samsung and I answered it. Big oof but I was a dumbass.

After I think a month we decided that we couldn’t let it go any further.. One of our friends was a black guy named Tatenda (fake name). Tatenda was a problem child. His mom died when he was four and his dad was an alcoholic. He was raised mostly by his uncle who up until today I think was a pimp. He used to act out at school because of undiagnosed ADHD, his dad and uncle didn't believe in learning disabilities and always assumed he was just lazy and badly behaved.

Tatenda especially got onto our teachers nerves because not only was he black, but because he would bring broken calculators from home and take them apart during class. One day our teacher told him to clear his desk and throw away the bits of plastic and calculator shit. He ignored the teacher. The teacher then started screaming at him, and Tatenda done the only logical thing an 12/13 year old would do in such a situation: he mockingly put two pencils into his ears.

Our teacher lost his shit, grabbed Tatenda and threw him against the door. The narrow window pane cracked and Tatenda's head was bleeding. He told us he was fine during interval afterwards and we put money together to buy him a Sprite. I almost cried when my friend who sat way behind me said he got the whole thing on camera. We didn't even trust that the whole class' testimony would get him into trouble. We decided that enough was enough.

The revenge: First we showed the video to Tatenda's uncle, who showed it to his father. Then I showed my mom all the other videos and recordings.

She. Lost. Her. Mind.

One of my friends sent all of it to his older sister who had a Facebook account and she posted it there and tagged the school and as many parents as she knew. It blew up. Parents and people from around the province phoned the school demanding answers as to what is going to happen to our teacher. He was immediately suspended.

There were rumours circulating that he had to go into hiding because Tatenda's uncle and his friends were looking to kill him. I even met Tatenda's dad for the first time in the weeks after the whole thing exploded. He liked to joke that his dad sobered up especially for this lol.

The principal pulled Xander out of the school. We never saw him again. My mom told me an investigation was launched against the school because of the improper handling of bullying complaints. If I remember correctly, 3 English kids in my class alone spoke out against teachers dismissing their complaints of bullying by the Afrikaans kids. We were a mostly white, Afrikaans speaking school with 3 Afrikaans classes but only 1 English class per grade.

They called us"souties" which was short for "soutpiel" which literally tranlates as "salty dick". It's a derogatory term for English speaking, white South Africans. It means your one leg in is South Africa, your other leg is in England, so your dick is hanging in the ocean.

We only saw our teacher once after he was suspended. He looked badly beaten up, and was accompanied by a policeman and two other male teachers so he could gather the rest of his stuff from his class.

But it didn't end there.

Because so many kids needed the evidence that they were being bullied and nothing was done because of it, the CCTV footage was brought up. My friend's mother who was part of the school governing body that time, told us a few years ago that when they reviewed the footage, it became apparent that the principal was having an affair with one of the grade 2 teachers.

He could be seen grabbing her ass at the furthest point away from the camera. They slipped up a few times and kissed in clear view of the camera, but I guess once you're surrounded by the cameras everyday at work, you forget that they're there. It was very apparent that sometimes they thought they couldn't be seen.

My mom's friend's sister (basically my aunt) sells Tupperware and one of her regular customers and close friend's is the principal's ex wife. Not only did she leave him, but they were not married in community of property due to a prenup agreement. The house they lived in was in her name since before marriage, so she effectively made him homeless because none of his family wanted to take him in.

He ran into severe debt from staying in guesthouses and burned many bridges from overstaying his welcome at friends. As for my teacher, his reputation was destination fucked. He served jail time, don't know how long, and eventually left the country because it seemed everyone knew his face from the media attention he received.

The reason why I made this post: I was never going to tell this story on Reddit as I've told it over and over through the years since primary school. But I felt I had to because of what I experienced at the beginning of this year.

My family is part of a non profit organisation that has feeding schemes all over the country. The last Friday feed of February I'm standing security as I usually do since we're few volunteers and there's many homeless people and most are on drugs and can get violent.

I'm walking down the line to make sure there are no fights or anything that could start a riot, and I see a familiar face. My old principal is standing in the line, waiting for a bowl of stew and bread, with absolutely no idea who's standing beside him. Obviously he wouldn't have recognised me, but I never forgot his face. I'm not gonna lie, I cried quite a bit behind my sunglasses. Seeing him brought back the feelings I had when I was 12 years old in 7th grade, trying absolutely every excuse in the book to not have to go to school and be bullied by my teacher.

So yeah, for those of you who are still reading, this is the end of how my friends and I destroyed the lives of my teacher and principal.

If you got this far and are feeling depressed, worthless, or less than your peers, I love you. I appreciate you, and you, are seriously fucking awesome. Bye Bye..

(source) story by (/u/Mobi_Wan_Kenobi786)

#prorevenge #by /u/Mobi_Wan_Kenobi786 #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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lokiondisneyplus · 4 years

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Over five popular seasons, the story lines of “Better Call Saul” have unfolded across nail salons, fried-chicken joints and other strip-mall staples of American life.

When new episodes begin premiering next year, though, the locations that give the “Breaking Bad” spinoff its texture could be reined in or done away with altogether. The culprit? The novel coronavirus, which is limiting where the New Mexico-set AMC show can film, potentially altering both its style and substance.

“Like a lot of other people, we’re going to have to be very creative in where and how we shoot,” said Mark Johnson, the veteran producer who oversees the Vince Gilligan hit, whose writers just began collaborating on the series’s sixth season. “A lot of places just won’t let you in.”

Across the entertainment industry, casts and crew are beginning to return to work after a five-month hiatus. In states with loosened restrictions, such as Georgia and New York, production is starting to crank up under tight controls that alter how sets operate. Instead of crew members freely mingling, they’re being divided into “pods" that limit how production departments such as wardrobe or lighting can associate. Covid-19 officers monitor the health of the cast and crew to determine who is allowed on set. “Zones” dictate where those cast and crew can go.

These changes might seem technical, but they hint at the far-reaching effects the virus will have on final screen products. Interviews with 12 executives, writers, agents and producers across the Hollywood spectrum suggest a dramatically transformed world of entertainment. Until a vaccine comes along, they say, covid-19 will change what Americans watch as dramatically as it has where they work, shop and learn. Forget the new normal — movies and TV are about to encounter the new austerity.

Crowd scenes are a no-go. Real-world locations will be limited. On-screen romance will be less common, sometimes restricted to actors who have off-screen relationships. And independent films — that tantalizing side dish in the U.S. entertainment meal — could be heavily scaled back.

“A lot of people believe this is just about getting back to work,” said Mark Gill, a producer and former head of Warner Independent Pictures, the studio unit responsible for independent hits such as “Slumdog Millionaire” and “Good Night, and Good Luck.” “They don’t realize the massive cultural impact we’re about to face.”

For most of its history, Hollywood created entertainment based on a simple premise: Shuttle in large numbers of people and move them around at will. That’s certainly true of crews. But it especially applies to extras, the low-paid day laborers who pack sets and off-camera holding areas in order to create dense crowd scenes — and, in turn, lend the work real-world atmosphere.

Such scenes have of course been part of some of the most memorable moments in Hollywood history. From “Ben-Hur” to “Braveheart,” on-screen entertainment has become indelible thanks to hundreds of people you’ve never heard of packing tiny spaces, then moving as one when the cameras roll.

Yet the virus has essentially made these hires impossible. Many don’t want to risk their health for a $100 paycheck and remote shot at background glory, and producers don’t want to take on the liability even if they did. “Braveheart" used about 1,600 extras, many from the Irish Army reserves. Experts say the movie couldn’t come close to being shot today.

“Those of us in the entertainment business are not used to being told ‘no’‚” said Lucas Foster, a longtime Hollywood producer who counts the 2005 romantic-action hit “Mr. & Mrs. Smith” and last year’s Oscar-decorated blockbuster “Ford v Ferrari” among his credits. “And when it comes to things like crowds, there’s going to be a lot of no.”

Foster understands the challenges personally — he’s one of the first producers to have made a movie in the age of covid-19.

In March, the Los Angeles resident was in Australia, several weeks into preproduction on a new version of “Children of the Corn” when the pandemic began to spread. Millions of dollars had already been committed to the movie, adapted from the same Stephen King story that yielded the 1984 cult hit. So rather than shut down, he decided to proceed — cautiously. Foster created a production bubble, consulted doctors regularly, procured large amounts of tests, and engaged in elaborate workarounds in realms like crowd scenes.

He said it worked, but with major accommodations.

“I had to figure out how to do a crowd with no more than a few people at the same time. And with very specific camera angles. And by taking actors who would normally be close together and making them not close together,” Foster said. “In the end, I’d get the scene I needed but it looked different than it would have before the pandemic.” (Computer-generated crowds, he and other producers say, only work for more distant shots; anything requiring close-ups needs the real thing.)

It helped, he noted, that many of his actors were children, who are believed less susceptible to the effects of the virus, and that much of the movie was shot in cornfields and other vast outdoor spaces, a luxury not all films have.

Producers say the added cost required to implement all the safeguards could also result in a lower-end finished product. Films and TV shows achieve their level of shine through an endless period of refinement, with actors and directors often attempt 10 or more takes of a scene. With everything now going longer — and thus costing more — they may not have the luxury.

One producer of multiple studio hits said he expects the number of takes to drop significantly as the virus balloons budgets. He also expected a diminution in night scenes, which tend to be more involved and expensive than day scenes. He said some productions will be able to make the switch, but not all will be as lucky.

Also unlucky, say Hollywood veterans: movies where characters seek to get lucky. Many insiders say romantic scenes will be a major challenge in movies. Two agents separately reported they had high-profile clients who told them they wouldn’t shoot love scenes during the pandemic.

“I think every agency right now is looking down their client list to see which actors have spouses who are also actors, because then we could try to get them cast, too,” said one of the agents, who spoke on the condition of anonymity because they were not authorized by their company to speak to the news media. “I’m joking. Sort of.”

The added wrinkle is even if the actors trust each other in real life, many of their characters would still have to take precautions on screen.

“How do you send two characters on a first dinner date when people aren’t really going on first dinner dates?” said a creator of romantic comedies who asked not to be identified because they did not want to be seen as criticizing colleagues who are attempting new projects. “You can send them on a socially distant walk, I guess.”

Writers say that leads to a broader dilemma: how much to incorporate the pandemic into their stories. On one hand, they say they don’t want to pretend the virus doesn’t exist. But acknowledging it poses its own challenges.

“Do you really want your stars wearing masks because that’s what characters would do? Do you want to have people engaging with each other in groups no larger than six? Do you want to write stories where everyone is at a safe distance?” said Mark Heyman, the co-writer of “Black Swan” and “The Skeleton Twins” and creator of the CBS All-Access historical drama “Strange Angel.” “Because a lot of those things won’t be very much fun to watch.”

Yet if creators aren’t willing to do that, he said, it could lead to those shows or movies getting shelved out of a fear that audiences will judge them inauthentic.

Heyman was working on a series set in a high school for Netflix when the lockdowns began. That project has now been put on pause. “It’s not easy to make a show about high school,” he said, “when there is no high school.”

To avoid reminding viewers of the pandemic, creators may take an approach that will lead to an unusual trend.

“I think over the next few years you’re going to see a lot more movies set in the past,” Foster said. “Even movies written for the present will be changed. They’ll make it the ’90s because then you don’t have to deal with these questions. And then you can just put in some cool ’90s music, so everybody wins.”

A few creators have gone the other way, leaning in to the pandemic.

Writers on Apple TV Plus’s “The Morning Show,” set at a news program, have torn up existing scripts to make the pandemic a part of the story line, according to a person familiar with the show who was not authorized to speak about it publicly. But with a lag time of months between shooting and airing, experts say that creators also risk looking out of date by the time episodes release to the public.

Sensing an opportunity, horror filmmakers have also tried to embrace current events.

“The horror genre is very suited to the pandemic and lockdowns — we’re always trying to create a feeling of being trapped anyway,” said the horror filmmaker Nathan Crooker.

When quarantines hit this spring, Crooker gathered nine noted horror filmmakers and had them shoot an anthology film — short fictional movies connected by the larger virus theme — and titled it “Isolation.” He required filmmakers to use only the materials and people they were in lockdown with, even prohibiting Zoom and other technologies.

“I think we’re going to get a very cool effect that mirrors what people are going through,” Crooker said of his work. “But I don’t know that every movie that gets made would want to look like that.”

One consequence of the virus could turn out to be the movies that don’t get made at all.

Some of the most beloved films of the past two decades, from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” to “Whiplash,” “Little Miss Sunshine” to “Fruitvale Station,” were independently financed. But before rolling cameras, independent productions require insurance policies to protect them from workplace lawsuits, along with completion bonds, in which a guarantor assures they will step in with funds to finish the movie if production is halted.

Experts say no company will cover covid-19 with either policy, effectively preventing production.

“Covid is an absolute disaster for the independent-film industry,” said Sky Moore, a partner in the corporate entertainment department of the Los Angeles law firm Greenberg Glusker who has spent several decades putting together film financing deals. “The lifeblood of independent-film financing is loans, and loans need insurance. Now you have this massive hole in the middle of all of it.”

Moore believes the toll will be vast.

“I think 50 percent of the independent industry goes away,” he said.

(Movies financed by large studios do not buy these policies; Netflix or Disney would just absorb a shutdown or lawsuit as the cost of doing business.)

Even if they can work around the insurance issues, many independent films won’t get made because they simply won’t have the money. “It’s already hard to get funding for a lot of these movies,” said Shaun MacGillivray, a producer who makes large-scale independent documentaries. “And now you’re telling investors the budget is going to be 30 percent higher?”

The independent-film world is trying to push ahead, slowly. The Sundance Film Festival, the epicenter of the indie-film business, where companies like Hulu and Netflix sometimes pay more than $10 million for an independently financed movie, will hold a partially physical, partially virtual edition in January, albeit at just about half the length.

“We are reminded daily of the power of what is made newly visible to us, the importance of what we look at,” Tabitha Jackson, the director of the festival, said in a letter to staff this summer explaining why the festival needed to go on. “My hope for this edition of the Sundance Film Festival is that through a multiplicity of perspectives held by artists and audiences in their various communities we will also come to feel the power of where we look from.” Left unspoken: What happens in 2022, when the well runs dry because new movies can’t be insured and produced?

Whatever entertainment can get made, experts say, will have a more hermetic look. Even television shows, once shot heavily on sets, now often rely on the authenticity of locations; a police procedural feels like it does because detectives are popping into pizza places and apartment buildings.

“We don’t want everything to be a chamber piece,” said Johnson, the “Better Call Saul” executive producer. “But if many shows look different, I think that’s okay, because the world looks different.”

Then, considering the challenge further, he added, “And if that doesn’t work, then at least our show has a lot of deserts and open roads.”

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nmoroder · 4 years

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L4D(2) Actor AU

This is a (not complete) list of headcanons for the Actor AU me and my bro came up with during our Expert runs and running extremely low on morale. We created this as a sort of ‘happy’ AU which would also give some room to our own ideas, so some of this stuff below may only slightly be related to original. We understand.

This post won’t be updated but instead followed by other ones if something else arises, so check ‘l4d actor au’ tag on my blog for more!

Overall setting

The Left 4 Dead universe itself is a series of 90-min movies divided into first and second season, L4D1 and L4D2 respectively. This list will further refer to them as S1 and S2;

L4D is a series about, of course, zombie apocalypse, but teamwork and forming bonds between people are brought to spotlight. Both seasons consist of episodes where four Survivors try to find a solid ground and safety with every episode ending on a cheerful note but every next one starting with the cheerfulness destroyed. The episodes share their names and events with Campaigns;

Originally, L4D was created by a team of enthusiasts, consisting of friends, families and family friends, so they are all very immersed in process and really giving their best. Their collective is also the reason their funding isn’t very high and they’re mostly using their own equipment and props; this makes the series look less expensive and polished but retains the atmosphere and the main goal: to show people growing warmer to each other and learning to stick together;

The actors’ names are mostly created by combining the face model’s first name and the voice actor’s last name, though some other versions do take place (see S1 and S2);

The safehouse graffitis are inspired by the fans’ responses from forums and contests, so it’s some sort of communicating with audience through screenplay;

The Third Strike, more commonly known as Black and White Mode which occures after second incapacitation, was firstly discovered as a camera malfunction but then the team liked it so much that they decided to leave it as a feature and add the heartbeat effect and stuff;

Main plot line consists solely of canon Campaigns (that means it doesn’t include Last Stand and Cold Stream) but there were also suggestions to shot additional episodes - the Mutations. After S1 success, the authors posted their ideas on different ‘modes’ and fans added theirs as well and thus during S2 some more episodes were made using, for example, a male synchronized swimming team to create the Hunting Party mutation. The original Hunter actor also participated and the swimmers required to copy his behavior; they did it so well that sometimes the whole Survivor team was being overwhelmed once they began the take;

There are no stuntmen on board so every fighting scene is shot with original actors. When it requires to shove someone off with a weapon (e.g. Zoey shoving a Hunter off Louis in the L4D1 intro), after the take actors always ask each other whether they hit too hard, should they improve the movements etc. Different actors have different range so it’s a tricky thing to cooperate but they still manage (I’ll come back to this topic in L4D2 section);

Most Infected, especially Special Infected encounters are improvised, bringing more life and realism to the Survivors’ response. The Hunter is responsible for a fair share of their shock as they noticed him stuck at a saferoom ceiling only after a while (this is a reference to the glitches that allow the Hunter to get stuck under the roof in Versus);

There was a suggestion to run a Kickstarter campaign to gather money for a fanservice episode especially for shippers. While it was most likely a joke from actors who didn’t mind shipping, it’s still a suggestion and not in work.

L4D (Season 1)

Zoey shares the zombie movie obsession with her actress; Sonja was the most familiar with the topic among original team and provided a lot of help with setting up the scene, behaviour writing etc. Along with Louis and Boomer actors, she was the creator of original idea and can consider herself a founder of the series. She is also older than Zoey as a character, being already in her 25s while Zoey is a college student;

The original Boomer actor was a CGI specialist and offered his skills for post-processing while also playing an Infected role. He came up with the idea of a Boomer Infected himself and suggested his large physique to do the role with a little touch of computer graphics and makeup;

While discussing the major characters and personalities worth including, Zoey’s actress instantly remembered her neighbor, the big buffy tattooed guy who was her childhood friend, worked as a driver and spent his weekends with his favorite bike. She figured that it’s a nice image to have in a zombie apocalypse setting, and thus Francis’ actor made it to the set;

When it came to the image of a war veteran refusing to give in to monsters, Zoey’s actress was also the one to suggest another person to fill up the space: her father. He was younger than Bill was written to be but did the impersonating well. He’s got an overall friendly but bickering attitude towards Francis’ actor so most of lines written for Bill and Francis interaction were the ones actors remembered from their own conversations, slightly exaggerated;

Zoey’s actress and Louis’ actor were co-workers for several years and bonded over their mutual interest to zombie theme and shooting. She foud out that Sean attended a shooting range in his spare time and asked him to take her out too; thus she both found out he aces in ambidextrous shooting and got him to teach her how to wield a hunting rifle. The weapon preferences were carried over to respective characters;

Hunter’s actor became a surprise for the team as Francis’ actor brought him over saying that the guy’s got a fantastic voice (and a music band) and physique to make some badass new Infected for them. They got him to voice the crowd extras of common Infected but also came up with an idea of shrieking hooded parkour bastard to rip someone’s guts out, thus creating the Hunter as another Special Infected;

As the next Special Infected concept came out of the shadows - a lanky coughing tongue-twisting zombie who would grab the Survivors and restrict them, Hunter’s actor brought another person to the set. It was his music band co-participant who did drums and back vocals and also had an ability to eject the most horrible coughing sound out of his throat while being (seemingly) healthy. He took over the role of a Smoker;

Hunter’s actor is named Mike after Mike Patton, the voice actor for Infected and SI like Hunter and Smoker. Smoker’s actor is named Mike too but the fact that he plays drums and does back vocals is actually a reference to Faith No More, the band where Patton actually does vocals and Mike Bordin does what Smoker’s actor does. It sounds complicated but originally the idea of Hunter and Smoker actors sharing a name came from Patton voicing them both, and then I found out about the band and two Mikes present so... that was a weird but happy coincidence;

The fact stated above was the reason the team came up with nicknames just for two Mikes on the set - Hoodie and Tongue respectively. The tradition was carried over to S2 where the new Hunter actor would receive a patronizing nickname Kid from Survivors (see S2)

Of all Infected actors, Hunter’s actor was the least level-headed and even Francis’ actor sometimes doubted his past decision to bring him in. Nevertheless, Hoodie’s cheerful attitude and energy helped the collective stay positive and fuelled during especially hard days. It also brought out the less lethargic and melancholic part of Tongue and made him more lively about things;

Despite Hoodie being the Endless Energy Core which people tended to adore, he was still in a lousy relationship with Witch’s actress (her name, by the way, is different from the voice actress - it’s Rose). He kept a charmer’s attitude towards her even though she was a married woman; Rose tended to be neutral or mostly positive towards most colleagues but this behavior pissed her off big time, leading to Hoodie being injured by her stage costume claws after she punched him in the face for a really bad dating joke. Hoodie toned it down afterwards but their relationship didn’t improve much up until the end;

Witch’s actress is keen on baking and sometimes brings some to the filming set;

Since the budget was comparatively low, the team couldn’t afford a lot of crowd extras so they hired a group of people to then create an image of a Horde attacking by using CGI. That’s why there’s so much repeating common Infected on-screen;

The first season included all L4D1 original Campaigns, leaving The Sacrifice out as it was added later in a DLC. As S2 came into development stage, the team wanted to add an episode with the old Survivors team but Bill’s actor was unavailable at the time and was overall not hot with the idea of shooting movies anymore; so eventually they plotted the episode (The Passing campaign) to feature Bill being dead. The fans were shocked to find it out and demanded to know what exactly happened, thus leading to actually shooting The Sacrifice as a bonus episode to S1 (and requiring Bill’s actor to come back despite his attitude).

L4D2 (Season 2)

The collective decided to take a sharp turn on the new Survivors and create them being unacquainted and sort of separated at the start but growing closer as time passes by. The idea of S1 Survivors being almost a family to each other sounded great and played along just right but the team wanted to delve deeper into relationship problems and also have a change of scenery - and so they did;

The Infected team for S2 still consisted of some old faces (Boomer, Tank and Witch) but some had to leave the set for the time being and were unable to rehearse the roles, this being Hunter and Smoker actors. They got into music harder than zombie movies and planned to go on a tour so they could only leave their old Infected sounds as a legacy;

The new Smoker actor was a treasure Coach’s actor brought to the set. Since Coach was in fact a college coach, he kept a close eye on some problematic students under his wing and picked out the one he’d considered perfect and at the same time worth looking after. The guy was recovering from compulsory drug treatment and had some ugly scars all over his arms, making him an easier candidate for makeup;

Hoodie, on his part, brought a replacement on his own, and it was his brother - four years younger, even more insanely into parkour and a huge fan of L4D series, he made a perfect new Hunter. Despite being only a few years younger than Hoodie, he instantly became treated like a restless constant-questioner child, a literal piece of sunshine on the set, so the team came to call him just Kid. He adjusted to the nickname after a couple of weeks, though being seriously surprised at it at the start;

The actors of Ellis, Jockey and Charger all come from one family, being two sons and a father. Coach suggested the family as well, being their close friend for many years and pointing out Ellis’ actor appearance being something close to the laid-back mechanic they wanted for the new Survivors team;

Although fluently speaking in a Southern accent, Ellis’ actor isn’t very fond of it as he tried to get rid of it and move to a different state; the role obliged him to use the accent again though and it wasn’t hard to recreate, but he still didn’t take pride in it and was mostly annoyed with it and Nick’s jokes written in script;

Ellis’ actor is also the one more frequently complaining about amount of money the actors receive for their work on set. Their funding increased a bit since S1′s popularity strike but still;

Most of Ellis’ stories were written based on actual on-set incidents, usually featuring Nick’s actor (see below);

Nick’s actor, Taymour, is married to Witch’s actress and is a big fan of her performance in S1. When she heard the idea of having a snarky self-centered ladies’ man in the new Survivors team, she immediately knew who’d handle the role at his best. She also rehearsed the role of Witch just to make sure nothing bad happens to her husband on-set (also see below);

Nick’s actor suffers from constant bad luck incidents. He can accidentally break or twist something without serious effort; he’s also allergic to artificial blood and he is the reason the filming set actually features painkillers and functioning adrenaline shots. Despite all that, he’s got a positive attitude about bad luck and got used to being in a state of constant non-obvious danger, unlike others who geniunely worry about his well-being and fear that one day an accidental injury might end him once and for all;

This trait is also the reason Nick’s line “Can’t you see I’m limping here?” made it into the script - it was improvised after Nick’s actor badly hit his leg and was the last to make it to a saferoom during a take. The team liked it and decided to leave it in;

Nick’s actor treats his role with all respect and doesn’t consider it a small one despite the not so large fee. He’s also a complete opposite to the character, being a very friendly and kind-hearted guy to everyone on set; he can however switch back to his script personality with startling speed and it scared some of the new actors at first. Despite playing an asshole which is very different from real him, Nick’s actor enjoys it a lot and overall finds great joy in working with the team and bringing them together;

Bringing back the topic of being gentle to each other, Nick’s actor takes great care when it’s required to hit or shove someone in the take, keeping it mildest possible, unlike for example Ellis’ actor who can smash you in the face without a second thought;

Nick’s actor and Witch’s actress keep their loving attitude on set as well, sometimes making it hard to shoot scenes featuring a Witch killing; as they were shooting the Witch Bride scene where the same actress took place but had a different outfit and makeup, they ruined several takes by driving the dialogue in unwanted directions, e.g. “Ellis, go kiss the bride! No wait, I’ll do that myself” or “N: Sounds like my ex-wife... W: I still AM your wife, darling! >:C”;

With her husband on stage, Witch’s actress is probably closest to her role - she will tear apart anyone who dares to hit on Nick’s actor or mean any harm to him (as if his own harming isn’t enough...). The only one she’d go loose is Ellis’ actor, being an old close friend;

Ellis’ actor was the one who introduced Nick’s actor to his future wife. They’ve actually been close friends since the university and Ellis’ actor was among those who obviously saw Nick’s actor and Rose being in love but completely oblivious to it. Ellis’ actor is still kinda jealous that she took his best friend away and they can’t hang out anymore like they used to, but they get quite a lot of time on set so he’s less irritated about that;

Nick’s actor is especially supportive towards Rochelle’s actress, Shanola. She feels self-conscious because of her character’s rating being lower than expected and blames it on her performance, but Taymour keeps reassuring her that she’s doing amazing. Rochelle’s actress is also the one least accustomed to shooting a weapon and handling violence of any kind so it was hard for her to get her head into action. With the team fully supporting her, the progress sped up tremendously;

Ellis’ actor’s name is Jesy and he gets salty about people misspelling it or mistaking it for a female name. It was the inspiration to include the “El kinda sounds like a girl’s name” part of Ellis’ dialogue;

The team is overall friendly towards shipping dynamics in the series’ fandom, with the only one explicitly stating otherwise being Ellis’ actor. He’s espeicially upset with Nellis ship as people started shipping actors over it too; he stated multiple times that he and Nick’s actor have been best friends for so long that it’s simply wrong to imply any romantic and/or sexual relationship between them. He once stated in an interview that he’d rather believe an Ellis/Hunter ship and the fandom exploded with it on the next day, much to the actor’s chagrin. The Hunter’s actor, or Kid, however, wasn’t that upset and supported the idea. The team made no confirmation to any ships yet;

Nick’s actor is neutral to most ships including Nellis and doesn’t see why his friend is so angry about it. His personal favorites are Nick/Witch for obvious reasons and Nick/Hunter for less obvious reasons that he doesn’t state. He jokingly suggests Jesy from time to time to start a Kickstarter campaign for a Nellis-centered episode; it’s still unknown whether they’ll take it serious one day.

#left 4 dead #left 4 dead 2 #l4d #l4d2 #actor au #au #l4d actor au #longpost #morodertalks

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sadaboutniall · 4 years

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something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Eight. January, 2009.

He can’t get enough of kissing her.

Isla is his girlfriend now, has been for over two months, and Niall still can’t get enough of it: can’t get enough of walking with his arm around her in the hallway at school, can’t get enough of bringing her name up in front of Colm during practice, can’t get enough of the sight of her in his jumpers, can’t get enough of this, right now, the way he has her laid out underneath him on his twin-sized bed, his hands up under her jumper, her fingers tangled in his hair. They’ve been kissing for what feels like hours and he’s insatiable, riled up, pulls away every time he has to breathe only to feel like he’s suffocating without her mouth on his. He can’t imagine he’ll ever get enough of her. He can’t imagine ever going anywhere if she’s not around.

And she’s the same way—Isla’s never been particularly shy around him but he knows now that there’s a whole side of her no one gets to see, a layer just for him, where she’s passionate and loving and soft, never satisfied with just one more kiss, just one more cuddle. He thinks about when he met her, 7 years old and looking at him on the ground, covered in mud, and looks at her now almost exactly seven years later, sprawled out underneath him, a deep, purple hickey blossoming on her neck. The thought of how far they’ve come makes him want to cry.

Still straddling her, Niall sits back on his haunches, hands resting on Isla’s hips. It’s only a few days into January and outside Niall’s bedroom window it’s snowing—thick, heavy flakes falling to the ground fast and hard. It started hours ago and there’s a claustrophobic blanket of it covering the grass, the street, the trees, the cars, muffling every sound, softening every light. Night falls in mid-afternoon in January, too, making it feel like 11pm when it’s just barely 6:30. Isla’s been over since 10am and they spent the day mostly like this: snogging, napping, cuddling, laughing. She brought a book over and curled up next to him while he played guitar, they fucked around on FIFA together for a few hours, rolling over laughing as they designed the ugliest possible kits they could imagine, gave their squads the stupidest names they could think up. He made her an omelette for lunch—ham and cheese, her favorite—and almost choked to death laughing when she started joking about their head teacher, a spot-on impersonation that almost terrified him with how good it was.

When he’s with Isla, Niall doesn’t feel that familiar desperation to get out, that dread that his life is going to stop here, slam up against a brick wall on the edges of Mullingar and wither away. He still wants to get out but he thinks about doing it with her: he can figure something out for himself in London while she’s at uni and he can build something he’s proud of, wherever Isla is. He feels safe with her, less afraid of time pushing forward, of his life fading away.

‘You thinking about something?’ Isla slides her palms up Niall’s thighs and he focuses back in on the moment. Back in on his Isla. ‘You’ve got your thinking face on.’

‘Just uni and stuff,’ it’s easy, Niall’s found, not to keep things from Isla. He doesn’t feel stupid telling her what he’s thinking, even though he knows she’s a million miles smarter than he’ll ever be. ‘London.’

‘What about it?’ When Isla asks questions they’re gentle. Not probing, not accusatory. He doesn’t feel like she’ll laugh at his answers, or tell him the things he wants are out of reach.

‘Dunno, just,’ he scratches the back of his neck. ‘What I can do in London, while you’re at uni. I don’t know if I’ve got the marks to get into a music conservatory. I can try to do pub gigs, odd jobs, things like that, but I’ll need to figure out accommodation and rent in London is so expensive and—’

‘Niall, Niall,’ Isla reaches up to cup Niall’s cheek. Her hands are warm and soft and he calms down almost immediately. ‘We’ve got ages still. But we can look at conservatory programs and unis and stuff tomorrow if you want. I’m looking after Aiden while you’re at football practice but if you want to come over afterward we can use my dad’s computer.’

‘You’d look with me?’ Niall’s never felt like his future has been of that much interest to anyone.

‘Yeah, of course. We could go talk to Mrs. Healy, too, get her advice.’

‘Oh, Jesus,’ Niall grimaces at the thought of spending time with the school’s guidance counsellor, her suffocating office in the back of the administration building, the overwhelming cloud of perfume that follows everywhere she goes. ‘Spare me.’

Isla laughs, her nose scrunching up as she does. ‘I think she wears all that perfume to cover up the smell of her crush on Mr. O’Hagan.’

‘Stop,’ Niall’s jaw drops, Isla still laughing underneath him. He loves the way her laugh gets when she’s not self-conscious—her double chin, her lopsided smile, a cackle in the back of her throat. Her laugh is so funny that it sets him off too more often than not, and he’s already giggling before he can finish the rest of his sentence. ‘Do you really think?’

‘Oh my God, totally. Have you seen the way she moons over him? I bet she keeps a lock of his hair in her bra, or something.’

‘Is that what girls do when they have crushes?’ Niall’s sure his face is beet red from laughter, but he doesn’t care. ‘Do you need a lock of mine for yourself?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Isla leans up for another kiss, smiling against his lips. ‘The hair would need to be natural.’

When Isla’s dad comes to pick her up at 8, Niall walks her to the door. She’s wrapped up in one of his jumpers and a scarf but he can still see the dark hickey he left on her neck this afternoon, and Niall’s dad can, too, when he says goodnight to Isla in the kitchen.

Niall kisses her goodnight at the door and watches until the tail lights of her dad’s car disappear around the corner. The snow is still falling and his heart feels like the center of the universe, buoyed by endless possibilities for the future.

When he steps back into the kitchen, Bobby is leaning against the counter.

‘You’re being safe with her, Niall?’ He asks it straight out and the surprise attack works exactly the way it should: Niall doesn’t have time to think about his answer, to weigh whether or not it’s worth lying.

‘We’re not doing that, da,’ he says, and it’s the truth. He wants to, one day. He knows Mully and Emilia are, and a couple of his other friends, too. They’ve done a little touching, him and Isla, but nothing more than that—nothing that’s gone very far.

Bobby nods, and Niall exhales, relieved his dad believes him. ‘When you do, you can tell me. I don’t want you to make any stupid mistakes.’

‘Thanks, da,’ Niall makes moves for the stairs, but Bobby calls his name again. He turns back around.

‘She’s a sweet girl, Niall. I like her. Be good to her.’

‘I will, da.’

‘Boys your age can be eejits without realizing it. I just want you to use your head.’

‘You don’t need to worry about that, da. I’m not gonna do anything stupid. I love her.’ He hasn’t said it before, but it comes out easy, natural, the most logical thing in the world. He does love her. There’s no question about it, nothing scary about it, nothing new about it. He’s known it, he realizes, for the better part of a decade now—there hasn’t been a moment of his life since that day in 2000 that he hasn’t, in some way, carried the thought of her through. There hasn’t been a night without a dream about her, an afternoon without a few hours spent fantasizing about life with her. He feels safe and full and like things matter when Isla’s there. He feels happier with her than he could ever imagine being without her. He loves her. He has loved her for a long, long time.

‘Have you told her that?’ Bobby’s asking, and Niall shakes his head.

‘Not yet.’

Bobby nods. ‘Be careful.’

####

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#one direction #1dff #one direction fan fiction #niall horan #niall horan fic #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan imagine #niall #something about you #wooooooooo ok #thank you again to rand for the millionth time alsjfskdfdsf #an icon a legend

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gotemsayingw0w · 4 years

Text

It started as an innocuous statement. She might as well have been telling him about the weather or the grocery list. As Tohru Honda sat at the chabudai table early one Fall Sunday morning, bent over her computer screen furiously reading its contents, she turned to her boyfriend, Kyo, and said "I think we should probably get married soon."

Kyo Sohma chuckled into his cup of coffee. "Okay," He responded. "Let me know when you have some free time and I'll try to pencil you in." He assumed she was joking given the glib manner in which she had made the comment.

Tohru nodded, still entirely focused on the computer screen. "Yeah…maybe later this week..." Her voice trailed off. "I don't think either of us have to work on Thursday."

Kyo turned his whole body towards her, but she didn't look up from the screen. Her lips were pursed, a delicate finger pressed to her chin. In the reflection of her reading glasses he saw her scrolling through an endless page of dense text. He watched her for a minute, both waiting to see if she would continue her comments and to appreciate just how adorable she looked right in that moment. Occasionally, she stopped scrolling and mouthed the words on the screen, following along to the important information she gleaned from whatever text she was reading.

"You want to get married," Kyo summarized. "On Thursday. When we have the day off."

She nodded vaguely and mumbled "Did you have something else you wanted to do on Thursday?" Finally, she stopped scrolling entirely and pressed her finger to the screen. "Aha! Found it."

His curiosity got the best of him and he sidled around to her side of the table, gently nudging her over with his knee. On the screen was information about requirements for applying for a loan. Scanning the page further, the information specifically covered how one could apply for a housing loan in their ward of the country. Tohru grabbed a notebook from the floor next to her and jotted down the information on the screen.

"You want to get married on Thursday and then what?" Kyo asked. "Buy a house on Friday?"

"No, I think it takes much longer for the paperwork to process," Tohru responded, finishing her notes and closing the laptop. "The house would probably have to wait until the summer at least." She pulled off her reading glasses and neatly folded them on top of her notebook. "What do you think?"

Kyo just raised his eyebrows and smirked. He had no idea how to respond, seeing as his girlfriend had just quickly whipped together their future plans within the span of a few short minutes. It wasn't the first time, of course, that they'd talked about marriage or buying a home. It was just the first time anything had been said in such a conclusive manner.

They were true adults now in the eyes of the law. Their ward of the country asserted that both eligible parties must be at least 20 before applying to be married lest they have the approval of their parents. And seeing as Tohru's parents were dead and Kyo's only biological parent would rather see him dead, they didn't have the luxury of asking permission.

The assumption was that marriage was on the horizon, but neither of them were really in any hurry. Their lifestyle was essentially that of a married couple, especially now that they were living together far from home. They both worked full time, both were contributing members of society. Marriage would come one day soon, certainly, but no one was rushing it.

In fact, both Kyo and Tohru asserted on their last visit home that they'd like to be settled in a home of their own before getting married or even thinking about children. It may have been unconventional, but they were determined to save enough money to buy a permanent residence in their new, coastal town.

Three years ago they moved away, nearly five hours from where they both grew up. Kyo was working as a martial arts instructor at a local dojo, owned by a dear friend of Kazuma's, and Tohru initially worked at an elementary school before taking over as the dojo's scheduling and billing consultant. While initially they lived with Kazuma's friend, Takahashi, they scrounged up enough money after three months to move into a glorified shoebox.

Their apartment was small, but it was their home. The single bedroom meant that they couldn't have guests as often as Tohru would have liked (much to Kyo's delight). The kitchen had just enough counter space to hold a rice cooker or chop vegetables, but certainly not both. The main area served as a living room, dining room, guest room, and craft room. It was cheap and it was functional, but more than anything it was theirs. From the shrine in the bedroom to the immaculate kitchen to the photographs of them and their friends on the wall, they had made this shoebox their home and, in the process, saved as much as they could of their wages.

In truth, they could have afforded a bigger apartment. They maybe even could have afforded to buy a small house when they first moved here, given the Sohma family's strange and gratuitous allowance awarded to the Zodiacs (even the cat didn't have to be forgotten financially). But that money was in an account neither Kyo or Tohru wished to touch. They never talked about what they'd use it for, though Kyo had it in his head that he wanted to save it for his future children, but they both wanted to save their own money and put it towards their future. It meant working a lot and living a frugal lifestyle, but it was all theirs.

Tohru was the one in their relationship who budgeted and handled bills. Kyo knew the very basics of finances, but Tohru, who was running the finances in the Honda household by the time she was in middle school, seemed to enjoy it. And she was good at it. Once Yuki taught her how to use a computer to pay all of her bills and track their expenses, she became an amateur accountant. She was meticulous and methodical, carefully keeping tabs on every receipt, every bank account balance, and every bill that was due.

As their savings grew, Tohru and Kyo began informally looking for a home to buy. It wasn't a very serious search, they simply went for walks around the neighborhood pointing out houses for sale and debating what they wanted in a home. Yuki had also sent Tohru a real estate website where she could look at local listings and compare the average prices with her budget. It was April now, and, since January, Tohru had been actively researching homes and the home-buying process.

But now her gears had shifted. They had decided to buy the house first and then worry about marriage, children, and the rest of their lives. Curious as to what changed, Kyo asked her about her shift in mindset.

"When I was at the bank on Friday, the teller was asking about you," Tohru explained. They'd grown quite fond of the local store personnel in their new town and Tohru was always making friends wherever she went. "He said that it is a great time to buy a home, but we'd have an even better chance of getting a good loan if we're married."

"Sounds kind of ridiculous," Kyo commented.

Tohru nodded. "That's what I thought, but when I started looking at loan applications online and doing my research, he's right. Joint household accounts are more likely to get a better rate.

"So then I started looking into getting married and it's really not a lengthy process. It would take us maybe two hours maximum to do it and then, after a few weeks, we could look for a house and apply for a loan." Kyo nodded, taking this all in. "Plus, with our lease ending this summer, it's a good time."

Kyo pondered this new information and tried not to laugh. It was so like her to view something as serious as marriage in such a practical light. She was never extravagant, nor did she like to be the center of attention. In her mind, they were essentially already married, the only thing that was missing was some paperwork and his last name.

Kyo didn't romanticize the idea of a wedding either, really. It seemed like an expensive excuse to wear clothes he hated and be around his family. The only thing about marriage that really mattered to him was Tohru. It was the idea that Tohru Honda could become Tohru Sohma, declaring to the government and everyone else that she was truly his. And for her to wear a ring on her finger so that there would be no doubt.

But he also knew that while it may have been their marriage, it wasn't entirely about them. He would never hear the end of it if they got married at the municipal office without telling Uotani or Hanajima. He knew that, while Shishou would never say anything, it would mean the world for him to be there. And, one day, Tohru may look back and wish that they'd done something special, even if it wasn't traditional.

"Do you really just want to fill out the paperwork and that's it?" Kyo asked. "No ceremony, no ring, nothing?"

She pondered this, once again adorably pressing her finger to her lips. "Well, I think I'd probably like a simple ring," she said. "But I'm not sure about the rest. Having a traditional ceremony is so expensive and I'd really hate to inconvenience everyone with such a long, drawn out process."

Kyo chose not to address the fact that, if they did have a traditional wedding, the entire Sohma family would be over the moon rather than 'inconvenienced.' "But what about Uotani and Hanajima? What about the rat and Shishou?" Kyo asked. "You don't want them there?"

Tohru frowned and it was clear to him that this thought hadn't crossed her mind. "I guess Uo-chan and Hana-chan would be pretty upset if I got married and didn't tell them…"

"Yeah, they'd probably try to kill me," Kyo chuckled, imagining Uotani's blind yankee rage. "Plus, think about how upset Ayame and Mine will be if they can't make you a dress or furisode." Her brow furrowed as his words sank in. "Aaaaand think about our future children one day. They'll be so disappointed when they hear that all their parents did to get married was ask a government official nicely."

Tohru nodded and said, "You're right, you're right. I didn't think about all of those things."

"So…" he said, waiting for her to decide on an alternative plan.

She raised her eyes towards the ceiling and thought for a minute, before turning to him, a gleam in her eye, as she said "I have an idea."

"This is the most pitiful wedding I've ever seen." Fanning her face with a stack of pamphlets, Arisa Uotani sat slumped in a plastic chair in the local municipal office.

"It is...fairly grim," replied Yuki Sohma, equally uncomfortable in the stifling heat.

"Would the two of you please shut up?" Kyo asked. He wasn't happy about it either. The tiny office where the three of them were currently stuffed was humid, a sheen of condensation glistening on the window, nearly blinding him as the late afternoon sunlight poured into the room.

A month ago he had suggested inviting the two of them. What an idiot he was. He should have taken Tohru's idea and ran with it. Two hours, some signatures, and absolutely no family or friends at their wedding? Thinking about it now, it was the absolute dream.

"I'm just saying, you at least could have added some nice, romantic touches," Arisa insisted. "Flowers, maybe? A tuxedo?"

"How about a bride?" Yuki added, chortling to himself.

"I'm here, I'm here!" Tohru shouted, running into the room with Hanajima and Kazuma behind her. Kyo tried to ignore just how close the damn psychic was standing to Shishou as he rose to greet them.

"Tohru, please tell me this is a joke, right?" Arisa asked though she looked pointedly at Kyo as she spoke.

"We've been over this, Yankee," Kyo said, through gritted teeth. He grabbed Tohru's hand as she sat down in the chair beside his.

"Really, Uo-chan," Tohru insisted, grabbing her friend's wrist with her free hand. "This is what I wanted."

"It's lovely, Tohru-kun," said Kazuma. And even though Kyo could tell he was being dishonest, he appreciated the sentiment. He stole one more glare at the Yankee before turning around.

"Did you remember everything to bring?" Kyo asked, his tone softening as he spoke with Tohru.

She held up the large shoulder bag as proof. "I didn't forget a single thing," she responded, her smile sweet. "Did you bring everything you needed?"

He responded by holding up his ratty gym bag and she giggled. They waited a few more minutes before the marriage registrar joined them. They'd met with Daisuke a few weeks ago to go over what they wanted. He winked as he walked into the tiny office.

"Hello there," He responded, greeting the room. "Thank you all for coming, but we'll need the room for a few minutes before we're ready for you. There is a lovely balcony just outside the backdoor. How about you wait for me there?"

Arisa and the rat grumbled, but obliged. Kazuma, who had been let in on the plan last week, turned to Kyo and Tohru, his eyes already wet. "See you in a few minutes," he said, before ushering the rest of them through the door.

Daisuke sat at his desk and smiled warmly at Kyo and Tohru. "Okay, you two. Do you have all of your paperwork?"

Tohru pulled a pink file folder out of her bag. Inside was both of their birth certificates, signed marriage contracts, and her letter of intent to change her name. She handed everything to Daisuke and he gave her a new ID card with the family name Sohma listed where it used to say Honda.

"You know," Kyo said, a wicked grin on his face. "We can just leave now and never see the rest of them again." Tohru frowned at him in response and he said "Okay, okay, sorry. Just checking to see if you were coming around to my idea. Clearly the answer is no."

"If you leave that means I will have to take care of your friends," Daisuke reminded him. "Everyone vetoed that idea last week."

Kyo groaned, but nodded. "Fine," he said, though the sarcasm dripping in his tone was clearly forced. "I'll go change. But just know you had the option."

Tohru narrowed her eyes at him, but he waved her off. He grabbed his gym bag and went into the hall to the bathroom. Once the door closed, Tohru reached into her back and grabbed the wrapped box she had prepared for Kyo. "You'll hold on to this for after, right?" She asked. Daisuke tucked in under his desk and nodded. Tohru grinned and rose to go to the bathroom to change. "I'll see you in the lobby!"

Out on the back balcony, five individuals sat facing the ocean in the rapidly dimming autumn sunlight. Arisa and Saki sat together on one bench with Kazuma and Yuki sitting together on the other.

Arisa's patience was rapidly depleting. She blew a few loose strands of hair off of her face before saying "You know, if they make us wait any damn longer, we're all gonna be sitting here in the dark."

Daisuke joined them on the balcony. "They're coming, I promise. Kazuma-dono, you can go ahead inside."

Arisa grumbled under her breath "dammit, why does he get to go inside? The three former classmates sat outside, not talking, but each waiting as patiently as they possibly could. For Saki and Yuki, that meant slight fidgeting. For Arisa it meant continued cursing.

After a minute, Kyo joined them outside. He came and stood next to Daisuke, smirking at three of the closest friends he's ever had (God, that's bleak, he thought) and their vaguely annoyed faces. "You guys better fuckin' smile, it's a happy day."

They stared at him, dumbfounded, and under their scrutiny, Kyo strongly resisted the urge to loosen his tie or untuck his shirt. As they continued to stare, clearly shocked he was wearing a suit and even more shocked that he was grinning ear to ear.

"Damn," Yuki said, clearly the most shocked out of the three of them. "You actually look...decent." Arisa and Saki nodded. "Who knew you would ever wear a tie after graduation?"

"Last time it's ever fuckin' happening," Kyo insisted.

"What about for any of our weddings, jackass?" Asked Arisa.

"I'm sending Tohru as my proxy," he replied with a smirk. "Now would you shut the hell up? She's comin' out soon."

As he said those words, the door to the municipal office opened and Tohru emerged wearing a Western-style white dress. It wasn't extravagant, but its silhouette hugged tightly to her chest and flared out with a tulle skirt just above her knees. Her hair, presumably curled by her beloved Hana-chan earlier in the day, was held in a loose updo by a gold hair clip that had belonged to her mother. When she had called Ayame and Mine to ask if they had anything in storage they could send her to wear, a week later a package with Kyo's black suit and Tohru's handmade custom dress arrived on their doorstep. Tohru cried the moment she opened it and Kyo actually teared up a bit, too.

But it was nothing compared to either of their crying now. The second she stepped out onto the small, concrete portico, and caught his eye, she started weeping. Shishou, standing at her left, handed her a tissue he'd been holding in his robe. He was crying, too. And seeing the both of them, tears openly flowing, made Kyo lose it as well. He couldn't help it as a tear rolled down his cheek, hitting the lapel of his blazer. Followed by another and another. And the second she came to stand next to him, they both were a snotty, weepy mess.

Shishou returned to his seat next to Yuki, and Yuki, knowingly, put his hand on Kazuma's forearm.

As the sun set, casting deep pinks and bright oranges through the clouds above them, Kyo Sohma and Tohru Honda exchanged their wedding vows. They held tightly to each other's hands the entire time, not even bothering to look at Daisuke or their meager audience as they repeated the traditional Shinto vows wearing Western clothing. They exchanged simple, matching gold wedding bands, giggled as they heard sobs from their friends, and laughed through their tears when Yuki offered Kazuma the sleeve of his shirt to cry into.

And ten minutes after they walked outside, they swore to one another that they would be together until the end of time. Always supportive. Always patient. Always respectful. Always in love.

"Yes, I promise." Chikaimasu.

They entertained Kazuma's idea of having dinner altogether at a local restaurant. Before leaving, in the brief moment they had alone, Kyo reminded Tohru that they could ditch everyone else and just head home. But she gently kissed him as she loosened his tie and reminded him it was just a meal they had to get through before they could be alone.

They were eating a nicer yakiniku restaurant, naturally suggested by Hanajima even though neither Kyo nor Tohru really preferred it.

Kyo suffered through what felt like the longest meal of his life. Everyone at the table insisted on 'saying a few words on their behalf.' Some of the speeches were brief, especially the psychic's and the rat's. But Arisa spent roughly 15 minutes rambling and, at times, yelling through her tears about how proud she was. Kazuma, who had actually prepared a small speech, started crying and struggled to get through it without taking several crying breaks.

Yuki, Saki, and Arisa ordered several rounds of sake before their meal was even ordered and continued to get drunker (and, as expected, more weepy) as the evening went on. They ordered several course's worth of food and then Yuki presented a cake he had purchased to celebrate the occasion. They were presented with gifts, mostly sentimental ones aimed at Tohru from the three twenty year olds, but also an unreasonably large check from Kazuma, which Tohru spent approximately 30 minutes insisting they couldn't accept. Yuki brought a canvas tote stuffed with cards and gifts from the rest of the Sohma clan.

When the check was finally paid, Kyo stood before everyone else, grabbing Tohru's hand as he did so, and announced "Well thanks, everyone, but it's getting late."

"That's rude," Yuki muttered drunkenly.

"Shut up," Kyo retorted as Tohru stood next to him. "I just sat through a long-ass dinner with you and didn't complain the whole time. You're welcome."

"Plus, we'll see you in the morning for breakfast!" Tohru exclaimed, stepping around the table to give each person a hug. "Are you sure you can get back to the guesthouse by yourselves?"

"Yep," Kyo responded. "They're sure. Shishou, thanks for dinner. See you in the morning. Bye."

As he pulled Tohru out onto the street, he couldn't help but stop to kiss her deeply. She giggled as she did so, eyes tearing up once more. "That was a long dinner," she admitted after pulling away. She reached for his hand and gently tugged him in the general direction of their home. "Come on, husband, let's go home."

They ascended the four flights of stairs to their apartment and unlocked the door. For an unknown reason, Kyo felt his nerves ignite. It wasn't because it was their first night as husband and wife, no, they'd crossed the intimacy bridge years ago. It was truly the first night of the rest of their lives.

"I have something for you," He said as he slipped off his wildly uncomfortable shoes.

"I have something for you, too!" She exclaimed. "I was going to give it to you earlier, but we didn't really have a chance." She reached into her bag and removed the gift. "Here, take it with you to the bedroom and I'll meet you there. I just want to take my hair out in the bathroom first."

He entered their room and pulled the box he had for her out from under a stack of shirts in his dresser. He carefully hung the blazer in the closet along with his tie while he waited for her and then sat on the bed, sliding her present in front of him and leaving the one she'd wrapped next to him.

Tohru emerged from the bathroom after a few minutes, out of her dress and wearing a simple white silk yukata. She had it tied loosely around her waist, the neckline dipping deliciously low and the hem ending just at the middle of her thighs. Her hair, previously set in curls and tied back, floated loosely around her face, traces of curls still visible at the very ends. She wore a set of ornately woven lace stockings, which ended just where the yukata began. A light, pink blush crept across her cheeks as she sat across from him. Kyo felt all of the air forced from his lungs. She was a vision.

He quickly shoved the gifts aside. "Gifts later," he begged and she smiled as she grabbed his hands.

"Gifts first, please," She requested. And though his entire body screamed in protest, he didn't deny her.

"Fine," he agreed, trying to focus his gaze away from her cleavage and whatever the hell was under that yukata.

She placed her long, thin package in his hands. "You first," she insisted. He carefully unfurled the ribbon and tore through the wrapping paper. As he unwrapped the gift she hurriedly explained "I got you one practical gift and one silly gift, but if you don't like them…"

He bopped her on the head with the lid of the box before he looked inside. "Oh, would you hush. I already love them."

"But you haven't seen them!" She exclaimed and shoved the box back into his hands. He pulled the larger gift out first. It was a simple, nondescript book with a soft leather cover. As he opened the cover to see the lettering she took his hand and said "Really, it's silly. It's okay if you don't like it."

He ran his fingers over the raised lettering of the inside cover. Kyo and Tohru Sohma. As he read it, he felt the backs of his eyes sting and his throat close. When he turned to the first page and saw the first picture taken of just the two of them, a tear ran down his cheek.

"I didn't even know this picture existed," he said, choking on his words.

It was the two of them at one of the shrines in Kyoto. They were standing together, Kyo balancing his arm on the top of her head and smirking. Tohru had a wide grin, her eyes not looking at the camera, but rather laughing at whatever he had been saying then. They both had a faint blush painted on their cheeks.

"Hana-chan took it," she explained, also tearing up. "I didn't think you ever saw it. I held onto it. Actually, I kept it under my pillow when we lived with Shigure-san."

He smiled at her. "I would say that's really dorky and embarrassing, but I would have done the same thing if I knew it existed, honestly."

She giggled and sidled up to his side as he flipped through the rest of the book. He knew the rest of the pictures well, pictures from graduation with, thankfully, the rest of their friends cropped out. Pictures of them on the day they had moved. Pictures of them in their new home. Candids of them eating or cooking together.

He closed the book and kissed her sweetly on the lips. "I love it, thank you." She smiled and wiped her tears with her hand. As she did so, he caught the gleam of her wedding ring in the dim light and his heart constricted once more. "I have an idea, actually."

"An idea?" She asked.

"Yeah, hear me out," He insisted. "I got you a practical gift and a silly gift, too. But I only want to give you the silly one tonight because it really goes with your gift. We can do practical tomorrow."

Tohru smiled and nodded. "I agree. Only mushy for tonight." She reached for the box next to him and he presented it to her. It wasn't nearly as neatly wrapped and the only damn wrapping paper he could find in their apartment had pumpkins on it, but whatever. She gently unwrapped it and lifted the lid. Inside was a slightly thicker book, bound with a beige canvas cover.

She opened it and, just like he was minutes ago, was struck by the raised letter on the first page. She immediately devolved into sobs, resting her head on Kyo's shoulder as she read it over and over again. The Sohma Family.

There was a single page with a picture and a small note written in calligraphic handwriting. It was a picture of them, in their wedding garb prepared by Ayame, taken with Tohru's phone three weeks ago when they'd first received a package. They were standing in the apartment against the living room wall, phone propped up across the room. It certainly wasn't a conventional wedding picture, but they certainly didn't have a conventional wedding. Beneath the picture was the date they had planned for their wedding and those same words she had printed in her book. Kyo and Tohru Sohma.

"Did you write this?" Tohru asked through her sniffles, running her fingers across the words.

"Hell no," Kyo responded, laughing. "I asked Hanajima to do it for me. She wanted me to pay her. I sent her a gift basket with food instead."

She beamed at him, eyes red, but sparkling. "Kyo-kun, that's even more sweet that you asked her for help. I love it. But why is the rest blank?"

Kyo rapped her on the head with his knuckles. "Dummy," he said, his voice affectionate. "That's for us to fill up for the rest of ever. With kids or cats or goblins we find outside. It's the Sohma family."

She kissed him sweetly on the lips, shuffling into his lap as she did so. "Thank you. I really, really love it." She kissed him once more and then pressed her forehead to his.

"Okay, can I open my last present now?"

Tohru's brow furrowed. "I thought we said tomorrow?"

"No, no," Kyo responded, gently untying the sash on her yukata as he pressed his lips to her jawline. "Not what I meant." She giggled as she shrugged out of her robe, revealing the elaborate, see-through lingerie that Ayame had sent her a week later.

"Okay, okay, I suppose you can, husband," she teased.

He pressed his lips to her breast and hummed in appreciation. "Happy wedding, Mrs. Sohma."

Author's Note: I got married in March right before my state shut down! My husband and I didn't want to ever get married (we've been together for 6 years), but then he needed health insurance and I had it, soooooo we did it. I started working on this piece right after we officially got married, but it was a WIP for a long time.

For some reason, I hardcore headcanon these two not having a fancy or traditional wedding. Neither Tohru nor Kyo like being in the center of attention and Tohru is so frugal. Idk it just makes sense to me. I know it is definitely not the usual "Marriage of Tohru and Kyo" and I really do love pieces where the wedding is elaborate, Shinto or Western. But for me, this is how I imagine it. Please enjoy!

#@kyoruweekofficial #kyoruweek2020 #sunset #kyo sohma #tohru honda #tohru fuckin' sohma

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dreamcatcherjiah · 4 years

Note

I had started to wonder if you were ok just know that you’re doing amazing! Sending positive vibes your way 🥺 if it’s not too much stress can I get a little dancer reader x rapper Yoongi Drabble please? 😊💜

Hello love!! Yes, in general I am doing just fine, just supper busy studying for my finals! It is not any stress at all, you just gave me what I needed!🥺🥺🥺 I hope you like it, and feel free to request anything else if you want!!💜

Pairing: Dancer reader x rapper Yoongi

Words: 1.3k

The first day dancing for this new company, this should be exciting. I mean, it would be if you weren’t running incredibly late. It wasn’t your intention, it just seemed like traffic was completely against you. The subway, crowded as it always was, should have been your first choice of transportation, the bus was proving to be a failure.

After the long auditioning process, preparing endless routines in the least amount of time possible, putting your life on hold to get this one job, it was all going to be futile if this giant metal box refused to move a minute longer. You couldn’t be late on your first day, you just couldn’t.

On the next stop, you decided to go the rest of the way walking, and got off the bus. Running was not much of a hobby for you, but just today it would have to do. You flew by department stores and restaurants, convenience stores and coffee shops. What wouldn’t you give for a strong cup of coffee right about now? But no, you needed to power through and get to that shiny building you could already see on the distance. Looking down at your watch, you allowed yourself to take a deep breath, relieved; if you continued running just the way you were, you might just make it with a couple of minutes to spare, but not enough time to get a coffee, sadly.

Without even time to look back up again, you collide with a hard body and fall back, barely registering the tenderness on your lower back. Looking at the other person, t-shirt and jacket completely covered in coffee, you curse your luck. Just what you needed today, damn you, Murphy!

“I’m so sorry!” you say, hurriedly while you scramble to your feet, “I wasn’t looking where I was going, are you okay?”

“It was iced Americano,” answered the man, with a deep raspy voice that had you doing a double-take. Thank your lucky stars it was iced Americano, at least you hadn’t scalded him, but his voice though… Wait now is definitely not the time to be mesmerised by his voice. No matter how deep it was. Focus!

“Still, I am fairly sure you wanted to drink it, and now you are wearing it…” fishing through your bag, you got a notepad and a pen, writing quickly while your eyes moved over his ruined clothes, and a light jolt went through you when you recognised the brand. Your clumsiness was surely going to cost you.

“I am running incredibly late, but here’s my number. Text me when you replace the t-shirt and the jacket and I’ll pay for it,” it would be ramyeon for lunch for quite some time for you, apparently.

Receiving the slip of paper with a nod, the both of you looked at each other.

“I thought you said you were late?” he asked, eyeing you through his glasses and mask. His tone was weirded enough to drive the message through; You’ve done enough spilling my coffee, get going, weird woman.

Seeing how fast the time had gone by, you threw a last look in his direction and started running again.

Thanks to some divine intervention, you managed to arrive just in time to change your shoes and join the dance team in the training room. Warming up and focusing on your body’s movement managed to push the thoughts of the coffee stranger from your mind. The adrenaline pumping through your veins giving you the right mindset to focus completely on the precision and accuracy with which you copied the choreographer moves and reproduced them. This was the happiness you only felt when your body was moving to the rhythm of the music.

Once practice was over, everyone started leaving, going out of the room in small groups, and soon enough you were alone. Moving to the computer, you restarted the song and kept practising the moves. There was a particular move you liked when you managed to get the tempo right, satisfaction filling your chest fast and sure, and you wanted to get it down perfectly before you left for the day.

So focused you were that you didn’t see the door opening, and the black-clad figure stay on the threshold, arms crossed while they watch you practice.

“So you arrived in time?” asked a voice to your left, and you lost your footing quite ungracefully, landing on your backside. The soreness was back and you looked up for the second time that day. A strange déjà vu. And then understanding washed over you, and you felt utterly out of your depth.

“I would say that you have poor research skills, but I don’t want to make you feel bad… after all, it’s not your fault that you’re clumsy on top of that. I would know, I live with Namjoon.”

If you could move, you would have facepalmed. Without his mask and the reading glasses, it was obvious you should have recognised him. You had spilt coffee on one of the biggest world-class rappers of the moment and had offered right after to pay for his clothes. You didn’t actually know how to feel, but the only thought going through your head now was how to get up from the floor without damaging your dignity any further…

“I’m so sorry!” you said, picking yourself up for the second time that day, “I was running late, and I wasn’t paying much attention, I’m sorry… But wait, poor research skills?”

He just laughed and went to the table where the laptop was still playing the song you were dancing to. Now that you thought about it, the vocals were incredibly familiar. Closing the computer, he bent down and picked a beanie and a phone up from one of the chairs and turned around to look at you.

“Poor research skills because you didn’t even look up who else worked at the company you are working for now,” he answered, laughing softly at your face. No doubt you must look as dumbfounded as you felt.

“Of course I knew who worked here, I just wasn’t expecting to find one of them on a coffee shop ten minutes from the office and I surely wasn’t expecting to drench him in coffee…” you mumbled, looking everywhere except at the idol standing in front of you.

“I would say we drenched each other,” he chuckled, “your sneakers are beyond ruined.”

Looking down, you noticed just then that what he was saying was true. Your previously white shoes were now tinted brown, irregularly and messily. Go figure, only you would not notice your feet were wet and cold. And your sneakers, as he had so very well pointed, beyond ruined.

“They could pass for expensive trendy sneakers,” you said, turning your left foot from side to side, examining the disastrous brown pattern, “I mean, ripped jeans are a thing now, right?”

He laughed harder this time, and you couldn’t help but giggle at your own joke. He was completely different from what you had always thought he was like.

“I don’t think the rule that says ripped jeans are fashionable applies to sneakers that reek of americano…” his eyes were now turning into little crescents, so much he was laughing. At least the awkwardness of the situation was washing off a little.

“Yeah, I know. These little ones will have to go, I guess. You’ve been loyal friends, my dears,” now you were laughing too. How could your day have taken such a turn so suddenly, you wouldn’t know. But it wasn’t a bad turn.

“Why are you such a drama queen?” he asked you, with mock accusation. He raised an eyebrow at you and started writing something in his phone. When he was finished, he looked back at you with a barely concealed smirk.

Your phone went off in your bag. Looking at him suspiciously, you walked over and unlocked your phone to find a text message from an unknown number.

“I’m incredibly busy producing this track, but text me when you replace your ruined sneakers for new, trendy ones, and I’ll pay for them ;) -Yoongi.”

#BTS request #bts drabble #bts yoongi #rapper yoongi #yoongi x reader #dreamcatcherjiah #open requests

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tysonrunningfox · 4 years

Text

Toothless: Return to the Black Pony of Second Chances: Part 6

This is kind of a weird little limbo chapter leading to further shenanigans but whatever

Ao3

I don’t get involved in drama.

Really.

I don’t.

I don’t care who’s dating who, or whatever. It doesn’t matter. I don’t mention it whenever I see someone sneak home late at night. It’s just not something I care about, beyond the fact that the person in question will largely be lazy and useless the next day.

It doesn’t matter that Hiccup was having a video call with a pretty girl, because no matter how many times Ruff comments on how tall he is, I don’t care.

In fact, it matters even less because he’s largely been non-whiny the last few days, at least compared to the twins or Snotlout. Fishlegs is whiny in a different way, because the accommodations aren’t luxurious or intellectual enough for him, but again, I don’t argue because I don’t do drama.

I don’t do dramatic exits, abandoning things with a sweep of an imaginary cape as I stalk off for a fresh start.

Apparently, Hiccup does.

Or at least he abruptly leaves dinner with most of his plate uneaten, and I’m left chewing on perfectly cooked steak that’s suddenly gone dry in my mouth, his dad not staring at me so pointedly that he might as well be glaring.

Fishlegs scrapes his fork across his plate and it’s fingernails on a chalkboard.

Tuffnut picks his teeth.

And it’s Snotlout, fucking Snotlout, who breaks the tension.

“Is anyone going to eat that?” He points at Hiccup’s plate, avoiding my eyeline even though it’s clear he thinks he needs my permission, and my teeth grind together unconsciously.

I swallow and stab at a potato with my fork.

“Because if no one’s going to eat that—”

“Go for it,” I bark, making the decision that no one else will.

I don’t blame Mr. Haddock, and not just because I can’t blame him, but because he just promoted me, effectively, and this is my problem to deal with. And I don’t know how to act, because I’ve never been good with the interface between ‘boss’ and ‘family’ and exactly how my loyalty should be weighted within that matrix, but it has largely always centered on the horses.

And Mr. Haddock takes care of the horses.

“I mean…if no one else wants it,” Snotlout feigns hemming and hawing even as he pulls Hiccup’s plate towards him and I scowl.

“Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” It’s directed at everyone else, but Snotlout has to comment, because of course he does.

“If you’re proposing, is this where someone is supposed to object, or?” He laughs.

No one else does.

I take my last bite of food, teeth clicking against the fork before I stand up.

“I’m going to go check the fences.”

“Astrid,” Mr. Haddock tries to let me off of the hook I mounted myself and I pick up my plate.

“It’s a nice night, I’d like the ride.”

Once my plate is washed and on the drying rack, I risk the hallway I never walk through to get to the back door, because right now, walking past dusty family photos is better than dealing with Snotlout. The one closest to the door gives me pause, a gangly second grader between two smiling parents with that stereotypical posing smile, the uncomfortable one that I could never really replicate for school pictures.

A polite, get along to get along smile that he seems to have lost the ability or intention to use.

He was a scrawny kid, not that much has changed, and I think back to the brittle line of his shoulders as he hunched over his computer screen, trying to block it from me.

Hopefully, he’ll be cooled off by tomorrow, or at least keep his grudge to himself.

The wind whips at my hair on the short stint to the barn and I wish I’d grabbed my hat, but again, not worth dealing with Snotlout, so I jog the rest of the way, trying to remember if there’s a spare in the tack room. I think I left a hair tie with Stormfly’s saddle, and that’ll have to be good enough.

I don’t bother announcing my presence before opening the door and I’m shocked to hear someone swear, a horse snorting and pawing at the ground.

Not just someone.

Hiccup.

Who is standing in Toothless’s stall, hand on the black, stupidly-named horse’s shoulder, eyes already narrowing into a glare as I close the door behind me.

I glare back, like a habit, and he turns back to Toothless’s neck, brushing a fine bristled brush across his muddy neck, like that’ll do anything.

“If you’re trying to groom him, that won’t work,” I tell him, trying for casual as I walk past Toothless’s stall to Stormfly’s. She buries her nose in her dinner for one last bite before raising her head and nodding at me. Excited.

“I know you can’t help but give it,” his voice is curt, barely undercutting disrespectful, “but I don’t actually need to hear your opinion on everything.”

“It’s not an opinion,” I fasted Stormfly’s halter behind her ears and walk her towards the tack room, dropping the lead rope so that she’ll stand ground tied as I tack her up.

“Since I’m already beholden to you, can I please just tend to my horse without fending off your constant judgement too?” He snaps, and I should go.

I don’t get involved with drama.

“It’s not judgement,” I say because it’s not. That would imply that I care, which I don’t. He got his work done, the rest of it is none of my business.

“Right.” His eye roll is audible, the whisk of that useless brush across the mud in his horse’s fur like nails on a chalkboard. “Totally believable.”

I grit my teeth, grabbing Stormfly’s curry comb and raking it through the dried sweat behind her front leg. She looks at Hiccup curiously over my shoulder, ears twitching, and when I glance back at him, he’s staring at the brush in my hand.

He instantly looks away, ashamed to be caught again, and I want to bark that maybe he wouldn’t have to hide so much if he stopped doing things he doesn’t want anyone to find out about. Like talking to not-girlfriends in rooms with unlocked doors, right before dinner.

But that would be engaging, and I have to check the fences.

He brushes Toothless again, uselessly, saying something in a calm, under the breath tone that makes Stormfly perk her ears again. She must see something of Mr. Haddock in Hiccup that I don’t think anyone else does, because her jaw works quietly, expecting her usual treat.

I set my curry comb down and get my hoof pick, urging Stormfly to lift her front foot with a click and tug at her fetlock as I bend over. She lifts it easily, still watching Hiccup, and I start clearing the mud from this morning’s ride out of her hoof.

Hiccup’s eyes are bright like coals on the back of my neck and I wish I’d faced Stormfly the other direction, because I’m also too aware of my shirt riding up my back, the still, sticky barn air against my lower back. Not that it would be better to have to look at him when I stand up. Or maybe it would. I don’t know.

I’m not usually involved in the drama.

All the complicated teenage interactions that Ruff is always trying to clue me in on have always just annoyed me. The reasons Gustav is nice to me or the way that Snotlout and Fishlegs act around girls back from college for the summer are completely irrelevant to what I’m trying to do here, but now there’s the pressure of foreman on my shoulders and it makes me worry about group dynamics and the necessity of at least feigning getting along, that is if I want to stay on through the fall.

I set Stormfly’s foot down and stand up, yanking my shirt back down over the back of my jeans and glaring at Hiccup over my shoulder.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he answers automatically, eyes darting back to Toothless’s filthy fur.

“You’re staring at me.” I don’t need to ask, because it’s obvious, and he shrugs, not sufficiently deterred. “Why?”

“I’m…” He looks at the hoof pick in my hand and deflates slightly even as he sets his jaw, “I’m wondering what you’re doing.”

“I’m picking Stormfly’s feet,” I move to her back foot, ignoring how my shirt rides up my back again. Hiccup’s eyes are still on me, curious like he hasn’t been, like somehow this exact second isn’t drudgery and I’m once again plagued with the fact that I don’t actually want him to hate it here.

Purposefully making this awful for him would be…dramatic. Without question.

I want him to get his work done without complaint, and even I have to say that he’s largely done that the past few days. A little slow, sure, more than a little mouthy about how disgusting he finds things, but he’s been mostly willing. Mostly productive.

And he can put in a good word to his dad, if he has reason.

“Picking her feet?” He clarifies the term when I stand up again, patting her on the rump and walking around to her other side. “The ones she’s wearing now are ‘so last season’, I’m guessing.”

It’s a joke that I don’t get, but he still thinks it’s funny, laughing to himself in a way that feels like it’s at my expense and I bristle.

“Traditionally, jokes only count if everyone laughs.”

“Traditionally, the ability to laugh at jokes requires a sense of humor.” He snaps back, edge in his voice making his horse stomp and jostle him with a heavy swing of his head.

“Just because I’m not going to laugh at something that’s not funny to make you feel better doesn’t mean that I don’t have a sense of humor.”

“Could have fooled me,” he scoffs.

And he watches, craning his neck to see me lift Stormfly’s other front foot, and if I didn’t think he’d take it as a victory, I’d go check the fences on foot to get away from the unwelcome, confusing attention.

“What is so fascinating?” I stand up straight, forearm on Stormfly’s shoulder as I glare at him. “Haven’t you ever seen anyone groom a horse before?”

“No.” He sets his chin, the line of his jaw skinny-sharp, like he should have put his tantrum away long enough to finish his steak. “I haven’t. Or at least, not since I was about eight.”

I can tell that to everyone else, the ranch feels small. Restrictive. Usually, I can’t put together why, given the wide sloping fields and big blue sky, the endless nooks and crannies among the creeks and hills.

But it’s easier to conceptualize how much bigger the rest of the world is when Hiccup reminds me that he’s spent essentially his entire life, or the part that matters, the part where he formed his opinions and experiences, so far away from everything that I know.

I should ask him if he wants to learn. Or even tell him that he needs to learn, but I wonder what he’d want to tell me in return and fall back on something familiar. Bossy, even though I’d never admit it when it’s thrown back at me.

“He needs it,” I gesture at Toothless with my chin and he sighs.

“Yeah, I’m as ineffective as a horse owner as I am as a ranch hand. Who would have guessed?” He mimes flexing a skinny arm, making fun of himself like he anticipates me trying to and he thinks it’ll be better somehow if he gets there first.

Usually, it hurts the same no matter who drops the pitchfork on my foot, so I avoid doing it myself.

“That mud caked in his fur can irritate his skin, and it’s not helping his leg heal.”

“Yeah, I get it, but the general store’s car wash is nonexistent and the owner’s mad at me anyway.”

“You did steal.” I remind him and he bristles again, his heckles going up.

“And I didn’t even spin my pistol around my finger in the parking lot while limping in chaps. Not very regionally appropriate, I know.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, expression softening slightly when Toothless nudges at his wrist, “I was operating under the impression that most John Wayne movies were filmed in Arizona, or something. I thought the rules could be adjusted aesthetically, at least. My ass would get pretty cold in chaps here, with the wind.”

“Are you serious right now?” I don’t get involved with drama, but I’m used to Snotlout attempting to drag me back.

“Never.” He snorts, and something about it strikes me as truly miserable. Not pouting. Not trying to extract sympathy.

“Have you picked his feet?” I ask, and it comes out wrong, flat and irritated, because I’m flat and irritated, but he doesn’t puff up or argue.

“No, these came stock.”

“Picking a horse’s feet means cleaning out the mud and rocks from the bottom of the hoof.” I point at Stormfly’s last back foot, putting on my best reasonable foreman voice and trying to make my face match. “It’s important because a rock or other hoof obstruction can eventually make a horse come up lame.”

“They aren’t assigned lame in middle school like the rest of us?” He jokes and I grit my teeth together, struggling to stretch my ranch size world view to accommodate his non-attempt at communication.

“When a horse is lame, they have a limp, of some kind. Some issue moving. It’s a bigger deal for a thousand-pound animal.”

“Ah, the other kind of lame I was assigned. I get it.”

“Come here,” I order. Distinctly. Foreman voice wavering.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t get close to that horse and someone needs to pick his feet, so you can learn on Stormfly.”

He weighs that for a second and I’m surprised when he nods, carefully exiting the stall, fingers not quite clumsy on the latch but not comfortable either before he walks over to us, threatening to skirt way too close to Stormfly’s rear.

“Whoa there,” I hold my hand out to stop him and it works, except for his sudden, condescending smirk.

“Are you talking to me, or the horse?”

“You.”

“You just said ‘come here’, I know I’m not a master of deciphering mixed signals but—”

“Don’t walk right behind a horse you don’t know.” I must say it with some kind of authority, because he pauses, for once, before turning on his heel and walking around Stormfly’s front. He doesn’t touch her though, even as her eyes follow him and she huffs hot breath against his sleeve.

“She’s not tied up,” he comments on the lead rope against the ground and I shrug.

“She’s ground tied.”

“So, horses are susceptible to gravity. Noted.”

“She’s trained to not move when her rope is touching the ground.” I clarify, handing him the hoof pick and stepping to the side so that he can get at Stormfly’s back foot. “You need to bend over and pick up her back foot.”

“Thousand-pound animal,” he points at his chest, a little panicky, “I can’t actually deadlift two-hundred-fifty pounds like you can.”

“I wasn’t,” I pull back from the argument before it starts, “she’ll help.”

“If this breaks my back—”

“It won’t.”

He doesn’t seem to believe me, too cautiously setting his palm flat on Stormfly’s side as he adjusts his grip on the hoof pick. When he leans forward, his shirt rides up his back, revealing a pale, skinny spine and boxers peeking out of his stupid, pre-ripped jeans. I focus on Stormfly’s foot, patting her haunch when she easily lifts it for him, shifting only slightly when he fumbles with how to hold her hoof.

“Put your hand—” I try to explain and he cups the bottom of her hoof, impossibly awkward. “Here. Let me.” I bend down next to him, grabbing his hand and placing it properly around her hoof wall, tugging her foot up a few inches so that he can properly see the bottom of it.

“Oh.” He shifts his feet, turning the hoof pick in his hand and trying to get an angle on it. “That doesn’t hurt her or…”

“No.” I try to be patient. Really. “Now scrape around the frog—”

“Very funny,” he sets her foot down all at once and stands back up, wiping mud on pre-ripped jeans and taking a step back.

“What?”

“The ‘frog’?” He snorts, “really? While I’m bent over are you going to drop a house on me and call me the Wicked Warlock of the Big Evil City?”

“No,” I hold my hand out for the pick and he stares, guarded like he’s sure there’s a catch. “I’ll show you.”

“I’ve always wanted a tour of the secret horse frog,” he hands it over, and I swallow against the urge to tell him how wrong he is, ignoring how my shirt rides up again when I bend over and lift Stormfly’s foot.

“This,” I trace the triangle in the middle of her hoof with the pick, “is the frog. There’s a V shaped groove around it, and that’s largely what needs to be cleaned out.” I demonstrate, a few compressed flakes of mud falling onto the barn floor before I stand up and wipe my dirty hand on my jeans.

“Does everything having to do with horses have to have some weird word associated with it?” It’s rhetorical, but he expects an answer, and I think that summarizes most of our interactions. “Is Toothless even black or is there some other name for it? Is he Ebony? Charcoal pattern A-1?”

“He’s black.”

“Not Onyx 3A-4B?”

I’m used to being the butt of jokes. Or more accurately, the imaginary stick supposedly up my butt being the butt of jokes. Usually, I ignore it, because there’s no point in engaging. It gets me nowhere, it doesn’t matter.

But right now, looking at Hiccup’s smug face, spouting meaningless numbers and trying to act like he’s not mad that I walked in on a call I don’t care about, I remember something.

My first math packet is due digitally next week.

“He’s letting you close to him,” I say and Hiccup shrugs.

“Hasn’t showed me his frog yet, but I figure, at this rate, it’s just a matter of time.” His awkwardness doesn’t shut him down and I don’t understand how he’s so ok with projecting it.

Like it’s easier to be uncomfortable if everyone else is too.

It’s infuriating.

“Then you should really learn to groom him.” I pick up my curry comb and hold it out at him, “like if you’re trying to get the mud caked on his neck off of him, you need to use one of these.”

“This is…a torture device,” he pokes the tines on the comb and I sigh, pressing it into Stormfly’s neck and dragging it across her shoulder. She arches into it, lip curling when it scratches her favorite itch.

“It’s a scratch, for her.”

“She’s bigger than Toothless,” he comments, a little muted, and I shrug.

“Not by much.” I exhale through my nose, trying to remember how to cushion things. “About earlier—”

“When you told everyone that I had a girlfriend?” He doesn’t so much snap as he snaps back to some previously established protocol and I huff.

“I’m—You were being secretive in your room talking to a girl, what was I supposed to think?”

He weighs my rhetorical question like it’s real and shrugs one shoulder, hand idly petting Stormfly’s shoulder, “nothing.”

He’s right.

“I don’t involve myself with ranchhand drama—”

“Could have fooled me.”

It’s like he knows that I can’t fall back on my usual backup where people are scared of me. It’s not even intentional, usually, people just…don’t expect intensity and when they find it, they’d rather back off than question it. And his dad made me foreman.

And my math homework is due next week.

“I wanted to ask you about the internet.”

“Wanted?” He sees right through me, eyebrow raised, stepping away from Stormfly like she burned him.

“No.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, “I—your dad never turns it on.”

“What? Do you need to check Facebook to connect with the three people in the county who don’t live within a hundred yards of where we’re standing right now?” There it is again, the cruelty he tries on like a mask. A mask he wishes were permanent, and something about his determined brooding makes me think it will be soon enough, if he gets his way.

When he gets his way. Probably.

“I need to turn something in,” I stick to the truth, voice curt as I cross my arms, Stormfly’s ears flicking back towards me.

“To the single county cop who cares about a pack of gum?”

“To school.” I grit my teeth, and he is tall. Taller than me. And I hate it. Because how do I maintain anything of ‘foreman’ when I need his help?

“To school?” He repeats, frowning, and I sigh.

“Yes.” I tap my boot on the floor before turning on my heel and heading back to the tack room to grab Stormfly’s saddle. I don’t ask Hiccup to move before swinging it onto her back and he barely gets out of the way in time, stumbling backwards and elbowing the nearest stall, startling Hookfang, who snorts and stomps his foot.

“It is summer—”

“To summer school.” Admitting it doesn’t feel great. In fact, I wish I could take it back. I wish I could take the whole conversation back, that I could have just ignored him. I’d be half done with my round by now, wind in my hair, peace of mind incoming.

He’s silent for too long, watching me tighten my saddle, eyes cataloging my motions like he might be planning to steal from me next and my teeth grind together. Stormfly’s patient as I get her bridle, slipping the bit into her mouth and unclipping the lead rope like I’m not waiting for Hiccup to say something.

Because I’m not.

Because he’s not going to say anything helpful. He’s definitely not going to say anything charitable. He’s going to relish in having something to hold over me even though he doesn’t understand my world or its consequences, at all.

He’s a spoiled thief in pre-ripped jeans who has never had to work eight hours after school, trying to keep a horse farm running through disaster after disaster. He’s never fallen asleep in class because he’d already been up working horses for hours.

“So, the rumors are true.” He says, cryptic as I start to lead Stormfly to the barn door by her reins.

I stop short, thinking about Snotlout and the twins and even Fishlegs. About the swirling small-town rumor mill that he doesn’t understand. That he couldn’t understand.

“What rumors?”

“You did fail math.”

“Who told you?” I shake my head, “never mind, I don’t care.”

“Fishlegs.”

“Fishlegs,” I grit my teeth, shoving the door open and inhaling as Stormfly follows me through. I’ll put him on chicken coop duty for a month.

Two months.

“If I help you get internet, what’s in it for me?” He asks, and he could put in a good or bad word for me and I don’t know which his dad would believe more. I don’t know how I’m here, or why, or how nothing is clear anymore.

“I don’t know, Hiccup,” I swing onto Stormfly and settle into the saddle, glad for the height and the mode of transportation, the warm, steady sides between my knees. “What do you want?”

“Take me into town sometime.” He catches me off guard, “I’m going crazy. I think I forgot what buildings look like.”

“Usually at least four walls. A ceiling, typically.” I should be above his bad influence, but I’m not. Apparently.

“Good counting,” his grin is a little too performative to really be cruel and I want to ask about his phone call again, because I think I forgot how to care about petty drama until he showed up and made it too petty to ignore. “No promises, but I’ll tell my dad about the wonders of anti-virus again.”

“I’ve got to go check on the cows,” I cluck at Stormfly, pressing my leg against her side to indicate where we’re going. Finally. After all these interruptions. “I don’t know when I’ll have to go into town again but…if your chores are done, I’ll let you know.”

“And you’re the one who gets to decide when my chores are done,” he grins, clapping his hands on his thighs hard enough that Stormfly tenses. “Great.”

I could tell him that he hasn’t been doing the worst job, but I’m not willing to part with another bargaining chip right now. Not when I know I haven’t been avoiding the drama at all. I’ve just been blind to my own involvement.

#t:rttbposc #httyd fic #hiccstrid fic #modern au #horse girl hiccup #they're both so...fuckin dumb

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joemuggs · 3 years

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Pirate Material: Still Original

Saw some discussion of The Streets’s early work, and went to see if this article was still online - it’s not because the Vice brand partnership vertical (I’m sorry) that it was originally written for is gone. So here you go again!

I don't hold with the insidious theory that making brilliant art is a young man's game – or, in the words of Sickboy in Trainspotting, that “you have it, then you lose it”. It's a trope that's been with us since the beginning of rock'n'roll, dammit since the romantic poets, that idea that inspiration is intrinsically tied up with the energy of youth, that great works come like a bolt from the blue and artists are best off dying young1 rather than chasing round in ever-decreasing circles trying to relight your creative fire the rest of your sorry life. But it's clearly rubbish, a denial of craft and labour, put about by fantasists and advertisers and used as justification by those with a vested interest in keeping us emotionally immature and by the worst kind of poseurs for their ghastly Peter Pan antics.

Every so often, though, something I see or hear will make me think again – will make me have a flickering moment of belief in the essential white light of youthful creativity. And 'Original Pirate Material' is one of those things. I mean, have you heard it recently? Really heard it? Played it loud from the beginning, given it your full attention, let that utterly insane opening salvo of 'Turn the Page', 'Has it Come to This' and 'Let's Push Things Forward' work their magic on you? It's arm-hair raising stuff, it really is. The false hierarchies and dreary consensus of best-ever lists is another of those things I don't hold with, but yeah this really, really deserved to be on all those best-of-the-2000s lists, and I will gladly fight its corner against the Arctic Monkeys, Dizzee, Radiohead, Outkast, whatever you care to bring in fact.

Like almost all the best music, I didn't really get it at first. It was tinny-sounding and clattery, where I was used to dance music's oomph; I couldn't work out what Skinner's roaming accent was getting at as he slipped and slid across the rhythms, in and out of ordinary conversational cadence, lurching from sublime to ridiculous within single phrases. It was intriguing right enough, but it was impossible to shake the idea that it was all a bit contrived, an indie-weakened version of soundsystem/MC culture, or even more naggingly the idea that it was a wind-up, that this music was taking the piss out of all of us. Lines nicked from 'Gladiator' and talk about his Reeboks? Be serious. And then I had the epiphany.

The scene couldn't have been set better, really. I was out in Amsterdam for eight days on my first ever magazine feature assignment – to cover a conference on Amazon shamanic practice AND a High Times convention. I'd been hanging out with psychonauts, ravers, witch doctors2 and Dutch farmers, and experienced the best that ancient cultures and modern science had to offer; I was in a terrific mood as I was finally doing the job I'd always wanted to, and had been able to utter the immortal phrase “can I claim my ritual on expenses3, please?” on the phone to the Face magazine office. So when someone mentioned “that new band The Streets are playing the Melkweg” I was pretty much up for it.

The DJ beforehand, a Dutchman called Big Head, was playing what was generally known as “breakstep”, a kind of funky uncle to dubstep, and I liked it so much I bought his mix CD4. The Streets were very late coming on, but the crowd were raving and so was I, so who cared? When they did crash onto the stage, though, Skinner immediately and repeatedly asking the crowd if anyone had any cocaine, it was a glorious disruption of the groove, their sound spiky and awkward, and from the beginning I loved it. I don't remember a lot about the band except there was an ex-member of the Senseless Things5 on bass, and that Skinner and his co-vocalist spent a lot of the set pushing, shoving and trying to trip one another up.

And that's when it clicked into place: yes, this was a piss-take, but it was a deadly serious piss-take. This child-like 24-year-old was not just meandering between voices, themes and levels of seriousness, he was embodying every single one of them. He was a shaman too6. What was chaos and what was control became impossible to discern7. The only time I could remember seeing elemental clowning like this before on a stage was the Happy Mondays back in 1990, but I also recognised the spirit of so many loony rave urchins I'd been bamboozled and bantered at and had lighters stolen by over the years8, the never-ending babble of these Shakespearean monkeys, possessed by the endless power of the English language to spin out shaggy dog stories, to make jokes of the most serious matters and suddenly turn jokes deathly serious. The films that were projected as back stories to each of the tracks matched the quotidian urban subject matter of those songs – but they, like the lyrics and the music, revealed something so much more primal beneath. And still you could dance, laugh, drink and carouse to it.

Which is why, when I listen to 'Original Pirate Material' now, I don't hear “bloke poetry” or grittiness or mundanity or social realism any of those other things that are inevitably reeled out. I hear constant windows in to the most profound and abstracted of human instincts and experiences: vertigo, jealousy, transition, glory, loss, innocence and so much more. Just listen to the sudden swerves from domestic detail to dizzying generality in 'It's Too Late' or the affirmation and melancholy in 'Weak Become Heroes': these are about so, so much more than losing a girl or doing a pill9. They're about being human. Only years later did I start realising that Skinner was writing in a great English language tradition going a millennium back to Beowulf and taking in Sterne, Carroll, Lear, Pound, Spike Milligan, Ivor Cutler, Mark E Smith and Roots Manuva10, gibbering gobshites and bullshit artists, holy fools who could skip wildly into parts of our psyches where angels fear to tread.

He could never top this, could he? None of this is to dismiss Skinner's later work – he has on occasion made some glorious music and told some great tales since, and especially on 'Computers and Blues' when he turned full circle back to some of his early themes and freeform lyricism he showed he was tapped into the same wellspring – but 'Original Pirate Material' had it all. Everything afterwards, whether it's his narratives of modern life and celebrity, or his more philosophical turns, couldn't help but be self-conscious, trying to impose more structure onto what he had already expressed so perfectly in its rants, sketches, jokes and asides. This isn't about drugs, it's not about “authenticity”11, and it's not really about youth as such – others have tapped into this very British, very mongrel method of accessing the ways of the human mind from very different places and perspectives – but for Skinner it was all tied into a particular openness to everything that comes with being a hungry young man with his eyes (very) wide open.

1 See the infamous “27 Club”, much discussed when Amy Winehouse carked it, and so called because it's the number of times anyone who takes it seriously deserves to have their face walloped with a cricket bat.

2 To be precise, a shaman from the Shuar tribe of Ecuador who played the Jew's harp.

3 Yes, bloggers, these were the days when journalists got paid expenses. They were decadent times, the early 00s.

4 In fact it is sitting on my desk right now, and it still sounds good.

5 You think nonsense genre names like “Post Dubstep” or indeed “Breakstep” are silly? Back in the 90s, The Senseless things were lumped, along with Mega City 4 and Silverfish into a genre called Fraggle Rock. Seriously.

6 No Jew's harp though, just a microphone.

7 You want to know how giddy with the brilliance of it all I was feeling at that moment? My brain flashed up the image of Stockard Channing going “chaos... control... chaos... control... you like?” to Will Smith as Donald Sutherland spun a double-sided Kandinsky in 'Six Degress of Separation'. And what? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BjwiachXkjc

8 One routine about fake vs real Nike caps that managed to weave in and out of between-song patter for almost the entire set was such archetypal rave bollocks that you'd swear you'd heard it before from someone who was about to do you out of a tenner at some party on a hillside.

9 They're about those things too, though.

10 Peter Ackroyd's 'Albion: the Origins of the English Imagination' is the book you need on this topic, although admittedly he doesn't get right the way through to Roots Manuva.

11 There's no such thing.

#the streets #original pirate material #uk garage #breakstep #ukg #mike skinner #amsterdam #shamanism #dmt #ayahuasca #cannabis #visionaries #storytelling #poetry #rap #uk hip hop #melkweg

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bts-love-sweat-tears · 5 years

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BTS Ideal Types as Subcultures/Tropes (idk what to call this post tbh)

A/N: Just a little scenario/imagine I thought of while I sit here scrolling through tumblr. JJK has been wrecking me sooo badly lately with that floofy hair of his.

No one needed another one of these but here we are. I haven’t written anything in forever but wanted something to post something original to share my gratitude with you all for sticking around while I figure out how to navigate “adulthood.” Typed on my phone as my computer is in for repair 😬

Now that it’s late 2019, i feel like we’re getting to know the boys in ways we haven’t before and their ideal types have likely changed. Not at all factual and based on my observations/ intuition. Meant to be comical. Sorry if my references are getting stale-I’m 28 now and not up on youth culture in the way I once was 😂

KNJ- the hipster (are they still around?): probably in an art collective with their friends who are scary cool, literature or philosophy major, you see them around but they’re always in and out or on to the next thing. Hard to get close to but friendly once you’re in. Has read every Murakami book, Salman Rushdie, Helen Oyeyemi, and any other critically acclaimed book that will win an award. Probably has read (or pretends to have read) infinite jest. Probably has a monochromatic module wardrobe that was thrifted/organically sourced, and impossibly cool glasses. Met Namjoon when they got into a heated philosophical discussion at a party and scared away all their friends to the beer pong table.

KSJ- the stand up comedian: Met at one of their performances, at which Jin tried out a few of his dad jokes on them. They rolled their eyes so hard while Jin’s friends stared on in secondhand embarrassment. But if anyone can make it work, it’s Jin. They’re enamored with his goofy windshield wiper laugh, and his endless optimism. Being a comic and dealing with the uncertainty is tough, but while Jin is hilarious he is also a rock solid, unflappable person to come home to at the end of the day. Jin admires their humor, resilience, and the adventure of an unconventional career (the Sagittarius jumped out here). Being with them is never boring, and Jin has the perfect captive audience for opinions on his jokes.

MYG- the social justice warrior: We’ve all seen Yoongi’s comments about capitalism and society, and possibly his comments about gender and attraction (depending on how you view the translation. A whole thing i will not get into in the midst of this imagine). It would take forever for them to DTR (if ever) because neither of them would care all that much. That couple that kinda naturally becomes a couple from spending so much time together. His SO knew it was real when he gave them the password to his studio. Not ones for flashy displays, but rather unwavering loyalty and support. Their idea of date night is takeout on the studio floor, discussing their activism and music. Minimal pda, but sneaky handholding when they think their friends won’t notice. His SO probably works at a nonprofit or other mission driven organization. Forever dragging him to political protests, rallies, symposiums, book signings, etc. When they are tired from the exhaustion at the slow pace of change, they always know they can find the best cuddles back home with Yoongi.

JHS- The hypebeast/hypebae: Probably in a dance crew as well, would meet at some kind of showcase. Won’t even bat an eye at the acorn bag. Always has the latest limited run hoodie from some obscure brand Hobi’s never heard of but is suddenly obsessed with. Unimpressed by his AP watch/money but impressed by exclusivity/hard to get items. Matching bucket hat selfies while waiting in line to cop their next pairs of sneakers. Probably super chill to relate to Hobi when he’s calm and balance out his hyper side when it appears.

PJM-The influencer: Someone just as pretty/aesthetic as he is with the following to match. With great power comes great responsibility, as they say- Jimin would be the ultimate instagram boyfriend, down to visit whatever cute pumpkin patch, coffee shop, or art installation his SO did. He has the photo skills to match from all the Kim Daily posts. That said, his idea type wouldn’t take advantage of him and would want to feature him in all of their posts, in full-on matching couple gear. They would also know when to put the phone down and give him all the attention he deserves and needs. The cute power couple that slightly makes you want to barf, but only because they are so sweet to each other and in their own little world. Probably have a joint insta for their dog/cat/lizard/whatever.

KTH- The CEO go-getter: type, with the income and art collection to match. Yes, we all know that Tae wants a family and domestic bliss, but I could totally see him being the stay at home dad while his SO takes on the world. Let us also note that he is a Capricorn, and I could see him valuing a partner who is driven and wants to build an empire/legacy (and cough contribute to his Gucci fund/general expensive taste cough. Have you all seen the cost of some of those Leica cameras? I digress). His SO probably has a MBA or multiple advanced degrees. Met at some expensive art gallery opening (probably Namjoon’s partner’s🤪) that they didn’t want to be at but had a sense of obligation to go. His partner might be more serious and reserved, to balance out his gregariousness, but they admire that in him. They would value Tae’s ability to see things in novel ways and distill the situation down to a simple but unique answer. Live and let live vibe, cave whenever Tae wants to take pictures of them, cold exterior but soft/goofy with him (wait, did I just describe Yoongi? I swear I’m only brotps 😂)

JJK-he seems like your typical gym rat but is not-so-secretly obsessed with nerdy video games and excessively violent anime (here’s looking at you, AOT). Therefore, he has two types-the sporty soccer player and the e-girl/boy. Impressed by anyone who can lift as much as he can and match his mile time. They could each push each other to be harder, better, faster, stronger (RIP our era of Kanye innocence).

On the flip side, his insta is suspiciously full of beautiful people with pastel hair, endless tattoos and a+ cosplay. Probably posts risqué pics. The person could probably beat him at overwatch, Skyrim, etc. He drops flirtatious comments in their messages, but too starstruck to say anything if he were to see them out and about. If they somehow meet and make it past all of the awkward, they will be the scene-y couple, at the amusement park, conventions, (comic) book stores, anywhere they can be their quirky selves together. Lots of shouting and playful jabs/smack talk that are all forgotten when the controllers are put down.

#bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts ideal type #bts fluff #bts crack #bts x reader #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #hobi #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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jimclassicstoycollection · 4 years

Photo

Transformers: War For Cybertron: Siege

Titan class

Omega Supreme

Omega Supreme was the last of my massive spending spree in September of 2019. Between the Siege Skywarp, Legends Jetfire, and the Rain Makers I got Omega Supreme around that very same week. This was an expensive two weeks for me.

Omega arrived in the mail about a good week before my dad died. Working on the past few reviews have kind brought some of it back for me; putting my head back in that timeline and all that, so that’s one reason why it’s taken me so long to get this one out.

I should also mention that this review will be very picture intensive; I probably will have more pictures than I will have things to say about the toy.

The Box:

For those of you who frequently check out this blog you’d know that I don’t normally gush about the box; I have a tendency to just focus on the toy itself.

That being said; OMG I love the box art!!!!

This box art demonstrates the power, grand, and sheer enormous size of this Guardian Robot.

Ever since I was a kid I loved the tech spec character art which was on the transformers toys, and the Siege line has done an excellent job with the the box art. It’s a shame these guys don’t come with any tech specs, or collector’s card much like Combiner Wars, Titans Return, and Power of the Primes did.

Hasbro, make a collector’s card! You were doing great for three toy lines, you should have kept that up!

Much like my Titan class Devastator and Fortress Maximus I’m keeping the box for Omega Supreme (I have titan classes Trypticon and Predakng, but I’ve never even opened them up yet…I will…one day).

Countdown-

Countdown is a Micromaster going all the way to G1. I never had the original toy, but I think he had a rocket base of his own and it turned into a gun platform, or something. I like this guy being partnered with Omega Supreme now is pretty appropriate in my opinion.

Vehicle Mode:

Countdown’s vehicle mode is a moon rover. This is a mostly unpainted toy, and his primary colors are red and light tan plastic.

It’s got some good sculpted details, and has a cool radar dish. If you look hard enough you can see two, teeny, tiny seats; however considering Countdown’s a Micomaster they would be smaller than any human could sit in, but it’s all a nice touch.

It rolls well on four black wheels.

There is a 5mm peg underneith the rover which folds down, and can peg onto any 5mm port, similar to an old Transformers Armada Minicon, but in reverse; the Minicon wold have the 5mm and the larger robot would have the 5mm peg.

Transformation:

Transformation is…well it’s a MicroMaster this isn’t rocket science…or in this case…rover science…but it’s easy.

Robot Mode:

For what he is the robot mode is pretty cool.

He stands well, like any decent toy should, and I love how the radar dish tucks nicely into his back.

For such a tiny guy we see much of the same sculpted detail, however we also see more of the light tan which is his body, and that face sculpt is amazing!

This is a small toy, but that face has some good detail, a nice silver paint, and bright blue eyes, and i swear his mouth has a cocky smirk.

I don’t know the character enough to know if this is appropriate of him, but i do like it.

Well done, Hasbro. Now keep it up.

Articulation is…limited; it is a Micromaster after all.

Ball-jointed shoulders and hips, and a bend at the knee.

Let’s move on to why you’re all here.

Omega Supreme-

Since Omega Supreme splits into three separate things I’ll be talking about each one separately, starting with the rocket mode.

Rocket Mode:

Starting with the rocket we see here…a rocket. Well, it’s gray, long and cylindrical, and an excellent symbol for robo-male virility, maybe…

I’m joking, but this rocket is pretty big, bigger than I think maybe it should be.

The rocket is most made out of unpainted gray plastic, with some red plastic for parts of the bulkhead, silver paint at the very top. The only paint aps that I can see are some burn marks near some of the 5mm ports. You don’t even get an Autobot badge on the rocket, that’s a little disappointing…

Down by the primary thruster are clear orange plastic bits for the…rocket…claw…

Well, Omega Supreme’s a rocket, but he’s not an Earth rocket; the claw parts could be anything….Landing struts! They’re landing struts!!!!

The rocket stands well on the orange struts, and each strut has 3 points of articulation for height differences, or balance, or whatever, really.

What the rocket lacks in paint deco it makes up for in sculpted detail. I’m going to be saying this a lot through the review, but you see so much panel detailing, pipes, gribbly…(I don’t know what a gribbly is, but it’s fun to say), on this toy you will rarely see a smooth surface.

The rocket has nine 11mm ports for guns or blast effects.

I’m not going to lie, this rocket was a real pain to display on a flight stand. Due to the fact that it’s a narrow plastic tube I really didn’t have anything which could properly support it for very long, so I did my best, and I do not recommend using this set up for the rocket mode.

Aside from the 5mm ports are on the rocket I didn’t see anything that would even come close to a display port, unless someone makes stand with 5mm ports in mind, I don’t know of any.

Speaking of 5 mm ports, four out of the eleven by the landing struts and the main thruster, the nose cone of the rocket, and six around the rocket itself. And as any 5mm port they can be used for either the blast effects or weapons if you’re so inclined.

Tank Mode:

The tank is a really beefy, chonky boi! (Am I memeing correctly?)

The tank alone is as large as a modern day leader class figure. Big…but light weight…It’s a mostly hollow vehicle mode.

The paint deco is minimal, a lot of the devil is in the sculpting, and what a sculpt this bruiser is!

This tank is covered in great sculpting detail; you see all sorts of gribblys and other things. The tank is mostly unpainted gray plastic. The red at the hatch is painted while the tank barrel is red plastic. The tank treads are painted, and the secondary and tertiary guns are painted in a gun metal gray. There’s some yellow paint up at the main gun turret, and lastly there’s a lovely tampograph Autobot symbol on the clear orange window near the front.

The only 5mm ports on the tank are the three forward facing guns, but they look fantastic with the blast effects!

Unfortunately the tank turret doesn’t swivel at all, because of the robot head directly behind it that main gun is pretty much just going to…FACE forward….that was a lousy pun, I apologize…

The tank treads don’t actually work, however turning the tank over we see these barbell-like uni-wheels (I’m not exactly sure what to call them obviously), but these are bit shorter than the base track, and they roll well enough for what they are.

If you open up the front of the tank (which can be a bit annoying) reveals a space for Countdown to park in a specific groove. Now there is also a ramp which Countdown can roll down.

My one issue with the opening hatch is that the plastic is a bit thinner, and it tabs into place; un-tabbing the hatch frightens me sometimes because I’m worried that I’m going to break it. So, just be careful when opening it up.

Base Mode:

I’ll be very honest here, the base itself is probably the least interesting thing about Omega Supreme, however essential with the overall figure.

Without the rocket or the tank nearby the base is quite the empty structure. It’s basically a large track held up on some (possibly flimsy) scaffolding with a hollow tower in the center.

Yes, you still see all the nice gribblys and the details all about the base mode, but it’s still quite an uninteresting environment.

Both tracks are tabbed into the main base/command tower by these new Siege clips, and are supported by these thin, gray plastic scaffolding. I am concerned about breakage. They do feel solid enough, however I can’t shake the feeling that they’re going to break one day at the hinges.

Maybe I’m just reminded of breaking my toys as a child when I was too rough with them, but I cannot get the concern out of my mind.

There is a tiny ramp located behind the inner walls for the base mode meant for the MicroMasters to drive up. It’s a pretty steep ramp, and it has these new connectors which is meant to attach the Earthrise MicroMaster bases…I mean the upcoming ones, of course…

The tank (at least the original G1 toy) is supposed to ride along on the bases track on an endless loop, but for Siege Omega the tank is much wider than the track, so the treads are just hanging over them. I mean, you still could do it but personally I don’t think it looks very good, so maybe the track should be reserved for the Autobots to drive around on, or defend the perimeter while the larger tank has free range to go wherever.

Once we get the rocket and tank in place and place some Legends class figures around it, Omega Supreme’s base mode is a more impressive sight.

Mind you, he’s not a fortress like…well, Fortress Maximus, he’s a rocket base.

At the top part of the rocket are two opening hatches which allow a Micromaster (or even a Legends Class figure) inside to pilot. It’s all unpainted, sculpted detail, but you see a little computer screen, and dials and stuff. Some paint applications would have been nice through.

Transformation:

Where the original G1 Omega Supreme is a parts-former, which requires a great deal of assembly to build the complete figure, Siege Omega has a simpler conversion process, and once you transform the rocket into both of the arms, the tank into the chest and head, the base to the legs and torso, and the finally the tracks fold up to the wings.

Once that’s all done its quick to assemble.

Blast Effects:

Omega Supreme comes with 7 blast effects. Maybe you’ve noticed this, and maybe you haven’t but for the past several toy reviews I’ve been using Omega’s blast effects for my Seekers and Rain Makers, Galaxy Optimus prime, I’ve been heavily using this.

That’s because I really love these blast effects and I couldn’t wait for me to eventually get around to my Omega review to put them to to good use.

One thing I would like to see Hasbro or Takara to sell blast effects separately to for more figures to use.

Robot Mode:

This Guardian Robot is stomping onto the scene! This is quite a bulky and solid toy.

Much like the rocket, or the tank, or the base mode the completed robot mode doesn’t have a lot of painted detail; it’s all in the sculpting and the unpainted, colored plastics. Which I’m not complaining; Omega Supreme is not a character you really need to over think.

He’s covered in details and gribblys he has a total of 19 5mm ports! That is a lot, but then again Omega is so big, and many of the weapons are so small, it probably wouldn’t look all that impressive anyway.

Sort of opposite of 2003′s Transformers Armada line Countdown has a 5mm peg of his own, and can be inserted into any 5mm port. I like to keep him on Omega’s shoulder.

For such a large figure Omega is really easy to pose, and has a good range of motion. He balances well, and strangely enough he doesn’t feel too heavy either.

Even with his size you can get Omega in some pretty decent poses.

His range of motion includes:

Up/down hinge at the head, left/right swivel at the neck

Swivel at the shoulder, up/down at the armpit

Bend at the elbow, and swivel at the elbow (no further articulation at the gun arm).

For the right arm we get a swivel at the base of the claw hand, each claw has three ratcheted hinges.

Waist swivel, and universal joints at the hips.

Thigh swivel, and a bend at the knee.

Finally Omega Supreme has an ankle pivot.

Over all for a toy of this size the articulation isn’t more or less than your average Siege figure, it’s just done to a larger scale,

Omega’s claw hand is great! As mentioned above it has some great articulation, however I am a little concerned about translucent plastic of the claws. My understanding is that translucent plastic tends to be more brittle than opaque plastic, and is more prone to crack over time. We shall see.

I’m really digging Omega’s head sculpt. This is very accurate to the G1 cartoon series. Omega Supreme is basically wearing a space helmet with a clear yellow canopy, and a gun turret pony tail.

And the sculpted chest detail behind the clear yellow plating is so cool!

The yellow shoulder pecks can open up to reveal a series of missile pods. None of these are spring loaded missiles, they’re just part of the sculpt with red paint.

Another interesting thing about Omega is that his shin guards open up to reveal….well nothing too interesting, but it’s a little closet to carry a Micromaster around. But the sculpting on the inside of the door is pretty nice.

Final Thoughts:

When all is said and done I love Omega Supreme. He’s always been one of my favorite Transformers.

I would like a see just a little more paint detail, not a lot mind you, just a little more. I would have liked to see the computer consoles in the rocket painted, or maybe some pipes and wires, this figure was over $169.99 after all.

The hatch on the tank feels like a thinner plastic than the rest of the toy, and I’d be careful with the track scaffolding.

If you can keep all of that in mind, this titan class toy is titanic fun!

Recommended.

As much as I like the Combiner Wars Devastator figure there is a noticeable difference in quality between them.

Devastator is functional, but when compared to Omega he’s lacking.

I attempted to recreate the fanart battle by Transformers fan artist Dan Khanna. Don’t think I captured the moment too well, but I tried.

#toys #action figures #transformers #war for cybertron #omega supreme #titan class #autobot #hasbro #Guardian Robot #countdown #micromaster #toy review

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ericsonclan · 4 years

Text

Pinterest Perfect

Summary: An overheard conversation leads Prisha to wonder what she'd want her own wedding to look like someday.

Read on AO3:

Sophie and Marlon were eating lunch together in the break room when Prisha came in, planning to grab her coat before heading out for the day. As she passed by the table, she overheard some of the conversation they were having.

“Absolutely no meatballs at our wedding,” Marlon declared, taking another bite of his meatloaf.

“Really? I would have had you pegged as a meatball sub sorta dude,” Sophie replied, chewing on a carrot stick.

“Had a bad experience as a kid. Scarred me for life,” Marlon shivered before returning to his food.

“Well, we both know my number one rule…”

“No clowns,” the couple said in unison, fist bumping with a smile.

Prisha watched the conversation with amusement. She’d heard of this game the two of them liked to play: listing things they should and should not have at their wedding. It was some sort of ongoing joke between the couple, to continue casually planning their wedding even as they weren’t engaged or anywhere near that sort of thing. “Tell me, Sophie,” Prisha began, putting on her coat. “Do you think it ever could have been a real possibility that Marlon would arrange for clowns to come to your wedding?”

“Can never be too careful,” Sophie waggled the end of her carrot stick before popping it into her mouth. “Clowns show up when you least expect them. They’re sneaky that way,”

Prisha chuckled at her friend’s logic. “Well, you two have a good lunch. I’ll see you tomorrow,”

“Bye, Prisha!” the couple called in unison before returning to their mock wedding plans.

Prisha smiled to herself as she headed out to her car. Planning out their wedding so causally with no actual arrangements in place. Those two really make quite the pair.

---

Once she was home, Prisha found herself lost as to what she would do with the rest of her day. It had been an unexpected half-day at work, the builders coming in early to begin work on improvements to the bar. Perhaps she would finally get around to clearing out her inbox. Sitting on her couch, Prisha opened her laptop and began the monotonous but rewarding process. A few minutes into the process, she accidentally clicked a Pinterest notification that popped up rather than the email she’d intended and was whisked off in a separate tab for the website. Prisha glanced with mild interest at her feed. She hadn’t used Pinterest in a while, mostly referencing it for inspiration when decorating her apartment as well as providing the occasional healthy recipe.

It was so easy to get sucked in again with all the aesthetic, perfectly framed images. One in particular caught Prisha’s eye: a girl in a white sundress standing in a field of sunflowers. The girl’s short blonde hair reminded her of Violet’s. As Prisha gazed at the picture, a thought wandered into her mind. That sort of looks like a wedding dress. As soon as the thought coalesced, Prisha felt her cheeks heating up in embarrassment. Immediately she closed her computer, standing up to get the tea she’d been considering. Beginning the electric kettle, she tried to think of other things to distract herself, but her thoughts simply kept returning to Sophie and Marlon and that lighthearted wedding conversation they’d been planning. They made the whole discussion look so easy, so natural.

Prisha poured the hot water over her packet of Earl Grey, warily eyeing her laptop as it lay upon the couch. There’s nothing wrong with daydreaming, is there? Hesitantly, Prisha returned to her computer, opening it back up. The screen immediately displayed Pinterest again. As she clicked on the search bar, a menu of suggested searches popped down with several categories. Desserts, sunsets, DIY furniture… weddings. This site is reading my mind. Prisha gulped heavily before clicking on the Weddings option. What sort of rabbit hole had she let herself wander into?

There were endless ideas for weddings on Pinterest: color schemes, flower arrangements, wedding gowns, cakes, there seemed to be an infinitesimal number of things to take into consideration when planning a wedding. Scrolling through the feed, Prisha found her eyes drawn to the wedding dresses first. There were so many options, so many different styles. Long, short, fitted, flowy, the fashion choices seemed infinite. Prisha gazed at a fitted mermaid, lace dress for several seconds, entranced by it. Could I pull something like that off? The woman in the photo appeared to have a similar body type. What would Violet think?

Violet always seemed to like whatever Prisha was wearing. There hadn’t been a single time where she’d said anything against a single one of Prisha’s outfits. Truth be told, she probably didn’t think about fashion very much, but her eyes did light up a certain way when she noticed Prisha was wearing one of her favorites: the cranberry red cocktail dress, that one pair of jeans that always did wonders for Prisha’s butt, her warm grey cardigan that was extra snuggly on cold nights. Whatever Prisha chose, she wanted it to make Violet’s eyes sparkle in that way.

I don’t know why I’m talking as though this is an inevitability, Prisha scolded herself. Marriage wasn’t even something that either of them had put on the table. But rather than continuing to scold herself on the likelihood of this even happening, Prisha found her mind back on the wedding dress train. Would they both wear dresses? She’d never seen Violet in a suit before. The girl didn’t own anything fancier than a jean jacket. Prisha found herself liking the idea of them both wearing dresses more and more though. Perhaps in different styles so they’d both stand out. Violet could wear something comfortable, maybe one of those cute shorter dresses with the pockets. They didn’t have to both be in white either. Prisha wondered how a cream dress would look against her own skin. There was a particularly lovely gray dress that she quite fancied too…

Amongst all the wedding dresses there were a myriad of other wedding ideas too. Prisha found the outdoor weddings to be the loveliest. It would be beautiful to be married under the trees with the natural light breaking through the branches and scattering upon us. Then at night we could dance under the stars. There were several photos of trees covered in twinkle and curtain lights. Such a simple touch truly brought magic with it. After coming across a particularly lovely photo of just such an arrangement, Prisha finally bit the bullet and made a secret board for herself so she could keep track of her favorite photos. Scrolling back up a ways, she collected several other pins that had caught her eye before returning to the point where she had been.

There were so many elaborate weddings, ones that looked as though they would be massively expensive. I believe we’d both want to keep things simple, Prisha thought to herself. A small ceremony with only our closest friends. Things like the cake and the bouquet could be kept simple as well. A white cake, classic, with some flowers curling round its tiers. Violets would be too on the nose and probably just irk Violet. Prisha didn’t see any cakes with them, but she wondered to herself if it would be possible to decorate a cake with morning glories. After all, Violet was her Morning Glory, it would be lovely to have that special name be celebrated at their wedding.

I’m smiling like a fool, aren’t I? Prisha thought, feeling the expression tug at the corner of her lips. No matter. It wasn’t as though there were anybody about to see her giddiness. Should we both have bouquets or just one of us? Would we walk up the aisle together? One at a time? Prisha supposed with all these things it would come down to what worked best for them. She’d never really considered being walked down the aisle, but Prisha supposed that if her father weren’t there to walk her down the aisle as would likely be the case, she’d rather do it on her own or not at all. Violet on the other hand… Would Louis walk her down the aisle? Prisha chuckled aloud at the thought. She knew Louis would be absolutely ecstatic about that idea. He’d probably fight off anyone else who tried to take the role, though Prisha didn’t think Mitch or Marlon would put up much of a fight.

Ringbearers, flower girls… Willy could be the ring bearer. Prisha was quite fond of the boy. Then again Violet was very much attached to Tenn. Why not both? Then A.J. as the flower boy. Probably not, Prisha thought with a smile imagining the chaos that would ensue with those three together. But it’s certainly an entertaining thought. Bridesmaids and brides.. men? Why not both? That seems to be the theme of this whole ceremony, Prisha thought wryly. Clementine and Louis were most likely to take the positions of honor among the wedding party, making the toasts and planning the bachelorette parties.

Ruby and Omar would likely take on the catering for the wedding while Renata handled the cake. Prisha was sure come hell or high water, Ruby would get involved in other aspects of the wedding as well: dress shopping, flower arrangements, wedding decorations. Considering how excited Ruby got during themed nights at Ericson’s Diner, that excitement was sure to rise tenfold for a wedding. Thinking of their friends and coworkers getting involved in wedding prep filled Prisha with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Prisha could just imagine all of them coming together and helping make this dream a reality. Perhaps I should look at rings next.

The sound of the front door unlocking had Prisha jumping off the couch in fright. Violet stood in the doorway, a to-go bag in one hand and the key to Prisha’s apartment in the other. She looked apologetically at her girlfriend. “Shit, did I scare you? Louis asked to switch shifts with me so I got off early. Picked up some food on the way here. Figured we could make a night of it, have an early dinner, but if you’re busy-”

“Not at all,” Prisha declared, closing the tab and slamming her laptop shut. She threw it off to the side where it landed upon a beige pouf she kept off in the corner. “What sort of food did you bring?”

“Thai. Figured we’d switch things up,” Violet closed the door behind her and walked over into the kitchen, beginning to take out the various boxes of food she’d carried within the bag. Prisha came over to help her. Violet glanced up and a shy smile crossed her face before she looked away.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Violet paused. “You’re wearing the earrings I got you,”

Prisha’s hand came up instinctively, brushing against one of the earrings. It had been a six-month anniversary present: a gold pair of earrings, a moon and a star. Prisha knew they were far nicer than anything Violet owned herself. “I love them. They match with everything too,”

Violet nodded. “I thought they would,” She glanced over at the television. “So… Cutthroat Kitchen tonight?”

“Sounds perfect,” They’d soon found the show to be the perfect combination of strategy and chaos to keep both of them entertained. After grabbing their food, both girls settled down on the couch, ready for a night of relaxation. Raising her legs up, Violet put them across Prisha’s lap without another thought. Prisha smiled. Violet had been so nervous about physical touch when they first started dating. It was nice to see how far they’d come together.

Running her hand absentmindedly along her girlfriend’s leg, Prisha glanced over at her abandoned laptop. The board she’d made for herself seemed like a faraway dream now. But being here with Violet, Prisha knew it wasn’t simply a fantasy for her. It was something she wanted, not quite yet, but someday. And every day with Violet made that someday feel closer and closer. With that thought in mind, Prisha grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

#twdg #twdg violet #twdg prisha #twdg privet #twdg sophie #twdg marlon #twdg marlie #fanfic #ericson's diner au

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