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Pleasing you

Synopsis: Stolen from Earth when you were only a teenager, what is left of your life consists of training to become an obedient pleasure slave on Sakaar… that is, until the Grandmaster, your slave driver, decides to gift you to King Loki, who seeks to visit to observe one of the Grandmaster’s infamous gladiator fights. Now, you belong to him, obliged to fulfil his every need. A truly tempting opportunity, is it not? After all—who is the God of Mischief to miss out on all the fun that comes with being king of Asgard?

Pairing: Loki x Reader
Rating: M
Chapter: 1/1 (Oneshot)
Words: 6725
Warnings: (sexual)
submission, kidnapping, (sexual) slavery, imprisonment, mentions of abuse, dub-con, smut

Read it on AO3!

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Stargazing by falsecaterpillar

Rick and Michonne get lost on a run and decide to spend a quiet night stargazing. Pure fluff. 
Rated G

Distraction by thematsaidwelcome

Michonne finds a way to help Rick turn his brain off after a hard day. AU. 
Rated M

Normal by Sophiasown

Michonne has a normal day. Just some fluff with Grimes 2.0 
Rated G

I feel like it’s now my duty to post weekly updates on the ratings for Wynonna Earp. A couple of thousand less than last week, but luckily nothing under 500,000.

I heard a rumour that Syfy wasn’t prioritising viewership in regards to shows. Its a contributing factor, of course, but they were heavily influenced by a fandom rather than focusing only on viewership. So if we keep the figures over 500,000 but make Wynonna Earp trend every week, we could be getting a season 4. I think there’s too much shite on tv these days to expect millions of people (especially on a Friday night) to watch a show on cable. So Syfy would prefer a fandom reaction.

So guys, your mission, should you accept it, is to make Wynonna Earp, Wayhaught, WynDolls, Melanie Scrofano, Dominique Provost-Chalkley, Kat Barrell or anything related to the show trend every Friday! Don’t worry if you think you’re annoying people with what you’re saying because you’re not. You guys are the funniest fuckers I’ve ever had the privilege to meet and your tweets on a Friday absolutely kills me.

Let’s go, Earpers! Best fandom ever. I love you all.

Tutor Me? ReggiexReader! Part 3.

Hey guys, as promised, here is part 3 of Tutor Me? This is actually going to be the final part of this mini series, though if anyone would really like it, there is an epilogue that contains the next scene but it does contain smut. like real smut. if you’d like me to upload the epilogue, please send me an ask! don’t worry too much though, I’ll definitely do some more Reggie oneshots! he’s such a cutie lil fluffball. 

PART ONE HERE.

PART TWO HERE.

EPILOGUE HERE.

Originally posted by riverdalesource

(GIF not mine.)

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Langst hallucinations AU

Okay so, I’ve had this au stuck in my head for a while. Basically, Lance has become so homesick that he starts to snap. If you don’t sleep for more than a week, you could get hallucinations, but probably a good day’s sleep could easily fix a few problems you will encounter. BTW, there is some Klance/Klangst in this so just be aware of that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 Lately, Lance has been lacking in action and response. Whenever they are training he seems to be lacking the usual enthusiasm and energy, and it doesn’t help that the team has to shout in his face to get him to notice they’re even there. It’s getting them all worried. They ask Lance if he’s okay, he just replies with a simple ‘Yeah’ or ‘I’m fine, really…’. Of course, the team aren’t completely convinced with that answer but let him off so they don’t irritate him. They know how hard it is for him, they know a bit about his insecurities because he was brave enough to tell a little to the team. Little do they know, Lance hasn’t slept in a week and a half.

 Lance has recently been having intrusive thoughts, saying stuff like “Why are you even trying when you know you’re just dead weight to the entire team”, “Hunk probably hangs out with Pidge more because he finally realized how stupid and pointless you are.”, “You’re weak, what are you doing here when you know that you should be dead right now?”, or “Keith will never like you back, no matter how hard you try.”. Lance tries so hard to ignore those thoughts but the more he hears them the more unstable he feels. His nightmare occurrences have increased probably even more than Shiro’s. He dreams about how the team sees him as nothing but a useless placeholder and how he doesn’t belong anywhere, or his family. His family are the worst ones, either his parents are scolding him about how disappointed they are, he dreams of what they might be doing on Earth without him there and if any of them are still really alive, or….. the team returns to Earth and Lance runs home…. only to find every single family member dead on the floor… and a bloody and used weapon is in his hands. 

 Lance stopped sleeping and instead cried every night, trying hard to block out his intrusive thoughts and stay awake. Soon, it began to take effect on his health. He grows more hungry than usual but always waits till night to have an entire feast, Hunk and Coran notice a shortage of some food supply or even full plates that are left in the fridge for the next day. He’s been getting sick more often than usual and it’s putting everyone on edge. He begins to become more forgetful and unaware of his surroundings, Shiro and Allura notice and tries their hardest to get Lance back on track. He sometimes stumbles over his words and stutters once and a while, Pidge and Keith sometimes have to correct him on words and grammar. He also begins to have hallucinations around the castle… all of them are of his family.

One night Keith was up late training like he usually does, when he heard a sudden shout. It sounded like Lance. The shouting continued as Keith tried to track down where it was coming from. When he ran into the kitchen, he found Lance huddled on his side on the floor with his knees to his chest, head down, whimpering and calling out to his mother as if she was actually there right at that moment. Keith panicked, unsure of what to do. So he just ran over to Lance and began to shake him and call his name. It took quite a while, but it worked after a minute or two. By then Lance was crying, tears running down his face. He looked around only to find that his mother was no longer there where he’d seen her when he walked in for his late night meal. He swore he saw her but knew that was impossible. He told Keith what he saw and Keith looked at him concerned, telling him that no one was there when he found him. 

The next day, Keith stayed pretty close to Lance, not once telling him off or making fun of him. He told the team what happened the night before and they all decided to keep a good eye on Lance. The same day, Keith and Pidge got to see Lance staring intently at nothing, his eyes watery and damp until tears finally fell and he was running in the direction of where his eyes lay. Keith and Pidge ran after him through hallways and into the training deck. In the center of it, Lance stopped and fell to his knees screaming. Everyone gathered there to help Lance in any way they could. Eventually, he calmed down in Keith’s arms and began whispering someone’s name. Keith was close enough to hear and it seemed that Lance was calling and apologizing to his nephew Mateo, who Lance has talked about to the team many times before. Why was he apologizing to his nephew? 

That night, Lance was stable enough to tell the team what’s been going on. How he has nightmares so he hasn’t slept in 2 weeks. Why he wasn’t there at breakfast, lunch, or dinner. What he’s been seeing. The first thing he saw was his sister Cleo sitting on his bed of his paladin bedroom, reading a book. He immediately ran up to her to hug her only to land straight in his bed, Cleo nowhere in sight. The second was his father in the dining room, reading a newspaper while drinking coffee. He stopped coming to eat with the team after that. The third was his mother cooking in the kitchen, she actually looked at Lance for a second, seeing her smile again making Lance cry. That was the night Keith found him. The fourth time was when Lance saw his nephew Mateo playing in the halls of the castle, telling Lance to play tag with him and he ran off. Lance immediately chased the little boy, through sharp turns, forks in the path, and finally the entrance of the training deck… and when he entered, he found Mateo bleeding on the floor with holes through his back out his chest, bloody burn marks covered the edges of the holes that was burned into the little boy’s shirt. Lance looked down to see his bayard activated and smoking at the tip, signaling that it was just used… to kill the boy who called Lance his favorite uncle and vice versa. 

From that point on everyone always stayed close to Lance making sure he was healthy and happy. Hunk made sure he ate and if he got sick, he’d make multiple meals for Lance. Shiro made sure Lance was healthy and well enough to train and if not he would force Lance to sit this one out. Pidge, Allura, and Coran checked his vital health rates weekly. Keith slept next to Lance every night hoping it would rid of the nightmares, and apparently, it worked pretty well, later on, Keith began to have feelings for Lance and vice versa. Lance would say they were kinda overdoing it, but he couldn’t blame them. He knew his state was really bad at the time so he just let it happen with little complaints.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OKAY DONE

There you guys go, hope you enjoy this. It’s my first Langst scenario so plz don’t judge if it’s bad. Sorry for the Klance, I have no self-control. Thank you for taking the time to read it, you may continue scrolling now.

Spend a night at the Kings Inn Motel and win $25,000.00

The Craigslist ad didn’t say much else.

Just a local area telephone number and address.

Call To Make Your Reservation Today!

I scoured the ad three more times for some catch—some hidden fine print—before picking up the phone to dial.

RING

RING

RI–

“Front desk.” The man on the other end of the line sounded bored and put upon.

I sat up straight in my chair. “Yeah, I uh, I saw your ad.”

“Yes, sir. The room is still available.”

“This prize money—twenty-five grand—that legit?”

The man on the other end sighed. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to make you a reservation?”

“What’s that about?” I asked. “I mean, what do I have to do?”

“Look, dude, it’s a promotional thing I think. I don’t know—I just man the front desk. Stay the night; win the prize. Simple.”

“Yeah, ok, but what’s the—“

“It’s a double bed room. Sixty-nine dollars a night. Non-smoking. Looks like it’ll be available Wednesday after 4:00. You want the reservation, or no?”

Twenty-five thousand dollars for one night in some flea bit motel?

I gave him my name and particulars and listened as he punched them into a computer.

“Alright, Sir,” he’d found his way back on script, “your reservation is confirmed and we look forward to seeing you Wednesday. Please have your ID and a major credit card at check in. Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?”

I cleared my throat. “This isn’t some sort of scam, is it?”

“Nope. We’re authorized to issue you a certified bank draft come check out time. Assuming you stay the full night.”

“One more thing,” I said quickly. “How many other people have won?”

But the line had already disconnected.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The Kings Inn Motel is one of those places.

You know the type.

Seedy, low-slung red brick buildings set back off the side of some lonely Interstate. A humming sign casting neon shades of red and blue over a mostly empty parking lot filled with broken bottles and cigarette butts.

KIN_S INN

WIFI & WEEKLY RATES AVAILABLE

VACANCY

An electronic bell buzzed jarringly somewhere in the back as I stepped through the door into the lobby.

Inside, the air was hot; heavy with the stink of bleach and disinfectant. Like the smell of a pool shed or a nursing home.

Chlorinated.

The young guy behind the Formica topped front desk barely looked up from his phone as I approached with my overnight bag.

“I’m on break,” he said flatly.

“Uh, I have a reservation.”

He dropped his phone to the counter. “Oh. So, you’re the guy? Well, welcome to the Kings Inn–where we treat you like royalty. They make me say that, sorry.”

His teeth, when he smiled were brown and yellow—leaning drunkenly against one another.

“License and credit card, please,” he said.

I slid them across the counter.

“Alright,” he said at length. “Everything looks good. You’ll be in room 205. Housekeeping just finished up in there, so should be nice and clean for ya. End of the row—past the ice machine.”

I took my cards back and said, “About this contest. What’s the gimmick?”

“Gimmick?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You know. What’s the catch?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. Management handles all that.”

“Can I speak to them?”

He shook his head. “Against the rules.”

“There are rules?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. His breath was hot and smelt like garlic bread. “If it was me? I’d lock the door, pop a couple Xanax, crawl into bed and sleep straight through till check out time. But that’s just me.”

I nodded as if I understood and took the proffered plastic keycard.

“Checkout’s at nine. Enjoy your stay.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Room 205 was indeed past the ice machine—at the far end of the long L shaped arm of the building where it backed up to a dense copse of trees.

I parked my car beneath a streetlight and walked the half a dozen yards—past an endless row of barred windows and cheap plastic patio chairs—to the door of room 205.

The door was nothing special. A dented and drab olive green with peeling white stick-on letters above the peephole. Not dissimilar to a million other such doors lining countless motel corridors from here to Angola.

My room key fit with a tiny thunk in the lock and I pushed the door inward.

Maybe, in the moments before I flicked on that overhead light, I expected something different. An axe murderer crouched in the corner. A message daubed in blood above the mirror. Something fantastic or dark. Something worthy of the telling.

Instead, the too yellow light shone on a scene that was all too familiar.

Coral pink walls that clashed with the jade green of the carpet. A sickening tableau of stale cigarettes, floral patterned bedspreads and faux wood grains. I could almost smell the sex—the half remembered and unfinished acts—that lingered hot and filthy on every surface like a film.

Pedantic, yet comforting in its simulacrum of home.

I dropped my bag on the small round table to the left of the door and flopped bodily onto the nearest bed.

How many unborn babies had seeped into the fabric of these blankets? How many un-recepticled loads of cum had sprayed across those pink tufted headboards? Enough to make it a living sentient thing?

I checked my watch—it was a little after six. Fifteen hours lay between me and that twenty-five thousand dollars.

What had the guy at the front desk said? Stay the night; win the prize.

I grabbed my car keys and headed toward the door.

I’d need pizza or beer if I was to make it.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The air felt different on my return.

Used is the best way I know how to describe it.

Recycled.

That dry staleness of long disuse shot through with traces of something I couldn’t identify. Like the final ghostly fingers of someone’s cologne lingering.

The TV was on–the usual bevy of infomercials and pay-per-view porn ads—and from where I stood I could see contents of my overnight bag; strewn across the floor.

I dropped my pizza and froze—straining for the sound of some hidden intruder.

“Hello?”

Silence.

I checked the small dirty bathroom.

Nothing.

I looked under the bed.

No one.

I gathered my things—just a change of clothes and some toiletries—into a pile and called the front desk.

The guy seemed unconcerned and brushed aside my indignation.

There were no other active keycards available for my room, he assured me. And no one had been into the office since my arrival.

“Were any maids in here while I was gone?” I wanted to know.

“Housekeeping leaves at 5:30. Your bag probably just fell over.”

“Can I switch rooms, then?”

“We’re all full up.”

“So, you’re not gonna do anything about the fact that someone’s been in my room rifling through my shit? What kind of place is this?”

A sigh. “I’ll log your complaint and you can take it up with management in the morning. I can offer you a free continental breakfast, in the meantime.”

I hung up.

I’ll admit, I thought about leaving right then. Just grabbing my bag and the remnants of my cold pizza and booking it. Home sounded good. Home sounded safe. But the thought of the money stayed my hand.

It was past nine now. What would a few more hours hurt?

I bolted and chained the door behind me before climbing into the bed.

The sheets were thin and rough. Hospital quality. They scratched at my legs and the tops of my feet and audibly crinkled when I moved. The pillows little more than lumpy plates behind my head.

I bathed in the fuzzy blue glow of late night TV and fell into a fitful sleep, already counting my winnings….

BRIING

BRIING

I fumbled in the dark for the jangling cordless phone on the bedside table.

“Mh? Hello?” I said, only half awake.

Through bleary eyes I could just discern the digital alarm clocks glowing yellow timestamp.

2:11 AM.

“Sir,” the voice on the other end was familiar. Bored. “I have to ask you to please keep it down.”

“Whasat? Do what?” I was finding surer footing in the land of consciousness. “Who’s this?”

“We’ve had several noise complaints from guests. Please keep your voices down. It’s very late.”

“Voices?”

“You and your visitor. Just keep it quiet, ok buddy?”

I sat up like a bolt and felt blindly for the lamp switch—casting the room in a sickly orange glow.

Empty.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rubbed my eyes with thumb and forefinger. The room was freezing cold. The drone of the old AC unit under the window rustled those hideous curtains in erratic patterns across the green carpet.

What had he been on about? Something about a guest?

I shook my head to try and clear some of the cobwebs. The roof of my mouth felt dry—my tongue bloated and unwieldy. When I stood to go to the bathroom for a piss and a glass of water the room seemed to wobble beneath me and I had to steady myself against the TV.

I felt sick. Or slightly tipsy. Like I did when I was six and had a fever of 102 and the world looked elastic and shiny.

The bathroom was small and grimy. The tub yellowed. I splashed some tap water over my face as I tried to catch my breath. My cheeks felt hot; my stomach roiled. Had the pizza gone bad?

BRIING

BRIING

I stepped back into the main room as the phone continued to ring.

There was that feeling again—that imperceptible otherness—like the twice diluted stuff you breathe on airplanes.

BRIING

BRIING

It was a little after 2:30, now. Who was calling?

“Hello?” I picked up the phone.

The glaring hum of the dial tone was the only response I got.

I set the phone back in its cradle.

BRIING

BRIING

“What the…”

“Don’t answer that! It’s probably Tony, wondering who stole those last five Lortabs.”

I jumped as if struck, biting back a scream as I whirled in the direction of the bathroom.

A young woman in a loose-fitting sundress was visible through the bathroom doorway—her back to me. Her pelvis was pressed hard against the sink as she applied lipstick to her loamy reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“Don’t tell Tony I’m in here, ok? He’ll try and take my jacket.” She smiled conspiratorially before climbing into the tub.

“Hey!” I crossed the room in three quick strides and grabbed the cheap plastic lining of the shower curtain. “Who the fuck are you?”

I pulled the curtain back with a sharp whisk.

The tub was empty.

I turned the light on with a flick of the wrist and stared numbly at the piss colored grout and linoleum. There was nowhere else to hide. My chest felt tight and my bowels felt twisted. I struggled to catch my breath. Using the wall as a guide rail, I navigated my way back to the bed and sat down amid the tangled sheets.

I was going to throw up.

I just needed to lie down. Just rest my eyes—just for a second. Yeah, that was it. I was sure. I was just tired. Ill. Nothing rest wouldn’t put right.

The pillows felt blissfully soft this time; the sheets satiny. How had I misjudged them? And the air! The air didn’t smell like mold. It was sweet—like fresh laundry.

I inhaled deeply through my nose.

“There you go!” tub girl sing-songed from bathrooms dark maw. “Go to sleep, baby. Rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” I could almost feel her lips on my earlobe that time. Could almost smell her earthy perfume.

I nodded. Yes. Sleep.

BRIING

I cracked my eyes.

BRIING

The digital alarm clock now said 3:04.

Surely it had only been a moment since I closed my eyes.

BRIING

I found the phone. “Yeah?” My voice sounded funny. Muffled.

A wave of static rolled over me. Buzzes and pops and whistles. Like a fax line trying to connect.

“Hello?” I tried again.

Nothing.

I closed my eyes—they felt so heavy—and prepared to press END on the phones dial pad when I heard it.

“Jimmy.”

Just a whisper—barely even there. Almost lost among the screeching and buzzing of an unused line.

“Yeah?” I perked up at the sound of my name. Peeled my eyelids apart again.

“Jimmy, its Mom. Listen to me, Jimmy. I need you to wake up.”

“Mom?” The word sounded unfamiliar. That couldn’t be right.

“Listen, Jimmy. You have to wake up.”

“It’s three in the morning,” I whined.

“Get up. Hurry. Management doesn’t want me talking to you. You need to get UP.”

I struggled into a sitting position, still cradling the phone. “Mom?

How is this you? You can’t be calling. You’re de—“

The voice through the static cut me off. “You need to get up. Get your keys and get outside. Now. You can’t fall asleep. Okay?”

“What about the money?”

“Hurry, Jimmy. I love you.”

The call ended abruptly.

I looked at the phone and thought of my mom. Remembered the last time I’d seen her. She’d looked so small in that coffin—barely filling out her favorite pink Sunday dress.

A nascent migraine had begun to settle in behind my eyes.

“Whatever Tony said, he’s lying.”

If I turned my head I could almost see her—my gal Friday—daubing on uneven finger-fulls of mascara.

Get your keys

“Just go back to sleep, baby.”

Get outside

When I stood up too fast the room spun and I almost fell.

Careful. Careful. I shuffled barefoot across the verdant carpet jungle to the table by the door.

My keys felt heavy.

“Baby, where are you going? Get back in bed. We can split this Roxicodone I found.” She sounded forceful.

I need you to wake up

I grappled with the door lock and chain. My fingers felt stupid. Unresponsive. “I’m sorry,” was all I managed. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Hurry Jimmy

“Hey! Hey, come back!”

I pulled too hard and the door swung inward banging off the drywall with a muffled crunch.

Outside it was early—or late—and wonderfully cool and still. Rocks and asphalt stung the bottoms of my feet as I stepped off the curb and into the parking lot. The invisible vise around my chest—the one I hadn’t noticed till then—began to loosen.

I staggered to my car and leaned my forehead against the driver’s side window. It felt good to just breathe normally.

I climbed behind the wheel and started the car. Let off the break and began to reverse.

“Hey!”

A loud male voice. A dark bulky silhouette in my taillights.

Someone beating fists on the trunk of my car. Grabbing for the door handle.

I screamed, threw the car into drive and stomped on the gas. I shot through the motel parking lot like a bolt scraping sickeningly over speed bumps. I didn’t care. I gunned it past the front office. Past the neon sign. Away from that place and onto the narrow road toward the interstate.

I guess I was sleepier than I thought, though.

See, I don’t remember nodding off behind the wheel and I don’t remember the car veering off the road. Nor the tree speeding toward me.

If I strain, I can vaguely recall the car rolling. The crunch and shriek of metal and glass.

A well of darkness finally pulling me in.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Carbon dioxide poisoning.

I heard those words a lot in the coming days.

They were whispered by doctors and nurses, scribbled on charts and forms I was asked to sign.

It was almost a week before a police officer—Mitchell, I think his name badge said—filled in the gaps in my memory.

Officers responding to calls from motorists on the Interstate about an accident near the Kings Inn. I’d fainted at the wheel and wrapped my car around an oak tree doing 60. Or maybe it was a maple?

Anyway, first responders pulled me out delirious and screaming about people trying to get me.

They thought I was high or concussed.

I still had the keycard to room 205 on me so police made a sweep of the premises.

The lights were off in the front office and the doors both locked.

In my room they found my scattered belongings and an unmade bed.

In room 204 they found a gas-powered generator thrumming away– pumping high levels of CO2 through the air vent that connected the two rooms.

“Twelve percent concentration, doctors say,” he told me. “Levels that high can cause any number of symptoms. Nausea, headaches, confusion, auditory or visual hallucinations. You name it.”

“I thought I was seeing ghosts,” I said.

He nodded. “Nobody was registered in room 204 and the generators gonna be hard to trace. It’s old. Could buy one just like it at any Lowes or Home Depot. But we’re looking into it.”

“What about the kid at the front desk?”

“MIA. It looks like a random thing. Some sicko trying to lure people in. Gas ‘em up and do God knows what. You’re lucky you had the good sense to run for the door. If you’d fallen asleep, doc says you might have slipped into a coma or worse.”

I looked up from the IV in my arm. “Did you find anything else?”

Officer Mitchell frowned slightly and shifted in his seat by my bed.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “like I said, there wasn’t nothing in room 204. No prints, no personal effects—except for this.” He extended a large clear plastic evidence bag toward me.

“It was left on the bed in 204. Can’t let you keep it, of course. It’s evidence.”

I squinted at the bags contents.

A cashier’s check made out to me.

For $25,000.

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nosleep

im gonna make a post of all my fic because they’re all nearing their next hundred or thousand hits 

yall better leave comments/kudos 

to be loved and to be in love 

words: 472 rating: not rated 

Liam gets a tattoo that Zayn isn’t very impressed with.

whos gonna fuck you like me

words: 1987 rating: mature 

Zayn and Liam fuck

there is no end in sight

words: 1409 rating: mature

If there’s one thing that comes close to Zayn’s love for Liam it’s working out.

and now I’m one step closer to being two steps far from you

words: 8170 rating: teen and up audiences 

“You wanna forget about him? I can help. Can’t promise I’ll be as good but I’ll give it a go.”

Liam laughs again before he looks up, going to decline this person’s offer. He catches a glimpse of the hooded eyes under the mask. And although they look lighter under the shine of the moon, he knows who this is. He wants to laugh again.

line my eyes, paint our love

words: 1133 rating: general audiences 

“Dumb? You think that was dumb? I’ll have you know Mr. Liam Payne that eyeliner is an art, and I’d like to see you try.” Zayn grins.

“Is that a challenge?”

“If you want it to be.”

gonna spend my weekly pay

words: 2422 rating: teen and up audiences 

As he bobs his head down for the last time, his eyes catch a glint of hazel through the wall that catch him off guard. The pink lips that compliment the hazel are already formed in an ‘o’ shape.

In a hurry, Liam gets up stumbling to find his shirt, shouldering past the door, stampeding towards the exit.

He barely makes it up against the wall, inhaling deeply, before a figure he knows all too well is by his side.

On Wynonna Earp Renewal

I want to try to provide a succinct statement on the likelihood of a season 3/where we stand on renewal of Wynonna Earp. Because there is so much conflicting information and statistics and I know for someone who gets as anxious as I do about things I care about, this uncertainty can be rattling. So with what I know, here’s what I think is going on.

First of all, social media, ratings, and viewing numbers are the top 3 most important things to garage a show’s success. Syfy audience ratings (Id love to know where they get those numbers because they don’t seem terribly accurate when looking at other ratings sources) and viewer numbers are largely the same as last season, which is alright- we got renewed last time. It’d be fantastic if these were higher so keep pushing to make them higher but I don’t think this is as dire as it may seem sometimes.

Social media presence this fandom has down pretty solid. Like this is the strong suit here. Keeping up with the #renewWynonnaEarp and #nochill is an easy thing everyone can do. I even joined twitter solely so I could do this. And in the modern days social media presence is huge with networks- they really care what gets them talked about online. So if Wynonna Earp keeps trending and grabbing attention they’ll want to keep it around.

Lastly reviews and ratings. I know in those weekly tables the ratings compared to other syfy shows look not the greatest. But remember there are shows with even lower ratings getting renewed. Plus, those ratings are the only ones I see that appear low. Look anywhere else like Rotten Tomatoes, IMDB, Amazon, iTunes, etc…and the reviews are overwhelmingly positive. Like ridiculously so. Even from professional critics. Last I checked WE season 2 had a 100% on Rotten Tomatoes. That’s nuts. So I honestly don’t know what Syfy is measuring but I doubt those odd decimal ratings are a huge determining factor. Also keep in mind how many big name magazines and critics have written about WE. Vanity Fair, Entertainment Weekly? This is a major accomplishment for a small time tv show. This is a new accomplishment too- there’s way more attention than there was last season.

So my final say is- until we get a renewal confirmation things are up in the air. So don’t get complacent to think anything is guaranteed. Because it’s not. And Syfy may make an odd decision. There’s a lot going on. But don’t give up either, because we’ve been making some fantastic progress. Just keep pushing, that’s what we can do and it has a lot of power.

A book barrow in Greendyke Street c 1916. Glasgow’s street traders would hire their barrows at an hourly, daily or weekly rate and take them to a regular pitch or push them through the streets to expose their wares to potential customers.

The introduction of compulsory education in 1872 for all children aged between 6 and 12 years greatly improved working class literacy in Scotland. There was a long and proud tradition in the country of opening libraries to provide “improving” literature to working men, but increased literacy after 1872 prompted a greater demand for novels and magazines.

The browsers at this barrow include what appear to be a smartly-dressed middle-class couple (the man in his bowler hat), and a labourer in a flat cap (or “bunnet”). The woman on the left is dressed in traditional 19th century working-class Glasgow style, in apron and shawl.

imdb.com
Michael Fassbender
Michael Fassbender, Actor: Inglourious Basterds. Michael Fassbender was born in Heidelberg, Germany, to a German father, Josef, and an Irish mother, Adele (originally from Larne, County Antrim, in Northern Ireland). Michael was raised in the town of Killarney, Co. Kerry, in south-west Ireland, where his family moved to when he was two years old. His parents ran a restaurant (his father is a chef). Fassbender is based in London, England, and ...

The weekly updated starmeter of actors on IMDB recorded on Monday, July 10, 2017, the weekly spurt of Michael’s rating up 99 points, after a three-week drop. Approximately the same results he had during the release of two blockbusters with him in the title role - “Assassin’s Creed” and «Alien: Covenant» . What kind of blockbuster, except for “Rest on Ibiza”, went to Michael last week? And this is only one indicator of the popularity growth among the public.

Information for thinking about why Michael needs all this PR?

She Glows

for the @timepetalsprompts weekly drabble prompt “sparkle”

Rated T, NineRose and TenRose, 445 words 

@goingtothetardis beta’d this for me…she’s awesome!

Read it on ao3!

Originally posted by timelordgifs

She glows.

It’s the first thing he notices about her, after the danger has passed and she questions him, demanding answers. He can’t look on her too long, he has to look away lest he stare forever, but he knows. He knows that this one is special, this one is anything but stupid, this one is precious. Her caramel eyes are full of light and life and fire, and he wants nothing more than to have just a sip of what he sees in her eyes.

She sparkles.

He tries to impress her, taking her to places long ago and far away. She is impressed with what he shows her; he is impressed simply by her. He introduces her to nobility, royalty, emperors and celebrities, but none can rival her and she enchants them all. She’s been worshiped as a goddess more than once, but by none more than him, a supplicant at her feet. She is more beautiful than the most beautiful creature in the universe, and she has no idea.

She shines.

She takes his breath when she comes to him wearing glittering gowns and baubles, so achingly alluring that he has to struggle to stay on his feet before her and not fall to his knees and praise her beauty, her goodness. When she wears jeans and trainers and he takes her to the marketplaces of far-off worlds, she looks at him with a smile and he can’t comprehend why she smiles at him. People flock to her on every world, wanting to bask in her light, to feel just a bit of the warm glow she exudes from every pore. She doesn’t understand the effect she has on everyone she meets, and that ignorance only makes her more beautiful.

She shimmers.

Her amber eyes glint with tears when he’s been a thoughtless arse and hurt the only thing that’s ever made him feel complete. The pain is nearly unbearable: he’s wounded her and she is part of his very soul. Her distress is nearly a tangible thing and he wants nothing more than to rip it away from her and grind it to dust beneath his feet, vanquishing her pain so her eyes will never glint with tears again.

She glistens.

In the aftermath of their lovemaking when she lays in his arms and he holds her, he thanks every god he knows of for her. He doesn’t believe in any of them, doesn’t need to. He believes in her, and that’s all he’ll ever need. He runs his hands over her sweat-slickened skin and tries to believe that one day, he can be the man she believes him to be.

anonymous asked:

what is the difference between getting a stipend and getting paid?

Getting a stipend means you get a lump sum for the entire show rather than a weekly or hourly rate. So let’s say I had a four week rehearsal and performance schedule, I may get paid a lump sum of $1,000 for that work. For other contracts, sometimes you get paid weekly, so every Thursday for instance, you get a check for a negotiated amount of money. For Equity shows, you must get paid weekly and it must have the taxes taken out rather than falling under the self-employment umbrella.

Johnny Roderick

Originally posted by samwinchesterappreciation

Pairing: husband!Samxwife!Reader, husband!Deanxsoulmate!wife!reader, crowleyxdaughter!reader
Word count: 16, 966
Warnings: Smut, swearing
She’s Leaving, Dean masterlist


Since that little talk with your father, things seemed to smooth out. Him and John weren’t best friends or anything. However, you weren’t afraid of them being left alone together. The boys never asked about what John talked to you about, and you never told them. It didn’t need to be said. They knew whatever it was effected you in a positive way.

It was getting close to Johnny being five months old, and you were amazed at how fast he was growing. It seemed like you were donating his old clothes weekly at this rate. Which seemed to make your father happy. All the reason to spoil the infant.

Laying on the couch, you sniffled. John and Dean were out on a case a few hours away, so it was just you, Johnny, and Sam. Pulling the throw up, you rolled over and fell asleep. That’s all you wanted to do, and it was worrying you.

Keep reading

The show [Chuck] became known for its stable audience; Fienberg (2010) referred to it as “one of the network’s most consistent and dedicated audiences, producing nearly identical weekly ratings regardless of its competition.” Sepinwall (2011) argued that even when Chuck’s ratings were slipping, it was “still a known quantity,” noting, “It’s never going to be a hit, but its audience is its audience (even if it’s been smaller this spring than it was in the fall), and NBC can put it on the schedule and not worry about having to promote it at all.” Sepinwall uses the phrase “a known quantity” to suggest that while the show may have had a small audience, it was loyal, and renewing the show may have been less of a risk than having a new show be a flop. Because Chuck was a known quantity that delivered stable ratings, NBC had an understanding of how well it would perform and could focus its marketing efforts elsewhere. The campaign helped establish Chuck’s audience and its value to the network, and it proved the fans’ loyalty to the show and its sponsors. When it came time for NBC to pick up shows for a full season or to renew shows for the new season, the low-rated Chuck was a safe bet thanks to that viewer loyalty. NBC could air it and guarantee that it would have a small but dedicated audience — something it could not necessarily guarantee for their other shows. NBC could then better market the loyal audience to advertisers as desirable viewers because more attentive viewers (such as fans) were more likely to watch the advertisements (Ryan 2003). In a time where broadcast channels were collectively losing audiences to cable channels, altered viewing patterns, and nontraditional consumption methods, an engaged audience was valued, often over the potential for an unknown extensive potential audience.
—  Savage, Christina. 2014 “Chuck versus the Ratings: Savvy Fans and ‘Save Our Show’ Campaigns.” In “Fandom and/as Labor,” edited by Mel Stanfill and Megan Condis, special issue, Transformative Works and Cultures, no. 15.

hi there! bethanie and renee back at it again with yet another group chat!

requirements for joining the chat:

  • you must be following renee (loumyprince) and bethanie (dimpsalmighty)
  • must be 18+ please. we are emphasizing this rule!
  • must reblog this, likes do not count

important stuff you should know before joining:

  • this is a chill larries group chat
  • as admins, neither bethanie or renee will tolerate any hate targeted towards freddie or briana. babygate will not be discussed very often but if it is to come up, no hate is allowed
    • whether you believe freddie is louis’ child or not does not matter, you just cannot be hateful or rude towards a month old baby and/or his mother
    • just be respectful of the situation. as the story unfolds, we can talk about it but respect is key in this chat
  • other ships will be talked about (more specifically zouis zarry and lilo)
    • if you are not okay with discussing other ships other than larry in possible sexual scenarios or having manips being sent to the chat, do not join 

things you’ll get from joining the group:

  • new friends
  • skype calls, iMessage chat, cards against humanity on occasion
  • promos weekly (rates, selfies, simple promos, etc)
  • reblogs of your selfies and shitposts
  • a safe space for you where you feel welcomed and loved always

ways to better your chances:

  • befriend us! we’re friendly people and love to make new friends!
  • tag things in the #chilllarries tag to make us smile and notice you
  • seriously, just talk to us :) we won’t bite!

we will be choosing 7-10 of you :) good luck!

Labour Rights: For BC Animators

It’s important to know your labour rights. A large percentage of our life is spent in an employee/employer relationship, or in some sort of contract allowing for compensation. Learning about your rights under the BC Employment Standards Act is paramount to a healthy work life.

We get a lot of questions about being classified as a High Technology Professional in animation. It is a specific exemption to certain subsections of parts 4 and 5 of the Employment Standards Act regarding overtime pay, maximum work hours, statutory holidays and scheduling. It is currently up in the air if the classification applies to animation workers. Regardless, it does not exempt some very important parts of the employment standards act. Whether you are a High Technology Professional or not, the following laws apply:

1. You can not be asked to, be scheduled for or indirectly required to work excessive hours.

Quoted from the act:

—-
Part 4 Hours of Work and Overtime

No excessive hours

39 Despite any provision of this Part, an employer must not require or directly or indirectly allow an employee to work excessive hours or hours detrimental to the employee’s health or safety.
—-

That which is detrimental to health and safety is determined on a case by case basis, but we have received stories of animators needing to be hospitalized from exhaustion, experiencing rapidly deteriorating eye sight, retinal detachments, joint and body injuries, heart problems, and high levels of stress related illness.

These effects are detrimental to your health and you can refuse to work hours that lead to these detriments. It is our employer’s responsibility to ensure that production schedules and deadlines are reasonable and productions are well staffed to prevent the indirect requirement of excessive hours. We understand this point is moot if you feel afraid of speaking up for fear of losing your job. We hope to encourage you to take the chance in telling your coordinator or producer that your hours are detrimental to your health, because losing your eyesight will be far worse than perhaps not being hired on that one production again.

2. Your employer must record and provide you a record of the hours you have worked during a pay period.

These hours must be correct and reflective of the actual time you have worked. Quoted from the Employment Standards Act:

—-
Part 3 - Wages, Special Clothing and Records

Wage statements
27 (1) On every payday, an employer must give each employee a written wage statement for the pay period stating all of the following:
(a) the employer’s name and address;
(b) the hours worked by the employee;
© the employee’s wage rate, whether paid hourly, on a salary basis or on a flat rate, piece rate, commission or other incentive basis;
(d) the employee’s overtime wage rate;
(e) the hours worked by the employee at the overtime wage rate;
—-

If you are not receiving valid information on your wage statement, your employer is in violation of the Employment Standards Act. They are required to keep correct records. We recommend that Animators record their working hours separately and keep their wage statements for documentation.

A follower of the blog suggested using an app called Rewind - a piece of automatic time tracking software. You can place a pin at your workplace location and it will automatically record the time you spend there. For those who prefer the pen and paper method, marking a calendar with your work hours each day will work as well.

If you have to make an employment standards complaint this information will protect you. If you are injured or fall ill on the job, your recorded hours could help prove excessive hours, which will be useful for obtaining compensation from Employment Standards or Workers Compensation benefits. We have had confirmation of several different studios requiring a fraudulent reporting of working hours in order to be paid, so you can not rely on them for record keeping.

3. Your pay must equal at least minimum wage over the hours you work.

You can not be required to work more hours a week than will equal $10.45/hr. For an artist making $400 a week at the current minimum wage, they can not be required to work more than 38 hours in a week.

High Tech Professionals are only exempt from sections of part 4 and part 5 of the act, minimum wage requirements are found in this quote:

—-
Part 3 - Wages, Special Clothing and Records

Employers required to pay minimum wage
16 (1) An employer must pay an employee at least the minimum wage as prescribed in the regulations.
(2) An employer must not, directly or indirectly, withhold, deduct or require payment of all or part of an employee’s wages in a pay period to comply with subsection (1) in relation to any other pay period.
—-

The minimum wage requirement overrides all forms of wage breakdowns. Whether you make a salary, weekly rate, flat rate or commission, you MUST be compensated at least minimum wage. As with all issues on this list, documentation is key.

On September 15, 2016 minimum wage will increase to $10.85/hr.

4. You can not “sign away” your rights under Employment Standards.

The scope of the Employment Standards Act supercedes all written or verbal agreements between employer and employee. You can not agree to be paid less than minimum wage, nor to work excessive hours. You can not agree to sign fraudulent time sheets or receive incorrect wage statements. Employment Standards also has provisions for third party complaints, so you may find that regardless of your explicit or implicit agreement, your employer will be facing a hearing with the Labour Relations Board.

Final thoughts

We live in an unstable employment system. We need money to pay rent, buy food, support our families and live our lives. Our jobs are how we make that money. Knowing and exercising your employment rights can feel very threatening, especially if you fear sudden unemployment and poverty.

We hope that Animators will accurately weigh this risk with the risk of not defending their labour rights. Our employers are ultimately responsible for our working conditions, but our part in this situation may be that of a thousand small cuts and then artists not speaking up when they needed to. As our labour rights slip away from us, it will become more and more difficult to claw them back, leaving us more desperate and fearful than we were before.

If you are ready, start slow when speaking up. Perhaps this week tell yourself that you are going to cut down as much of your overtime as possible and politely resist additional work put on you by supervisors or production staff. If you are a supervisor, perhaps you will take the time to make a quick comment to your producer or director that you and your team may benefit from more artists, or a relaxing of the deadlines. For producers that are receiving bonuses for bringing shows in early, perhaps you can weigh the personal benefit of that money with the detriments to the people you are ultimately responsible for, and recognize that being given that responsibility means that many times their work/life balance rests on your decisions. Hopefully this week we can all take a few small steps to relieve the pressure that is crushing us all… the pressure that brought an estimated 15% of total Vancouver animation workers to a small Google survey on a tumblr blog.

We can bring relief and improve the working conditions for the medium we love more than anything by taking small steps together.

Thank you for participating in our project. We are truly humbled by the response.

'Dragon Ball Super' Anime Tops Toonami Ratings Lineup
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‘Dragon Ball Super’ Anime Tops Toonami Ratings Lineup

The weekend before last was a bit of a wash when it came to the weekly ratings as many things were delayed due to hurricanes and we know that coverage was spotty as so many were focused on that event. This past weekend’s ratings are now available and the Toonami block on Cartoon Network…

Check out the full article by Chris Beveridge on The Fandom Post!