Call me Kes
@likethehotsauce.bsky.social
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i write; it’s like drawing blood from stone. but it builds my character. read my fanfic @ ao3: likethehotsauce i like cuss words and animation. currently, expertly slowly learning Te Reo Māori. drop a line. tumblr: @the-left-handofgender @likethehotsauce
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“Hideous Risk” | a Vianton fic | Mature

Chapter One now available: tinyurl.com/2skprc47

Viago and Anton contemplate mortality, the past, and the future. Each has a confession burning in his throat; but to divulge their secrets is to take a hideous risk.
title card for a fanfic. background image is an extreme close up of an ink drawing that has been heavily altered with a screen printing filter and faded rainbow filter. the drawing shows a person biting their thumb with a despondent, pensive expression. text overlay reads: hideous risk, a vianton fanfic, mature
Reposted by Call me Kes
I’m done being gaslit into believing that the things I like are “niche.”

I’m done hearing that shows and books and movies I like are too “woke” or too gay or too weird to be popular.

We had the numbers. We still do. And I don’t just mean OFMD.
New Deadline article confirms that #OFMD was one of the top three comedy premieres in HBO Max history!

🔗 deadline.com/2025/10/tim-...
The Chair Company averaged 1.4M cross-platform viewers in the US across its first three days. It is also among the top three comedy series premieres in HBO Max history alongside And Just Like That and Our Flag Means Death.
i haven’t had a chance to read it yet :) really glad you liked it!
Reposted by Call me Kes
nice! you okay? did you enjoy the sequel?
one of the best of all time! have you watched the pilot for dana terrace’s new project, knights of guinevere? it’s meant for a more mature audience, but i’m starving for toh’s depth of storytelling in another show!
good soup be upon ye!

image credit: samuelroukins on tumblr
Roach from Our Flag Means Death season 2 drinks from a bowl of soup while aboard Zheng Yi Sao’s ship.
very late, but a little wip wednesday

from “Hideous Risk” a Vianton fanfic (chapter one is on ao3 here: archiveofourown.org/works/706025...)
Anton has a sip of beer. He's immediately a bit miffed that he's no less thirsty or stressed or too warmish. He rolls the beer bottle in his palm, between his thumb and pointer's primary knuckles, arguably making the beer less able to do its job. Not too long ago a couple or more of the other werewolves were hanging around, but he must have ignored enough of what they were trying to chat to him about because they've gone back in the house.
Anton doesn't notice beyond a simple, unconscious easing up of his shoulders.
In his mind, he does a replay of a conversation he had with Vladislav, just before coming out to the barbie. Viago was gone to the market; he'd practically run out Anton's back patio door. His dark eyes were so wilted. As soon as Clifton and Dion cleared out, Anton went up to Vladslav and asked: "Is Viago alright? Seems a bit..." he shrugged, suddenly at a loss. "..upset?"
Vladislav, ever the inscrutable one, deigned to wrinkle his eyebrows at Anton. "He is Viago," he said. The tone of his voice conveyed that he found Anton's question unnecessary at best, and outright silly at worst. Then, begrudgingly, he added by way of explanation: "He gets moody at times."
Anton bit back an angry retort. He's known Viago for ten years. They've become, in Anton's opinion, quite close.
After all, Viago is the only one of the vampires with any sense; he's always caring for the other two, tempering their extremes... softening the edges. Much like Anton provides for his pack. Viago is the alpha of the vampires.
But, Anton didn't say that to Vlad.
Instead, he just said, "Right. But, don't you think he's been quieter? Or... I dunno, a bit down?"
For what felt like a lifetime, Vladislav held his face in an impassive rictus. An eyebrow finally twitched. He said,
"No."
Anton has another sip of the beer. "Funny vampire," he mutters, but what he means is "bloody vampire" or
"fucking vampire" or "infuriating cunt." He takes up his basting brush and goes to work on the lamb.
Reposted by Call me Kes
We love to see it! And by "it" I mean Rhys Darby as a leading man!
stede inviting his bf back home after his roommates voted him out: 💯 gay behavior
/244/

The first one leaned over him and said, as if to the other two, but Anton understood that it was meant for him: “Art thou certain this one be Alpha? He doth appear of too little vigor.”
/243/

Thin, knobby hands began chafing up and down his legs, and his thighs and even further. Anton growled. His arms were lashed behind his back, but he tried to crawl away even so. He recalled something: an imprecise depression, a cloud of sensory memories and… shame. Adolescent hazing.
/242/

One them, the one with the voice like a meatgrinder, bent down and patted his shoulder. Like a farmer might pat the flank of a sick animal.

Then it said to the other two: “Rub his legs. He shall need to stand.”
/241/

Drunkenly, Anton wishes he could’ve gone through it— when they unbelted him from the handtruck.

He struck out with his shoulders, meaning to gutcheck the beast on his left. His elbow never made contact.

He fell like a dead fish, onto the floor. Busted his cheek. Pins and needles all over.
/240/

The floor. Anton struck his cheek on the floor. It’s sheet vinyl, probably with cork underlayment. Anton’s laid plenty of sheet vinyl. Plenty of underlayment as well.

He thinks to himself, between bouts of self-hatred, maybe that’s the reason the fuckers can’t go through it.
/239/

It turned out that his initial idea of them, way back in the bush, had been pretty right on. His captors are harelike beasts about the size of a wild boar walking on its hind legs. They also, as he saw, can go straight through the walls. But not the floor.
/238/

He’d been awake. He’d been ready for them. He told himself he was. Still feeling a bit crook from that liquid they’d got down his throat, granted. But.

There were three of them and he’d sneered to himself about how they were underestimating him.
/237/

Getting shoved into the cage has been the most painful part of this so far, because out of all his fantasies of survival and heroism and protecting his mates or his pack, it’s been the moment he’s fought back the hardest so far— and it was absolute rubbish! Just shite!
/236/

Standing— or, swaying— inside a cage made of silver— careful not to lean his exposed arms or his head on the bars lest they bite into him like a griddle into the skin of a saveloy— Anton doesn’t see the humor in having his strength fail him.
/235/

He’s heard other men his age (or younger) talk about that moment of realisation, when for the first time, their strength failed them. A knee went out on them. Or they got winded on a tramp.

“Had to face that I’m not King Big Shit,” they say and they laugh.
/234/

Anton’s giving it his all not to think about that just now, about how powerless he is, but it’s all his mind can focus on, apparently. Helplessness is not something he’s had to endure for a very long time.
Turn Around, Bright Eyes | a Vianton fanfic | Mature

/233/

Before, whenever Anton fantisised about what he’d do in a werewolf hunter situation— which he’d definitely done, and often— he’d always finished kicking the guy’s arse before it got this far.