#I am amused by the contrast of this to the previous entry

[lulaypp]

Lulaypp's Foliage of Lost Fics #2: Aren't We All Fluffy

A/N: This was my first fluff. From 2020? Pure fluff. I remembered it being a bit of a pain to write XD This was inspired by the lovely Gem, who shared several polar bear images and captioning them as Batfam. Somehow that gave me the great idea to write pure fluff with polar bear-ed Bat boys. And I never finished it until now (even so I think I intended for it to cover the next morning? But I thought Nah). Among the stuff that I will be putting here, this might be the oldest? A close second otherwise. Up there among the earliest fic I have written (even if incomplete).

Details of Fic: 3.5k words, Batfam Fandom, Pure Fluff, Characters Magically Transformed into Animals, Potential Touches of OOC (I wrote this ages ago so... :P I tried fixing those too glaring)

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

Dick woke up from his sleep fumbling with his newly acquired furry paws. He blinked at the clock by his bed. 11:25. Everyone else should already be awake at this time.  

Dick dragged himself off his seemingly ginormous bed, padded his way to the door and nosed it open. Bruce had insisted that they left all the doors to their rooms slightly ajar for convenience and emergencies, as the door handle might prove difficult for their paws. 

It had been an accident of sorts. All the boys of the Bats had been chasing one single magical villain. All of them had been zapped. And before they knew it, they were all not just polar bears, but polar bear cubs. 

Luckily, it was winter. Their thick coats would have been unbearable in the summer heat.  

Dick scanned the hallways for any signs of his brothers. 

The door opposite to his was wide open. Tim's. He crawled over to it and peeked inside. The room was empty. He turned to Damian's room beside his own; also empty. Then, he turned to the last one, the door still left just slightly opened.  

He pushed through it with his head and looked around. Despite being occupied, the room was relatively barren. The cupboards were empty and the walls a normal standard cream colour, the duffel bag on the floor being the only sign of life aside from the bundle of fuzzy fur, curled up on the bed. Jason was bent on not claiming the room as his even though he occupied it every time he stayed at the manor and no one else ever used it. Dick didn’t know whether it was some stupid Jason-being-stubborn-thing, or was it born of something else. 

He carefully climbed onto the bed and approached his sleeping brother. In the dim light, his coat appeared grey, highlighting the white clump of fur on the top of his head (no one understood why that part of him retained after the transformation). He looked so peaceful and, admittedly, adorable. 

But sadly, Dick needed to wake him up. Alfred and Bruce had apparently let them oversleep.  

He nearly used his voice before he remembered that he was not human. So instead, he pawed at Jason's leg. No movement. He did it again, harder this time. Still no response. Dick did a bear equivalent of a frown. He remembered Jason being someone who woke up easily. Changing tactics, he tried gentling batting the other bear's ear— in a way he had always seen animals do. The ear twitched a little before the Jason made a small sound, curling up further. Dick tried poking next, softly prodding his paw into his brother's fuzzy chest, while nosing his head.  

That got him a response. Jason's eyes slowly opened and blinked at him sleepily. Before they turned alarmed. He jumped back, flopping on the bed, paws flailing. 

Dick laughed. Or it would have been if he wasn't a bear cub. Instead, it sounded like a light, stutter high pitched growl. Jason though, was not amused. He gave Dick a glare before standing up on his paws and jumped off the bed. Dick followed.  

Together, they crawled out of the room and headed towards the stairs. He was about to start a conversation before he was reminded of his lack of ability to humanely do so. He frowned.  

Beside him, Jason seemed to drag his paws across the carpet, his eyes half closed. Dick's mind supplied him with a brilliant idea. With what could have been a mischievous smile, Dick let himself fall behind before crouching, coiling his hind legs. Then he pounced, tackling Jason, who could only let out a startled yelp.  

Unfortunately, Dick chose to do this at the top of the manor's long flight of stairs. 

The two polar bears tumbled down, and Dick let out a squeal of glee, clearly enjoying their fall down the carpeted steps. Jason on the other hand was mildly terrified. His untrained paws attempting to find something— that was not his brother— to hold on to. 

Before long, their decent down the stairs came to a halt as they finally reached the ground floor. Dick quickly got up and started to run in small circles, wearing an expression resembling a wide grin.  

The other bear was not really angry with their tumble down the stairs, but that didn't mean he was particularly happy either. He struck at his brother, sheathed claws softly batting the other's nose with a growl.  

Dick was taken aback, joy disappearing from his face as he stepped back. He looked up, expecting to see rage. But, while Jason was snarling, there was mirth in his eyes. 

The younger bear slammed into Dick before they ended up playing a game of chase all the way to the dining room. 

- 

While he did adore animals, that never meant he wanted to be one. Sure, there were times when he wondered what it would be like, but that had only been a mere thought. 

Damian marched into the dining room and saw Alfred pouring coffee in a mug and Father flipping through today's newspaper. This would have been a normal sight if there wasn't a small polar bear seated at one of the chairs, seemingly contemplating the cutleries. Drake. Damian crawled until he reached his chair before standing up and climbing onto the seat with as much grace as a tiny polar bear cub could muster. 

"Damian," Bruce greeted him, swiftly snatching his mug of coffee away from Tim's reach. 

Damian supressed the urge to reply vocally, instead just giving a nod. He refused to talk while still in this form. He had tried it yesterday and the result had been horrendous.  

Alfred placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of Drake, and one filled with chickpeas masala and bread for him. 

While Damian tried to figure out the best way to eat without the use of cutleries— for he knew he would only end up making a fool of himself— Drake was trying to manoeuvre a single spoon of eggs into his mouth, clutching the silverware with both front paws. Damian was confused as to why Alfred would provide them with the silverware, as they clearly would have problem using them. 

"I have contacted Zatanna," Father spoke up, folding the paper and placing it on the table. 

Drake paused his activity to look up at Father questioningly. 

He seemed to understand as he promptly replied, "She would be arriving tomorrow evening." 

Drake gave a nod before getting back to his task, the spoon clumsily clanging against the plate repeatedly. 

Damian looked down at his food. Unlike Drake, he knew that he would not be able to use the cutleries with his new paws.  

Some minutes later, Damian had decided to tediously eat using his claws and paws while Father, who already finished his meal, was watching Drake still attempting to scoop up the scrambled eggs—he managed two mouthfuls so far, which was impressive. Alfred was just coming towards the table to retrieve the empty dishes, when there were sounds.  

Thudding, quick heavy footsteps and low, muffled growling. 

It didn't take long for them to figure out where did the noise come from as a bundle of light grey tumbled into the dining room. Richard and Todd; hopping, swiping at each other’s faces, teeth snapping at fur. Playing. The two of the seem to notice where they were and started to untangle themselves from each other. Richard immediately bounded over to the chair next to him leaping and falling half on top of the seat, his hind legs hanging down. 

Todd walked up to the table, climbing onto the chair several spaces after Tim's as Alfred brought out two plates of eggs. 

Todd didn’t hesitate to shove his face into his food, jaws snapping what he could into his mouth before chewing. 

Richard on the other hand merely took one sullen look at his meal before turning to Father, who happened to be looking at him. He then used his puppy eyes, fore paw pushing his plate in Father's direction. 

For a moment, Damian thought his oldest brother's actions were based on the difficulties of eating with their paws. 

That was until Father spoke, "Alfred is the one who cooks and serves, Dick. If you want cereal, you are going to have to ask from him." 

- 

After breakfast, Bruce had to go to the Wayne Tower to attend some meeting that Tim was initially supposed to go to and the cubs, minus Tim, gathered in the living room. Damian stood on his hind legs in front of the window, watching Bruce's car driving away. Dick was on the coffee table, attempting a handstand. Jason was settled on the arm rest of the sofa, thinking whether he should try seeing if could read a book. He didn't want to accidentally ruin his books while flipping the pages with his furry, clawed paws.  

Yet, he was growing bored. One could only watch Dick Grayson fall on head over heels so much before it stopped being funny. As minutes pass, Jason was starting to doubt his previous conclusion, maybe Dick was not trying to do a handstand. Falling off the table seemed to be the goal. 

Suddenly, Tim came running into the room, tripping over his paws and crashing into Dick. Damian looked part horrified part amused and Jason wished he had a camera to capture the scene that had just unfolded. 

Dick picked himself up, shaking his head, while Tim seems totally unfazed, perking up with a cheerful expression and looked at all of them before pointing at the window. The three other bears blinked and stared at him in confusion. Tim ran to the window, stood on his hind legs and tapped the glass pane with one paw while the other makes a circular motion. 

They really needed to come up with a way to communicate effectively. 

Tim seemingly rolled his eyes. He walked back to them, pointed individually to each of them, including himself, before he made what Jason could only interpret as a running motion then pointed at the window. Jason looked at the window, trying to get a clue. It was snowing outside. The four of them are polar bears. 

Then he understood. Tim wanted them all to go outside into the snow.  

With that, he gestured Dick and Damian to follow him with his head. He led the to the front door and pat on it with a front paw. That somehow manage to finally make the others understand, Dick grinning excitedly before disappearing back into the hallways. 

It didn't take long for him to return with Alfred, who unlocked the front door, saying, "Now young masters, I know that you are all now more than prepared for the freezing temperature, but do be careful. Stay safe and try to not lose each other."  

The door opened and Dick dashed out into the snow followed by Tim. Damian ran after them.  

Jason launched himself on top of Tim, paws batting his ears, while the younger bear tried to nip at his leg. They rolled about in the snow for a while before a white ball of Damian crashed into them. They landed in a heap before Dick belly flopped himself on top of them. 

- 

After playing in the snow for some time, the boys were called in for lunch. It started out as rather uneventful. Bruce was still at WE and Tim knew that the second meeting he needed to attend would probably finish at three.  

They all ate silently at first. Or he would be silent if he could get the fork to move right. 

Damian was daintily plucking his salad with his paw while Jason decides to just bite into his steak, his plate occasionally shifting about. 

Dick had managed to convince Alfred to cut his into smaller pieces and was chewing on them individually.  

Tim was still struggling with his fork when suddenly a white paw pulled his plate away. He looked up in surprise and saw Damian reaching over— tiny body half on top of the table— and pulling the plate towards himself, giving him what resembled an exasperated look. Using his claw, he cut Tim's piece into smaller parts before pushing the plate back to Tim who was still stunned (and really, why didn’t he think of doing that?). He was barely aware of Dick making a happy proud noise as Tim look from the food to Damian, who was wiping his paw on the napkin. In the end, he let out a sound that hopefully sounds like gratitude and used his fork to finish up his lunch.  

Not long after, they all converged into the kitchen, initially to just wash their paws and mouth. Due to reasons that was difficult to pinpoint, what Dick and Damian almost ended up doing was a full-blown circus act in the middle of the kitchen causing Alfred to immediately shoo them out.  

"I heard that Miss Cassandra is coming over today," Alfred told them while as they tumbled out of the kitchen doorway. "She should be arriving at any moment. Why don't you all greet her?" And with that, he turned back to the kitchen. 

Dick looked at them as they all head to the den, eyes glinting at the idea.  

Jason's scowled and shook his head. The elder cocked his head to one side questioningly but did not push, instead turning to his two younger brothers. 

Tim gave a shrug, not seeing a problem with the idea while Damian nodded. Having Cass over had never not been fun. 

Dick grinned, which really could look like a snarl in their condition, as they reached the den. 

Jason shook his head again, causing Dick to frown, his right eye twitched in what looks like a raised eyebrow. Jason gestured his forelegs wildly, at all of them, at himself and at the doorway, which Tim honestly felt like brought more questions than answers. 

Damian somehow seemed to understand as he gave a nod before pointing at Jason then upwards. 

Tim got even more confused as Dick joined in the non-verbal conversation, shaking his head vigorously, doing some incoherent flailing of his own. 

It was cut short however as suddenly someone landed on the table behind him, startling everyone. Tim turned to the newcomer and saw that it was Cass, her mouth pulled into a grin. 

"Brothers," she said simply.  

Dick let out a strange, excited sound as he jumped over to tackle her. Catching the cub, Cass gave him a hug as she jumped down from the table.  

"Brothers, bears. Adorable."  

Damian let out a half growl while Jason only huffs a breath, rolling his eyes and crossing his forelegs. Dick on the other hand seemed to take it as a compliment, excitedly wiggling in Cass's hug. 

She placed him on the floor and waved them all to follow her. They followed her to Bruce's study and down to the Cave. After a few quick glances around the Batcave, probably to check for their father's presence, Cass continued further until they reached the training mats and turned to them with a wide grin. 

"Practice," she spoke. 

Dick and Jason perked up (the latter seemingly have lost his earlier hesitance) while Damian seemed to back away. Tim gave him a questioning look which was responded with a shake of his head. 

In front of them, Jason and Cass were already in a hand to paw battle, with Dick occasionally jumping in to give playful swipes to either of his siblings. 

Tim looked back at Damian, who still appeared uncertain. After several years of back-and-forth squabbling, they seemed to have gone past the point of mutual understanding and respect to where they are now. Knowing that his brother's hesitance came from not wanting to make a fool of himself during training, due to him being an entirely different creature, Tim didn’t push him. 

Instead, he shoved. 

While Damian was distracted by Dick successfully doing an impressive summersault to a avoid Cass's kick, Tim walked a little bit behind Damian before running at full speed and ramming into his brother. Damian let out a squeak as they tumbled into Dick. The eldest sat dazed and confused as Damian turned to him, teeth bared into a snarl, and pounced onto him, attacking with sheathed claws. 

And that was how Bruce found them as he entered the Cave after an impromptu quick dinner. All five of his children, tumbling and fighting on the training mat. He pulled his phone out and sneaked in a quick picture, before he approached them. Cass already met his eyes when he appeared but chose to ignore her father in favour of pushing Jason off Tim. 

Bruce could feel his heart melt just by looking at all his children having fun together. It had been a while since that had happened. While they all were in good terms with one another, they also had varying and shifting schedules and lived in separate places. The only times he could actually be sure to see them all together was during Alfred's birthday. Even then there were times when things went wrong. 

It took a minute and a lull in their playfight for Dick to notice the new presence and he let out an excited noise before running to Bruce making unintelligible sounds, which Bruce assume that his eldest is trying to tell him a story of sorts. He responded with giving Dick's furred head a pat and turned to the rest of his kids.  

"I take it you are having fun," he said. "I hope I am not interrupting but Alfred wants me to tell you that dinner would be ready in an hour and that he would prefer it if you hit the showers before that." 

They all picked themselves up from the mats and were about to rush to the stairs when Bruce called for Cass. She motioned her brothers to go on upstairs as she headed back to Bruce, a question in her eyes. "You are staying home tonight." 

Her eyes widen slightly but he continued before she could protest. 

"Your brothers are all currently benched until they are reverted back to normal, and I need someone to make sure none of them heads out into the streets. You are staying to supervise them." 

Cass frowned, "Have case." 

"I am sure I can look into it for you. Please?" 

She didn’t seem keen with it, but she nodded anyway.  

"Thank you, Cass." Bruce gave a nod and a squeeze on her shoulder before walking to the computer. 

- 

Dinner went well. Other than several snappy growls from Damian, Tim's cutleries clattering to the floor and Dick trying to convince Cass to feed him. 

Just as everyone cleared their plates, “Movie night!" Cass declared. 

Dick let out an excited rumble of agreement and when no one disagreed, they all went to the den. 

It took a while for them to agree on a movie, but they ended up with Ice Age— Tim insisted on it out of irony. The movie started as they settled down on their chosen seats. Dick squeezed himself beside Cass on the sofa, followed by Damian who fit himself between his brother and the armrest. Jason and Tim shared the large armchair, the thing being the perfect size for them.   

And it was several hours later when Bruce peaked around the corner and saw his children asleep in the dark den. Dick was curled up on the sofa with Damian sprawled on top of him. On the armchair that was usually reserved for Bruce, were Tim, head hanging of the edge of the seat— it looked painful— and Jason, who had his chin perched on his brother’s shoulders. Cass had a blanket wrapped around her and one hand nestled in Damian’s long fur. She was the only one awake, shooting a smile at Bruce when she noticed his presence. 

He approached silently and gave a kiss into Cass’s hair. ‘Thank you,’ he tried to convey. 

His daughter immediately pushed into it in an almost cat-like manner before settling in under the blanket again. Damian, head in Cass’s lap, let out a little rumble, burrowing his face into the fabric. 

Bruce gave all his sons a gentle stroke on the head— after deciding not to fix Tim’s position as it might jostle him awake— before leaving for his own room upstairs, the image of his children snuggling together safe (even if not quite themselves) warming his heart. 

- 

(Deleted Scene) 

They spent the morning running around, play fighting, pouncing on each other and even tried to have a snowball fight at one point. 

It was a bit after noon when they heard the sounds of a car crunching the snow on the driveway. In unison, they all turned and saw Bruce's car. They ran to it. The car stopped not far from them, and Bruce stepped out, a concerned frown on his face as he eyed the crowd of bears in front of him.  

"Is something wro-" 

He was cut off by Dick launching himself at Bruce head, causing him to fall into the snow. Damian followed suit as Jason and Tim joined in as well, piling onto Bruce. 

[boymeetsparadise]

apart (min yoongi)

masterlist

word count: 2k

summary: Yoongi is distant and the reader is snarky. Yoongi doesn’t mean to intentionally be an asshole and Reader’s pent up feelings caused by depression result into a fight and devastating time apart. They love each other and they didn’t mean it that way but realizations hurt.

warnings: language. angst. mentions of depression and negative thoughts. both don’t mean to let their feelings get the best of em.

a/n: it’s been a while since i’ve written so i’m sorry if this isn’t the best. perhaps work is also kicking my creative ass ew lol. 

——

“The guys called, I’ll be home later.” Yoongi grinned as he grabbed his keys, the sound of a door closing echoing the small hall.

-

“Kind of busy? Can we talk later?” Yoongi turned his attention to the computer screen in front of him, bringing the hot mug to his lips. “Thank you for the tea though!”

-

“Gotta take this, just a moment.” He put a finger up, requesting a moment as he walked out the door.

-

“Going out, don’t wait up.” He kissed your cheek with a hand on your back, walking away before you could think of a response.

-

“Not now, maybe later?”

“Yeah..” You sighed as you gently crumpled a shirt, tossing it onto your shared bed. The different responses all had the same meaning, leaving the same tired feelings every time. “Just lemme know what time you're coming home, yeah?” You asked with a hint of concern.

“Yeah no problem.” Yoongi grinned as he zipped up his jacket and adjusted the cap on his head. “Might be late. Laters baby” He waved as he grabbed a mask off the dresser. You sighed once hearing the door close.

“Love you.” You said out loud to an empty room.

That same night he doesn’t call and comes home at 4 am. Pretending to slow your breathing- you hear him as he walks from the bathroom to the closet, changing out of his clothes and preparing for bed, he lays down with a heavy sigh, facing away from you. Tears brim your eyes but you don’t give yourself away, he’s tired anyways.

You wondered if he ever noticed how his favorite meals you were forced to put away as leftovers were attempts at grabbing his attention. How you woke up early enough to prepare breakfast on a day where he had more time… only for him to take a sip of coffee and quickly stuff a cut piece of pancake into his mouth before running off. Or how you made sure to clean his small home studio just the way he preferred… even if you didn’t get a thanks. Most importantly, the way you always said ‘I love you’ even if he was already out the door, hoping he’d say it first for once.

You just wanted someone to talk to. A moment of peace and happiness to contrast the dark thoughts you had been having recently. This time of the year was always the hardest for you, and although you didn’t want to fully depend on your boyfriend nor make it his responsibility, you wanted some sort of reassurance or support- no matter how small. You knew he also wasn’t good at talking about feelings but it was an effort you both put in to grow and become better versions.

...But lately his constant absence didn’t help the loneliness you had already been feeling.

-

“Hey baby why don’t we stay in tonight?” You walked over to him as he sat in front of his computer, fingers softly dancing their way up to gently play with the hair near his neck. “I can cook or perhaps order delivery! There’s a movie I know you’ll love!” You grinned, hoping he would agree tonight.

He always did say to come to him when you needed something and right now you wanted his warmth.  

“Kind of busy.” He tilted his head with an annoyed sigh and clicks of the cursor filled the silent room.

You played with your hands and looked to the floor, “I know you're busy and I’m super proud of you but to be honest..” You paused, you felt as if you were about to break down. Every negative emotion was ready to be poured out after being pushed away. “I just want someone to talk to. I’ve been feeling super desperate and negative-“

“Look babe,” He set down his headphones to properly turn his chair around, taking your hand in his, “Feelings like these suck, trust me I know. Take a nap and relax okay? I know how it gets sometimes.” He nodded- continuing, “Why don’t you call your best friend? Maybe have a movie night with some snacks.” He kissed your hand before letting go and turning around to reach for his headphones. “Love you!”

“I already did.” You softly replied but it was no use as you heard the muffled sound blasting from his headphones. Despite hearing those three words for the first time in weeks, they didn’t register. You shook your head and wiped away your tears, walking back into your shared bedroom. With the door closed you slid to the floor, silently crying into your hands.

See? Not even your boyfriend wants you around. You know what you are? A bother! Why don’t you just run away from it all? You’ll go unnoticed.

A few moments passed before you decided to pick yourself up, tiredly wiping away stray tears.

Just suck it up. All you do is annoy. So whiny! Pathetic. This is why he doesn’t love you anymore.

You laid in bed with a straight face as the voices chanted in circles around your mind. Inside your mind you had anger but not towards anyone in particular but yourself, for feeling such a way and wishing you could just push it away.

-

The door clicked signaling to an entry. You heard soft ruffles of clothes from the opened closet before you heard his footsteps.

Why were you not surprised?

“Hey babe, going out. Gonna-“

“Be late I fucking know.” You interrupted and the sounds of his jewelry came to halt, your tone definitely snapping him out of his daze. Didn’t you just say you were busy?

“Pardon?” He asked as he took a few steps in your resting figure. “Is there a problem?” He asked as he adjusted his jacket.

“No.” You shook your head, “None at all. Have fun.”

“What’s up?” He shifted his weight as he crossed his hands across his chest.

“Nothing.” You dryly replied as you rolled away from his stare. “Won’t wait up, they’re expecting you. Go.”

Yoongi cocked his brow in amused confusion. He had never seen this type of behavior from you, completely forgetting your previous actions thinking this moment was completely random.

“(Y/N).” His voice was stern as he stepped closer, the use of your full name only angered you as he stood behind you, your back towards him . “Speak. What’s wrong?”

He waited for an answer but was met with none as you continued to ignore him. Now he wanted to hear what you had to say? Now he found the time?

“(Y/N).”

Silence.

“(Y/N),I won’t ask again. What’s wrong?” He felt himself growing annoyed.

“Then don’t.”

Yoongi stayed in place as you sat up, ignoring his stare and walking out into the living room. What was your reasoning for this type of behavior?

He followed the sound of the tv as you sat on the couch.

“So now you don’t wanna speak? What the fuck is wrong, tell me.”

“It’s nothing, leave me alone Yoongi.”

He shook his head in disbelief as you called him by his name. Even when it came to disagreements you would either use the nickname you gave him or refrain from using his name at all. The tone you used signaled you were angry and he wasn’t having it.

“So you can go on and act desperate for my attention huh,” He asked with a scoff. “But the second I hand it over now you wanna act silent? Grow up. Tell me what you’re on.”

You shook your head and raised your brows in shock as your tongue poked the inside of your cheek. Oh so he did notice. How great for him to say nothing until now.  

“Forget it.” You shut the tv off and stood up once again, making a beeline to the kitchen where once again, Yoongi was hot on your emotional trail.

“You obviously have something important to say so go on.” He pressed as he crossed his arms once again.

“I’m waiting.” You looked up to him with an agitated face.

“Keep waiting.” You bit back as you began to reach for the cupboard above. You hoped to relax by preparing a cup of tea but suddenly saw his hand reach out to close the small door, halting your actions.

“You don’t get to start this and leave it unfinished.” He put his hands on either side of you as you turned around, “I asked you multiple times about whatever fucking issue you have and now you wanna rub me off? I have done the absolute most and this is how you wanna go about it? We’re adults.”

You've done the absolute most? Are you kidding?  Please say it isn’t so! Don’t let it be that he’s about to start using his career against you. Not in a moment like this.

“I don’t want this okay?.” You shook your head with a dry chuckle. Your anxiety grew 10x worse as you began to mentally prepare for the possible fight that was about to start. “I don’t wanna fight with you anymore. You’re unbelievable Min Yoongi.”

“Please enlighten me (Y/F/N)”

“I shouldn’t have to repeat it.”

“Well you’re about to.” He said in an annoyed manner.

With a shake of your head, you returned the same tone. “First off.” You stood before him but his stance didn’t falter. “I’ve been trying to capture your attention for weeks now. You brush me off before I can even get a proper word in.”

“Oh please.” He scoffed.

“I’m not done Min Yoongi. Like you said, if I showed how desperate I was for your attention.. Why didn’t you mention that earlier? Don’t throw it in my fucking face. You know I try to do my part and more to help make up for the stuff I can’t do.”

You began to point a finger to his chest as he raised a brow.

“Third and final fuck of all. You want to know my deal? I’m not happy. I’ve been desperate for your attention because I’m drowning inside. A small conversation or a hug would be very helpful.” You spat. “You noticed my efforts and let me be met with disappointment every time. I feel like you don’t love me anymore. Maybe it’s my mind, but I don’t know. I’m tired. Mentally I feel like I'm self suffocating. Now leave me alone.” Before Yoongi could even process your words, you ducked under his arm and walked past him, trying to reach your bedroom when he spoke again.

“If you’re not happy then why are you here?” His words had hit another chord as you froze in place. “I love you but you know I’m not good with that soft shit. That’s why you can call your friends.”

“Other than tonight, when was the last time you said you loved me?” You pursed your lips as you spun around.  

Silence.

“See?” With a nod, you continued your stare off.

“You haven’t said it either so now what?” He challenged with a shrug.

“I’ve said it everyday Yoongi.” Licking your lips you continued, “But you're always out the door before you can hear me.”

Yoongi’s eyes moved to anything else but your eyes.

He had no reason to doubt your words.

“You don’t get it. Forget ‘that soft shit’ I brought up Yoongi.” With a shake of your head you had hoped that perhaps it would be the end. You knew you had a good reason to be angry but perhaps it didn’t come out the way you intended.

“Like I said,” His voice still low. “If you're not happy, you can leave. I’m not gonna force you since you’re so tired.” He mocked, emotions still rushing.

With exhaustion taking over you let your shoulders fall in realization. “Fine.” And with slow steps you began your walk back into your room, maybe time would help this situation. A way for you to breathe and focus on yourself. Maybe he had a point, focus on just yourself for now and come back.

In Yoongi’s mind he knew you had a point but was too stubborn to admit he wasn’t being the best boyfriend. Seeing your anger brought his out too and he couldn’t blame you.

In reality he really had noticed your efforts but tried to brush em off as clingingness, too afraid to confront the reasons as to why. Of course he still loved you. When would he ever stop? He just hasn't been able to prioritize the important. Even though he knows he shouldn’t even have to consider your position in his life.

If he couldn’t confront his own feelings, how could he help you confront yours?

He stood in the middle of the living room, all the words registering in his mind before the sound of a zipper broke his thoughts. With wide eyes he took quick strides to your bedroom. What was he saying? What was he doing?

“What are you doing?” He asked softly with concern as he leaned against the doorway.

“You have a point. I’m leaving and focusing on bettering myself okay?” Valuables tucked into the suitcase as you walked from drawer to drawer, folding clothes and tossing. “Maybe I just need some space.”

“No wait.” He stood next to the bed, hoping you’d stop your actions. “We can sit and talk, c’mon.” He extended his hand. “I’ll listen to every word okay?”

You sighed as you set down a small stack of clothes into your bag. “It’s fine. We’ll talk later okay?”

“Or you can stop packing and we can talk now?” His suggestion came out more like a question as he began to chew on his bottom lip. “See? I’ll help you unpack.”

Yoongi began to take out the folded articles of clothing and set them back into the designated drawers. With another weary sigh you crossed your arms against your chest. “Please don’t do this.”

“You said you wanted to talk feelings, let’s do that.” His voice was shaky as he stood before you, taking your hand. The realness of the moment kicked in and now he was terrified.

“This started because we didn't want to talk feelings, let’s not start another so that we do.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” He interjected as he took your other hand. “You have a point and I’m sorry I’m realizing that right now. I’ve been busy and I can’t bring myself to confront emotions. I let myself get carried away by them when I should really be listening and supporting the best I can.” He intertwined your fingers as he took a deep breath. “Just stop packing.”

“We both agreed to work on expressing our emotions. This isn’t a new topic Yoongi.” You expressed with sadness as you pulled a hand away to cradle his cheek.

“I know but please-“

“It’s best I go, at least for a bit.” Pulling away, clothes began to make their way back into the suitcase.

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m doing this for myself. Maybe I need a break from everything around me. I can't be myself and give you the best version of me if I’m feeling like a whole different person. Look at what I started. I don’t like this.”

“So you need a break from me too?” With glossy eyes Yoongi began to breathe heavily, the panic now on display before you. Have we truly done it now? 

“I’m not leaving you Min Yoongi.” You held his face in your palms as your thumbs gently rubbed his shoulders. With closed eyes he held your hand, worried. “I need to work on me. This isn’t about you or anything else. I guess I’m running from my emotions but maybe it’s best. I’ll be forced to confront them.”

“Are you sure?” He asked again hoping maybe you’d change your mind.

“Yes. I’ve been trying to distract myself from reality and I can’t do this anymore.”

Surprised you kept a steady voice, you tsked before pulling him into a hug.

“I love you so much. I’m sorry for everything tonight but please wait till I’m home okay?” You squeezed him tighter.

“But what if you don’t? What if you realize maybe I’m the reason and never come back? I’m sorry for everything too. I promise I’ll listen to your feelings. Don’t go.” Vulnerable, Yoongi felt a tear slip down his cheek and onto your shoulder. He was most certain you felt it as it left a dark stain on your shirt.

“Please don’t treat this as a breakup. It won’t be.”

“It sure feels like one.”  He wished there was more he could say.

With tears of your own you pulled away, extending a pinky before him. “Look,” Pulling his own hand up, you tried to move his fingers to mimic yours. “I promise you. I’ll be back. Just wait.”

Looking into your eyes, he admitted defeat. Your stubbornness was something he admired but he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t what he despised at this moment.

“Promise?” He shed more tears as his pinky curled.

Completing the action you nodded, “I promise. I love you Min Yoongi.”

“I love you too (Y/N/F).” With that he left himself break, pulling you in once again and sobbing into your shoulder.

That tender moment felt like you both let out everything you had to say but without using your words. If only it was always like this.

“It’s best I go. I’ll text you okay?” You wiped away a couple tears as he let you go with a sad nod.

“I’ll be here waiting.” And with a sad smile he sat on the edge of the bed as you continued to pack. 

Both of your hearts hoped this was the right answer. 

[ishouldbestudyingprobably]

Hey uh- could i request another barley x reader? the previous one was so cute! maybe some sort of date night one-shot? whatever you chose!❤️

Thank you so much for requesting!! I’m gonna become the CEO of Barley fanfics LOL! (I’d gratefully take that title tho)

To put you on a bit of context, this takes place AFTER the movie unlike my previous one-shot, of course I’ll try to keep it as spoiler free as possible considering the movie is going to come out to Disney + in just a few days and some of you haven’t seen it yet, but maybe I slip something so, please beware.

Also, I have been reading more fanfics in English recently and noticed they are written in a you-did-this-and-said-that way instead of how we do them in Spanish; I’ll be continuing to them in my way unless you guys tell me it annoys you or something.

WELL, SORRY FOR KEEPING YOU WAITING, LET’S GET TO IT! ALSO THIS IS SO LONG SORRY--

(Y/N) definitely had no idea how she ended up on the Lightfoot’s home. Now, listen, it’s not that she didn’t like them ‘cause she as hell did it was just confusing considering a few hours prior to that she was just walking around the neighborhood.

“Ian, come on! Show her your magic!” Barley was having a hard time since he was trying so hard to make his little brother show the girl how his magic worked and poor Ian was shy about it, sure his confidence had been boosted but, come on, that was way too much pressure.

“Barley it’s okay, really, I believe you. I bet it’s amazing and you guys make an incredible team together. Let Ian go.” the girl chuckled seeing as the smaller elf smiled thankful and made his way out of the room feeling relieved.

“What? No! Ian get back here!!” see, the boy with a cast on his arm was hoping to use his brother as an excuse to have the female the longest time possible by his side, he was definitely going to ask her on a date but needed that boost of confidence being in a room with people gave.

Although now that they were alone he wouldn’t lie saying it wasn’t enjoyable, but soon that intimate moment of piece was to be broken by the young girl standing up making the bed rigid on the side she had been sitting on.

“This was... fun. But I really should get going home, my family would be worried plus it’s lunch time and... You know.” (Y/N) tried to excuse herself as politely as possible seeing as how she didn’t want to give the impression she wasn’t having fun and didn’t enjoy the presence of the older son of the Lightfoot’s family. Barley soon realized he had to jump now and ask her out or he’d never get the chance to. “Would you like to meet me? Alone? Maybe drive around, have dinner...” the boy put on his widest smile as if that were going to make her accept his invitation.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait. Are you... Asking me out? On a date? Tonight?” the girl replied trying to hide her grin while putting a strand of her voluminous hair behind her pointy ear which had efficiently caught the male’s attention. “I wouldn’t call it a date, more like a quest to make you fall in love with me because I totally am and it would be pretty cool if you did as well? But, you could always call it a date, I wouldn’t correct you even though you’re completely wrong.” that was enough to make the small elf chuckle which made Barley’s heart skip a few beats.

“It’d be a pleasure to help you complete this quest oh-so-awesome Barley Lightfoot. How about 8? No need for formal clothes, quests don’t require suits or dresses.” now it was him who was chuckling, how couldn’t he? His friend had never ever ever played his favourite roleplaying game yet always tried her best to make as much references to it without completely failing at the process, it was adorable. “8 sounds amazing. Farewell, oh-so-cool-to-play-games (Y/N) (S/N).”

And so the time came and the bell started ringing; one, two, three, four times and just as the fifth was about to made itself present the girl rushed to the door “Okay, okay got it! I’m coming!” grabbing the door handle she opened it revealing the young elf wearing a suit -well, a modified one since the sleeves of his jacket were completely gone and decided to wear jeans with the suit, formal for sure- contrasting with her usual clothing. “We said no dressing up!” the boy just shrugged and clearing his throat he moved to the side revealing Guinevere 2 in all its glory. “Shall we get going?” the girl smiled and gladly accepted getting out and making sure to close the door.

They made their way to the van and Barley hurried to open the door of the passenger seat bowing as his friend got inside and closed the door trying -and failing- to hide his smile. As soon as they were both seated the boy opened her mouth and took a folded piece of paper from his pocket. “So, (Y/N)... I hope your ready for our quest because I’ve been planning this all day!” slowly the boy opened the folded paper showing a drawn map of different places in Mushroomton that he thought would be of interest and appropriate for a date surprising his companion in the process. “Did you realy do that? That’s so impressive…” the male just smiled and motioned for her to hold the map and turned on the engine.

“Now my incredible partner, tell me, which is the first stop?” he couldn’t help the excitement his tone glad everything was going according to plan at the moment.

“Uhm, well, the exciting-full-of-teenagers house of fun?” what kind of name was that? The drawing didn’t really gave much about the place either, not only because his art skills weren’t exactly… Clear?

But because he modified them to be fitting on the Quests of Yore world. “Heading there!” and just like that the car drive began. They both were constantly talking and joking, it may have been a date-quest thing but after all they were still friends, why would they be quiet?

When they finally arrived to the place she got out the car excited to see what it was about and found a luminous neon sign indicating the entry to the arcade.

“The arcade was the exciting-full-of-teenagers house?” again the elf just shrugged grinning which made the female roll her eyes. “Amazing! I’m actually thinking this is going to be the greatest day of my life…”

What can I say? Videogames were definitely something they both were extremely good at and that sparked a tiny competition between them. Driving games? You bet! That knock the clown game that’s always typically seen in carnivals at those cheesy romantic movies? Yup! In the end they decided to count the tickets each one got to decide a winner.

“I’ve got… 238 tickets, how about you, Lightfoot?” the boy didn’t seem happy and (Y/N) soon knew he was dreading his defeat. “I got 197....” mockery could be heard from the female’s lips before they cut off the rivalry and decided to combine both of their tickets getting 435 tickets which were enough for…

“A unicorn rubber?!” the girl sighed as they were gettin in the car again. “I hate this stupid games, they’re fun but you alway have to win around a billion tickets to actually WIN something.” she continued ranting, something Barley found really entertaining but cut her off mid sentence as they were running out of time. “When did you have to get home?” it effectively cut her off. There was a small silence

before she could respond “Around 10 I believe, you know how they are…” he just nodded and looked at his watch; it was 9:17 meaning they had to do a shortcut on their plans.

“Okay, we’re runnin out of time, skip the following two places and tell me the next one after them.” she did as asked and traced the drawn road with her fingers. “It says brainwash.” an odd name for sure.

“Brainwash it is.”

Of course, brainwash was referring to movies, they were going to watch a movie specifically a drive in movie, is there anything more romantic than that? No.

“Barley… This is so sweet, thank you! What movie are they playing?” turning her head towards the giggly boy she asked nothing but amusement in her face. “No idea. I’m gonna go grab popcorn, make yourself comfortable on top of Guinevere 2, please.” just like that he was gone and (Y/N) had a new adventure, finding the way she could get on the van’s roof.

After a while Barley got back with a huge stack of popcorn finding her loved one on the roof, smiling to himself he admired all of her features. Soon he got on top shaking the oh-so-special van on the process. “Here’s the popcoooorn!” he announced with an excited tone and put them between him and the girl.

The movie was ten minutes in and no noise was heard but the sound of chewing popcorn. Leaning in the female asked in the boy’s ear “Do you like this movie?” he replied in a whisper “No it’s so boring.” that’s when they both started laughing being shushed by the cars around them. “Let’s get out of here. We still have twenty minutes left.” Without bothering to take the popcorn they both walked north finding a calm forest where they laid on the grass looking at the sky. “So, Barley, is it true? That you like me?”

That was a very direct question he definitely wasn’t prepared for “Well, of course it is! You’re an incredible girl, an incredible friend and I bet you’d be an incredible girlfriend!” the girl chuckled making Barley’s heart melt. And then, he asked “Do you like me?”. Silence hurts, so much, but before any assumption could be made she replied “Yes, of course I do.”

Silence again.

“So, have you completed your quest now?” (Y/N) curiously asked. “I still have one more thing to do.” and, the kiss came.

QUEST COMPLETED.

Oh boy was that long... Hope you enjoyed your request and for everyone else, request! Don't be shy!

TAGLIST:

@ferox-imagines @s-ferox

[bang-tan-bitches]

MONSTER MASH 2020 ENTRY 3

Room Service

Waves hit the shoreline as Y/N scuttles quickly down the sidewalk that borders the beach. Her front desk job at the Hotel Corll is waiting to meet her at the end of the walkway. Light posts slowly line just ahead, then besides, and then behind her, flickering on as the sun sets and the icy fog rolls inland. Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N catches a glimpse of a freshly printed missing persons poster, with bold Arial black letters in contrast to the young pretty redhead with a coy smile, blue eyes peering back. She considers the expense of printing in color ink then moves on. She was already late getting out of her clinicals as it were. As she rounds up onto the hotel property she takes in the sleek lines and wooden facade of the luxury hotel, hoping tonight isn’t as busy as yesterday. She could barely keep her eyes open during her clinicals today, earning a scolding from her nursing professor much to the amusement of her fellow classmates. Bunch of morons.

​“Took you long enough!” A voice rings out as Y/N steps into the lobby. Her coworker Soohyun is waiting with a grin, coat on and purse in hand, for her to approach the desk so she could finally go home. The lobby is as intimidatingly large as it is cold. Cream marble floors lead up to the dark oak front desk, with wooden columns lined in neat even rows between the entrance and where Y/N will be standing for the rest of the night. Vaulted ceilings seem to encase the room, a remnant from the hotel prior to renovations. Though the fireplace casts a glow from the sitting area, it is difficult to penetrate the natural draftiness of the building, though its easy to blame it on the shoreline the hotel sits on.

​“Jungkook is actually already here, just had to go use the restroom,” Soohyun scoots to let Y/N place her schoolbag into the employee cubby under the desk. “Was pretty quiet today, so should be an easy night, though I’m surprised you didn’t just call off sick. You look…how do I say this, ghastly?” Y/N stands back up, pouting at the comment.

​“I would, but rent’s comin’ up soon, and you know my roommate always slacks on her half,” she says as she logs in for the start of her shift. “I’ll survive. Besides, I’m off tomorrow. I’ll just sleep in then.”

​“Alright, your choice,” Soohyun responds. “Any case, I’ll see you in the morning! Good night!”

​Her heels clack on the floor as Soohyun struts her way out of the building, posh bag in hand and not a hair out of place despite the end to a long shift. Y/N looks positively bedraggled in comparison, her flats scuffed badly on the sides and a small stain on her shirt from her attempt at chugging her coffee before getting on the bus. As she swipes in with her master key, Jungkook steps behind the desk, returning from the restroom.

​“Hey Jungkook, how’s it goin’?” Y/N asks. Jungkook just nods his head and grunts in response, doe eyes half-lidded as he quietly prepares for the shift. He is a quiet man who attends the same school that she does, though he is studying photography. Stoic and observant, he only speaks as needed, but is a hard worker and is always at the ready to tend to guest needs. Standing at his computer station, his lean height towering over Y/N, he prints out the list of remaining check ins for the night.

​“We have two VIP guests tonight. Looks like Mr. Jung extended his weeklong stay in the Hindley Suite for another night. He requested extra towels for his stay tonight. Kim Namjoon has not checked in yet though he did call to let us know he will probably be checking in late.” Jungkook reads off monotonously from his computer screen.

​“Looks like Miss Lim left a note, she says the Holmolka suite is not available to be rented out? Ah geez, did somebody trash it last night?” Y/N crumples up the pale-yellow post it that was stuck on her computer screen and tosses it in the trash.

​“Seems so,” he deadpans.

​Miss Lim is the long-time owner of the Hotel Corll, a heavy smoker with too strong Chanel No. 5 seeping from her body and too red lipstick trying to make up for lost time. With a plastic personality that matches her new nose and lips, she is a real piece of work. At least the job pays well. That reminder has served Y/N well in her comparatively shorter time working at the hotel. Nothing like the hospitality industry to suck the life out of everyone that deals with it. Miss Lim’s gaudiness reflects in her property from the gold painted- furniture to the overly lavish light fixtures that look like a Versailles fantasy from hell. However, this seems to not be a detriment to the establishment’s business. In fact, despite appearances, the hotel gained a small, loyal, and wealthy following due to the hotel’s strict confidentiality code. It has done well for Y/N’s pockets.

​About an hour after the night shift began, Seokjin, the head housekeeper, and Yoongi, the live-in handyman, walk into the lobby wearily. Their eyes are drooping in exhaustion. Seokjin’s blonde tresses gleam as several pieces of hair are left in disarray. Yoongi takes his cap off to run his well-worn hand through his hair and then returns the hat to its original position. They both make their way to signing out of work, looking as if they were both asked to run a marathon.

​“Are you two just leaving now?” Y/N asks. She looks a bit puzzled that both employees are still on the clock even though their shifts usually ended two hours earlier.

​“Had to finish essentially rebuilding the Homolka suite,” utters Yoongi. “Took damn near all day to complete.”

​“The guests from last night absolutely decimated the room, you’d have thought they were raised with by wolves!” Seokjin exclaimed. His irritation was agreed upon by Yoongi with a harumph. “Now if you excuse me, I’ve got to get home and soak my feet,” he continues. “I think they have earned their reward. Good night!” And with exhausted feet, he slowly wobbles out of the building. Yoongi simply waves his hand goodbye and makes his way to one of the two elevators to go up to his small room.

​As the evening wears on, more guests straggle in through the hotel doors and up to the front desk. The quiet mumbles of guests checking in, ringing credit cards through the clerking system to confirm their reservations, and authorizing payment becomes the soundtrack to Y/N’s evening. The monotony and false smiles are what’s getting her through the evening. At nine o’clock the long-awaited VIP guest Mr. Kim Namjoon steps through the hotel’s door. He walks up to the front desk with an even and patient gait. A false smile sits on his plush lips though it fails to reach his eyes. Like cold fisheyes Y/N thinks. Jungkook and Y/N both stand to attention, almost as if preparing to be disciplined by the school principal. With stillness and silence, Mr. Kim reaches Y/N’s section of the front desk. He always did prefer young women. The more impressionable the better.

​“Good evening Mr. Kim, how may I help you?” Y/N asks. A shiver of trepidation slithers up her spine. His handsome face just serves to accentuate the fear.

​“Just checking in, and how are you this evening?” Mr. Kim responds, the partial smile never slipping off his face. Y/N voices her learned pleasantries and decides at that moment she never wants to be caught alone unawares by this man. She takes the black card from his proffered hand to finish the check in process, the sooner the better.

​“This is the Lalaurie suite, correct?” he asks. “And to confirm, can you please make sure the complimentary room service is added to my reservation? There was a mix-up the previous time I stayed here and wouldn’t want a repeat of that, would we?” His tone says amicable and easy going, but his eyes say otherwise. His eyes convey zero tolerance for mistakes.

​“Yes, of course Mr. Kim, anything for our most loyal guest. Is there anything else you would like added to the reservation?” Y/N weakly inquires.

​“No, not at all. Oh, and I have a guest with me on this reservation, though she will be arriving later. Please call my room when she does.” And with that, Mr. Kim takes his room key and makes his way to his preferred suite. Y/N releases a sigh of relief as Jungkook’s shoulders visibly relaxes. He still says nothing.

​The night continues as a typical and quiet one for both front desk employees. Jungkook receives requests for extra towels and bathroom amenities which he delivers every so often while Y/N begins the night audit for the hotel. That is until the two figures enter the hotel and disrupt what was supposed to be a normal evening. They are covered in head to toe blue, their badges visible as is their handguns on their waists. Both men step up to Jungkook’s side of the desk. Great, the cops are here.

​“Officer Park, how may I help you?” Jungkook asks with the usual lack of enthusiasm. Of the two policemen in the hotel, Officer Park Jimin is a recognizable face amongst the staff as he is an acquaintance of Miss Lim. Or one of her many lovers as Soohyun loves to put it. Between his cocksure expression, his flirtatious demeanor, or an ass designed to fill out tight pants, the sentiment is not too far of a stretch for Y/N to believe. As for the other cop, neither Y/N nor Jungkook have ever seen the officer before. With a knowing glance between the hotel employees and Jimin, this does not bode well. And they all know it.

​“Hello, I am Officer Kim Taehyung, and apparently you seem to already know Officer Park,” Taehyung supplies with a suspicious glare thrown Park’s way. “We’re here as we’ve received an anonymous call about this place yesterday. Seems some folks happened to have been walking outside the hotel and happened to hear screaming and pleading from an open window. Would either of you happen to know anything about it?” Taehyung shifts his gaze between Jungkook and Y/N in expectation. They are more screwed than they previously thought.

​“No.” Jungkook replies as succinct as possible.

​“No,” Officer Kim straightens up and forces his shoulders back, eyebrows furrowing. His demeanor is growing more aggravated by the second. “That’s it huh? Hey, what about you?” He throws out to Y/N, who makes it a point to match Jungkook’s countenance closely. “You see anything suspicious at all?”

​“Nope, I wasn’t even working yesterday. Been off all week,” she lies through her teeth. “But, if you need to speak to the owner, you can give us your name and number and we can relay the information to her.”

​“See I would, but the girl who we came to speak to yesterday gave me the same bullshit and now I’m here again. So, I will ask one more time, what do you two know about whoever that was screaming bloody murder on your property?” says Taehyung.

​“We don’t know anything,” supplies Y/N. “Now unless you got a warrant or something, I going to have to ask you to leave. Now.” Her lips purse in barely retained frustration. She squares her shoulders and lifts her chin defiantly. She refuses to be cowed by this fool. She has encountered much worse than the likes of him.

​“You know you two could get in big trouble for lying to an officer of the law, right?” Taehyung encroaches into Y/N’s space, face molded into a sneer, dark eyes peering into hers. He was a man used to getting what he wanted. However, before he could go any further, Jimin steps in.

​“Hey, come one Tae, she’s got a point, no warrant not much we can do. And besides, you know Chief told us to drop this. Let’s go.”

​Although Officer Kim looks prepared to argue, with his partner standing down, he knows he will have to leave and regroup before anything further happens.

​“Fine,” he relents, “but I will be seeing you again. The both of you.” And with heavy steps he exits the building, fury pulsing through his body. Jimin hangs back.

​“It might be time for the boss lady to start pulling her connections for that one,” he throws his thumb over his shoulder, pointing at his partner. “Could be trouble if it isn’t nipped in the bud.” Park tips his hat, winks at Y/N, and leaves, easygoing and stride confident. Perv.

​Jungkook picks up the phone as soon as the officers leave, speed dialing Miss Lim with the update. She picks up on the first ring, fully aware of Officer Kim’s previous visit. Her words are difficult for Y/N to hear through the receiver. Despite not hearing the words, she can tell her employer is instructing Jungkook to navigate through the clerking system to look up the previous occupant of the suite. It was the Holmolka suite. With a few clicks here and there, it looks like the Mrs. Ushakova that rented the room on the aforementioned date is added to the Do Not Rent list, all her guest privileges cleared and an alert placed on her account. Mistakes as done by Mrs. Ushakova are not allowed by establishments such as the Hotel Corrl, where silence and confidentiality are sacred dogma. Her indiscretions come with repercussions. Jungkook hangs the phone up.

​With the hours flowing by, the previous lethargy felt by Y/N has now been replaced with worry due to the police’s visit. She hopes that the remainder of the night shift can continue as normal. Though that remains to be seen, as Mr. Kim’s guest now arrives. Y/N has seen her face before. In fact, she just saw her this morning, at St. Francis for her clinical rotation. The girl giggled particularly obnoxiously, in-light of Y/N’s reprimand via their professor. She just can’t seem to remember the girl’s name for the life of her. She must be more tired than she realized.

​“Call Mr. Kim’s room, he should’ve mentioned that I was supposed to be arriving.” she hadn’t even made it all the way to the front desk before she starts haughtily commanding the employees to do her bidding. Jungkook takes this as his cue to simply crouch low under the desk as if he were searching for something. He isn’t. As the girl reaches Y/N, she lays one well-manicured hand on the large oak desk while leaning on the other one. She examines her nails as though she was contemplating different acrylic shades that can replace her current pearlescent one. Y/N hesitates for a beat, a sliver of concern for her classmate becoming more discernible after another second. Unfortunately for her, the girl notices, her eyes flicking upwards.

​“Hello? I said I was expected, shouldn’t you be notifying him?” she asks, her snobbishness a blatant fixture on her person.

​After another missed beat, Y/N clicks through her computer program. She is aware of exactly who this girl is, and as such, dithers her way around the clerking system. She can’t just let her classmate go to Mr. Kim’s room, can she?

​“Sorry, he doesn’t seem to be checked in, are you sure this Mr. Kim is staying here?” Y/N asks. Jungkook side-eyes her from below, still looking for nothing.

​The girl narrows her stare, scrutinizing the female operating the front desk. Realization dawns on her as she smirks. She fails to read the near-imploring gaze her classmate working the computer gives her, a sign of precaution.

​“Oh, I know you. You’re that dumbass from this morning! At St. Francis Hospital? The one that went into the wrong patient’s room and tried to give her the wrong medication? I remember you,” the girl’s smirk expands. “Now you see, I know my date for the night is here, I have it right here in his texts,” She brings her phone up as if to show Y/N the incriminating evidence. “And I don’t think it would do so well for your job here if I just call him and let him know that you of all people are stopping him from getting my services for the night, would it? How about this, you don’t stop me from doing my job and I will make sure you don’t lose yours!” She flips her hair with a flourish. Y/N pauses for a moment, a sickeningly sweet smile appearing on her mouth.

​“Ah, it seems I have made a mistake, he has already checked in.” A few extra clicks on the computer and a newly scanned room key later, she picks up the hotel phone to make a call up to the Lalaurie suite.

​“Mr. Kim, your guest is here, shall I send her on up?” With Mr. Kim’s confirmation delivered, Y/N delivers her classmate to his suite, hospitality in full swing.

#​#​#

​ A few minutes after 3 o’clock in the morning, the front desk phone rings. Y/N is reading a chapter in her textbook about proper bedside manner whereas Jungkook is playing solitaire on his computer. Like second nature he picks up the receiver. Mr. Jung is calling. With little being said, Jungkook turns to his colleague.

​“Hey, Mr. Jung wants his extra towel service now, you think you could do it?”

​“Sure, gotta get away from this book or I might go cross-eyed.” She replies. She takes her master key and walks towards the elevator down the hall. She presses the glass button, standing in front of the elevator doors, a tacky reflective emerald green coating the doors as she waits. She looks up at the electronic number screen above the doors, the numbers still descending, five, four, three, two, one. A ding sounds out as the doors slide open and Y/N steps in, pressing for the twelfth floor, where the most important guests stay. When the doors reopen, this time many stories above ground, she takes a left down the hallway where in a small corridor next to the elevator is a well-maintained utility closet. To provide Mr. Jung his towel service, she grabs a laundry bin, a couple plastic tarps, several bottles of bleach, gloves, and many white fluffy towels made from the finest Egyptian cotton. Only quality at the Corll. Bin in hand, Y/N rolls the container down the hallway, past the elevator to one of the only three rooms on this level. Arms going jiggly from pulling the cart to its designated location she finally stops in front of the Kemper suite, Mr. Jung Hoseok’s room. She knocks on the door three times, and before a fourth one rings out, Hoseok swings the door open, blood coating his clothes and body, from his hands to his neck, splatters across his visage.

​“Oh! Thank you! You can put that over here,” he says appreciatively, pointing to a corner of the room next to the flat-screened television. Y/N rolls the bin full of supplies past the lean black haired man, across the blood soaked carpet, past the cold blue corpse lying in a pool of his own liquids, past the California King euro plush mattress to the corner of the room.

​“There you go sir. Now you do know that because you are staying in our Kemper suite you have complimentary room service, right? Are you sure you just want the extra towel service?” she asks doubtfully.

​“No, no, its fine, I always preferred doing my own disposal, I can get it just right that way!” Mr. Jung smiles enthusiastically. With a smile and a nice hundred-dollar tip in hand she looks over at the redhead splayed on the floor, blue eyes staring wide eyed at the ceiling, fear frozen in their features. She looks smaller than she did on her own poster Y/N notes, before tucking the money away and leaving the room.

​She shuts the door behind her and turns towards the elevator when she notices something at the other end of the hall. Someone is crawling. Y/N lets out a deep sigh, tucks her tip into her pocket, and stalks down the hall in exasperation. As she gets closer, she sees its her classmate from before bleeding profusely, begging for help.

​“Please, please help me! I’m- I’m dying!” she gurgles out, sobbing in between her words. Y/N bends down, and huff expelled, grabs the girl’s long hair soaked in her own blood before she starts dragging her back down the hall, back to her client’s door. She screams and cries and begs for her life, but Y/N is unphased, continues dragging her classmate to her doom. Three door knocks echo through the hallway. Namjoon opens the door, perplexed by the sight before him. He is freshly showered, a towel slung low around his hips, water still dripping down his built chest. Cold fisheyes looking back.

​“Sorry to bother you sir, seems you almost lost one.” She calmly says, as she lifts up the girl’s hair as she screams.

​“Ah, my apologies,” he then reaches down into his bag sitting by the door. “I thought I had finished with her. It seems I was incorrect.” With deft fingers he grasps the handle of a large hunting knife from the front pocket of his bag.

​“No! No! Please!! Don’t-!” and with one swift slice, Namjoon swipes the blade through the girl’s throat. She falls forward, death rattle sounding out between her lips.

​“It’s fine Mr. Kim, she couldn’t have made it far anyway.” Y/N asserted.

​“Eh, I still pride myself in thoroughness,” He wipes the knife clean on the towel slung across his hips. “Could you make sure room service comes tomorrow after I have checked out?”

​“Of course, sir, I will make sure to notate that for the morning shift. Have a good rest of your stay.” She bows her head a bit in deference and turns to make her way down the elevator.

#​#​#

​As the morning sun rises, Yoongi makes his way to the hotel lobby for the free coffee and continental breakfast served there. He yawns into the air before grabbing an apple fritter in one hand and black coffee in the other. He turns to Y/N and Jungkook still manning the front desk, counting down the minutes until they can leave. He acknowledges the both of them but before he could go finish his treat Y/N stops him.

​“Yoongi, before I forget, make sure the Lalaurie suite gets room service after Mr. Kim checks out. Its his special request.”

​“Seriously?” he grumbles, “He is always ruining our mattresses! And we then we have to replace them! Last time, the new housekeeper accidentally walked into his suite before he left and he was honest to God cuddling the body! Who does that?” Y/N shrugs in response, her eyes bloodshot. She’s ready for the nap of a lifetime. Before she gets any more exhausted, Soohyun comes in for shift relief. Thank God. Jungkook offers a short update on the cop debacle and after not much longer both employees pack up and walk out the lobby doors.

​Y/N shuffles towards her bus stop down the walkway, adjacent to the beach. She makes it past the light posts fading off, one by one as she walks past them. She walks by the missing persons poster and takes in the crisp clean air. She decides she is going to go home, sleep, and then wake up for a study session. If she wants to eventually be a top-notch nurse, she needs to act the part. She feels the tip money burning a hole through her pocket reminding her of a job well done. It gets messy but the pay is nice.

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | The Decline of Western Civilization series (Spheeris, 1981-98)

Many years ago, before I sold out to the man, I have to admit I felt a certain attraction to punk music. No, I was never anywhere close to a full on punk (I was, and still am, extremely lame), but I have to admit the anti-establishment streak definitely resonated with me at a certain point of time. (Not that it still doesn’t, but in addition to selling out, I’ve softened with old age.) Like many people I’ve found appealing the political conscience and mix of influences of the Clash, or the boneheaded energy of the Ramones, but I also found my interest straying to hardcore punk. I remember the first time I listened to “Damaged II” by Black Flag and finding it unbelievably abrasive and foreign to my ears, yet it was something I couldn’t get out of my head, and returned to the song and the album it was from a few years later and appreciated it as one of the most forceful expressions of angst ever recorded. I remember first learning of bands like X and Fear, and seeing performance footage on YouTube and being thrilled by the rawness and danger, especially when they had to fight off their fans. This footage was from Penelope Spheeris’ cult classic documentary, The Decline of Western Civlization, which for years was not easily available but I have now finally seen in its entirety.

The movie is structured simply, moving from one band in the L.A. punk scene to another, interviewing them in their natural habitats and punctuating this with footage of their performances. Songs are presented in full so we can get the complete experience. The first band we see is Black Flag, then with frontman Ron Reyes. They are lively on stage but it’s interesting to note how different the energy was prior to the arrival of Henry Rollins, who brought a certain discipline and muscularity to their music. (One of the songs featured here, “Depression”, pops up again in Damaged, and the impact in the latter is noticeably more forceful.) The guys here come across as aimless and destitute, living in a decrepit church where they’ve turned the closets into makeshift bedrooms, seemingly losing money with every gig. But they are also quite affable (you can tell the lyrics of “TV Party” sprang from these minds) and do not have illusions about their situation, especially their difficulty in getting gags thanks to their rowdy fans. These scenes play like a moment frozen in time, right before the band’s most significant period would begin. We move next to the Germs, and these scenes play like a car accident in slow motion, with Darby Crash’s self-destructive tendencies on full display. This was a short time before his death, which occurred between completion of filming and the theatrical release (his image was featured heavily on the promotional materials), once again giving this a lost in time quality.

Next we go to the headquarters of Slash Magazine, the staff of which moonlights as a band called Catholic Discipline. The frontman complains about New Wave, claiming it doesn’t actually exist, yet they come across as downmarket New Wavers who are slumming it in the punk scene. Yet their love of music and their work is obvious and the frontman does possess a certain charisma. Much of what we see of the punk lifestyle is squalid and dismal, yet the music of X manages to poeticize this condition. Their unassuming demeanours during their interview contrast sharply with their vigour in their performances, during which they do their share of batting off overeager fans. We get a burst of political conviction when the Circle Jerks launch into the libertarian anthem “Red Tape”, but this dissipates by the time they start playing “I Just Want a Skank”. We spend some time with the Alice Bag Band and then are treated to a montage of interviews with punk fans. These are shot in monochrome with stark backgrounds and a single bulb providing the lighting, which has the effect of bringing them and their words into sharp relief. We hear similar stories again and again, of aimlessness and aggression, the subjects using the music both as an outlet for their frustrations and inspiration for violence.

Spheeris’ camera has been largely nonjudgmental, yet there’s an undeniable sadness in this sequence. But lest I make it sound that the movie makes punk seem uniformly depressing, the closing sequence provides a potent antidote. The electrifying final minutes of the film feature a performance by Fear (who are not interviewed). The atmosphere here is hostile, with the band riling up the audience with homophobic and misogynistic taunting and having to physically fight them off throughout their set list. It might be tempting to liken their shtick to cheap alt-rightish provocation, but I think that robs their music of the proper context. When almost all their peers and fans adopt an attitude of “everything sucks”, Fear’s ability to find the humour in that mentality is kind of refreshing. It also would ignore the sheer muscularity of the delivery, which almost turns the music into a form of violence. The film is undeniably a fascinating document, but while Spheeris may have had the good fortune of turning on her camera in the right place and right time (even if she had to pay to rent soundstages to film some of the performances), it’s moments like this of pure exhilaration that cement the film’s greatness.

Part II: The Metal Years takes place almost a decade later, with a drastically new context and perspective. This time the focus is on the L.A. metal scene, which was a dominant cultural force unlike hardcore punk ever was. And this time around Spheeris’ POV is less of impartial observation and more satirical condescension. Taken journalistically, the movie is obviously compromised, particularly in an interview of Ozzy Osbourne that’s misleadingly edited to make it look like he has the shakes. I wish the movie hadn’t done this, as Ozzy is a flamboyant enough presence that he’s already funny without needing to frame him into gags, something Spheeris acknowledged in an interview years after the fact. Ozzy and a few other veterans of the scene are not immune to metal culture’s innate ridiculousness (the movie’s biggest laugh for me was Spheeris’ deadpan reaction to Steven Tyler’s extended masturbation metaphor to describe the rock’n’roll lifestyle). It’s worth noting that Spheeris asked her subjects how they wanted to be filmed, leading to such choice setups as Gene Simmons in a lingerie store and Paul Stanley in a bed full of scantily clad models. (Lemmy allegedly took offense to how he was portrayed, claiming Spheeris shot him from afar to make him look stupid, but I don’t think he comes across badly. He’s low key and unassuming in a way that contrasts him from the other participants, at the very least in terms of appearance).

The structure of this entry is tighter, using snippets of different interviews to flesh out different ideas, exploring the decadence and excess of the music and the surrounding culture. We even hear from the anti-metal folks, particularly in one amusing scene where a woman describes the dangerous potential of metal fashion with the solemnity of a cop or anti-gun advocate describing illegal firearms. Performance footage is limited to brief excerpts, usually for comic relief (assless chaps and a limp attempt to set fire to a Soviet flag are highlights), although we do get an extended look at a sleazy stripping context. (The club owners featured seem as much into the metal lifestyle as some of the musicians and fans, in sharp contrast to the genial working class types featured in the first and third entries.) The most notorious segment of the film is the interview with Chris Holmes from W.A.S.P., who lounges in a pool in alcoholic self loathing, which probably went farther in deflating the excitement around the metal scene than any single moment. Yet like the first film, this one refuses to lock into too narrow view of its subject and rebounds with a Megadeth performance that goes a long way in showing that yes, this music can in fact be good. (I should say that I enjoy my share of hair metal, which Megadeth is decidedly not, but the songs earlier in the film don’t do the best job of selling the genre. Although anything would look lame with assless chaps.) This movie is more obviously flawed than the original, but I can’t help but kind of love it. The fact is that the metal musicians and fans, despite being somewhat boneheaded, are also full of good vibes and fun to hang around (more so than the self-serious punk fans in the original), and the movie is quite slick and stylish by documentary standards, which makes the film true to its subject matter in a a way. I mean, you open the movie with Motorhead and I’m half won over already, and I haven’t stopped thinking (and smiling) about it since I’ve seen it.

The good vibes don’t carry over to Part III, which follows a group of homeless gutter punks in L.A. around another decade later. Once again there’s a change in context and perspective, with Spheeris coming across as more compassionate and maternal. The musicians here offer a more sobering, grounded presence. The veterans here, Keith Morris and Rick Wilder, come across as survivors more than anything, particularly the latter with his skeletal, emaciated appearance. The music this time around is almost beside the point, although we do get the sense that it offers the main subjects one of their only sources of relief. Their stories are similar. Broken homes. Forced onto the streets. Substance abuse. The movie feels like extended versions of the Darby Crash scenes and the interviews from the original, but with the grim consequences covered in the final moments, and the film’s sense of despair is alleviated only by the compassion Spheeris brings to the material. I can’t see myself returning to this as readily as it’s more downbeat and less dynamic than the previous movies, but it is undeniably moving, and had a profound effect on Spheeris as well, who decided to become a foster parent after her experience making this movie.

[emilydaisyart]

Idea 2 - Research & Concepts -3rd January 2021

For my second E4 sting idea, and most likely my third as well, I have decided to tone back my research just a little, since they both largely draw from personal inference, or just general knowledge. I will still conduct thorough research into the things I feel require it, however for these ideas, I do think the merit more comes from the presentation of the art and concepts I create.

Below are the different corners and things I drew inspiration from for my paintball idea, that all led me to the concept art seen at the end of the blog:

Previous Stings

I won’t be posting much here about this since I have already produced a large segment on E4 stings earlier in the blog, but its safe to say I have been inspired by the grungy, snappy ideas people have come up with in the past, and largely, the colours they have opted to use, which almost never go below vibrant.

Paintballing

Paintballing is a really fun thing to do, personally I would consider it a sport, and one of the best at that, and it seems pop culture recognises that too. There are a lot of pieces of media that tackle paintballing, but one of my personal favourites is Splatoon, the game franchise created by Nintendo. This game, on top of being massively addictive, is gorgeous to look at, and plays around with some really interesting concepts, that make painting even more fun, especially to an artist. Additionally, the colours are just stunning, something that has certainly probed me on to make colour a prime feature.

Painting

Perhaps I should have prefaced the entire blog entry with a simple fact - I love painting. I may not do it as much as I used to, but painting has been my entire life for a long long time, and it’s such an outlet for me in many ways. It’s always held such a high regard in my personal life and educational history, that I feel it important to include as a main theme in my work from time to time, and if not now, then definitely in the future. Painting itself is such a broad hobby, that it can be stretched into nearly anything, a fitting feature for an E4 Sting. The picture below is one of my own paintings.

---------------------  

Concept Art

2A - This concept sheet displays the only developed character of the entire sting idea, a young boy, who likes to consider himself a pro at paintballing. I wanted to emphasize the sharp lines here, as well as the unsaturatedness of his outfit, to contrast with the bright paint colours that he would be splatted with. Also, his sleek and simple design makes moving and posing him a lot easier, especially with the context of a 30 second animation. His paintball weapon there was actually modelled after a hair dryer, because I just thought the shape was interesting, and with the hair and posing of the main image, he is meant to look suave, and almost dreamy, think teenage heartthrob. This makes it all the more amusing when he is splatted with paint.

2B - This concept sheet is just about colour and the potential shapes and styles in which the paint could fall, since there really wasn’t much else at a base level to be concepting. Because I hold colour in such a high regard with this particular sting idea, it deserved its own page of concepts. The bright colours would definitely be a mainstay, they look just too attractive to drop, and as for colour pallettes, the opportunities are nearly limitless, so this would be a fun task. Other than that, there really isn’t much else to say.

---------------------   

Overall, I do indeed like this idea, and I think it’s a strong potential sting pitch, I’m just not sure if its the one for me at the moment. Personally, I am still attatched to idea 1, since it also contains some heartfelt moments which I feel would be refreshing in an E4 sting. I won’t discredit this idea though, and I think it’s very strong.

[asofterfan]

Winter Winds

Chapter 2: Wake Me Up When September Ends

Previous ~ Next

Summary: A new client arrives...

Warnings: None that I can think of (shocking I know)

The next morning, to absolutely no one’s surprise, Remy burst through the door of the shop at 11am.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know I’m late, but it wasn’t my fault this time!” Remy panted. He was in the ragged sweatpants and baggy crop top that everyone in the shop recognized as his pajamas, a flannel wrapped hastily around his waist. Gripping his coffee and a pastry bag like a lifeline, he looked around the shop frantically, “Where’s the client, I’ll share my muffin or something to appease them.”

“Oh, their appointment isn’t for another half hour,” Ali deadpanned.

“…Excuse me?”

“Yeah,” Ali drawled with a smirk, “I had a feeling this would happen so I told you the appointment time was an hour earlier than it actually is.”

Remy sputtered indignantly, “That’s…! How dare you, I….!”

“Remy, drink your coffee,” Rafael chimed in, snickering, “Your sleepy sass sounds do not make a particularly compelling argument.”

Huffing, Remy threw his bag onto a chair in his station, “You guys are the worst. I ran here. RAN. I haven’t moved that fast since gym class in high school.”

“You expect us to believe you ran in gym?” Cass challenged.

“Exactly! You guys are literally worse than high school gym!” Remy glared at each of them in turn, shoving his muffin into his mouth angrily.

Shaking their heads fondly, the rest of the staff returned to their various tasks as Remy finished his breakfast, sipping on his coffee. The caffeine didn’t hit fast enough and he found himself yawning. “Uuuuuuuugh,” Remy groaned, throwing himself into an empty chair at the front desk and laying his head on his arms.

“Sleepyhead, don’t-” Brett began before being cut off.

“Relax, gurl, I’m just resting my eyes.”

Brett shook his head, “Famous last words.”

~

“Remy.”

The artist groaned, burrowing his face deeper into his arms.

“Remyyyyy.”

Someone was shaking his shoulder, but he couldn’t be bothered to do anything more than grumble. Surely whoever it was would leave him alone soon.

“REMY!”

A loud ‘BANG’ inches from his face had Remy shooting upright, sunglasses clattering onto the desk and nearly falling out of his chair as he regained his bearings, blinking rapidly. Heart still beating rapidly, he turned to glare at Cass, who was staring down at him with a smirk, her hands still on the desk where she had hit it to wake him up.

“What kind of disrespect?!” Remy exclaimed.

Cass only snickered, “Hey, we warned you not to ‘rest your eyes’, Sleepyhead,” She crossed her arms as she chastised him, “Your client is here, so look alive!”

A light chuckle came from behind her, and for the first time Remy noticed the newcomer. The man was short, standing only slightly taller than Cass’ 5’5”, but he was muscular, and he fit in perfectly with the studio. Ripped jeans and a tattered black tee shirt under a leather jacket, with tattoos poking out from the neckline. He had an undercut, short black hairs contrasting sharply with the messy red/orange gradient that fell around his face, and dark circles under his eyes. When they made eye contact, he gave Remy a crooked smirk, raising his hand lazily in greeting.

“‘Sup.”

Raising an eyebrow, Remy sighed through his nose before grabbing his sunglasses and plastering on a smile as he pushed them onto the top of his head, “Hey gurl, sorry I’m late-”

“I mean, technically you were here on time-”

“Whatever, yeah,” Remy waved his hand dismissively as he gathered his notebooks and his now cold coffee, “Alright, let’s get this appointment going,” He sauntered past the two, entering the lounge in the back, dropping into one of the couches, “Come on, chop chop, waiting on you hon.”

Shaking his head in amusement, the client followed leisurely, as Cass rolled her eyes and returned to her own station.

The lounge was situated past the entry area, and was cleaner and more professional than the staff break room in the back. Photos of the staff and framed art covered the walls, along with a copy machine in the corner, a few couches, and a large coffee table with the artists’ portfolios spread out across it. Consultations were always held in the lounge so that both the client and the artists could be comfortable as they discussed their projects.

As the man sat down, Remy held a hand out, “As you’ve probably already gathered, I’m Remy.”

“Toby,” he replied, shaking the offered hand. Remy noticed his eyes dart down to his pronoun necklace, but he didn’t make any comment.

“So,” Remy crossed his legs, getting comfortable, “let’s talk tatts. I can see you have some tattoos already, you been to our shop before?”

Toby leaned his arms against the back of the couch casually, “Nah. I lived a few hours away during college and just moved back last year. This is the first tattoo I’ve gotten since then.”

Remy nodded, “Alright, so I’ll need to get your information before you leave for our files. But first, tell me about what you’re looking to get.”

Nodding, Toby pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket, smoothing it out as he handed it to the artist with a grin, “I want to get this quote in the center of my back, with some kind of border around it.”

“Well that’s not vague at all,” Remy drawled, taking the page and looking down at the quote.

“Ha! I know, I know,” Toby rubbed at his neck, grinning sheepishly, “I guess I was kind of thinking maybe like, branches, or leaves or something. But honestly I’m open to anything if you’ve got any ideas.

Remy hummed noncommittally. Maybe it was because he was still a little drowsy, but he couldn’t think of anything other than the usual cliches. Virgil might be able to come up with something. “This is a pretty long quote. How big did you want this?”

“I don’t have any tattoos on my back, so I’m cool with it taking up as much space as you think it needs.”

“How do you feel about editing this quote down a little? Just to give some more room for the design.”

Tilting his head, Toby thought about it for a moment, “I think that’d be fine. Could I edit it down myself and email it to you once I’ve worked out what I want?”

“Yeah girl, ain’t no thing,” taking a long sip of his coffee, he leaned back against the couch, “Now, a tattoo this big isn’t going to be cheap, or quick. Obviously what you choose for the final design for the border will effect it, but if I had to guesstimate I’d say you’re looking at probably a four hour session. We could also break it into two session if you wanted.”

“Cool, that’s about what I expected,” he grinned, “Don’t worry, I’ve been saving for this.”

“Oh, I wasn’t worried,” Remy raised an eyebrow, “We get your card information before we start inking. I ain’t letting anyone tatt and dash.”

Toby barked out a laugh, “That’s a good system.”

“Mmhmm,” Remy nodded, making a few quick notes in his notebook, “Alright. I’mma need to photocopy your ID and have you fill out some paperwork while we work out a date for you.”

Nodding, Toby pulled out a beat up leather wallet, pulling out his driver’s license to give to the artist. Remy took it and stood to go to the copy machine when he suddenly froze, staring down at the plastic card.

“Toby, huh?” Smirking teasingly, Remy waved the card in front of him, “Cause this says your name is October.”

Raising an eyebrow, the man in question grinned, “Who doesn’t love October?”

“I’m not a fan,” Remy deadpanned. It was a total lie, of course, October was objectively the best month, “Besides, if that’s the case why go by Toby? Honestly if no one calls you Doc Oct then what’s the point?” Suddenly he gasped, “Wait. Hold up. Girrrrrrrl why do I suspect you have too many autumn tatts?”

“I have exactly the right amount of autumn tatts.”

Looking back down at the license, Remy burst into giggles, “And your birthday is October 1st?? This is too much, like, I am unprepared for this situation.”

“Falling for me already?” Toby leaned forward, eyes bright and wearing playful grin.

Shaking their head, Remy pulled out a form from one of the drawers in the coffee table, “Tsk, I’m surprised it took you that long to bust out a pun,” he handed the paper to him.

“I try to ease people into the fact that I’m both hot and witty,” he grabbed a pen from the coffee table and began filling in his information.

“And modest, too,” Remy leaned against the copy machine as he waited for it to finish printing.

“What can I say, I’ve got it all.”

“Except height.”

Toby gasped dramatically, putting a hand over his heart in mock offense, “Low blow!”

“Any higher and it’d go over your head,” Remy grinned, tossing his ID onto the coffee table and setting the photocopy aside.

Chuckling, the man returned to filling out the form, “Don’t think I didn’t notice the heels on those boots. You can’t be that much taller than me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remy took out his phone, leaning against the wall as he flipped through his calendar, “Alright, so as far as setting you up with an appointment. I’ll need some time to get the design drawn up and approved by you. Plus I’m pretty booked, so next available time slot I could fit you in would be next month on the 18th at noon.”

“What day of the week is that?”

“Wednesday.”

“Hm, no go. Do you have anything on Thursday? The 19th?”

Remy scrolled down the page before nodding, “Yeah, that day is clear. You can pick the time.”

“Let’s do 1pm, I am not a morning person,” Toby looked up and smirked, holding out the completed form to Remy.

“Mood,” Remy grinned back, looking over the page to double check everything looked good before grabbing a stapler from next to the copy machine to attach the photocopy of Toby’s ID. “Alright then, I think you’re set.”

“Aw, getting rid of me already?” Toby leaned forward, chin in hand and he smiled up at the artist, “But we’re having so much fun.”

“So let’s quit while we’re ahead, mmkay?” Tossing his hair back, he picked up his notebook from the table, “I’ll email you once I have a sketch of the design to get your opinion or whatev.”

“I look forward to it,” he stood with a wink.

Remy deadpanned, “Well that makes one of us.”

“So cold,” Toby shook his head with a laugh, “Alright, thanks for everything. We’ll talk soon.”

“Uh huh, byeeee,” Remy waved his fingers as Toby finally left the shop. He barely made it to his station to put his things away and start preparing for his next appointment when Cass’ face peaked above the wall dividing their stations.

“Soooo,” She grinned teasingly, “You two seemed to get along.”

“Ali said I have to have some level of professional courtesy with the clients,” Remy raised an eyebrow.

Cass rolled her eyes, “Oh come on, you were both sassing easy as breathing! He’s the first person I’ve seen in a long time, if ever, that could keep up with you.”

“Oh my God, so what? Witty banter happens, it’s all around us, be more chill, girl.”

“You have his number~” she sing-songed, pointing to the form Remy was putting into his client drawer.

“Yeah, I needed his contact info. He’s my client.”

“Oh come on, we’re not doctors or anything, there’s no rule against artist/canvas relationships.”

“‘Relationships’? Ew.”

Cass laughed, “Alright, maybe not a relationship, but there’s nothing stopping you from tapping that!”

Remy felt his teeth clench together, and a lot of words flew through his mind, but he didn’t feel like he had the self-restraint to say any of them in less than a scream. So he settled for a cold, “Right, nothing at all,” as he pushed his sunglasses down over his eyes and returned to looking over the designs he needed to print for his next client.

“Hey, Sleep, I was just kidding,” Cass’ voice was a little softer, “We all know you’re not into that. It was a joke.”

It was a joke he’d heard too many times. It wasn’t really funny anymore. Still, he glanced over the top of his glasses and smiled, “I know, hon, it ain’t no thing.”

“You just seemed to get along more than you usually do with clients,” Cass continued, “If nothing else he just seems like a cool guy.”

“Ooooh, you sure you don’t want to tap that?” Remy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Cass threw a crumpled up piece of paper at him as he laughed, “This is what I get for trying to expand your social circle!”

“Give up, babe, I’m a lone wolf,” He grinned. Cass shook her head in fond exasperation as they both returned to their work. Tapping on his phone, Remy entered Toby’s information into his calendar to mark his appoint.

After putting his phone in his pocket, October didn’t even cross his mind.

[nevergiveupneverrun]

Bodyguard - Chapter Eight “In another world” Part One

Hello, I hope you’re all doing great. Here is chapter eight of my Story Bodyguard.  I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

- No, the package was already in the dressing room when we came back… - Could you dig with the managers of the show, to see how this package came to them? Nathan asks me through the handset. - Yes, I ask them a few questions after the show, questions vague enough not to disclose anything… but apparently nothing particular about it… - Did you get the package? - Yes, I have it and I wanted to send you it to you if you agree? - Yes, of course, I will look at whether he has committed possible negligence this time if we can find fingerprints… we never know… - Thank you for your help, Nathan, and you hold me informed? - No problem, Owen, take care of yourself… and keep an eye on your Amelia… Nathan hangs up directly after these last words and I put my phone in the pocket of my jacket while voices rise from the ground floor.

I leave my room to find the living room and then discover Amelia and April, installed on the sofa of the living room, concentrated in front of the coffee table… I approach a little more and I end up capturing the bits of their conversation. - I think the shots where you are back are more sensual… but those where you are face are very pretty too, by the way, you have a look at this one, what did you look for to have such intensity in your little eyes? My entry is less discreet than expected when I see the face of the two young women turn to me and discover me near the living room. - Owen, look at what Carina just sent us, the famous shot of this photoshoot, which you had the chance to attend… April launches me with a wink. One of my hands is reflexively placed on my tie, loosening the tie knot that seemed to have tightened around my neck. - Could you give us your opinion by the way Owen? A male opinion, it could be useful, right? Replies April turning to Amelia. Amelia looks at her friend then find my own look. She finally gets up, to come to meet me, two shots by hand. - I hesitate between two photos in fact and April is struggling to choose… but you can maybe help me actually. - Uh… I’m not sure… you should rather consult Richard, I think. - Richard would suggest another concept… and would not want to take a position… and have an outside eye like yours, is perhaps the most effective… She looks at me with hopeful eyes… I knew it was not my rôle, but at the same time if it could help? I end up stretching out a hand to ask for the shots and she smiles by placing them in my open palm.

My eyes are lowered on the two shots that I finally hold in each of my hands. I had a very specific memory of this photoshoot, but I’m literally amazed by the photo rendering. By the almost artistic look of these two shots… I discovered two black and white photos, beautifully putting Amelia in value. The first is a shot where she poses from behind, the guitar wedged on the shoulder, the head turned in profile, the gaze slightly down, revealing her legs and the lines of her back. The second is in complete contrast: she is in front, the guitar hiding the pelvis and part of her chest, her hands resting on the guitar… the gaze doesn’t fix the lens but observes something, a spark in the eyes… it was me she had in reference and she was watching and I am fascinated to have this moment so beautifully “captured” between the fingers… this glow that was created over the seconds and flashes while we looked at each other. - So, a preference? Amelia’s voice, at my side, gets me out of my thoughts and pushes me to choose. - I will say this one… I replied handing her the shot taken from behind. A choice that does not reveal my preference, however… but I didn’t want to see this look posted on the walls of Seattle… I wanted it to remain private… - Thank you, Owen… so I have my poster, she answers me smiling and taking again the shots. She redirects to her friend proudly showing her the winning photo. April looks at the picture for a few seconds and then gives me a sidelong look, a bit amused. - I’m going to call Carina to tell her, says Amelia, taking her phone out of her pocket and quickly leaving the living room. April looked down at the shot that I finally didn’t take on while smiling. - Why not have been honest? I was about to leave her but her question stopped me in my tracks. - Honest? - Yes, between us… we both know that the photo you prefer is this one… She supports her words with a raised hand to show me again the shot that I didn’t choose. Her remark intrigues me and makes me feel uncomfortable at the same time. - I perceived your confusion when you saw it, your hand tightened on this picture and your eyes lingered much longer than on the other… but I wonder why you didn’t choose it? She almost defies me for a few moments until the front door creaks behind me.

I take a quick look towards the entrance to discover Richard enter the room… allowing me to slip away. - Good morning Owen, he said as he saw me approaching. - Good morning. Richard salutes April with his hand before addressing me again. - Amelia is available? - She went up to the phone… to finalize the concert poster. - Okay, great. I feel him still a little uncomfortable, the last exchanges with Amelia having deeply marked. - Did you could you explain? Calmly discuss it again? He watches me for a few seconds before sighing. - Yes… she understood… but I clearly hurt her… it will take a little bit of time, I think… - She cares about you, be sure. He ends up smiling at me as footsteps echo on the stairs. - Hello Richard, Amelia launches with a visibly sincere smile, arriving at our side. - Hi, my lovely… so it seems that you chose your poster? - Yes, a good thing is done, you can pass the shot to the printer. - Very good… we’re almost in time for once, says her manager smiling. - Surely you have a big work session in front of you, no, both? Suddenly asks April who had just joined us. - Two, three details to settle actually, Richard confirms. - Very good… Amelia, I haven’t asked you before, but you allow me to take Owen tonight? My head suddenly turns to April, her question resonating in my head. - What are you talking about? - Well… I know he works for you… but it’s still not a life to be around the clock in service, and I thought that a small exit to relax could be useful… if Richard stays with you, would it allow him to be off tonight? I focus on each word escaping from the young woman’s mouth as if to confirm that I’m not dreaming… - April… Amelia is just as uncomfortable as I am about her friend’s question, while Richard seems very amused by the situation. - It’s a little short to address the subject… ha but… don’t tell me that you’re jealous if I go out with him a little? - Jealous? But….. no….. not at all….. and I don’t see why… it’s not the question. - Good, in this case, I will air a little your bodyguard! Owen, ready for a quiet evening? April scrutinizes me with big eyes allowing me to experience one of the most embarrassing situations of my life and… most unexpected… - April… it touches me that my well-being seems to be at the heart of your concerns, but when I agree to work for someone I invest myself completely… so I don’t need a break as you say… She observes me for a long time as if to pierce me up to date, then reacts without seeming surprised by my answer. - You may change your mind in a few days or weeks, my offer will still be there… she replies before returning to the living room. Richard lets out a laugh at my side as I exchange a brief look with Amelia. - I’m sure it’s a first for you? Richard asks me with a smirk. - Uh…yes…I confess… I answer with a smile. - Apologize April, I will talk to her… she has always been very direct and spontaneous, says Amelia. - Speaking of the reception, tomorrow is a special day… we need to get organized… Richard’s remark leaves me pensive, I go through all the information I had in mind but clearly had no idea what he was referring to. - Special? - Yes, I didn’t have time to tell you about Owen, but tomorrow night is a charity event for a foundation I created, it’s an important event that allows me to meet all the donors and the founders of the foundation. - Let’s go up to my office to discuss it, offers Richard.

I take content information that has just been revealed to me, already anticipating what an outing of this type would involve. We take a seat in Richard’s office: I sit on one of the two chairs in front of the desk, Amelia sitting to my right and Richard behind the desk. - Then the reception is held at Canlis, the restaurant run by Brady Williams, in Queen Anne. - A beautiful address… - Yes, it’s Amelia who finances the reception and it’s a way to thank donors and volunteers in a fairy-like setting. - Richard, you don’t have to tell Owen everything… she whispers beside me as if she’s embarrassed that I get her financing for a réception that looks particularly luxurious… and so expensive. - We have a problem, she says after a few seconds. You can not come… - Sorry? She sighs while raising her eyes to Richard who remains silent however, to believe that it was her to justify herself. - This reception is special to me… I don’t intervene as a singer and pseudo-celebrity but as the creator of this foundation… there are certainly important donors who are present and who wish to meet me but also and especially simple people who give their time every day for this cause… and I don’t want to return the image of an unreachable person by imposing on them a bodyguard… as if to show them that we are not of the same world, whereas it is quite the opposite… Her explanation was worked almost studied, but I could not accept that she participated in such an event without me being present… an event so special to her that it could be considered a golden opportunity for the lunatic to act… - Amelia… you are aware of the threats now, it is clearly not reasonable that you go there alone… - But I will not be alone, Richard can come with me… - You are not serious? We are talking about a man who has an obsessive obsession with you and who could choose this reception to concretize his threats, it’s out of the question that I am not present… there is inevitably a solution… I understand your position about this réception, but… - There is a solution, actually… Richard’s voice suddenly sounded when he had not spoken for several moments. - It would be enough to draw inspiration from April’s offer… - What? I was completely lost after Richard’s suggestion. - Well, it would be enough for you to accompany Amelia… but not as a bodyguard… - And in what capacity then? - Well, Owen will replace me… as a partner on your arm… Owen will be able to do his job without imposing his real function on your guests… Richard’s idea was more than intelligent and allowed to reconcile the various constraints… - It’s pretty clever, indeed, Amelia whispers. The eyes of Richard and Amelia then go simultaneously in my direction as if to ask me for an opinion, an answer. - It seems to be possible… - Very good, so book your most beautiful suit… and get ready to support me at your arm all evening…

24 hours later

8 pm on my watch. I finish tying my tie. Amelia didn’t give me any particular indications for the dress code of the réception except that I had to wear a suit… and failing to have a suit on hand, I had opted for a uniform look all in black (pants, jackets, shirt, and tie) which gave a set, I hoped, elegant enough for the occasion. I take a last look at myself and leave my room. Jackson is already in the lobby and greets me with a smile. - Hunk O’, he said laughing. - Don’t be jealous Jackson, I replied, taking up old habits of teammates. We both laugh when heels slam against the stairs. We look back simultaneously to see April coming down with a smile. - Owen Hunt in all his splendor, tell me… she says, not hiding her eyes sweeping me from head to toe… I don’t reply to her remark preferring not to feed the subject… or her curiosity. - Amelia is ready soon? - Yes, she is ready but she was on the phone when I left her, she should not be late… April answers me without looking me in the eyes, taking a not insignificant time to study my outfit. The second series of insured steps is soon to be heard and we find Amelia down the row of stairs while storing her phone in a small bag she holds in her hand.

I had seen hundreds of women in evening dress in my life… but it was the first one that managed to keep me captivated for more than a second… to study her. She was dressed in a long white dress, decorated with bright lines punctuating the fabric at regular intervals and gradually splaying downwards… in a fluid and supple material that looked like silk… It revealed a slight V-neckline and was completed with a ribbon of black fabric that perfectly marked the size of Amelia. I quickly guessed sandals with heels at her feet that appeared at the rhythm of the steps and the flight of the dress. I quickly get a grip on myself realizing that I had almost admired the apparition in front of me…but by discovering her face, my determination will prove to be short… My eyes lingering again more than it should. She had chosen a braided hairstyle on the side that put beautifully in value her neck, with a makeup certainly light but studied to support her eyes and her mouth. No jewel on her, as if she was aware that it was purely superfluous.

An arousing beauty, naturally. A charm and natural grâce that I was not used to.

A hand placed against her dress to raise it slightly, she was finishing up the last steps while I was making an observation… completely inappropriate.

And a question that already sounds in my head.

Was this upcoming réception really such a good idea…?

Thank you for reading💛

[perahn]

Codex Entry #3

The encryptions acquire a new layer of complexity at this point, as though the writer has grown more creative, more intelligent, more paranoid, or all three. As well as the devices formerly used, the writer has started using a system of scattered dots – some raised, some dug into the page, and some developed into tears – as well as directly encoding the text into diagrams and drawings, so that what appears to be a graph is in fact a description of a fight against flumphs, minotaur skeletons and a flameskull, while a lovingly-rendered sketch of a dozing displacer beast conceals a furious tirade against sorceresses and illithids.

… Threat Assessment: Shayazi (9th revision)

Shay continues to develop her skills; I suspect her elders at the monastery will be pleasantly surprised by her progress when we return. My own capacities likewise increase; my options to deal with her, should it become necessary, are more varied and likely to be efficacious than previously. As in previous revisions, the key is to keep my distance and to strike first. There are only two issues prompting this update to her previous threat assessment.

The first is this new power she has developed since her experience with the clerics of Yurtrus. It is, of course, counter-productive to ignore the very real impact the gods can have on the world, either directly or through the actions of their idiot faithful. I would not have predicted that Shay would choose to align herself with such parasitic, demanding and arrogant creatures; I will even confess to a small disappointment. I had a higher opinion of her than that. Nevertheless, I cannot deny that it has earned her power. I have not seen her use it often enough to be entirely certain of its purpose, which is concerning, and, having opened the door to divine interference in her life, it is difficult to see where it may stop. I shall monitor her for developments.

The second is possibly more concerning. Harper continues to ingratiate himself with her, quite blatantly, and I am unsure how to counter him. She is supposed to be my bodyguard, but I confess I have been depending unduly on her own sense of duty. The means I would use to cultivate another Red Wizard are almost meaningless to her, and although I am learning as swiftly as I can, the fact remains that Harper is more familiar with such tactics. If I should lose her to him, the balance tips dangerously out of my favour… My advantage, I think, is that I know the Order of the Long Death tolerably well, and what Shay has been used to within its walls; I can leverage that, but then Harper’s manoeuvring against her inexperience is covering much the same ground.  Brothels, really? That is not ground on which I will compete. Gifts, perhaps? She and Twitch seem to have developed something of a rapport – perhaps that Bag of Tricks I saw in the bazaar would amuse her?

A span as yet decrypted follows, eventually clearing into the following passage. In contrast to the tone, the writing remains steady and even.

… he spoke, and I raised my hands to my eyes and gouged them out. I gave them to him, and he mounted them in his rotting eye sockets. It took exactly seven strokes of the dull blade to sever my tongue. My mouth filled with blood, washing the spells away. Then I forced the blade through my left wrist. It stuck halfway, and I screamed that I could not obey until he set his hand over mine and freed the blade. Twenty-three strokes to cut off my left hand. Thirty total, average fifteen. I begged him to help me. I could not cut off my right hand without help. I promised him anything he desired, if only he would help me sever it as he wished. He said the means was within my power. I set my teeth to my right wrist. Blood and blood. Crack and crack. Again. Two hundred and sixty-one. Seven. Fractions. Twenty-three. Again. Thirty. Broken numbers. Fifteen. Broken. Again.

- I did not recognise the voice. I am unsure what this dream portends, but at least it was relatively mild. I was more disturbed when it changed and I felt them again. All those mage hands all over me. All of them watching and laughing. I thought I’d trained my subconscious out of replaying that particular memory. Probably the alcohol was to blame; I had similarly undisciplined and unpleasant memories in place of useful dreams after Khaseth poisoned me.

Still, these things pass. It is more important that I retain clear memory of everything that occurred while I was so stupidly drunk, and more important still that I did said or did nothing irredeemable. In fact, my training held almost perfectly; with one exception, everything I babbled about could either have been gleaned from commonly-available sources, or reasonably extrapolated from them. Or, indeed, from my observable behaviour. The exception, of course, is that while Harper could have safely assumed that I distrust him and wish to penetrate whatever it is that veils his mind, he was extremely unlikely to have guessed that I considered Banishing him. His reaction to that was a little curious, I think… I am still not convinced that he is human.

My mouth still tastes of stale blood, my brain feels rather as though someone is carving its sulci deeper with an acid-coated awl, and we set out into the Underdark today. I truly have become dangerously stupid out here. I suppose that is one good thing to be said for the presence of the drow; I have someone to keep me from drifting entirely into poor habits.

The next few pages contain disdainful descriptions of a wide variety of fungus.

… Threat assessment: Katy (6th revision)

Wild Magic effects: Invisibility on others but not herself; pink, feathery beard. Inanities.

New spell observed: Hex.

Katy has become far more adept with her magic, to the point where her effectiveness in a recent battle came perilously close to matching my own. I am not averse to letting her waste her spell energy, but nevertheless… this sudden increase in her usefulness in concerning. I might be mistaken about divine magic, but not this. Hex is not a usual manifestation of sorcerer magic; it is a warlock spell.

She would not be the first sorcerer to realise her haphazard innate magic is not sufficient, and to turn to other means of procuring power. The warlock pact has always stood ready for such fools. It would also, possibly, explain the peculiar creature she summoned and called Bob; it could easily be a manifestation of her patron, or a creature that answers to it. If she has indeed sold herself to a patron, it falls on me to discern what manner of being it is, and what its motivations are likely to be. Some of the beings known to sponsor warlocks are highly inimical, while others are simply unknowable. There is no telling what actions it may require of Katy.

Of course, there is the possibility that I am getting ahead of myself. There are other means by which Katy might have acquired a warlock spell, not least that it may simply be an unusual quirk of her wild magic. Nevertheless, I judge her quite likely to have made such a pact. I will watch her behaviour closely for evidence for or against this hypothesis. I also intend to question her about that summoned creature, and possibly study it for myself. It seemed to have an unhealthy influence over her.

… cannot shake the feeling I am overlooking something obvious. The letter to Metoth Zurn must have been intended as a test for me; there are myriad secure ways that wizards such as he and Anishta Daraam could communicate. There is a portal between their territories, for Szass Tam’s sake: they could have spoken in person! I probably performed much to expectations – that is, not sufficiently well to avoid putting myself in a vulnerable position. What is the relationship between those two? Why would she inform him of an artefact and potential influence to be gained instead of going after it herself, if it were genuine?

The whole affair makes much more sense if it is not – but, then, it could hardly be aimed at Metoth Zurn, as he would hardly go after it himself. Unless the artefact itself exists as a threat to him… There are too many unknowns at present.

It would make more sense still if it were all directed at me, but I have hardly done anything to mark myself for disposal – unless Anishta Daraam is oversensitive about perceived disrespect. Which she might well be, given that her blue eyes clearly mark her blood as impure. I can more easily understand why one of the others at the Skullport Enclave might wish to remove me: I would turn a wary eye myself on someone who had a personal audience with the head of my Academy, who then made a public showing of her prowess, asked for uncommon materials, and went on expedition. But the letter predates that. If, then, this is truly aimed at me, it must be orchestrated out of Thay. It would not have been too difficult to arrange. I must think more on the rivals I left behind me…

… Threat assessment: Taliesin Harper (23rd revision).

This man is taking up far too much of my precious thinking time. Nor do I expect the situation to resolve soon; almost every time I approach him with questions – of which I have many, after some of the things he said or implied during that unfortunate drinking session – he is otherwise occupied, obviously not disposed towards inquiry, or forestalls me by asking a flurry of his own questions. It’s not that I mind answering, since almost everything so far has either been obvious (are you homesick, then?) or utterly pointless (so why go back?) – it’s the time it takes. It would seem counter-productive to refuse to answer or to tell him to shut up so I can take a turn (and I can all-too-easily envisage the infuriating smirk that would answer me if I said anything so foolish). So, among other things, this revision marks yet another conversational weapon.

Well. He gave me a look with a distinct ‘I intend to castigate you later’ overtones after I confirmed my hypothesis about the drow and his relationship with Lloth. Possibly after such a conversation, if I can appear sufficiently contrite, I might have an opportunity to interrogate him. Such information, naturally, is unreliable – I know he is an accomplished liar – but anything is better than the mystery he currently presents.

He continues to spread his pernicious influence among the group. He already had Katy under reasonable control when we met; as noted in Shay’s last assessment, he appears to have made alarming inroads there as well. It is more difficult to judge his progress with the drow – not least because their conversations are almost invariably nauseating – but at the very least, he is more courteous with Harper, and seems more inclined to listen to him. He certainly places Harper as the leader of this disparate little group, when anyone with even a passing familiarity with my order should cast me in that role. In any case, it is probably safe enough to assume that when Harper makes the move for which he has been gathering so much support, the drow is likely to side with him.

He still has not displayed any magic beyond whatever it is that shields his mind. Furthermore, while he continues to grow stronger and swifter in combat, he has shown no unusual development at this point. However, he has grown sufficiently talented in stealth to successfully approach the drow undetected. This is of severe concern.

I know I have not verbally told him more than I wished to at any point, but I suspect that has not been enough. If I could survey his thoughts I could glean a more accurate assessment of what he has deduced about me and my capabilities, and I would feel a great deal safer. I know he is attempting to manoeuvre me into some position, but I do not know what that is, or what he wants. He remains one of the most dangerous threats I have encountered, and it seems that I still need him. I must be more cautious, and I must learn more.

… bitterness on the wind, less pungent that the acidic decay in the black water roiling around me. The Silent is unheard. Lashing tentacles, a host of mouths all over its body. The Thirsty is taking notes.  One eye, larger than the mind can hold. The drow laughs. Eighteen. Teeth, black in black mouth in black water. Twenty-five thousand, two hundred and five point six. The Erratic vows vengeance for a hat. Tentacles snaking around my wrists, tearing my hands free. Blood in black water, laughter like ashes on the wind.

- Again this… dehanding… element surfaces. Two main connotations continue to occur to me. The Tyrran – although there is some confusion, since Tyr is represented with one missing hand, not two, and still called by the epithet ‘the Even-handed’. And, of course, it may also be emblematic of the loss of power, especially when it is my own hands. In any case, it has surfaced often enough to be of concern. Also a point worth noting: this dream marks the first in which all three of the recurring can be clearly identified, and the first in which the drow appears at all. This is disturbing on a number of levels.

Threat Assessment: The drow (4rd revision/6th including Garrod Drake’s entries)

New spell observed: Mass Healing Word. This is definitely indicative. As far as I can remember from my brief study of divine magic, this is solely the province of clerics. This raises three queries. 1) Do I recall correctly? Divine magic is not particularly interesting, and my notes on the subject are long ago destroyed. There might be other disciplines with access to the spell. 2) Did I observe correctly? It might have been some other spells with a similar effect, and I was not particularly close to him. 3) How did he cast it? Scrolls and other enchanted items are only the most obvious ways to cast a spell to which you would ordinarily have no access.

If, however, I do remember and did observe correctly that he cast Mass Healing Word, it strongly suggests that he might have some cleric training. This correlates moderately well with his obvious issues with spiders and his status as a male drow. Lloth despises males and does not permit them among her clergy. He must follow some other deity (as strange a thing that is to speculate about someone so obviously capable in his own right). I cannot seriously imagine him worshipping an idiot goddess of dancing naked in the moonlight, and Eilistraee is the only other member of the Dark Seldarine I recall at present. Of course, he might have chosen the god of some other pantheon entirely to fellate in exchange for power. Mask, perhaps? In any case, while this hypothesis seems sturdy enough to guide my actions, it demands further evidence.

I suspect the others do not truly understand just how dangerous he is. Like myself, he was born into a society of power-hungry individuals, his value only in his use to those above him in power or in what he carved out for himself. Temporary alliances bound for betrayal, an innately dangerous world around him, a certainty of death or something much less pleasant as punishment for mistakes. Like myself, he’s survived so far, which marks him as an individual of cunning, ambition, and cleverness. However, there is one crucial difference: I am a Red Wizard, and, as such, one of the ruling class of Thay. My enemies are, for the most part, roughly my equals in power. The drow, on the other hand, is a male – part of the lowest possible classes in his society, deliberately kept subjugated. He has therefore risen respectively further than I have, has probably maintained his position longer (given drow lifespans in comparison to human) and so, is better at this than I am.

He is also on his own territory here. His advantages cannot be overstated. I wish I had found a means and opportunity to speak to that drow who warned us not to ally, even temporarily, with our guide. I might have learned something of use.

The drow knows my order well enough, probably, to predict my actions – one reason why I decided to try a tactic borrowed from Harper and offer an apology for needling him about the spider corpses. It was not as difficult as I thought it would be, although still I disliked doing it. His reaction was also satisfying, if inconvenient. It is a distinct relief to speak to someone who sees the world as it is, and respects me sufficiently to assume that I have good reasons for what I do.

If the moment were right, I could disable him. At the very least. I occasionally entertain the image of Animating his corpse and forcing it through all sorts of indignities. Pleasant as the thought of the drow grovelling at my feet is, it would probably not be worth antagonising Shay or the chance someone would resurrect it.

The next page is encoded as a drawing of a rotting, kneeling drow.

[ketopremiereblog]

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Vestibular Modulation, Cages and Animals, 1

Sunday, 29 September 2019

Reading time (optimized): 3 min.

In this entry, I will look at dream content that stems from subliminal, liminal, or supraliminal causality when both somatosensory dynamics and vestibular system dynamics (or vestibular cortex activity) are more incidentally emergent. In such cases, a caged animal may come to the forefront in dreaming processes as an indicator or confirmation that the physical body cannot move while asleep or cannot move by way of the will of the dream self's imaginary mental model unless consciousness is activated. Variations of this process may have either singular or combined content.

A lion is in a cage in my parked school bus directly behind the empty driver's seat. It seems that I should drive the bus because the male bus driver is no longer present. Meaning: Lion in a cage behind empty driver's seat (I cannot move or "drive" my physical body as I sleep), so I will take on the role of the bus driver (to preconsciously establish the intent of physical movement for the waking transition).

A similar example: A park ranger gets inside a cage on wheels that is implied to be a vehicle. He drives it away, and it rattles as I watch.

An unknown man (reminiscent of a magician), climbs a rope to a square cage hanging from the ceiling it is almost touching. A bobcat is inside the cage. The man opens the door of the cage and pets the tame bobcat. In this case, autosymbolic discernment of coalescence occurs as well as emerging physicality and vestibular system dynamics.

In a "something coming down" dream (more likely to occur when my closed eyes are more horizontal as my face is more toward the ceiling than to the side as I sleep), an airplane flies overhead and, as I look from my bedroom window, a cage falls into our front yard. Although it contains the cartoon Tasmanian devil, there is no threat, more a sense of amusement. In this case, the drop (projected rather than inherited) did not abruptly end my dream. Viable physicality after the drop had not fully initiated, and so the imaginary animal in a cage was presented for a short time during the waking transition.

A wooden crate on a cargo ship opens fluidly on one end. A wolf jumps into it, and the crate closes behind it (as if there had never been an opening). Looking at this, if I had not already known, I would conclude it was the anticipation of induction at the beginning of a dream sequence, which it was.

In another dream, rather than a rhinoceros being in a cage, the restraint was with clothespins (along its back) attached to fishing line. Additionally, a monkey was in a small cage hanging from the ceiling. Since I already know a caged animal is autosymbolic for my subliminal, liminal, or supraliminal impression of how my physical body cannot move much while I sleep, this additional factor of the clothespins correlates, granted, in a surreal sense, with the concept of being undressed as I sleep.

As I am walking at the end of a recent dream (in the backyard of a previous address), the other end of my walking stick (though I do not use one in real life), being used with my left hand, somehow gets stuck between two small cages (the bottom of one and the top of the other). I am not sure if they contain any animals as a big cloth is covering them. It takes me a few minutes to pull it out.

In this example, my left arm in a position with less potential to move during the waking transition (associated with the walking stick as an extension of my arm's physicality and as being stiff and unmoving in reality) occurs in my dream as being stuck between two cages rather than all of my physicality being "caged" (restricted) as I sleep.

In studying and mapping dream content with a clear understanding of the causal factors, I can learn more about how incidental (in contrast to created or controlled) processing dynamics work and determine whether an event or feature is at the beginning or end of a dream sequence (and whether it is from induction or waking anticipation or from anticipation of the return to slow-wave sleep). More so, since childhood, I have gained more and more instinctual control of the sleep cycle and the dream state. There is virtually no mystery anymore concerning the meaning or nature of specific dream content for me personally.

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Best Ping Pong Paddles are necessary to improve your ping pong game.

We frequently get messages from table tennis players requesting that I prescribe the best table tennis sharp edges for their style of play. I ought to have composed this blog entry years prior! Check out reviews of best ping pong paddles here. 

When you initially begin playing table tennis I prescribe purchasing a not too bad premade table tennis racket. In any case, sooner or later, you should move from your pre-made racket to a custom one and this where things get somewhat more precarious.

When you enter the universe of custom table tennis rackets you are presented to several ITTF affirmed rubbers and a large number of potential cutting edge alternatives. How might you know which mix to choose? What's more, how would you stick it all together? It's somewhat of a minefield.

It's my expectation that this article will help you to comprehend somewhat more about the best table tennis edges and give you the certainty to choose your own. I'll likewise be suggesting loads of various cutting edges for specific styles of play.

The Best Table Tennis Blades

In the event that you play table tennis for a considerable length of time you will more likely than not run over players who seem, by all accounts, to be always hunting down the "best" table tennis cutting edge and elastic blend. These folks have a bothering sense that their cutting edge isn't exactly ideal for them and trust that once they locate the "ideal" one their whole amusement will all of a sudden become alright.

Lamentably, this simply isn't the situation!

The ideal table tennis sharp edge doesn't exist (despite the fact that the $400+ Butterfly Zhang Jike Super ZLC most likely comes the nearest). Kindly don't squander your time and cash unendingly scanning for it. You'll just be left feeling baffled and unsatisfied – continually questioning the nature of your own hardware.

What's more, with a tremendous accumulation of sharp edges, you never utilize…

the ideal table tennis cutting edge

Things being what they are, am I saying that all table tennis sharp edges are practically the same and you ought to just get the first you find? Not in any manner.

You should 100% do your exploration, read audits, experiment with various cutting edges and attempt to choose one that will compliment your style of player. Just once you've picked one, stay with it for a couple of years and focus on enhancing your playing capacity rather than continually changing your gear.

Wood versus Carbon

Before I begin with my own edge proposals there is one final point I'd get a kick out of the chance to make.

Numerous players are uncertain whether to go for a wood or carbon sharp edge. A wood cutting edge is made 100% from wood. These are additionally once in a while alluded to as "all wood". A carbon sharp edge has a blend of wood and carbon. The most widely recognized contain 5 layers of wood and 2 layers of carbon.

Carbon cutting edges are by and large speedier than wood sharp edges and give the player less control and "feeling" over the ball. On the off chance that you are another player a carbon cutting edge may make things somewhat troublesome for you. Maybe beginning with an allwood edge is a smart thought.

Be that as it may, the greater part of best-assaulting players nowadays will utilize a carbon edge. In this way, it is most likely a smart thought to get ready to move from an all wood sharp edge to a carbon edge eventually as your level moves forward. I think once you have an inclination that you have a decent level of control over the ball and its turn then maybe you are prepared for a carbon sharp edge.

My Favorite Table Tennis Blade

I've been playing table tennis for more than 15 years and amid that time I've just had five unique sharp edges. Treat them well and cutting edges will keep going quite a while. There's truly no should be transforming them at regular intervals – like you may do with your rubbers on the off chance that you are playing a considerable measure.

Throughout the previous five years or so I've been utilizing an edge that is exceptionally famous with assaulting players here in the UK. It is a 5+2 carbon cutting edge that offers a decent measure of speed additionally isn't too quick or hard to control.

It's not the least expensive edge on the planet, but rather I utilized a companion's surprisingly and promptly beginning to look all starry eyed at it contrasted with what I had been utilizing beforehand. For me, it was certainly justified regardless of the cost. What's more, I have more than five years of utilization out of it!

Butterfly Timo Boll Spirit

The sharp edge I'm discussing is the Timo Boll Spirit from Butterfly. It's a carbon sharp edge that was intended for the European circling style of play. It has an incredible adjust of speed and control and was utilized for a long time by Timo Boll himself.

Butterfly Timo Boll Spirit cutting edge

Sam Priestley (the guinea pig in The Expert in a Year Challenge) played with it throughout the previous six months of the test and I realize that a great deal of the English national group have utilized it in the past as well – including Paul Drinkhall and Liam Pitchford.

Actually, I couldn't be more joyful with this sharp edge and I question I will ever change to whatever else now. It works impeccably with the sort of medium-hard rubbers I appreciate, as Tenergy 05 or Evolution MX-P.

On the off chance that you are an assaulting, hostile player that likes to circle the ball then this is an extraordinary cutting edge for you. On the off chance that you have attempted a portion of the super quick new carbon sharp edges and discovered them excessively troublesome, making it impossible to control then I figure you will likewise truly like the Timo Boll Spirit.

The main kind of player I would encourage to avoid this sharp edge is fledglings. I know it can be enticing to instantly go out and purchase an expert carbon cutting edge however I figure it will most likely do your amusement more damage than great. Begin with an allwood allround cutting edge first and after that maybe advance to something like a Timo Boll Spirit following a year or two.

Purchase from Megaspin.net for $134.99

Purchase from TeesSport.com for £95.99

Other Offensive Blades

On the off chance that you don't favor going for the Timo Boll Spirit there are heaps of different choices accessible to you.

Mainstream Butterfly Blades

Butterfly has a notoriety for delivering truly magnificent hostile cutting edges…

Butterfly Timo Boll ALC: The Timo Boll ALC is from multiple points of view the refreshed rendition of the Timo Boll Spirit. Timo changed from utilizing the Spirit to the ALC once it was discharged. Purchase from Megaspin.net ($149.99).

Butterfly Viscaria: This one is a most loved on the table tennis discussions and was broadly Zhang Jike's cutting edge of decision. From various perspectives, it is very like the Timo Boll Spirit however in the event that you trust the buildup is surprisingly better. Purchase from Megaspin.net ($149.99).

Butterfly Zhang Jike Super ZLC: The most costly table tennis cutting edge available however, in the event that you trust the audits, presumably the best also. Purchase from Megaspin.net ($412.99).

Butterfly Primorac: A great Butterfly allwood hostile sharp edge that has been around for more than 20 years. It isn't as quick as a portion of the carbon edges I've specified above however is as yet an extraordinary decision. Purchase from Megaspin.net ($73.99).

Wood Offensive Blades

There are likewise heaps of awesome hostile sharp edges from different brands as well. Here are a couple of my most loved allwood hostile cutting edges…

Yasaka Ma Lin Extra Offensive: A 5-handle allwood hostile cutting edge. Like the Butterfly Primorac yet quicker and harder. This one has been extremely famous for a long time. Purchase from Megaspin.net ($51.95) or Tabletennis11.com (€37.90).

Stiga Infinity VPS V: Another hostile allwood sharp edge. This one was created by Stiga in a joint effort with top players from the Chinese national group. Purchase from Tabletennis11.com (€59.90).

Tibhar Stratus Power Wood: A 5-handle allwood hostile cutting edge with an awesome mix of speed, control and feeling. Unquestionably, one to attempt on the off chance that you like allwood sharp edges. Purchase from Tabletennis11.com (€41.90).

DHS Power G7: An allwood 7-employ Chinese sharp edge that comes prescribed by Ma Long. An awesome alternative for hostile players on a financial plan and a standout amongst the most mainstream cutting edges on TableTennisDB! Purchase from Tabletennis11.com (€33.20).

Carbon Offensive Blades

Furthermore, here are some incredible carbon hostile sharp edges…

Stiga Carbonado 145: another 5+2 carbon cutting edge from Stiga that is created in Sweden and elements a totally new style of carbon, at no other time utilized as a part of table tennis. Purchase from Tabletennis11.com (€189.90).

Yinhe T-11+: An incredible esteem 5+2 carbon sharp edge with a balsa center. This sharp edge is quick and super light. It's extraordinary for loopers you get a kick out of the chance to remain nearby to the table. Purchase from Megaspin.net ($39.99).

Donic Waldner Senso Carbon: This is a 3+2 carbon edge and isn't as quick as a portion of the others. It depends on the prevalent Donic Allplay, just with included carbon for additional speed. Purchase from Tabletennis11.com (€54.90).

Tibhar Drinkhall Powerspin Carbon: I couldn't complete without specifying Paul Drinkhall's carbon sharp edge. It's a total counterfeit of the Butterfly arylate carbon edges yet significantly less expensive. Purchase from Bribar (£69.99).

Prevalent Allround Table Tennis Blades

As I specified before, in the event that you are a generally new player you should avoid the hostile and carbon edges until the point when you have built up your strokes and control. The enticement is to purchase a truly costly and quick cutting edge… however that wouldn't enable you to learn.

Rather, observe a portion of the great allround wood sharp edges that have been utilized by enhancing players for a considerable length of time. These will be a great deal less expensive and will make it significantly less demanding to figure out how to circle and piece and really "feel" the ball on your racket.

Eastfield Allwood

The Eastfield Allwood Table Tennis Blade is an exemplary 5-employ allround sharp edge offering medium speed, extraordinary control, and incredible criticism. This cutting edge makes it simple to circle, crush, and assault. But at the same time is flawless in the event that you need to square and control the ball, even cleave.

eastfield-allwood-table-tennis-sharp edge primary picture

It is demonstrated on exemplary allwood cutting edges of the past, for example, the Stiga Allround and Donic Allplay, and is ideal for genuine novices or middle of the road players. It's the sort of cutting edge that mentors are continually prescribing to their young players.

best ping pong paddles guy!

[blue-opossum]

Dream State Management of Imaginary Proprioception, page 1

Afternoon of April 25, 2020. Saturday.

Reading time (optimized): 2 min 30 sec.

Key Points:

Imaginary proprioception in the dream state is the illusory perception of the position and movement of the unreal dream body. It is physiological, not psychological.

Imaginary proprioception is the result of the absence of the discernibly of the real physical body and its orientation while sleeping. (A falling dream is the most common result of this factor.)

Vestibular system ambiguity, and its management, is my most common causal factor of dream content.

The management of imaginary proprioception is what vivifies my dreams the most. I have practiced it in all modes of dreaming (instinctual, liminal, and lucid) all my life.

Floating and flying in dreams (the mode being irrelevant) have occurred naturally since before I could walk in waking life.

It is unreasonable to expect a viable model of the vestibular cortex while asleep or in the dream state or to expect interpretable dynamics.

Imaginary proprioception is neither symbolic in the conventional sense nor a result of personal identity because it is a specific perceptual mode as a result of dreaming whereas, in waking life, the vestibular system is responsible for the management of this perceptual mode without a need to think about it.

The process is so reliable in my sleep cycles that specific types of dream content occur within certain parts of a dream's timeline, though in reverse when waking in contrast to after first falling asleep. For example, in the first part of every sleep cycle for over fifty years, during a specific level of liminality (about twenty seconds after I release lucidity), there has been a falling dream, usually a microdream. It is primarily the result of the vestibular cortex still being residually active. As a result of this experience, there is often a sudden, brief sense of bliss and amusement.

With the anticipation (or instinctual, liminal, or lucid expectation) of the vestibular system's correlation during the waking transition (what I informally refer to as "drop anticipation"), most common in the latter half of my sleep cycle, I am sometimes apt (depending on ultradian rhythm) to summon a personification of the process regardless of the mode of dreaming. (Dream control and lucid dreaming are unrelated despite the second-most-common misconception about dreams inferring it is.) It is most often an unfamiliar character or a celebrity (to avoid associations with someone I know in waking life, the exceptions being enigmatic space literalisms and higher liminality).

Although the influence of imaginary proprioception is my main factor of dreaming, it is more vivid after walking more than usual the previous day or using an elevator.

The most vivid falling dream I have ever had came directly after experiencing the Log Flume Ride in Busch Gardens in Tampa, Florida.

Although I have utilized passive falling to stabilize dream state entry or dream vivification, my most common method is opening a door or sliding open a wall as if it was a sliding door. I also practice jumping from a high location to vivify a dream exponentially, flying around, and landing in the vivified setting to continue my dream. The highest level of vivification occurs when I slide open a wall and jump from a ledge, even one only a foot or so from the ground.

A sudden noise can cause a falling dream. (If a baby is startled by a loud noise, a sudden movement, or anticipation of falling, they might respond with the involuntary Moro reflex.)

Transitioning towards cognition in the dream state decreases imaginary proprioception or realistic physicality, sometimes causing my dream to transform from three-dimensional to two-dimensional. This factor occurs for two reasons; one, text is typically printed on a flat surface and two, when involved in reading (mental activity in waking life) it is to be expected to be less aware (concurrently) of physicality.