#everything else is just exceptionally bad boring or brief

[appropriatelystupid]

Top 5 things KMcG's been in in your opinion

oh god why does this feel so cruel and difficult, okay ummmmm… (in no particular order):

merlin

slasher

supergirl

frontier

a princess for christmas

[kitty-is-writing]

Part 5 of Kitty's Pride Month shorts!

This is an older story I wrote for Ace Week a couple of years ago, about Vice-Chief Tironde of Astator. While she has always been comfortable with her identity, it hasn't been easy to explain it to some of her siblings. Here she attempts to get her point across to her polar opposite sister, Hinasi.

🖤🩶🤍💜

🖤🩶🤍💚

Light rain pattered against the windows, joining the soft crackle of the fire to make a soothing background noise. It was the sort of evening Tironde usually enjoyed, the perfect setting to grab a warm blanket, pick up a good book and spend time with her cat Lika. Both cat and book would have to wait this time, however, because her sister was arriving any second for a social call. She wondered how long she would have to endure the gossip and anecdotes about Hinasi’s latest bedmates before she could excuse herself without being rude. She loved her sister, as she did all her siblings, but she did wish Hinasi would be a little less talkative sometimes. Or, at least talk about something more interesting than her ever-changing love life.

The fanfare at the door signalled Hinasi’s arrival, and she sat up a little straighter. Hopefully this wouldn’t last too long. “My dear sister, such a pleasure to see you,” Hinasi said once the formal procession had finished.

“I’m always glad to welcome you here,” she said, waving to the staff member who had just brought in a tray of tea and snacks. “So, how have you been lately? I feel like it’s been forever since we last spoke.”

“Oh, I’ve been just fine. Enjoying the company of a very pleasant man, in fact he’s been a recurring visitor for almost a month now…” Tironde tuned it out slightly, only nodding in places and making vague noises. She knew Hinasi could go on in this vein for some time, as long as nobody interrupted, so it was safe for her to consider her library and imagine herself warm and comfortable in her favourite chair. There was a brief lull in the monologue, and Tironde had an awful feeling she knew what was coming. “So, what about you? Anyone new and exciting in your life?”

She held back a sigh with difficulty. “Just Lika, same as always. You know I’m not into all that, Hinasi.”

“Oh, pish. There must be someone you’re interested in. I noticed a very lovely lady among your guard, I’m sure she’d be happy to warm your bed. Or there’s that baker running the place in the town square, I notice he’s still single…”

“Let me stop you there. I’m aware there are some wonderful people around here, and I appreciate their contributions to Astator’s prosperity and do all I can to ensure their lives are happy and safe. I have no interest in bringing any of them to my bedchamber, and likely never will. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to tell you this.”

Hinasi shook her head, a slightly patronising smile on her face. “You’re not still hung up on that Palar, or whatever his name was? I know that was a bad relationship, but not everyone will be like that.”

“Palamir, and it wasn’t a bad relationship, we just wanted different things and couldn’t find enough common ground to make it work.” Most notably, he had wanted a lot of sex, and she found it extremely boring. “He’s doing exceptionally well with his carpentry lately, in fact. I had a new dining table commissioned from him just last week.”

“Oh, so you’re still interested in his wood?” Hinasi gave her a lewd wink. “I must admit, I always did admire the way he handled his tools.”

“He is a skilled artisan, and understands the medium well enough to get the best results possible…” The double meaning sank in after a few seconds. “Oh, Hinasi, do you have to make everything so crude?”

Hinasi snickered into her tea. “Well, you did leave that one wide open for me. Carpentry, honestly.”

What else was she supposed to have said? Palamir was a skilled carpenter, and she was proud her town had such a talented craftsman, so of course she was going to mention it if the subject came up. How did anyone get sexual innuendo from that? Was there any profession that her sister couldn’t turn into a dirty joke? “If you admire his skills with ‘wood’ so much, perhaps you’d like to pay him a visit while you’re here? I’m sure you can find the carpenters’ easily enough, the carved sign is hard to miss.”

Suddenly serious, Hinasi shook her head. “Not happening. You don’t date your siblings’ former partners, no matter how attractive and skilled they are.”

“That seems unfair. I can understand if a relationship ended badly, or if your sibling still has feelings for the person, but Palamir and I finished things amicably, and neither of us thinks of the other as more than an acquaintance. If you’re interested, and bored with your current lovers, I’m sure he’d be glad to meet you.”

“I have more than enough keeping me occupied in Bewein, and I don’t have to travel five days to see them if I fancy a bit of fun.” She waved off the suggestion. “Besides, we were talking about finding you someone. I have no shortage of interested partners, but you’re spending every night with your cat. Your position as Vice-Chief alone should have those seeking favours queueing at the door most nights, if nothing else, and you’re certainly attractive and personable enough that people would be interested in you for that. What are you doing to scare them all off?”

Tironde couldn’t suppress the sigh this time. “The people of Astator understand and respect my lack of interest in pleasures of the flesh.” Unlike you, she just kept herself from saying. “I do have the occasional visitor claiming they have magical genitals that can change my mind, but all of them leave disappointed when I refuse their advances. Honestly, I fail to understand the appeal of exchanging bodily fluids with another person. It seems a lot of effort for very little reward, and I get more enjoyment from reading a good book or spending time with a friend. Lika provides all the comfort I need at night, and doesn’t demand things from me that I’m uncomfortable giving. Why shouldn’t I live the way I’m happy living?”

“How can you be happy when you’re alone?” Hinasi seemed genuinely confused. “I know my choice to move between casual lovers isn’t for everyone, but there must be a match out there for you. Someone else who loves reading and cats, maybe?”

“I’m not alone, Hinasi. I have friends, I have five siblings who I love even when they’re frustrating the Hells out of me, I have a very affectionate pet, and I enjoy taking some time for myself on occasion. Not everyone needs to be surrounded by people to be happy.” She’d lost count of how many times she’d tried to explain this to one or the other of her siblings. Maybe this time it would sink in. “Having another person around all the time, sharing my entire life and expecting to be included in everything, would make me miserable. If I was unhappy with my life, don’t you think I would have done something to change it by now?”

Hinasi furrowed her brow, looking as if someone had just given her an impossible riddle to solve. “I suppose, but aren’t you even a little interested? Curious, at least? I don’t think you’ve ever been with a woman, maybe that’s more to your taste?”

She barely restrained herself from smacking her own forehead. “Hinasi. Listen carefully. I am not interested in men. I am not interested in women. I am not interested in anyone else, regardless of their gender. I find sex vaguely disgusting and incredibly tedious, and would rather have my eyes gouged out with a spoon than participate in it with anyone, whether casually, in a group, or as part of an exclusive relationship. There is nothing in the world that could induce me to do so, short of physical or magical force. If, by some miracle, a person with a similar attitude towards it and an understanding of my need for personal space came along, only then might I consider thinking about the possibility of discussing a hypothetical relationship with them. Please stop trying to push me into situations I am not comfortable with.”

“Alright, fair enough, but what about children? You’ll have to be with someone at least once to conceive, you know. It doesn’t happen by magic.”

“You’re assuming I want children, which I don’t. Aside from anything else, do you really think I’d make a good mother?” Tironde held up a hand to forestall the inevitable ‘biological clock’ argument. “Before you tell me I’m running out of time to reproduce, let me remind you that you’re four years older than me, sleep with anything that moves, and you don’t have a child either. Shouldn’t your clock be ticking louder than mine by now?”

Hinasi raised her hands, ducking her head in an exaggerated surrender. “Okay, I give in, I won’t pester you about this again. I just want my sister to be happy, that’s all.”

“I am, when I’m not being bugged about my imaginary love life.” She smiled, glad the little dispute hadn’t spoiled her sister’s visit. The conversation moved on to other topics then, until Hinasi and her retinue were shown to the guest rooms for the night. Tironde stood, carried the depleted tea tray back to the kitchens and headed for her own rooms, where her closest companion had been waiting all evening.

“Meeeooooow.” Lika lifted her head as the door opened, stretched, and let out a prolonged, complaining sort of meow.

Tironde sat beside her on the bed, scratching behind her ears. “I know, I’m usually snuggled up with you by now. Hinasi kept me talking longer than I thought she would, but never mind. What are we reading tonight, then?”

Lika made a little ‘prrp’ sound, jumped down and wandered over to the books, sniffing at the lower shelves. “Miaow.”

“You like the look of this one?” Tironde pulled out the book Lika had stopped by. It was an old one, a retelling of some of the tribal legends, and one she always enjoyed reading. “Good choice, Lika. Come on then, let’s get comfy and dive in.”

Moments later, they were snuggled in a nest of blankets, Lika purring madly as Tironde lost herself in the ancient stories. She could almost forget the real world existed, in moments like this. Others might feel a desire to share their special moments with another, and that was fine, but hers were hers alone, without a need for intrusion or interruption. Lika was more than enough company for her, and always would be.

[whereflowersbloom]

Alfred’s farewell

The sky had begun gloomy since even before the sun had the chance to rise. Mist was overshadowing the city of Gotham, and drops of dew are still littering every surface. The birds were unusually quiet, nestling safely under the warmth of their nest. A large group of grey clouds lingering above the place, promising unpleasant weather to deal with later on. Lighting crackled in the grey sky and snatched away any hope of a golden day. Only songs of sadness spread around, feeling the sorrow taking place. Even the world is holding its breath and everything is still, the earth seemed to be mourning as well the unexpected loss. The atmosphere was exceptionally dark and lifeless, each face filled with silent and bitter grief and regret. Tears do not fall, there’s a blackhole forming in place of his heart. This date…this date would be burned into his soul for the rest of his existence, it would be a permanent reminder to himself of how foolish he was, how everything…could change in matter of seconds. Seconds only a few more seconds would have made the difference. The tree that was once full of life, the one Alfred looked after kindly, because he planted it himself after coming to work for Thomas and Martha Wayne, was now barren as the weather grew colder and the icy wind blew the leaves away.

There’s people gathering, familiar faces and unknown ones. The solemn mode had settled between them, and soon the ceremony comes to an end. It’s time to say farewell.

Will I always, from now on, be this cold? Was Pennyworth really gone? He didn’t dare to pronounce his name. He discerned the sounds of footsteps slowly fading away and all that was heard afterwards was the thud of knees hitting the ground. Grayson. Even Dick was so lost and crushed, the man who always looked so high-spirited and brave, so even-tempered and filled with honor, seemed so weak now.

“Alfred, I am so sorry…” Richard whispered with a low-pitched and desperate sob as he caressed the stone with his trembling hand. His face, marred for life, had an even more painful expression plastered on his face as tears started to fall slowly onto the dirt. But it’s not your fault. Damian wanted to let him know. He wasn’t there to stop it. Unlike you his mind whispered.

Jason Todd remained silent. Todd had always been quick to emotion in general, to tears when someone else was sad, to contagious laughter when their siblings were smiling, quick-tempered, choleric when provoked. Surprisingly an empathetic sensitive soul, spent many years alone, hungry for tenderness and familial ties. And yet he was wearing an expressionless mask, but his body betrayed his affliction, shaking so badly that Tim had to grasp tightly at his arms to prevent him from going down. Drake. Tim was clearly having so much invisible burden on his shoulders. His curved jaw clenching tight, and his dark blue eyes cast downwards and unblinking. He didn’t have his daily cup of black coffee. No, he didn’t have a single drop of his precious caffeine today. He kept his head low the entire ceremony, maybe he didn’t have the heart to look up at the crying mess everyone was. Perhaps he thought somebody had to tough it out, specially considering Father’s absence.

Stephanie standing close to him, blonde curls dancing with the autumn wind, biting her lips the entire time. Stephanie who tried to be strong and now, after holding in for too long, the tears break out like a leaking dam. She was devastated and weeped openly, clinging to Tim’s coat as if her life depended on it, as if she were drowning, the sight made the hole in Damian’s chest squeeze around his heart. Guilt. Distress.

Cassandra was hardly moving from her spot. She had a deep crease on her brow, and face as hard as rock. She hugged herself in the arms, shielding her frame from the icy wind, when Duke swiftly placed his Armani cashmere coat on her shoulders, her hands were going cold, and the moment Duke noticed the way she shivers with small movements. He considerately held them between his, providing temporary warmth, trying to find some kind of comfort in each other, but Cassandra avoided making eye contact with anyone, her mind was really blank as a void. Possibly still attempting to process the reality. Duke Thomas, the only one that hasn’t lost his mind amid this consequent emotional instability, drops of tears still hanging from the corner of his eyes, while the rests were slowly drying on his cheeks. Damian wasn’t exactly close to Duke but he wondered how he managed to carry on. Where did he find the strength to persist? Damian walked closer to the tombstone, feeling resignation seep into his bones.

Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth, beloved father, grandfather, mentor, friend, heroic veteran, a talented cook, a man of family, with a great big heart. Alfred Pennyworth had been a man with many facets. He brought balance to this dysfunctional family, he was the peace and voice of reason. Alfred who made Dick stay in bed when he was badly injured and encouraged him to eat proper meals, lectured Jason for his vulgar language, introduced Jason into the culinary arts, trusting him with the top secret Pennyworth recipes, who secretly switched Tim’s coffee for decaffeinated when he had too much, who prepared Stephanie waffles after a night out patrolling, didn’t say a word of the nights she sneaked out with Kara, who enjoyed the company of Cassandra lurking around the manor, when she’s having a bad day he used to watch the stars with her, listening to Cass make up stories about each star, Alfred who never had to fix anything Duke broke because Thomas instantly apologized and offered to fix it himself, Alfred that found intriguing sudden Duke’s interest in gardening. Alfred... who who spend each and every Damian’s birthdays with him ‘every birthday is special and must be celebrated Master Damian’, gifted him a cat because it made him think of him, offered him a cup of hot chocolate or tea sleepless nights. Alfred, who told him he was proud of him. Alfred, who raised him and loved him wholeheartedly until his last breath.

Damian ran his hand down a large polished stone, ‘Wayne’ carved into it expertly. He sighed wearily and stood beside a gravestone, right next to the family stone, he absentmindedly ran his fingertips along the engraved letters.

‘Alfred Thaddeus Crane Pennyworth’

August 16, 1943

-

October 10, 2019

‘The light of our household is gone. Leaving only haunting echoes lingering in this home. A place is vacant in our hearts, which will never be filled.’

It was indeed fitting. Their light was Alfred and he was gone for good. For good the words echoed in his head like an incessant prayer. He felt a pang of pain surge through him as he recalled his last moments with the man who raised him. It felt as if his life was torn apart just yesterday.

‘I miss him already.’ Cassandra gestured in sign language, a single tear rolling down her cheeks. Damian didn’t know if she was saying it to him or his siblings, maybe she just wished to get the weight off her chest, when he didn’t think it could, his heart broke even more.

“Fuck.” Jason swore with pained voice, his turquoise eyes blurring with angry tears that he wiped away roughly. Not particularly at his siblings but himself. For not being able to protect the man who offered a ray of kindness to him, who nurtured his severely malnourished body to health. He didn’t blame Bruce or the others. He was supposed to be better, strong enough to defend his father. Dick was a fucking mess in the dirt,embracing the tombstone with all his strength, like it would somehow bring the dead man back to life. Steph wouldn’t stop crying. Tim was silently punishing himself in his own way, and Cass had been in a mental limbo until a a minute ago. Bruce wouldn’t leave his room for Pete’s sake. He isolated himself from everything and everyone, he simply existed in his bedroom. Not surprised. He should be here, saying goodbye to Alfred, who dedicate his entire life to help him, instead of retreating to a dark room and lying in bed, brooding over his problems. Damian. Damian was so young, he looked like hell, devastated as everyone else. Jason could detect the shadow of regret in his green eyes. He’s seen it before because he experienced it and he saw it every day in Bruce’s eyes. But at least Damian was here, dealing with the crude reality and his anguish.

It felt unreal, like this was only a horrible slow-motion nightmare and they would wake up any minute, a sharp knife that bore a hole through their hearts yet they kept on standing still.

Perhaps it was time to fulfill Alfred’s wishes. He wanted Bruce to set his thirst for justice aside and find happiness, maybe a companion, spend quality time with the children, who clearly weren’t children anymore. The youngest being Damian, who just turned fifteen a couple of months ago. He wanted Richard to start a family of his own with Barbara. He wanted Jason to come back home and stop fighting with a Bruce. He wanted a Tim to seek professional help, see a counselor, quit drinking that damned coffee in excess. Stephanie to stop denying her feelings for Tim and give their relationship a chance. Cassandra constantly suppressing her emotions, fearing to get attached, she was human not a machine trained to commit murder when ordered. Duke should leave behind any doubts to forge his own path and accept he was loved by their family. Damian who Alfred loved like his own grandchild, no matter what he did or what type of person he decided to become, Alfred would always be proud of Damian. ‘In the end, you makes you. No one else, Master Damian.’

“How are you holding up, shortstack?” Jason asked him unexpectedly, snapping out of it, he didn’t know how long his mind had been replaying fond memories with Alfred, he felt the weight of Jason’s hand falling on his shoulder, wearing a genuinely concerned expression.

A cold wind passed by, gracing the leaves and making some brief sounds. The wind leaving with a trail in the form of chilly, close to freezing air. Damian weighted the question in his head. There was only ever-growing emptiness in his chest. After a long moment he spoke.

“I will live.” Damian answered softly, eyes completely fixed on the stone. “I’ll miss him, too...brother.” The young Robin unreservedly confessed, Jason looked slightly taken aback at the words Damian muttered. Damian’s emotions were expressed with snarky comments, throwing daggers and knives, making deadly threats and intimidating stares. He had an aggressive and confrontational demeanor. Damian has never called Jason brother, but it made his lips curl into a small smile. Yes, he was his brother.

Damian was vaguely aware of Jason’s body heat now at his side, followed by Richard who was helped by Tim to stand up, his chest sore from sobbing, black suit covered in dirt but he didn’t seem to care. Meaningless material assets, nothing compared to the irreparable loss they suffered hours ago. Steph took a couple of steps closer to them, her eyes, twins pools of sadness, red and swollen, soon the Wayne siblings gathered around their youngest brother. Embracing tightly the teenager into a group hug.

They shared the same deep numbing pain, but it's more agonizing for Damian because he had been there when it happened, they all knew Damian was suffering so much. The feeling ate him inside, consuming and breaking every part of him miserably. But he isn’t alone anymore, he has his family with him. Damian’s tears are hot and travel down his tanned cheeks, he didn’t want to cry but he couldn’t hold it in any longer, the heartache, the loss, agony, guilt, everything was hitting him all at once. It hurt so much knowing full well that Alfred won't wake up ever again from this neverending deep sleep, buried under the ground lonely and cold and breathless. His grandfather.

It'll be just the the eight of them and it is frightening to accept the truth, that Alfred wouldn’t be around anymore to look after them like he did after all these years. Ever since he first set foot in the Wayne manor. He would me missed every single day. Rchard’s heart broke at the sight of Damian in such crumbling state, his characteristic composure fallen and so alien after living together so many years. Damian was broken too. Dick did the only thing he could think of, patted him affectionately on the back, rubbing it soothingly, mumbling quietly “We are here, Dami.” Letting him know they were all there for him in every possible way. They would try to carry our Alfred’s last wish, for them to get along, integrate, be an harmonious family. Be true siblings. Always Alfred’s children. Together they sang farewell to Alfred with broken chords.

I am not sure if I want to edit this later but here s the progress. I might add Bruce’s part later or tomorrow. My tribute to Alfred 💜❤️❤️❤️

@sofiii @chromium7sky @deep-in-mind67

[bjy-on-ao3]

Kinktober Day 14

(As before, you can find a link to the AO3 version of this and the rest of my Kinktober 2020 prompts on the ‘Masterlist’ section of the blog.)

Originally I was gonna go with a straight-up ‘sex for information’ take on this, but someone else covered that idea pretty well in the past so I decided to go in this direction instead. Also despite trying to cut out a lot of exposition this still went a good deal longer (and filthier) than others thus far. So, uh, #sorry not sorry? (Trigger warning I guess for a bit of degradation/misogynist name-calling?)

Kinktober Day 14: Stranger S*x (Izaya Orihara | Durarara!!)

Somehow, you had found yourself a few brief blocks and a train ride away from some penthouse apartment alone with a dark-haired stranger whom you were sure had intentions more than just sharing his knowledge. Though what he likely had in mind you had little qualms with. He was handsome enough and from the time you had spent speaking with him at the club you had met him in, he wasn’t going to murder you. Probably. 

So long as your luck wasn’t exceptionally bad, you could have some fun and perhaps get on his good side and pry more knowledge about your new city home from him. There was no looking past that he knew his way around Ikebukuro and Shinjuku nearby.

To his credit, there wasn’t any funny business immediately and a part of you was a little disappointed. Settled down on the plush black sectional, the conversation you had begun at the club and the train ride carried on. There was no more alcohol or strobing lights or loud music to distract you. Only the confident, casual way the man talked and gestured and the relaxed atmosphere between you. Though slowly the two of you inched closer on the couch, the barest husky hints suffusing your tones. Eventually, a hand was laid on your thigh, the man continuing to speak, though his face and yours considerably closer.

He gave you time before he escalated further, judging your body language and the look in your eyes. He remained adamant in his belief that he was no pervert like Kishitani, but that didn’t mean he was above taking an easy way to satisfy needs he couldn’t deny he had. Fortunately for him, you were easy to read and there was no misunderstanding the signs you were giving off. You made no attempt to move away from his touch, not even a flinch. Your pupils were dilated wide, your attention rapt on him, and several times he watched how your gaze flickered down to his lips and back as he spoke. You had been given ample opportunities to break away and had taken none of them.

When he finally leaned in, hand pushing a more insistently against your thigh, and caught your lips in a bruising kiss, you had done the opposite of faltering. You melted into the advance, one hand fisting the angled neckline of his shirt. It was no effort to maneuver you onto you back on the cushions and cage you in with his hands on either side of your head.

With a few coy nips on your bottom lip, he slipped his tongue into your mouth. He coaxed your tongue to follow it back into his mouth, twisting and tangling before returning to your own, an erotic dance that demanded your attention and turned you into a pliant puddle. You massaged along his arms and chest through the dark fabric, enjoying the hard feel of the lean body beneath, now and then dragging a nail or two along the open vee of his shirt.

You snaked one hand up to his sleek black hair, giving a light tug that made him make a small, low sound and invigorated his ardent kiss. It was quickly clear just making out lying on the couch wasn’t nearly enough for either of you, however enticing it was. You interrupted the lip lock to greedily remove suddenly far too restricting clothes, His shirt fell into a pile beside the sectional along with your shirt, pants, and bra, leaving you far more bare than him.

You didn’t have the time or mind to complain though when he shoved you back down onto the sofa, pressing his teeth and tongue into the soft skin of your neck and collar. You arched your back, giving yourself more fully to his mouth and moaned at the delightful pinch. Though you weren’t about to be completely distracted, your hands moving to fumble with his belt. He broke away with a low laugh. “Aren’t you eager? I guess it shouldn’t surprise me since you came along so easily. What a little slut you must be to be so easy,” He derided. 

His hot breath on your skin in combination with his words sent a shudder through you, halting your task. He could see how your cheeks flushed redder, not with indignation, but with embarrassment. He slipped a hand down between you, dipping past the line of your panties and sliding a finger along the slick folds he found there. “Ooh, and you like being told as much~” He purred, punctuating his words with an especially sharp nip to your neck. “Aren’t I lucky?”

You bit down on your lip, wanting to disprove his claims despite the wetness still pooling between your legs as his fingers lingered in your underwear. “I’m not a slu-uuuuh,” Instead of refuting his words as you had intended, they morphed into a groan when one of his fingers dipped shallowly into your cunt, his thumb finding your clit. 

He appeared thoroughly amused by your denial. “You were saying?” He mocked, his tone playful, but a little cruel. “If you’re not such a slut then why is your tight little pussy dripping wet for me already?” He insisted, easing a second finger inside you. His shit-eating grin widened when you clenched unbidden around his fingers in answer. 

For a moment you hated your body for betraying how much you enjoyed the humiliation. That moment passed quickly once he began to work your cunt more thoroughly, pumping his slender fingers in and out, digits sinking in with little resistance thanks to your wetness. Any mind remaining to challenge his claims vanished, lost in a haze of bliss and coiling tension in your core. You squirmed beneath him on the sectional, goal of undoing his belt also long forgotten in the throes of pleasure. “Aaa, fuck,” You cursed, one hand balled in the fabric of the couch, the other clinging to his slender waist, nails digging into the skin. “I-I’m go-” You began breathily, feeling the coil of heat readying to burst.

At your words, he pulled his fingers away and left you completely bereft of his touch. He grinned at the petulant whine that left your lips from his withdrawal. “What a cute look.” He seemed far too cheerful over your distress. “Admit what a whore you are and tell me what you want and maybe I’ll reward you~,” He told you, coppery eyes gleeful and hungry as they bore into yours.

If your face had been on fire before, it became an inferno with his words. But you couldn’t help but oblige him and his waiting smirk. “I’m a filthy little slut,” you groaned to start, feeling the burning heat of your words in your cheeks and core. “Please, fuck me, let me cum,” you begged.

From how wide the smile on his face became, you figured he was satisfied with your words. “Was that so hard?” His tone dripped with amusement and ridicule. He moved to undo his belt and pants, wriggling out of them and tossing them along with his underwear onto the floor. Pulling your panties away and pitching them aside as well, he stretched his body along yours. “You can call me Izaya, by the way. I’m sure that’s something you’ll need to know soon enough,” he whispered in your ear, words oozing his smugness.

He pressed into you agonizingly slowly, ensuring you felt every inch and burn as his cock stretched you open. You swore under your breath and whimpered, delighting in the increasing feeling of fullness until he finally bottomed out. Unmoving for to start, both to allow you to adjust and to savor the hot, soft feeling of your cunt around him, he began a slow, rough tempo that soon turned you a panting, keening mess. “Aah, you take my cock like such a good little whore,” he groaned into your neck, fingers digging harshly into your hips.

You felt yourself tighten around him in response to his words again, opting to distract him from your shame by dragging your nails along his shoulders and back. He hissed and swore at the sting, bucking his hips harder and faster into you, his pubic bone brushing against your clit and adding just the extra amount of friction you needed. An intense heat was pooling again, threatening to explode. You came hard, feeling the pleasure roll through you in waves and your body clutch his cock even tighter. In your newfound knowledge, his name rolled off your tongue again and again as you rode out of your high, scratching more lines of angry red into his skin.

“Mm, since you’ve been such a good whore for me, I’m gonna give you that reward I promised,” He growled, his words broken by labored breaths and his pace becoming even rougher and more erratic. His hips stiffened, and he groaned low and primal, his cum spilling out in thick, hot spurts until he was unmoving against you.

Heavy, hot silence hung in the air for a time after, interrupted only by your winded breathing and the occasional moan from lingering sensitivity. “You know,” You started, shattering it, “You never got my name, even if I got yours,” you mused, brain still partly mush.

He chuckled tiredly. “Oh, but I did - I know everything and everyone in this city. What makes you think you’re any different?”

[slothcritic]

Dragon Ball Z Abridged - Episode 5 Review

Weird yet creative cutaways with strong overarching momentum.

Vegeta: Kills Bugs Dead opens with Goku finally reaching the end of Snake Way and the end of his journey to reach King Kai. The "nice job, jackass" as Goku literally craters into the planet sets the tone for this character in a big way. We're also treated to the incredible hijinks of Vegeta and Nappa.

[Title Sequence]

The pit-stop at Arlia at least receives a well-fitted and rather hilarious incarnation in this series. Even though the episode alternates its focus between King Kai and Arlia, I'm going to talk at length about Arlia first, and then move onto the King Kai segments.

I'm already going into this scene with some personal bias, as the "stronger guy playing along with the weaker guy because it'd be funny" trope is one of my favorites. And here we have exactly this. Vegeta and Nappa allow themselves to be captured and thrown in jail by the Arlians, where they meet an assortment of varied bug characters.

"Don't drop the soap" seems a little outdated for the modern style of TFS, as I feel they've leaned away from really older, cruder, less PC subject matters like calling someone retarded or insinuating prison rape, etc, but it fits Nappa's character completely as someone who is childish, crass, annoying for the sake of being annoying, and kind of a jerk. TFS has at least acknowledged the idea of possibly re-dubbing Season 1 with better equipment and perhaps a more refined script, and I dearly hope they keep this line unedited simply for the sake of nailing Nappa’s character identity.

After very nearly becoming a prison bitch, Vegeta decides he's had enough and promptly kabooms his way out of prison, landing smack-dab in the middle of a coliseum with the king of Arlia and his queen.

Nappa's blunt manner of introducing himself with simply "Hi." will never age.

It’s noteworthy that scene is also the first moment we get a good look at Vegeta as a character. Nappa was firmly established as the goofball from the start, but Vegeta's portrayal has more depth to it than could be conveyed in one-liners. Most of which is just sass, smug pride, and anger, but still.

It's also made clear very quickly that despite their bantering idiocy and gruff talk that they're not just for show, as Nappa no-diff's the thirteen elite Arlian guards with a massive shock wave that we later see level a city.

The king and queen are then more or less blackmailed into fucking. Nappa's eager fascination during this whole scene, the descriptions, visual edits and sound design are... Well, there's no other way to put it, it's fucked up. And it is hilarious! These are some very creative takes and decisions that were made entirely for internal experience of the show itself rather than as a parody of something else. Nappa even takes a photograph of it and sends it to Vegeta, since he's abstained from watching.

The comedic jabs don't stop there either, as Nappa tries to adopt the Arlian Rancor, but just like the kid who can't sit still, Nappa ends up breaking everything he plays with. Just as Vegeta is about to kill the king, rocks begin flying around the coliseum.

"What are you doing?"

Vegeta smirks. "I'm about to rock you, like a hurricane." And then boom, he hurls a rock into the king and kills him. Let's put a pin in that brick joke for later.

The long flashback scene doesn't play any music, which feels like a weird editing misstep after a series of home runs. They leave the planet as heroes, and Nappa sets Vegeta up for another predictable bit of mood whiplash, where Vegeta obliterates the entire planet. This is a huge escalation in power scale compared to everything else we have seen thus far. But then, this is Dragon Ball Z. We've already reached “destroying planets” at only the fifth episode, and everyone knows that it only goes well past 11 on the dial from here on out.

Granted, there is controversy in the official version about whether or not this would’ve been possible for Saiyan Saga Vegeta, considering Arlia is not canon, but I will not be considering that simply because DBZA contains no filler. Everything shown in the flagship series (not counting movies, DBZA Kai, or other shorts) is presented as being canon to DBZA. Also, Vegeta and Nappa are shown standing outside of their pods... in the vacuum of space. Series veterans will understand the massive can of worms this opens. I'm looking at you, Battle of Gods.

Once everyone, including the people that they JUST SAVED from a tyrannical king, have been reduced to space dust, Nappa closes off this scene nicely.

Now that we've discussed Arlia, let's focus on King Kai's role in the episode.

He explains to Goku that the planet has high gravity due to it's small size. Gregory from off-screen pipes up that this doesn't make any sense. I suppose "higher planet density" wasn't considered when writing the script - or perhaps it was, and they just decided that the easy answer wasn't the funniest one. Maybe “there’s an incredibly powerful pirate trapped in the core of the planet, which is why the gravity is so strong" was deemed better for a parody.

Honestly, I agree. Bojack works as an in-the-know reference, and is also fleshed out enough within the show that a newcomer would understand what's being discussed.

At the time of this review, the Bojack Abridged movie has not yet been released, but this is easily one of the longest brick jokes in all of DBZA, since Episode 5 was released in 2008 and it is my expectation that Bojack Abridged will be released within the year, leaving in its wake an 11 year old callback.

When King Kai asks Goku why he had been sought out, Goku explains that the Saiyans are coming to Earth and he requires training. Excellent fade-in and musical choice for Goku's uncharacteristically serious speech to King Kai.

Of course, it gets cut off at the peak swell with King Kai's indifferent "sure", leaving Goku gobsmacked.

In this series, King Kai's indifference and easy acceptance of Goku is attributed to the mind-numbing loneliness of only having a monkey and a grasshopper (cricket, sorry) to talk to for the last 500 years. Goku agrees, as he couldn't imagine anything more boring.

Major flash-forward to Namek. Just this scene being here at all is a major instance of a sequence break. But it is the introduction of another exceptionally interesting character in the series.

In terms of placement, this works as a long-term cutaway gag and reminiscent humor but not much else. We're still about half a season away from even considering Namek within the story, and the Saiyans haven't even arrived on Earth yet. The decision to slide this segment into the middle of this episode leaves some serious questions in my mind. But at face value, it's not that bad.

We're treated to a solid ten seconds of just staring at a massive fat green alien while birds chirp in the background. We hear a fish go "plonk!" in the water, and Lord Guru calls for someone named Nail, who looks a lot like Piccolo, to approach him.

"I saw a fish. That was all, you can go back outside now." 

Definitely reinforces the point of boring. And while Nail is lamenting how boring his job is, Lord Guru tells him that he saw a bird and then promptly instructs him to "kick its ass."

But we’re not Nail, are we? We’re the viewer, and for some reason in the human mind, segments of extremely boring content usually pique our interest even more, because we have it drilled into our psyche that something is going to happen to break the tension sooner or later. That notion, the idea of slowly leaning closer to the monitor during the ten long seconds of a single still image, both conveys the boring tone of Namek, but also leaves the reader waiting in anticipation long enough for these dull scenes to just fade from their perspective and only latch onto the climatic moment. In this case, Guru commanding his apparent servant/bodyguard to assault a fish.

Not to overstate the obvious, but if it’s not the viewer’s own sense of tension and curiosity, it’s the pure absurdism and characterization of Guru that carries this scene. Disregarding source material, the design of Guru is meant to make him look old, wise and compassionate. Making him a lazy, annoying, verbally violent fatass is a near-infinite cash cow of writing material. It’s very difficult for me to judge this scene unbiased, knowing what comes next, but I imagine this would be a tryhard non-sequitur at worst, or promising potential for the future at best, with regards to this scene on its own, within the context of this episode and nothing more.

This episode also saw the genesis of perhaps not the first, but one of the most popular jokes in all of DBZA: Piccolo just jobbing the shit out of Gohan. DODGE! The scenes chosen and the delivery are outstanding compliments to this cheesy, simplistic joke. At this point I feel it's important to address that my editorial reflections or descriptions of these skits are relative to the context of these episodes. Even with the best of what this episode has to offer, we're still in peak 2008 internet humor era. The use of the word "outstanding" here will not carry a similar significance should I use it to describe a later episode.

Also the most random cutaway in all of DBZA, full-stop, is the brief look into the Hall of Justice, as Superman, Batman and Aquaman debate how they will stop the approaching Saiyans. This is humorous only in its absurdity, but less-endearingly than Guru was. Even if this scene makes zero sense, and relies upon an almost lower form of comedy than slapstick, Aquaman's voice is still just Krillin's voice. At least Superman and Batman sound different than the main cast. I'm really tempted to dislike this more, but the lackadaisical attitude and context of the whole scene definitely draws your eye more than a lot of the sensible but base-line plot progression of the story. I don't know if it belongs. To me, this scene just screams out that TFS is flinging spaghetti wildly at the wall, any and everything that might be funny, and while some of it sticks for one reason or another, (Jadoshin as Solid Snake, Antics on Arlia, even Guru's abrupt cameo) some of it flops. If anything, this show builds upon the corpses of its failures, and learns what works and what doesn't work surprisingly quickly.

Conclusion

Bizarre, but I liked it. Nothing in this episode that's bad is memorable. I might criticize the Namek cutaway for being out of place, but after letting this review sit for a few days, I just remember Goku saying "Man, nothing could be more boring than that!" and the immediate cut to Namek, and Nail pleading for the love of his sanity for something to happen. I might criticize the Justice League cutaway for being wildly out of the place, but I just remember "WHAAAAAALES!"

The meat of the episode was also decent, as it establishes Goku training under King Kai, and Piccolo's continued training of Gohan, the origin of DODGE! and the realization that Gohan can transform into an Ozaru. And you can nod your head and say that these may be necessary to the story all day, but they're also presented with... let's call it a clumsy grace. It's not bad, but it's miles away from official dub quality. This is in essence what the benchmark or gold standard was for early abridging back in 2008. The quality that TFS will continue to evolve the series into simply defies all logic or explanation, and in comparison makes these episodes look downright crude. 

But let's face it, if Episode 1 began with a person lying on the ground and shot in both kneecaps, Episode 5 shows that same person at least hobbling down the street to the hospital. 

It might not look pretty on the whole, and some of the dialogue might be clunky, but it seems like a lot of the flaws in this episode are simply caused by being products of their time.

Whether we're looking at Namek or The Hall of Justice, even the most outlandish oddities of this episode have still made me laugh. That's really the end of it.

Score: 75

Passing Thoughts

"I hope something exciting happens around here soon. I don't care what it is." - Ominous!

"You're surrounded by my thirteen elite *KABOOM* ...dead guards."

"SUMMON THE RANCOR!"

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. Oh, I very much enjoyed writing this. It was too perfect. I combined it with some of my own ideas and well… I guess I got a little carried away. So without further ado… Enjoy, everyone! ;-)

Words: 3829 (oops) Warnings: smut

Concentration is the key to all success. You need to channel your powers in order to be able to use them to their full extent.

You scoffed, setting the book aside. This was easier said than done. How would you possibly concentrate with all that testosterone-filled superhero fuss around you? It’s not like you had wanted to be an Avenger in the first place! Fine, you did have magical powers that equalled telekinesis but that didn’t make you a hero. You considered yourself an anti-hero, if anything. Unfortunately, Fury had had a different opinion.

Growling angrily, you made your way back to the library. Doctor Strange had been kind enough to leave you some magic books with which you could improve your skills. Only reading and learning in theory wouldn’t get you anywhere on a long term. You needed help. A teacher, or a master of magic, someone who was exceptionally skilled in… instantly, you froze in place. There was in fact a person who knew his magic tricks better than anyone else on this planet and much to your luck, this person happened to be present in the Avengers manor with his foster brother Thor right now.

It was fire you would be playing with but it was going to be worth the risk—you were desperate and frustrated. You’d only have to wait until everyone else was asleep.

Unluckily, it wasn’t as easy as you had expected when you sneaked out of your room past midnight. Vision naturally didn’t need any sleep and he was ghosting around like a possessed poltergeist in a haunted mansion when he didn’t know what else to do, which made it a lot harder for you to get to the other end of the manor—to the very room Loki had been put in.

Fury had insisted on treating him like a prisoner for as long as he was here. You couldn’t exactly blame him for that decision; after all, he had tried to take over the world and killed quite a bunch of people in the process but it posed yet another difficulty to overcome before you could ask the famous Trickster for help.

Only God knew if Loki would actually aid you at that but you figured it was worth a try. You were running out of options and as long as Hela was on the run, roaming through the realms and destroying everything in her path, you were in some serious need of being able to defend yourself.

You hesitated to knock when you finally reached his room. He was usually never asleep at this time but reading in bed instead, this much you knew from spying on him, or, what you preferred to call it, admiring him from afar. Sometimes you wondered whether he had nightmares that kept him from slumber at night.

“Loki? Are you awake?” You whispered, opening the door just a smidge so you could peek inside the room. The lights were on as you proceeded to step into the room and quietly closed the door behind you.

Loki looked up from his book, confusion written all over his face. He wasn’t used to visitors then. Inexplicably, the thought of this filled you with sadness. He’d done bad things but that was no reason to treat him like vermin for as long as he was a guest here on Earth… right?

“What do you want?” He asked, his silky voice sending a shiver down your spine. You had known he was intimidating, not that he was attractive, charming and seductive. SHIELD should have prepared you a lot better before sending you here.

“I… need some help,” you started timidly, looking at your fingernails as you did. Loki frowned.

“Then I suggest you bother my brother or one of the other brainless monkeys that took up quarters in this manor,” he spat mockingly before attending to his book again. You pouted. It came pretty close to what you had expected from his first reaction. Tilting your head, you attempted to make out the title of his reading. It was a magic book—ironic, really, for it was just what you needed.

“Loki… I need your help.” You insisted, cautiously allowing yourself to step further into the room. There was still a possibility that he would snap and harm you, after all, something you had to be prepared for at all times. As long as you couldn’t rely on your telekinesis, it was gonna have to be pure strength and speed though. Quite frankly, your odds were long against the Trickster himself.

The God of Mischief sighed, rolling his eyes before setting his book aside to look you straight in the eye. The beautiful blue in them almost made you flinch with its sheer intensity.

“Whatever is the matter, mortal?”

“You can do magic,” you started. You focused on the bridge of his nose—the way his eyes bore into yours made you nervous, made your heart beating faster. That is not supposed to happen.

“Very much so,” he replied with a scornful smirk. You nodded.

“I can too. Well, a bit. I was born with telekinetic abilities I found out about only a few months ago. I’ve been trying, desperately, to control them ever since then but no matter what I try, no matter what books I read… I can’t do it. I was… I was wondering if you could help me improving my skills. If what Thor said about Hela is true, I will need them.”

Loki was silent for a moment, as if he was weighing which way was best to respond; or much rather, if he could obtain an advantage for himself by helping you.

“Telekinesis you say?”

“Yeah,”

He smirked once more. Damn, why did he have to look so handsome when he did that?!

“Why would I help you?” Scoffing, you dared to look at him once more. That was the second reaction you had expected from him. And you had come up with a plan for it.

“What do you want?”

“What do you offer in return?” He shot back.

You had no money—something Loki wouldn’t be interested in anyway—other than that… there was nothing you could possibly give him. You were useless when it came to helping him keep his Asgardian throne and you certainly couldn’t let him out of the manor.

“I have nothing but… myself, Loki.” You responded shyly.

Again, the Trickster frowned. This time, however, it was paired with a brief flashing in his blue eyes. Anticipation, perhaps? Determination? Whatever it was, it scared you a little. But you were in too deep to chicken out now.

“Now please don’t tell me you are going to prostitute yourself for my tutoring.”

Why yes. This was exactly what you intended to. Loki was an outrageously good-looking guy and you were sure he had neglected his own sexual needs for a while now, busy with ascending the throne of Asgard and all that. Perhaps it was wrong to do such a thing and use the opportunity to sleep with an actual god… but you were running out of options and that quite literally. The lack of success with your powers drained you, tore you apart from the inside out. At times, you felt like you were going to burst with the energy living within you but untrained, your ability uncontrollable beyond measure up to a certain point, you would sooner or later get yourself killed. And you certainly had no intention to die already.

“Why not?” You finally answered with a shrug, acting nonchalant. In reality, you felt like throwing up. Of course, you did have doubts about this. Loki was so different from all the men you had ever bedded… as a mortal, you were highly unlikely able to satisfy him.

It was like he had read your mind when he spoke up again.

“Oh dear… what could you possibly offer me that I could not receive from an Asgardian goddess?”

Swallowing, you bit your lower lip. Exactly. He had a point. You were but a mere mortal, magical powers or not. But you were not going to give up just yet.

“Blind obedience? S-submission? You’re a king now, aren’t you?” His eyes flashed once more. This time, you could see clearly what it was. And you knew then you had won—it was hunger.

Pacing up and down the library, you grew restless, nervous for what was about to come. Loki had actually agreed on teaching you. It was unbelievable. Today, he had wanted to meet you twenty minutes ago here in the library. Maybe he had tricked you after all and was laughing his luscious arse off now that you were waiting for him in vain and had on top of that offered your body to him like a filthy whore!

Panic flooded you. Perhaps you should just go back to Doctor Strange and ask him for help instead. You were pretty sure you wouldn’t have to sleep with him to get some lessons—

It was then, however, Loki suddenly appeared right before you as you turned around. A scream escaped your lips, your mind moving the shelves around you so a handful of books fell to the ground. Great, now you had to clean that up.

“So it is emotions that trigger your powers. Fascinating,” Loki purred with a smirk as he tilted his head to examine you like a painting. Grunting, you crossed your arms.

“Where were you? You told me to meet here twenty minutes ago!”

“I am a king, little girl. I have certain duties to fulfil.”

“Oh, of course, your majesty. I’m terribly sorry.” You gave back sarcastically. “Loki, please, just help me now!”

“You think I will be able to teach you the depths of magic within a day? It took me centuries to master illusions alone.”

“Yeah but I don’t have a couple of centuries of spare time. In fact, I don’t even have a decade. You might have noticed that a certain goddess of death is trying to kill us all.”

“Do you want me to help you or not?” He suddenly spat, glaring at you as if he wanted to set you on fire. His blue eyes bore into yours, sending ice cold shivers up and down your spine. You were instantly reminded of how dangerous he really was. Or, of how dangerous he could be. You hadn’t forgotten about your “payment” yet, after all.

“Sorry,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze to focus on his boots instead. Loki nodded, materialising a book out of thin air. For just a split second, his hands were surrounded by a green glow—his seidr, you assumed—then, he handed it to you.

“Before I can properly teach you anything at all, you will read this book. It has been in my mo-… Frigga’s possession long before your precious Doctor Strange even saw the light of the day.” Frowning, you stared at the binding. It looked rather ancient, its pages yellowed and the smooth leather battered. You could tell its content was about self-control and emotions when handling magic, when you opened it to peek inside, however, you were met with gibberish of foreign letters. Runes? Was this Old Norse?

“Loki, I can’t read that. I don’t speak… whatever this is.”

The God of Mischief rolled his eyes. He waved his hands once more, another shimmer of green washing over the book in your hands. When you looked down at the letters once more, the whole text was written in English.

“Thanks,” you whispered in awe, your fear mixing with admiration for the unusual man… god… before you. It confirmed that you had indeed made the right choice by asking him for help.

“Read it until dusk. I’ll check if you have and then, little girl, we can start getting that lovely ability of yours under control.” Only you were certain he wasn’t talking about your telekinetic skills only.

Two weeks passed, with you secretly meeting up with Loki after dusk every day so he could teach you how to control your supernatural powers. He had stopped treating you like a curiosity but apparently still took a lot of pleasure in mocking you. Oddly enough, he hadn’t mentioned with a word when he would get back to that “payment” matter.

You decided not to be bothered by it for now. Much more important was to concentrate on what Loki had taught you. Tonight, you were practising in the library together. There had been a few quite remarkable successes already, with you being able to move around books and rearranging the shelves by using nothing but your mind; and now it seemed like Loki had decided to take it to the next level. Lifting furniture off the ground and letting it hover in the air for a full minute would “suffice his expectations”, he had said. “You need to be able to control yourself even in your sleep. That’s when you’ll be good enough,” he had said.

So that’s what you tried. Biting your tongue to focus, your eyes locked with the round table and its two armchairs to make it hover in the air as if dozens of invisible hands were holding it above their equally invisible heads. It worked. It worked well!

It worked until Loki walked up right behind you, his hands resting on your hips and his hot breath brushing against your neck.

“Very good. Concentrate,” he purred. And with that, the furniture came crashing down to the ground again, beaten by gravity. The moment the wood collided with the tiles on the floor was also the moment about a hundred books were ripped from their shelves to clatter to the ground.

You swallowed. This was definitely not how to control your powers. Loki had said your telekinesis was being influenced by emotions. Well, the God of Mischief certainly awoke one kind of emotion. Shivers ran up and down your spine when he chuckled, his breath trailing down your neck.

“Now that was disappointing,” he mocked. You could tell he was smirking, having you furrow your brows and turn around in an instant, irked by his scornful comment.

“That’s not fair! You were distracting me!”

“Now, now, I was merely touching you. Is that… so distractive?”

Yes, you wanted to say.

He knew he had you there. Loki had noticed a couple of days ago already how your longing gaze roamed over him whenever you’d thought he wouldn’t notice. But he had. Every single, lustful glare, he had seen and slowly, it had started to make sense to him as to why you had offered your body to him in exchange for his teaching in the first place.

Embarrassing. Had you been this obvious all along?

“You were not. But I am God of Mischief, little girl. I can read you like a book,” he remarked as if he had read your thoughts. His smirk grew even wider, his blue eyes sparkling with… with desire?

“Get on your knees,” he suddenly snapped.

You blinked, your eyes widening in disbelief. Yes. This was the confusing thing about Loki. You never knew what you were getting yourself into. His moods were unpredictable, his many motives all but unfathomable.

“W-wait, w-w-what?” You chirped.

“I said get on your knees.” His tone was commanding now, intimidating even. So this was how he had convinced a crowd to kneel before him in Stuttgart. Instantly, you obeyed him, looking up at him in both awe and fear of what to expect. Your legs connected with the cool floor beneath you, your heart beating like a steam hammer. God, you would faint if he kept examining you like innocent prey that he had hunted down just for the fun of it.

“I believe you have had enough practise for today.”

You couldn’t help but nod, feeling like you were in a trance as Loki strolled over, hovering above you like the powerful god he was. Swallowing once more, you bit your lower lip.

“Loki…” It was a question that wouldn’t escape your lips. What are you doing? What’s going to happen? Clearly, he understood, for he smirked once more—this time truly maliciously.

“How I would love to put that pretty mouth of yours to some good use for a change.” He explained as he fumbled around with the hem of his leathern armour, attempting to free his growing erection. For just a split second, you dared to look down, only to discover the massive bulge in his pants. Your breathing became faster, a tingling sensation between your legs urging him on.

He was referring to your loose tongue, to the way you spoke to him when you were vexed and when things didn’t go your way. You usually dared to counter something cheeky when Loki slipped another mocking statement—and you loved it. You loved provoking him and, so you could tell, he enjoyed teasing you. Only now he was getting back at you and you were completely at his mercy.

A treacherous pull in your lower regions erupted at the very thought of it just when his hard cock sprang free. Loki let his pants slid down to his own knees, offering you an equally delicious sight of his slim but muscly thighs.

“Suck,” he commanded, his blue eyes wide with lust and want. Still, you hesitated. This was not your first time giving someone a blowjob but Loki was big. Bigger than all the other guys you had dated. His thick cock twitched under your greedy look, threatening with just how enormous he was. Your fear returned. He’s a god, he’s a god, he’s a god… your mind kept repeating. You’ll never live up to his expectations.

Another second passed. Your mouth was watering by now, anticipating joyfully finally taking him between your lips and tasting him. Immediately you wondered what it would be like. Would he taste like frost and winter? Like mischief and malice? How did those two taste anyway?

Finally, you leaned forward, supporting yourself by pressing your palms against his thighs and pushed the pink tip of him between your lips, flicking your tongue over his slit and making him buck his hips. You would have smiled if you’d been able to. He tasted so much better than you had imagined.

Braver now, you took him deeper into your mouth and began sucking him like a sweet popsicle as your right hand travelled up his thigh to caress his balls. He was leaking with precum already, you could taste the indefinable saltiness on your tongue. Had you done that? He could have gotten horny without you being present, after all, there was no doubt about that but now, all you could hear was silent growls escaping his slightly parted lips. He was enjoying himself as he glimpsed down at you imperiously. You were giving him this pleasure. The dirty thought filled you with pride.

It burned you to reach between your legs and grant yourself a little relief as well. With every movement of your head, with every lick of your tongue, you grew wetter and needier. Still, you resisted. Loki would punish you if you focused on your own bliss right now. That you were sure of.

Kneading his balls, you released him with a noisy pop and licked up and down his twitching length, devouring his dick with relish before taking him in as deep as you could once more.

It was then Loki lost his composure, his patience, his consideration, whatever it was. Snarling like a lion, he suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, causing you to deep throat him. Your eyes widened in shock. What? Fuck, no, this was way too much!

You gagged around him, struggling to pull away to catch your breath but either, Loki didn’t care or he was too caught up in his pleasure to notice your discomfort. Bucking his hips again and again, he fucked your mouth so furiously your neck started aching from the pressure.

It felt too intense, too much but… at the same time it felt… hot, intriguing and arousing. He wouldn’t choke you, now would he? He had told you he could read you like a book, he would know if it really got too much for you, right?

Your pussy was dripping by now, your core aching with desire, begging for attention. Your whole body had heated up, demanding the pleasure you denied yourself… if you asked him nicely later, would he grant you some release as well? You hoped so.

There was a faint noise in the background shortly before Loki stilled, moaning so loudly you feared he could wake someone or attract Vision’s attention. You soon realised it was your telekinetic powers sending even more books flying across the room in your ecstasy. God. You really needed to work on that.

The God of Mischief, albeit only smirked as you peeked up at him with his cock buried deep in your mouth as it repeatedly hit the back of your throat. You gagged again but refused to pull away now, for you were eager to watch his expression when he came.

His impressive member started twitching inside your mouth, restlessly pressing against your tongue as he growled again and then, you could feel—taste rope after rope of his warm and sticky cum shooting down your throat.

You didn’t even give it a second thought. Fervidly, you swallowed every last drop of him, your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head elatedly. He did taste like frost and winter, in his very own way.

“Yes. Swallow all of me, little girl.” Loki hummed. He sounded… exhausted. Him! The Trickster God himself, exhausted from using your mouth like a toy, from you pushing him over the edge, making him orgasm with your tongue!

After making sure he had given you everything he’d had, you released him, his tight grip on your hair loosening. Your lips were swollen and reddened, this much you could tell as you watched his cock softening again after his downright delicious treatment. You could hear Loki taking a deep breath.

“Now look at the mess you made,” He teased. Strangely, however, you had the naughty feeling he wasn’t talking about the scattered books but much rather your soaked panties.

“You could have forewarned me about calling in your payment.” You complained jokingly, licking your lips to make sure you had indeed swallowed all of his hot and delicious seed as you got up again and watched him pulling up his pants. God, asking Loki for help with your powers had been the best idea you had ever had.

“Oh no, little girl,” Loki smirked, his voice throaty and hoarse as he glanced at you mischievously, your heart skipping a beat at his words. “This was only a deposit.”

[nikxation]

If you're still doing these. #43, Stan twins. Please?

It has been almost three weekssince something interesting lasthappened on the Stan O’ War, and Ford swears he’s about to lose his mind.

The lack of activity, themundaneness, the boredom of it all isdriving him to his wits’ end. He’d spent the last thirty years of his lifeconstantly on the move, maybe having a week of down-time at the most beforehe’d be off again, always running, never able to fully relax (barring his briefstint in Dimension 52). Thirty years of that life makes it exceptionally hard nowfor him to accept inactivity for extended periods of time.

Having three straight weeks of absolutelynothing is killing him.

Three weeks with no mainland stops,no mysterious islands, no strange or paranormal creatures, no mysteriouslightning storms, nothing. Just ocean, ocean, and more ocean. Even the trawlthey occasionally ran behind the boat came up with nothing interesting, onlycollecting garbage, debris, and the occasional herring.

Stan laughs at him when he grumblesabout having absolutely nothing to write in his journal at the end of the day,telling him to enjoy the peace while he can and that not everything has to be an adventure, Sixer. Relax a little.

Ford may not horde his trust as closeto his chest as he used to, but he still can’t trust the silence.

Silence means something big is justover the horizon.

Silence means danger is coming.

And danger isn’t as exciting as itonce was now that there’s more than just his own life on the line.

That, and he may also just be a bitbored too.

Which is why when Stan startscursing and hollering out on the deck late one afternoon, Ford immediately dropseverything he was doing, grabs his journal, and races out of the cabin, part ofhim hoping it’s nothing serious even as his treacherous mind hopes forsomething interesting.

He doesn’t expect to come out andfind his brother backed up against the outer wall of the cabin, a look of puredisgusted horror plastered on his face and directed at whatever he’s staring atnear the stern of the boat. Ford looks in that direction and sees nothing atall, eyebrows drawing together in confusion as he turns back to his brother andfinds him still staring at that spot.

“Stanley, what is it?” he asks, notat all understanding what has his brother in such a state of distress. He goesto walk towards the back of the boat, but Stan’s hand grabs onto his shoulderand pulls him back, making him stumble slightly. “Honestly, Stanley,” he tuts,shrugging the man’s hand off and continuing forward, steps lightly thudding onthe carbon-fiber deck as he glances around. “There’s nothing—”

“Don’t go any closer!” Stan calls,but that’s exactly when Ford notices it.

It’s some creature, cowering in thecorner of the deck, barely noticeable save for the slight sheen the sun givesits wet, translucent body, its form blob-like and shapeless, and he would havewritten the thing off as some basketball-sized aquatic egg sac or a jellyfishif it weren’t for the fact that it’s skin is rippling, the form undulating and shifting almost imperceptibly.

“Remarkable,” he breathes, takinganother few steps forward before stopping a couple of feet away from the thingand crouching down to get a better look, beyond excited that something isfinally happening.

“Sixer, get away from that thing,”Stan says, his voice tight.

“Oh please, Stanley,” Ford rollshis eyes, cracking open his journal and flipping to the next blank page. “Lookat it. It’s harmless.” He quickly sketches out the rough, gelatinous shape ofthe creature, writing quick notes in the margin about its transparent skin andlack of any visible internal organs and amorphous shape.

Isthe entire creature transparent? Is it actively camouflaging itself like achameleon? Possibly a deep-sea cephalopod of some sort, though it doesn’t seemto have any appendages or bodily orifices to speak of. Photosynthetic?

“I’m telling you, bro,” Stan saysfrom somewhere behind him. “That thing’s bad news.”

“And I’m telling you it’sharmless,” Ford sing-songs.

Itsbody seems to be in a constant state of flux, its entire being moving and shiftingin on itself in constant waves. This could be how it moves through the water.

“It looked a lot less harmless afew seconds ago when it had tentacles and climbed into the boat before turningitself into that pile of goop,” Stan says. Ford pauses.

“Come again?” he asks, stillwatching the creature carefully.

“I’m saying that thing looked a lotdifferent a minute ago, so I suggest you get away from it before—” Ford can’tstop his face from lighting up as he immediately goes back to his journal.

IfStan’s observations before I arrived are correct, then this creature couldpossibly be of the same (or at the least similar) genetic origin as Shifty! Theconstant undulations of its body could mean that its transformations areunstable, possibly making it Shifty’s predecessor.

“Ford, come on! I don’t trust it.Let’s just leave the damn thing alone for Pete’s—”

Orthere are possibly mutations in its original DNA that make it inherently moreunstable. That, or maybe it is unaccustomed to life out of the water, thoughthat doesn’t make sense considering it came on the boat on its own accord.Further testing is required. I will need to procure a small sample of its DNAto be sure—

“Ford! I’m not messing around! Getaway from—”

“Stanley, would you please relaxfor one second!” Ford exclaims, turning to look at his brother. “This is thefirst creature we have come across in weeksand I’ll be damned if I let it slip through our fingers because you’re a littleworried. So would you please just—” Stan’s eyes flash to thecreature behind him before widening in alarm, and Ford barely has enough timeto spin back around and catch a glimpse of the thing, now with spinous barbsprotruding from its body like a sea urchin, the bristles crystal clear likeshards of glass, yet as thin as needles, before the barbs shoots from its backin all directions.

There’s a moment where he feelssharp little stabs of pain in multiple places all over his body, and he randomlyremembers when he had to sew that first patch on his trench coat in DimensionM-616, and he managed to prick himself with the needle enough times to make hisfinger bleed quite profusely. He remembers it because he had apparently leftjust enough blood behind for the Dimensional Border Patrol to identify andtrack him with, forcing him to jump dimensions and accidentally leave behind hislast pair of undamaged glasses that he had gotten from Dimension 0*67. He hadbeen beyond livid.

Then, there’s another moment wherehe considers whether the creature is capable of re-growing the amount of massit just expelled attacking him, and the implications that ability could have onmodern medicine.

It’s with that thought that every skeletalmuscle in his body shuts down all at once, giving one final spasm strong enoughto throw him to the ground before everything goes completely numb and hisvision goes dark.

“Shit!”

Stan sees the spikes a moment toolate, just about to lunge for Ford when the thing shoots those glass-likeneedles in all directions, somehow scurries back overboard, and hits the waterwith a loud splash, hopefully gone for good.

The next second, Ford’s entire bodygoes completely rigid and then collapses in a heap, Stan just barely reachinghim in time to stop his head from smacking the hull of the boat.

“Shit shit shit shit shit…”

He cradles his brother’s head inhis lap and immediately starts yanking out those clear barbs, finding themeverywhere on his front, from his chest to the tops of his legs to a few on hisneck and face. There are just so many of the damn things, and just when hethinks he’d pulled the last of them he spots five more somewhere else. He justkeeps yanking, hoping against all hope that whatever that thing hit him withisn’t…

He’sbreathing. He’s breathing. It’s okay. He’s still breathing.

Fornow.

“Ford!” he says, lightly hittingthe side of his face to try to rouse him. “Come on, bro. Wake up! I don’t knowwhat to do here!” He spots another barb, one that he must have missed, andpulls the thing out. “Come on Sixer. Wake up!” He gives his shoulder a shake.“Wake up wake up wake up.” He has no idea what to do, has no idea what thatthing did, has no idea how to find out. Ford would know what to do, but Standoesn’t. This isn’t his thing. Ford’s supposed to be the smart one with the ideasand the plans and the know-how. He’s way out of his league, left sitting hereholding his brother in his arms not sure whether the man is dying or not.

Whatwould Ford do? What would Ford do?

Fordwould find a cure.

Whatwould Ford do that I can do? What would Ford do that I can do?

He presses two fingers to the pulseat Ford’s neck, trying to calm himself down enough to concentrate on finding aheartbeat. It takes him a moment of searching (and trying not to panic when hecouldn’t initially find one), but he eventually feels the strong and steady lub-dub beneath his fingers.

Good.That’s good. What now?

Gethim inside the cabin.

He grabs Ford under his arms andtries to hoist him up. It only takes a second (and a solid twinge in his back) to realize that’s not going to happen. Ford iscompletely dead weight (wrong choice ofwords wrong choice of words), and trying to drag him into the cabin (anddown those interior steps) will probably wind up doing more harm than good. Hesettles them back down on the ground.

“Ford, it would be extremely helpful if you’d wake upsometime soon,” he says, trying once again to rouse him. “Come on, up andat’em!” He gives his face another light slap. “Rise and shine, buddy!” Anotherlight slap to the other cheek. “Time to wake up so I can say I told you so.” Hespots another barb sticking out of Ford’s arm and pulls it out, going to tossit aside.

The thing winds up pricking his ownfinger instead.

He hisses and shakes the thing off,inspecting his finger and watching a tiny drop of blood bead up on hisfingertip.

Not even a second later, he losesall feeling and control of his entire hand, his fingers and wrist goingcompletely limp and slumping forward.

“What the…?” he murmurs, shakinghis hand and watching the now-useless thing flop from side to side, completelyuseless and unfeeling, not even getting so much as a pins-and-needles sensation.He squeezes one of the dead fingertips with his free hand, not surprised whenhe doesn’t feel a thing. And no matter how hard he wills the fingers to move,they’re unresponsive, like there’s something blocking the signal. He’s vaguelyreminded of that time when that hand-witch (ugh he still hates how that sounds)took his hands, only this is a lot less supernatural and a lot more… familiarin a way.

There was one time, after Rico andhis boys had roughed him up pretty good, when he had to go to the hospital toget a good portion of his shoulder surgically reconstructed. The nurses haddone something similar to his entire arm, and he recalls how strange it hadbeen trying to climb out of the hospital room window with his entire left armdead and in a sling. He’d accidentally smacked himself in the face with thelimp thing more times than he’d care to admit.

Okay.Paralysis and a nerve block. I can deal with that. I can deal with that.

“Ford, if you’re awake, I need youto give me a sign,” Stan says. If this really is just a nerve block, then there’sa solid chance that, with how many of those barbs he got hit with, Ford isparalyzed but still very much awake.

Stan is thankful for more reasonsthan one that the numbness in his hand seems to be extremely localized, notspreading further up than his wrist.

He’s also glad that he hasn’tseemed to have keeled over dead yet, which is a very good sign for Ford.

Ford’s left hand twitches ever soslightly. For a moment, Stan isn’t sure if he’s just seeing things, maybe a trickof the light or those damn cataracts again, but then he sees Ford’s fingers twitchagain, the action a bit more purposeful. Asign. He quickly reaches over and takes Ford’s hand in his own.

“Okay, just to be sure, just… squeeze my hand if you can hear me,”Stan says, almost not daring to breathe. It takes a moment, but Ford’s fingersalmost imperceptibly tighten, almost like a mild spasm more than a squeeze,around his own. Stan can’t stop the relieved laughter from bubbling up in hischest, though it comes out a bit more choked than he would have thought.

Alright.He’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.

Ican handle this. I can handle this.

“I’m just going to say it now whileyou can’t complain about it,” Stan says, his voice cracking as he gives Ford’shand a solid squeeze of his own. “I told you so, you damn idiot.”

Part 2

[buouoyancy]

touch based [tyk/wenzhou fic]

tian ya ke/novel verse | 2.5k | rated t

ft. canon divergence, mutual pining, and denial of feelings

“wen kexing, drunk on rage and drenched in grief, in spite of himself, could only think gossamer soft thoughts, transfixed.

they were thoughts like these: if only a-xu were there to drink with him. if only they had met so many years earlier. if only they hadn’t met at all. wouldn’t it be nice to have a-xu’s warm weight next to him? wouldn’t being scolded and cursed at, hated in everything but action, really only in words and sometimes not even then, be better than this? wouldn’t it be better still if there were someone to accompany him in this darkness? for there to even be a little sliver of light?

wen kexing, zhou zishu, and a curse.”

also available on ao3 here!! 

1.

The world had been one way, gray and gray and grayer still, life full of burdens and troubles to be bore, with people who were good enough to be used and bad enough to be killed without a first, much less second, thought, and then there had been Zhou Zishu.

In all of Wen Kexing's years, there had never been as gentle or sweet a trouble as A-Xu––no man so interesting, no man so unflinchingly, unfailingly, and irritatingly captivating, not to mention so scornful at being told that he was so.

Even now, sitting in the pitch black darkness of an unfamiliar cellar, mind foggy and tongue loose, provoked by occasional bursts of rage so palpable that Wen Kexing could be surprised out of his drunken stupor for a few seconds at a time, the world didn't feel out of reach. Every moment was still bound up in A-Xu, both the knowing and the missing. More than that, the anger riding low in his stomach served as a small reminder, welcome or not, that hah, he'd always had company after all.

Wen Kexing, drunk on rage and drenched in grief, in spite of himself, could only think gossamer soft thoughts, transfixed.

They were thoughts like these: if only A-Xu were there to drink with him. If only they had met so many years earlier. If only they hadn't met at all. Wouldn't it be nice to have A-Xu's warm weight next to him? Wouldn't being scolded and cursed at, hated in everything but action, really only in words and sometimes not even then, be better than this? Wouldn't it be better still if there were someone to accompany him in this darkness? For there to be even a little sliver of light?

In a perfect world, there would be no need for answers. Zhou Zishu would already be beside him.

Overhead, the slats in the wooden door that he had torn open were jagged. It was a cloudy night, the moon's muffled light nowhere in sight. So it went following strong rain. Wen Kexing, drunk and with the impulse of a man betrayed thrice over, by life, by love, and by his own unwieldy yearning for this time, for this person, to be the exception to all of his life's failings, slumped over onto his side. His bare cheek pressed against the ground.

It had been at most, an hour, maybe two, since he had fled from Zhou Zishu and out into the downpour, since he had brushed off Gu Xiang's concern and heavy gaze because he couldn't stand the idea of grieving in front of someone who knew him. Too much time had been left for him to think miserable thoughts and he'd combatted it accordingly––matching the seconds sip by sip.

As the alcohol went down, almost ten jars in with a heavy but grounding pungency that would only leave him uncomfortably thirsty later, Wen Kexing found himself humming at an off-tune pitch under his breath, a song heard offhand from some faraway tavern, sung from a now unremarkable mouth.

It had really been too long since he'd bothered to seek out an unremarkable mouth. It couldn't be that Zhou Zishu really meant that much to him, could it? What could possibly be so captivating about a man with a past? An invented name? A mask?

The more he thought about it, that A-Xu of his was really too charming.

Wen Kexing laughed lightly to himself. Whether A-Xu was charming or not, important to him or not, he would be lost to him. There wasn't a point in thinking about it anymore. Whether that hurt to think about, now or in the future, so too, was utterly meaningless.

Tomorrow he would return to them both, to his A-Xu and A-Xiang, as the cheerful young master from the ghost valley, unsullied, untouched, and unwilling to bend in all things when he was strong enough to break whatever, whoever, foolish enough to get in his way. He would drink his weight in alcohol, chide Zhou Zishu for doing the same, and cheerfully encourage whatever awful new idioms A-Xiang's little suitor-to-be came up with.

Taking another swig of alcohol before pausing, Wen Kexing sighed, annoyed. "A-Xu, A-Xu, A-Xu, stingy until the end. Leaving me like this without even a single glimpse under those horrible robes of yours. Tch."

The jar that had been in his hand was thrown to the side, shattering against the ground with a magnificent crash. If the owners of this particular cellar hadn't been aware of his presence before, they would surely be now. So what if they came? He could use the distraction.

Sitting up to lean against one of the dirt walls, ankles crossed, Wen Kexing was sure he made a startlingly elegant figure.

It was with that final thought that the night passed on, Wen Kexing drifting with it.

2.

Zhou Zishu had always acted in one way: sure in words, steady in swordsmanship, and steadfast in principle to the point of self-destruction. That had been the best way, though not the only way, to survive in the world of life and death that he'd chosen for himself, but it was the path that he had chosen, and so he had walked it until the very end.

Back then as the leader of Tian Chuang, there had only been the knowledge of the nails, his dedication to his decision, and the seven physical markers of his hard won peace after that. Anything else had been left behind or lost, and Zhou Zishu had made no move to do anything to recover them.

Now, for better or worse, there were more things attempting to grab his attention than he was interested in acknowledging or getting involved with. At the forefront of his mind, there was only wine to be drunk and good deeds to be done from time to time, a life finally meant to be lived in the sun, but predictably, plenty of distractions had cropped up in order to lead him astray from a life so harmonious.

Namely, a useless disciple who was both exceptional and exceptionally mediocre, a beautiful young woman who had willingly entered employment with the most verbally corrupt man in the martial world, the young man who seemed to be helplessly chasing after said beautiful young woman, tripping on his feet, if not his words, more often than not, and the verbally corrupt man in question––Wen Kexing.

In all of Zhou Zishu's years, there had never been so thorough or relentless a distraction as Wen Kexing––no person so effortlessly able to take up his time and energy, no person who responded more positively to being told no, and one of the few people able to look at Zhou Zishu without so much as a trace of fear in their eyes.

In the end, Wen Kexing had been less company that Zhou Zishu had chosen to keep, and more a visitor who had invited himself in and never bothered to leave.

Still. He wasn't the worst company for the road.

Zhou Zishu, now silently lying in bed at the inn and drifting in a state of rest but not sleep, wondered whether Wen Kexing would still be willing to chase after him now that he knew the truth of his condition, of the step he'd already taken away from the world, much less Wen Kexing.

"Tsk." Rolling over, Zhou Zishu listlessly looked out the window and up at the moon that hung in the sky. The weather had cleared up.

The more he thought about the entire situation, the more his head started to ache. What was it to Wen Kexing if he died anyway? They were strangers, more or less, and it wasn't as if Zhou Zishu had gone out of his way to make any promises to the man either.

Wen Kexing, with his eccentric taste in beauties and distant gaze, always looking like he was after something out of reach, seemed to be a man who understood the transitory nature of things. Zhou Zishu wasn't stupid enough to believe that he happened to be an exception to that. The idea of leaving a mark on another person that way was unpleasant.

The dazed sheen in the depth of Wen Kexing's eyes had likely been a trick of the rain, he thought to himself, the man shocked into sharing strange words, maybe a little disappointed at losing a source of short term curiosity, but nothing more than that.

What had Zhou Zishu really been other than a brief sideshow in one of the many festivals of Wen Kexing's life? It was just a shame that this particular show would be coming to an end.

That was nothing to cry over.

For Zhou Zishu, life had been a series of choices that had led to their specific outcomes. He had no particular regrets. Truthfully, there was nothing that he hadn't been able to do before that he couldn't do now, and he'd never had lofty goals like a fulfilling marriage, with a beautiful wife waiting for him at home, though he wouldn't have minded it, or to make a mark on the world so great that people would be reminded of his name wherever he went––something he'd actively avoided.

He'd only ever wanted to roam, to owe nothing to anyone and to do the things that he felt like doing on the days he wanted to do them. If he went out of his way to do a good deed now and again, if only to humor himself with the chance of making life after death less of a pain, that was his choice.

Other people didn't have a say in that.

A particular feeling of discomfort arose in his chest, Zhou Zishu reflexively sitting up with a start. It was a feeling separate from the nails, but not unrelated to them.

Outside, there was the distant sound of an owl's hoo.

It seemed like he wouldn't be getting much sleep tonight either.

3.

The frantic knocking on Zhou Zishu's door come morning should have come as no surprise considering the absolute lack of courtesy the outside world seemed to have for his peace of mind, but out of good will, Zhou Zishu chose to push down the urge to commit a heinous crime.

This would act as his show of philanthropy for the day.

Instead, he allowed himself to be practically hauled by Cao Weining into the chaos of the newly gathered crowd inside of Zhang Chengling and Zhao Jing's rooms. There, Zhang Chengling seemed to be staring resolutely at the corpses on the floor. A hook found beside one body, gashes on Zhao Jing's torso. It wasn't difficult to piece together what had happened.

An attempted assassination, a crowd that was getting increasingly impatient for answers from a person who didn't have them, and a boy who couldn't look any more miserable. Less out of reflex and more out of the visceral impulse to just do, Zhou Zishu strode forward, calling out to Zhang Chengling and pulling him behind him.

As expected, the crowd reacted poorly. In a matter of seconds, Zhou Zishu found himself engaged in a one man battle with the likes of Huang Daoren and Yu Qiufeng, Zhang Chengling hanging onto him like a useless limpet while he exchanged blows.

Before Yu Qiufeng, who had grown increasingly enraged over the course of the battle, could reach Zhou Zishu, having found his second wind, a sleek shadow materialized seemingly out of thin air, settling in between them.

Zhou Zishu, silent, watched as Wen Kexing, in all of his drunken glory, robes disheveled, eyes glazed, and awareness only halfway there, managed a horribly sincere smile in his direction, worthy of the brothel he had probably fallen out of. On the ground, Yu Qiufeng, face red with an inexhaustible rage, had begun to curse at them.

Wen Kexing, as if he couldn't be bothered with the world around themselves, leaned in close to Zhou Zishu, bringing with him a rush of stale breath and the overbearing scent of alcohol. "A-Xu, you...you should leave first. Leave it...leave it...to me." With the air of a man unabashed, the taller man clasped a firm hand on Zhou Zishu's shoulder, the same big smile on his face.

Instantaneously, Zhou Zishu made a sound of surprised distress, collapsing into Wen Kexing's already precarious body weight and bringing a yelping Zhang Chengling with him. Wen Kexing, caught off guard and still entirely drunk, had somehow managed to stay upright, firmly holding onto the two of them before frowning, his eyes a few degrees clearer.

"A-Xu...does it hurt?" In a matter of seconds, Zhou Zishu found himself weightless, gently scooped up into Wen Kexing's arms, the movement so fast that he hadn't even had time to protest, while an increasingly panicked Chengling looked on.

Around them, the crowd had been struck dumb.

"We'll be going now." Leaving no room for arguments, Wen Kexing only stared dubiously at Yu Qiufeng's body on the ground below them, as if he were trying to figure out whether or not he was already a corpse.

"You. I'll be back. I won't keep you waiting."

Not a moment later, they were gone.

4.

As soon as they touched solid ground, Zhou Zishu scrambled to get out of Wen Kexing's arms. Without a single misstep, he landed on his feet, immediately scrutinizing his body for injuries. Besides the ever present threat of the nails, there shouldn't have been another factor able to cause a reaction like that one.

In front of him, Wen Kexing looked on, blinking slowly in order to stay awake. "A-Xu. Does it hurt?" A rush of annoyance ran through Zhou Zishu before he could help it, the man himself exhaling sharply before giving a swift shake of the head.

"No. It's not the nails." He'd been perfectly fine before Wen Kexing had shown up on the scene. He had hardly been overwhelmed by the men who had tried to attack him, and he hadn't garnered any serious injuries. There had just been Wen Kexing, leaning in, and Wen Kexing, who had touched him.

A looming feeling of apprehension settled in his stomach. Wen Kexing was a bastard in any number of ways, but there was no reason for him to stoop so low as to do something like poison him. What would he gain from that? Surely Wen Kexing wasn't so desperate that he would sleep with a dead man.

An idea flickered in and out of existence in Zhou Zishu's mind. One that he didn't particularly want to believe could happen in real time.

"Wen Kexing. Take a few steps back." At Zhou Zishu's matter-of-fact voice, Wen Kexing naturally played along, eyes confused, but still trained on the man in front of him.

"A-Xu?"

Zhou Zishu, silent, took the same amount of steps backward, maintaining eye contact as he took one step more.

With a grunt, he looked up, face stormy.

"Wen Kexing, congratulations. You've cursed us."

[hopefulfestivaltastemaker]

June 21, 2020

My weekly review of thoughts and goings-on. Topics include BP’s energy data, Apollo Projects, the demographic transition, and policing in Hillsboro.

New Energy Data from BP

Every June, BP releases some high level energy statistics from the prior year. This year’s data set came out a few days ago, and I’ve taken a quick glance over.

A key observation is that world primary energy growth in 2019 was about 1.3%, in contrast to the ~1.8% average growth from 2009 to 2019. Together with the IEA’s World Energy Investment report, we start to see some evidence of a modest global slowdown even before COVID hit.

Oil, natural gas, and coal were up 0.8%, up 2.0%, and down 0.6% respectively. Nuclear is up 3.1% but still about 4% off the peak generation set in 2004. Hydropower is up 0.9%, extending a long term trend of gradual increase. Non-hydro renewables are up 12.2%, the largest absolute year over year gain (albeit just barely) in the dataset. All in all, low carbon energy sources* accounted for 55% of total primary energy gain, and fossil fuels accounted for 45%.

There is some controversy around the primary energy metric. It is meant to allow a direct comparison between coal, gas, oil, and nuclear energy sources, whether they are used for power, transportation fuel, or heat, by comparing on the basis of heat released upon combustion or fission. But for non-thermal sources, this metric doesn’t make sense, and different institutions have different ways of estimating the primary energy content of such sources. In particular, it may be that the numbers for renewables are smaller than they should be, relative to their contribution to the economy. This may be, but it doesn’t change the basic picture.

Scenarios consistent with the Paris Agreement call for a phaseout of fossil fuel usage around midcentury. That’s 30 years from now and we haven’t even halted the growth yet. At current rates, with no increase in overall primary energy demand, it will take about 200-300 years for renewables to take over the energy system. I’ve predicted before that solar and wind might be near the inflection point of their S curves, a prediction that I now think was too pessimistic, but I also don’t the kind of exponential growth we saw in the heady days of the late 2000s and early 2010s is a realistic expectation.

This year BP also put all the raw data in a CSV file. I don’t know if they did it before, but it is much appreciated.

* Including biofuels. It is questionable whether they should be classified as low carbon.

Apollo Projects

Sam Altman and his brothers are starting up a new investment project, aimed at what they describe as moonshot projects and clearly alluding to the Apollo Project.

Their list of project examples is quite the grab bag: “Rapid response vaccines, non-carbon energy, solar geoengineering, VR/AR, biological manufacturing, new education formats, new medicines, affordable housing, and charter countries.”

This also comes not too long after the Marc Andreesson IT’S TIME TO BUILD essay and may represent at attempt to transcend the kind of small bore thinking that has (perceived to have) taken over Silicon Valley and American institutions at large.

Now, I’m for pursuing ambitious projects as much as anyone, but ambition has to be rooted in a sense of what real socio/economic needs are or else it is just a shot in the dark. What the Altmans understand those needs to be is, to me at least, rather opaque.

Understanding the Demographic Transition

I have written on-and-off over the years about the question of population and birth rates. I have more or less made the pronatalist case that I can based on my understanding of the role that population plays in economic growth. But without a better understanding of what governs reproduction decisions, my understanding of the issue is stuck at a sub-useful level. This week I made some effort to dive into the academic literature on demographic trends.

The survey of Zaida and Morgan is not a bad place to start. They introduce what is a fairly standard story: industrialization has both decreased the death rate and increase the opportunity cost of having children. This process come to be called the Demographic Transition, or the First Demographic Transition to distinguish it from what may be a distinct ongoing Second Demographic Transition. The SDT theory pushes back against the purely economic explanations of the FDT theory and proposes that value changes are at work: a shift from “king child” to “king couple” and a move up the Maslowian hierarchy to a postmaterialist value system.

The survey notes several major critiques of SDT. First, the empirical link between fertility changes and ideational changes is not well established. They cite some evidence of a “social contagion” at work in fertility changes. SDT doesn’t account well for inter- and intra-country variations. There are also inconsistent links between fertility changes and other demographic/social changes predicted by SDT. The broader philosophical critique of SDT is that, like modernization of secularization theory, it is a unilinear theory of history that holds the most postmodern European countries as the natural destination of historical evolution.

Zaida and Morgan touch on some alternate theories to SDT: that globalization and evolving gender roles are driving contemporary fertility changes, but note that those theories have problems as well.

In 2012, Oded Galor reviewed several hypothesis on drivers of falling birth rates. Galor is best known for his Unified Growth Theory model, which holds that technological change has increased the educational cost of children, and parents make a rational quality/quantity tradeoff by having fewer children and educating each one better. Naturally, Galor gives his UGT hypothesis the most credence in his review. He also gives some evidence that the declining gender gap plays a role, in that it increases the opportunity cost of a mother’s childrearing time. Galor argues against the Beckerian hypothesis--that rising wages in general depress fertility--and also argues against declining childhood mortality and old age pensions as explanations.

UGT is an interesting idea that I would like to take a better look at. It does strike me as perhaps being too much of a “theory of everything”, and it attempts to explain family decisions with an economic model without accounting for the role of social norms. I would have a hard time accepting any explanation that does not have at least some significant role for social norms. For what it’s worth, this recent survey of Madsen and Strulik provides some fresh empirical evidence for education as a driver of falling birth rates.

I must say, having read a lot of academic writing over the years, that Galor’s is exceptionally good. He has a clear and engaging style, and he is able to present the mathematics with full rigor but without burying the reader with it.

To go in the opposite direction, this 2005 study of Newson et al. attempts to explain falling birth rates as a process of cultural evolution. Industrialization generally enhances the importance of nonkin social contacts relative to kin contacts, and nonkin contacts are more likely to deliver antinatalist messages than kin contacts. The argument is an interesting one and they give a fair amount of evidence, though I would characterize their case as circumstantial rather than rigorous. The study is old enough that there should be plenty of new evidence for the hypothesis by now, and that would be something to take a look at later.

Finally, there is this review from earlier this year by Lesthaeghe, who is one of the pioneers of SDT back in the ‘80s but has walked the claims back a bit. The paper is rather jargon-heavy and not very layperson-friendly, but he offers some important insights. Armed with new data, he debunks the postponement hypothesis: that falling birth rates from the 1990s were the result of later families, not smaller families, and so should recover. He also argues against the idea that, at a certain level of development, we should expect fertility to naturally recover. This hypothesis is based on what he calls the “reading history sideways” fallacy, which is to look at all countries at a snapshot in time and assume that what wealthier countries look like today is what poorer countries will look like tomorrow. He forecasts that subreplacement fertility in wealthier countries will persist at least through the 2020s.

As a general observation, most of my understanding of academic demography has come from energy and environmental work. My brief effort this week to learn the field more directly has revealed that it is a richer field, with more diversity of thought, than I had realized, and it makes me hungry to read some more. By contrast, in the environmental world there is a caricatured, in some cases outdated, understanding of demography. I would have to suspect that since environmentalism has always carried an antinatalist orientation, it has been happy to selectively draw concepts from demography that support a triumphalist population peak-and-decline narrative (when not going down the Malthusian catastrophe rabbit hole). In reality, demography as a field shows diversity in ideology (pro- or anti-natalist), forecasts, and understanding of mechanisms behind the forecasts.

Policing in Hillsboro

This week, the Hillsboro City Council held an information session with Jim Coleman, the chief of police, and some other officers to discuss a wide range of issues around policing. Given current public concern, it was a long and intense conversation. I’m glad I listened.

With a few weeks having now elapsed since the George Floyd killing, I’ve had some time to think it over, have some conversations, and read some material from a range of viewpoints. Policing is important, but it’s never been an issue I’ve paid much attention to or been interested in and definitely not one that I understand well.

If I were to get more engaged on the topic--which, to be clear, I am not planning on--the first thing I would do is forget what I think I know and take some time to listen empathetically. The world doesn’t need another 23 point plan.

[recentanimenews]

Bookshelf Briefs 11/30/19

Let us give thanks for a hearty helping of briefs!

Beastars, Vol. 2 | By Paru Itagaki | Viz Media – If there was any doubt after reading the first volume of Beastars that I would be following the series, it has been completely banished after finishing the second. The sensitive gray wolf Legoshi continues to be a major draw for me, but so is Louis, the driven red deer who becomes an even more prominent character in the second volume (in addition to being featured on the cover). The scenes that the two share together are particularly intense, their contrasting personalities clashing and complementing each other in interesting ways. In part, using the framework of herbivore versus carnivore and the seemingly natural order of things, Beastars‘ narrative explores personal identities that challenge the expectations placed on individuals by a society that tries to neatly categorize them. But people are complicated and relationships are messy, something that Itagaki captures extremely well. Beastars is a dramatic and compelling series; I’m hooked. – Ash Brown

CITY, Vol. 6 | By Keiichi Arawi | Vertical Comics – Again, I feel that Arawi is not playing to his strengths by making this story of a city try to be as broad as possible. It’s best when there’s a through plot we can enjoy, such as seeing the restaurant owner/chef suffer from his cooking being average and his restaurant failing. There’s also some chapters that succeed by showing off amusing faces, such as the one where they try to figure out if one girl is mad or not (she’s not… at first), or trying to tell two identical twins apart when they insist on doing the exact same thing despite yelling about their differences. Unfortunately, when it’s random people doing random gags, it’s merely an average title. I’d like to be able to recall the names of anyone in this the way I can for Nichijou. – Sean Gaffney

Delicious in Dungeon, Vol. 7 | By Ryoko Kui| Yen Press – This volume concentrates on fleshing out the cast and backstory, possibly at the expense of the humor—there’s been less and less each book—but it’s not unwelcome. particularly when we get Senshi’s backstory. Elsewhere, Laios may be a child of prophecy, and he and his group had better find his sister and somehow get her back or the elves will get there first and destroy the entire dungeon… which will lead to massive loss of life. That said, rest assured that there’s still some eating of delicious monsters in this book, which is one reason people started to read it. It’s just that now there’s a plot that is more important. Now that this series comes out so infrequently, each volume is even more of a treasure. – Sean Gaffney

Dr. STONE, Vol. 8 | By Riichiro Inagaki and Boichi | Viz Media – We’re finally leaving the village, as Senku and company decide to take the fight to Tsukasa, which involves building a car. Yes, they build a car. That said, that’s hardly the most surprising thing in this volume, as we’re reintroduced to Taiju and Yuzuriha, last seen seemingly being written out of the manga for being too boring. But now, six volumes later, they’re back, and they’re in Tsukasa’s camp. Which is good, as Chrome has been captured. There’s slightly less science and slightly more action in this volume, but that just helps remind you that this is a Jump title at heart, and it will be nice to see the original three stars back together again. Though can Taiju and Yuzuriha magically get interesting? – Sean Gaffney

Guilty, Vol. 1 | By Ai Okaue | Kodansha Comics (digital only) – Sayaka and Kazu have been married for ten years, but only now has Sayaka actually told him she wants a child. Kazu does not. You’d think they’d have had this conversation over a decade ago! While he initially seems like a kind husband, readers soon learn that he is carrying on an affair with Rui, a woman who has positioned herself as Sayaka’s confidante at the bar she frequents, and is essentially keeping Sayaka trapped in a lie and denying her what she really wants. He’s utter trash, but Sayaka’s hard to sympathize with, as she is all too ready to believe his flimsy excuses. Drama involving GPS trackers, a coworker’s extramarital affair, and Sayaka’s first love ensues. I don’t really like these characters—though I have to admire how conniving Rui is—but I will probably be back for more. – Michelle Smith

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War, Vol. 11 | By Aka Akasaka | Viz Media – The ‘serious’ plots here are Ishigami deciding to try and get serious about studies to woo the girl he likes, only to find out how hard that is when you’ve slacked off for so long, and the cliffhanger ending, where Shirogane reveals what he plans to do about college. There’s also some great stuff with Hayasaka having to once again pretend to be Kaguya’s butler in order to fool Fujiwara. But all that pales next to the extended chapters of rap battles we get which reminds you that when the series is trying to be as funny as possible there’s no equal. This was around when the anime was announced (there’s a chapter lampshading it), and I honestly can’t wait to see these chapters done. Still great. – Sean Gaffney

Melting Lover | By Bukuro Yamada | Kuma – This is a collection of BL short stories with a supernatural bent. In “Bottom of Heaven,” a reluctant hitman is followed by a hedonistic angel who helps his victims rest in peace. In “The Circus After Midnight,” troupe dancer Luce exposes his animal trainer roommate’s most closely held secret after said roommate fails to believe his father figure could be guilty of sexual assault. The best story of the bunch is “Melting Lover,” in which a typhoon carries a shapeshifting blob onto the balcony of Keisuke, who is obsessed with his (straight) senpai from high school. Does he fuck the blob? You bet he does. The worst is “Noisy Jungle,” in which an android tells himself it’s natural to boff his human pet, while clearly thinking of it as an animal. Ick. Overall, though, I liked these dark stories and would read more by this author. – Michelle Smith

My Next Life As a Villainess: All Routes Lead to Doom!, Vol. 2 | By Satoru Yamaguchi and Nami Hidaka | Seven Seas – There’s another prose short story at the end of this second volume, which mostly just involves Katarina dreaming she’s in another universe, based on a standard shoujo private school manga, and because it lacks the “fantasy” elements her fate is… far more tolerable? As for the main manga, Katarina’s reactions to everything are the reason to get it, as it can give us all the faces that the light novel art wasn’t able to convey. She meets Maria here, who (to no one’s surprise) falls for Katarina just as hard as everyone else has, and Katarina is just as unaware of it. Still, Maria is still being bullied, so the plot of the game is still happening. A great adaptation. – Sean Gaffney

The Night Beyond the Tricornered Window, Vol. 6 | By Tomoko Yamashita | SuBLime (digital only) – I sometimes forget what an amazing balance Yamashita-sensei strikes between moments of romantic progress between Rihito and Mikado—like the scene where Rihito says, “I’ll help you. As long as it keeps you with me.”—and ominous reminders that Rihito has been through some terrible trauma and is a broken and dangerous person. In this volume, there are some parallels between his plight and that of Erika Hiura, who is trying to get away from the cult leader who’s compelling her to curse people. It was great seeing five to six characters in a scene together all working towards this common goal and feels like we might be heading towards a conclusion fairly soon. I hope Mikado emerges unscathed, but I do love that I am actually feeling some doubt about that. Can’t wait for the next volume! – Michelle Smith

One Piece, Vol. 92 | By Eiichiro Oda | VIZ Media – I was so worried going into this volume that Luffy was going to mess up the plans of the Wano rebels, which involve careful coordination and laying low for two weeks, neither of which he appears capable of. And, indeed, when he thinks Kaido has killed Tama, the little girl with whom he’s bonded, he picks a fight with the Emperor of the Sea. (I did appreciate seeing Luffy laid out by a single hit, though.) He ends up in a labor camp and, actually, this is for the best story-wise as it allows his more competent crewmates to help with the plan instead. It was so nice seeing Usopp distribute fliers, and Franky attempt to track down building plans for a mansion, and Robin snoop around in her geisha guise. I’ve missed those characters! This is shaping up to be a pretty fun arc! – Michelle Smith

Skip Beat!, Vol. 43 | By Yoshiki Nakamura | VIZ Media – I can’t recall there ever being a bad volume of Skip Beat!, but this one was exceptionally good. Kyoko has been cast as Momiji, but Moko did not get the role of Chidori, so Kyoko is worrying a lot about her (and feeling guilty). It turns out, however, that another challenging role has come Moko’s way. I very much love how these friends can talk to each other about their professional setbacks and opportunities. Meanwhile, Yashiro contrives for Ren and Kyoko to spend some time together, but it backfires when Kyoko, still beliving that Ren is in love with the horrible Morizumi, gets so overwhelmed by how he makes her feel that she gets mad. Poor baffled Ren. Still, I can’t help but feel that this is the start of some real progress for them. We shall see! – Michelle Smith

Skull-Face Bookseller Honda-san, Vol. 2 | By Honda | Yen Press – This is a fun title to read, but there’s not particularly much to review here. Honda-san walks us through more problems that Japanese bookstores have, from author signings to employee turnover and reassignments, to the difference between BL manga and gay manga. We meet wholesalers, go to a drinking party, and once again deal with a wide variety of customers, including possible yakuza and those who simply buy 90 pounds of titles and can’t carry them out the door. And there’s also the fact that Honda’s manga is now out, which means trouble when one of the prior plotlines, the customer service coaching one, annoyed the bosses. Still good, but you may want to stick to the anime. – Sean Gaffney

Teasing Master Takagi-san, Vol. 6 | By Soichiro Yamamoto | Yen Press – It’s hard to top the last volume, which contains the two most famous chapters in the series to date. But this volume remains cute as a button, with an extended plotline involving a visit to a water park that shows off Nishikata’s nice side as well as his embarrassed and scheming sides, and reminds you why Takagi likes him so much. Even better is a chapter where she’s depressed (and thus not teasing him) all day, and he tries to find out why and cheer her up. Not that she’s willing to give up her place as the winner of every battle. That said, even the chapter with the eyedrops (which is another “will they try for a kiss” moment) has a tag reminding us these are still innocent middle-schoolers. Which is why this is so cute. – Sean Gaffney

By: Ash Brown

[davidowensblog-blog]

David Owens - Asleep Again

Pop Songs That Will Make Your Car Audio Burst With Life

When it comes to writing pop songs, there's a general formula that's used for the song structure. However, before we approach the particular arrangement of a pop tune, it is important that you know the purpose of a pop tune because it assists in making the most of the construction.

Goal of a pop tune

The purpose of the pop song is to get the song hooked to listeners whenever possible and to keep the listener stay interested as long as possible in a period of about 3 to four minutes. This is the age of consumerism in which people purchase, then get exhausted, then buy , then get bored again, and so forth etc. It's a cycle. The same goes for pop music today. Folks listen from finding exceptionally ear grabbing music, then get bored, so they hear new songs, they then get bored . Hence that the pop song basically requires three things: familiarity, variety, and a hook.

Structure

So with understanding that we need the tune we all write to hook onto listeners, how does that translate into the structure of a pop song? We must figure out what doesn't work first, then lead up to what works and what works well.

Here's a question. Would a song that was all verses work as a pop song? I don't think so. Why wouldn't it work? It wouldn't work since you would get bored of the David Owens - Asleep Again song quickly. The verses could be catchy, but if there isn't anything to change this up, it is going to get old quick. So what do we do? Add another section.

So the lesson here is to bring variety to the song and stray away from having the song too mundane.

But on the flip side, having too much variety wouldn't work either. For instance, if you introduced a new section every time without repeating a section, it would be hard to take in the song. Let's say I had a song that had the structure A - B - C - D (each letter represents an individual section.

For the listener to acquire some feeling of familiarity, he or she will have to hear the song again probably for a couple times even if each section was catchy. But if you had a song that reintroduced sections like A - B - A - B, the listener can gain familiarity within one or two listens. But keep in mind that the song has to keep the listener interested with the hook.

The general structure of a pop song is A - B - A - B - C - B aka verse - chorus - verse - chorus - bridge - chorus. This works so well because not only does it add a feeling of familiarity by repeating sections A and B, there is a sense of variety with the accession of section C. Then familiarity is reinforced with keeping a feeling of freshness by ending the section with B. This structure of a pop song is effective when the hook is carried in the chorus section where lyrics stay the exact same each time the section is sung.

A pop song comes from pop music which is typically understood to be a commercially recorded music. It is frequently driven towards the youth and it is composed of relatively short, simple songs but with eccentric technological innovations. It's Meant to encourage listeners to dance with the music or it uses beats, percussions or rhythms that are dance-oriented.

The goal of songwriting is to make listeners get hooked to the song as much as possible in a span of 3 to 4 minutes. A pop song basically needs familiarity,variety, and of course, a hook.

The critical elements to keep in mind in writing a pop song are melody, chord progression, beat and rhythm, genre and fashion, concept, "hook", lyrics, song sections, arrangement, and length. These are the common threads that make a song successful.

In the making of a song in this genre, a pop songwriter ought to be able to bring in variety to the song but being conscious not to put too much selection. If a song had a structure, A-B-C-D, with each letter representing an individual section in the song, the listener should find that familiarity as the song progresses. However, the song must also get the listener's attention and get him hooked.

The general structure for a pop song which is verse - chorus -verse - chorus - bridge - chorus or A - B - A - B - C - B. Even though the repeating sections A and B increases the listener's familiarity of the song, the addition of C section gives variety to the song. The structure is quite effective since it has been test-proven by many great pop icons like Michael Jackson, Madonna, and Prince. The hook is carried since the lyrics remain the Exact Same whenever a Specific section is sung from the singer.Other Kinds of pop song structures are:

If you would like to know how to write a pop song, let me first tell you that there's not one single set way to writing a pop song. I am pretty certain that the songwriters who've had their songs played on the radio did not write their songs with the exact same exact strategy. If that was the case, we might get a deeper "every song sounds the same" problem.

The following is just one of numerous ways in which you can write a song.

1) Song Structure

The very first thing you might want to start off with is the song structure. For instance, a number of pop songs use the format verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus or even a variation of the pattern. A variation could be necessary in case you have a essential lyric that should be fit into the song to complete it or maybe you feel like the song is too brief. An illustration of a variation is Jay-z's 'Empire State of Mind' where an additional verse and chorus is included. The song arrangement goes verse-chorus-verse-chorus-verse-chorus-bridge-chorus.

When adding additional verses or choruses, make sure that the song does not get too long. I count any song over 5 minutes as a long song.

2) Lyrics

Lyrics in pop songs should be relevant to popular culture. What's popular in our culture? It's whatever you see on TV, movies, and even in other songs. Songwriters are definitely influenced by other songwriters' songs.

There's really an unlimited amount of themes you can use. Eminem raps about his real life experiences, Lady Gaga sings about the celebrity life, and everything else is about sex, drugs, and rock & roll :)

When writing a pop song, the lyrics should fall into a general structure. You want to set a specific number of lines for each song section. As an Example, you can set your verse to have four lines, the chorus to have four lines, and the bridge to have six lines. If you would like, you go as far is setting the amount of syllables.

3) Chords

Many pop songs share the same chord progressions or patterns. A very popular one is I - V - vi - IV. (If you want an explanation of the Roman numeral numbers and examples of popular chord progressions and popular songs that use them, you can find an explanation at songwriters123.com) This pattern in the key of 'G Major" would look like this: G - D - Em - C.

You can use the exact chords for your verse and chorus if your melody and lyrics contains enough variety. If you feel as though your melody and lyrics of your verse and chorus are too similar using the same chords, you should change the chords to one of the sections so the song may breathe with a feeling of variety.

4) Melody

You can now write your melody to your lyrics. When you're coming up with a melody for a pop song, you want to make sure you have a 'hook'. A hook is a melody line that is painfully difficult to get out of your head. Usually, the hook is used in the chorus.

One word of advice- do not make your entire song the hook. When you start off with a really catchy verse, it actually takes away the bang from your chorus. It's like that saying "You know what is good only because you know what is bad". I sort of reworded it, but you get the point.

These four steps aren't the "standard" of writing a song. It's just 1 way. It is possible to start writing a song by having a random melody stuck in your head (which could potentially be the hook of your chorus). Or maybe you wrote what you thought a brilliant set of lyrics that may be a prospective verse to a song and you build from there. Be creative and have a blast writing your song.

Among the greatest ways to understand how to play easy pop songs on guitar is to simply make a list of some of your favourite songs which you think might be within your grasp, then find out the chords. It really is as simple as that to get going.

The internet is an amazing tool and takes a lot of the hard work out of trying to figure out the chords. All you need to do is Google the song you'd like to play and see what comes up. Chances are you already know all the chords, but should youn't it's no huge thing. The whole point about learning an instrument is to improve. If there are some chords you've not come across before then have a go at learning them.

If you're a bit impatient and can't quite get the hang of them, just move onto the next song on your list. You can always come back to the tricky ones later. I often discover that things that seem difficult the first time you try them, somehow seem easier the following day. It's almost as if your hand and brain take in the new shapes overnight and the next time you try it, things seem much easier.

You will be amazed by how easy many songs are. There are plenty out there which have only 3 chords. Sweet Home Alabama is a clear one (D, C and G all the way through). Lou Reed apparently once said "One Chord is fine. Two chords is pushing it. Three chords and you are into jazz." Now that may not be wholly accurate but you can really go a very long way with just a couple of option chords under your belt. Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here' has 5 chords, but they are all simple to play open chords without needing to use barre chords. (C, D, Am, G, using a little Em in the middle)

If you're able to master most of the simple open chords (C, D, G, F) and their minor versions, you are going to be in a great place to begin. You then are able to explore 7ths, minor 7ths etc.. Barre chords are a bit tricky when you first start but when you've built up some strength in your hand they will become easier. What's more, they'll open up a whole new world of chords to you and allow you to play pretty much any song you can think of. There are so many easy pop songs to play on guitar that you ought to be able to build up quite a repertoire in no time in any way.

When you get going, the next step is to play together with your chosen song. This can either be the original version of the song or among the many 'learn to play' videos out there online. In the event you chose easy pop songs to play on guitar you'll also develop your ear the more songs you learn. After a while you might find that you could work out the chords yourself as you start to recognise familiar chord sequences that are used over and over again in countless songs.

The very first time you hear it, it's fantastic. Even the third time and the seventh. But after twenty-two times? This little song has come to be the annoying repeating track in your head as you wheel the trash to the curb or go to pick up your mail. Come On! Can't you guys play anything else? They're playing it in Walmart. And if it comes on the radio now, you change the station. You're embarrassed that you actually downloaded the cd. The Pop Song.

Did the audio change? Did the lyrics change? Nope, still the same little song. It's just become Common.

So let's say you're a painter. You've just had one of those great experiences where the painting painted itself - you were in the flow. You nailed it. Terrific composition. Values and color are perfect. You know from experience that it's very likely to sell readily. All of your painting buddies assure that this one is as good as sold. And you're considering making a print of this puppy. Scan it and print on demand... No telling how many you can sell...

Now let's say you're a collector. You've been around art. You've bought quite a bit. You've developed a good eye. You see a painting in a gallery window - great composition, values and color are perfect. Well done. Price is inside your comfort zone. You go inside - and there's the exact same darned image hanging on the wall! One of them is a reproduction and it makes no difference which one. As a collector you don't spend buy an image to get exactly what anyone else can have, too. Imitation may be flattery, but reproductions would be the kiss of death. For all you know, Walmart might have some of these in their dorm room furniture aisle.