#dash: brody

[hadleyberry]

What? I think it's adorable, it's not dramatic! You've gotta remember it's different, too, with animals versus humans. And don't worry, for the short amount of time I've known you, you definitely don't strike me as someone who'll have to worry about getting that emotionally invested in another person. But, I'm still going to continue with adorable animal facts—pregnant dolphins sing to their unborn babies.

Wow, who knew cows were so dramatic. That's honestly some next level co-dependency. Like, I get having a close friend, but needing them that much? Honestly, if I ever catch myself getting that emotionally invested in another person’s whereabouts, I’ll need you to slap me out of it.

[if-you-believe-me]

Story on Layaway: Winterhouse

A story idea From a dream—and subsequent half dreams—that I had today, in which a thirty-something Thomas Brodie-Sangster was cast as the male lead, probably to some degree from my brain mashing up his roles in The Queen’s Gambit and The Artful Dodger, and maybe his role as Whitey Winn—none of which I have watched more than small bits of.

There is a big old farmhouse and barn on a few acres of farmland, visible from a major highway, but with a strange sense of being its own little world, slightly removed from time. This estate is called Winterhouse.

The land is used to raise grains, and goats, and an expansive flower garden of roses, lavender, camomile, and various herbs. The house is two sprawling, spacious floors and a dug out cellar hidden below. The whole thing is a soft grey-white, not because it is ever painted, but because the wood it’s made of is so bleached and dry that it's taken on that colorless color of driftwood. The largest room takes up almost half the ground floor, supported by two rows of beams breaking up its expanse, and is always referred to as “the parlor”. A store is kept in the parlor selling breads and spiced baked goods, cheeses, tisanes, soaps, and posies and wreaths of dried flowers to tourists passing through the area; all of it made the old fashioned way, just as the farm is kept the old fashioned way—save for a few small tractors—but no big machinery. And both farm and store are kept by the same people who live in the rest of the big old farmhouse: a rotating group of six to twelve beautiful girls and young women, and one mysterious young man. As the people in the closest bits and pieces of civilization call them: Chutney and his harem.

And the big barn just to the side of the house is where they dance.

During the day they spend their time tending to the farm and the store, but in the early mornings before the sun comes up, and in the evenings after the sun goes down, Chutney trains his girls in the art of dance. Festivals are held at Winterhouse for each equinox and solstice, and on festival evenings the big barn is lavishly decorated and the girls don beautiful costumes and concerts are put on showcasing their skill. Locals come to the festivals to buy and sell their own harvests and wares and go to the concerts from a sense of morbid curiosity for this taboo establishment, tourists come because they are tourists and don't know better, and other people come from the big city just over an hour's drive away—and often from places even further afoot —to watch a calibur and artistry of dance that they have never seen anywhere else. Several of these people are very serious practitioners and/or teachers of the art who come to study, and marvel at, and pay homage to this impossible phenomenon of an exceptional troupe of dancers all expertly trained by one man in the middle of nowhere.

During the rest of the year students from the city, or tourists, or local men who think they are viewing something salacious, are allowed to enter the enigmatic barn of an evening—for a small fee—and watch the girls go through their paces. Despite this, Chutney always runs these practices in strict pragmatism and order, and always ensures that the onlookers give his girls space and treat them with respect.

Locally, Winterhouse is thought of as a house of sin in a rather conservative community. All the locals “know” it is secretly a brothel, though there has never been any actual evidence of such activities, and “good people” won't touch the place with a ten-foot pole outside of the festivals which, much to the community's chagrin, are a very real part of keeping their rural area alive and prosperous.

Chutney's girls range in age from thirteen to their early thirties—which, of course, only makes the house's infamous reputation worse. Some are rebellious or frightened runaways from nearby rural communities, some are women trying to escape from or erase their past, and some are beggars and outcasts from the city. But on rare occasions Chutney will spot a girl who is passing through and will give the signal to his harem to spirit her away from the family or friends she's traveling with. A lawman might see this as kidnaping, but the girl it happens to will always see it as a rescue. Chutney has an eye to know a person in trouble, and he won't stand for it. If the situation isn't right for him and his harem to step in themselves, he'll send word to a chain of friends both near and far to get them the help they need, even if it may be somewhat unorthodox and/or varying shades of legal.

No one is ever called by their given name once they enter Winterhouse. And the locals would be very surprised to learn that Chutney has never touched a single one of his girls. In fact he’s made quite certain that no one has touched any of his girls and lived to tell the tale unless it was her idea first. But these girls are no fragile little porcelain dolls, and he rarely has to do the dirty work to look after them, as they have no problem standing up for themselves and each other, and gently teaching any timid new recruits to do the same. To add to that, all their demanding farm work and dance rehearsal makes them tough as nails in a physical sense as well.

The girls stay at Winterhouse as long as they need it—until they know where they want to go and are ready to leave. Often they are put in contact with an accomplished teacher, or mentor or employer in their chosen field in the big city—or even Europe on occasion—who no one knew Chutney had contact with and who often appears to actually consider him a close and valuable friend. Other times they move on to make a life with a man who saw them for who they are and loved them enough to stick with it despite the overhanging reputation of the house and the refiner’s fire Chutney is likely to put them through. And all of them are given a little nest egg Chutney has been saving for them on their departure—and no girl learns about her nest egg before she leaves.

Chutney himself, of course, is the biggest enigma of the establishment, and even the girls don't generally get to learn his true identity or his past. His appearance is such that he looks like he could be the age of most of his girls—anything between seventeen to thirty-five—although the mustache he keeps helps the guesses stay north of twenty. But the truth of the matter is that Chutney—which, of course isn't his given name—has been running Winterhouse for several generations, and he himself is even older than that.

More than a century ago he spent his youth trying to protect his three sisters—one older and two younger—from their abusive, alcoholic father, and searching for a way for all of them to get out. With Chutney's encouragement and help, the oldest ran away to elope with a good man she had fallen in love with and settled in a town several miles away, but as she and Chutney were arranging plans for the younger two to follow her, their father found out and the subsequent beating was so violent that the second youngest was killed and Chutney ended up killing his father in defense and enraged grief.

Afterward, the youngest went to live with the oldest sister and her husband, and Chutney went on the run. He begged and stole his way further and further from home and closer and closer to the coast, until eventually—in his desire to travel as far away as he could—he stowed away on a boat to Europe.

He was becoming exceptionally good at using his charm and quick wit to get himself anything he needed or wanted, and ended up bouncing around Europe, gaining scads of friends from all walks of life, learning a myriad of trades and skills while never quite doing an honest day’s work, and doing a little Robin Hood-ing for the benefit of his less fortunate friends on the side, until finally he was introduced to, and fell in love with, the art of dance. He dedicated his life to studying it and searched out, and conned his way into working with, the greatest masters he could in the various styles and schools of the art that Europe had to offer. And all this time he inexplicably never aged a day.

Eventually, realising that no one would connect a young-looking man with the boy who had killed his father several decades ago, he decided to return home to the states and—perhaps in some mixture of love and defiance—he bought the big old farmhouse that he had grown up in, named Winterhouse.

[allegoethan]

.

[karofskyy]

brodywcston replied to your post:

That's definitely going to change now that we're roommates.

Really? You're into musicals, too?

[tinacohenchangx]

Oh, I'm not entirely shocked that they're still producing live-action remakes, but I was taken aback that Lilo & Stitch was getting one so soon. I mean, that came out in 2003 and most of the other remakes so far have been ones originally released from the mid-90s or earlier. Although, I did read some theories that it has to do with securing copyrights or licensing or something for an extended period of time? Which could have been brought on by the whole horror movie thing with Winnie the Pooh and Steamboat Willie/Mickey Mouse. Either way, while I'm excited, I'm not getting my hopes up too much.

Honestly, I’m not surprised they’re doing another live-action remake. Disney seems to have a thing for recycling everything from the past 30 years -- and wow I feel old saying that. But yeah, the promo stunt with Stitch crashing other movies? Kinda funny, I’ll give them that. Maybe this will be the first remake that's actually worth seeing in theaters.

[brodygold]

Trick or Treat

Eighteen-year-old Kyle slouched in the doorway, arms crossed as he listened to his parents give him the rundown. "You promised you'd help your little brother tonight," his mom said, eyeing him sternly. "We’re counting on you."

Kyle sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Halloween wasn’t his thing anymore. He was too old for trick-or-treating, and besides, all his friends were out at some party he’d much rather be attending. But his little brother had begged, and now here he was, stuck on candy duty.

“Fine, I’ll take him,” Kyle muttered, pulling on a hoodie to ward off the October chill. He grabbed a pillowcase for the candy, half-emptying his pockets before he shuffled out the door. As they walked, his brother dashed ahead to each house while Kyle trailed behind, barely paying attention. He scrolled through his phone, ignoring the laughter of kids in costume racing past him. The night felt endless.

That was, until they turned a corner and came upon a house Kyle hadn’t planned on visiting: Brody’s place. Brody was one of those guys everyone at school knew—star player for the Golden Army soccer team, always wearing that bright golden jersey, oozing confidence with every step. Kyle had seen him around but never really talked to him. Brody was in a different league, not just in soccer but socially, too.

Brody’s house stood out on the street. The porch light glowed a soft amber, and the decorations were minimalist—no spooky inflatables or loud music, just an understated, cool vibe that matched its owner.

Something pulled Kyle toward the door, almost against his will. His little brother had run off to another house, leaving Kyle alone in front of Brody’s place. With a half-hearted knock, Kyle waited.

The door swung open, and there stood Brody, taller and more imposing than Kyle had remembered. His golden jersey seemed to gleam under the porch light, the Golden Army crest practically shining. He flashed a charming smile, his eyes flicking to the pillowcase in Kyle’s hand.

“Well, look who it is,” Brody said with a chuckle. “Didn’t think I’d see you out trick-or-treating, Kyle.”

Kyle felt a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I’m stuck watching my brother. You know how it is.”

Brody nodded, though his smile never faltered. “Lucky for you, I’ve got something special.” He reached into a bowl, but instead of handing Kyle a regular candy, he held out a gold-wrapped chocolate bar. It was unlike anything Kyle had ever seen, gleaming under the light with an almost hypnotic glow. The wrapper bore the Golden Army emblem, as if it had been made just for him.

"Here," Brody said, holding it out. "For you."

Kyle blinked, confused. "Uh, thanks." He took the chocolate bar, feeling its weight in his hand. There was something odd about it, like it was more than just candy.

Brody smiled knowingly. “Enjoy it, Kyle. You might be surprised at what happens.” With a wink, he stepped back inside, leaving Kyle standing there, the golden bar heavy in his palm.

Kyle stared down at it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket. It wasn’t until later that night, after his brother had passed out from his candy high and the house had gone quiet, that Kyle finally remembered the strange chocolate bar. He sat on his bed, pulling it from his hoodie pocket, the golden wrapper catching the moonlight through his window.

“What’s so special about this?” he muttered to himself. Shrugging, he unwrapped it. The chocolate inside looked rich and velvety, its smell sweet but with a hint of something else—something warm, almost electric.

Without thinking much more, Kyle bit into it. The chocolate melted on his tongue, smoother than anything he’d ever tasted. For a brief moment, everything was fine.

Then, the change began.

A wave of warmth flooded Kyle’s body, starting from his core and radiating outward. He dropped the wrapper in shock, gripping the edge of his bed as his body tensed. His muscles twitched and then, impossibly, began to grow. His chest heaved, expanding as his arms swelled, his once-skinny limbs filling out with muscle. He could feel his shoulders broadening, becoming wider, more powerful.

“What the hell?” Kyle gasped, his voice deeper now, almost unrecognizable. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling toward his mirror. His reflection shocked him—his once gangly frame was transforming before his eyes. His biceps bulged beneath his skin, stretching the fabric of his shirt until it tore down the seams. His thighs, once slim and lanky, were now thick and muscular, filling out his jeans until they too ripped at the seams.

His face changed next. His jawline sharpened, becoming more defined, his cheekbones higher. His hair shifted, growing shorter and styled into a tousled, athletic cut that perfectly suited his new look. His skin was tan, glowing with a healthy, athletic sheen as though he had spent hours training outdoors.

The transformation didn’t stop at his body. His clothes, or what was left of them, began to shimmer. The torn remains of his hoodie and jeans morphed, dissolving into a fitted golden jersey with the Golden Army crest blazing proudly on his chest. His jeans reformed into soccer shorts, perfectly tailored to show off his newly muscular legs. Even his sneakers shifted, transforming into sleek, golden cleats.

Kyle stood there, breathless, staring at his reflection in shock. He was no longer the lanky, awkward teenager who had slouched through Halloween. He was… different. He was a jock now. His body was athletic, built like the soccer players he had once envied from afar. He flexed his arms, watching the muscles ripple beneath his golden jersey.

As the physical changes settled, new thoughts and memories flooded his mind. He could see himself on the soccer field, running drills with the Golden Army, feeling the camaraderie with his teammates. Brody was there, laughing and clapping him on the back. Kyle could remember celebrating wins, the thrill of scoring goals, the pride of wearing the golden jersey. He wasn’t just a jock in appearance—he belonged on the team. He was one of them now.

The awkwardness of his old life felt like a distant memory, fading away as new confidence surged through him. He stood taller, his posture naturally relaxed yet powerful. There was no hesitation in his movements anymore, no self-doubt. He was part of the Golden Army, and it felt right, like he had been destined for this all along.

Kyle—or whoever he was now—grinned at his reflection, his heart pounding with excitement. The transformation was complete, and he wasn’t just okay with it—he loved it.

He stepped out of his parent's house, making his way back to Brody's place. He needed to show his bro how much he appreciated the candy, and knew just how to do it.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 21: ~

Reunions Part 1:

Here it is. The moment you've been waiting for. So, I cried writing this chapter. These next few chapters are all happening at the same time but are told through different perspectives.

TW: Mention of parental death.

Part 22:

Who knew cleaning the chicken coops could take so long? Gibbo and Innes certainly didn't, but they had fun, despite how chaotic it got for them. Chickens don't like being held by strangers. Poor Gibbo nearly crushed their homes, trying to keep hold of them. Their panic caused him to panic, which caused Innes to panic. Eventually, they had over thirty chickens to deal with, but unlike the cows, they just lingered and didn't try and escape, thanks to the wired fencing. Just don't touch them, but keep them out of their coop.

The pair took turns. When Innes was cleaning and collecting any eggs, Gibbo made sure to distract them with chicken feed. Every twenty minutes, they'd swap. Soon, it was obvious, Innes was better at cleaning than Gibbo was. Scoop out the straw that could hold parasites such as fleas and bacteria. Scrub everything down with hot water. Finally, let everything air-dry after giving everything a final wipedown. Before they knew it, the pair were heading back to the house to give Roy and Muir the eggs for a salmonella test. It was pass 3pm.

'Well, that was fun.'

'Yeah, when you're not being attacked by Sunday Lunch.'

The pair shared a laugh. One of those laughs you make when you calm down from the stress and have a moment to reflect, and wonder why you got so stressed in the first-

'Knox?'

Gibbo's laugh stopped with time itself, and everything went cold. His heart froze. His smile quickly faded. Slowly, he followed the familiar voice until his widened eyes locked with Irene. His mother was here. Then he noticed Jackie. His son. His little boy. Usually, after seeing your loved ones after so long, you're supposed to he jumping for joy. For Knox Charles 'Charlie' Gibson, he was still. He was terrified. He rang for them to come, but now reality was staring him in the face.

He stared, and they stared back. He dropped the eggs from his tendrils. He didn't let them speak, and even if they did, his mind didn't register.

Gibbo turned and ran. He ran for the barn and practically lunged himself inside. Good thing Trots and Brodie weren't there, or they would have been crushed. Compared to the other infected, except Trots, he was slow, but that didn't stop him from trying to flee. When he was inside, Gibbo found refuge in the shadows on the second floor. The cats all dashed outside in a panic, and Gibbo literally curled himself into a ball, hiding his head inside the fleshy mass. He couldn't bring himself to move. Only rock himself to find some comfort. He was scared. Just like in the Water Tanks.

'Why? Why did you bring them? Fuckin' idiot. Look at yourself. How could they love someone like you? Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Maybe, you should stay here and rot-'

'Knox?'

Again, the sweet voice of Irene brought Gibbo to a standstill. His mind stopped racing, but he wasn't calm. Quiet the opposite. His body couldn't curl in any further. The sound of footsteps approached the ladder. They began to climb. The Drill Operator was backed into a corner with nowhere to run. What will you do, Gibbo?

Irene approached the literal ball of flesh that was now her son. She may be an older woman who was losing her sight, but she saw the veins pulsing and dead organs trying to escape. The discoloured skin and the small centipede-like legs made from bone. A sorry sight, but she still approached.

'Knox?'

A small whimper replied.

Without hesitation, Irene put a hand on where she knew his head would be. Whenever Gibbo buried his head, flesh would cover it, leaving a sunken appearance. Her touch made him shiver.

'Can you come out, please?' There was no use hiding. He had to face reality.

Be brave, Gibbo. Not just for yourself, but for your ma and Jackie.

After a moment, Gibbo began to slowly uncurl himself. Irene stepped back and watched her son slowly appear. She held in a gasp. That same look from Fiona and Simon crossed her face. Gibbo struggled to look at her, but if Muir and Trots could do it, he could too.

'Hey, ma.' His voice was weak. Shy. But, he had to say something. 'It- I...' Gibbo sighed and slowly moved closer to Irene, who was frozen in place trying to take in what she was seeing through her round glasses. 'I'm sorry. I don't want you to see me like this.' His voice became frantic, and tears began to swell and fall down his cheeks. 'I want to come home, I really do, but I don't know if I can and-'

Irene placed a hand on her son's cheek. She wiped away his tears whilst he looked in surprise. She too began to cry for him, but she kept her signature small smile that could light up a room. It was a Gibson trait. Gibbo felt his breathing slow. He couldn't form a smile like his mum, but he was happy to see her. It showed in his eyes.

'My son. My boy. I've missed you so much.'

A tendril, after a moments hesitation, wrapped around her waist, but it was so loose, Irene didn't notice at first.

'...I missed you too. I'm sorry I ran.'

'Don't be.'

'I look horrible, don't I?'

'No. Not at all. You're still my son.' The tendril tightened, and Irene stepped closer and hugged what she could. An embrace Gibbo's wanted for days.

'I'm scared.'

'Aye. I know, and you have every right to be. But, you know what I think? I think you're very brave.' A pause. 'Jack wants to see you, too.'

Of course. Jack. Hearing his name sparked the courage Gibbo needed. He pulled away from Irene and looked her in the eye. With a deep yet shaky breath, he nodded. As the only male figure in his son's life, Gibbo needed to be brave, even if he was terrified.

Together, they made their way down to the ground floor. Jack, who had been leaning against a beam, saw his dad and grandmother approach. He walked towards his dad, who towered over him. It became a run. Before Gibbo could even say anything, Jack hugged him as tightly as he could. He wasn't afraid and didn't care what his dad looked like because he was just happy to see him after nearly six months.

Gibbo was shocked, but that quickly turned to relief. Jack wasn't scared of him. He worried himself over nothing, and it wasn't just because of his infection. Being away for so long, would Jack have stopped loving him? The answer was loud and clear.

Manoeuvring his body to be lower for his family, Gibbo looked at his son and began to ruffle his hair. Something they always did when he got home. Jack responded with the usual; 'Daaaaaad,' whine that he didn't mean, which was accompanied with a laugh they both shared.

'Have you gotten taller?'

'Yep. An entire 5 centimetres.'

'You'll be taller than me in no time,' Gibbo laughed.

With every tendril his body could create at once, Gibbo wrapped them around his family and pulled them close. The amount made his body look frail and small. The bones pushing against his skin and the smaller masses of flesh exposed the pockets of fat whilst making the veins pop even more. But no one cared. Gibbo glanced at the tendril that still held his locket. He felt her presence. Elanor was here.

She approached, dressed in the white maxi-dress from his dream, with her hair flowing. There was a glow to her complexion. Of course, this was all in his mind, and he knew that. This was their goodbye.

Elanor held his face in her hands. She kissed him on the forehead, allowing Gibbo to sigh and close his eyes. He wanted the moment to last forever.

Back in the Water Tanks, when the fog was lifted, Gibbo's mind was flooded with the memories of himself and Elanor. It was happening again. From when they met to their first date and Christmas together, to when she announced her pregnancy. They spent weeks designing the nursery. This time, it didn't end with her passing as Gibbo held Jack, who wasn't even an hour old, in his arms. In his mind, Elanor turned and walked away with a smile. Her radiant glow consumed her body like a star.

'...I love you...'

Then he opened his eyes, and she was gone. His grip on the locket tightened, and he slowly broke the hug, retracting all but one of the tendrils and making his body go back into original shape. It was an odd feeling, but somehow, it felt normal. Quickly, to help himself focus, Gibbo turned the attention to Jack. A playful smile crossed his face.

'Ah, I thought I heard something...' The remaining tendril had sneakily moved into Jack's pocket and pulled out the bag of marbles, holding them above his head, just out of reach.

'Hey!' Jack jumped but kept missing as Gibbo swung the bag around.

'Quiet the collection, Jackie.'

'Impressive, eh? Do you wanna play with me, dad?'

'You'll have to remind me how the game works.'

'Well, first off, we're gonna need a wide space.'

Roy watched from the barn door with a smile on his face. Then he heard two young voices calling his name...

[hadleyberry]

Oh my gosh, that's so cute that your cat is leash trained! I'm assuming you use a harness with him, right? I've tried getting Oliver, Rosie, and Junebug to wear harnesses, but they just do that thing where they immediately flop over on their side and won't move until I take the harness off. I couldn't even bribe them with treats. And it's the same with the cute outfits, so generally I just dress up Roscoe and Freya and the kitties get cute collars that they at least don't seem to mind. Anyway, sorry for all the rambling nonsense and also about what I'm assuming was not a pleasant run-in and that Karen wasn't actually the woman's name. Anyway, if I had to choose a favorite Christmas song, it would probably be that Kelly Clarkson one, umm Underneath The Tree! It's just so fun and upbeat, I can't help but dance to it. Oh and actually that just reminded me of another one that I really love, that probably doesn't get as much recognition, but Greatest Time Of Year by Aly & AJ is another fun one that I can't help but dance to!

I get it... seeing a handsome guy walking a cat on a street is not something you see every day, but if you can't approach us and berate me for taking my well-behaved cat on a walk when your own dog can't even behave or listen to your commands.

But I digress... I actually didn't intend to post about that, but seeing as I'm fresh from my walk where I ran into a Karen and her yappy dog, I couldn't help but let it out.

No, what I wanted to post about was a simple query... What is your favorite Christmas song?

[every-single-day]

Someone put that video of Brody doing a beautiful little pirouette back on my dash please I can’t find it and I’m crashing out

[kiwi-but-the-bird-not-the-fruit]

List of characters you 🫵 the Audience can request!

___________________________________________

In my oneshot all characters are aged up in their senior year 18/19 others in college 20/25 even if it don't say it in the story I strongly want to add this clarification

I only write Fem Reader and Gender neutral Reader

No poly relationship request please they make uncomfortable (not the people just that I'm not poly)

___________________________________________

What I do write

W/W lesbians

M/F Heterosexual

Fluff

Angst

Au's

Strangers to lovers

Friends to lovers

Meet cutes

Established relationship

Sensual insinuations

Sexual scenes (very minor it's not full smut just the scene afterwards the act)

What I don't write and that I'm uncomfortable with

Adult x minor

Rape/ grooming

Sexual Harassment in fiction

Pro shipping

_________________________________________

Monster high list. And their genderbent names

Draculaura = Laurence

Frankie stein = frankie stein

Cleo de nile= Cleon de nile

Clawdeen wolf= Claws wolf

Nefera de nile = Nefero de nile

Abbie Bominable = Abbott Bominable

Catty Noir = Clawton Noir

Castra Fierce= Casper Fierce

Robecca Steam= Robert Steam

C.A Cupid = C.A Cupid

Rochelle Goyle= Rockwell Goyle

Gigi grant= Gavin Grant

Venus McflFlytrap= Vinny McFlytrap

____________________________________________

Ever after high and their genderbent names

Apple white= Aspen white

Raven Queen= Raven King

Briar Beauty= Bryce Beauty

Ashlynn Ella = Ash Ella

Lizzie Hearts= Liam Hearts

Blondie locks= Brody Locks

Cerise Hood= Crimson Hood

Madeline Hatter= Mason Hatter

Melody piper = Ryder Piper/Rhythm Piper (can't decide over these two names)

Darling charming= Dashing Charming

Chase Redford= Charlie Redford

Courtly Jester= Gallant Jester

Duchess swan= Duke Swan

[bonesandthebees]

so my entire dash has been filled with dungeon meshi stuff the past month and while I have no intentions of reading/watching it, here's what I've gathered about the main adventuring party so far solely via internet osmosis

Laios - looks like a paladin. heard somewhere that he's a good older brother and I completely believe it he has good older brother energy. autistic with a special interest in food (?) likes to cook and eat the monsters they fight maybe (???) oh my god wait is that why it's called delicious dungeon I feel like I just cracked a code

Marcille - saw a post on my dash describing her as a stressed out grad student and so that's how I've characterized her in my head now. her hair is connected to her magic I think? like if her hair is dirty she can't do spells?? me too tbh I also can't function if my hair is greasy. that's actually a very interesting magic mechanism though I like that. also she's incredibly gay for that other girl I have seen screenshots of that bath scene between them so many times there is literally no heterosexual explanation for that

Chilchuck - looks like he's 12, is actually a middle-aged man (with a wife and kids? maybe??). thomas brodie-sangster core. is he part of a union? if he's not he should be. I don't even know what he does or what his role in the adventure party is but it makes sense to me

The dwarf guy - look, okay, I don't even know this guy's name that's how little I know about him. but I have seen his panties so many times. like, a ridiculous amount of times. why this guy panty shots georg. I respect it though

also there's a catgirl here too but idk anything about her. hope you all are having fun with the dnd anime it seems very fun

[imaloregremlin]

real.

What happened to Callum Brodie?

we know (from the comment about Simon Fairchild) that avatars were kinda hunted after the apocalypse.

but what happened to Callum? Yeah he was an avatar but he was also a 13 yo kid. He can’t be killed right??? Is he okay? Does he have a FAMILY?

I find angry mobs aren’t good for one’s health. Callum better be okay with some hot chocolate and toast

[polo-drone-039]

☘️St. Patrick's Day - The HIVE, a perfect machine (part 2)

Part 1

PDU-039 with a twinkle in its eyes approached DC-011(@brodygold), the stoic leader. Its voice secure and confident "DC-011, PDU-039 has had a brilliant idea for the St. Patrick’s Day bash. But I'll need to borrow something rather... significant: The Golden Pot! "DC-011, raised an eyebrow. "I’m sure you’ll make good use of it"

PDU-039 quickly dashed off with the golden pot in tow eager to put its creative spark to use. Upon reaching a lush, emerald hill 039 pauses assessing the surroundings and places the pot "Here should be good". The pot had never been used in such a manner before. 039 cleared its throat and began to recite the ancient mantra with a solemn voice. The words were strange and archaic reverberating with a mysterious power:

"Golden kit, Golden future. I obey Caps Brody & Scott. I obey the Gold. Gold is Life. Gold is Love.....Follow to Victory. Follow Captains to Golden Glory"

The air grew thick with anticipation as 039’s voice grew stronger:

"Lure, Trap and Turn."

"Lure, Trap and Turn."

"Lure, Trap and Turn."

As the final echo of "Turn" faded into the night air, the pot began to shine ,the light grew, pulsing with an inner rhythm that seemed to sync with the very heartbeat of the Earth.

The light grew stronger, brighter, until it was a blinding beacon of gold that shot straight into the sky.

The villagers, who had heard whispers of the Hive’s celebrations, couldn’t resist the siren call of the pot’s light. They poured out of their cobblestone homes and into the streets, drawn by the magnetic pull of the golden glow. The murmurs grew into a crescendo of excitement as the villagers approached the hill, their eyes wide with wonder.

PDU-039 stood and called out once more "Welcome my friends, come closer and you will be rewarded!"

Three guys, as if pulled by invisible strings, shuffled through the throng of villagers. Their eyes were glazed over, their steps mechanical and uncoordinated, as if they were sleepwalking. Approaching the pot their gazes fixed on the hypnotic light emanating from within.

"Good boys, you’re embracing the Gold! Surrender the Gold" PDU-039 announced watching with satisfaction as the three men stumbled closer to the pot. The golden light grew stronger, wrapping around them like warm, liquid honey, pulling them in.

As they looked inside, their forms began to change, their muscles bulged, a sudden surge of power rush through their veins. As tight shiny leather pants take the place of their old clothes their minds, once three separate entities, now became one. They felt a strange unity, a bond forged by the Golden embrace. They looked at each other, their eyes now gleaming with a newfound purpose.

PDU-039 watched with a twinkle in its eyes. "Today You have taken the first step towards perfection from now on you're no longer mere humans, you are part of the Golden Army, and today we celebrate all together"

They felt invincible, their spirits soaring with each step they took towards the bash.

Our doors are open, join us. Contact our recruiters: @brodygold , @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001.

[givethemsmut]

The Pack | Chapter Five

Characters: Dylan O’Brien, fem!reader

Pairing: Dylan O’Brien, Dylan x You

With our first date and sex twice under our belt I unlocked my front door knowing my Dad wasn’t home. I had every bad intention as Dylan’s hand laced with mine.

Our house was big but modest, clean, tidy, you could say unlived in. Skipping the tour and immediately showed him my bedroom, leaving him at the threshold of my door. Putting my bag and my jacket down I slipped out of my converse.

Out hungry eyes locked and I could feel every way we wanted round three tickle my body.

Walking into me until my ass hit the edge of my bed, Dylan was leaning over me with his head dipped low enough for our mouths to collide. Our kisses got more intense before he pulled away, whispering, “condom?”

And I shook my head no unable to string letters together with Dylan’s hands roaming my body. Our tongues touched again, “Hey, hey, I need a condom baby. I haven’t relieved myself in awhile…”

I forced myself to whisper back, “My dad’s bathroom maybe.”

He spring up excited, “Where am I going?” I pointed to across the hallways and he left quickly. I took the time to undress myself, both my pants and shirt. I left my undergarments to keep myself covered even tho there wasn’t much material on either. Dylan brought the whole hand full back and I laughed, “We might need them all.”

A boy in my room, the door closed and these undeniable feelings reminded me of Brody while he raided my Dad’s bathroom for condoms. Wrong house but right memories.

At my dad’s it was less artistic and rustic, it was more clean and modern. My sophomore year started off here so there was still plenty of memories exactly ones like this.

P A S T

I rebelled after my mom pasted away. All the ways my friends teased me for being a prude, sober, controlled faded away. Brody was two years ahead of me and was in college when I was finishing high school. My dad had to go out of town to shoot on location in Vegas so Brody invited me to his fraternities annual Date Dash on campus.

Accepting, I gave him a hard time for whatever lame ass thing he did. The frat was judging every move he made as a new pledge, I could feel their eyes on me. Lately, it had been because my mom died and no one knew what to say to me. Instead they would stare.

The house didn’t smell and wasn’t dirty like movies portrayed. Brody showed me around and introduced me to all his brothers before he handed me a cup of vodka and soda.

Two cups later I pulled Brody into the bathroom with me as I sat on the sink pulling him between my legs. He could tell I was drunk as he stayed very stoic. I whispered into his neck, “Fuck me already.”

He drank the rest of His contains in the red solo cup than created distance between us before he said, “You’re drunk, babe. Just try to relax and have fun.” In retrospect I understand he was giving me time to heal but I was reckless then.

Angry, I pushed him away further away as I socialized at the party. One of the brothers, must have been respected and took a liking to me when the eyes finally peeled away like he won the prize.

His hand on my ass he led me to a library where a few scattered brothers were hanging out. Almost hiding. There was a pool table and mini bar in the corner of the room. I swayed to the music as he leaned against the table. kissing my neck just once his husky voice gave me goosebumps, “Take off your top.”

I felt beyond drunk and I wanted to hurt myself to match the pain of losing my mom so I listened. I peeled my tank top off and exposed my white see through bra as I danced against him lap. His hands touched my waist, my legs covered in my black tights and his lips grazed my neck. He asked me, “I saw you with Brody earlier. Do you go here?”

Turning to face him I tossed out a simple response, “Nope.”

His brothers were watching me sway my hips between his legs hoping he’d share. He started to ask another question but all I felt was Brody’s arm pulling me away from the fun. Down the hallway he stopped pushing me roughly against the wall, clearly angry, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

He quickly took off his letterman jacket and forced my body to hide inside.

I bit my lips, “Jealous?”

His hand was on the wall behind me and he leaned in, “Don’t. You’re being reckless. I get why but slow down before you regret shit.”

I shouted back to him, “Regret What? I don’t do anything Brody! I was the perfect kid because she was sick and didn’t need the stress! You’ve wanted to fuck me since high school and when I finally open up my legs you reject me.”

Brody got close to my face, “You wanna have fun? Open your mouth.”

I opened my mouth for Brody to pull out a breath mint and place it on my tongue. He whispered into my ear, “Happy? You’re gonna be high in 10 minuets. Let’s get out of here before you start rapping my brothers.”

He drove back to my dads and we ended up in my room. I laid down watching Brody carefully get undressed and putting his clothes on the chair at my desk. I let his letterman jacket slide off my arms and I started to roll down my tights from under my skirt.

“What are you doing?”

I giggled, high at this point, “Is that a fetish of yours? Tights?”

He kneeled over my body pushing me back while kissing me before he pulled away just enough to say, “You’re so high right now. I can’t take your virginity like that.”

Kissing his neck, dragging my lips as I spoke, “Can’t you make an exception? Pretty please…”

Brody took off his shirt between our bodies, “Where’s that box? Under the bed?” I shook my head yes to the box of condoms, a vibrator and other toys I had hidden away.

He reached for the box as I unzipped my leather skirt and laid back down in my see through bra and panties. He kissed me again, our lips colliding and our hands touching what we could reach. I undid his pants and his big hand gripped mine, stopping me.

I saw the vibrator in his hand turn on to a low hum as he said, “Open these legs baby.”

I opened them as the distance between us left a gap for him to push the toy against my panties. I moaned against his chest whispering, “I don’t want a toy. I want you Brody. Please.”

I was begging as the small gasps left my mouth. He put down the toy to pull my panties down between us. I saw his hands adjust himself through his pants before he kissed my lips again.

He was hurting, controlling himself and his fragile ego that refused to be rejected again.

Feeling the toy push inside me – cold and hard. His body between my legs pushed back to see the toy fuck me as my hips moved to meet the pushes. I begged some more until he took his pants off and got between my legs.

Warm tongues tangling and hungry. I whispered against his lips, “I’m wet enough baby. Please.”

His hips continued to push against mine, humping with his underwear on, “Relax baby. There’s time.

Pushing him down straddling his bulge and ride his lap, “I wanna ride it Brody. Just like this.”

His hands grabbed my hips and kept my hips riding him, “Just like that baby.”

I stopped, burying my hand in his boxer briefs and fishing every hard inch out without him stopping me. I let it lay against my stomach, that’s how hard he was and I kept riding him except this time my wet pussy would glide against me.

I continued to moan as my hips rode him and I stopped again pushing his penis down so I could sit on him. He felt my clit on his tip pushed me down getting between my legs, “Do you know how hard it is to reject you right now? You’re high, drunk and you know… hurting. Not now. Okay?”

I couldn’t believe the guy who has pushed for sex since I was a freshman, the guy who filmed us fooling around and sent it out to our whole school to see he was getting some, didn’t want to have sex with me.

How mortifying to keep suffering loses.

I looked at him, no longer taking no as an answer, “You owe me, Mister I went off to college while I got slut shamed for that video you put out. It only stopped because my mom died.”

His head dropped and his forehead was against my skin as he mumbled, “I told you I took care of that. That was so long ago.”

I kissed his chest slowly, almost begging him, “Besides you can’t be the only guy in the frat not getting any.”

P R E S E N T

Dylan crawled onto the bed getting comfortable between my legs kissing me again. Enough to make my head-spin. When I felt his hand touch my panties and I jumped a little, “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.”

He took my hand and placed my own hand on his hand on, allowing me to explore himself. “You haven’t explored. The last two times was just straight sex. I want you to see what I’m gonna put between your legs.”

I unzipped the zipper on his pants and undid the belt, gently and slowly, pulling his underwear down letting his cock fall out. I looked up and he was biting his lip as he watched.

Stroking it a few times watching his face turn from pleasure to ecstasy as I lowered my lips to the tip of him. Pushing my lips down I felt his thickness bully my mouth into opening wider.

He was trying not to moan too much when I glanced up at his tortured features forcing him to bite his own lip.

“God I love your mouth but I don’t wanna cum yet,” his husky voice was out of breath when I felt his hands urge me to stand up. Dragging my panties down off my legs, his lips kissed my thighs, worshipping every inch of me.

“I found your spot. Right here.”

His lips kissed closer to my pussy, right inside my thigh when I felt the butterflies turn into paperweights inside of me.

“What are you doing?” I knew but I was sure I was comfortable with it.

Standing up he leaned over me, kissing my chest. “I was gonna lick your clit but if you aren’t comfortable I won’t.”

Every dirty word only made the mess between my legs worse. “I’m too wet…” I had no excuse that made sense when those words slipped from my mouth.

“Too wet?” He smirked in a devilish way, “I love how wet you get for me.”

Laying back, Dylan’s tongue slipped against my slip sending my head back and my back to curve. Suckling my clit, I couldn’t help but moan and my hips lost control even with his hands pinning me down.

Dylan pulled away just enough to pull his shirt off and push his pants the rest of the way down. Scooping my bra off I let him look me over. Our eyes met before we kissed again, something about him was innocent, pure like I could trust him.

He kept kissing me, crawling on the bed, as he settled between my legs. Pinning my knee to his hip he slipped the condom on himself. Hovering over me before I felt him push inside me, stretching and filling me so much I felt light headed.

He let out a deep relieving sound followed by a small fuck under his breath that I hung to. I was melting against him in every way. My eyes closed the whole time until he whispered, “Hey, you okay?”

Peeling my eyes open I whispered against his lips, “Is it always suppose to be like this?”

Dylan kept pushing, laughing and smirking, “Suppose to be… fuck… but we’re puzzles. Sometimes people don’t fit like us.”

I was shaking and I could feel it building inside me. “Dylan, I’m gonna cum omg.”

“Come for me, baby.”

I could feel him breathing heavily against me and my legs shaking as I came all over him. The second I felt his hand hold my hips down against his mattress he came inside me.

I could feel the warmth rush inside me, coating my walls and my lungs finally exhale. Dragging his lips against me as he showered me in his recovering breath.

The best moment was followed by a protective parent who never knocked because there was no reason to. My door creaked open while he looked down at his phone, “Hey, hon, you awake? I’m back.”

I was mortified beyond belief while my dad kept standing there staring at Dylan. “Dylan. Don’t you have work tomorrow? Are you prepared?”

Neither of us could move without being exposed. “Dad! Get out! Both naked!”

He slowly left with the door cracked like it would stop any funny business. Dylan died laughing, “Am I prepared?” He couldn’t help but crack up in-between words. “Your dad is funny.” He grabbed my hand, “Hey. You wanna come to set tomorrow? Keep me company between scenes?”

I smiled, smitten with him, “Sure, I’d love to. Stay the night? My bed is big enough. I’ll lock my door.”

He pulled on his boxer briefs and got comfortable stealing my remote for the tv. I laughed before sneaking down stairs to grab us snacks. My dad was in the kitchen, having take out, “Thanks for the warning kid.”

I bit down on my smile, embarrassed too, “I thought you had a meeting.”

He stood up, “Then it ended. He left already?”

I shook my head, “He’s gonna stay over. I’m gonna go with him tomorrow. He says it’s a big day.”

My dad looked through his bag handing me a copy of the episode script, “Sure are, it’s huge for him and the character. Emotional scenes. Don’t distract him. Give him the damn script. I know he isn’t ready.”

I was curious so I peaked before bringing the snacks back. He basically goes crazy in the show. I couldn’t imagine, he’s so funny and bright. I wasn’t even convinced he could be mean or crazy. I arrived back at my room with tons of snacks and handed him the script, “Did you read it?”

I shook my head getting comfy, “Seems intense. Nervous?”

He thumbed through the pages, “Nah. I got this. Just wanna be sure I hit my marks, I move around a lot and it annoys your Dad actually.”

I read the script dirtying down to a steamy scene, “Steamy. A sex scenes?”

He looked at it again, “That’s kissing. I told them no sex scenes. I refused.” After he had it in his hands he paced, reading to himself but making gestures like learning a dance.

It was almost ten PM so I put on Gilmore Girls, one of my favorite shows while he paced. Finally, fourth-five minuets later I offered to read with him. “Really? You would?”

I took the script from him, “Who am I reading? Lydia?”

[petermorwood]

Interesting to see this post cross my dash again.

I was watching a movie late last night and, with that post's criticism of unbroken long speeches and suggestions of how to break them, here's an example of how a very famous one was done.

The movie I was watching was "Jaws", and the long speech is The Indianapolis Monologue. There are several YouTube clips, but a couple of them leap straight in at the start of the speech.

The clip below has the lead up to The Speech which, IMO, matters a lot in preparing for what follows; there's not just a Mood Whiplash - cheery drunk to OMG Whut - to make the viewers pay attention, but also what I mentioned in the other post, an entirely legitimate reason for an "As You Know" speech.

One character, Hooper, knows the significance of "USS Indianapolis" - his shocked-almost-sober reaction makes that very plain - but the other character, Brody (and the audience he represents), doesn't know and needs told.

In addition (also as mentioned in the other post) despite being a single-character monologue, the speech is "broken" by cutting away from the speaker, Quint, to reaction shots from the other characters present. Even when Quint is on-screen he isn't centre-screen, Hooper is visible in the background where his silent, apprehensive attention accompanies the story he's hearing.

*****

This can be done in words, too: inserting other actions or reactions by means of paragraph breaks is the equivalent of visual cut-aways, and serve the same functions - making a lot of words from one character into several smaller groups of words, while showing the cumulative effect of all those words on other listeners.

Even a soliloquy with no-one else listening benefits from occasional breaks describing what the speaker is doing, how their emotions show, where they are etc. It's all far better than A Wall Of Text.

The entire speech is 438 words, and Robert Shaw delivers them over 3 min 34 sec.

I've got three PDF versions of the "Jaws" screenplay, all different, and this speech varies in every one but are never what's in the movie, so I constructed mine as a transcript from several listenings, and have used paragraph breaks to try matching Shaw's delivery.

Also, as an Exercise For The Scholar (me, anyway) I've inserted and timed the cuts where Quint isn't on screen or speaking to show how short they can be.

Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte. Just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen-footer. You know how you know that when you’re in the water, Chief? You tell by lookin' from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know ... was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. Huh.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) then BACK TO QUINT WHO TAKES A DRINK (2 sec)

They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s ... kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they... Rip you to pieces.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour.

CUT TO BRODY (3 sec) AS QUINT CONTINUES OFFSCREEN

On Thursday mornin', Chief...

BACK TO QUINT

I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended... Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist.

CUT TO BRODY (2 sec) then CUT TO HOOPER (2 sec) then BACK TO QUINT

Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

*****

For comparison, down below is what it looks like without any paragraph breaks, speech instruction (gravely / incredulous etc.) or screen direction (track right / dolly in / close on / match cut etc.).

(BTW, some of these effects can be used when writing prose, to good effect, but that's for another time.)

This is the Wall of Text effect, and it sometimes turns up on the internet, courtesy of people who don't know how to use Enter except when they're sending a post.

I'm not saying this is how the speech would have looked in the real shooting script, but it might. From my own screenwriting experience, actors don't like being told how to deliver their lines and directors don't like being told how to set up their shots.

There's a bit more flexibility when writing animation, but in both cases crafty writers write so that the way they want a thing done works out as the best way to do it.

Sometimes this trick even works... :->

*****

Here's the Wall Of Text:

Japanese submarine slammed two torpedoes into our side, Chief. We was comin' back from the island of Tinian to Leyte. Just delivered the bomb. The Hiroshima bomb. Eleven hundred men went into the water. Vessel went down in twelve minutes. Didn't see the first shark for about half an hour. Tiger. Thirteen-footer. You know how you know that when you’re in the water, Chief? You tell by lookin' from the dorsal to the tail. What we didn't know was our bomb mission had been so secret, no distress signal had been sent. Huh. They didn't even list us overdue for a week. Very first light, Chief, sharks come cruisin'. So we formed ourselves into tight groups. You know it’s kinda like old squares in a battle, like you see in a calendar, like the Battle of Waterloo, and the idea was, shark comes to the nearest man, that man he start poundin' and hollerin' and screamin’, an’ sometimes the shark go away. Sometimes he wouldn't go away. Sometimes that shark, he looks right into you. Right into your eyes. You know the thing about a shark, he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at you, doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites you, and those black eyes roll over white and then, ah, then you hear that terrible high-pitched screamin'. The ocean turns red, and despite all the poundin' and the hollerin' they all come in an’ they rip you to pieces. Y’know, by the end of that first dawn, lost a hundred men. I dunno how many sharks, maybe a thousand. I dunno how many men, they averaged six an hour. On Thursday mornin', Chief I bumped into a friend of mine, Herbie Robinson from Cleveland. Baseball player. Bosun's mate. An’ I thought he was asleep; reached over to wake him up. Bobbed up an’ down in the water, was like a kinda top. Upended. Well, he'd been bitten in half below the waist. Noon the fifth day, Mister Hooper, a Lockheed Ventura saw us, he swung in low and he saw us - a young pilot, a lot younger than Mister Hooper. Anyway he saw us and he come in low, and three hours later a big fat PBY comes down and start to pick us up. You know that was the time I was most frightened. Waitin' for my turn. I'll never put on a lifejacket again. So, eleven hundred men went into the water, three hundred and sixteen men come out, the sharks took the rest, June the 29th, 1945. Anyway, we delivered the bomb.

[thetireonstageright]

you’re welcome 🤠👌

Yall I found a vid on TikTok thank you @throwingtowels on TikTok for posting this 🙏