#I supposedly copied so I couldn’t even know what it is or delete instead I have this trouble

[melisa-may-taylor72]

Accolades such as “greatest single long-playing achieve­ment since Sgt. Pepper” and “the most important record album ever made” fall over Queen’s latest album as easily as butter melt­ing on a hot potato—but few realize what a hot potato the album actually was in its pre-release days. It took a bevy of high-powered attorneys, some low-life finagling, and more than the usual amount of wheeler­dealing just to get the album out without its being hacked to death by defamation-of-character suits.

Guitarist Brian May explains: “I’m in real difficulty here because I’ve been threatened with libel because our old management had a good go at stop­ping the album coming out. They thought “Death on Two Legs’’ was about them. They wanted us to take the track off and we nearly had to, and in fact they got a load of money out of our publishing company be­cause it supposedly was libelous, but it’s never been proven. It’s all very stupid—they wanted to sue Freddie, the band, the publishing company, and the record company.”

All very dramatic stuff, but a band like Queen survives not on operatic finesse alone, but on gut-level melo- dramatics in the business department as well. When you produce your rec­ords, write the songs, play all the in­struments, and do everything your­self, chances are you’re going to have to pay some legal dues, too. But ah! the rewards—such as the single, “Bo­hemian Rhapsody,” hanging into the #1 spot in the British charts for seven weeks in a row!

“We’re a bit more in the public eye now, we’re starting to get recognized a lot more,” says Brian May. “We’re carrying on working just as we did before, but obviously we’re very pleas­ed with how the record’s doing. It’s sold more than a million copies in England— can’t believe it.” But it’s true: Queen’s stature in England has risen from that of The #1 teenage hard rock band to that of the-group- that-made-the-single-that-every-house- wife-knows-by-heart”.

What propelled Queen in that di­rection is their Night at the Opera album, a slight departure from what Queen fans know to be the Queen sound. The hard rock screams have temporarily subsided, replaced by ex­perimentation with different voicings of instruments and production tricks. Those who found Queen’s approach overdecibelled can relax to the quiet “ ‘39” or “Good Company” and tap their feet to “Lazing on a Sunday Af­ternoon” without fear of being gui- tarred to death. “It’s just what came out,” says Brian. “They’re offshoots of our main direction. There’s plenty of time for the rock.”

“The album wasn’t really supposed to go in the direction that it did, it was just the songs we had. While we were making it we were thinking, ‘Yeah, it is getting a bit light,’ but rather than fight against it we de­cided to do it properly and then think again afterwards. So instead of try­ing to heavy up the lighter things, we pressed on. We had a few things we didn’t use, but we’re getting more demanding of ourselves. There are a few heavy things kicking around, but we may use them on the next record.”

The two strongest forces in Queen have always been Brian and Freddie. With A Night at the Opera, where experimentation and branching out in new directions are the most obvious characteristics, the personalities of the band are often obscured by the newly emerging elements. “Some­times I feel that Freddie and I are going in different directions, but then he’ll come up with something and I’ll think, ‘My God—we do think alike.’ When I’m working on one of his things I can tune in very easily to what guitar part he wants, and vice-versa. In terms of what we’re trying to do in songs, we are moving in different directions, but I think that could be a good thing.”

QUEEN II: Critical response to the band is now almost unanimous­ly favorable in both Great Britain and the United States, which is quite phe­nomenal when you stop and think of how anxious many critics were to pan them two years ago.“I’m not going to take it too seriously,” Brian says, “because I remember what the critics said about Queen II. It would seem that everybody is beginning to like us. … very much. I can take it at that level, but there’s no doubt in my mind that sometime in the future there’ll come a time when we get slagged for everything. Queen II is still my favorite of the Queen albums, certainly the most daring. Especially for the time. I think we’re still finding our feet now, and the way I feel about the new album is that we’re searching for new directions and most of them are sort of half-formed. We’ve got the Queen II feel in some places, and in others we’ve got the Sheer Heart Attack polish. I don’t think we’re quite sure where we’re going”.

“This album, at the very least, ne­gates all the comparisons to Led Zep­pelin that we’ve been living with for the past three years. I think Physical Graffiti is amazing, by the way. I saw Zeppelin at Earls Court, and I met Pagey afterward, for the first time. It was great, he was very nice and gentle. I respect him a tremendous amount for “Kashmir” and “The Light,” for being able to put his brain on record—- it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t play a note.”

Economic criticism has been less favorable, however. A Night at the Opera was wide­ly rumored to be “the most expensive album ever made” when it was released, a point which Queen’s management denies. Nevertheless, Queen has been taken to task by quite a few English journalists for spending so much money estimated at £30-40,000—making one record. Brian has a retort: “We wouldn’t have spent so much money if the studios weren’t so bloody expensive!

The album was recorded in seven of them, sometimes three at once.” We weren’t mucking about for any of it, it was four months of solid work. It came down to having the equipment available for four months, and we didn’t begrudge the amount of time spent in the studios, but it comes to a fair amount of money. There’s a lot of things that seem light, like “Good Company,” which actually took a great deal of time and care. All those trumpets and clarinets being fashioned from guitar sounds—I took it quite seriously because I wanted to do it right, even though it was a light­hearted thing. We worked too hard for our own health, we got a bit down and depressed.”

While Queen was laying about England between record and tour, a few of them got going on some independent projects. Brian and Roger produced an R&B group’s single, but there were some record company hassles and it may be some time before the record gets released. And on the eve of the Amer­ican tour, Freddie Mercury went into the studios with a singer/songwriter managed by the Rocket Organization (which manages Queen as well) to try his hand at production. “Eddie How­ells is the guy’s name, and he’s man­aged by David Mead, and they’re do­ing a single for Warners. I’m play­ing some guitar on it.” Brian re­strained himself from going out on any limbs before the American tour in order to get himself physically fit. His health had been a crucial prob­lem on an earlier American tour, and he’s not particularly anxious to spend time in hospitals when he could be on­stage instead. “I actually get more tired offtour than ontour,”he admits. But I am in good health.”

HAIRY LEGS: Once the English leg of the tour did get started, word started to flow very quickly back to the States about Queen’s dramatic stage show—a stage show to end all stage shows, with Mercury donning short-shorts to add a bit of the hairy leg to Queen’s otherwise pristeen pre­sentation. “The show is the same, but different,” Brian says confusedly. “We’ve merely developed what we did before with some new material from the new album. It’s a bit of re­shuffling. Plus we do “Doing All- right” from the first album, which we’ve never done onstage before. And “Seven Seas of Rhye,” which we’d do in England but never in America be­fore. It’s quite a lot different, ac­tually.”

American audiences got their first chance to sample the new presenta­tion on January 27 in Waterbury, Conn., when the first concert of Queen’s scheduled 32-date, 21-city American tour got underway in the Palace Theatre. After arriving in the States at Kennedy International on January 20 and spending a couple of days in New York for interviews, Queen began five days of rehearsals at the Palace to ready their show for American fans across the country.

After Waterbury they dove headfirst into the intensive six-week tour, which featured extended runs in New York, Philadelphia, and Los Angeles before its scheduled end March 12 at the San Diego Sports Arena.

Despite the novel direction of the new album, onstage Queen proved to be the same rocking outfit they’ve always been, letting loose with the same kind of guitar-bass-drums-piano barrage they’ve delivered in the past. “We don’t do “39” or “Lazing on aSunday Afternoon” in our show,“ Brian explains. He seems a bit defensive of Queen’s rock spirit, which is kept intact in the live set by “BohemianRhapsody,” “Sweet Lady,” “Prophet Song” and the deletion of the “experimental tunes” from A Night At the Opera.

By the by, those who missed Queenon earlier tours but want to see how they’ve changed now have the means. Queen bave joined the prestigious ranks of the Zeppelins, the Beatles, and the Rolling Stones whereby sorne illegal entrepreneur has issued a boot­ leg album of one of their American concerts. “I hate those things-they rarely give an accurate picture of the group,” Brian states unequivocally, and in this case he’s right. The Queen bootleg has transistor radio fidelity, and the only truly audible members of the band are Brian and Freddie. Yet the fact that a bootleg exists confirms the fact that Queen is now well on their way to the top.

CIRCUS MAGAZINE, APRIL 1975

@natromanxoff, @mephisto92, @moviestorian, @x5vale, @39-brian, @onegoldenglance, @crosmopolitan, @an-abyss-called-life, @his-majesty-king-mercury, @i-live-for-queen, @brian-39-may, @toomuchlove-willkillyou, @brimaymay, @sail-away-sweet-sister, @drummerqueenrmt, @old-fashioned-roger-boy-deactiv, @briianmaay, @l-over-bo-y, @inui-mycroft, @deacytits, @iminlovewithrogscar, @drowseoftaylor, @brianmayislongaway, @balticlover, @astrophysicist-guitar-god​, @miez-lakatz, @brianmayoucease, @jesus-in-a-life-boat, @roger-taylors-car, @silapril, @sherrifanciesfriskyfreddie, @tenderbri, @brianmydear, @thosequeenboys, @millionairewaltz-carpediem, @painandpleasure86, @bribrifrenchfry, @xlucylennonx, @a-night-at-the-abbey-road, @inthedayswhenlandswerefew, @madformeddowstaylor, @queenrogertaylorfan, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @queen-for-life, @rethought, @darlinginnuendo, @mymakeupmaybeflaking, @old-but-still-a-child, @let-roger-get-a-lunch, @warriorteam1924, @funnydressesweirdhairanddance, @painkiller80, @thefanhuman13, @yourtieddownmother, @hgmercury39, @brimi-stardust, @thefairyfellermercury, @retroromantics, @foxmonkey, @sophiaintheskywithdiamonds, @holybrianmaywritingbear, @lydiannode, @39-yellow-daffodils , @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme, @kaykaybeachgirl, @rhysjoejoshtomfarisblog @redspecialandclogsandcurls, @briansrainbowsocks, @delilahmay39, @ohmybribri, @bless-the-queen, @infunitehearbeat, @sketchiesscketches, @everythingaboutfreddie, @doitforthevine67, @recordsoftheseventies, @tenementfunsterwithpurpleshoes, @drummah-in-a-rocknroll-band, @beatlegirl1968, @maylorsqueen, @shearrehartatacc, @gralto, @alittlepeoplemagic, @rainbowsockbrian, @sailawaysweetbrimi

[mypassionfortrash]

Rumours: Parts 1 - 4

It’s the mid 70′s, and your band are on tour with Queen. Rumours circulate in the music press about your relationship with their drummer, Roger. But what they don’t know is that you hate each other with a passion. Can you patch things up?

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!Reader Warnings: A lot of smut - so this is strictly 18+. Notes: This was originally posted on my Queen blog (BoRhapRogerina) before I deleted it. If you’re new here, welcome. If you’ve read this before, I’ve reworked this quite substantially. I’m planning on finishing all of my fics for NaNoWriMo this year, so stay tuned for updates on all my WIPs!

[1/4]

“Scary?” You screeched, flinging down a copy of Creem. You whipped around to face your bandmate, Steve. “Do you think I’m scary?”

He contorted his face, continuing to work a layer of shaving foam over his jaws. “You’re… intense.”

Your mouth dropped open, ready to hurl a brutal comeback. 

He was quick to halt you. “You’re not still obsessing over Roger, are you?”

Your cheeks burned at the idea, “I’m not.”

You were. 

In fact, it was all you could think about ever since your manager had secured your band the gig of a lifetime. Hitting the road with none other than Queen. Supposedly, John Deacon was a fan of yours. Although Roger unquestionably wasn’t. 

The press seemed to believe that you and he would make a perfect pair. You being the fierce, take-no-prisoners frontwoman of a rock and roll band. And Roger, a handsome playboy that no woman could resist. In fact, in every interview Queen did, they would pose that to Roger. What did he think of you?

At times his words were enough to reduce most to tears. You stared up at the ceiling, recalling that interview he did with Melody Maker where he called you ‘utterly terrifying,’ and claimed you had ‘less sex appeal than Elton’s backside.’ That was especially harsh. But your bandmates dismissed it as flippant trash talk; something to create a bit of controversy. 

And so, on the first night of the tour, you sat in the dressing room, having never actually met Roger Taylor, wondering what exactly he thought of you. Just like the music press as a whole.

Not that you cared, of course.

Why should you?

You weren’t there to impress him. 

During soundcheck, you absentmindedly trundled through your band’s five-song setlist with as much life as a rainy day. Four songs in, a shaggy mop of blonde hair bobbed through the gaggle at the side of the stage, barging its way to the front to watch. He stood with his arms folded, his hip jutting out. A cigarette daintily rested between his fingers. 

You glanced at him as you sang. Your stomach was in knots, wondering if he was waiting for an inevitable hiccup. That particular song was about your ex; however, it just as comfortably fitted Roger. He had painted a dim picture of himself, even before you were breathing the same air. But now, seeing him in the flesh, you decided that you hated him. From his dazzling blue eyes to the fur coat that swamped his wiry frame. He was sickening. 

Then it came to that one final line. 

Something about being high and laughing about him in a hospital bed... 

You screwed your eyes shut as you snarled, but the image of him was crystal clear in your mind’s eye.

He raised his eyebrows, puffing out his cheeks at your delivery.

Your insides churned, setting down your guitar and moving to join the group at the side of the stage.

Roger’s eyes might have popped out of their sockets with the savagery with which he rolled them, as you approached shook hangs, hugged and introduced yourself to everyone but him. And he was blatantly counting on you striking up a conversation with him. He drew in a breath to drip poison into the air between you. But his plans were thwarted. 

“You were absolutely marvellous!” Freddie blurted, barging past Roger who sulked like an adolescent girl. Freddie flung his arms around you, threatening to squeeze all the air from your lungs. You gave his shoulder a series of tiny taps like a boxer calling it quits. He thrust you outwards, those dark brown eyes studying every detail of you. Then, he made his announcement: “Deacy was right.”

The corners of your mouth pricked up as you exhaled the last of the breath you had been desperately trying to cling on to. “Did you like it?” you asked, shaking your head. 

Freddie moved closer. “I loved it!” He was beaming as his eyes darted between you and Roger. “You two haven’t met yet!”

You and Roger exchanged curt nods before you broke the uneasy silence. “Thanks for the opportunity,” you muttered, folding your arms.

Roger huffed, looking away from you. “It wasn’t up to me.”

“You’re perfect,” Freddie blurted, blasting through your stalemate. He turned to Roger who was still glowering. “Isn’t she - aren’t they - perfect, Roger?”

Roger raised his eyebrows, lolling his head from side to side.

“You tell her she’s perfect. Right now! Tell her, Rog!” Freddie pushed.

Roger’s eyes narrowed. His upper lip curled up into a sneer. “You’re perfect.” Without waiting for a response, he scampered backstage, a trail of smoke chasing close behind. 

Freddie turned his attention to you, looking taken aback. “Alright then.”

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s not used to being in such close proximity to a woman he’s not allowed to shag, my dear. He’ll come round.”

“I don’t know, I reckon I could have some fun with him.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

It turned out Roger wasn’t fun. Especially not when he had a drink in him. 

The gig itself was excellent. Roger confined himself to the background as the other members of Queen congratulated you after your set. He sought to make himself look busy, preening at his hair or fixing his spangly outfit, but every now and again, you would catch him staring at you. You couldn’t for the life of you figure out what was going on inside that pretty head of his. All you knew was that his games frustrated you to no end. 

It came to a head at the afterparty. 

Swaggering into a packed bar, you made your way through silvery swathes of smoke towards the private lounge at the back. Your bandmates had made quick work of getting ready, but you were anxious to impress. It was the day before Valentine’s day, after all. In the back of your mind, you craved as much action as the rest of them. 

A tight black dress and skyscraper heels, a fur coat and skimpy knickers. It had all the right ingredients, and you felt like the fiercest creature in there. Heads turned in droves as you brushed past the sea of strangers, waltzing past a length of velvet rope. 

The lounge was quiet. Your bandmates. Queen. The crew. Management. Label bigwigs. Journalists. All the right people were there - if you wanted to talk business. But not if you actually wanted to do business. 

You expected Roger to be the centre of attention. But that accolade had long gone to Freddie. 

Instead, Roger sat on an empty couch, his gaze centred on the doorway. Still puffing away on a smoke. It was only when your heart began to thud furiously against your ribcage that you realised something. 

Those heavenly blue eyes of his? 

They were on you.

But it was like someone had sparked a flame beneath him. You had never seen someone get to their feet with so much urgency. He shot past you, going towards the main bar, shoulder-checking you on his way out. It left you livid, seeing red. 

You did the absurd. 

You went after him.

You threaded your way through the crowd, hunting in the darkness. Roger wasn’t difficult to find. That shaggy blonde mop. That vivid sateen blazer. You could pick him out anywhere. 

You spotted tufts of blonde above the current, over by the bar.

You couldn’t move fast enough, pursuing answers.

The bartender had just finished shifting a series of shots in front of him when you dragged yourself on to the stool beside him. 

He winced, sensing your presence. Then he downed a shot, swallowing hard. His voice was hoarse through the jagged remnants of the tequila; you could hardly hear him. He didn't even look at you. “What are you doing?”

“I need to know what your problem is.”

Roger shifted around to glare at you. If looks could kill, you’d have been done for. “My problem?” he asked, pointing to his chest.

Another shot.

“My problem,” he slurred, “is that I’m sick of fucking hearing about you.”

“What?” you prodded, shaking your head. 

“Everyone fucking thinks that because you’re a girl that we’re somehow…”

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe if you spent less time surrounded by groupies, then maybe Melody Maker and Creem wouldn’t constantly ask you about the only girl who’s ever supported Queen and whether you intended to shag her.”

Roger sprang to his feet, jabbing his finger against your shoulder. He spoke with the ferocity of a small, yappy dog whose cage had been well and truly rattled. “Thanks to you, no one’s going to want to shag me. I doubt I’ll be getting any at all this tour!”

You were indifferent, slipping off your stool to meet his stare. You began calmly. “What do you want me to do? Roger, this is an amazing opportunity.” You couldn’t contain the frustration in your tone. “I’m not going to give that up because you need to shag everything in sight. I want people to take me seriously, more seriously than they seem to take you.”

“But you’re not that good anyway,” he sneered, screwing up his nose. “I mean, you’ve got so much to figure out. It’s laughable!”

You pressed yourself against him, your chest heaving. “I’ve heard you’re fucking lousy anyway. Tiny. Inclined to be a bit… premature.”

He smirked, knowing he had succeeded in getting a rise from you. “What makes you think I’d be interested in you?”

“You should be so lucky. Now, you’re going to do me a big, big favour and stay out of my way. And don’t you dare speak about me to the press again, do you understand?” You pointed towards the lounge at the back, widening your eyes, moving closer to him. He leaned back, trying to escape your tirade. “When we get back in there, don’t you dare look the road I’m on. It’s crawling with journalists. I mean it, Roger.”

Roger scowled for a moment. “Stay out of my way. And don’t ruin this for me.”

You took one of Roger’s shots, looking him right in the eye as you threw it back. “I’ll ruin you if you’re not careful, Princess.” 

You waited long enough to see Roger’s mouth pop open at that threat. And then you made a beeline back to the lounge. 

You were greeted by Freddie, who came over to you like a shot, thrusting a flute of champagne into your hand. 

“Where did you get to? I saw you come in, but you just disappeared! Where did you go?” He quizzed with wide eyes.

“I had a little bit of fun with Roger,” you sighed, your words opening an inexplicable well in your stomach. “I don’t think he likes me much.”

Freddie rested his head on your shoulder to reassure you. “I wouldn’t bother fretting - he doesn’t like anyone at first. Especially not when they answer back. He’s got eyes for you, though.”

“What?” You chuckled.

Freddie didn’t explain. He simply pointed towards the same spot Roger was in when you arrived. He was still fixating on you. You couldn’t be positive whether you had incensed him or put him in his place, but you could see his shoulders rising steadily and his nostrils flaring with every breath.

Your eyes dotted from face to face through every corner of the room. One of the journalists seemed to have noticed the glances exchanged by you and Roger. And it did nothing to alleviate the foul mood Roger had put you in.

“Freddie?”

Freddie reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yes, my dear?”

You turned to face him, feeling a wave of nerves grip you like a vice. “I have to leave.”

The next morning, the afterparty was still fresh in your memory. 

After you left the party, you went back to your hotel and bought a bottle of wine, drinking the whole thing by yourself. Not ideal when your bus call was at four in the morning. But it turned out you were much soberer than your bandmates. They were out like lights. Which allowed you more time to wallow. 

By eleven o’clock, your bus rocked up outside the venue in Manchester. Trudging out of the bus on unsteady legs, you feared your arms might buckle and drop the two suitcases tucked under each. You had no notion of facing the day just yet. You just ached to get to your dressing room and rest until soundcheck. The pit in your stomach deepened when you saw that Queen’s bus had already arrived. Roger would undoubtedly be lurking somewhere. You prayed that you wouldn’t bump into him on your way inside. 

Being the only woman on tour granted you certain luxuries. Out of respect for your privacy, and because no one wanted to be the one accused of leering over you, you always had your own dressing room at every venue. Of course, the halls themselves were small, with even smaller backstage areas, so you regularly found yourself bundled into any place they could spare, with a fold-up chair and a mirror, if you were lucky. Tonight’s venue was kind enough to have you in a cleaning cupboard on the other side of the building from the rest of your band. But that didn’t matter. You needed the time alone. You savoured any of it you could possibly get on a tour like this. 

So off you went, pounding the halls. They were painted a pale green, but it had started to chip away, and the floor was cracked right down to the concrete. The place had seen better days, you thought, looking down at your feet. Only to realise the tracks of rose petals stretching off into the never-ending distance. 

You paused, squinting back the way you came. Sure enough, they were strewn that way too. 

Shrugging it off as a Valentine’s Day gag, you continued to follow the path to your dressing room. Your heels snapped through the desolate corridors - it was far too early for Queen to have loaded in just yet - until you reached your destination at a dead end. 

The venue had thoughtfully scribbled your name on a scrap of card and attached it to the door. But what lay on the floor was of far more interest to you. 

Another note with ‘RMT’ scrawled on it.

Roger. Meddows. Taylor.

Kicking the note aside, you cracked the door open, only for a single, red rose to roll out, stopping short of your foot. You thought nothing of it. Apparently, Roger was in a remorseful mood. You wondered how long that was going to last, not allowing yourself to think of anything more before he got back to being his bitchy little self again and…. 

Roses. Roses everywhere.

Taking in the spectacle in front of you, you could feel the anger simmering away inside you. They were hoarded waist deep. To get inside, you would have to wade through them, clamouring over goodness knows what. But it was your dressing room. God forbid you would have to share with your bandmates. Being on the tour bus with three sweaty men after a show was bad enough, but being locked in a room with them while they prim and preen was another matter entirely. 

So you did it. 

You tossed your suitcases into the void ahead and followed suit.

Instant. Regret. 

With every wary wade, a thousand tiny pinpricks burned against your legs. It was only then that it dawned on you. 

Roger Meddows Taylor wouldn’t bother to have the thorns pruned. 

[2/4]

Hide it. Don’t give him the satisfaction.

That’s what you told yourself the whole day. When you deposited the bulk of the roses back out into the hallway. When you kept discovering petals in every nook and cranny of your clothes. Even when your bandmates asked about the mysterious amount of flowers in and around your dressing room, you remained nonchalant, trying to stifle back a giggle. “A secret admirer, I guess.” You kept it up all day, flitting between annoyance and feeling pleased with the revenge you had plotted for Roger.

During your soundcheck, Roger took up his place at the side of the stage again, simpering away as you shook rose petals out of your pockets. No sooner had you caught him staring, but he turned, exhaling a trail of smoke that lingered long after he had left. You couldn't broach the subject with him yet. Instead, you kept your head down, waiting him out for the perfect moment to strike.

You even waited in the wings while Queen themselves ran through their set, pacing back and forth to catch Roger’s attention. You pitied how much he misread the situation as he smirked over his drum kit at you. You were out to humiliate him.

Locked in a game of cat and mouse, you were gone before he could gloat about it. You knew that would rile him up the most, leaving him exactly where you wanted him.

Later on, before the show, both bands on the tour joined forces to have dinner backstage. Everyone around the table chattered mindlessly about how much they missed their other halves sinking bottle after bottle of wine. But not Roger. He looked utterly livid, sitting at the head of the table, opposite you. Not because he had no one to miss back home. But because you had said nothing about his grand and elaborate prank. It was apparent on his sharp little features just how much rage he was harbouring about the fact that it had backfired. The way his body seemed to vibrate as he sulked, balling up his fists around his cutlery as he ate his dinner.

You beamed across the table at him, raising your glass and giving him a wink. This cracked the wall of silence he had built.

“What about you?” Roger sneered, piping up above the rabble. “Did you get anything nice?”

You quirked an eyebrow, silently challenging his sudden boldness. “Oh, you know, just some flowers.” You shrugged off as if it was nothing. You were just getting started, draining another glass of wine. “They were absolutely gorgeous.”

Roger scrunched up his nose, snorting. “Who would buy you flowers?”

Freddie’s mouth dropped open as he whipped around in his seat to smack Roger on his arm, earning a pained ‘ouch’ from the drummer. “She’s a delight! You take that back right now!”

“Look at her!” Roger squeaked, throwing a hand in your direction. 

Everyone around the table simultaneously shot him a disdainful look. But you couldn’t help choking back a laugh. Roger hadn’t realised that you could unravel his grandstanding in seconds flat. 

“Do you really want to go there, Roger?” you asked widening your eyes.

“And the attitude she’s got on her…” Roger huffed. 

With a deep intake of breath, your hand delved into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. “It’s funny, Roger, this note was with the flowers in my dressing room. I think,” you began, squinting down at the handwriting, “RMT does like me enough to buy me roses  on Valentine’s Day.” You smoothed the note out on the table and shifted it to the centre, for everyone to get a better look at the incriminating evidence. 

Brian glanced over at the note, chuckling to himself. “It’s his handwriting.”

“There was rather a lot of flowers, actually,” you continued, grinning at Brian. “Enough to fill my dressing room, actually. Whoever this RMT guy is, he must have gone to so much effort to get them all in there before I arrived this morning.”

Freddie’s face wildly lit up. “How many flowers were there?”

“They were piled waist deep. I had to wade through them,” you beamed, bypassing Freddie’s gaze and looking towards Roger instead. 

“That’s absurd,” Brian chimed in. “Who would do that for someone they don’t even like? What do you think… Roger?”

“It screams pettiness,” Stewart, your band’s own drummer, agreed. 

Roger sulked, rolling his eyes. “It was a prank! To inconvenience her!”

“I think it was rather lovely,” Freddie chimed in.

Roger became increasingly flustered at the narrative his friends were giving his actions. 

“What’s wrong, Roger?” you cooed.

Roger’s cheeks were scarlet as he screeched: “I’m just not attracted to you!”

Sitting back in your seat, you gave him a satisfied smirk. There was no point pressing the issue any longer than you needed to. Everyone else around the table did that for you, erupting into hysterics and relishing the opportunity to make him the butt of all their jokes for the evening. 

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

You were exhausted. Even after five songs, your hair was drenched in sweat, your makeup smeared and your muscles burned. A hot shower was just the thing to round off your day.

But the venue had communal showers. 

Usually, if you were on tour with your own band, this would never have bothered you. Your bandmates had seen you naked on multiple occasions and in many a drunken state. But the fear of a complete stranger seeing you in the shower had you making a beeline for them midway through Queen’s set, desperately hoping no one would be in there.

However, robe and accoutrements in hand, you were greeted by various members of Queen’s crew - the ones who weren’t working away on the backline, taking the opportunity to clean up before they had to load out for the night. They didn’t see you. Something that you thanked your lucky stars for because the look on your face as the realisation set in must have been something to behold. You closed the door swiftly, going undetected.

There was nothing to do but wait for them all to file out. Sliding down the wall to take a seat on the floor, you listened intently to Queen’s performance. The sound of the crowd made the building shake as they chanted every word of Killer Queen back to Freddie. You kept time, tapping your foot on the floor, fixating on getting out of your sweaty stage clothes. Every time the door opened, plumes of steam would hit your skin, sending shivers through you. The warmth was so deliciously enticing that it took every bit of restraint you had to stop yourself from diving into the already crowded bathroom. It took half an hour for everyone to leave and Queen were nearing the end of their set. 

Throwing off your clothes and stowing them in a locker, you wandered over the grimy tiled floor towards the row of showers at the back of the room, firing one up. Better than any fluffy blanket on a cold winter night, the water cascaded over you, soothing all the aches and pains of the first few nights of the tour. It surprised you how quickly the twinges in your muscles accumulated on tour. Another layer of luxury in situations like these were the lotions and potions you always brought with you. You could feel yourself becoming more human again as you worked a violet-scented lather over your skin, cleansing your body of the sweat and dirt of the day. Breathing deeply, you let out a satisfied groan and wondered just how long you would be alone. 

The cheers from the crowd had died down. A dull chatter seemed to make its way down the hall outside. It ripped you away from what you were about to do and hurried your movements along as you rinsed the suds from your skin.

Something in the corner of your vision caught your attention. Horror coursed through you as you realised that someone else was showering next to you. When you noticed who it was, you gave an audible, “what the fuck?” 

Roger’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as he lathered his hair into a foamy pile on top of his head. 

“Don’t speak to me,” Roger droned. “Fucking humiliated me in front of everyone at dinner.”

You groaned, slamming your hand against the taps to shut off the water. Roger winced with such ferocity that bubbles dripped in his eyes. “Fuck,” he hissed, wiping his hands over his eyes in an attempt to alleviate the sting.

“Not so smart now, are you?” you taunted.

Roger hadn’t looked at you properly until now. His lips parted, drawing in a sharp breath. 

“Get over yourself,” you scolded.

Roger’s entire body sank in on itself, he looked even smaller under your heated gaze. His voice was a mere squeak. “Sorry.” He averted his eyes, looking at anything but you.

“Tell me, Roger,” you began, cornering him. “When a guy buys a girl that many flowers on Valentine’s Day, why do you think that is? What do you reckon runs through that person’s head?” You reached out to him, pushing back a stray strand of hair.

Roger begrudgingly keened into your touch, closing his eyes. 

“If I was really ruining your chances of getting laid, then why are you so desperately trying to woo me? Roger. Meddows. Taylor.”

“I’m not,” Roger sighed, poking his tongue out slightly to lick his lips. The temptation was too much. He opened his eyes, and made no effort to conceal how much they roamed. They came to rest on your lips. “I’m really not.”

You closed the gap, pressing yourself into him, your chest squeezed against his. He trembled at the contact, swallowing hard. You looked up, raising your eyebrows. “Really? Then why are you in here with me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just needed a show-”

“That cock of yours is awfully fucking hard, all things considered, Princess,” you taunted, drawing your finger along his length. “Are you sure?”

“No one’s going to take you seriously if you do this,” Roger warned. Even that was feeble as his breath caught in his chest the second that your hand wrapped around his shaft.

“We’ll see about that,” you said, relishing the way he was coming undone at the slightest touch. The way your hand ghosted up and down his cock could hardly be considered firm or giving. But that wasn’t the point.

You wanted his back against the wall; all yours, latching on to the promise of something more. His head thrown back, jerking his hips forward, begging you for more. But most of all, you wanted to take that away from him just as quickly.

Roger whined when you moved your hand away from him. Once more, you sandwiched him between yourself and the cold tile wall, planting your hands on either side of his head. Your lips brushed over his neck making him shiver. The power you felt at that moment was utterly intoxicating. “No one’s going to know about this. Because, unlike you, Princess, I don’t leave evidence behind.”

Before Roger had an opportunity to retort, you were already on the other side of the bathroom, slipping your robe over your shoulders. “I’ll see you at the afterparty.”

[3/4]

The skintight material of your new red dress threatened to squeeze the life out of you. Being trapped in a room fit to burst with partygoers didn't help either. Your feet ached, hiked up in leopard print heels, as you snaked your way through the crowd. None of the afterparties had been this busy. And none of them had attracted as many creeps like this one.

Finally, just when you thought you were about to hit the floor, the door to the club opened, spitting you out into the night. 

Being able to guzzle air into your lungs again revived you momentarily. Enough that you could take in your surroundings at least.

The alleyway outside was littered with revellers, and a blanket of cigarette smoke draped itself over the scene. You couldn’t see anyone that you knew. 

Not that it mattered. After a show, you were never really in the mood for talking anyway. 

Especially not after being flirted with by countless strangers.

Sucking on a cigarette, you looked up to the sky with your back pressed to the wall. The vibrations of the music inside the club shuddered against you. It soothed you. Your eyes drooped closed, drinking in the sensation.

Then, something caught your attention. Darting your eyes to the left, just a few paces away, you saw Roger. 

He, too, had a cigarette dangling between his lips. And he looked utterly exhausted as he sank against the wall. It must have been an exhausting business, being Roger. 

After all, he had spent the last few hours flocked by women, all eagerly vying for his attention. And space in his bed for the night. 

But now, he looked spent.

Not that you could pity him. 

Every time you caught sight of him, you had the overwhelming urge to launch him through the nearest window. He kept talking to the press about you, from what you overheard in his interviews with student rags up and down the country. Spilling poison in their ears and on to their pages. And then he had the cheek to avoid you like the plague backstage, instead choosing to eye you up from afar.  

Tonight was the closest the pair of you had been since the shower incident. 

You still had scratches all over your legs from his prank; you would never be able to look at roses again without getting flashbacks to that cramped little cleaning cupboard. Even now, days later, your legs itched.

You weren’t sure whether it was the Dutch courage or the burning desire to be the bigger person, but you shuffled along the wall towards him.

He could hear you coming. But his eyes shot away in any direction they could find. Except yours. 

“You don’t want to talk,” you began, backing down instantly, “fine. I’m only out here for a smoke. I’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Good,” he huffed, scuffing his feet against the pavement.

The pair of you stood, backs against the wall, looking in opposite directions. A steely silence lacing through the moment.

It took everything in your to hold back what was in your head. You weren’t sure what you wanted to blurt out, but it probably would have started with, ‘I just think it’s funny how…’

Or something to that effect.

Suddenly, a familiar voice got yours and Roger’s attention. It came from the door of the club and swiftly closed in.

It was Freddie.

“There you are! I’ve been hunting all over for you.”

“I just needed a break from all that in there,” Roger explained.

Freddie was quick to silence his bandmate, casting his hand in the air and nodding at you. “Not you! Her!" And then an inquisitive look spread across his face. "Why? Have you two made up yet?”

“Us?” You asked, darting a finger between you and Roger. “Oh god no.”

“She’s a bitch, remember?”

“And he can't behave like an adult, remember?”

Freddie raised his eyebrow at the display you and Roger put on. “Alright, well there are a few people I’d like you to meet,” he said, seizing your arm and hauling you back inside. 

You threw a glance over your shoulder, to Roger, who had a wicked grin on his face. He fluttered his fingers in the air, waving you off. 

“You’re going to love them.”

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

Freddie flitted from group to group, introducing you to anyone who would listen. After only fifteen minutes, the balls of your feet burned, so you bid him farewell and wandered over to the bar. Hauling yourself up on a stool, your eyes began to wander over the faces around the bar. It was an oval shape that allowed you to peer over to the other side at the patrons sitting opposite you. 

Studying the band of drunks, you tried to decide if you knew any of them. Or if any of them were attractive enough to take back to your hotel room. 

Too tall. 

Rubbish dress sense. 

A little bit too drunk. 

And then, there was Roger. 

He stared at you. 

The same way he had been the last few days. 

Those sleepy eyes. Lips slightly parted. 

You couldn’t help but gaze back at him.

It only dawned on you when it was too late. 

And he noticed.

The corners of his mouth perked up into a self-satisfied smile as he raised his glass. Toasting to you.

Batting your eyes from left to right, you were determined to focus on anything - anyone - but Roger. But somehow, they always found their way back to him.

He drained his glass and slipped off his seat, making his way around the bar to you.

Your whole body tensed. He was looming far too close to you; so much so that his breath ghosted over your skin.

“I don’t blame you,” he said.

Turning to him, you narrowed your eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“No woman can resist me.”

It flipped like a switch. That was the reminder you needed of how much of a prick Roger was. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine resisting you, Roger.”

“I won’t hold it against you if you can’t,” he pressed, raising his hands. 

“You’re doing a terrible job of avoiding me tonight, Roger. What's changed?”

“I’m not going to lie, you look incredible in that dress,” Roger hummed, leaning on the bar, slithering into your field of vision. “I’m rather tempted.”

“Let’s make one thing clear, Roger,” you began, leaning into him, “I’m not interested.”

“Really?” Roger asked touching his nose against yours. “Then why do you look like you’re about to kiss me?”

He had you in a fix. The only way out was to give in to him. But your surroundings were painfully obvious to you, and if the rest of your night was going to go how you thought it was, then you wanted to make sure you were in private. Away from prying eyes. 

“I could make you melt just like that,” Roger goaded with a click of his fingers.

“You weren’t saying that in the showers the other day. How long did it take you to get yourself off after I left? Seconds, I take it?”

“You bitch.”

Pulling yourself away from him, you could see the cogs in Roger’s brain inventing something more impactful to say to get you to climb down. Or climb into bed with him. You weren’t about to keep him hanging any longer. “Do you really want to see how bitchy I can be?”

Roger stared at your lips, licking his own. “Ok?"

Checking your surroundings one last time, you grabbed Roger’s arm, pulling him through the throng towards the door with more momentum than a gunshot. 

You kept your heads down, bursting out on to the street. 

The hotel was only a block away, so the pair of you power walked, arm in arm with your heads down so that no one would notice either of you. It felt like the longest journey of your life. 

Opening the door to your hotel room and you both stepped inside. You folded your arms, sizing him up. 

He stood in the middle of the room, gormless and wracked with nerves, waiting for you to take the lead. It was as though being alone with you made Roger's bravado melt away into nothing.

“Do you really think I look good in this?” you cooed. 

“You look so beautiful,” Roger admitted. 

He couldn’t even look at you. Rather, his eyes were glued to his pink, sparkly shoes as they drew circles in the carpet with the tip of his toe. 

“Are you sure this isn’t hurting your chances, though?”

Roger’s head shot up. “What?”

“You being here?” you prodded, folding your arms and circling him.

“No one needs to know,” Roger shrugged, trying to play it cool.

The tension in your stomach reached boiling point, hearing that. If Roger really wanted you to be his dirty little secret, you were going to play just as dirty. “Take off all your clothes.”

“What?” Roger asked, taken aback.

“If you ‘what’ me one more time, I’m not going to give you what you want.”

Roger didn’t need to be told twice. He kept his stare low, never once planting his eyes on you. He shrugged his decadent embellished blazer down his shoulders, and his fingers nimbly undid the buttons on his pinstripe shirt. He flicked his shoes off. Then he hesitated on the fly of his jeans. 

“All of it,” you dictated. 

He swallowed hard, pulling off his jeans. 

“Even your underwear.”

Roger looked at you, wordlessly protesting your directions. His arms wrapped around his torso, shielding him from the cold air in the room.

“You were the one who wanted me to show you how much of a bitch I can be. We haven’t even got started, Princess.” You moved closer to him, caressing his chest. “And besides, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Roger signed, realising what he needed to do to get what he wanted and pulled down his briefs. 

You groaned to yourself in satisfaction, seeing what your minimal amount of teasing was doing to him. “I think you were lying about me having less sex appeal than Elton's backside. Was that all a ruse, Princess?” you remarked, stroking his throbbing length. 

Roger didn’t care, trying to focus on not falling apart under your touch. 

You were determined to make that troublesome for him.

“I’m going to show you exactly what I think of you,” you warned, spreading drops of precum over his cock. 

Too deep in his own head, Roger couldn’t hear a word of what you were telling him as he rolled his head back, dragging up images of what he so desperately wanted to do to you. The nerves and fear kept him from going any further. He just stood there, relishing the feeling of your hand as it worked up and down every inch of his shaft. He was enjoying this far too much for your liking.

“I think you like it when I do this to you, Princess,” you suggested. “Do you like it?” It still fell on deaf ears. Annoyed with Roger’s lack of focus, you ran your fingers through his hair. Just long enough for him to nestle against your hand, like a lazy cat, begging to be petted. And then you grasped a handful of those long, blonde locks, tugging sharply. 

A shrill, pained whine escaped Roger as his eyes flew open in fright. “What was that for?!”

“Answer me when I speak to you,” you commanded.

Roger rubbed the source of the pain, blinking. “What was the question again?” 

Giving up, you withdrew your other hand from his cock. A look of frustration bled across Rogers features as he moved to cover himself with his arms. You pointed towards the bed, backing away from him. “Bend over. I’m going to teach you how to listen.”

Roger’s mouth popped open as he slinked across the room to the foot of the bed, bending over at the waist. “Like this?” he asked.

“Exactly like that,” you said. “Now, stay there.” 

A thick, black leather belt lay at the top of your open suitcase. You wore it daily, and over time it had softened, but it was perfect. You picked it up, wrapping it around your hand as you moved behind Roger. 

He clung to the sheets with his eyes trained forward. In his anticipation, his hips swayed from side to side. The sight of it left you unable to resist giving his skin a series of open-handed smacks that made him hide his face in the covers. 

“Is that too much for you, Princess?” you teased. 

Roger was back on the defensive; his form stiffened as he raised his head. “No!”

“Good,” you sang, running your fingertips over the strap. “Because we’re just getting started.”

“What are you going to do to-”

An abrupt, sharp snap cut him off, substituting his question with a yelp. He hopped from foot to foot, trying to process the pain that had been bestowed upon him, but it was no good. No sooner had he caught up, but you had already struck his behind again and dug your fingers into his hair, leaning in to speak directly into his ear. 

“Now, we’re going to have a little bit of fun, Princess. I’m going to show you what happens when boys like you mess with me. You’re going to beg for my forgiveness. And then, when I’m completely convinced you’re sorry, I might do something to take care of that constant hard-on of yours. Do you understand?”

Roger struggled against your hold on his hair to turn his head. He looked at you in wonder, as if this was the first time a woman had dared confront him. It was if all his Christmases had come at once. “I understand.”

You almost felt sorry for him, thinking about what you had in store for him. But deep down you knew he deserved it. And you knew he wanted it. Getting to your feet again, you glanced down at his pale skin, streaked pink from the two blows you had previously dealt him. “If it gets too much for you, what’s your safe word?”

Roger had to think about that, darting his eyes left and right. “Um… Pineapple?”

You smirked, resting the strap against Rogers back and watching him squirm. “Pineapple it is.”

“Wait,” Roger said, just as you were lifting the strip of leather. “Do you want me to count? I-I’m good at that!”

“Nope.” You brought the belt down on to his cheeks sending another smack echoing through the room. “I want you to apologise.”

Roger, was infuriatingly quiet. Even though you weren’t holding back, he never made a peep. You had mentally counted twenty strokes - a number even you couldn’t handle. You had to talk yourself out of respecting him for that. “Are you alright, Princess?” you asked, reaching forward to stroke his mane. 

“I’m getting there,” he sighed, wiggling his bottom enticingly. He sounded delirious. “Am I being good now?”

The way he said that hit you like a bolt out of the blue. It was strangely endearing. “No, Princess, you’ve been bad, remember?” you reminded, snapping the belt against the back of his thighs. “I don’t hear you apologising.”

"Maybe if you hit me harder, I might."

Your grip on his hair tightened, pulling his head back, “What was that, Princess?”

“Maybe you should hit me harder,” he repeated, louder this time.

He had a point, but something didn’t add up. His face was flushed, and his eyes were so glassy that you questioned his inability to acknowledge the punishment you were doling out to him. You reasoned that his pride had everything to do with how quiet he was being. 

So you sent the belt cracking down on his ass again. “I know you can feel that you little shit,” you hissed, wrapping his hair around your fist to force his gaze forward. Your smacks were so unrelenting that Roger quickly began to writhe and squirm below you. “Are you fucking sorry? Hm? I could do this all evening, and you won’t be able to sit right for a week after this. Go on, I want you begging.”

Roger’s resolve started to crack around strike number forty. His entire backside had been struck raw, and you genuinely feared for his ability to sit behind a drum kit for the remainder of the tour. He stuck his arms out in front of himself, hissing at the searing pain. “I’m sorry,” he whined, his voice low and trembling. 

At first, you didn’t hear him, continuing to spank him. But he piped up again.

“I’m sorry!”

His body was heavy, slumping to his knees when he was sure he had caught your attention. 

Giving him a reprieve, you turned him by his shoulders to look up at you. His skin was soaked, and his chest heaved, and you were convinced that real tears were forming in the corners of his eyes.

Passing the belt through your hands, you raised an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

Roger nodded, sighing deeply. His arms were spread out at either side of him as he drifted back. “Yes. I'm so sorry.”

You took a step back, getting a better look at Roger. He looked utterly hopeless but equally as enticing. “Princess,” you said, snapping your fingers. He looked at you from beneath his eyelashes. Beckoning him forward, you gave him your next instruction. “Come here and kneel at my feet.”

It was the lewdest thing you had ever seen. The most handsome man you had ever seen, crawling on all fours across the room, coming to rest at your feet. Like an obedient puppy, eager to please its master, he gazed up at you. The amount of venom you had grown so accustomed to seeing in him whenever he looked at you had dissipated entirely.

“Are you ready to show me how sorry you are?”

With a coy look on his face, Roger responded: “yes, Boss.”

You loved that term. ‘Boss.’ So much that it earned Roger a ruffle of his hair. “Now, you’re not allowed to touch me just yet, Princess,” you warned, backing away to unzip your dress. 

Roger’s eyes were fixed on you as he sat on his knees, waiting patiently for you to shed your clothes. He ached to have you, fumbling his hands in his lap while you shimmied the tight, crimson fabric down your curves. His cock was still begging for release. You could see that much, even with his hands partially covering it. 

“And you’re most certainly not allowed to touch yourself until I tell you,” you scolded, unclasping your bra.

Roger made it clear that he had no plans to, dropping his hands down by his sides. Instead, he opted to dig his teeth down into his lip. He was practically panting as your underwear slipped down to your ankles. 

“Do you like what you see?” you asked.

Roger’s mouth was agape, unable to respond. 

When you sashayed his way, he instinctively moved into your path, filled with the hope of being able to finally touch you. 

But his hopes were dashed when you bypassed him and settled on the edge of the bed. 

Once again, you clicked your fingers, pointing at the floor in front of you. “If only those groupies of your’s could see how pathetic you are right now, Princess,” you began, pushing back rogue strands of his hair. “You’re so obedient for me. You’d do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you?” you asked, trailing your finger over Roger’s jawline.

“Yes.”

“I think you should call me Boss,” you prompted. 

“Yes, Boss.”

You could feel how agitated Roger was becoming. 

He was so close to you, he swore he could smell your arousal. His prize, mere inches away from his face. 

Finally, you pulled him into you by his hair. 

“Show me how sorry you are.”

[4/4]

You and Roger stayed silent, waiting for the lift to the lobby. Your bandmates were already down there, enjoying breakfast and you couldn't wait to join them. Anything was better than the agitated awkwardness between you and Roger. 

You hoped that last night might have cleared the air between you, but it had the opposite effect. You knew that when you woke up in an empty bed.

You both stared ahead, waiting for the doors to ding open. Roger folded his arms, blowing a strand of his hair up into the air. You danced from foot to foot, with your hands thrust into the pockets of your jacket.

It felt like an age before the doors slid apart. Both of you rushed forward, only for your bodies to collide. “Sorry,” Roger grumbled, moving aside. “After you.”

The journey from the fifteenth floor, down to the first, seemed even longer as you stood on opposite sides, the whimsical elevator music occupying the silence. You prayed someone would get in and join you around floor seven when Roger dared to glance at you. But you were granted no such luck. Instead, Roger’s lips were moving before you knew it, a heavy, annunciated, “don’t you dare breathe a word to anyone,” seething from them. 

You gave a flippant nod, smirking. “How’s your arse?”

“I mean it,” Roger added, his eyes manic as the lift reached the bottom of the shaft. “And my arse is fine. The lotion helped. Thank you.”

“Good.”

All of your bandmates had assembled in a faraway corner of the dining room. Even from that far off, they filled the room with excited chatter and hilarity, earning them disapproving looks from the other guests. All despite the hangovers they were undoubtedly nursing. Like every other morning. 

And then they clocked you and Roger.

From one end of the table to the other, silence fell when you sat down. You squeezed in beside Brian and Deacy. “Don’t stop on our account,” you quipped, throwing a napkin over your lap.

Roger picked a space opposite you, between Steve and Freddie, grimacing as he lowered himself on to the seat.

“Roger’s clearly had a rough evening,” Deacy chuckled from behind his hand. 

You cursed underneath your breath when Roger’s features darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I’m just saying, whoever did you last night must have been pretty rough with you,” Deacy explained. “How big was he?”

Tugging your lower lip between your teeth, you rolled your eyes. The jig was up. And they knew everything.

“Right boys - and girl,” John - Queen’s manager - announced, waltzing over to the table, “the buses are loaded up. Let’s get to Edinburgh.”

Everyone around you got up and filed out of the room. Except for Roger. His eyes were glued to you. You hung back until he got to his feet and you left the dining room together, staying out of earshot of the others. “I mean it,” he muttered, lighting a smoke. “If you breathe a word of this to them-”

“Roger! For the last time, I’m not going to say anything.”

Roger paused in the middle of the lobby, turning to face you. His cheeks were flushed, and his nostrils flared. He wasn’t in a joking mood. “Why do I get the feeling they know?”

“Because you’re a lousy actor,” you jibed, slapping his side.

He seized your wrist, leaning into you, “They can't know about us.”

“So we’re back to this?” you asked, widening your eyes and challenging his stance. “Remember what happened last night because of that mouth of yours.”

Roger huffed, storming off. He knew you had beat him. This time.

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

From the side of the stage, you watched as Roger wandered towards his kit, throwing a glance over his shoulder at you. He hovered over his stool for a second, eyes down, as if he was mentally attempting to navigate the best way to tackle the situation. Until, finally, he bit the bullet and plonked himself down with an audible grunt.

Entertained, you grinned, trying to cover your mouth with the cuff of your jacket.

Like a well-oiled machine, Queen’s soundcheck didn’t take long. Towards the end of their run-through, you stalked through Roger’s band members and stopped in front of him. His face was etched with discomfort with every little move he made. He tried to relieve the pain by sucking on a cigarette, but every twist and turn of his body had his eyes squeezing closed. In the back of your mind, you knew he deserved this after everything he said about you. But you just couldn’t help yourself.

“Need me to rub more of that lotion on that bum of yours, Rogie?” you cooed.

Roger threw away his smoke and glared at you. Then he spat a venomous, “fuck off,” before continuing into Queen’s next track.

Not wanting to rub salt into Roger’s wounds any longer, you got on your way. Back to your dressing room, to tart yourself up for the night ahead. Your thoughts turned to what you would wear tonight; how you might do your hair and your make up. And how you were sick of those platform boots - an integral part of your nightly getup. Your feet ached just thinking about having to wear those for another show. Your poor arches deserved a rest.

So immersed in your own mind, you hadn’t noticed the rapid footsteps echoing through the hallway. Or the fact that the music from the stage had ceased. Not until someone grabbed your arm and spun you around.

Roger.

He looked around before leaning in close. “What the hell were you thinking? Anyone could have heard you out there.”

You giggled, feeling a rush of nerves flood your stomach. “I couldn’t resist, you just looked so adorable up there.”

Roger pushed you against the wall. He wasn’t playing games anymore. “I know why you do this. You’re so fucking insecure you need to control everything.”

You could feel your cheeks flush. Roger was turning the tables on you, and you were so helpless to stop him. You tried to explain. “Roger I-”

“I think you’d look amazing on your knees, by the way,” Roger added, loosening his grip.

How could he get to you? Just like that?

Roger traced his thumb across your lower lip.“A mouthful of cock, and that mascara running down those cheeks,” he continued, pinching your cheek. “You could be gorgeous if you weren’t such a bitch.”

Batting away Roger’s wrist, a pang of hurt seared through you. You had to get away from him.

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

It played on your mind all night. The feeling that you had finally got somewhere with Roger. You might finally be scratching the surface. 

But then he made it personal. 

Maybe he was right, though? Maybe you were insecure? Maybe you always had to be in control?

He was right.

The music in the bar blared so loudly that the bass pounded through your chest. The air hung so thick that it made breathing near impossible. The only thing you could focus on was the tequila and Roger. A glorious sense of masochism kept you firmly planted on your seat, preventing you from leaving. What else could you do? Go back to the hotel and think about Roger?

Downing another shot, you slumped over the bar. You had lost count of how many of those little blighters coursed through your system, but, studying the shot glass between your fingers in the dim purple haze, you concluded that it still wasn’t enough. 

So you bought the whole bottle, carelessly pouring yourself another line of them.

“Rough night?” a voice asked from the stool next to you.

You were ready to blurt out a scathing response. Until you realised it was Roger, looking tired and bedraggled. He looked good, though, as always. Your mouth just hung open, no sound coming out of it.

“I was really harsh earlier-”

Before Roger could finish his apology, you cemented your lips to his own. Your tongue bypassed them as it skirted over his. He tasted like tequila and cigarettes, and you couldn’t get enough of him, pulling him closer, tugging at his hair. He gave a muffled groan, pushing you off him by your shoulders.

“What was that for?” he sighed.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your chest burdened with nerves.

Roger pondered that for a split second, nodding to himself. “Alright.” Then his attention turned back to you, with an expression so laden with lust it almost made your heart stop. “Let’s go back to my room.”

The second the door to Roger’s suite closed, you had him pressed to the wall. Shedding his coat. Then his shirt. Moving closer to the floor until you were on your knees. The excitement had gone straight to his cock, which strained against his jeans just inches from your face. You wasted no time in tugging down his zipper and wrapping your hand around his girth. Impressive, you thought. He was bigger, thicker than you remembered from last night.

Roger watched in quiet awe as your gazed up at him, licking a long strip over the underside of his cock, dancing the tip of your tongue over the swollen head.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” you admitted. A surge of shame and need coursed through you, leaning forward to take as much of him as you possibly could, working your way up to a pace that earned you hushed, contented sighs from Roger.

His hand gently tangled through your hair, taking you with him as he supported himself against the wall. “You look so fucking beautiful,” he groaned.

It was exactly what you needed to hear. You sank back on your knees, pumping your hand around Roger’s cock. A broad smile broke over your features, gazing up at him, “do you really think I’m beautiful?”

“So beautiful,” he replied, running his fingers through your hair. “But I love that gorgeous mouth of yours the most. Let me see what you can do with it,” he encouraged, guiding you back to his cock.

You duly complied. Taking so much of him made tears sting at the corner of your eyes, gagging desperately. But something willed you on. The heat between your legs grew. You just wanted to please him, and to have him say sweet things to you.

But it was no good. 

Something about it didn’t sit right with Roger. “Kitten?” he said, trying to back away from you, the wall getting in his way. "Kitten?" 

When it was clear that had fallen on deaf ears, he had to tear you away from him, placing his fingers under your chin to look at him again. “This doesn’t feel right,” he sighed, before wandering away from you.

You turned around, following him with your eyes across the room from your spot on the floor. The tears were flowing from embarrassment more than anything now. “What’s wrong, Roger?”

He sat down at the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him. “You’re not yourself.”

It took every bit of energy you could muster to scramble to your feet and stumble over to him. 

But it was worth it, throwing yourself down beside him and nestling into his chest. “You’ve been a prick to me all day,” you sulked, trying to focus on how good he smelled. How soothing the gentle rise and fall of his body felt around you. How warm he was. Bliss.

Roger placed a firm kiss to the top of your head. “You haven’t even given me a chance to apologise for that.”

That earned him a glare from you.

“What happened to that strong badass babe from last night, hm?” he asked, giving your shoulder a shake. “I quite liked it when you were in charge. I’m not used to it, sure, but I liked it. And I'm sorry I snapped at you. I just don't want everyone knowing my business before I've even figured it all out yet. It's confusing for me.”

“You just don’t have to be a total prick about it. I know we agreed that no one can know, but I don’t know whether I’m coming or going with you.”

“I’d rather you were coming,” Roger chuckled.

“I'm serious,” you huffed, flopping on to your back.

Roger turned on to his tummy and took your hand. His eyes closed as he peppered delicate kisses across your knuckles. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “What you said to me earlier. About me being insecure. You really hit the nail on the head. But sometimes, I don’t feel like… you know… That person you think I am.”

“How about,” Roger began hiking himself up on to his elbows. His eyes narrowed, at a loss for the right thing to tell you.

“How about what?” You asked, curling strands of his hair through your fingers.

Roger sighed, smirking. “I think that’s why you and I found each other.” He gave the mattress a quick swat. “How about that?” 

You covered your eyes, grinning. “What does that even mean, Roger?”

“Well, I clearly need someone to keep me in check. And I know you’ve got it in you.”

“Have you even been listening to me?”

“Yes!”

“Did you hear the part about me not always being like that?”

Roger crawled on top of you. The light from the crystal chandelier formed a halo around him. “But I can make you feel like that person,” he beamed so innocently, it almost made you melt. “I’ll worship you day and night if I have to.” He paused, pursing his lips. “In secret, of course. We've both got appearances to maintain.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re not exactly a good old fashioned lover boy.”

He leaned down, kissing the tip of your nose. “But I could be, Kitten.”

That made your heart flutter. "I quite like that."

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Twenty-Four: Delete ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Itachi ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: The Future is Wild ] [ AO3 Link ]

...it’s time.

So many months of planning, and years before that of yearning, have led to this moment. Sasuke has patiently bided his time at the scientist’s side, awaiting the perfect opportunity to make his dream a reality:

He, and as many others as he can manage...are going to escape this horrible place.

For decades, the man he knows only as Orochimaru has been employed by their government to create monstrosities: genetically engineered humans with supposedly impossible powers, something straight out of science fiction. Whether it’s men with super strength, bulletproof subdermal skin, or even people that can see through walls...he’s been paid untold numbers of dollars to take the human genome and twist it into fantastical creations...all to suit the need of their country for super soldiers, spies, and other roles. For years he’s spliced and manipulated their specie into things unrecognizable as human...while others are meant to blend unseen, their powers unknown.

Sasuke himself is one of them, a member of the Sharingan project line. Able to see and react to the world around him at speeds most humans can only dream of, he’s also engineered with extreme levels of physical fitness, and the ability to copy what he sees almost perfectly.

He’s one of Orochimaru’s pets. Just like the one Sasuke calls his big brother: the iteration of the Sharingan project before him, deemed a failure due to an immunodeficiency. Once the madman realized Sasuke’s attachment to him...he instead became a source of emotional blackmail. Motivation for him to never disobey his creator, lest something happen to his precious brother. A whim could see him terminated like all the others deemed a failed project before them.

...Sasuke couldn’t let that happen.

So, for years now, he’s served as Orochimaru’s right hand alongside a few other trusted members of the staff. Only one man outranks him: one Yakushi Kabuto, a man obsessed with both Orochimaru and his work.

In truth...it sickens Sasuke. At first, he’d been unable to comprehend. He was a child, after all. But now...now he knows the sick lengths the man goes to in order to manipulate human DNA until it reaches something to his liking.

In a way...he’s a genius. Never has evolution been so guided and forced. But all Sasuke can see is the way his work is abused...and the disgusting pleasure he seems to take in each new creation.

The latest project, however, was exactly what Sasuke had been waiting for: the Byakugan. Humans able to concentrate their vision so narrowly, they can see through nearly any solid object. While Sasuke might not fully comprehend the science, he doesn’t have to. This...is their ticket out.

Someone who can see through the entire facility. Who can lead them to the surface, to freedom…! With Sasuke at their helm, he knows they can make it. Already he has a small group in mind to take with him. He can’t save them all...not yet. But maybe, if they make it out, they can get the place thrown into the public eye, disbanded, destroyed…!

...first, however...they have to escape.

Since her creation, Sasuke has been subtly guiding the first Byakugan specimen - at first simply called B1 - to his side. Treating her better, kindling the human side of her Orochimaru has been attempt to suppress and restrain. But he had to be careful. Be too forward, and he risked revealing his interference. Be too subtle...and she might not trust him, or prefer him.

But now, he’s sure she’s finally ready.

Hinata. The name he gave her. She’s now almost fully versed in language. She understands complex concepts, as confirmed by Orochimaru and his team. Soon enough, she would begin training for her ultimate purpose: a spy able to see into areas denied her physically with eyes that can pierce almost any wall. Not only that, but her vision is nearly three hundred and sixty-five degrees. Without moving her eyes, she can see in nearly any direction, for far greater distances than any human.

The scientist had estimated, at her growth rate, she’d soon reach distances of nearly twenty kilometers.

As far as Sasuke is concerned, that’s plenty far. He has no idea how far below ground they are, only that they are, indeed, subterranean. All they need now is Hinata to guide them to the surface. He knows it won’t be easy. Even if they manage to be stealthy, this place crawls with guards. To escape with Hinata and the other four he has chosen, they’ll likely have to resort to some kind of violence before they make it.

...he’s willing to do anything to get them out.

Anything.

Escorting Hinata back to her cell, Sasuke asks, “How was your training today?”

“It was good. I think I met all expectations,” is her quiet reply.

They both know the purpose of this banter. They’ll reach her quarters, and then have their supposed block for working on her language. And it’s then they’ll exchange words. He needs to tell her they’re ready...and she needs to agree.

All of this work befriending and convincing her comes down to this. For their freedom. His freedom. Itachi’s freedom.

...and to put a stop to all of this.

There are three cameras in her room, all equipped to record audio. So, the pair have designed their own kind of sign language: subtle physical cues with their hands, faces, and shoulders that communicate the true meaning behind their meetings.

“Tell me more about your day.”

Tomorrow night. Midnight. Be ready.

“I was assigned new tasks, to observe various creatures in a room in the neighboring facility.”

I am ready. How many will go with us?

“What did you see?”

Four beyond us. Most have combat training. One has subdermal armor.

“I could see their movements, observe their behavior. It was...peaceful. I want to do it again.”

I have a route planned. Did you find the override code?

“Maybe you will. We’ll see what Orochimaru has planned, B1. For now, you should rest.”

I did. I’ll input on our way out. Everything will be deleted. All will be lost. This won’t happen again.

Hinata gives a practiced smile. “I will. Goodnight, Sasuke.”

“Goodnight, B1.”

Sasuke then does his rounds, checking on several other projects. Of them, his chosen three are also signaled. One more day. Be ready. Be patient. Be prepared for anything...even dying.

Better to die, they reply, than stay here any longer.

Last he sees is Itachi. The previous Sharingan prodigy gives a soft smile. “Ah, you’re back. It’s been a while.”

Is it time?

“I’m sorry...we’ve been busy.”

Tomorrow night. Then you’ll be free.

“That’s quite all right. I’m not much fun to be around.”

WE will be free. A life to do with as we please.

“Don’t give me that. You’re plenty fun.”

And we’ll find you a doctor.

“Well...at least you think so. But it’s late, you should turn in.”

“You too, brother.”

It’s then Sasuke moves to the server room to log his day and observations. Easy enough to do with a photographic memory. As he types, he looks around the room, seeing the master computer at the head of it. There...there he’ll input the override code. Then all of Orochimaru’s research - all of his bastardized science - will be deleted. Sent to the digital void where it belongs. Never again will be create another unfortunate soul bound to his will, or the government’s. His work will be a thing of the past - a haunting memory for those who get out alive.

And they will get out alive.

...he’ll make sure of it.

But...he must be patient. As itching as it is to begin, they have one more night. Orochimaru’s therapy for his injured arms will take place, and painkillers administered. Then more than any other night he’ll be too tired to stop them. They’ll align the stars themselves, and forge their own fate.

Just a little longer.

Then all of this will be over...like a bad dream.

                                                             .oOo.

     More scifi verse! A bit of a...transitional piece. I wanted to write the breakout, but I had a long day, and wrote a LOT more than usual, so I'm a lil burnt out - next time!      But yeah, this is a followup to days 171 and 196! I'm usually not a big scifi person, but...I'm liking this verse, lol - I'll hopefully get to do more soon, depending on how the prompts roll out!      Anyway, my eyes are screamin', so time for bed lol - thanks for reading!

[x0401x]

Wow, I appreciate the essay that proved no point, thank you. I wonder how you could've mistaken I meant IN ALL YOUR POSTS when all I was talking about was how you literally just talked about MasaMina in the flower post. It's more beyond me how badly you comprehended my ask. The point abut me not giving sources is so you could look it up yourself because why would I let someone copy my hard-worked homework, noh? Maybe if you properly did research then you'd have a much proper analysis on it.

Anyway.

Honey, it seems you still don’t get it: you’re the one who made the claim, so you’re the one who has to prove your point, which you haven’t. You can’t just accuse someone of something without any argument and then tell them to prove otherwise. That’s not how it works.

Oh, that. I read “posts” by accident. I stayed up late to answer you, so my head wasn’t working straight. But I didn’t mistake any of the rest, so don’t try to generalize. Also, my answer remains the same. I don’t think I talked about them more than I should, because there isn’t a limit to how much I should talk about them. I’ll talk about them as much as I want because it’s my own post.

Lmfao, “hard-worked homework”. Right, visting a site is so much work. If you were actually trying to be constructive with these asks, you’d at least name the sources. All that happens if I google what I had already googled is that I find the exact same results, obviously. It’s impossible that you haven’t realized this much. Your claim remains baseless.

Also, don’t worry, I read your post through and through which is exactly why I knew how much of the post you were wrong. You even got some of the flowers wrong, most especially Masa-san’s. And moreover, I see no point, still, in putting them together, because as I’ve mentioned, they are individual characters and Kyoani gave them separate flowers. I don’t know how you automatically thought of them instead of generalizing the more important people around them unless you were clearly ship-biased.

Yet you were and still are so vague about it. Just tell me already what was wrong so I can fix it instead of repeating yourself like a broken disk.

The meanings of their flowers are directly linked to each other, and most of them represent the two at the same time. If I were to do what you say, at most, I’d only separate them by the flowers of the bonus artworks and write about the others as a set, but that doesn’t change the fact that the interpretations of one would cite the other so it makes no difference.

You don’t know why? I just told you in the examples from my previous answer.

“Generalizing the more important people around them”? Are you implying that there’s some sort of ranking of who’s more important to who and suggesting that Minato and Masaki’s relationship is less important to themselves than other relationships? Do you perhaps not realize that their relationship is the main one of the story? If so, then I can only assume that you didn’t read the novel.

I don’t really care much if you post MasaMina on end because I know you roll with that, but pushing it on a generalized post where EVERYONE is supposedly involved, I’m not sure what other un-rude term I could call it, tbh. I’m not even sure if I should be the one you should call a child between us i you’re the one who hates on something because your ship wasn’t involved in it. Of course, you would deny because you’re “so smart” but from the way you rant about it, it clearly shows. That’s sad.

It’s not a generalized post, whatever you mean by that. And I fail to see how all the characters being involved equals Masaki and Minato’s flowers having nothing to do with one another.

I would deny simply because it’s not true, lol. I’m not hating on anything, you are. I wouldn’t at all hate it if the symbolism around Minato and Masaki had nothing to do with each other, but it does and that’s not subjective. I already explained how they are involved, but I have no way of forcing it through your thick skull. If you don’t want to understand, you just won’t.

I don’t get why you keep trying to imply that I’m dumb or that I try to act intelligent. Your blatant dislike of my person is the most confusing part of your asks, tbh.

I wasn’t desperate to cover up anything, I know what I wrote you, I have copies in case tumblr deletes it, too ‘cause that happens. Maybe it was partial anon hate but also because I wanted to point out that your supposed analysis of a general thing for Tsurune is wrong and I felt bad for the people who saw/see it. Believing false information. I suggested disclaimer that it was still, nonetheless, your opinion because whether you studied it or not, the information is still not originally yours.

“Maybe” and “partial” are deliberate choices of wording. You indirectly insulted me, came up with accusations all of a sudden, literally tried to corner me, threw a fit because I didn’t reply right away, made false assumptions about me and acted extremely condenscending all along. It was anon hate. Don’t try to smooth it out and just say it like it is.

Stop trying to make it seem as if you being upset with it equals that a lot of people are upset. You’re the only one to ever complain about that post.

It’s not my opinion, and the information not coming originally from me doesn’t make it an opinion (it’s the opposite, actually). The information also doesn’t originally come from the people who host flower-related sites. Flower language has existed for literal centuries.

And I will repeat, interpretting Masa-san and Minato’s flowers are NOT IMPOSSIBLE. You just REFUSE to do it because you were, i don’t know, pushing your ship? You wanted to? But mind you, your post is Tsurune-general related. Masa-san and Minato don’t just have each other; they have families they love, friends they care for, any one of them cou;d’ve been what the flower is for. But you mainly focused on them for no valid reason. Wouldn’t you think that’s being rude?

It’s not rude, lol. That’s probably not the word you’re looking for. But no word of negative connotation applies here anyway.

So what if the post is about all the characters? I don’t see why that’s a reason for me not to relate their flowers to one another when they are, in fact, related. Besides, I talked more about them because there’s more symbolism surrounding them. Can’t help that 90% of the flower language used in the books is for their relationship.

Again, see the examples I used in my other response. Who was it that Masaki met in middle school and then met again as an adult? Whose smile is Minato weak to? There isn’t any other character who can be used as answer to these questions. This isn’t a matter of opinion. It’s literally what the author wrote.

You mentioned their bonds but neglected the relationship of the characs that appeared in the latter part of the flower post. I honestly couldn’t go past that post without reading about Masa-san and Minato but never really seeing other names get mentioned again. I didn’t mind my embarrassment tbh, if that’s anything to be embarrassed about. I just hope you’ll admit to being wrong for once, though. I’m not expecting an apology, but truth. Because I feel bad for the ones seeing your post.

I didn’t. I mentioned the team in Minato’s and Akihiro in Masaki’s Blu-ray artwork flowers. But I couldn’t see how anyone else applied to the flower language of the book.

Why do you keep repeating the things I said (and yet act like you’re not being childish)? I don’t have to apologize, lmao. You’re the offender here.

I’m certainly not wrong for interpreting things based on canon, and I write my posts the way I see fit, because my blog. Stop trying to force me into modifying my post to your wishes. That’s entitled as hell. Just make an account to write your own posts, if you really don’t have one, that is. Otherwise, die mad about me.

I appreciate you called me trying to point out your wrongs as assholery childishness. Now I’m just wondering if you’ll show my asks to prove you’re right or to prove I’m a child. I don’t really mind, I’m beyond it. As you’ve said, I am an asshole, best to live up with it, I don’t recall calling you anything, however. And to be clear, I’m not an anti-MasaMina before you point that out.

It’s assholery because you refuse to specify it and don’t present evidence to back it up, just keep saying that I’m wrong and biased. That’s not “pointing out” anything, it’s flaming, pure and simple.

Oh, so you think calling me names would be the only thing that defines it as assholery and anything else is fair game. That explains it all.

I don’t care whether or not you’re anti-MasaMina, honestly.

Okay, here they go:

Full of shade. Cue other three of those.

This one was doing fine, but then the tantrum started:

And then you came back pretending that nothing had happened:

I guess you’re gonna say that I should learn to take criticism or use some other bigoted argument. This is anon hate. Baseless, improductive, entitled and purely offensive. Case closed.

Funny the first one about the tag wasn't even mine. Oh I've read the novel, don't worry, it's kind of why I'm countering your opinions right now. I never said Masa-san and Minato's relationship was any less important but the story isn't even about them. The title says what the story is about. Masa-san is merely one of the many links of relationships Minato could have so the point stands. They're not a set. I'm more wondering if you've read it yourself.

Fixed that now.

Right, what the author writes is totally my opinion.

The story is literally about them. It’s literally the main relationship. What’re you even saying???

You say “merely” as if he doesn’t make that much of a difference when he was literally the trigger to everything.

You bet I did, that’s why I quote it directly all the time, which you don’t do ever.

I see that this discussion has no way of advancing because you don’t really seem to pay attention to my responses. My guess is that you’ll continue saying the same stuff, which would force me to do the same because there’s literally nothing else I can tell you.

I don’t mind answering other asks, but the flower post is out of question. It’s a waste of my time saying the same stuff again and again. This topic is over for me. Just refer back to the post and our whole discussion if you think otherwise.

[internethorrorfan]

Commentarypasta: Slenderman vs. Eyeless Jack (originally posted on deviantart in 2017)

You know what's almost as creatively bankrupt as Jeff the Killer wannabe stories and Slender Mansion fics? Versus stories. Today's gem, hailing from the Spinpasta wiki, is one such story. Because why write original suspenseful horror stories or possibly put a new creative spin on an older idea or character when you can just take two unrelated creepypasta icons and have them lay a WWE smack down on each other, right? Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story... Slenderman vs. Eyeless Jack by OptimusPrime27 There are legends of the Slender Man. Some say he's a kind nurturing father figure that lives in a big beautiful mansion full of other monsters and killers as one big happy loving family who do all sorts of cute family activities with each other when they're not going on mass murder sprees. Nobody over the age of 12 believes such things.

He is a dark spirit. He is truly evil. Wait, what you mean to tell me is that the murderous, child snatching eldritch abomination who forces people to become his slaves in order to commit horrific acts on his behalf is evil? You don't say? He stalks people and murders them. But now he is gone. He's been gone. People don't know why, but he just... disappeared. Everything changed after the Fire Nation attacked. One day, he just left. Never to be seen again. Except in terrible fanfiction written by pre teen girls. Only a few people still remember him. This sentence is so easily contestable that I won't even bother. I wouldn't even know he existed if it wasn't for that dark, dark night... and that video-game that made. That sort of helped... This joke might have been funny is the grammar wasn't messed up.

You see, Slender Man disappeared because less people feared him. This sounds awfully similar to Freddy's plot in Freddy vs. Jason. Instead of that dark, mysterious force he became that cool, popular guy. "Yo Slenderbro, pass me that brewski when you're done droppin' those phat beats!" Just that guy. People didn't care how terrifying he really was, they just liked him. What if people liked him because he was terrifying? I like Slenderman because he's creepy.  Creepy if done well at any rate. Video-games, toys, shirts, Hold the phone here, since when has there official Slenderman merch? he was everywhere. Less people feared him, and he became more of an internet icon than a despicable creature. So you can't be a despicable creature and internet icon at the same time? Someone better tell [insert well known internet personality who gets a lot of hate here)! More people knew him and they learned to stay away from him, how to avoid him, There's no official way to avoid Slenderman. and thus he didn't get their souls. Many people don't know this, but Slender Man needs souls. Many people don't know this because you completely made it up. They give him energy. He harvests them. He feeds of them. He lives. But now people don't fear him at all. He's just that guy.

That guy. He's just that guy who stalks people, kidnaps kids and drives people insane. Ya know, nothin' special.

But you see, Eyeless Jack is a different story. A story so bad its own writer personally asked for it to be deleted from the creepypasta wiki.

Eyeless Jack is a dark, undead spirit. Says who? A young boy brutally murdered, his eyes ripped out of their sockets. A vengeful spirit, Eyeless Jack's a ghost now? he spent the rest of his eternity getting his revenge. Which he accomplishes by eating random people's kidneys. Out to find the man who killed him. Until then, he could never truly be at peace. Less powerful and less famous, Jack was just a little kid compared to Slender Man. Which might have something to do with Slenderman being 6-10 feet tall. No match for this monster. Stories over! Goodnight everybody! Slender Man is basically the king of modern horror. I'm a huge Slender-verse fan and even I think that's bit of an overstatement. How can he be the king of modern horror anyway if supposedly no one takes him seriously or cares about him anymore? Creepy, mysterious. Slender Man has given existence to many wannabes and copy-cats like Jeff the Killer or Laughing Jack. Laughing Jack and Jeff the Killer have nothing at all to do with each other let alone Slenderman.

Slender Man saw potential in Eyeless Jack, and decided to use his superior power to manipulate the poor lost soul. This is literally just the plot of Freddy vs. Jason. One night, Jack was lurking through the forest, when Slender Man, now weak but still more powerful than Jack, appeared before him. Jack was shocked, but then the figure seemed to disappear into thin air. Jack turned around as Slender Man reappeared in front of him. Slender Man began to stalk the evil spirit as he ran through the forest. What sounded like static assaulted Jack's ears. He fell down and began to faint, everything else in the world fading away... Slender Man was now in control of Jack, and ready for the harvest. Now this is where I get involved. Me and my friends were having a sleep-over. It was a dark, rainy night. Lemme guess: You really wanted to write "it was a dark and stormy night" but you realized that was too cliché even for something called "Slenderman vs. Eyeless Jack" so you thought wording it differently would mask the unoriginality.  Newsflash: it didn't. We were watching a crappy, blood-filled generic horror film, yet we kept screeching. We didn't know what true horror was yet. It's certainly not this story, I'll tell you that much. Not yet. You could’ve removed those last two words entirely and just said you "didn’t know what true horror was. Yet". We heard the back door creek open, so me and my friend Anne went to go see. The suspense was killing us. Suspense from what? The door creaking open? Do you guys flip out every time there's a light breeze? The entire house was pitch black. Turn on the lights then. We stepped into the dark hallway and slowly stepped closer and closer to the door. We heard heavy breathing from behind the door. And...JUMPSCARE! We went to grab the door knob, and when we saw what was behind it, we shrieked in terror. It was just our friend Mark. You held the tension here for 1 sentence. He and his friends Brad and Chuck were here. The idiots tried to scare us. "They're gonna be dead soon is what I'm saying." Me and Mark are sort of more than friends, but not really dating. Just sort of... into each other or something. It's complicated. We watched the movie together, and the guys kept making fun of us when we got scared, but they themselves kept getting freaked out now and then. Suddenly, we heard glass breaking. Mark volunteered to go check it out because how we were such "chickens". His words, not mine. I'd say that last sentence was completely superfluous but this whole story is completely superfluous. He walked into the hallways, closing the door behind him. He saw broken glass on the floor. He knew somebody had broken in. He turned around to warn us, but saw a masked, hoody-wearing creature. I thought he was a spirit. Now he's a creature? The mask was blue, with deep, empty, black holes where the eyes were supposed to be. I asked myself this same question when reading the original Eyeless Jack but how can they tell he has no eyes when he's wearing a mask in the dark?

The creature grabbed Mark's throat, squeezing it tightly. Mark gasped for breath, but the grasp on Mark's throat increased in strength. Tighter, tighter, until Mark couldn't breathe. Mark closed his eyes and dropped down onto the ground as the creature finally let him go. The creature observed his corpse, as if marveling at his own work of demented art. Oh no, not Mark! He was such a well developed character that we knew so well!

It was half an hour later, and we were worrying. I went to go check on him and found his corpse. So all of you just stood there and waited for 30 minutes while a monster choked Mark to death instead of alerting the police? What truly wonderful people you guys are.  I nearly puked. There was no brutal damage or harm to it, but that's what scared me. In the movies it's always bloody and chopped up, nearly unrecognizable. But this was... was so real. Just a lifeless body there on the ground, nothing more to it. The police said he was strangled to death by... something. Poor Eyeless Jack always getting described as a "something". The finger prints on his neck Fingerprints is one word. Like, nobody writes "head aches" or "bed rooms" do they? were something odd. They tasted great! They scanned them and all, but the person they belonged to was murdered long ago. Jack Robins was a young boy who was brutally killed back in the 1970's. I sure am glad these cops committed every important detail of this decades old case to memory. His parents were on a date, and he was being babysat by a local teen trying to get some quick cash. You say that as if all teen babysitters aren't just looking for quick cash.

A strange man broke in while he was asleep and the sitter was busy on the phone. Being on the phone doesn't automatically cancel out all other sounds. I think she'd be able to hear someone breaking in. The man went through the house stealing everything he found useful. The sitter saw him and shrieked, only to be shot down by the robber. The robber found Jack and pulled out his carving knife. Jack saw him and shrieked. The robber, not wanting to get caught, shot him, and then cut his eyes out with the knife. Why? How could cutting out Jack's eyes possibly benefit him in any way? If he's trying to be sneaky then carrying someone's eyeballs around would be super easy to trace. There is literally absolutely no reason for this guy to cut out Jack's eyes other than "well he's gotta become Eyeless Jack somehow!"

I was shocked when I heard this. That poor kid. But what was the killer doing with his fingerprints? Was it a coincidence? You don't know what coincidences are, do you? Was the killer the same one who did this terrible, terrible thing all those years back, and the sicko kept Jack's hands with him? If the killer took Jack's hands the cops would've said that. How is that your first thought? Why would a robber cut off the hand of someone they murdered, keep it on their person and use it decades later to strangle some random person to death? I was scared. Me and my parents were staying in a hotel room since the murder, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was still in the house... Meanwhile, in the woods, Jack woke up. He saw that he was in Slender Man's body. I'm sorry, what? This is a body swapping story now? Why does "Slenderman vs. Eyeless Jack" need to be about body swapping? But more importantly, he actually saw. He discovered that Slender Man didn't just take over his body, he switched both of their souls into each other's bodies. I have so many questions. This story keeps calling Jack a spirit so how can he have even have a body/soul to swap? Since when did Slenderman have a soul? Didn't this story also say Slenderman ate souls?  How would swapping souls allow Eyeless Jack to see? How can EJ do all the things he does if he can't see? I have the sneaking suspicion that none of these questions will go answered. Jack, now able to see, used this to follow the Slender Man's foot prints to the house. The police were investigating the scene of the crime, and went into the basement. The entire house was totally dark. If the power went out it'd be nice of you to let us know that. The two police man walked slowly down the stairs, and entered the dark room. The basement was flooded up to the police men's ankles because of the rain. Our house was an old one and it was always in a really crappy condition. Get it remodeled it then.

They found the old light switch and flipped it, only to be attacked and killed by Slender Man in Jack's body. He took on the other cops as they ran down the stairs. Their bullets did nothing. The body may have been harmed, but it was just flesh and bones. Useless flesh and bones. If they're so useless why did Slenderman even do this whole body swapping thing in the first place? How does switching souls with Eyeless Jack benefit Slenderman in anyway?

As the battle in the basement was going on, Jack in Slender Man's body broke down the front door, searching for his impostor. He rushed down the stairs to confront Slender Man. Slender threw his knife into Jack's face, distracting him as he grabbed a metal pipe up from off the floor. He hit the already dazed Jack in the head, knocking him to the floor. Remember: Jack's in Slenderman's body. So according to this story Slenderman can be stabbed, dazed and knocked to the ground. Jack got up and pulled the knife out of his head, impaling Slender Man with it. Slender Man seemed to slow down for a bit, but no real harm was done. "Besides the gaping chest wound I mean." Slender Man tore the knife out and dropped it to the ground. It was useless. Slender Man hit Jack with an uppercut, grabbed him and threw him into the furnace, closing him in and turning it on. Jack struggled to break free, but Slender Man was holding him in with all his strength. Eyeless Jack's body is capable of picking up and throwing the body of Slenderman, who is a 6-10 foot monster with teleportation powers, tentacles, and psychic abilities. Ok then. Jack pushed against the furnace with all his might, and finally jumped out, tackling Slender Man over. He held Slender Man's face down under the water, trying to drown him, but Slender Man managed to push up and knock Eyeless Jak down. Wow, Slenderman knocked Eyeless Jack down so hard the c fell out of his name! Jack reached for a nearby tool bag and pulled out a drill, sticking it into Slender Man's face. He turned it on, and it began to cut into his face. Why is EJ trying to kill Slenderman when they've switched bodies? I assume the body swapping is the reason EJ is mad at Slenderman in the first place so why would he ruin his chances of ever getting his real body back? Guys, Eyeless Jack is drilling into his own face. Slender Man grabbed the drill and pulled it out, throwing it over onto the stair case. Getting shot, drowned and stabbed didn't kill him so cutting into his face with a drill probably wouldn't either. Shouldn't Eyeless Jack know the limitations of his own body? Slender picked up the carving knife, slashed Jack across the chest with it, and jumped up and cut a pipe above Jack's head. Tons of sewage poured down onto Jack, knocking him to the ground and covering him with the slop. Did the writer of this even know Slenderman's power set?

Slender Man left, leaving Jack to die. Slender Man grabbed a thing of matches on the kitchen counter, lit one, and threw it to the ground, burning down the building as he turned and ran out the back door. The entire house burnt up and collapsed in, crushing Jack completely and seemingly finishing him off. Slenderman is leaving his own body to burn to death. Slenderman of all beings should know fire doesn't hurt him! The police told me and my parents about what happened. The cops that were there were killed before any of this crap even happened. They didn't know anything about the two killers or what really went on, but they knew that the house burnt down. I was devastated, but I was hoping that... that THING... was killed in the fire. Can't be, the story's not over yet. Unfortunately. I thought it was all over. I wish it were all over so I could do something more productive with my time like watching paint dry. I told my parents I was ready to go back to school, but they hesitated to let me. We talked it through, and they decided I was okay.  What teenager wants to go to school?

The next day at school, my friends from the sleepover, Anne and Lauren, asked me what happened. I told them everything. Jack, how Mark died, the house burning down, etc.,etc. They were shocked. Everyone who overheard was shocked too. One kid approached us. He said that Jack never really died, and that he is still alive. Everybody that he was crazy, but he said that Jack's spirit still wanders the Earth, searching for the man who killed him. Who is this kid and how does he know any of this? The janitor saw all the commotion, and told the kid to go down to the principal's office. He turned to the rest of us and said to get to class. The principal told the kid that the legend of Eyeless Jack was just crazy talk.

Rumor spread that all these stories of monsters and ghosts and stuff was all actually real and the adults were keeping it from us, like some crazy conspiracy. This kind of conspiracy I hope. Now it was like a rebellion was on the horizon. How could these things really exist without anybody letting us know? It's our right to know these kinds of things! If they're trying to protect us it clearly isn't working because now Mark has been murdered! OK we get it author, you really like Freddy vs. Jason. Can you please quit rehashing plot elements from it?

I was angry. We were all angry. I'm angry because it feels like this story should be over by now. But we still had to carry on. The prom was coming soon, and I planned on asking Mark to go with me and maybe we could officially start dating, but then this whole crazy thing happened. Multiple people, including your own boyfriend,  have been brutally killed by supernatural forces and you're worrying about the damn prom? I went with Brad, Mark's friend, but I felt really guilty. Just because Mark was killed I went out with his best friend? It was messed up, I knew it. Yeah, taking your boyfriend's best friend to the prom the day after said boyfriend was murdered is pretty messed up.

Everything was fine at the prom, until... it happened. www.youtube.com/watch?v=0xe0Ba… Chuck and Anne sneaked away to make out or something dumb, and then he came. Obvious joke is obvious. They went over by the lockers and made sure nobody was looking, but then they heard footsteps. They thought they were caught, but it was much worse. That masked man that strangled Mark. It was here! It grabbed Chuck and held him up against the wall by his throat. Anne shrieked in terror as the creature stared into Chuck's eyes. Stared deep down into his soul. You'd think someone called "Eyeless Jack" would have a hard time staring at people. Then it took him and it threw him straight out the window. A car was driving by, and Chuck's body landed straight on the windshield, nearly shattering the glass. The principal and the gym teacher both came running to help us out, but they were no match. The masked man grabbed both of the two and hit their heads together, knocking them unconscious, and then he stuffed both of their bodies into a locker. He slammed the door, locking them inside, and then turned around to face Anne. He ripped a locker door off of the wall and hit her upside the head with it, knocking her down. Why is Slendy-in-Jack's body here in the first place? Doesn't he have better things to be doing than picking off stupid teenagers? She got up and ran, and the man... no, not a man... the DEMON rushed after her. Demon? Wasn't he a spirit earlier?

She ran into the gymnasium, where we all were, and told us to run. Too late. The creature bursted in and impaled her with a leg he tore off a desk. Ah yes desks: a common thing to find in gymnasiums. She dropped to the floor, and he tore the leg out of her corpse. We all ran out screaming, but some of us weren't as lucky. Me, Brad, Lauren, and the janitor all got out alive and took off in Brad's van. The janitor drove us away, and said that he knew about Eyeless Jack. What a totally non contrived coincidence that some random janitor at some non descript school knows all about Eyeless Jack, Slenderman and the conspiracy covering them up. He confessed to us, telling us that the kid from the hallway was right all along. He was privy to this information how exactly? They just didn't want kids knowing to try and keep them safe, but it clearly didn't work. As we were driving, a flaming man in a tuxedo ran out into the road,   Tuxedos and business suits aren't the same thing. and we accidentally hit him. The janitor thought it was a victim of Jack from the prom, He didn't notice that Slenderman was 6 feet tall and you know, lacking a face? so he rushed out to save him, but the faceless man got up and grabbed him, throwing him into the sky with all his might. We screamed in horror, and Brad leaped into the driver's seat, ramming over the man. So did the janitor come down or did he fly into outer space or something?

We drived off as it tried chasing us on feet, but we managed to escape. We were all scared, and none of us knew what was going on. I remembered the faceless tuxedo man, though. I could never forget him. It was the Slender Man. But he was real? Of course he's real! You've seen him attack people and you just ran him over with your car. UGH. We didn't know what was happening, You and me both. we just knew to get away as quick as possible. Meanwhile, Slender Man and Jack had a score to settle themselves. Jack (in Slender Man's body)arrived at the school to face his foe. A high school: truly the best place to stage the climatic showdown of your story.  The two saw each other, and nothing could stop them. Nothing else in the world mattered. It was just them, face to face again at last. Sure, Slender Man had won it the last two times, but now Jack knew better. Jack grabbed the knocked-over punch table, lifted it up over his head, and threw it right at Slender Man, knocking him over. It's damn confusing reading this and having to remember that EJ and Slenderman have switched bodies. Almost like it's pointless or something. Jack quickly ran over and started punching Slender Man repeatedly. Is EJ gonna use a single one of Slenderman's powers while inhabiting his body? Slender Man kicked Jack in the chest and knocked him over. Guess that answers my question. Slender Man started to kick Jack in the face over and over, even stomping on his head. Jack got up and overpowered Slender Man, picking him up and throwing him up on the stage. Jack ran over and jumped up, hitting Slender Man in the chest several times and damaging his decaying ribcage. Jack grabbed Slender Man by the throat and threw him down onto the ground. Jack grabbed one of the band's amps, lifted it up with all his strength, and dropped it down onto Slender Man. Jack picked up a bottle of water off the floor and poured onto his semi-crushed opponent, frying him completely. Eyeless Jack has apparently succeed in destroying his own body. Hooray?

Jack, victorious, left to find me and the others. We were at Brad's house, Can we please just stop with the constant POV and tense changes because this story is testing my patience as it is. and we went inside we saw his dad, dead, hanging from the ceiling by a rusty metal chain. NO! Not Brad's dad! He was almost as well developed a character as Mark! We were shocked, and Brad broke out crying. Me and Lauren let him have his moment, so we went in his room to discuss it. Lauren said that maybe somebody in the town was the one who killed him and that's why this is happening, but I knew it had to be something more. You think it might have something to do with those 2 monster guys running around? You know, the ones you killed your friend and that janitor right in front of you?

I mean, why was Slender Man there? Better question: why is this story still going? Brad walked in, still sad, and asked what was going on. Lauren told him her theory, but he didn't believe it either. Suddenly, a corpse was thrown straight through the window, crashing onto the foor. We all shrieked in terror as we saw the message. It was... written in blood on his chest! It said "If you yourself do not release than it will come to take a piece". "YOU ARE WRONG". He was spying on our conversation? How? Why? For what reason? Suddenly, Jack kicked the door down. Of course, he was in Slender Man's body so we couldn't tell it was Jack at first. How could you tell it was Jack after the fact? How do you know any of this crap involving Jack and Slenderman? He as holding the corpse of Brad's dad, and threw it right at Brad, knocking him to the ground. Brad screamed, and we all ran off, being chased by Jack. We got outside and into the van, but the tires were slashed. Suddenly, Jack ran out of the house and jumped up on the hood of the car, kicking the windshield. It shatter and broke open, and he reached in to get us. Brad kicked him in the face and we ran out, trying to escape on foot. Suddenly, a beaten up and bloodied Slender Man (in Jack's body) I think everybody knows they've switched bodies by now! ambushed us and stabbed Brad in the heart several times with his knife. We shrieked and ran off, when suddenly a car stopped right in front of us on the road. It was Brad's mom, home from shopping! How wonderfully contrived. She said she heard about what was happening and immediately left the store to get us! We drove off as the two monsters fought each other once again. Slender Man stabbed Jack in the face several times, but Jack was unharmed. Which Slenderman should know wouldn't work because it's his body. He grabbed Slender Man, lifting him up off the ground, and threw him into the streets. Jack charged at him, but Slendy kicked him in the stomach and then got up and punched his face several times. Jack overpowered Slendy and pushed him down to the ground, elbowing him in the face. The two struggled and pushed eachother around, until Slender Man managed to push Jack up and throw him off of him. Slender Man got up and ran off to find us, leaving behind Jack. Just finish him off already! There's no reason whatsoever to chase after these dumb kids!

We told Brad's mom what happened, from what happened to Mark, to Jack, to the house burning down, and what happened at the prom. She was depressed that her husband and her son were both murdered, and we were sad about all the murders too. "All these murders are a major bummer, man."

Suddenly, a truck rammed into the car and sent us off road into the forest. The truck chased us into the woods until we hit a tree and the car went tumbling down a path. We jumped out the first chance we got and watched in horror as the car rolled down the nearby docks and fell into the water. You're still alive...how, exactly? 

The truck came crashing after us, and Slender Man stepped out. He began to chase us, and we managed to get to an abandoned factory. We picked up a wooden plank and put in through the door handles, locking him out. If Slenderman was in his own body he could just teleport in the building. Hell, he could've teleport them outside the building if he had his old body. See what I mean about how switching bodies with Eyeless Jack doesn't benefit him in anyway? We went into another room so we wouldn't be able to hear the freak pounding on the door. We were terrified. There was no hope left. What could save us now? Hopefully nobody because all of you are such bland characters that I couldn't care less whether you lived or died.

Suddenly, Jack arrived. Slender Man turned around to face the creature, and was immediately kicked in the gut. He stumbled backwards and slammed into the door. Oh goody, another fight scene. Because we haven't had enough of those now, have we? He grabbed Jack by the throat and began to strangle him. He eventually just lifted Jack up by the throat and threw him down into the ground. He kicked Jack in the face several times, but Jack got back up. How do you kick a faceless man in the face? Jack grabbed Slender Man and threw him over into the distance. Slender Man saw a little canoe and picked up the ore, charging at Jack and impaling him through the ribs with it. Slenderman's body can apparently be impaled with a rock. Sure. Why not?

Jack pulled the ore out and hit Slender Man upside the head, knocking him down. Slender Man got up again, only to be smacked by the ore and sent flying. Slender Man landed on the docks, and Jack ran over at him. Meanwhile, we thought the coast was clear so we opened the door and looked outside, stupidly enough. We saw the two fighting on the docks and couldn't help but watch. Standing there and watching the two fight is obviously a better option than running away.

Jack hit Slender Man with an uppercut, knocking him over. Slender Man got back up and punched Jack in the face repeatedly, knocking him back a bit. Jack picked the ore back up and hit Slender Man in the face with it, knocking him down. Jack was serious now. This time...it's personal. He lifted the ore up above his head and pushed it down into Slender Man's chest. He kept stabbing him and stabbing him with it until Slender Man managed to get up and take the ore from him, throwing it into the water.

Lauren yelled out to us, pointing at a stick of dynamite she found. Oh there just happened to be a stick of dynamite lying around on these boat docks? Oh how convenient. What's next, is Brad's mom going to pull out a lighter she just so happened to have and use it to light the dynamite so they can kill Slenderman and Eyeless Jack? Brad's mom pulled out her lighter and lit it. I was joking! We threw it onto the dock as the two were fighting. This was it. Our last hope. Slender Man and Jack were brutally beating each other, and didn't notice the TNT. Suddenly, it finally went off, and it blew the two into the air. They went off into the sky, and crashed down into their watery graves. It was finally over! Oh thank God! Finally I can move on with my life! We were saved! We ran out to get back to town, but little did we know it wasn't over. Why not? Everything's been resolved. There's no reason to keep going.

Slender Man and Eyeless Jack awoke in a fiery pit, surrounded by a whole crowd of demons. They seemed to be chanting some weird spell, when a strange, creepy statue of Link from the Legend of Zelda series Oh come on! appeared before the two, and smiled deviously.

"Men..." he said, "What seems to be the problem?" You couldn't even have BEN say either of his catchphrases? Either "You shouldn't have done that." or "You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you?" would have worked here. I sort of appreciate the shout out to one of the unused endings from Freddy vs. Jason but missed opportunity here, come on. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- And that, my friends was "Slenderman vs. Eyeless Jack". I have but 1 question to ask: What the hell was the point of any of that? Slenderman eating souls, Eyeless Jack being a spirit, the town trying to cover them both up, Slenderman needing people to fear him in order to gain power and Eyeless Jack's whole backstory were all introduced and then forgotten about. None of the human characters were interesting and they barley impacted the plot at all. The body swapping was completely unnecessary and just made everything extra confusing for no reason and there were just way too many fight scenes. The whole thing just dragged. On the plus side the sentence structure was good and there were relatively few grammar mistakes. It's just that on top of all the other problems the whole premise was silly and it took itself way too seriously from the get go, which is my problem with most vs. fics to be honest.

[309nyeon]

[Pann] The Level of Hate that a Produce 101 Trainee is Currently Getting (Clean Version)

Source: 최근 까이고 있는 프로듀스 연습생을 향한 악플 클라스 (원글쓴이임) 크린버젼

This post got deleted again so I re-uploaded it again. I tried to censor the hate as nicely as possible, though it feels like covering the sky with your hands (t/n: not sure about this).  Apparently, it got deleted because it contains violence, curses, and slanderㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ Nate Pann, are you joking with me? All of the posts on Pann before were this badㅋㅋ Why were those posts acceptable, but my post which compiled all of the hate deleted? Ah, now you realize that it’s actually bad? Or did you not want people to know that you allowed those postsㅋㅋㅋ Though I’m sure my post got deleted because someone reported itㅋㅋ

Produce 101 is very trendy everywhere, which is why there’s a lot of talk about the trainees that appear on it as well. Recently, there’s a lot of interest(?) around Joo Haknyeon, a trainee who prepared Open Up, a concept evaluation stage.

He’s greedy even though he’s unskilled, he made mistakes onstage, he covered another trainee’s face onstage, etc etc. For all of these reasons, he’s getting hate. I can understand constructive criticism but the problem is that the hate has crossed a line and has become excessive..;;;

If you miss your dad so much, why don’t you just follow him? Why are you crying..

Just follow your dad.... the world’s air is wasted on you.

Just feel free to beat up the nuisance, pig bastard Joo Haknyeon

He’s ugly, untalented, and his personality’s trash. I was wondering why he was like that and it’s because he doesn’t have a dad.

His mom’s crying every night while having s** with pigs

t/n: Idk what the last two are saying. 

As you can see, the comments towards his parents are so bad it’s hard to read;;;; Joo Haknyeon’s dad passed away last year;;;; It’s not only that but there was also a clarification post on him supposedly covering another trainee’s face onstage but...

t/n: People were saying that he covered Yongguk’s face on purpose because he wanted more spotlight. Someone wrote up a clarification post on Pann to clear up this misunderstanding but it still got a lot of dislikes. Here’s a translation of the post (original). 

To sum it up, he was supposed to walk in front of that trainee to get to his ending position and the reason why he looked like he was covering the trainee’s face is because of the camera angle.

But all of the people who are just hating rather than giving constructive criticism completely ignore clarification posts like this. Look at all of the dislikes ㅋㅋ The post was only pointing out false assumptions and telling people to judge based on factsㅋㅋBut the haters responded with “the post is too long,” “so what?”, and “do you think that’s why he’s getting hate”

Haknyeon, you would just be better off working at a host bar. What are you even good at, you can’t even dance. Just give it up.

[+5, -0] What the hell... His chin is long and his stare is dirty but the Sangam fancamㅋㅋㅋ That fansite master (T/N: Aquamarine) is a con artist.

[+14, -2] I felt like Joo Haknyeon was acting like he was kind last week. At this point, he’s not even acting, he’s just straight-up evil.

I can’t even tell that he’s a face pick..; I can tell that Guanlin, Hyeongsub, and Jinyoung are all good-looking but they say that Haknyeon’s a face pick... they say that he has a refreshing charm and smells like hallabongs. He has a well-developed jaw and jutting chin so I’d at least accept it if they said he was a manly type instead of a refreshing type..;;

I’ve said this already but I can accept constructive criticism about his skills or greed. However, you hated on him for purposefully blocking a trainee’s face even though it wasn’t true. It doesn’t make any sense to me that he received hate and sexual harassment comments because of something that wasn’t true..

It’s not only Pann that’s like thisㅋㅋ Every online community has been attacking his looks and making terrible personal attacks to an excessive degree.

t/n: More here. They’re all just terrible comments about his face, body, skills, and personality. Comments about how they want to beat him up or nasty comments about his chin or shoulders. I don’t want to translate these anymore because they annoy tf out of me. 

I’ve said this before, but I think constructive criticism about his skills or greed is acceptable. But all of the personal attacks, sexual harassment, and hate comments about him purposefully covering another trainee’s face.. even though this isn’t true..ㅋㅋㅋYou might think this only happens on DC Gallery because there are a lot of weird kids on there. However, the hate comments come from DC Gallery, Twitter, Facebook, Pann, online cafes and communities, and comments under videos and articles. These hate comments are everywhere. 

I hope Haknyeon doesn’t search his name on the internet. The sexual harrassment and comments about his parents are too much..... It also seems like his agency is waiting for the right time (to sue).. I hope they accept the constructive criticism but deal with the sexual harassment, comments about his parents, and the like...

Overall: [+1124, -163]

---

1. [+422, -21] He used to smile constantly and proclaim that he’s Joo Haknyeon and point to his nametag to strangers, but now he doesn’t even smile and his expressions are dead whatever he does. What did he do that was so wrong? He’s not as skilled, yes, he expressed some greed, he made a mistake, but he quickly fixed his mistakes on M Countdown after being criticized. I was shocked that there were people bating their breath, waiting for him to make even one mistake on M Countdown. My heart hurt and I felt ashamed when people laughed mockingly and said that him being pushed around during the parts selection (t/n: not sure about this) was justified. His face was red and he couldn’t even hide how flustered he was. He’s only 19 years old. What kind of righteous, amazing life did you live that you’re so desperate to take him down? You need to stop it, for real. 

2. [+414, -20] I’m honestly worried for Joo Haknyeon’s mental health.. I’ve never seen anyone from a survival show receive this much hate. Every community online has been attacking his personality, his skills, and his face to excruciating detail. Now they’ll curse him whether he smiles or cries.. They shame his fans for liking him so all of his fans seem like they’re hiding (I have never seen anyone taking his side). It’s to the point where people will say that they pity the other trainees because of Haknyeon or that it’s because of Haknyeon that so and so got eliminated. He gets hate just for breathing.

I didn’t even want to go to school after fighting with someone from my class, but as soon as he turns on the internet, they’re all hating on him so proudly I bet he wants to leave Korea. I’m so, so worried.. If he doesn’t debut, will people forgive(?) him?

3. [+412, -16] Didn’t he smile and say that he’s never been loved so much at the beginning of the show....ㅋㅋㅋ Do you realize how cruel this system is? The kids first say please love me and then end up saying sorry and don’t hate me...The kids need to go to therapy, and all of the people attacking these young kids with hate comments have terrible personalities... I copy-pasted this best reply from beforeㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ I knew this would happen^^

4. [+67, -2] After watching yesterday’s episode, I could tell that he knew that he was lacking in skills, and they even edited out scenes where he was practicing by himself. I just feel so bad for this 19 year old kid. He gets hated on just for breathing.. Don’t all kids at this age have lots of bravado, ambition, and playfulness? Is this something that deserves this much hate? Let’s not even acknowledge the people who think they know everything about a person based on a show. They won’t even listen to reason.. Haknyeon, hang in there. 

5. [+67, -3] I’ve read this post several times already but I still can’t calm down. My hands and feet are trembling... I hope he’s never seen these hate comments...but he apparently looks at all of the comments...I’m really sorry, Haknyeon...I only wanted you to see pretty words.....ah....seriously.....Even though we’re the same human beings, these people are just so disappointing ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ

6. [+59, -1] I’m so sadㅠㅠ just as the haters say, if Haknyeon really didn’t put any effort, would he have been able to perform Open Up in three days? Yes, Haknyeon does lack skills, made some mistakes, and is a slow learner, but I’m wondering if a 19 year old kid really deserves this much hate. 

First Picture: When he was practicing by himself (during Right Round) Second Picture: He took detailed notes of Dongho’s advice on his singing. Third & Fourth Picture: He’s memorizing the lyrics during rest time. 

7. [+57, -0] The worst thing is that fans of higher-ranked trainees would say that he'd be a nuisance to their picks while fans of lower-ranked trainees would pick on him because they were threatened by him. On top of that, they even made him out to be some kind of outcast among the trainees and said that him being treated like an outcast was justified. There wasn’t anybody who didn’t curse Joo Haknyeon, online or offline. Did he really do something that terrible? I was shocked by how everyone was relentlessly hating on him. It’s not even a matter of him debuting or not anymore. I’m worried if he’ll even be able to return and start a new life after Produce 101. Why are you guys so determined to take him down? 

8. [+54, -1] If you’re human, at least have the decency to realize there are things you shouldn’t say. How can you hate on a kid who’s says he’s going to work hard when you haters would probably go through a mental breakdown if someone cursed you in real life? Do you have any right to act like this? He made a mistake? You’re just giving constructive criticism? He’s unlikeable? I can understand all of these, but this (t/n: referring to the post) is just character assassination. How is he supposed to live after this when he knows that are hundreds and thousands of people that hate and curse him to this extent? Let’s not be like this as human beings. I hope his agency sues these haters and they get what they deserveㅡㅡ

9. [+53, -1] I’m so angry I can’t sleep. I didn’t even hear Haknyeon’s voice in the sports day segment in last week’s episode. There are people saying that Mnet and Loen are on bad terms, and it’s definitely true (Cre.ker is a Loen subsidiary). Also, please stop making hate remarks about his personality. Even though he dropped from #10 to #18, he’s still a fragile kid who cried when they announced Yongguk was #21;;

(t/n: Haknyeon and Yongguk are close. They trained under the same agency together before, and Yongguk mentioned that he was close to Haknyeon in his Vapp live.)

10. [+47, -2] Whenever I see Joo Haknyeon, I’m reminded of Kim Sejung. I just feel somewhat sad for them because they both seem the type to smile by default. Whenever he makes a mistake, he smiles. Even though he was kicked out of Never, he smiled. When he was pushed around during the parts assignment for the final songs, he smiled even brighter. It just seems like he smiles to control his emotionsㅠㅠ This is something I felt since the first elimination round. By the way, I’m not a Haknyeon fan. My one pick is Hyeongsub.

11. [+46, -2] They really close their eyes and ears to everything

12. [+39, -2] Before this post, if we said that the hate was too much, they’d either shut us up by saying that 1) we’re Haknyeon’s fans or 2) that his actions deserves this much hate. Do you know what people said in response to the talk about Haknyeon being an outcast? They asked why the others would even like a guy like that. Do you like making out your faves to be bullies/bystanders and saying that Haknyeon deserves to be alienated? You’re all attacking him like you’re all just having a good time pissing on him. 

13. [+38, -5] You have to debut. So I can see all of the haters choke. 

14. [+34, -1] I’ve seen this post before but it got deleted.. why didn’t they delete all of the hate comments before then.. All of the haters will eventually get what they deserve... You’re being too much to a 19 year old kid. 

15. [+31, -0] The comments make me want to throw up. Haknyeon’s not my pick but I just feel so bad for Haknyeon and his fans. He really didn’t get any screentime in the beginning and all of his fans looked for him in the corners and edges of the show and they stuck through with it for weeks. But starting from the 6th episode, there were lots of people who began to say that it would have been better if he just didn’t get any screentime... There was also shots where you could see him practicing alone in the corner, but they don’t show any of that. When they showed scenes of the kids playing with each other and showed who was close to who, they didn’t show any cuts of Haknyeon. Even now, it’s hard to find even a strand of his hair in bts videosㅋㅋ Because of this, there are people who’s saying that he’s an outcast or whatever, but how would we know that when they don’t even show him.. I’ve been getting a weird feeling about this since before, but after watching last week’s broadcast, I’m certain that the PD doesn’t like him. He was completely cut out of the sports day segment and the trainee’s talk time. 

16. [+25, -0] I became a fan after seeing Haknyeon’s innocent, bright smile. These days, he doesn’t smile much, and when he’s smiling, he doesn’t even look like he’s smiling for real.. I’m sad because he’s not like how he was before. What makes me sadder is that he doesn’t express how he feels inside. I hate myself for thinking this, but I sometimes think it would have been better if he had received more PR training (he’s too innocent so he doesn’t know how to act on broadcast) or if he was a bit more sly and knew how to act accordingly to get more love from the viewers... I’m just very scared and worried that Haknyeon will change.. so please stop it with the hate. Just think of it as saving someone.. I just want to continue seeing Haknyeon’s bright smile that we saw at the beginning of the show.

17. [+25, -0] Haknyeon fans, don’t give up just because he’s #18. Vote even harder. The show doesn’t show any of Haknyeon’s relationships with the other boys so it makes sense that he dropped during 2-pick. It may have actually been a good thing. Now that I think about it carefully, they really didn’t show any of Haknyeon’s friendships on the show since the first episode and the bts videos. Now that it’s one-pick, continue to vote for Haknyeon. Just struggle for one more week. Vote furiously so that Haknyeon can achieve his dream of debuting. 

18. [+25, -0] Creker needs to sue them. They think they can just say anything onlineㅠㅠ My heart hurts.

19. [+25, -0] He’s been hearing stuff like this, but he thanked (the national producers) for giving him the chance to be onstage again? I pity him. I’m worried for his mental health.

20. [+24, -0] I’m reuploading my comment because the post got deleted. You think the whole fuss that happened with Haknyeon’s Open Up fancam involved just a minority? For two hours, all of the best replies on Haknyeon’s fancam were reported and taken down. They didn’t even reach 500 likes before getting taken down. The hate comments and the fan’s comments were all too much. You’re the ones who posted on different communities, asking people to like the hate comments so that they can be the top comments on his individual cam. That’s why his fans were so desperate to make the positive comments the top comments on his video. You're the ones who wrote that Haknyeon’s fancam would be a hot issue and that everybody should go look for another mistake he made in his fancam. And you’re still claiming that you’re only “criticizing” him? 

21. [+23, -0] Pann is hilariousㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ What were you guys doing just watching when everyone was maliciously attacking him? You’re all the same. 

22. [+23, -0] Haknyeon’s not my pick but I’m upvoting this. A post like this should go up on the rankings. Not only Haknyeon but all of the trainees didn’t do anything to warrant comments like these. These people have no right to say such harsh things. They think they’re important because of the national producer label. Don’t fool yourself, you guys are nothing.

22. [+23, -0] This is a misunderstanding. Haknyeon didn’t cover Yongguk;;; Haknyeon’s supposed to walk in front of Yongguk to get to his ending pose, the camera angle was weird, and if you look at their picture on the official facebook page, he didn’t cover Yongguk.. Also, Yongguk mentioned Haknyeon as one of the trainees he was closest to during his Vapp live, and Haknyeon cried for Yongguk when he got eliminated. Would he really cover Yongguk on purpose? 

23. [+21, -0] I thought he wasn’t a bad kid, seeing how the people around him have always come out to say something against the negative way the show portrays him. I knew that people were criticizing him, but I didn’t know it was this bad. Why don’t people know their limits..? This isn’t constructive criticism. This is just senseless hate.

24. [+21, -0] Eunki and Hwanwoong fans don’t even hate on Haknyeon because they know that Eunki and Hwanwoong are actually close to Haknyeon and that the editing was weird. It’s so obvious when people pretend to be Eunki and Hwanwoong fans to hate on Haknyeonㅉㅉ

25. [+20, -1] It’s goosebumps-inducing how you’ll hate on Haknyeon using the other traineesㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㄱ So, did you guys ever vote for Hwanwoong, Eunki and Yongguk? They’re actually close to Haknyeon and genuinely support him. It’s funny how you’ll make all these assumptions based on five minutes of a show.

26. [+16, -0] Haknyeon’s expression... He looks like he’s flustered and his heart’s beating fast and like he’s about to cry because he’s so surprised, but he’s trying so hard to hold it in... he’s swallowing with his mouth, and his eyes look like they’re at a loss. It’s a face that can’t decide on any particular expression. How flustered he must have been. In that short moment, so many thoughts must have run across his head. 

[greetingsfromthebottomofthewell]

CORRUPTUS

[directory]

graven images.

[source] [triggers]

If you really believe in something, it can be yours.

That's how we've been conditioned to think. Mostly, I suppose it's a coping mechanism to keep us from eating the rich. We all think we'll be rich someday if we just want it hard enough. How long has it been since there was a good, old-fashioned culling of the wealthy elite?

That probably wasn't a good way to start this blog post... I'm more than a little tired, but fuck it. I'm leaving it.

"Corruptus".

That was the subject of an email I received before my ISP dropped me. My phone turned into a brick the same day. Hell, I think it was the same precise moment, though it's difficult to know for sure since I only tried it after my laptop couldn't connect.

"Corruptus"... I'd never heard the word before, and to be honest I'm not exactly sure it IS a word at all. It could be Latin. It sounds like Latin. I haven't been able to look it up, and this is the first time I'm getting on the web since my unexpected removal from the grid.

I tried to sign on at the local library, by the way. My card was revoked... unpaid late fees for books I'd never read, much less checked out. Mostly borderline fetish material and self-help books for various mental illnesses. The apparently quite detailed tome on weapons of mass destruction seemed to be of the most concern for the librarian.

I hung around the library for maybe a half an hour, until someone left a computer logged in and unguarded. When I went to check my email, to tweet a complaint about what happened, those accounts were gone, as well. Honestly, I was a pretty huge dumbass for expecting them to be there.

It wasn't long before I noticed the computer's rightful user pointing me out at the front desk. I guess she wasn't a fan of the direct approach. I was out the door before anyone could cause a real fuss.

It's been over two years since I left Mowgli's Palace and never looked back.

The original blog post has come and gone so much... across so many different sites... that I can barely even remember the first place I tried to host it. If I'd known how far this would go, I don't know if I would've been able to hack out that clumsy, flawed account of what happened. The pressure would've been too great, and I suppose there's a certain level of comfort in the idea no one will actually see or care about your work.

It seems like a lot of sites removed the information, either upon direct request from Disney... or on their own in fear of reprisal. I know a really popular YouTuber who pulled readings of my posts from his channel. The rumor was that someone threatened to sue him, some supposed "author" of the "story". Bullshit. I know first-hand that he took it down in a bout of pants-shitting fear when he realized Disney's connection to his partner company.

I tried to keep up my "After Abandoned" blog for a while. I don't know how many people out there saw my notes on Room Zero, Club 22, and so on. They're still around if you look... at least at the time of this writing.

Yes, "Club 22" exists. No, it's not a typo of "Club 33". I later learned, from the same contact, that there's an 11 as well, and supposedly the debauchery only grows as the numbers get lower. I heard of a "Club 00", but I can't confirm that as clearly as I can with the previous contact. I also don't know if it has any connection to the "Room" of a similar name.

Yes, the door probably said "Characters" or "Cast Members" instead of "Mascots". I know, I know, I hear you all. Thank you so much for that. I'm sure your memory is crystal clear in moments of abject terror, right?

Overall, I'm glad that my words have spread so far and wide... but the down side is that so few of you are taking this seriously. I can't stress this enough... Treasure Island? Real. The Utilidors? Real. Just because you can't substantiate the rest doesn't mean it's "a cool story". Instead of picking apart the inaccuracies and making games about how cool it would be to have been in my position, maybe people can start taking this seriously and digging into what's going on.

Maybe?

I don't know. I don't want this to be a rant. I want to stay focused and make sure I post exactly what I wanted to make public. All of the stress... the stalkers, the phone calls, the broken windows... I know that's all supposed to keep me off track. They want me confused, scared, and most of all they want me quiet.

There's a team of men and women in suits that I've seen at random times. Here and there. I call them "The Focus Group" because they pop up with clipboards and pens, taking notes about everything I do. They all have the same outfits, the same thick-rimmed nerd glasses, the same red pens that just scream "we're judging you".

The first time I noticed them, they were following me through the Mall. I looped and turned, trying to be SURE they were following me... and there they were, every step of the way. Days later, I spotted them again in the laundromat window across from my new apartment.

I chased one down, once. The tubbiest one. They stayed silent through the entire chase and even the scuffle that ensued. When I wrenched the clipboard from his hand, I only found page after page of off-kilter, random gibberish coupled with crude Mickey silhouettes. All in the same red ink.

I know it sounds insane, to say that a group of men and women in black are following me and taking nonsense notes, but I think that's the point. I think the idea is that it SHOULD drive me insane, and if it doesn't, you'll still think I'm crazy just for saying it.

It's a no-win situation.

I will forever regret that trip to Emerald Isle, but on the other hand I'll always be grateful to the people who have come forward, anonymously, to share their experiences with me. Whoever mailed me the suggestion box from the resort is basically my hero at this point. To read what I'd written about the place and still brave the journey... wow. I can't imagine how that felt, whoever you may be. You even left the original, corroded lock in the box so I'd know it was legit. To do all of that without even taking a look inside for yourself must've been really hard. Thank you.

If you haven't noticed, I'm treating this post a lot like my "final installment". There's a reason for that. I don't know how long I can keep subverting Disney's attempts at silencing me before some sort of final action is taken. I have no doubt that somewhere, at this very moment, someone is using my identity to commit a crime that would discredit me. That, or the men in white jackets are about to show me a lovely little padded cell. I don't know what's going to come of this, and that's the worst part I suppose. All I know is that it's coming.

So what is "Corruptus"? Well, as I mentioned it was the title of an email I received. One that was presumably deleted along with my account. It was blank, and seemed to exist for the sole purpose of placing an attached text document in my hands.

Too bad for the powers that be... I had already printed it the moment I saw it.

Not much they can do to reverse that, can they?

I should've mentioned... remember that library? I used their copier to run off a few thousand duplicates of that letter. A few hundred are stapled in random places, a few hundred were passed out to random people, and the rest... let's leave those as a little surprise. Have fun trying to stifle THAT, you horrible mouse-fuckers.

Without any more rambling, here's the letter. Word for word. It arrived from a source whose email address I won't disclose... though I assume it's an untraceable dummy account, anyway.

—

Summation of CORRUPTUS incidents for January, 2015

For office use only. This message contains information that may be confidential or proprietary, or protected by the attorney-client privilege or work product doctrine intended solely for the use of the addressee(s) named above. Any review, disclosure, distribution, copying or use of the information by others is strictly prohibited. If you have received this message in error or without authorization, please advise the sender by immediate reply and delete the original message. All email sent to this address will be received by the Disney corporate email system and is subject to archiving and review by someone other than the recipient. Violation of this disclaimer as written will result in prosecution.

Please refer to official guidelines with relation to "known" and "unconfirmed" incident reports. Respect regulation as per ongoing and/or finalized designations.

Known CORRUPTUS incidents up to and including January, 2015

Treasure Island

Extreme agitation/inappropriate activity within Vulture population.

Mild to moderate agitation/inappropriate human activity.

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Unidentified Avian Species

Abandoned. Final.

Disney's Pop Century Resort

Misplaced and mobile objects.

Chronological Displacement/Anachronism.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Wandering entity.

Pending.

Disney's River County

Microorganism infestation.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: "Clear Man" aka "See-Thru Man" aka "Friendly John".

Abandoned. Final.

ImageWorks: The What-If Labs (2nd Floor)

Multiple missing persons reports regarding Dreamfinder's School of Drama.

Pin screen fatality.

Vibrating mirror sickness.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: "Wily Wizard" installation

Abandoned. Final.

Mowgli's Palace

Auditory hallucination and/or projection.

Misplaced and mobile objects.

Moderate to severe agitation/inappropriate human activity.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Inverted Character

Abandoned. Final.

The New Global Neighborhood

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Fiber Optic Worm (NGN C 1)

Resolved CORRUPTUS: Digital Howl (NGN C 2)

Resolved. Repurposed.

Room Zero

Sudden-onset mass-hysteria.

Auditory hallucination and/or projection.

Unresolved CORRUPTUS: Unknown

Contained. Final.

Please note: Nara Dreamland is not an officially licensed Disney park and no information or resources are to be shared with any responsible for containing its residents.

A complete list of suspected CORRUPTUS incidents and reports may be available.

—

It took a few readings before I could get my head around this. Essentially, if the attached file was to be believed, then the events I had experienced were not part of an isolated incident. The events within Room Zero... the Gascots... they seem like part of a much larger problem.

What is "Corruptus"?

Corruption. I mean, I don't need to run Google Translate for that, even if I felt like I COULD take a break from writing without the risk of someone finding and disconnecting me at any moment.

Corruption of what? Dreams? Ideas? Desires?

I've never been a religious man, but I was dragged to Sunday School more than enough times to know about Golden Calves. False Gods created by man... icons, graven images...

Characters. Mascots.

If you believe in the Bible at all, and I'm not sure I do, especially not after what I've seen... then maybe God wasn't angry because people worshiped other things. Maybe he was afraid. Maybe if enough people believe in something hard enough, there's a chance it will come to be. Since we're naturally flawed beings, that means there's a very good chance such a thing would become corrupted.

If you think about it, Disney's animated films have always had one overriding message.

Clap your hands and believe hard enough, and Tinkerbell will live. When you wish upon a star... anything your heart desires...

People like to say Disney has some connection to Satanism, but I never bought into that. I still don't. I think they've been trying to create that Golden Calf... a God-Idol that everyone believes in... one that everyone loves... It's almost as if any dream or idea that is shared by enough human hearts and minds has a real chance of being born into the world.

The creatures... if any exist beyond what I saw with my own eyes... I think they're the deformed half-starts. Random manifestations of some dark, unquantifiable non-life that seeped into our state of being. They're mistakes of reality. Cosmic abortions.

The Corrupted.

Did everyone in Emerald Isle harbor such a negative impression of Mowgli's palace? How potent was the fear of nuclear war on the day Room Zero became full? If you want to find Gascots and mystery voices, does that search bring about the very thing you're looking for?

How many children have been disappointed, confused, or scarred for life when they saw Mickey without his "head"?

These are questions I'm never going to be able to answer. I don't know if anyone can. Speaking personally, this will probably be the last time I talk to you about Disney and everything I've learned about them. I'm truly sorry for that, especially since there's so much more I could say... unconfirmed rumors, documents and items I received that now seem to be gone forever...

I thought they were just trying to contain that Mickey costume. I thought that's why they went out of their way to keep the public in the dark about so much. Why they coerced and bullied to get their way.

Now I realize I was wrong.

It was this, all along.

They didn't want anything like THIS getting out.

I wish you all good luck, and I know I need the same from you.

Thank you.

[previous]

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Q

When I was a kid, I loved watching Star Trek: The Next Generation (TNG) with my dad. I'd marvel at the imagined 24th-century technology, and plots that seemed feasible even though they took place 300+ years in the future. I developed affinities for certain characters and recurring themes on the show; it took the Trekkie in me a long time to come to grips with Lt. Yar's death at the hands of a bitter, blob-like creature who'd been left alone on a desolate planet by beings determined to rid themselves of evil. But, as I got older, I started watching each episode more carefully. Some of the technology seemed cheesy, some alien costumes unrealistic, and occasional storylines so far out there that I had to wonder if the writers were just trying satisfy contractual obligations. They may have known their audience better than we knew ourselves. Maybe they were banking on the fact that even an obscure, throwaway episode would turn out to be someone, somewhere's favorite TNG moment ever (mine was Skin of Evil). I didn't mind that Denise Crosby was miserable on the show. Something about her character's death and the cast's response to it resonated with me. Something still does.

If Lt. Yar was a compelling character despite her short run on the show, one of the most compelling storylines centered around Q (John deLancie). Q was part of a continuum of ageless beings to whom the constraints of time and distance did not apply. With a snap of his fingers, he could send the Enterprise or any member of its crew to any time or place. Q seemed both fascinated by and contemptuous of the crew and its continuing mission. Once, after sending the ship hurtling through space into an encounter with the Borg, Q teases Commander Riker (Jonathan Frakes) who asks him, "Why?” Q’s response is chilling, “Why? Why to give you taste of your future. A preview of things to come." The Borg was a collective that threatened to assimilate everything and everyone in its path. By the show's end, Q admitted his enjoyment at watching the Enterprise face the tribulations of exploring space, but this admission was made in the context of a trial. The continuum was unable to curtail its mockery of what it considered the vastly inferior human race, so they put Picard on trial for the existence of life on earth.

When TNG went off the air in 1994, I was twelve going on thirteen. I was on the cusp of a revolution brought on by puberty. The world was on the cusp of a revolution brought about by the Internet. I remember the unmistakable squelch of a dial-up modem and praying no one would call the house while I was online. If that happened, my connection to the World Wide Web might have been broken. Any songs downloading at the time would be frozen at whatever percentage of completion they'd reached prior to the interruption. This was especially devastating. There there was no guarantee I'd be able to find the same live version of Pearl Jam's Yellow Ledbetter again -  a tragedy on par with the OJ verdict or my dad's singing voice.

Flash forward (but not all the way).

Until recently, I hadn’t given much thought to the awkwardness of puberty since I've been occupied with the awkwardness of adulthood. A new job. A new routine. I've been busy, or at least able to convince myself of such. About a year ago, a co-worker told me to look up a video on YouTube. "Don't use your work resources to do it," he cautioned. His warning made me only put it off for three weeks instead of my customary two months. The clip was a song called The Internet is for Porn from the musical Avenue Q. If you haven't seen Avenue Q, it’s a cross between Sesame Street and The Muppet Show, but the themes are far more grown-up than how a rubber ducky assists with bath time, or a given letter of the alphabet. Visible puppeteers manipulate puppets that interact with human characters and other puppets as they hilariously address topics like racism, life trajectory, and of course, why the Internet was born.

While TNG was on the air, I was consumed by the notion that my life should turn out like what I saw on TV. As Seth, a character from Chuck Palahniuk's novel Invisible Monsters says, "Television makes us God." Like God, by watching TV, I could supposedly see anybody or anything I'd ever want from the comfort of my couch. I believed it would be possible to battle Romulans on the Enterprise, diplomacy would always win, and the key to better health was juicing. If I didn't like what I saw, all I had to do was change the channel before uncomfortable thoughts or feelings made me throw the remote at the TV. Minimal effort. Minimal thought. Perfect. I still had to be careful. If I broke the remote, I would have had to physically get out of my chair the next time something or someone on the screen pissed me off. Manually changing the channel just as my parents had to when they didn't like what was on one of three stations was unacceptable. God did not like being inconvenienced, and still doesn’t. Besides, it would never suck to be me. I was obediently striving to make my own life a carbon copy of whatever fantasy world the small screen put in front of me.

Watching the cast of Avenue Q perform The Internet is for Porn made me think of the first time I looked at at porn. When I was 14 or 15, I snuck downstairs, logged on as surreptitiously as a dial-up modem would allow, and visited the website of a popular gentlemen's magazine. I don't remember what I saw, since it wasn't long before I heard the creak of the stairs above.

Oh shit! Shit! Shiiiiiit!

Why? Why to give you taste of your future. A preview of things to come.

I don't know how I didn't get caught, but I do know that's when the guilt started. Though I somehow managed to delete my browsing history before anyone came downstairs, I couldn't shake the notion that it was only a matter of time before someone found out exactly what I'd done.

I spent the next few years jerking off in the shower, and frequently spraying my sheets. I’d resigned myself to the fact that I couldn’t compete in, let alone win, the be-fruitful-and-multiply contest, the same one my ancestors (real men) had been winning for millions of years. Their efforts had prevented the very genetic code I was dribbling away one involuntary penial contraction at a time from being eradicated. If I'd faced a trial like Picard, my case would've been settled out of court. Citing overwhelming evidence that I didn't value my own masculine power because I could be so easily persuaded to part with it, the continuum would've mocked me too.

I'll never know exactly why, but one morning, my dad came into my room while I was on my back saying hello to my very visible monster. Maybe he was feeling nostalgic since my closet was full of his clothes from middle school and old police uniforms. The moment he appeared, I froze, terrified that any attempt to move my hand would attract unwanted attention. Dad didn't acknowledge me; he just rummaged around in my (his 1966-1976) closet looking for God knows what. He left after maybe ten minutes, but it felt like ten years. I told myself  I'd never again come (ha!) so close to getting caught masturbating. Going forward, I was almost always on my stomach whenever I felt so inclined.

It started out as a means to fulfill sexual fantasies, then It became a way to relax. If I was feeling tense, I'd rub one out, and promptly go to sleep. I never addressed the root cause of my love affair with choking the bishop: a complete and utter lack of confidence. I was conditioned to focus almost exclusively on school since getting an education was the only way out of my town. For the most part, I obeyed. Every other aspect of my life suffered. I was physically weak, had few friends, and filled with teenage angst. I thought the only way I could cope was through sex with myself. Minimal effort. Minimal thought. Perfect.

In college, a high-speed Internet connection brought with it limitless opportunities for both enrichment and shame. There's a stereotype that a dorm room is used for only three things: fantasizing about sex, getting ready to have sex, and having sex. One of my roommates once played a prank on me by downloading a bestiality video onto my computer and obscuring it with several other open windows. I didn't remember leaving my browser open to the university's homepage before going to class that day, but imagine my surprise when I finished checking my email. The donkey in that video was not nearly as enthusiastic as the one from Shrek.

By the time I got to grad school, I'd advanced the degree to which I used porn to cope with stress. I had to meet academic obligations, but whenever I didn't feel like it, I'd make sure the blind in my window was closed, turn my PC's volume all the way down, and consume whatever porn fit my fantasy. If I was feeling adventurous, I'd wear big, over-ear headphones because their bass output was better than my desktop’s alone. Maybe I was jealous that my classmates seemed to have fulfilling romantic relationships. Maybe I just didn't feel like putting in the work to build one. Maybe I didn't feel I was worthy of love. I knew my excessive porn use was fucked up, but this was when it started to seem normal. Why would I have invested in building something real when, as God, I could've seen anything or anyone with just a click of a mouse?

Watching porn when you're a guest in somebody's home is hard.

in 2007, when I was staying in Sombor with my yoga instructor and his wife, I didn't even have a computer in my room. My host did eventually bring his laptop for me to use, but if I wanted to connect to the Internet, I had to make sure the computer in the other part of the house wasn’t connected at the same time. It wasn't worth the effort. I had other things to worry about, like culture shock and practicing yoga. Thanks to yoga, not only did I stop watching porn, I didn't jerk off for almost four months. (Blowing your load on hosts' sheets isn't chic.) And, I had the best sex I’ve ever experienced.  

Flash forward about a year.

I hadn't practiced yoga since abruptly leaving Sombor, and my relationship with my fiancée at the time was on the rocks. I loved Tuesdays because she was at the university all day; I could dream of leaving her without even saying goodbye. The sex was nowhere near as good. We weren’t even really compatible to begin with. While she was away earning her degree, I was exploring strange new worlds across the pornscape.

Why? Why to give you taste of your future. A preview of things to come.

I was a shell of a man who’d sworn off women (at least the natural ones) when I finally came home in June 2011. I didn't date for three years. Instead, I focused on getting out of my mom's house at first, then my career. My earlier pattern was repeating itself. Only the driver was different. Friday nights consisted of rendezvous with the laptop where I'd often bring myself to climax multiple times in one sitting. Omnipotence at the keyboard made real women obsolete. Minimal effort. Minimal thought. Perfect.

Love is overrated. Love is chemically no different than eating massive quantities of chocolate.

I’d turn on the music of Chopin after each session, and swear that would be the last time. But I came back over and over again for years. That's what addiction is. An addict knows he's addicted, but he feels too small, too weak, against the rush that only his addiction can bring. As my consumption of porn increased, waves of feel-good chemicals grew larger and crashed harder. I know now that I was an addict. In the dark recesses of my mind, maybe I always will be.

By 2014, I’d decided to give dating a shot. I spent far too much money on dating advice courses designed by self-proclaimed gurus who used to be shy, skinny, and introverted, just like me. Without fail, each guru had either stumbled upon "declassified government research" on female psychology, or spent hours decoding Literotica like Fifty Shades of Grey, which had given them insight into what women really want. If these guys were to be believed, their discoveries had changed their lives. No longer were they "nice guys who never got laid.” Women were approaching THEM.

I was hooked on their promises to share their secrets with me. I thought all I needed just one more trick, one more hack, to put myself over the top. I was so gullible that I began to look at dating as a numbers game that I only needed one yes to win. To me, it was a classic case of a blind squirrel finding his occasional nut. Every time I thought I'd learned a new trick, I'd say to myself, "This is it! It’s so simple! How could I have been so blind?" I couldn't wait to use it on whatever girl I was talking to at the time. Today, I know that I was only fooling myself by treating the symptoms rather than the cause of my difficulties with relationships: A deflated sense of self-worth. A lifetime spent comparing myself to others.  

If a date didn't go well, I'd stew about it for a few hours, then go right back to navigating the pornscape. After starting a video, I'd almost immediately send my life force cascading down into the toilet or gushing against the fabric of my pants. I couldn’t even last beyond the foreplay in most videos. Looking down at the stain meant the cycle was completely free to begin anew. I just had to work up the courage to try the same failed strategies with a new girl. Doesn't doing the same thing over and over yet expecting different results define insanity? In the throes of my addiction, I didn't really care about anything. I believed I wasn't hurting anyone (I didn’t count), and the amount of damage I was doing to myself, if any, was debatable. As long as I got off, who really cared?

I did some stumbling of my own the day I watched the documentaries Hot Girls Wanted and After Porn Ends. These films address challenges at the beginning of, and after a career in porn. I began to realize the toll working in the industry could have on those who chose to. Porn actors and actresses had to learn how to fulfill a fantasy. New names. New bodies. New pasts. Uncertain futures. The industry probably chewed them up and spit them out as soon as someone younger, more flexible, or more suited to a particular niche came along. Everyone is/was expendable. Whether you got into porn from Flyover County, Nebraska, or Nonspecific Hamlet, North Carolina, your time in the spotlight would eventually end (if you even managed to get your career off the ground at all). There's always someone with bigger tits, or a longer cock. Supply and demand. Consume. Consume. Nobodies always want to be somebody.

It's your dirty little secret. Peta Jensen doesn't give a shit about you. You'd better hope no one knocks on your door or peeks through the blinds.

To the best of my knowledge, recovering porn addicts don't get sobriety coins like the ones they give out at Alcoholics Anonymous. I wouldn't want a cum-colored coin anyway; it’d remind me how easy it is to fall off a cliff. I'd prefer a totem (like in the movie Inception) to help me distinguish dreams from reality. Mine would be a female breast that could spin on its nipple, like a top.

Perhaps the most insidious element of pornography addiction is that the brain rewards itself for doing nothing. I’d say a porn addict's brain can't distinguish real sex from pornography because watching the sex in porn still rewards him with a release of dopamine, even if he didn't earn it by engaging in the real thing.

On my path to recovery, I've learned to reward myself by doing things that I know in my heart I really want to. Temptations like porn, television, movies, and YouTube videos will always be there, but taking time to write, exercise and simply think has given me a new perspective on the mental masturbation I was performing even when I wasn't touching myself.

By consuming useless information on the Internet, reading books just to pass the time, and listening to music every chance I got, I'd created my own prison. As I became aware of its walls, what I’d done to myself made me cringe worse than hearing Scott Stapp's voice. I'd been watching others live life instead of crafting my own, and substituting their pleasure for the hard work required to pursue my own delayed, but truly fulfilling gratification. 

It started innocently enough when I began dreaming of a future someone else had made, on TNG. It continued as I imagined coins the color of jissum and breast-shaped totems. I don't necessarily need symbols of sobriety. I should just get a tattoo of an hourglass on my arm to remind myself of one important fact:

Time waits for no man.

Grant me the strength to value actions over dreams

And the wisdom to know the difference