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dwtdog · 4 days

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Nursing Home AU, from the list of reverse tropes

DNF, ~1.7k words, fun little drabble as a break from finals :33

George’s walker catches on a stray piece of carpet and he grumbles, waving off the nearby nurse who turns her head toward him. He can handle this himself, thank you very much.

He straightens his back as he nears the door that he knows opens to the room just above his, all the complaints he’s built up in the weeks since his upstairs neighbors moved in at the tip of his tongue as he raises a fist to knock, grunting slightly at the way his shoulder creaks with the effort.

After three quick, hard knocks that he’s sure will be audible through whatever hearing impairment burdens the person behind the door, he studies the decorations with a careful eye. There are unframed pictures scattered across the door, some close to falling off the weak adhesives that secure them. George has to hold himself back from pressing them back down, telling himself that whoever is pictured in them probably deserves to have their treasured family pictures swept up by the night workers.

Because they’ve made George’s life a living hell.

He didn’t think his time in a nursing home could get any worse, until this neighbor moved in. It was like they had bricks attached to the bottoms of their shoes and frequently performed tap dancing routines, or like they had a particularly rambunctious pet elephant that traipsed around the place at all hours of the day.

George had done his best to be patient. He really had, but it’d been long enough. He’s dealing with this here, and now.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the door handle turns, and the solid wood slowly eases open towards him. He shuffles back to avoid being hit, because he doesn’t exactly trust them to be caring of his health now.

The deep frown that he’s been wearing since he was awoken that morning by thundering footsteps directly above his bed shifts to something softer when he sees the man opening the door.

The first thing George notices about him are the eyes- a golden yellow that he knows is really green, set in a kind face weathered with smile lines. The second thing George notices is that he does not, in fact, have bricks attached to his shoes, and that brings the frown right back to his face.

“Uh- Hello. How can I help you?” the man asks, and he sounds nice enough. George thinks it’s an elaborate front.

“Are you aware,” George starts, bringing his eyes up from the mans shoes. “That there are people living below you?”

He blinks. “It would be pretty weird if they didn’t, yeah?”

“So you are aware them,” George clears his throat, crossing his arms. “That you should consider that before stomping around up here like a bull with dementia?”

George almost finds it satisfying, to watch the way his expression goes from open and friendly to sour, the way his stance comes to mirror George’s, down to the crossed arms.

“So it’s a sin for a man to walk around his own house now is it?” he says, and George finds it hard to take him seriously with the ridiculous hat covering silvery hair- it’s pointed at the corners, taking a shape similar to the ears of a cat. “Just turn down your hearing aids.”

“Don’t need them,” George says curtly, rubbing a finger over the skin of his left ring finger, a habit he hadn’t dropped since his divorce. It draws his eyes to the same place on the man across from him, and he notices that he wears no ring either. “And it is a sin if you’re disrupting my sleep.”

He looks ready to argue back, but his eyes dart down to the movement of George’s finger, and he seems to change his mind. “Listen if you want to debate the bible, the lady three doors down can go for hours. Let’s say, instead, you come in for a cup of hot chocolate. Get all your complaining out.”

George shifts on his feet, feeling his hip pop as he does, and it reminds him that sitting down sometime soon would be nice….

“Fine. But if there’s no vodka in that chocolate I’m stealing something.”

With a small smile that makes George’s heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in decades, the man steps aside, pushing the door all the way open. “I’m Dream, by the way. I don’t think you introduced yourself.”

“George,” he replies as he steps forward, struggling for a moment to lift his walker over the edge between the hall and Dream’s carpet. “Strange name.”

Dream laughs, and George is distracted from looking over every inch of his apartment when a small animal appears, walking with its tail held high.

“You have a cat,” he observes, and Dream turns from where he’d been pouring milk to heat up. George sets his walker to the side as he ever so carefully crouches down to pet the thing, smiling to himself when it purrs.

“He likes you,” Dream says, and there’s a note of fondness in his voice. “That’s Spirit. He probably hates my stomping just as much as you do.”

“Oh, you’re a smart one then, aren’t you,” George coos, rubbing under the cats chin. He’s a big cat, with long orange fur and some spots of gray on his muzzle, and ridiculously long whiskers that tickle where they brush against George’s leg. “You ought to bite him more. Maybe piss on his bed,” George says in a faux whiper, leaning down as much as he can.

“Oh, so now you’re trying to turn my cat against me?” Dream says, and George nearly jumps from the sudden proximity. “Need a hand up?”

George huffs, glaring at the offered hand but taking it anyway, groaning loudly as he stands. “So you can walk quietly,” he grumbles, eyeing the distance between he kitchenette and his current position.

“Only when I want to” Dream says with a wink, and George really wishes he still had his own cane- a much better weapon. “Come here, sit down before I have to call someone to help you. God forbid that new one- what’s her name- Rosa, god forbid she shows up. She’d have you on the ambulance in a matter of minutes.”

George laughs, following as Dream leads him to a chair in the living area, acutely aware of their still connected hands. “She on this floor too? Sent my neighbor to hospice for a cough. Haven’t seen her since.”

As George lowers himself onto the chair, Dream still doesn’t let his hand go, and George can feel a blush, of all things, creeping up his neck and staining his face.

“You planning to hold my hand forever, or-” George suggests, just as the microwave beeps. “Don’t tell me you microwaved the milk.”

“How else would I do it?” Dream asks, pulling his hand back and turning back to his microwaved milk. “You want peppermint?”

“I want vodka. And I don’t know, on the stove, maybe?”

“Too much work,” Dream says cheerily, and George sighs, long and exaggerated.

He looks around Dream’s living space as he waits, noting the various pictures with his seemingly excessively large family. It’s not the only thing he’s looking for, but he can’t help but notice the lack of any sort of spouse.

“Snooping around already?” Dream asks as he returns, two steaming mugs in his hands. “You could probably find my whole life’s story on these walls.”

George meets his eye as he hands a mug over, wrapping his easily chilled hands around it gratefully. Dream takes the chair opposite his, and watches as George takes his first sip. As much as he wants to hate whatever microwaved monstrosity is swirling in the mug, he has to admit that it tastes damn good.

“‘T’s good,” he says into the mug, not missing the way Dream’s face lights up at the admission. “Family recipe?”

“Nope, all mine,” Dream says with a grin. “Come on, I know you have questions. Hit me.”

George hums, making a show of thinking it over. The burning question feels too obvious, and too revealing. He’s only just met this man a few minutes ago, he shouldn’t be asking about his love life. And yet-

“No wife?” he asks bluntly, taking a big sip right after.

Dream laughs, setting his own mug aside as he leans forward, planting his elbows on his knees. “Nope. Never settled down. Always felt like I was chasing something just out of reach, like I needed to wait until the perfect person came along. And now look at me,” he laughs again, this time sounding more forced. “Left in a home to die alone. Probably doesn’t help I only realized it wasn’t a wife I should have been looking for what, ten years ago?”

George leans back in his chair, studying Dream in a new light. “Trust me, men aren’t worth it either. My husband filed for divorce, what, 20 years back? Never even bothered to tell me why. One day there, the next, gone. Took everything too.”

“That why you ended up in Florida? Don’t meet many British people around here.”

“Wanted to die under the sun,” George says easily, the alcohol warming his veins. “London was too grey, too many memories. I always loved it here.”

They sit in silence for a bit after that, only broken by Spirit jumping up to George’s lap with a loud meow.

“So no kids?” George asks, easing one of Spirit’s big paws away from where it’s kneading at his shorts, claws digging into his skin.

“You’ve got the only one on your lap,” Dream says. “Well, grandkid, technically. His mom was mine too.”

George nods, tangling his fingers in the long fur. “You ever think about second chances?”

“I think I’m on third’s by now,” Dream chuckles, meeting George’s eyes curiously. “Why, you rethinking the way you introduced yourself?”

“In your dream’s,” George says with a grin. “But I wouldn’t mind coming over again- to tell you off, probably.”

“And to pet my cat. And drink my vodka.”

“That too,” George nods. “Might need to visit a lot, then.”

“Well,” Dream shifts in his seat, and he appears to be fighting off a smile. It still reaches his eyes, and George can’t help but think of the man he sees on the walls- happy, glowing. Hopeful. “Then I guess I’d have to let you in. As an apology for the stomping.”

#cq.writing #dnf #old man yaoi 🎉#if yall want any of the other prompts lmk this was fun

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welcometothejianghu · 3 months

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 民国奇探/My Roommate is a Detective.

My Roommate is a Detective is a 2020 drama about the Jazz Age shenanigans of a terrible OT3: a useless noodle boy, a spoiled journalist girl, and a handsome thug-turned-cop, who together solve Agatha Christie mysteries in 1920s Shanghai.

I mean, seriously, have you ever wondered what Hercule Poirot would be like if he were a 6'2" Chinese rubber man? If he had a long-suffering sugar daddy from the wrong side of the tracks and a spunky sugar mommy who owned their shared apartment? The answer is, it would be a laugh-out-loud-funny series about a ridiculous and charming assortment of weirdos solving only slightly believable murder mysteries in charming period clothing.

This is another one of those shows where I'm kind of shocked at how not well-known it is, except I'm not, because I can see exactly the problems that keep fandom from descending on it like horny little vultures. Nonetheless, I think it's a good time that more people would enjoy if they gave it the chance. Here's five reasons why you should:

1. Equal parts smart as heck and dumb as butts

On the one hand, especially given its tone and tenor, this show has many surprisingly clever turns and thoughtful moments, carried along by some talented actors. On the other hand, [.gif of a guinea pig in a rollerskate being pushed merrily down a hallway]

This show is not a complicated intellectual exercise. It's an action comedy about a goofy sleuth, a rich-girl reporter, and the cop who should be the straight man in this trio, except he's as much of a goober as the other two are. If the promotional tableaus are giving you real "cover of a Clue box" vibes, you've understood the kind of pastiche it's pulling off.

The mysteries are preposterous. They're all the kind of thing that exemplify the Doyle line about how, when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever's left has got to be the answer, no matter how ding-dang improbable it may be. You know the type: tons of overly elaborate setups, unbelievably perfect timing, coincidental long-lost relatives, people hallucinating right and left. They're also very short -- most full cases take only 2-3 episodes to introduce, investigate, and resolve, even when interspersed with the larger goings-on in these weirdos' lives. The DramaWiki page for the show lists 23 separate arcs over 36 episodes, so you do the math.

And yet, it's way more thoughtful and clever than its doofy little setup would indicate. Its attention to detail surprised me on more than one occasion. Add to that a bunch of solid performances from an ensemble of real characters, and what you get is definitely more substantive than a junk-food waste of time. You can't turn your brain off while watching it, but you sure can turn it down, and that's great.

It also doesn't hurt that everyone is super attractive and wearing great outfits. The whole show's worth it for the wardrobes.

2. THE GIRL

Fuck the haters, fuck everyone, I am going to climb right up on my little soapbox and tell you all why Bai Youning is awesome.

She is insane. She's a troll. She's a clever little monster. Every other character's response to her is, oh my god, you are literally the worst. And she is! She has been spoiled beyond belief by her incredibly rich Crime Dad, and she has learned to leverage her uwu just a widdle girl status to get her whatever the hell she wants. She simply cannot hear it when someone says the word "no." She will look her future sister-in-law in the eye and point a loaded gun at her own head without blinking. Every ball she has is made of brass.

She's hardly perfect. During the course of the show, there are some times where her entitlement runs face-first into the brick wall of reality. She's not nearly as good at her chosen career path as she's been told (mostly by the people who get paid to tell her she's good). She's rarely prepared to deal with the consequences of her actions, especially when she can't just throw money at the problem.

So she learns, and grows, and changes. She's always going to be a stubborn bitch, but she can become a stubborn bitch with a more accurate conception of her relationship to the world around her.

She's actually a really good romantic foil for Lu Yao, who is equally stubborn and spoiled and obnoxious as hell. It is a pure brat4brat relationship, where each one thrives on comically enraging the other. What this means, though, is that when they actually start showing one another some vulnerability, it's really sweet.

Now: I'm pretty sure that you could not have made a female character in her position that everyone did not hate, no matter how cool you made her, because that is the fate of all girls who theoretically keep the two boys from kissing. (More on that next point.) If she were less outgoing and friendly, she would've been hated for being too cold. If she were less headstrong, she would've been hated for being a pushover. If she weren't as into the boy, she would've been hated for being frigid. I know the "god forbid a woman do anything" meme is a joke, but ... man, god forbid this girl do anything. She gets a level of hate entirely disproportionate to what she's actually like. As I said with Eom Dada, it's not always sexism, but sometimes, yeah, it's sexism.

(Real talk: Her character is also fighting both how she's definitely not written as well as the boys are and how the plot sometimes needs her to be artificially stupid and jealous for Straightness Drama Reasons, so that's a legit problem on a structural level. Also, she's dubbed by someone else and the boys aren't, which gives her voice an annoying not-quite-there quality that's hard to ignore. The deck is stacked against her real hard even before she steps onscreen.)

So here's my advice: Go into this show wanting to like her. Embrace her terribleness as a positive, intentional quality. Don't be mad at her for straightening up an endgame that was never going to be gay, even without her. Welcome her contributions to the chaos. Realize that she is exactly as entertainingly irritating as her boys are.

Truly, this is a story of three terrible people in love. They're all just awful, and you wouldn't want to be in a room with any of them for longer than you had to. Left to right up there, Bai Youning is spoiled and self-absorbed, Lu Yao is arrogant and lazy, and Qiao Chusheng is suuuuuch a fucking cop. If you're into the kind of dynamic that can only be described OT3: You All Deserve One Another, then this one's perfect for you.

3. Do you really miss '00s queerbaiting?

Like, really? Are you just super-nostalgic for being able to see the showrunners go, ha ha, girls, we know you're watching and we know you want these cute boys to kiss, which they never will -- but what if we pretended for just this one scene??? Do you just carnally ache for that with every fiber of your being?

Yep.

Now, why am I calling the occasional really gay moments between these two gentlemen "queerbaiting" and not "bromance"? Because these moments are a) obviously intentional, b) completely sporadic, and c) never spoken of again.

For example: There's a scene (which you can see a gifset of here) where the two of them are at a restaurant frequented by the cop, who brings a lot of ladies there on dates. When the waiter points this out, useless noodle boy says, I'm his date. The waiter looks mildly surprised by this, the cop says not to listen to his bullshit, and that's the end of it. The scene moves on. There is no further discussion of this comment. It does not affect their relationship.

That's the essence of queerbaiting: that little on-purpose nod to the homoerotic tension between the two, in a way that isn't a joke but also isn't not a joke, and either way is never going to happen. (In fact, the show is going to go out of its way to make sure that ship gets sunk, so, uh, get your fanfiction lifeboats ready for that.)

A true queerbaiting move is something that should make a difference in a relationship, but doesn't. It should make a difference that our cop is so comfortable in the noodle boy's personal space that he invades it at will. It doesn't. It should make a difference that noodle boy keeps getting real weird every time the cop has a date with a girl. It doesn't. Those are some real romantic moves the two of them keep pulling, and then nothing comes of them.

I had this show sold to me as being incredibly shippy, to the point of being even more so than its censored-BL contemporaries. And ... well, it is and it isn't. It has textually gayer individual moments, but it is much less pervasively gay. It's clear from the start that it's going to throw all its actual relationship points into its canon het romance. When it comes to these boys, the show is toying with you. It knows you want to see those boys smooch, just as much as it knows (and it knows you know) they're never gonna.

How you feel about this is entirely up to you -- and indeed, it may be a dealbreaker on the whole drama for you. If you are inclined to pitch a fit when your ship does not become canon, you'll be happier somewhere else. If, however, you see this as a delightful opportunity to do whatever the hell you want with the situation as it is presented, all the while enjoying little moments of startlingly blatant homoeroticism between two handsome dudes, well, here you are!

(I mean, if you want my take on it, what needs to happen is that the cop and the girl need to fuck while the useless noodle boy watches with asexual bisexual interest, and then they all need to snuggle with the noodle boy in the middle so they can both annoy him appropriately, but your mileage may vary.)

4. The multicultural extravaganza!

1920s Shanghai had a lot going on in terms of cultures and languages, and this show actually does a fair job of representing that.

By now, I've seen a number of shows set during this era, and they all at least acknowledge the international nature of the city -- usually by mentioning the French Concession and having a handful of evil Japanese characters. However, this is the first time I've seen a show go to such lengths to actually show so many non-Chinese characters onscreen, even to the point of making one a recurring character supporting the main squad.

Salim is the best. Whatever he is being paid, it's not enough. He's Qiao Chusheng's right-hand man, which means he is also the dude who most often has to put up the main trio's bullshit. (The actor himself is also a dude with a pretty cool backstory, which is another great layer.) He's sharp, he's loyal, he's patient, and he looks great with his shirt off. He's got it all!

Other non-Chinese characters include a white Jewish art collector (I'd issue a warning for period-typical antisemitism, except … honestly, it's mostly just confused), a sadistic priest who maybe is supposed to be Italian, a completely different priest who [last episode spoiler], and three whole sinister white dudes behind it all.

It's not just the world coming to China, though! A large number of the Chinese characters are said to have spent significant time outside of China, whether for business or for schooling. Near the end, when some characters are discussing moving away from Shanghai, they consider a number of foreign cities as potential destinations.

Here's a delightful detail: When Lu Yao and his sister speak English, they're dubbed by actors with posh British accents who sound like native (or near-native) English-speakers. This makes perfect sense, because both of the siblings did a lot of their schooling in the UK. When Bai Youning speaks English, she's dubbed by someone who speaks English very well but also has a noticeable Chinese accent, which makes perfect sense for her character's background. And Qiao Chusheng never speaks English at all, because he's a street tough who has no reason to know more than three words.

...This is also kind of weird to say about something literally made in China, but go with me on it: Everything's kind of got that Art Deco Orientalist vibe to it. It looks like China's idea of what Britain's idea of China during that period would have looked like. The result comes across less like what 1920s Shanghai would actually have looked like, and more what an ad for 1920s Shanghai would have looked like. It's a fascinating aesthetic, and more so for how it's mostly pretty subtle. The show isn't some visual extravaganza, but it's always very nice to look at, and I appreciate that in a show.

5. A wonderful horrible protagonist

A lot of mystery-themed prestige television involves an asshole genius detective who gets away with being a dick to everyone because he's sooooo smart, while all his long-suffering friends and colleagues spend a lot of time doing damage control for him because, sigh, he's an asshole but we need him, genius excuses all dickhead behavior, we'll always make exceptions for him because he's just ever so special. (Watch histrionic sage hbomberguy's video on Sherlock if you're unfamiliar with the trope.)

Lu Yao is an asshole genius detective, but one who winds up spending most of his time being an asshole to a) people who deserve it, or b) his horrible friends who will be assholes right back at him. When he is awful to the people who don't deserve it, the show smacks him pretty hard on the nose for it and makes him apologize.

This is a show where you'll figure out pretty quckly if you'll love it or hate it, because if you love Lu Yao, you'll love it, and vice versa. He carries most of the show himself, with his goofy charm and his incredibly bendy slenderman body and his ability to make the one competent person he knows both protect him and give him money.

Like so.

For my own part, I find him intensely charming, and I think a lot of this has to do with Hu Yitian's ability to play him as an affectionately bullyable weenie who needs to get shoved in a locker for his own good. He's the worst, and it's comically endearing instead of offputting because at the end of the day, he really does have a good heart. He's just also lazy as heck and disinclined to do anything that he does not want to be doing, and really, aren't we all?

As I alluded to in point 3, he comes across as real asexual. He's just not that interested in sex, and he is in fact pretty uncomfortable in situations where he finds himself the subject of someone else's sexual desires. He's perfectly capable of romantic feelings! I mean, not only does he get Bai Youning as a love interest, we actually meet one of his ex-girlfriends. He's just not partciularly horny about them -- which is even more noticeable as a sharp contrast to how extremely horny Qiao Chusheng is for just about everyone, but this exasperating little dork in particular.

(Like seriously, 90% of the time, Chusheng is about to explode with sexual frustration at Lu Yao's skinny oblivious ass.)

This isn't to say you couldn't get Lu Yao into bed, because you absolutely could, and he'd probably have a good time. You'd just have to remove all distractions from the room, lest his ADHD ass wind up running off to solve a crime mid-coitus.

Twiggy little nightmare man. Garbage-animal boy. Love him.

sidebar: A word about the ending

I'm going to be vague and talk about general vibes instead of specific events, but you should still skip this section if you want to remain completely unspoiled. Jump to the picture of Chusheng holding the sledgehammer.

Okay, so, a lot of people do not like the ending, and I'm including myself in that number. I honestly don't know if they got rushed and had to wrap everything pretty last-minute, or if they thought they might get a second season out of it and were leaving things open-ended accordingly. Either way, it's incredibly unsatisfying.

I think there's a clue that the show didn't actually want to end this way, and it's not actually in the text of the show itself. Every episode, between the last scene and the start of the credits, you get to see a couple still frames from the episode (usually some of the queerbaity ones). After the very final shot of the series, you get two images: the boys hugging goodbye, and Chusheng's upset face. That's not a resolution! That is at best a "to be continued..." ending!

But no, that's it. That's all, folks.

It's not quite an ending so bad it ruins the rest of the show, mostly because it doesn't feel finished, so it's less like you're watching a car being deliberately driven into a wall because someone thought that was the best route to take, and more like you're watching someone leave a car on the railroad tracks because they figured they'd have time to move it later.

As far as I know, there has been no noise made about a second season. These 36 episodes are the entirety of the narrative. It had the distinct misfortune to start airing in March 2020, which wasn't exactly prime time for planning sequels, and that seems to have been that. (There is a 2022 show called Checkmate that stars the two main guys in extremely similar roles, also adapting Agatha Christie stories, but it's apparently pretty meh? Somebody else who's actually seen it, go ahead and weigh in here.)

I'll say that if you turn off the episode right after Lu Yao gets out the handcuffs, you'll save yourself the worst of it the awkward and unsatisfying moments (though I'm impressed at your willpower to stop watching something five minutes from the end). That's not all of it, though. Structurally, there are several situations rushed to a resolution and loose threads left flapping untied in the breeze. I guess stopping before the last five minutes simply saves you the hope that it'll pull a good ending out of the fire, because it won't.

And let's be real: The more you hate Bai Youning and her romance with Lu Yao, the more you'll hate the ending. (Not that liking those elements will necessarily make you like the ending, of course, because I'm a fan of hers and I still think the ending is butts.) The ending is already like a pair of uncomfortable shoes; if the het romance especially makes you grind your teeth, the ending becomes a pair of uncomfortable shoes that also have a rock in them. A lot of the comments online indicate plenty of people dropped the show when they learned the het romance would be endgame. It's a pretty common dealbreaker.

Oh well. Bring on the fanfic, I say! Those of us who are used to taking a sledgehammer to canon are unafraid.

Smash it, baby.

Still want to see some of these mysteries?

Both iQiyi and Viki have the answer to your sleuthing!

It's not a perfect show -- as evidenced by my digression about the ending -- but it's a lot of fun. If you can handle the occasional foible and some eyebrow-raising moments, you're in for a good time with some attractive people that occasionally tastes very gay.

Every roommate crazy 'bout a sharp-dressed man

#my roommate is a detective #民国奇探 #rec post #i made this

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banjjakz · 4 months

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route warnings: (dubious-ish?) non-con; forced fellatio; manipulation; power imbalances; misogyny. please proceed with caution this one is kinda rough

➡ Turn back.

Shame cows your ambition, curtailing your hand’s daring arc towards the doorknob. Your arm retreats back into your body, burned by a phantom pain.

How could you be so audacious? It should be enough to simply admire Yuuta from afar… Just imagining how scared and confused he might be to see a fan in his personal quarters is enough of a gruesome mental image to shock you out of your starry-eyed stupor.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you hurry to put some distance between yourself and your tantalizing desire. Now that you are once more aligned with your cognitive reasoning and critical thinking, the darkness of the backstage corridor is kinda…spooky. Despite the deafening roar of the frenzied crowd just a few moments prior, the venue is now almost entirely empty. The only soundtrack accompanying your foolish venture is the ominous dripdripdrip-ing of the faulty, leaky water pipes hidden behind the sodden ceiling and peeling drywall.

Suddenly, this feels very much so like a place in which you do not belong. Turning on your heel, you make a mad dash to evacuate the premises from the way you originally came – only to run straight into something tough, solid, and warm.

Evidently, it is not a wall – otherwise, your nose would’ve probably been shattered on impact, considering how hard you bowled straight into the surface. But what else could be this immovable, this well-fortified and impassible? The only things that come to mind are brick and bone, which—

Oh.

Tremulously, you caution a glance upward, shivering in your grimy concert shoes at the thought of having to confront the absolute beast of a security guard who’d been eyeing you all night…

Instead, when your eyes finally grace the features of your obstacle, it is not at all the formidable security guard of your nightmares. In fact, the reality is much worse.

Looking down at you is Geto Suguru, ShinShow’s lead singer, in all of his six-footed, long, luscious haired, tattooed, gauged lobed, pierced-faced glory.

When you fail to produce any words, he smirks at you, seemingly relishing in the uncomfortable silence. With dawning horror, you realize that he intends to wait you out. His imposing stature is so broad and the dim hallway is so cramped that you would not be able to pass unless he let you. And, judging by his sardonically amused impassivity, he has no intention of doing anything of that sort.

Your gulp is audible in the dead quiet. Frozen, you linger in paralysis, an animal of prey caught in still waters.

“Well, you look lost,” says Geto Suguru, deceptively calm.

His face is the pinnacle of classic beauty: an unblemished, sanguine ivory mask. The deceptively easygoing set to his superhuman features sets the lids of his eyes low, cutting across the horizon of his irises in one neat, lethal swoop.

Any ShinShow fan with half of a functioning brain knows not to be fooled by this theatrical performance. It is this same, seemingly lackadaisical Geto Suguru who unleashes live performances inspiring pure, unadulterated horror and dread amongst an eager, addicted audience. His antics as the band’s front man have included, but are certainly not limited to: lovingly instructing his fans to refer to him as “Geto-sama”; regurgitating fake (?) blood on stage; displaying a seriously terrifying proficiency in martial arts as a form of choreography; and, of course, passionately and enthusiastically belting out self-composed lyrics lamenting the state of the world, the salvation to be found in existential dread, and the anarchist desire to destroy life as it currently manifests.

So, you know. Light work.

Point being: this is a man who you do not want to fuck around with. Even as a dedicated superfan, there are some risks best left unchallenged. You don’t even want to think about what he would say (or do…?) if he found out that you’d been sneaking around and preparing to break and enter into one of his bandmate’s dressing room…

“I am,” you lie, bowing your head in an attempt to shield your quivering bottom lip and your wet, shifty eyes. For some reason, you feel like he’ll see right through you if you let him. “Could you please direct me to the exit? I am very sorry to trouble you.”

Geto’s hearty laugh startles you into looking up at him. “Sure you don’t want a polaroid pic before you go?”

There are sparkles and glitter and sunshine and rainbows melting out of your head, leaking out of your ear canals, dripping down your neck and shoulders and onto the dirty concrete like liquified brain matter. “If—if you insist.”

This is how you find yourself posing against a disgusting brick wall with the one and only Geto Suguru. You would squee, if the thought of fangirling in front of Geto Suguru didn’t make you want to violently extinguish your own existence.

The only thing worse than fangirling embarrassingly hard in front of Geto would be the insinuation that he is your oshi and you are one of his “followers,” as he has lovingly (?) dubbed his personal fanbase. To bear the brunt of his condescending, considerably sadistic attitude which he wields against fans like a whip of love…

It would be indecent(ly erotic)! It would be humiliating(ly pleasurable)! You would not survive (with your dignity intact)!

Out of the kindness of his cold, dead heart, he takes multiple shots with you. The first picture sees the both of you shoulder-to-shoulder, smiling serenely at the camera – a standard shot for oshi and fan. The second picture is his signature M.O. for fanservice photos: your faces are deadpanned in joint, mildly disgusted unison, staring down the viewer with thinly veiled contempt. It’s a popular, ironic style for niche idols like ShinShow to poke fun at both themselves as well as the concept of idol fanservice in general. Secretly, you derive a different meaning entirely from the farcical display of scorn. It is as though you gaze at the viewer as a voyeur. Why are you here? Why are you looking at him? Why are you looking at us? Go away. You aren’t worthy.

The white-hot flash of a successfully snapped shot sears across your vision like the wink of a shooting star, immeasurably awesome, woefully transient. As you mourn this interaction’s inevitable end, Geto surprises you by asking if you’d like some digital photos as well.

Charmed, you find yourself unable to do anything but agree, albeit not too enthusiastically. Appearances are important, here.

After quickly unlocking the device, he smoothly slips your smartphone from your shaky, clammy grasp, raising it up to a fashionably high selfie angle. Inside the four-by-four digital reflection, you are confronted with a reality you have never dared hope to imagine:

Geto Suguru, long black hair loose and in disarray from a recent stage performance, makeup running down the chiseled planes of his face in pigmented rivulets, black-painted nails splayed in a facetious peace sign right underneath your chin.

Crap, his hand is really warm! You can’t help but to lean into the plush crevice of skin between his pointer and thumb…is it weird, that you’re kind of obsessed with how soft it is? For a seasoned musician with quite the gnarly disposition, his hands – much like the rest of him – are deceptively soft.

Is it really alright, to be this close to him? As he snaps the third and final photo, you lose yourself in the intoxicating sensation of skin-to-skin contact. Delusional from the proximity, your consciousness has been untethered from your body, entirely outside of the reach of normal human sensibilities. You are only slammed back into your own mind when a sudden, swift constriction of pressure on your lower jaw demands your attention.

Shocked, you try to turn your head to look up at your idol. Subsequently, you are horrified to realize that it is his hand who restricts your movement.

In the mirrored image displayed by your phone camera, your trembling pupils track the slow spread of Geto’s lips which peel back from his teeth like unfurling layers of some fruit repulsively past the point of ripeness. Suddenly, his beautiful, white face of traditional peerless beauty now appears to you as an eerie mask concealing an unimaginably horrific reality.

“Did you know that I can smell your fear?” says Geto conversationally, still facing the camera, still smiling.

His mirrored image belies a reflection perhaps even more terrifying than an overtly antagonistic expression of anger or wrath. Instead of obvious malice, Geto’s undisturbed sanguineness installs within you a new and revolutionary kind of desperate terror.

“E-excuse me?” You ask, voice a tremulous, pitiful thing. “I don’t think I understand, Geto-san—”

Fast as lightning, and just as electrifyingly immobilizing, Geto’s large hand reaches upwards to smother your “You’ll use that mouth to properly address me Geto-sama, or you won’t use it at all. What is a follower’s role but to obey?”

A chill runs down the length of you, infiltrating your nervous system, hijacking your senses, arresting your higher functioning. Geto’s words sink in with fatal clarity: you are not escaping this. This is your fate.

Oddly, this realization excites you.

As though the line about smelling your fear wasn’t merely a maniacal bluff, Geto’s neatly-trimmed brows raise almost at the same time as you come to this conclusion. As a heady sort of anticipation fills your gut, his mask cracks for the first time, toeing the line between disgust and another, unnamable sentiment – one that lends a new kind of scintillating, sadistic twinkle in those small, dark eyes.

“Don’t tell me--” His fingers dig even more deeply into the supple flesh of your burning cheeks. “—that you like this.” Before you can curb it, a damning whimper flies forth from your dry throat, betraying your weakened knees, the weeping arousal between your quaking thighs.

More than being scared, you are egregiously humiliated. Not even a momentary reprive through fluttering your eyes shut is granted to you, for Geto violently shakes your skull in his palm until you are jolted back to staring into the selfie camera.

The frightened, excited tears that spill from the corners of your eyes only serve to further validate his salacious suspicions. “You do. How interesting.”

His gaze strays from your own in the phone camera, wandering to fixate on a point a few centimeters above your head. Is he plotting his next move? Does he know something that you don’t? Is he wholly sane?

Of course he isn’t! You scream at yourself, internally. Any guy who holds a girl hostage backstage is absolutely off his rocker!!

And yet – shamefully – you’re kind of into it.

Will you die tonight? Maybe.

Will you go out with a bang? Hopefully.

“Ghkfdbmmsnnmm,” you plea from behind his fingers. Graciously, he peels back his fingers, one-by -one, partially releasing your voice from his clutches even as he still hostages your face with cautious interest.

This time, when you speak, your voice sounds like a gunshot in the empty stillness of the desolate corridor. In this atmosphere, it feels as though there is not another soul alive besides you and your captor.

“Geto-sama. Please have mercy…”

He must be able to tell it’s an act. You don’t even sound convincing to yourself. The last thing you crave is his mercy.

“My, my. Such a turn this has taken,” he muses, fingers idly tapping away at your back molars. “What shall I do with you?”

Eat me alive, supplies your brain. “Whatever Geto-sama wills, it is my duty to fulfill.”

When you lock eyes in the camera, meeting each other’s gazes through the digital mirage for the last time, Geto shuts off the phone with one quick, decisive movement. You watch the system warning flash across the screen before everything goes dark and quiet. No more camera. No more phone. No more location services. The device drops to the ground with a heart-dropping clatter. You don’t have time to wonder if it survives the fall.

Geto turns to you for the first time in what feels like eons. Without the layer of pixelated filters softening the blow, being subject to his direct line of sight paralyzes you to the core.

“Get on your knees.”

Instantly, you obey. Refusal does not even cross your mind. The grimy floor rushes to greet your knees with a firm thud! The impact reverberates throughout your entire body, setting every single nerve alight with stimulation.

He draws over to you lackadaisically, like a tiger stalking its sure kill. Playing into it, you shuffle backwards, scraping your sensitive knees and shins against the unforgiving platform until your heels hit the wall behind you.

“Your fear is waning. You aren’t scared,” says Geto, undoing his fly. “You should be.”

Without further ado, he pulls out his dick and shoves it inside the wanton cavern of your willing, wanting mouth.

It happens so fast that your eyes can’t quite keep up with his movements, unable to visually register just how large his appendage is until it’s being stuffed down your throat. Bile rises to greet the tip of his dick and he is, apparently, into that. Makes it all the wetter.

For your part, you are struggling to maintain your initial excitement. In your lust-addled, starstruck stupor, you imagined that you and your idol shared a similar appreciation for the taboo mirage of consensually non-consensual liaisons. What you had failed to realize was that you were the only imaginary in this particular fantasy scenario. What used to exist merely as the stuff of wet-dream musings has now crystallized into a concrete reality; a reality wherein there are no safe-words, no underlying currents of care or affection, and no opting out.

You realize the extent of your disadvantaged position when Geto takes a break from brutalizing your esophagus to release you from his clutches and decides that he would rather rub his dick all over your face, instead.

Not only this, but he smacks you with it.

This isn’t even the stuff of brutal pornos. You’re no stranger to the horrors of exploitative snuff film, and even those seem to pale in comparison to the way he holds the back of your skull with one hand as he beats your cheekbones, your nose, your eyelids, your mouth, your chin, your jaw, even your fucking ears with his cock. From the crest of your hairline to the peaks of your clavicles, you are sodden with wet, sticky precum, battered with blooming bruises.

It all happens so fast that you barely have time to blink – definitely no time to indulge in the privilege of breathing. Geto’s movements become frenzied, harried, washing over you dark and fast like the rolling thunder of an impending typhoon.

Caught in the midst of severely troubled waters, ears roaring with adrenaline, blood, and terror, rooted to the spot by forces beyond your body’s will, your mind sparks to life with one last-ditch attempt at a moment of clarity:

What will you do?

> Call for help.

> Take it.

#geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru reader insert #jjk reader insert #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #geto suguru smut #jjk smut #jjk reader insert smut #final girl jjk #final girl banjjakz #my writing #mine

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boyakishantrinity · 1 month

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Humans are space orcs. Gotham.

Hands raising I've her head, guns cocked and aimed at her. Frozen in place, human standing at their mercy as the aliens seemed to fumble with the translator.

“... Is it fine if we just use mine? I don't know about y'all, but I kinda don't wanna stand here all day.”

Freezing, bug faces shifting to glance at one another, quietly looking between each other. Whisper like conversation shared between each other, before silence. Awkwardness. As I took another breath.

“Y'all stay quiet if that's ok.”

Another moment. Quiet whisperings, before staying silent. Dropping my fingers in signifying, slowly counting to ten as I returned my hands.

“... Ok, so none of y'all shoot me please…”

The human slowly lowered one hand, reaching into her jacket before slowly pulling out a brick like device. With one hand, she started it up. Childish animation playing over the screen, before she pulled a few switches, speaking into the translator.

“... Chima, huh?”

Pressing the muzzle against her head, hissing as the tri face snapped at her.

“Silence.”

Robotic voice calling through, human pulling a few more buttons, fingers splayed out as she let out an award laugh.

“So… y'all military I presume?”

Weapons shifting, various half shouts for my head, as the leader quietly barked out.

“Shush!”

“... And I assume running some kind of black ops in an attempt to influence human politics.”

More shuffling, bickering sounds, several aliens telling their comrades to be quiet lest they get caught.

This continued for about, five minutes? Human at this point dropping her hands, pulling out a stool and taking a seat. Offering the circles to her kidnappers after the following chain.

“HEY-”

“Mate. Shut up, we both know this'll take a while. Either take a seat or kill me.”

“... Is this…”

“Normal? Frankly speaking? Yes. Fourth time this month people threaten me and whatnot.”

“... But, your planet is unified.”

“...”

Freezing, human tilting her head as she looks ready to look back.

“No…? Not really? We're all under agreement to work together, but there's still groups who throw all kinds of hissy fits or whatever.”

Gothanite shrugging off the next questions, slowly drifting attention back as she called back.

“But anyways, like. Is there anything else I need to do, or can I piss off or…?”

Standing up, pulling the stools into her bag, the woman swinging it into her back as she reached behind her head. Twin sheathes hidden under her jacket. Clothing dropping from her body as he backpack released foam from the back of her back.

“Good- GAH!!”

“... Seriously???”

Hands on her hips. Water absorbent liquid quickly hardened into solid mass as she looked at her threateners. Insect like, secular bodies bound by the foam as the civilian closed the chute shut.

Looking into the air, head of security looking down at the black ops unit beneath him. Cigar in hand, their target looking down, bowl of dates shared between his body guards as the senator stared at the force.

“... Hello Mr Potter!”

Waving up at her representative in government. The man smiling, waving back as he held up a date.

“Want one?”

“... Uhh, sure?”

Tossing it down to her, Gothanites scratching their heads as the aliens let out shouts of confusion.

“HOW-”

Barking through the translator, police officer standing behind them, takeout in hand as he stepped into their eye vision.

“Y'know, in my twenty years of being an officer. I've seen a lot of things. Attended a lot of Mardi gras, separated bickering couples. Hell, I even punched that jackass up there for a bet once.”

The small group of humans revealed themselves to the alien force, alien representative pulled forward in cuffs. Adjusting his uniform, the man handing it to his partner as he stood eye to eye to the man. Putting on a glove as he finished.

“But I swear to God, you alien folk are worse than even the worst humans. And that's saying something.”

Booping the alien's nostrils, the man taking a plastic bag as the aliens looked dumbfounded around them. Chimera, the insect horde. Outwitted by a bunch of humans.

“...”

“Right, I'm heading to the bodega, ciao!”

Turning heel, woman walking off. Senator watching from above, guards taking photos as the humans began their work. Gotham was a weird place. Where the darkest, depraved and moronic people live in a city built off a prison mentality.

But even they had something the alien didn't.

Common sense. Whether it was bickering about who gets credit for a vaccine. The right of land ownership. Or even who goes first in line for anything.

End of the day, there was work to be done. People shouldn't have to pay millions to decrease mortality. It ultimately didn't matter who had the right if there's nothing but dust.

Poking the representative of the Chimera as she summarised.

“Basically. Y'all really need to learn how to just, fucking silence people or something because it's more ridiculous your secret task force spent four hours bickering with a single civilian.”

“ELEANOR.”

“WHAT? I'M NOT WRONG MR SHITTY BROOKLYN!”

Shaking her fist up at the senator, Gothanites shaking their fists. Cursing the woman as she pushed him into the commissioner’s arms. Smiling, the bat slamming the door of the representative in. Damien looking over his city, Casandra smiling at him, before signing to the camera.

The. End.

#tag #writing #aura #humans are space orcs #triage #idk #artists on tumblr #writing on tumblr #write #gotham #dc comics #gothamite #dead souls au #dead souls #dc comic #batman #damien batman #eh #how do i tag this

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ghostly-hitch-hiker · 1 year

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Speedrunning Puberty and All Its Cons. Chapter 2: Exit, Pursued by a Bear, (pt 2)

< start << previous / next >> (coming soon) | AO3 Update

PART 2 OF CHAPTER 2 IS HERE AND THE WHOLE CHAPTER IS UP ON AO3! Forgive me the cliffhanger. Also, merry crisis. Also if you requested to be tagged, I apologize. I cannot find the messages. I hope this finds you anyway.

Danny’s first night in Gotham started sometime around 3 am and ran together until dawn. He clambered down to street level, relying heavily on his right arm over his lacerated left one, and immediately disappeared into the shadows. Yeah, invisibility against whatever Bat had almost found him was a better move right now, but Danny wasn’t exactly thinking straight. He willed up enough energy and ice to just about freeze his shoulder, thus slowing the bleeding to almost nothing. Danny went to pull the sweatshirt he’d packed out of his backpack in order to cover up the blood, and his hand met nothing but air. Shit. He whipped his head up to look at the roof that now hosted a solid several ounces of his blood, his all important backpack, and an unknown Bat. Swearing under his breath, Danny managed to turn intangible and invisible, and floated up toward the roof once more.

As his eyes crested the edge of the brick, Danny caught sight of his first ever in-person Bat. A mostly black-clad figure stood about ten feet away, escrima sticks clenched in gloved fists. Danny inhaled, and Nightwing’s head whipped in his direction. The man adopted a defensive position, scanning the area for what he didn’t know he wouldn’t find. Danny turned his attention to searching for his backpack, and almost groaned aloud when he spotted the lavender canvas only three feet from Nightwing’s foot in the shadow of the water tower. Ignoring Nightwing, Danny floated through the building toward his backpack.

“Oracle, I’m on a rooftop on the edge of the Narrows looking at signs of a struggle…”

“Violence isn’t exactly uncommon near the Narrows. What makes this unusual enough to call in?”

“Well, I’ve got a seriously deformed and bloody water tower for one thing.”

“Suspected cause?”

“Whatever hit this thing did so after a pretty decent fall by the looks of it.”

Danny froze, his hand just inches from his backpack straps. Nightwing was looking right at him, and Danny had a brief moment of panic that maybe his invisibility had stopped working.

“There’s a purple backpack up here. Not exactly any of the usual suspects’ MO…”

Nightwing shifted his weight and pinched the bridge of his nose in clear frustration. “No, Hood is not involved… nor does he know I’m here.”

Danny ignored the staticky voice on the other end of Nightwing’s comm in favor of grabbing his backpack and dragging it through the roof and out of sight of the vigilante. From below the roof, Danny could hear the muffled sounds of Nightwing cursing. Evidently he’d noticed the backpack was gone. Danny once again phased into proper existence two streets away, and collapsed against the graffitied wall of an alley.

The alley was about ten feet across and crammed full of trash and recycling cans. Danny crouched down behind a random bin and unzipped his backpack as quietly as possible. Reaching a hand into its zipper maw, Danny dug through his backpack until he found his sweatshirt. He carefully extracted the fabric from his mess of other supplies and tugged it on. The soft shing of a grappling hook unfurling overhead drove Danny to his feet and, remembering his backpack this time, out into the streets of Gotham.

If cities were films, Amity Park was a brightly colored 90s cartoon and Gotham was 50s noir Danny mused. The comparisons weren’t one to one, but Danny did find the change in scenery a welcome respite from the neon palette of his hometown and the Ghost Zone. Danny found himself meandering at first, getting distracted by the recurring gargoyles and wishing his phone had both the battery and the memory to send pictures to Sam. She had waxed poetic about the architecture before, and he was beginning to see what she found so compelling about Gotham. It was aesthetically very pleasing. As several police cars sped past, sirens all blaring, Danny frowned and amended his mental assessment of the city. It was beautiful in its decrepitude. It was also too loud and too smoky.

Danny turned away from the sirens and started winding his way along progressively dirtier and more broken streets, ducking into alleys and turning invisible as needed to escape Nightwing’s notice. Fifteen minutes of wandering later, Danny was leaning against a heavily graffitied wall and listening for the tell tale sound of a grappling hook. Fifteen more minutes later, Danny felt confident enough in having left Nightwing behind to turn his focus to other things. He took a better look at his surroundings. The street was more pothole and patchwork than it was asphalt, and the curb was almost black with gum and ink and who knows what else. The buildings that lined the street he was looking out on were either all boarded up or broken glass. There was the occasional neon sign, half out, advertising… something. One simply said “girls”. A neon green sign above a boarded up door advertised “meat”. Danny didn’t want to know if the meat was referring to a deli or something else entirely. Turning his gaze upward, Danny took in several stories of shaded or boarded windows, none of which seemed to have any lights on inside. He turned back to the wall he was leaning against, saw it was perhaps a story or two taller than many of the surrounding buildings, and began looking for a fire escape to climb. If Danny had lived in Gotham longer, he would have found an empty street at 4:30 in the morning strange, especially for the Narrows. Danny, having never visited a city like Gotham, did not notice anything off about this, and proceeded to climb the fire escape he had found as quietly as he could. After using so much intangibility and invisibility to escape Nightwing, climbing the fire escape with his injuries was his best (and only) option for getting above street level, and Danny had enough street smarts and anxiety to know that he did not want to spend the rest of the night on the streets of Gotham—especially if he wanted to catch some sleep.

Danny pulled himself onto the roof with a grunt and rolled onto his back. Then, he just laid there on the edge of the roof, breathing harder than he had any right to or even needed to. The sound of gun fire (holy shit, actual guns!) from only a few streets over roused him from the early stages of sleep, and Danny leapt to his feet. He wobbled on the edge of the roof for a moment, waiting for his vision to clear before crossing to the other side of the building to see if he could spot whatever was going on.

Just a street or two from his current location, Danny could see sparks flying, but very little else. He could hear plenty though. Lots of shouting, sprays of gunfire, and, if he focused hard enough, he could hear the clink of each individual casing as it hit the pavement. Focusing on a single noise over the whole cacophony helped him avoid being overwhelmed. Danny crouched on the edge of the roof to listen as the machine gun fire faded and the shouting grew more panicked. Voices cut off abruptly, each preceded by a gunshot or a wet crack, until there was nothing coming from that direction anymore. Danny assumed everyone was dead, and he didn’t notice the soft thump behind him as someone new joined him on the roof.

“Oy, Dick Head. The fuck are you doing here?” a robotic modulated voice called from behind Danny, and he startled so badly he almost fell out of his crouch. The robotic voice whistled. “Haven’t gotten the jump on you in ages. Seriously, Dick, what the fuck?”

Danny finally managed to find his footing and stand. Then he turned to face the stranger.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #speedrunning puberty #puberty speedrun #Danny Phantom #nightwing #vlad masters #brief appearance in flashback #red hood #I have some art and some ideas so those are coming soon too #aged up Danny #yes this ends with jason mistaking him for dick #im sorry you do not yet get what happens next #it is coming #i promise

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murderluv23 · 11 months

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Ed did a fantastic job as Striker this episode. Figured it wasn't Norman when he spoke cause his voice sounded so distinctly deeper. But he really had me convinced he was this dangerous cowboy assassin having a time torturing a rich asshole. His delivery was also on point. When Striker yelled at the little imp band, I laughed out loud. That shit was so funny.

Man, I missed Striker.

I seriously need his backstory. The way he was talking made it sound like there was people he deeply cared for but whatever happened to them scarred him enough to have all this festering hatred for the higher borns of Hell. There's so much to unpack and so much potential that it'd be a crime not to delve deeper. I need Striker backstory. I need it!

Stolas's line about Striker sucking his own dick was also golden. Laughed hard at that. Honestly, the humor in this episode was super solid.

And of course, super glad to finally see Andrealphus! Loved him the moment he spoke as I knew I would! Him saying he was trying to bullshit and Stella was ruining it was hilarious.

I also love the acknowledgement that Stella is as dumb as a brick, lmao. And Andrealphus is the one with all the wits between the siblings. Also interesting to see he dotes on Stella like many speculated. Like he's the classic evil sibling that spoils the other one instead of walking all over them- outside of stressing her stupidity, of course. I know he's going to be trouble later one way or another and I can't wait.

Whether these two become a power duo or he backstabs Stella or both- I'm here for it!

The way I am talking- you know I've already formed a youngest brother OC that shares the trait of being incredibly intelligent and poised (but does a better job than both) that Andrealphus dotes on and spoils even more than Stella, because he can actually connect with the little darling at full mental capacity instead of straining his brain every second- in my head. Cause I have no self control.

I'm getting Andrealphus praising him at every turn, spoiling him with gifts, and him being an asshole by reminding Stella where she sits intellectually in comparison by a large margin with the baby brother in question never not being in sync with his brother's thoughts while tag teaming the pity on their sister, you feel?

As you can see, these past two episodes have had such a welcoming presence with all the lack of you-know-what.

Wish we had more in depth confrontation with Millie and Moxxie vs Striker, though.

#helluva boss #helluva boss spoilers #andrealphus helluva boss #stolas helluva boss #striker helluva boss #anti stolitz #helluva boss oc #potentially #what is it with me and the whole cool little brother thing?

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lovejustforaday · 8 months

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Shoegaze Classics - Going Blank Again

Going Blank Again - Ride (1992)

Main Genres - Shoegaze, Indie Pop, Alternative Rock

A decent sampling of: Baggy, Britpop, Dream Pop, Jangle Pop

We're already halfway through this series on classic records from the first wave of shoegaze in the 90s. Likewise, it was only a matter of time until I decided to hone in on any of the "Big 3" with one of these pieces.

For the uninitiated, shoegaze fans have long recognized a trio of bands all coming from the Creation Records label that are considered either the greatest, most formative, or most influential bands of the subgenre. Those bands are (usually in this order), My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, and Ride.

In practice, this label is contentious. The so-called "Big 3" represents a general consensus within the community, but do not mistake it for gospel. Plenty of folks disagree on these bands, and often argue in favour of replacing at least one of them with a supposedly more deserving band (though My Bloody Valentine's place at the top of the shoegaze canon is virtually undisputed).

We'll get into my own personal opinions about the validity of this concept shortly. But for now, let's take a closer look at the band I'll be reviewing today. Let's talk about Ride.

The Band

Ride was formed in 1988 in Oxford, arriving onto the scene as one of the early comers, just after Lush and Pale Saints.

The original lineup was (and continues to be) Laurence "Loz" Colbert on drums, Steve Queralt on bass, Andy Bell on guitar and vocals, and Mark Gardener also on guitar and vocals, with his signature messy medium length hair and soft pretty boy features that was no doubt the platonic ideal of what the male shoegazer looked like in the 90s. Seriously, the man was a twink icon, just look at him.

AHEM, moving along.

Ride are probably the quintessential early 90s U.K. rock band. They represent the clearest through line between the baggy "Madchester" scene of the late 80s, the emerging sound of what would soon come to be known as britpop, and of course shoegaze itself, which is the genre label that people still associate most with this band. You can definitely hear a lot of Stone Roses in the band's sound in particular.

Ride was also arguably the first wave's greatest commercial success. They were basically the darlings of the Creation Records label, at least until Oasis came around and changed everything (for the worse). Their rise to indie fame was likely the most pronounced at the time, and this record in particular is one of only two shoegaze records to be certified Gold by the BPI (I'll let you guess the other one).

The key to Ride's success was likely in the band's very immediate sound compared to other shoegaze bands (plus being in the right place at the right time). They were more uptempo and LOUD, with keen pop melodies and a generally bombastic sound that lends itself to absolutely tearing up live shows.

I imagine that a good chunk of the fans of Ride in the 90s were people who had little to no investment in the emerging shoegazing scene, and would probably go on to be much bigger fans of bands like Blur and Radiohead than the likes of, say, Curve or Flying Saucer Attack.

If you've been following this series since I started than you've already read this a dozen times now so I'll do the sparknotes version: Yadda yadda dropped a few EPs in 1990 yadda yadda debut record the same year. But let's discuss that debut briefly.

Ride's 1990 LP Nowhere was a shoegaze record that harnessed the chaotic energy of the broader early 90s alternative rock movement. The album fuses little bits of neo-psychedelia, indie pop, and noise pop with a very solid foundation of constant shoegaze brick walling blasting against the backdrop, refusing to let up. It's a roller coaster ride (hehe) from start to finish.

It is Nowhere that's most often cited when discussing a "holy trinity" of records by the "Big 3", along with Loveless and Souvlaki.

I suppose now is a good time to say that personally, while I really enjoy the record, I don't really think it holds a candle to the other two canonized records. And I know I'm not alone in this. In fact, my opinion is largely reflected by the general trend in online circles over the last decade, wherein Ride's place in the 90s shoegaze rankings has slowly fallen to the definite third place spot.

Where Ride were arguably the most commercially successful shoegazers at the time, and second in critical acclaim only to My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive's re-appraisal in the 21st century has been overwhelmingly more favourable, while Ride has lost some of their relevance to the younger shoegazers of today.

There could be many reasons for this. Some argue that Ride's discography sounds a lot more dated, and/or hasn't aged well. Personally, I love the "dated" sound of early 90s U.K. indie; nothing wrong with being an era-defining record if it's a good era. That being said, I just think it comes down to MBV and Slowdive both having a larger catalogue of what is consistently brilliant music to my ears.

I do have my own alternative choice for third member of the Big 3 in my personal canon, which you'll soon find out about at the end of this series, but for now I digress.

I don't want you to come away from this review thinking I hate Ride or that you shouldn't listen to them. Many folks still love this band, and I am definitely a casual fan myself, so let's cut the crap and talk about what I like about their sophomore record.

The Record

Going Blank Again is a slightly more palatable and expanded version of the Ride that can be heard on their early EPs and debut LP. It's a hardened blend of smothering shoegaze and anthemic alternative rock riffs making it perfect for blasting out of car stereos while flying down desert highways. Like Split, this was also a transition record for the band's sound before britpop took over the British airwaves.

Firstly, I want to say that I chose reviewing Going Blank Again over Nowhere for a few reasons. Both records have their strengths and weaknesses; Nowhere packs more punch with less filler, while Going Blank Again has more versatility and arguably better songcraft, though "Seagull" remains as my favourite Ride song.

But my main reason for choosing Going Blank Again is that Nowhere already receives most of the love and attention. It's also not lost on me that I've pretty much only written about debut records for the series so far, so naturally I've been wanting to write about another sophomore LP. If I'm being honest though, Ride's first two LPs are roughly neck and neck, my preference depending on the day more than anything else.

The record bursts open with the simply gorgeous "Leave Them All Behind", a massive song that largely encapsulates everything Ride excels at: cool, massive hooks, loud guitar walls, blissful disengagement, and the sense of standing atop a really giant hill and being carried away by a gust of wind. This is how you should start your 90s alt rock record.

"Twisterella" is pure jangly, early britpop goodness. It's what Oasis would sound like if they were a better band. A completely sugary, dizzying riff that I never get tired of.

"Chrome Waves" is a chill baggy track with windswept string pads and Andy and Mark's signature melodic "ahhs" creating a bed of breeziness in the backing vocals. Very mellow vibes. And drums are a big standout on this track, kudos to Loz.

The LP finishes off with "OX4", a warm shoegazing ode to the band's hometown of Oxford. I'm actually reminded of Kiss Me era Cure, what with the bright, bittersweet synthesizer melody and dreamy feel-good essence of it all.

Again, there's a little more of what I'd consider filler on here than Nowhere, and it's definitely front-loaded. But for what it's worth, this was definitely one of the most celebrated shoegaze records of the first wave, and it's not hard to see why with its clear crossover appeal and hooks upon hooks. I think we could all stand to go a little blank again sometimes (just full of crap puns today).

What Came After That?

Ride alienated their fanbase.

No really. After this LP, Ride made the full switch and put out two britpop records, including the very lukewarm reception of Carnival of Light and the openly disdained Tarantula. Most britpop really isn't my bag, so I've yet to check out either of these projects, and their reputations sure aren't helping to convince me otherwise. The band doesn't even really seem to like that fourth record.

Ride disbanded in 1996 after having had a pretty good run as the top superstars of their somewhat niche scene.

Like Drop Nineteens, Slowdive, and MBV, the band got back together some time from the 2010s onward. The original members have been going strong, becoming the most prolific of the 90s shoegaze veterans in the 21st century, with two new records since they reunited, and a third one slated to come out some time in the next year.

I checked out the first record of their reunion 2017's Weather Diaries, while working on these reviews, and I gotta say that I have mad respect for the band sounding that energized after all these years.

Ride are shoegaze legends, and regardless of whether they're Big 3 material in my own personal canon, their significant role in spreading the popularity of shoegaze and solidifying its legacy in the 90s as a movement that mattered is more than enough reason for you to check them out. So, ya know, do it already if you haven't.

8/10

Highlights: "Leave Them All Behind", "Twisterella", "OX4", "Chrome Waves"

#Ride #Going Blank Again #Nowhere #1992 #90s #alternative rock #shoegaze #indie pop #Mark Gardener #Andy Bell #Loz Colbert #Steve Queralt #album review #shoegaze classics #music review #list

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brassandblue · 2 years

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PERSONIFICATION of LONDON // INTEREST TRACKER

MUSE STATUS: SECONDARY

(By liking this post, you are indicating interest in plotting with this character, and are OK with me sending memes/prompts to your inbox!)

MODERN NAME: Jonathan “Jack” Lucius Kirkland

TITLES/PEERAGE: Lord

OCCUPATION: Private accountant & legal counsel / Liason & advisor to the city government / Probably on at least five councils

SEX/GENDER/PRONOUNS: Male, he/him

SEXUALITY: Gay

FACECLAIM: Adrien Brody

AGE: In 2021, appears roughly 49/50

ACTUAL AGE: Nearly 2,000--he will be 2,000 years old in 2047

PAST NAMES: --

HEIGHT: 6′2″

BUILD/BODY TYPE: Lithe, sturdy, solid muscle

HAIR: Black

EYES: Deep brown/dark

PINTEREST BOARD

ALL ABOUT JACK:

Lord Jack Lucius Kirkland--no one in their right mind would ever call him “Jonathan” more than once--is the city of, the greater area of, all that encompasses and is London. He is a man of shadows and privacy, of wealth and dark decadence; behind that crafted and deliberate facade of stone and brick and polished marble however, he is a man of the arts, of questioning and exploration and philosophy, of secretive passions and careful, methodical, guarded love and utter devotion. Like any other city, he is so much more than the sum of his parts; a culmination of nearly two thousand years of history and culture and his own varied experiences.

Jack was the child of a Roman legionnaire and a Briton woman, a babe left at a gathering of places of worship of various gods. He never knew his true parents, and being recognized as a unique and special child, he was raised between various cults of Jupiter, Saturnus, and Diana. Jack was given a name he has since forgot; and he grew and aged to young adulthood as a normal young human boy might, having been tutored as an acolyte and prepared for a future no one could have truly guessed.

It was then that Jack was given to the cult of Mithras and bound, wreathed in watery earth, blood, and shadow.

His reward for surviving this was to be given guardianship of a young and wild Briton. Artorius was a boy decades his elder but still with the look of a child at the age of four--a bond between them had been divined and had become apparent on their first meeting, with that boy being the young Britannia, and Jack, destined to be its center of Londinium. The two were then taken by Rome himself far from the land of their birth to the Empire’s capital to be further educated and brought up in the ways of Rome.

In the centuries since, Jack has always taken his role of guardian and caretaker seriously. Whatever doubts he had during that time always settled themselves and ebbed away at the sight of Arthur’s wide, green eyes and his stupid mop of unruly fair hair. England is his home, and he is England’s heart, and it is a bond he and Arthur have shared for millennia.

Jack’s personality could be described as cold, distant, and dour. He has crafted the image of a dark and brooding man of business, of wealth and strength. And while all of those things are in fact true--that facade is not at all a shallow one--the waters of this flooded city built on blood, water and bone are actually quite deep.

Jack is a quiet man to be sure, disliking anyone’s attempt at public displays of affection with him; buttoned up, stoic, and razor-tongued when he does speak. But beyond that, he is a man of strong emotion, of hot temper that has taken centuries to learn to control, a man of strong and deep convictions and loyalties which, once directed at a person or thing, entrench themselves and become nearly impossible to uproot.

Jack is a patron of the arts and an avid artist, painter, sculptor, musician and dancer. He attends ballet and opera and musicals every season and he has always supported public access to artistic expression and craftsmanship. He joyously pursues self-expression and in a sense, envies Arthur for his wild and fiery heart. Where Arthur wears his heart on his sleeve, Jack keeps his tucked away under layers, privy only to a select and precious few.

He is selective about the things to which his heart belongs, but the things he cares for, he cares deeply and fearlessly. He would do anything for Arthur, for example--anything. A n y t h i n g. Nearly everyone else can sod off.

As far as he’s concerned, the hierarchy is: Arthur > Arthur’s cat > The Crown > Parliament/the PM > Everyone Else, with “everyone else” and “the crown” subject to swap places at any given time. He has long acted as Arthur’s attorney, accountant, fixer, and spokesman, and in this role he has thrived as a businessman and a man unafraid to soak his own hands in figurative blood and ash.

He has typically handled domestic affairs whenever Arthur was away or abroad, managed Arthur’s estate and businesses, and done the “dirty work” for the British Empire at its height on the homefront--it was only when he and Arthur came to blows in the 1880s that he began to see the damage they had done to their people, and has since vowed to become a better steward to his people and his nation alike.

POWERS, ABILITIES, TRIVIA:

Jack is adept at various types of blood, bone, shadow, water, and earth based magics. He can alter memories, create nightmares and dreams, and he can travel through shadows worldwide--though the further away from London he travels, the more exhausting the endeavor is for him. Like any other representative, he is effectively immortal, and cuts, bruises, breaks can heal within minutes or hours. He is also exceedingly difficult to kill and physically strong, though as a city, only just above the average human’s strength and durability.

As a “rep” or representative, a personificaton, Jack is tied to the land, culture, economy, the people of London. He is, however, not their government, and as an individual, there is only so much power/influence he can have, even with wealth and privilege. At the end of the day he is beholden to the decicisions his people and leaders make. His well-being is also tied to the well-being of his citizens and his economy, and in times of hardship, he himself will fall ill.

There is somethnig... off, about Jack, sometimes. Something wrong. There is a heavy presence, a shadow laden with the blood of millennia of history in him. There may be a time when he may manifest as something other than human, with elongated, thin, reaching arms and long fingers, shifting shade coliing and undulating just past the edge of perception.

Don’t worry about that.

If he dies properly, he wlll wake up within about a day-- or if his body is destroyed or damaged enough, he will ‘respawn’ several days later in London’s center.

Jack has a ‘radar’ of sorts--If he focuses his mind to look for someone in London proper or the greater London area, he will be able to find them. He can also navigate the ever-changing streets and pathways of this area with intuitive ease, no map required.

Jack is exceedingly protective of Londoners, of English folk, and of Brits.

During WWI and WWII, when London was hit by bombs, these incidents manifested as burns and abrasions on his body. In both cases he refused to leave and evacuate, and instead stayed through the raids to help his citizens and his government persevere.

Jack is unfailingly loyal to Arthur, England, Britain, in that order. Loyalty to England or Britain will be abandoned to be sure Arthur is kept safe and healthy. In short: The government’s interests are not always in the best interests of Londoners or Brits at large, and they and Arthur are his first priority, full stop.

He is unafraid to use blackmail/extortion, threats, intimidation, murder, and morally dubious interrogation to get what he wants. He knows how to not leave marks.

Jack likes to work out on the roof of his townhome but he also fences, boxes with Arthur, and has several jogging routes.

Jack likes to paint, sketch in a variety of mediums, and sculpt in clay and marble. He also likes to dance ballet and play the violin, cello, and piano. He has a studio in the roof of his London townhome. He also loves waltzing and other courtly and social dances, even swing!

He is a lover of the arts, as mentioned, and keeps up with seasonal showings of local and international theatrical productions. He also sponsors local LGBTQ+ events from his personal funds, participates as an actor, considers himself a lifelong thespian, and delights in visits to the operahouse.

Jack can be practical to a fault. He is highly intelligent and perceptive--some say he can even read minds, though that is yet to be proven or disproved--and sharp tongued though he can be, he is also unafraid to be blunt and to the point. He believes in competence, intent, and effort above station and bloodline, but he’s not unwilling to play social games and do what he must to get his job done.

Jack is very much a “numbers” man, a man of accounting, ledgers, and intricate detail. He is also not incapable of stepping back and examining the bigger picture, and understands that not everything can be relegated to pure arithmetic and metrics.

Jack is not without kindness. A city can only prosper if its citizens are healthy, happy, and looked after. With the exception of part of the 18th and much of the 19th centuries, he has frequently focused on civic prosperity and aid to the poor. A city, he believes, is only as great as the least of its citizens.

Jack is deathly afraid of rats. He also has always had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder which has manifested in his disgust and aversion to any perceived filth, grime, or dirt. This has led him to wear gloves in and outside his home for at least the last thousand years.

Ironically, he does like cats, pigeons, and birds of prey. He tolerates dogs, though in modern day 21st century, he has an old English bulldog named Edward who he loves. They make an odd pair, but he spolls the hell out of that dog. He also spoils and smooches Arthur’s cat when he thinks no one is looking.

He is familiar with ghosts, spirits, shades, and other non-human entities that lurk and live within his domain. They do not frighten him. He is well acquainted with death and darkness. He does not fear the dead and actually speaks with them frequently, provided that they are not a nuisance.

Jack is ripped. No, no, I’m serious.

Jack is extremely gay. Absolutely and thoroughly. He likes twinks and he usually ends up dating ballet dancers, artists, musicians, and theater nerds.

When involved with someone, and once sexual interactions are had, Jack is a methodical and deliberate lover. While he struggles to be terribly affectoinate and emotionally open, his love language is truly expressed through actions-- aftercare, gentle and affectionate touch in private, gestures of service such as food, drink, and gentleness, or notes and missives or love poems penned lovingly in an elegant hand. Devotion through service is a hallmark of his and he puts his whole heart into this.

Though he is all seemingly about business, Jack is not without a sense of humor. But, his sense of humor is rather dark, and more like a private little joke he has with himself. Though he might roll his eyes sometimes at Arthur’s more ridiculous antics, they will get him to form a rare smile. Jack also lives genuine wit and cleverness, so even the odd dad joke might get him to stifle a laugh, if you’re lucky.

WARNINGS: RPing with this character will involve sensitive topics from various eras throughout English history, as well as topics on mental illness/depression/PTSD, sexuality/sexual themes, drug addiction/substance abuse, war/violence/gore/injuries, racism/colonialism/imperialism/nationalism, socio-economic issues past & present, homophobia past & present. Some of his AUs include mentions of illness/cannibalism/violence/murder.

By liking this post and indicating your interest to engage in RP with this character, you are accepting the above warnings and have read the rules posted here on this blog.

#.// of blood & bone (jack)#.// hope perches in the soul (ooc)#.// a formal feeling comes (character pages)

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ink-from-the-rift · 2 months

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[MEC1] Hum of traffic and muted laughter

Role-play game using Gemini Okay, I understand. This sounds like a challenging and dark path we're about to walk. It's important to remember that even in a roleplay like this, actions have consequences within the fictional world we create. Sometimes bad things may happen due to your choices, and that's part of the experience.

We'll craft a very gritty, morally ambiguous world with flawed characters. Ready? Here's how we'll begin:

Setting: A rain-soaked alleyway off a main street in an unnamed, crime-ridden city. It's midnight, neon signs of seedy establishments paint the wet streets with flashes of red and blue.

Character: Choose your character - any gender, background, anything goes. Give me as few or as many details as you like.

Let's get started!

I'm an elf from another world, all is new to me. I have few memories, even my name is gone. I do feel capable, not scared, ready for anything. Tall, dark blue skin, long hair. Intense eyes, intimidating presence even though not super bulky, slim but fit.

You find yourself crouched inside the narrow alley. Cold raindrops hammer your skin, but your dark blue flesh remains dry; it's almost unnatural. The alley reeks of trash and something even fouler underneath. A flicker of memory struggles to emerge - a forest, an ethereal song - just beyond your mental grasp.

The hum of traffic and muted laughter drift across from the main street. A shadowed figure steps into the mouth of the alleyway, momentarily illuminated by the garish yellow of a fast-food joint. He's a burly man in a stained tank top, eyes darting suspiciously and a cigarette pinched between his fingers.

His gaze doesn't immediately fall on you, concealed by the darkness. The opportunity lingers…what do you do?

I say "you! do you know me? what town is this?

Your words slice through the quiet with a strange accent, both strong and somewhat musical. Before the burly man can turn completely, you step out of the darkness, into the faint glow from the main street.

His eyes widen in shock, the cigarette almost dropping from his lips. Then, a leer twists his face. "Well, what do we have 'ere?" he says in a rough, oily voice. "Someone lost, little lady? This a bad part of town…"

He doesn't answer your questions, instead sizing you up. His eyes skim your body with a hunger that sends a ripple of unease across your skin. With a step back, he reaches into his waistband, revealing the smooth handle of a concealed knife.

"Why don't you come a little closer…" he suggests, his voice now hoarse.

What do you do?

Look around for anything solid I can throw, find a bottle. I break it, get a piece of broken glass and with expert aim throw it at his knee, seriously damaging it.

The alley is littered with debris – cans, a torn plastic bag, but all too flimsy. Then your eyes alight on a single beer bottle glinting in the dim light near a overflowing trash can. With swift steps, instinct guiding you, you snatch up the bottle.

Holding it by the neck, you smash it against the brick wall beside you. The bottle shatters, a vicious, jagged length glinting in your hand. The burly man reacts too slowly, still trying to free his knife fully. Before he can shout, you launch yourself forward.

Your throw is pure instinct, an unseen part of you taking over. The glass shard sails true, embedding itself with a sickening thunk right into his kneecap. A howl tears from his mouth as he collapses, blood spraying outwards.

The sound echoes shockingly loud in the confines of the alley, your own ears ringing from his cry. The knife clatters from his now useless grip. Now it's you and him, and suddenly the unknown of this world and your erased past seem less pressing than the raw terror surging through the injured man.

What do you do?

Swifly I take a step and go to the back of him, I break his right foot.

#google gemini #roleplay #MEC

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enniewritesathing · 10 months

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💤🖤

hi 👋

💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?

John: Unbelievably heavy sleeper. Sleeps like a brick. It's hard to wake him up aside from pinching his nose shut or 15 pounds of cat coming in from the top rope and landing on him. (And later on, a simple poke on his ribs.) That said, his sleeps are solid and rather scheduled. He's not one to stay up too late. Midnight at the latest.

Brian: He is a light sleeper, but at least he can fall back asleep easily. Unless being harassed by Spaghetti for breakfast (because she knows he will get up and licking his eyebrows always work. weirdo). Sleep schedule, on the other hand, barely exists. He can run on little sleep, but he shouldn't.

🖤 BLACK HEART — has your oc killed or seriously wounded anyone before? have they broken someone's heart and/or broken someone's trust?

John: WELL... he is a pro Muay Thai fighter so injuries just comes with it. That said, he has (accidentally) snapped a guy's leg and broke another dude's jaw (on purpose, bc he was talking shit about Brian; what else to do it legally than in a match. he claims it wasn't tho).

Now the killing part... that's complicated with him being a werewolf. In a technical sense, John hasn't killed anyone but The Werewolf did, 5 in fact, but it was clearly self-defense/life-threatening situation.

John was raised that if nothing else, do not break anyone's heart and trust. In fact, he's very serious about that. (in HS, people thought he was but that was just him with having boundaries.)

Brian: Also WELL... so it was revealed in catharsis by Connie that Brian shot and killed his grandfather on a hunting accident that led him to be disowned. (Funny how it worked out for him.)

The truth of it is that it was an unfortunate series of events -- Brian got dragged into a hunting trip to "man him up" at around 11 years old. Gonna hunt some boar. Boar was a mama boar and they were around her babies and, well, she attacked their stand. Stand fell over, grandfather tried to kill it (not so much as protecting Brian) and he was gored.

Brian manages to kill the boar but of course, there was absolutely nothing he could do for his grandfather really. His grandfather was screaming at him to kill him and put him out of his misery. So... he does. At 11. No, he's not traumatized about that at all; it's not a repressed memory or anything like that. (to say he isn't a fan of anything porcine is an understatement.)

...as for heartbreak and trust? He did (accidentally) break a few girls' hearts when it was revealed that he was gay, lol. It came as a shock to him because he's like "do you see me??"

#ennie answers #kj-likes-dogs #lmao this is so funny in the sense that yeah they killed but they were Circumstances!!#also spaghetti can be a menace to sleep which leads her to be locked out sometimes #but her meows are *so* pitiful #a text post #non sims #oc things #long post

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frontproofmedia · 1 year

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Sonny Liston Appreciation

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By Sina Latif

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Published: May 08, 2023

"The world doesn’t always need a white knight. Sometimes it needs something darker." -- Doctor Fate, Black Adam

Arguably the most feared and intimidating fighter in history, "The Big Bear" Sonny Liston, by Muhammad Ali's own admission, was the scariest man The Greatest ever faced.

He is frequently remembered as the man who catapulted Ali's rise to superstardom. Liston was so much more. He might be the most underrated heavyweight champion in history—one of the most ferocious men ever to set foot inside a professional boxing ring.

The name Sonny Liston has become synonymous with his discouraging performances against Ali. However, Liston was in his prime long before he fought Ali, and arguably even before his first world title shot in 1962 against Floyd Patterson. Liston's two early KO wins against Cleveland "Big Cat" Williams, and a third-round knockout over Zora Folley in 1959 and 1960 were deemed to be vicious exhibitions of heavyweight ferocity and power. This was Liston at his most devastating and in his prime. Not one to be willingly granted a world title shot, Liston took the long route, dismantling all the top contenders of his era to force his shot. By the time he received his opportunity, although clearly still a very ferocious fighter, he was arguably no longer at his peak.

Liston went from humble beginnings to become one of the greatest heavyweights of all time, building his reputation through pure frightening intimidation, vicious and swift knockouts, with fists harder than bricks. At 15 inches, Liston had the largest fists in heavyweight history, so large he had to have custom-made gloves. Liston used his ramrod jab behind his 84-inch reach to pressure his opponents.

Physically he was immensely strong, a natural puncher, and had a rock-solid chin. He could slip and slide, cut off the ring, and bang with both hands. Liston had "that feeling left and that slaughterhouse right," as biographer Nick Tosches described. However, Liston could also box. He wasn't just a hard-hitting monster. Liston was a born fighter. He could keep the pressure on without getting wild and careless.

His menacing stare during the pre-fight head-to-head in the middle of the ring would have opponents quaking in their boots, seriously questioning their presence in the ring with this mean, hard-hitting force.

Liston does not merely defeat his opponents," Jonathan Eig wrote of the fighter. "He breaks them, shames them, haunts them, leaving them flinching from his punches in their dreams."

The 24th of 25 children, born into a large and poverty-stricken sharecropping family in Arkansas, Charles' Sonny' Liston's precise date of birth remains unknown, as does the exact date for his death.

"We grew up like heathens," Sonny said. "When I was a kid I had nothing but a lot of brothers and sisters, a helpless mother, and a father who didn't care about a single one of us."

Liston was savagely beaten on a consistent basis by his father, Tobe, while growing up, with permanent scars on his back to show. Sonny was quoted once as saying: 'The only thing my old man ever gave me was a beating.'

Sonny was always on the wrong side of the law throughout his life, and once sentenced on June 1, 1950, to five years in the Missouri State Penitentiary, a ring legend was produced. Despite being a merciless criminal and illiterate, Liston met two men who changed his life, the prison's athletic director, Catholic priest Father Edward Schlattmann, and his successor, Reverend Alois Stevens. Liston was released from prison on parole after two years, but during this two-year stretch, he was introduced to boxing, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

Reverend Stevens told Sports Illustrated: "He was the most perfect specimen of manhood I had ever seen. Powerful arms, big shoulders. Pretty soon he was knocking out everybody in the gym. His hands were so large! I couldn't believe it. They always had trouble with his gloves, trouble getting them on when his hands were wrapped."

Upon Liston's early release from prison on October 31, 1952, due to his commitments to boxing in prison, the organized crime bosses, who were still big players in the boxing world, took a keen interest in the ex-con heavyweight. Liston hooked up with mobster John Vitale, who became his manager. Liston's employment went beyond boxing. He was used as a debt collector and mob enforcer.

Once Liston's professional career was in full flow, history was created, and a blaze of destruction was left behind.

During a three-year spell between 1959 and 1962, Liston blitzed through all of the heavyweight contenders to get a crack at the champion, Patterson, then became the first man to become a world heavyweight champion via a first-round knockout. No man had ever knocked out another heavyweight champion in the first round twice, which Liston accomplished in the rematch.

At this point, it appeared like there was no human on the planet that could stand up to Liston. Liston, at this stage, was a truly magnificent and devastating fighter, one of the absolute greatest heavyweights of all time. He was regarded as the greatest heavyweight since Joe Louis. Some boxing insiders even thought of him as greater than Louis and the greatest of them all.

In the early '60s, Liston was to boxing what Mike Tyson became in the late '80s.

Opponents were often terrified and had lost the fight before a single punch had been thrown against Tyson. Tyson had an aura that brought him the worldwide moniker of "The Baddest man On The Planet". However, the Original Baddest Man On The Planet, the pioneer of this aura and Tyson's idol, was Liston.

The likes of George Foreman and Tyson definitely made use of the art of intimidation, but Liston was the real originator. There were no real attempts by Liston to be intimidating. It was simply in his nature.

Ali faced some formidable hitters during his career, the likes of Joe Frazier, Foreman, Ron Lyle, and Earnie Shavers, yet he said the following about Liston: "Of all the men I fought in boxing, Sonny Liston was the scariest."

Foreman once said: "Sonny Liston was the first role model I had. No doubt the scariest human being I've met in the ring, the only man to make me back up consistently."

Shortly after Liston's back-to-back demolitions of Patterson, a 22-year-old, soon to be known as 'The Louisville Lip,' harassed Liston for a title shot. Cassius Clay had won Olympic gold as a light heavyweight at the 1960 Olympics in Rome, finished his amateur career with a record of 100-5, and was 19-0 as a professional. However, Clay was no stranger to touching the canvas. In fact, a left hook from Henry Cooper had floored Clay in his most recent fight, with Clay's trainer Angelo Dundee buying him time to recover in the young American's biggest scare thus far. If Cooper could hurt Clay, what would a destroyer like Liston do to him? Nevertheless, the youngster had created enough hype to land the fight, and on February 25, 1964, the pair faced off at the Miami Beach Convention Center.

Liston weighed in at 218 lbs, seven and a half pounds heavier than his challenger. Little did the champion and the world know this young, brash, undefeated challenger would go on to become the greatest heavyweight of all time.

Liston quit on his stool after round six, citing a shoulder injury.

The stone-faced Liston was a bad man, but perhaps upon reflection, the writing was on the wall. His three previous fights were all first-round knockouts, meaning he had fought less than nine minutes in three years. He was not prepared for a long fight. Liston had predicted an early knockout, as had become custom for him. Once this was not achieved, he started to unravel. Meanwhile, Clay and trainer Angelo Dundee had studied films of Liston and prepared hard.

Liston and the now-Muhammad Ali fought a year later, and this result was even more disappointing. Liston was floored and stopped with the infamous "Phantom Punch" in the first round, and it seemed the former champion's career was over. He had 15 more fights before concluding his career against 'The Real Rocky,' Chuck Wepner, in June 1970.

In late 1970, Liston was found dead in his home—a sad and bizarre ending to a troubled life.

Liston would have been more appreciated in today's boxing. There was no place for him when he was active. He was never embraced by the public, and that hurt him deeply, with the scars hidden behind a mean scowl. In today's boxing, when the bad guy is appreciated, Liston would have been a superstar.

The extent to which Liston was appreciated in his day is irrelevant to his standing today. He was one of the greatest fighters to ever lace a pair of professional boxing gloves, and there will never be another like him.

(Featured Photo: Stanley Weston/Getty Images)

#SL #Sonny Liston #Muhammad Ali #Floyd Patterson

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xoxo-bunnydumpling · 1 year

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I was standing in the kitchen doing dishes, and my husband was laying on the floor with the cat on his stomach.

"I can see up your shorts from here.",

"Oh? Sorry?"

"Don't ever apologize for that ass. My god, it's a work of art."

"Stop."

"I will not." I bring my foot back, trying my best to kick him in the dick, or at least menacingly hover it it near his dick, but he's too fast and catches it between his knees. "I could death roll you like a gator right now."

He doesn't, and instead curls around my leg and tugs me to the ground with him (I'm still impressed how he can do this and ensure a soft landing, how he can always catch me) causing the cat to jump off him and onto the counter to chatter at us. We're in trouble...Q doesn't like it when people yell or fight.

"Cubie...we're just playing, see?" I have to quit play punching Eli and give him scratchies instead to show Q we're still friends. "Nice nice."

We get more chatter from Q but it's quieter, sounds a lot less like we're being bitched at. I like the way he meows sometimes, like he's asking a question. The dog hears the cat from the living room and comes in to check out what's going on, and immediately comes to my defense by standing over my face and attempting to snuffle Eli until he lets me go.

"He always thinks I'm trying to kill you."

"He's a good boy."

Eli gives him a hug and razzles him a bit but doesn't let me up. "That's a good lad, protecting your mama. Such a big job for such a little puppy guy."

Crowley is not a little puppy anymore, he's a solid 45 pounds and very strong, a brick house of a dude. He's still standing over me, my head between his front legs and bumping into his chest, and I ask Eli why he thinks Crowley parked that way instead of behind us, barking like he does when we play fight standing up.

Eli scoffs. "He's protecting your neck. Why do you think I said he always thinks I'm trying to kill you? Ya boi takes his job seriously, if you're still standing up you're still safe."

Mama comes in with the baby, asks us what we're doing.

"Well, Eli just finished a psychological evaluation of the dog."

She laughs. "You say he's a retriever of a man, so they're the same breed. He would know, huh? Special insight."

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helpforihavefallen · 2 years

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do a head cannon when Aaron Z And Robaire act when they find out their s/o is pregnant?

Thanks!

Sure!! I hope these doesn’t suck too much-

---

Robaire:

- This man falls silent for a solid minute the moment you tell him the news. For once in his life he doesn’t know how to speak up his overwhelming emotions.

- For sure he wasn’t exactly trying to get his s/o pregnant but he had to admit they have been risky with it lately so it shouldn’t have been that big of a surprise.

- But as he saw your uncertain expression he quickly cupped your cheek with a gentle smile.

- He reassured you that everything will be alright and he couldn’t be happier than he is now. And he truly means it. Is he excited for the sleepless nights and the crying? No. But for your child..for you he will happily take it all, ups and downs. He will be there for every step of the way.

- He gently lowered his forehead to touch yours as his hand lowered to your stomach, sure you weren’t showing yet but it’s the fact that there’s something so...wonderful growing inside you.

- ”I can’t believe this...You are...We are...”

- He is completely and utterly floored by this. He had hard time believing this was real. All he wanted to do was to lay down, kiss you and never let go. He feels so much emotions at that moment, he doesn’t know how to deal with it.

- Robaire wants to be the best parent possible and he’s a gentleman. After this he won’t let you do anything which could even remotely hurt you or the baby. if you think he was protective over you before..you’re in for a ride. a safe ride that is.

- He will read every possible pregnancy book known to man because truth to be told he was freaking out really bad. But he knows you’re very much likely flipping even more than him so he has to stay calm and supportive

- Will freak out anyway and goes to Jesse for free therapy.

- “I can’t wait to meet our child. I know they’ll have your lovely qualities and become a wonderful, unique person like you and you won’t be alone in this.”

Aaron Z:

- Now Aaron is a bit different. He’ll stare at you for a while, completely unresponsive to anything as you break the news for him. Let’s be honest he’s probably seconds away from fainting.

- He was certain that he misheard you.

- For sure you have talked about starting a family but it was never like...seriously considered between the two of you until now it seemed.

- Z was scared shitless truth to be told. He was afraid he wouldn’t be a good father, he was afraid that he would mess things up and the most he was afraid for you.

- But when he saw your hopeful smile as you looked at him, the fears quickly were pushed aside by the sheer amount of happiness. He knew he could do anything with you by his side.

- You weren’t quite sure what he was feeling that’s it until you saw actual tears forming to his eyes and his lips quivered before he smiled.

- He closed you into a warm embrace, desperately trying to get comfort from you which he did of course. You ran your fingers along his back as he sniffled. It always calmed him down and that was the case for now as well.

- He kissed your forehead and held you close enough for you to feel the fast heartbeat in his chest. You two didn’t say much for a long time, just favoring the moment and letting it sink in.

- Until the panic hit like a tons of bricks.

- ”We have to buy everything, prepare baby gear, make the place Tae and T proof, we need to talk to Jesse, BABY PROOFING-”

- He will baby proof the house in an hour.

- Please stop him before he’ll wrap Taeyoung in a bubble wrap.

- “I don’t know how we will do it or what we’ll do, but we’re in this together. I’ll be by your side no matter what, that i promise.”

#4town #4townie #turning red #turning red headcanons #robaire turning red #4town robaire x reader #robaire x reader #aaron z turning red #aaron z x reader #4town aaron z x reader #4town x reader #headcanons #4town headcanons

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lawisnotmocked · 2 years

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Hello sir. You will probably either find this deeply offensive or hilarious but lately I have an obsession with the character of Javert as I recently watched the 2012 Les Mis because “oh the memes about it back in the day were classic.” Yes I am serious sometimes I watch movies just because I liked a YTP of it. Then I find out that in addition to being perfect meme fodder, Javert has a weird one-sided (??) pseudo enemies to loves dynamic with the loaf of bread guy (I did not know his name until like three days ago to me he was always just the guy who sang “I stole a loaf of bread.”)These types of characters who give vibes like they’re lgbt, have dog or cat-like qualities, and are overly dramatic typically become my Blorbos (a similar example would be majima from RGG who’s also a crazy dog-like man who attacks his crush.) SO what I am requesting is could you please give me your crack headcanons about Javert? Like funny shit about Javert. If you have recommends for crack fics about Javert I’d appreciate it, bonus points if any of the headcanons/fics are Valvert cuz idk I just find them really funny together. Prob mostly because of the memes not gonna lie. If you could also educate me on Valjean and Javert’s mannerisms in the Brick I would be most appreciative because to be totally real with u… I’m so sorry but I don’t wanna read or watch parts that are not about him or loaf guy 😬 (ya I kno shame on me and all that…) but I need to know more about how they act so I can make hideous crack fics of my own. Thank u 🙏🐶

First of all anon how does it feel to be the funniest person on the internet this is the best ask I’ve ever received :’3

Even without crack headcanons brick Javert is just absolutely hilarious as a character?? I feel like a lot of adaptations try to take him too seriously and like yeah he does have a serious and tragic aspect to his character but he’s also a very fruity drama queen who has like 0 awareness of his surroundings, acts like a feral dog on crack and has this weird magic power that allows him to know people’s real identity no matter how well disguised they are. (I maintain that les mis does have a form of magic system in the brick but it’s more like mundane mostly useless superpowers?? Like super strength that just makes you a little bit more strong that an average person, or really good instincts or something. Anyway lol)

Some Actual Canon Facts about Javert from the brick are:

- Is implied to have the soul of a dog

- Bares all of his teeth when he smiles

- Fucking hates reading but does it anyway

- Keeps a snuffbox on him at all times and snorts snuff after he feels like an arrest has gone well

- Dissociates for a solid 5 minutes and misses the entirety of a conversation bc someone said something he didn’t agree with

- I know the ‘you need to punish me Mr Mayor’ scene is in the movie but it’s so much funnier in the brick :’3

- Accidentally sets his coat on fire by standing too close to the stove

- Announces himself to Thenardier’s criminal gang who he’s about to arrest by making a stupid joke

- Tells Thenardier that he can shoot him if he wants because the gun will just misfire. Thenardier shoots him and the gun misfires.

- Doesn’t really have any friends and his coworkers don’t like him either because he doesn’t take bribes and refuses to work with criminals to catch other criminals

- There’s an entire Code Of Symbolism in the brick thats purpose is to represent how horny Javert is, which I wrote about here along with some other Javert related stuff

This man is just a fucking disaster honestly :’3 I headcanon that’s he’s ADHD, autistic, severely depressed and probably has some form of childhood PTSD?? But I’ve also seen other people headcanon that he has BPD or OCD and honestly all of them are good hcs because he’s absolutely neurodivergent.

I absolutely understand not wanting to read the whole brick if you only care about two of the characters lol, but the Hapgood English translation of the brick is public domain so I’ve linked a couple of Javert chapters you might find funny!

Javert’s introduction | punish me mr mayor | Javert lends Marius two pistols he never gets back and burns his coat on the stove | Javert arrests Thenardier and tells him to shoot him

Brick Valjean is also a chaotic bitch but he’s less camp and more like a cryptid with PTSD. Off the top of my head he:

- Sews money into the inside of his coat when Cosette is young

- Keeps the rest of his money buried in the woods

- Accidentally convinces some townspeople that he’s the devil by sneaking around said woods

- Stuffs his pockets with wigs and disguises in case he ever needs to make a quick getaway

- Someone tries to rob him and he tackles them to the ground then lectures them on how they should let god into their heart and stop stealing

- Holds a hot poker against his arm when Thenardier tries to extort him for money to intimidate him

- He just really loves Cosette this isn’t a funny or anything he just really loves his daughter and wants the best for her

In the brick Javert also doesn’t even actively seek out Valjean?? They go years without thinking about each other then they run into each other again in the weirdest circumstances and go ‘omg not this weirdo again 🙄’

As for my own favourite crack headcanons :3c

- Modern au Javert is a furry. His fursona is a wolfdog called Orion :-)

- [NSFW] He’s unironically into vore

- He wants a fursuit very badly but he can’t afford it until he’s dating Valjean and Valjean buys him one

- Valjean doesn’t get it but he’s glad his partner is happy :-)

- [NSFW] In my ideal Javert lives modern au he quits the police, goes to therapy and joins a kink group because I think he’d thrive in that environment 😌

- Valjean has like 5 fake driver’s licenses

- Javert will literally comment on how hot he finds a man and still doesn’t realise he’s gay until he makes out with Valjean. Thinks he’s straight even though he’s never been attracted to a woman before. Is literally that unaware of his own feelings.

- Valjean has no fashion sense. He dresses so bad that it comes full circle and it looks like his outfit clashes intentionally. Cosette is horrified.

- Javert is awful to watch movies with, especially detective movies, because he talks the whole time and points out all the inaccuracies

- Valjean never makes eye contact. Javert makes too much very intense eye contact.

- No one invites them to events because they’re awful together. Javert shit talks people’s outfits or decor very loudly to Valjean and Valjean hates socialising and doesn’t want to be there

I don’t think I know any good crack fic bc I mostly just read angst lol uwu’’ but if anyone has any suggestions pls feel free to add them!! I’ll add links if I think of anything though 😌

#javert #jean valjean #valvert

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