#but suffice to say: He was the only one who got into actual legal trouble
Text
Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 6.6}
*Severus Snape x OC*
Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.
General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing
Words: 4.7k
Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!
______________________________
"Why again do you have to get up this early on a bloody Saturday?" Jorien groaned quietly from her spot hidden under the covers in her bed, while Cas was still sleeping soundly as ever in her own. It wasn't even dawning yet, still hours until breakfast, but Robin had been up for a while already and was just now returning from getting ready in the bathroom.
"I told you, I'm going on a field trip for my research." Robin whispered back, while she got dressed in some slim fitting black jeans that were comfortable enough to move in and sturdy enough to suit the occasion. "We need to get going before the sun is up."
"You're crazy." Jorien groaned again and dug her head into her pillow, face down. "Hwow gih juh gweh hwiwh gu gwu gwif whih juh?"
"What?" Robin hissed back with a questioning frown, while she layered her favorite jumper over a long sleeved shirt and then went to put her hair up into a ponytail that ended up more messy than neat.
Jorien turned her head back to the side with a sigh. "How did you get him to do this with you?" She repeated her question tiredly, but with a spark of sincere curiosity nonetheless. "Snape, I mean."
"I didn't get him to do anything." Robin shrugged in return and sat down on her bed to lace up her boots. "I did a lot of research over the summer and I showed it to him last week. He made me show it to Dumbledore and that settled the issue."
"So it's just you and him today, huh?"
"Yeah."
"I would say poor you, but I get the impression that you are rather happy about it."
"I am. He is the only one who understands what we're dealing with; it would be a true nuisance to have to explain it all to someone else." Robin replied easily as she finally went to put on her rain jacket instead of her robes for once. The highlands were no place for a cloud of fabric that would soak through in under a minute. Then she hid her wand up her sleeve as always, and finally grabbed her backpack from the end of her bed. All set to go. "Wish me luck!"
"What do you need luck for?" Jorien yawned and hugged her pillow under her head. "I thought you guys know what you're doing."
"Obviously we know that we're going." Robin rolled her eyes with a smile. "But we're doing this entire thing to prove a theory, which means that there is a chance that I was wrong and we won't find what we're looking for."
"Alright… good luck then." The girl yawned again, and closed her eyes with a sigh. "Am glad that Snape is there to bring you back in one piece. McGonagall says you're a magnet for trouble and the obscure."
"Does she now?" Robin's lips quirked into a smirk, but she could tell that Jorien was already falling back asleep. She didn't want to seize any more of her sleep though, and thus she finally made for the door, leaving a few minutes earlier than planned. Oh well... One didn't leave adventure waiting.
… … …
Robin met Snape at the bottom of the spiral staircase that led out of the dungeons. He was wearing different robes than usual, warmer ones, and Robin found herself glad that she wasn't the only one who had planned for a long day out in the cold. They greeted each other with a silent gaze that said enough, then made their way through the empty hallways and out into the courtyard.
The very second Robin stepped out into the open, she realized that it had been a good idea to wear her jacket and not the robes. It wasn't raining yet, but the air smelled of water, soil and electricity in a way that went beyond the morning dew, and the grey sky waiting for the break of dawn was an envoy no less of the impending storm. She breathed in deeply, and had to smile. This was the best birthday present ever.
They had to leave the school grounds in order to apparate to their first destination of the day, and thus they didn't waste any time to make their way down the path to wander beyond the gates. Still, neither spoke a word, and neither did they have to. The serenity of the morning was too calm, too peaceful to disturb with any words spoken in redundancy. They would have all day to chat if they fancied to; why waste words when the silence was enough for now?
It had all been discussed in advance anyway; both Thursday and Friday night, they had sat over Robin's documentations and discussed their options for which plant they should try to find, and thus which theory to prove. They obviously had been limited to the British isles for reasons of time and distance, and also to the acquisition of a plant on Dumbledore's wish. That, and some ambition on Robin's part, had led to their current target and thus their plan of action: they would try to find wraiths' moss today. And ambitious that was indeed, but Robin felt like she had something to prove; to Snape, to Dumbledore and mostly to herself.
It didn't take them long to get away from the castle, to a place beyond the gates where they finally stopped in their track. There was no need to haste, they still had enough time before sunrise. But as they had discovered on multiple occasions, they both preferred being too early over being too late in situations that actually mattered.
This time when Snape held his hand out to Robin, she didn't hesitate to take it. She might be old enough to legally apparate by herself now, but she still had to wait until after the Christmas break to take the twelve week class to get her license to do so, to officially learn to do so. Until then, she would gladly enjoy the privilege of holding his hand for the fleeting moment of traveling. However, even now, she had to painfully remind herself to refrain from lacing their fingers together, a gesture way too intimate to be anywhere near appropriate, and yet one that most of her being was trying to urge her into anyway. But she did hold on tightly, for safety reasons, and was barely able to catch the not-smirk on his lips before the world was torn into a swirling storm of colors and strange sensations.
When Robin's eyes went into focus again, she found herself overlooking the vast sea, and to her great luck a whipping wind blew away most of her nausea after a few seconds of struggling to stay standing upright. She let out a groan as she closed her eyes for a moment, willing away the churning of her stomach while she focused on taking deep breaths. Then she looked back ahead.
They were standing high up on the edge of a cliff, over three hundred meters above the furious black waters that were relentlessly crashing against the solid rock below. The vastly desolate grassland behind their backs was but an illusion of peace in contrast to the ragged and riven stone wall that dropped in a straight vertical a mere two steps ahead. The Scottish east coast; their first destination.
As soon as the dizziness was gone to the point where she didn't feel like she would break down any second, Robin let go of Snape's hand with a silent sigh. The few seconds of having his skin touching hers had once again sufficed to leave her entire self consumed by ridiculous rushes of energy and tingles, but she pushed it to the back of her mind for now in order to do her work. That's what they were here for, after all, to gather the petals of a Haramith flower.
Haramith itself was a plant rather useless for potion making, and thus generally not something anyone would have in stock, but it was essential for Robin's theory on how to find the wraiths' moss. Getting the petals was only step one of many on the road Robin had built in theory to acquire one of the rarest mosses in this part of the world, and now with every step they followed through with successfully, they paved a bit more of that theoretical road into reality.
The good thing about Haramith was that it grew in many places, wildy sprawling on even the poorest soil, and thus it generally wasn't too hard to find. The bad thing however, and the very reason why Snape and Robin had come to a desolate cliff on the eastern shore of the country before sunrise, was that Haramith only blossomed for one single minute of the day. It grew its petals when the sun rose over the horizon, no matter if a single ray of sunshine even graced the earth that day or not, only to lose the petals again after exactly one minute. And when the petals died, they faded into dust within seconds. Which, precisely, was what made it nigh impossible to gather them if one didn't come prepared, which in this case meant knowing exactly when the sun would peek over the horizon. And where better to be precise about that than on the shore?
Robin moved along the very edge of the cliff, looking down the stone wall in search for any specimen of the desired plant she would be able to reach when the sun would rise in approximately two minutes. Due to their sun oriented nature, Haramith flowers were prone to grow on walls like this that were open to the east; at least that's what Robin had read. Indeed, it didn't take her long to find a small patch of green between the ragged stone, but it was further down the wall than she was able to reach. However luck was on her side for once.
"There's a ledge a bit further down the wall." Robin said, looking back over her shoulder at Snape while she took off her backpack and set it down at a good distance to the edge. "We don't have much time left, and there's plenty of Haramith down there. I'm going."
For a moment Snape looked like he wanted to protest, a deep frown settling on his face, but then he moved to stand next to Robin instead of voicing a complaint and glanced down the wall for a second before his eyes were back on her. "Be careful, yes?"
Robin nodded with a small smile, then sat down with her legs dangling over the edge and finally pushed herself over entirely. It really wasn't a far drop, she landed on her feet without any effort and crouched down immediately to keep her weight close to the wall and her body's centre of gravity as low as possible. She wasn't an expert in rock climbing, but she had read about it at some point and she usually remembered what she had read. That really came in handy at times.
Just in the moment she reached out to touch the Haramith, the small flowers beneath her fingertips started to stir. Her eyes widened immediately, and she couldn't help the small smile that fell onto her lips when tiny beads of bright ultramarine started to blossom out of the greyish green stems. It was a beautiful sight, watching them grow and gain in size while never losing their delicacy. After but a moment they were at their final but oh so fleeting state, and Robin almost felt sad to pluck out the petals. But they would grow new ones tomorrow morning, and every day after that as well, so it was more gain to her than loss to them.
Carefully, she placed the fragile objects in a vial she pulled out of her pocket, gathering quite as many petals as she could before all too soon, the remaining ones turned into dust right beneath her fingertips. The ones she had collected however remained perfectly intact, their bright ultramarine piercing her eyes in contrast to her ashen skin as she closed the vial at last and put it back into her pocket. Good… now she just needed to get back up the cliff somehow.
An idea entered her mind, a stupid idea, and she pulled her wand out of her sleeve before she could think better of it, pointed it upwards and closed her eyes for a second in a silent prayer to whoever was listening. Then a wordless ascendio sent her upwards, lifting her over the edge of the cliff and unfortunately even higher, which made the landing quite unpleasant, as she came crashing down onto the grass with a dull thud.
"Bloody hell, I've always hated that charm…" She grumbled to herself, sitting up on the ground with a quiet groan as she rubbed her hurting limbs.
"You could have asked me to help you, you know…" Snape quirked an eyebrow at her, mildly amused by the sight in front of him.
"And you would have done so without mocking me for the next few hours? Doubt it." Robin replied with a small snort, and still let him help her up to her feet the next moment. "I've got the petals, plenty of them even."
"Good." He mused with a not-smirk, observing how Robin dusted off her jeans. "Shall we proceed to the next destination then?"
"Yeah, just… give me a second to breathe between jumping down a cliffside, flying through the air and crashing down on the ground, before apparating again." She sighed, then went to pick up her backpack to throw it back over her shoulders. "Next time, you can do all that and I'll stand up here and watch."
"Professor's privilege. I get to let others do the… unpleasant work." He shrugged with a real smirk now. "However it isn't nearly as entertaining to watch the dunderheads as it is to observe you."
"I don't know if I should feel offended or flattered by that." Robin laughed and shook her head to herself, biting her bottom lip as she had to grin at her own thought. "It certainly is more flattering than what Alexander said to me on Thursday."
"You are aware that I could push you off this cliff in an instant for comparing me to that imbecile, yes?"
"And you're aware that you would be terribly bored without me." Robin quirked an eyebrow at him with a smirk. "Besides, there are four people at least who would most likely come at you if you pushed me off that cliff."
"They obviously do not know you half as well as I do if they would seriously hold it against me." He replied in an instant, and Robin's jaw dropped, a second before she had to laugh. Alright, perhaps he had won that round… which only meant she had to switch the game.
"Fine, do it then." She shrugged with a daring expression, showing but exaggerated casualness as she made calculated steps backwards, blindly nearing the drop with every word while her eyes stayed on his. "I'll even make it easier for you, if you want to get rid of me quite so desperately that-..."
His hand was around her wrist in an instant, pulling her away from the edge while he shot her a glare that was both warning and plea to stop. They both knew that they had walked the line between tease and seriousness too far; it was time to stop, time to return from the place they had gotten themselves into.
"Sorry." Robin was the first to speak, in a whisper only, as she stood a mere step in front of him now. She gave him a sad half smile, but didn't miss the fact that he was still holding onto her wrist as if he was actually afraid she would jump over the edge if he let go. "Sometimes I just…"
"I know." He replied almost calmly, without a trace of actual anger. "But you are right. I would indeed be terribly bored without you."
Robin's smile lost its sadness in an instant, but her heart gained a fullness and warmth instead that made it beat so strongly, she was sure he must've heard it. Still, she would spare him any teases in return for once; if he was being sincere, she would be too. "Good. I would've hated to be the only one who would miss this."
For once he did smile too, a little at least, and he still held onto her wrist, consciously or not. "Are you ready to proceed to the next destination now?"
Robin nodded, upon which he moved his hand from her wrist down to hold hers again, making her heart flutter even more at the deliberately slow touch. But instead of focusing on it, she closed her eyes and prepared for the oddness of apparating, with a frown on her face in anticipation of the discomfort that would soon follow.
"I very likely should not be telling you this before you pass the according class..." He sighed, and Robin quirked an eyebrow but kept her eyes closed nonetheless. "But there are a few things you can do to make the process of apparating less… unpleasant."
"Enlighten me."
"Release the tension in your body, and try to keep it at that state. Clear your mind but for the place you wish to go." He ordered, and Robin tried to focus on relaxing every muscle but the ones in her hand that were needed to hold onto his. "Breathe in deeply, then out again and hold your breath. Keep your eyes closed."
She did as she was told, and an instant later she felt the strange pulling and pushing sensation around her again, the swirling in her mind however was a lot milder already, and the cramping of her stomach barely even there. Before she knew, her feet were on solid ground again, and while her head was very mildly spinning, she didn't feel sick at all when she opened her eyes. Her lips curled into a wide smile.
"I actually didn't experience the discomfort! That's incredible!" Robin beamed up at Snape, who in return rolled his eyes with a not-smirk.
"Bold of you to doubt me." He replied, and this time it was him who let go of Robin's hand first. Not in a haste, but rather because it was the right thing to do. "However I still do hope that this was the second to last time we apparate today."
"Since it doesn't make me feel sick anymore, I actually don't mind it quite as much." She grinned back at him, and only then at last she took the time to look around.
They were standing in the open space of a valley in the middle of the highlands, precisely where they had planned to go. Hills, mountains, stone and green, topped off only by the low hanging grey clouds that came down almost as a shallow mist. Perfect. If it hadn't been for their mission, Robin could've stayed here for hours to drink in the overwhelming beauty of nature. But they had work to do.
"Since you were so keen on helping me earlier, why don't you work the tracing spell now?" Robin quirked an eyebrow at Snape, of course with the ever teasing smirk still playing on her lips, while she took a step away from him to take off her backpack.
"You are insufferable." He rolled his eyes in return, but still took the handbook out of Robin's hand when she held it out to him. "But if you cannot do even this simplest of spells by yourself…"
"You bloody well know I can." She replied with an easy smile; she also knew for a fact that he was just trying to mess with her. But he wouldn't succeed this time.
Without letting his teasing distract her in the slightest, Robin summoned a larger jar which they had prepared in advance last night out of her backpack. Four out of five ingredients for the tracing spell were already inside, perfectly measured of course, and when Robin crouched down to place the whole thing on the ground, she pulled the Haramith petals out of her pocket to add the fifth at last.
"Do you think I can add all of them?" She asked on a whim though, with an inquiring look up at Snape. "I mean… Do you think the measurement of the Haramith even has any impact on the results in this case? I did calculate a specific amount, but measuring it would be such a hassle out here. And now that I think about it, I see no reason why a precise measurement would be necessary in this case. What do you think?"
"It is your tracing spell and your preparation; why are you asking me?"
"Well sorry, but last time I checked you were the potions master." Robin rolled her eyes at him, even if the gesture felt a little silly while kneeling on the ground and looking up at him like that. "Besides, I wasn't asking because you would know any better than me, but because I care about your opinion. But I could also stay sitting on the cold ground to measure the damn thing, if you'd prefer that."
"I believe you could add the entire Haramith without any negative impact."
"Thank you! Was that really so hard?" Robin replied with a smile, before she carefully shook out the petals from the vial into the larger jar. Measuring the flimsy little things would have taken ages indeed, and the knees of her jeans were sodden already.
Without wasting time, she then went ahead to shred all ingredients into tiny pieces until they were a mere blended dust of the same piercing ultramarine as the Haramith itself. So far so good. Before she handed the jar with the mixture to Snape however, she filled a small amount of the dust into the now empty vial, closing it up tightly before she sorted it into a shelf inside her backpack. When she rose to her feet again, Snape shot her a questioning look while she handed him the jar at last.
"I just thought in case this actually works, or even in case it doesn't, it would be nice to have a reference for the next time either way." She shrugged, holding onto the straps of her backpack that she'd placed back over her shoulders. "There's always something to improve on, you know…"
He quirked an eyebrow at her with a not-smirk, holding her gaze for a moment before he finally placed the jar on a rock next to him, then flipped her book open at the marked page that described the tracing spell. It was an uncommon charm, woven together quite messily at the first glance, but it was the best one Robin had found. Snape made quick work of it, speaking the foreign words so easily as if for the millionth time, and Robin couldn't help being mesmerized by the bright blue dust that rose up into the air in a faint line upon the sound of his voice. It was working… bloody hell, it was actually working!
Robin followed the line in the sky with her eyes up to the point where it faded in the distance, then she looked back to Snape with an excited smile. "Ready for a little walk?"
"I am right behind you."
… … …
Walking they did then, following the blue line that faded behind them only to grow longer in front of them in return. Wherever it was leading, their destination was further away than anticipated. After three hours of scrambling through the sheer endless grass and rock, it finally started to rain as if the skies had turned into a waterfall, and they decided to take a break under a small ledge. It wasn't much, but the driest space they had been able to find before hell broke loose. To Robin's great luck, the tracing spell seemed to be entirely unbothered by the train, as the powdery line still remained hanging in the air as clear and smoky as ever. But what use would its persistence be if water in their eyes made it impossible to follow? Even more impossible without getting hurt out there. Thus a break it was, to wait for the worst to pass. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes… the weather in Scotland never stayed the same for long.
The long walk had taken a toll on both of them already, as neither was used to this kind of exercise, but Robin was too determined to see this through, too stubborn to admit that she was exhausted, and she assumed Snape simply was too proud to. It didn't matter either way, she was only glad to be sitting on the insulated blanket that she'd placed on the ground now, and Snape seemed to be equally appreciating of it as he sat next to her with a more or less content expression. Robin still couldn't quite believe that he was actually putting up with all this for her theory. Perhaps even for her as a person. And he seemed to be enjoying himself even!
Sighing quietly in contentment, Robin leaned back against the cold stones behind her and watched the rain. Yes, she was enjoying this. More than she could put into any words.
"I would like to think that the sound of the rain is the universe applauding us." She said instead, with a small smile at the wall of water before she looked over at Snape next to her. "Rain is so full of life, I don't know why people won't appreciate it more."
"Most people see the world differently than you do."
"What about you? Do you see it differently?"
"I used to believe it to be a terribly unfair place. Cold and cruel and indifferent to those who live in it."
Robin's heart squeezed together in a stab of sadness. She hadn't meant to upset him… but the longer she observed his expression, the more she got the impression that he was still calm and content as before. Curious. "You used to believe that? And… what do you believe now?"
"I don't know. The world will always be indifferent to us, but I am not so certain I still stand behind the rest of it."
"Well, it certainly is cold now… With the rain and wind and all that." Robin mused with a small smile, giving him a look that hopefully conveyed lighthearted humor better than her words did. Indeed, a hint of a smile graced his lips in return, and she decided to go on. "But when I think of the laboratory, for example… a crackling red in the fireplace, mixing with the faint bubbling of whatever potion we're making that day and the sound of your voice when you're annoyed with me, but also a silence made of softest velvet. It smells like coffee and books and fire and stone and all the subtle nuances in the potions' fumes. We sit at the table and wait and read and drink coffee and talk, until the next step has to be taken. When I think of that… the world, to me, is nothing but warmth."
A moment of silence followed upon her words, a thoughtful and contemplating silence, which was only broken when the rain lessened and Snape replied at last. "Perhaps you are what renders it warm."
It? The lab? The world? Her own perception? "Perhaps." She replied. Perhaps, his world as well. She shook the thought out of her head as soon as it appeared. Wrong direction to go into, and the wrong time to do so as well. They were here to work. Not to dwell on impossibilities.
_____________________________
Tags:
@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555 @purpledragonturtles @istrugglewithphilosophy @meghan-maria
General Tags:
@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream @hayalee8 @bluewneptune @lemonmochitea
#snape#severus snape#pro snape#snape x oc#severus snape x oc#snape fanfiction#young snape#professor snape#snape fandom#snapetober#snape community#severus snape imagine#snape imagine#young severus#severus x oc#snape fic#snape fanfic#hogwarts#hogwarts au#hogwarts fanfiction#slytherin#slytherin au#slytherin aesthetic#Voluptas Noctis Aeternae#professor x student#professor#dark academia#snape headcanon#snape story#fanfic writing
62 notes
·
View notes
Text
How A Demon Commissions An Angel ~ A Daminette FanFic ~ Chapter 4: A Plan In Progress
From: [email protected]
Date: November 3, 2021 5:00 P.M.
Subject: I Accept Your Terms
Dear Ms. Dupain-Cheng,
I do not delude myself into thinking we will be able to magically solve each other’s problems but it does seem as though we both lack certain qualities the other does not. If you’re offering the chance for me to stay where I am, I would be a fool not to take it and I am not a fool. If I can also help fix your unfortunate situation, I will do so.
Let me know where we go from here.
- Damian W.
From the phone of Marinette Dupain-Cheng:
The Ladyblog
A Retraction Of An Earlier Article Nov 4 2021
I’ve decided to take down an earlier article entitled “MDC Stole My Best Friend’s Designs!” following contact from the legal team of Jagged Stone. It was wrong of me to make accusations without proof and I will endeavor to provide evidence to back any claims I make on this blog in the future.
- Alya Cesaire, Creator of the Ladyblog
Chat Name: Aunt Penny
Aunt Penny: Are you sure you don’t want us to pursue any further action Marinette? That statement hardly seemed sincere and was not nearly sufficient considering all she’s claimed. We can help you know.
Me: It’s fine Aunt Penny. Anything else wouldn’t be worth the trouble. It’s not her fault anyway.
Aunt Penny: You know I don’t agree with that but okay, if you’re sure. Just remember the lawsuits have already been drafted.
Aunt Penny: By the way, Jagged’s suit was a real hit at the charity dinner. Not that we ever had a doubt. Have you been thinking about creating a new website?
Me: That’s great to hear. I’ll think about it, okay?
Aunt Penny: That’s good.
Chat Name: Alya
Alya: Girl, I know what you’re thinking but just because I had to post that statement doesn’t mean Lila’s lying. She just can’t release any proof because she wants to do the right thing and keep MDC’s identity a secret. She’s being the bigger person!
Me: She always is.
Alya: Don’t be like that! Please Marinette. Stop letting your jealousy cloud your judgement.
Chat Name: Uncle Jagged
Uncle Jagged: Pens told me that you dont want to sue i get it, lawsuits are totally not rock n’ roll but feeding that liar and her friends to fang is always an option!!!
Me: No, Uncle Jagged.
Uncle Jagged: fine…
Uncle Jagged: i got so much applause for your suit at the stuffy dinner btw.
Uncle Jagged: of course I told them all that my talented young niece made it.
Uncle Jagged: even had a billionaire’s son begging for a referral but dont worry i turned him down for you
Me: What?! Why?!
Uncle Jagged: trust me, Mari, he was totally not rock n’ roll. not rock n’ roll at all! just rude
Chat Name: Adrien
Adrien: Hey Marinette, did you see the apology on the Ladyblog?
Me: You mean the retraction?
Adrien: Well, yes.
Adrien: Look, Marinette, you’re not going to do anything else right? She took it down.
Me: She took it down because “she had no proof” not because she knows Lila lied. She’s still convinced even after Jagged’s legal team got involved although we both know the truth.
Adrien: I'm sorry.
Adrien: Even my father feels bad, he knows how much rumors like that could damage an artist’s reputation especially without proof.
Adrien: But he’s still convinced Lila’s someone I need to associate with and if you try to expose her again it’s going to be like every other time and I don’t want things to get worse for you.
Adrien: I’m sorry Mari.
Adrien: I just can’t help you while my father’s still on her side.
Google Search History:
Gotham Charity Dinner 2021 Photos
Patricide but for uncles
What is it called when someone kills their uncle?
How to know if a friendship is toxic
From:[email protected]
Date:November 5, 2021 5:05 P.M.
Subject: The Plan
Hey Damian!
Sorry for the delay in responding. I don’t know if you saw but MDC had a bit of a problem to deal with yesterday. So here’s how I see it. Our plan has two parts: the commission for your brothers and then us trying to help each other out with our people problems.
For the commission: You already gave me the measurements which I’m trusting are up to standard since I’m not flying to America any time soon. Next I need to know exactly what you want me to make for each of your brothers: Grayson, Todd, and Drake, the measurements say are their names right? Then I need to know who you think wants a sweater and who wants a jacket and your ideas for the design. I’ll draw up some designs based on the information and send them to you for approval with an estimate of the cost. (Normally I’d also send a non-disclosure agreement beforehand too but considering how this all started I’m guessing you’re not going to give me your real name for the paperwork, are you?) After they’re approved I’ll need you to deposit half the sum in my account (Information attached) and I’ll use it to buy the materials.
If I can get all of this done in the next week or so, it should leave me about a month to finish the pieces before sending them out (An address will not be optional fyi). Sounds good??
For the other part of our plan: the way I could see it going is when one of us has a problem we could use the other person for sort of a different perspective. It’s like in those cartoons when the character has those two little people on their shoulders, do you know what I’m talking about? One’s good, the other’s bad and they’re both telling the person to do different things. Not that you’re bad I mean and not that I just assumed that of the two of us you’d be the bad one… I’m not saying any of this right. I just mean it like I said before, I could learn a thing or time from someone who isn’t too concerned with pleasing everybody. (I didn’t mean that as an insult by the way. I actually find it kind of admirable.)
So, here’s an example of a situation I could use your opinion on: today I started to wonder if one of my friendships is no longer healthy anymore. I have this friend who is the only other person in our class that knows Lila’s lying. At first he convinced me that her lies weren’t hurting anybody and that as long as we both knew the truth then it didn’t matter what anybody else thought. Eventually, we both realized that that was no longer the case when she almost got me expelled, but by then she had convinced his father that I was a bad influence on him. So now he’s forced to play nice and keep her happy to please his father.
It’s hard because even though I know he knows she’s lying, he can’t tell anyone else so no one believes me when I try to tell them. Now she’s made good on her promise to turn everyone against me and so I have to deal with all her antics by myself while she stands by his side with the rest of the class. I know he’s in a bad position but it still doesn’t make me feel better when he texts me asking if I’m okay after something happens while at the same time whenever we’re with other people, he keeps his distance so she doesn’t report him to his father.
I guess I’m just tired of trying to make him feel better all the time. However, whenever I think about ending our friendship, I feel guilty because it’s really not his fault. His father wouldn’t hesitate to pull him from school and then we couldn’t be friends anyway. I feel like a good friend would stick by his side. I don’t know. What do you think, Damian?
I guess that’s just how I see this going then. I rant about whatever I’m having to deal with and you tell me if you agree with how I’m handling it and vice versa. You mention some type of incident with a classmate right? Do you want an outside opinion of that or has your family’s sufficed? Or is there anything else you could use some advice on? I guess we’re just making this up as we go. I mean I suppose there aren’t any rules about relationships that started with one person trying to blackmail the other, right? :P
Hope to hear from you soon! Love,
Marinette
P.S. If this is going to work, you can’t just ignore me when I call you out on being (for lack of a better word) snobbish, Mr. Postscript.
Hello, it’s me again. I just spent like an hour working on chapter nine so my headache’s making itself know again but I wanted to at least post a chapter today. Thank you to anyone who’s been reblogging, liking, or replying to these! It makes the unenjoyable task of reposting worth it! More chapters soon!
Master List
133 notes
·
View notes
Text
Do NOT reblog, or I will delete the post and block you.
There are so many posts on here about “eldest daughter this” and “oldest sibling that” but there are no posts that talk about what it’s like to be the middle sibling when your oldest sibling is a complete and utter fuckup in basically every way.
I’m technically the middle child. I have a sister who’s 8.5 years older than I am, and a (technically step-)brother who’s nine months younger than I am. My brother became my brother when I was six and he was five, so the “step-” determination is really meaningless, but I added it to explain how he could be my brother when he’s only nine months younger than I am. Anyway. I have two siblings, one older and one younger, and so that makes me the middle child, right?
Well, yes . . . but also no.
As you could surmise by the opening paragraph, my older sister fucked up in basically every conceivable way. I won’t get into her whole life story here because that’s not my story to tell (though believe me, there are doozies in there), but suffice it to say that every single choice she made is one that most parents would disapprove of. All three of my parents certainly did. And so what do you think happened when it came to me?
I’ll tell you what happened.
Because my older sister fucked up in every way one could possibly fuck up, there was a fear, I suppose, or a concern that I would, for whatever godforsaken reason, follow in her footsteps even though the two of us could not be more different in terms of attitude, outlook, goals, et cetera. As a result, if I did even the slightest thing wrong, the punishment hammer came down on me with all the might of Thor celebrating a delicious beverage. I failed geometry in junior year of high school due to an undiagnosed learning disability (along with undiagnosed severe depression and an undiagnosed anxiety disorder, all following years of abuse at my biological mother’s hands), and I was put under lockdown for the entire summer. I was not allowed to leave the house except to go to summer school, I was not allowed to talk to or see any of my friends, or play video games, or watch television, or be on the internet, or read, or write fiction, or do basically anything besides the aforementioned summer school and listening to music. To this day, my parents think this was a good decision on their part even though they now know about the learning disability and myriad of mental illnesses. They think it was a good call for them to punish me like they did.
And so you would say, okay, but if they punished you that severely because they didn’t want you to end up a drug-addicted high school dropout like your sister, surely they would level the same punishments against your brother, especially since you two were so close in age! Well, you would think that, but nope!
Instead, when my brother was around seventeen, he got pulled over and arrested for marijuana possession. (I think he was pulled over in the first place for speeding, but I can’t remember.) His punishment was to have his car taken away for six months. That’s it. He still had all of his other privileges, was not punished in any other way, he just could not drive for six months. He got in actual legal trouble, but he was still allowed to have hobbies.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that my brother should have been punished more harshly, per se. I’m only saying there was a stark difference in the way that we were treated that my family refuses to acknowledge or own up to even to this day, and it all comes down to the fact that I was never cut slack in either direction. If I was compared to my older sibling, then the fact that she had screwed up so royally in basically every single way meant that I would be made to stand at attention so I could be yelled at for an hour for failing a math class, and then continue to be berated and insulted for how I was clearly never going to college (I have a master’s now, by the by) because of it over the next few days, and yelled at further for having “nothing to say to myself” in the face of all the lecturing. But if I was compared to my younger sibling, why, then it should be expected that he always gets off easier, because he’s younger than I am and the baby of the extended family and, well, I’m older and more mature, so I can handle it better, anyway. And I mean, I guess, for the record, true; I took my punishment in silence because as a victim of child abuse for basically my entire life I never stood up for myself against my parents back then and always just stayed quiet to try to make punishments worse, whereas he threw fits about having his keys taken away every single day for those six months, but also we have to consider how “mature” one really is if that “maturity” stems from a decade and plus some of child abuse.
Because see, that’s the thing, and what has made me really start thinking about this the past few days. I mentioned it on twitter, but a week ago I got into a fight with my mom (stepmom, the better of the two) over politics that has effectively led to her disowning me, I think, which in turn means that my dad has disowned me as well, I think, because I’m pretty sure he’s going to take her side on this one. I won’t get into the actual subject matter here, but the long and short of it is that she accused me of “attacking” her when I wasn’t, and has since then refused to speak to me, even when I tried to offer an olive branch by texting her that fine, I wouldn’t talk to her about politics, but I still loved her. She left me on Read. So the way I see it, she’s not talking to me until I apologize, and I won’t apologize, so she’ll never talk to me and I’m just effectively disowned, I guess. It’s not exactly the first time I’ve lost a parent, and actually, it’s kind of in the same way as the last time.
Fifteen years ago, I left my abusive biological mother to live with my dad and stepmom. (I’m going to keep using stepmom to keep it clear from here on out, just as I use biological mother, even though I do call my stepmom “mom” and consider her as such.) At first my biological mother kept trying to reach out with her pity party guilt tripping about how lonely she was and how much she needed me and yadda yadda, but in the last phone conversation we had, she called me a traitor for leaving her. Keep in mind, I was 15, and she was abusive to the point where the neighbors could hear every profanity and threat she screamed at me from down the street. They told me this. They also told me they always thought about calling CPS, but they never did, but whatever. The point is, on that last phone conversation, she called me a traitor for leaving her. I told her that I wasn’t. She said that I was. I told her I didn’t have to listen to that. She said I did. I said I didn’t, and hung up the phone. I expected her to call right back to curse me out . . . but she never did.
That was fifteen years ago, and we’ve never spoken since.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to speak to her. Actually, the one time it looked like it might happen (at my sister’s wedding), my Fight or Flight response kicked in when I saw her walking toward me and I bolted. I had a panic attack so bad I felt like I was going to vomit. It’s really embarrassing to admit that, but it’s true. The only time I’ve seen her since was at my nephew’s high school graduation (which is the only graduation she got to attend for anyone directly related to her, since my sister dropped out and she didn’t attend mine), but although we made eye contact I looked away pretty quickly and, again, didn’t speak to her. Again, I don’t want to speak to her, this isn’t me complaining, I’ve not lost a single wink of sleep for the fact that she never reached out again despite how my dad likes to go on and on about how she should have “never stopped trying.” (But also, he never picks up the phone to call me for a chat either, despite always telling me how I should call him, so.)
But I just can’t help but notice the similarity. Once again, I have a mother who is refusing to speak to me because she feels I’ve wronged her in some way, and if I want a relationship, then I have to be the one to reach out (even though I already did, but was left on Read, so she wants me to reach out in a very specific way that she won’t even articulate). This isn’t the first time that she (and my dad) have done this, either. When I studied abroad in London, we got into a fight over something stupid over Skype, and I hung up the call. I was 19/20, so you know, not fully mature, but expected to be. Two weeks of silence passed before I had to call them to apologize, because even though their daughter was in a completely foreign country and, hell, could’ve been dead for all they knew, they wanted to Teach Me A Lesson, with that lesson being that unless I behaved the Right Way, they wouldn’t be there for me. And I guess here we are now, about eleven years later, having come full circle with that.
And you know what? I’m tired of it.
Because here’s the thing about being the second child when the first child is a fuckup in every way: you are expected to not only not fall into those same pitfalls, but also to excel in every single possible way. Not only in terms of grades or whatever else, but also in terms of emotional maturity and support for the parents. This veers into the abuse I experienced, I know (at least some of it), but you know how I mentioned that my biological mother kept going on and on about how much she needed me and whatnot? This is because instead of treating me like her daughter, I was instead treated like her combo maid-servant-therapist. It was my job to wait on her hand and foot when she was home, whether that was through fetching her coffee or being in charge of the refrigerator remaining operational (this sounds specific because it is; when I was about 13 the refrigerator broke and she yelled at me for a.) not knowing it was going to break and b.) not doing anything to prevent it breaking), but also she laid out all of her problems to me day after day, month after month, year after year. Do you know how many times I had to sit and listen to the “your father ran out on me after 22 years of marriage” speech? And when I finally asked her if she could stop she yelled at me because I clearly let him badmouth her but I wouldn’t let her do the same. (He actually didn’t, and neither did my stepmom. She was the only one remaining bitter.) She “needed” me because I was the emotional pillar on top of which sat her own degrading stability. The second time I told her that I wanted to live with my dad (because I told her to her face that I wanted to switch the custody agreement twice, and got browbeaten down twice, before I finally left in secret and didn’t tell her until I was already at his place), she picked up smoking cigarettes again after having quit smoking while she was hospitalized for undiagnosed diabetes and told me that it was my fault that she was smoking again, because I had stressed her out so badly by telling her that I wanted to leave. And like, one, obviously I wanted to leave, is there any question of why I wanted to leave or why that wouldn’t make me just want to leave more? But also two, the point I’m getting at here is that it was always about her, always about her emotional needs, never about mine. My emotional wellbeing was never a priority in that house. I was always expected to be there for her, that was my entire purpose as her daughter.
With my dad and stepmom it was obviously different, and in a lot of ways it was better because, god, I hated having to be the recipient of the constant stream of stress and misery from my biological mother. My dad and stepmom had each other, so I never had to hear about their woes for the most part. But at the same time, look at what happened when I failed geometry; instead of looking into seeing if they could get me diagnosed with a learning disability, or maybe actually listening to me when I said I felt “burnt out” and pushing a little harder for me to go to therapy, my dad instead yelled at me for an hour and several days after, insulted me, told me I was never going to succeed, and put me under lockdown for the entire summer, cutting me off from my support network of friends. I came from a background of 15 years of abuse, and one fuckup a year or so later lead not to a reexamination of how I was doing, but instead a severe punishment so that I “wouldn’t do it again.” I couldn’t pass a math class in university and in my final year I finally broke and went to my parents about how I really wasn’t going to graduate college because of it, and they agreed to pay to get me examined for a learning disability which, whoops, looks like I had! And my dad still blames me for waiting for so long to get diagnosed and not telling him sooner, when the last time he found I failed a math class that summer lockdown happened. He still hasn’t put the pieces together between that lockdown and why I didn’t tell him about the math classes I failed in university. Amazing.
My point is, with my dad and my stepmom, it wasn’t so much that they used me as an emotional sponge or pillar, but rather that they were pretty much uninvolved so long as I performed adequately, and was the model daughter they could be Oh So Proud Of, but the moment I slipped, bam! Go to jail, go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not contact your friends. My emotional needs were still not a priority because it wasn’t about whether or not I was okay, but whether or not it looked like I was doing okay in ways that were quantifiable, such as my grades. And I mean, to be fair, I wasn’t exactly keen on opening up about my feelings at that age and I was a pro at masking how I felt and acting like everything was fine because my biological mother would berate me on the car rides to school each morning to the point of tears, and then would yell at me more about how I better clean myself up because god help me if any teachers saw me crying, which would make them think she was a bad parent and that, too, would be my fault. (Protip: Washing your face with very cold water helps clear away the puffiness around the eyes that can be a tell you’ve been crying.) But even so, again, that puts the responsibility on me to do the Right Thing so that they could be there for me emotionally as my parents, and that is just—
I’m so tired of it, man!
I have had three parents and yet have never had the unconditional love of one. Never. My stepmom once tried telling me that she and my dad would love me unconditionally when I was a teen and she was trying to get me to admit I was a lesbian (funny thing is, even I didn’t know I was gay at the time), and my dad walked through the living room and, not even knowing what we were talking about, was like, “No we won’t.” So that was great. But the thing is this whole thing proves that she was full of it, too. Because they tolerate me being gay (while still trying to set me up with men), but because I won’t apologize to my mom when I haven’t done anything wrong but she feels like I have, she’s giving me the complete and total silent treatment until I do. Because I didn’t perform in the way I’m supposed to, because I wasn’t The Mature One, I’m being cut off. Because it’s my job to be The Mature One, because I was always The Mature One, because I never had any goddamn choice in the matter and the dysfunctional environment I was in when I lived with my biological mother (+ my sister, her baby daddy-now-husband, and their two very young children whom I was often put in charge of despite being in middle school at the time because their parents were often too busy doing drugs and/or sleeping to care for them) required it. Because I had to be Kept In Line so that I wouldn’t end up like my sister, but also it was just me that had to be kept in line despite how close in age my brother and I were. And again, I’m not saying that I wish my brother had also been punished harshly, but more that I wish that, you know, maybe some mercy could have been doled out to me, except it wasn’t, because I had two siblings on either side to be compared to and as a result one toe out of the line resulted in a smiting.
But in the end, it isn’t even really about that. This post isn’t really about how I’m simultaneously the eldest daughter but also the second child. It’s more about the fact that I’ve had three parents and yet have never had the unconditional love of even one, even from the one who said I had it. It’s about how my emotional needs were never a priority for any of the parents in my life. It’s about how I basically had to raise myself and it’s a real goddamn wonder I’m not even more screwed up than I actually am because of it. And it’s also about how I really miss therapy and haven’t been able to go for a long time, and I think this rambling stream of consciousness post proves that I really, really need to find a new therapist so I can go back again, because goddamn.
Anyway, once again, do NOT reblog this or I will delete it and block you, I just needed to get this off my chest, but I need it to stay here. Thank you.
#NO REBLOGS--//-- putting it there for good measure too#very personal ranting about past child abuse because it's 2am and I can't sleep & my life story is a Mess#and also I'm presently disowned from my parents etc etc that's what brought this on#''Gee Scrawlers why do you have such a preference for loving parent-child found family relationships in fiction?''#well [gestures above] does that answer your question or#not all of a person's fictional preferences are derived from their trauma but boy#some of them sure ass can be#anyway#i need to find a new therapist probably sooner rather than later
9 notes
·
View notes
Note
hey id like to request dewey finn for the character ship meme? preferably 3, 7, and 29? thanks!!
🤘 🤘 We love a short king 🤘 🤘 Stuff’s under the cut!
3. Who is the most romantic?:
You are, at least in the more traditional sense. You know of the ins and outs of bouquets and traditionally romantic candle-lit dinners and all that jazz. Dewey is, too, but he’s far less capable of actually pulling it off. The times he does, there’s always a hint of Dewey in them -- for better for for worse.
He runs a bath for you? Adds a little too much bubble mix and then there’s a whole thing about cleaning it up. He cooks dinner? It comes out a bit burnt. Add candles into that mix and the fire department has to have a talk with y’all about fire safety. Really, his safest bets were to stick to buying bouquets, chocolates, and stuffed animals. But after a point, you started to run out of vases and pots to put the flowers in, resorting to using old Burger King cups; and the bed was just barely big enough to hold both you and Dewey at once, never mind the assortment of plush puppies, teddy bears, and the cheaply-stuffed jumbo snake he’d miraculously won at Coney Island a while back.
The good news is, you’d honestly much prefer Dewey’s idea of romance because it’s more personal to you.
For Dewey, it’s romantic to teach you how to play an instrument. Not in the cheesy, “Come sit on my lap because I can guide you a lot easier that way” kind of way, mind you. Don’t take it the wrong way, he could also do just that if you insisted such. But he does so as though you were truly his student -- and you absolutely are. And that’s what makes it sweet: He’s sharing with you his biggest passion in life, and he takes it seriously enough to get really into it and want to sincerely pass it on to you. Dewey is an excitable man, it’s difficult to catch him in a moment where he’s particularly still; even rarer when he’s doing so and in an actually good mood.
And when he’s teaching you one of the very few things in life he knows absolutely best, he’s definitely in a good mood. Even if his expression may not directly suggest so, with his eyes completely focused on your positioning and occasional correction of your finger placement. But the moment you pull off a successful set of chords, that adorable smile of his comes shining through and beaming with absolute pride! It is, for lack of better word, a bonding experience. And that’s what makes it romantic in your humble opinion.
That, and at least Dewey’s idea of romantic can mean a nice night in where you can relax and just flop on the couch to watch crap TV instead of putting on “stiff fancy clothes” and having to leave the apartment. In your minds, very little can beat a comfy evening full of marathoning Let’s Plays in your makeshift pajamas and scarfing down food bought from the bodega two blocks down, especially after a rough week. And especially when one or the other plays with each other’s hair . . .
7. What do they get up to on a night out?:
That being said, you’re still dating Dewey Finn: Eventually, you do need to go out and “taste fresh air” as Dewey dramatically puts it.
You two are gluttons for entertainment. You tried the whole gig of just going out for dinner at a fine dining establishment, followed by a bit of a walk (but not too long, this is still New York after dark after all). You both tried to enjoy it, too, but it honestly just wasn’t your scene. Besides, the portions were way too small for something costing upwards of $25 per plate.
The good news about having a boyfriend like Dewey is that he always has his fingers on the pulse of the city. If we’re going with my headcanon that everyone lives on Staten Island, then there’s no shortage of venues or events to explore! The limits are only set by the limits of your wallets! . . . Suffice to say, it’s not just a personal choice that you two usually just go to bar and grills that hold band nights.
But once every blue moon, after saving up, you both go crazy and head over to Manhattan to catch a show. You’re admittedly more into musicals than Dewey is (especially ones written and composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber), but there has been the occasional show that Dewey didn’t mind watching, and even found himself mutter-singing the lyrics to. Granted, because a night like this can be pretty pricey (especially on an extracurricular teacher’s salary mixed with your own), these sorts of nights don’t tend to happen too often.
And sometimes the urge to go out is accompanied by that grossly exhausted feeling where it’s like all your meats are essentially weighing down on your bones. But you haven’t done anything fun all week, you just gotta get out the house and get Out There! . . . To the 24hr pizzeria next door, because that’s about as far as the two of you can get.
Apparently at some point after you turn 21, just going out after 8pm can make you feel like a hell-raiser. And that’s good enough for y’all.
29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?:
You bring out what the other wants and needs.
When you were growing up, you were quite quiet. Being looked at by a bunch of people always made you anxious, you were constantly afraid to make sudden moves, lest there may be some backlash. You’ve gotten better since then, but even still, you struggle with being as open and forthcoming as you would like to be.
And that’s where Dewey comes in: With Dewey, you always feel like you can stand a little taller, be a little louder. There’s something about him that encourages people to break out of their shell (at the very least peek out of it) and make them want to just seize the day. As his significant other, you are absolutely no exception. Watching him confidently approach nearly every task with a can-do attitude makes you consider that maybe you can do the same thing. If you want to civilly but firmly tell somebody off, Dewey’s there to support you. If you need to ask for help with something but are too afraid to, Dewey’s got your back.
Of course, he sometimes oversteps and just does it for you himself, with him seeing any slight against you as a complete injustice that he needs to defend your honor over. In which case, you’re usually thankful, but gently tell him that you need to do this on your own. And he will respect this because it makes him remember that this is your journey towards gaining more confidence in yourself. You’re so very special to him, and far be it from him to keep you from accepting that more and more. So when he invigorates you and makes you want to be and do better, you can’t help but want to always be with him: That way, you can be better for him, yourself, and also your future together.
As for Dewey, it’s whenever you ground him and help him grow as a person and listen to him. Dewey’s never been that popular -- and he knows it. Sure, he may seem completely invincible, but the truth actually is that deep down he’s got some insecurities about himself. His brashness got him kicked out of his own band, his immaturity nearly lost him a friend and got him into legal trouble, girls have never been particularly drawn to him, and it’s quite easy to assume that he’s an imbecile because of his one-track mind with regards to music.
As a result, he’s used his dream of becoming a rock god as a means to promote himself and that swagger he gives off so much. Which then creates a cycle of him making more mistakes after overestimating his competency. The problem is that even though people may tell him to stop, they haven’t always offered him help with how to do exactly that. The truth of the matter is, yelling at somebody doesn’t exactly help the situation; maybe it brings a person to realizations over what needs to be done, but rarely does it actually offer the tools necessary to get beyond that.
The irony here is that for as chaotic as Dewey can be, he’s a surprisingly good listener to those whom he sees insecurities in, especially kids. After discovering he has a knack for it, he’s become more than willing to sit somebody down and try to help them realize their potential, even if it isn’t always intentional on his part. And that’s where you come in.
You’re more patient than he is, so your impulsivity or lack thereof is a great counter to his, making sure that he remembers that sometimes things need to be planned out. Steps need to be taken in order to follow through with certain projects or goals, we can’t always just jump to it. With you, Dewey’s become more orderly with things. Not extremely, mind you, as that would destroy the man’s personality as we know and love it. But just enough to where he’s not as risky as he used to be.
In addition to this, you’re willing to listen to him and his thoughts on things, from his obsession with music to the anxieties he usually tries to keep tucked away deep down. It doesn’t necessarily borderline being therapy, but it’s enough to where airing things out help him feel more stable. Besides, not everyone is as taken to music as he is: It’s nice to be heard, even when it’s just over one’s special interest. Finally, like you with him, Dewey likes to observe you. It’s not always obvious, given that his hyperactivity sometimes distracts him or just appears to. After all, it’s hard to imagine the guy who dances when he’s excited actually paying attention to you when you’re just sitting on the couch, sketching.
But he is. Because watching you being able to keep still and let yourself breathe makes him want to do the same. He’s spent so much of his life thinking he needs to live fast that he never considered maybe slowing down a bit might be good. But now he has. And he wants to. He wants to slow down and grow up for you -- no, with you. And ever since he realized that this was something he wanted, he couldn’t help but love you a little more every time he found that familiar, warm feeling in his chest, making goosebumps rise to his skin.
Thanks for asking and for being patient!!
#dewey finn#dewey finn x reader#dewey finn imagine#dewey finn imagines#school of rock the musical#school of rock imagines#regrettablewritings#character ship meme#character ship headcanons
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Second Chances Part 7: The Phone Call
Author’s note: As you guys will see, this installment has a lot of Spanish in it. I've tried to include enough context clues for anyone who doesn't speak the language, but if you still want any translations or clarification, just let me know!
Summary: The time has come for Roman to call his parents for the first time since he disappeared five years ago. But do they even want to hear from him?
Warnings: talk of homelessness, fear of rejection, lying, arguing, food mention, death mention
Word Count: 6812
Second Chances Masterpost!
Ao3 Link
...
Patton rolled over in the bed yet again, trying to get comfortable. It was very late, and he should have been asleep hours ago, but his brain just wouldn’t turn off. Given all that had been revealed that day, all that there was to do, he wasn’t exactly surprised. But he wished that he could be able to forget about that, at least for a while, at least until he’d gotten some sleep. That didn’t seem likely to happen any time soon, given how wide-awake he still felt. He didn’t know exactly what time it was; but if he were to look at the clock on the bedside table, he would probably wince.
A sleepy grumble sounded next to him. “Patton?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Lo,” Patton whispered, his heart sinking. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You’ve—” Logan yawned, shifting in the bed and pulling himself closer to his boyfriend. “You’ve been tossing and turning all night. What’s wrong?” He blinked tired eyes at Patton in the dimly lit room.
“I can’t stop thinking about what Roman said,” Patton admitted, still whispering. “I just… His parents have no idea what happened. They haven’t seen him in five years! He just went off to school, and disappeared, and you know they tried to find him—they had to—and, oh, Logan, how do you think they felt when they found out he never even made it to school? They probably think he hated them, or—or maybe even that he’s dead.”
“Shhh,” Logan soothed, clearly more awake now because of the stress in Patton’s voice. “I know,” he murmured. “I know. It is a difficult situation. I assure you, though, we will do what we can to find them.”
“I just want to find that boyfriend of his, and—and fight him.”
“Even if you could do that without facing legal ramifications, it wouldn’t do any good.”
“But he deserves it.” Patton sounded unusually angry.
“Maybe,” Logan admitted, tracing a geometric pattern on Patton’s arm through his pajama sleeve in an attempt to soothe him.
“I can’t sleep, Lo,” Patton said sadly. “I should be doing something. Trying to find his parents, so they know he’s okay.”
“Even if we did find them now, I doubt they would appreciate a phone call at—” he sat up slightly to see the clock— “four in the morning.”
Patton sighed. Logan was right, of course, that it was too late to do anything now; but he didn’t have to like it.
“Come here,” Logan invited, lifting up one arm. “The only thing you should be doing right now is sleeping. You don’t have school tomorrow. You can try to find them then.”
“You had him write down their names, right?” Patton mumbled, nestling himself into Logan’s arms. Roman would be leaving early in the morning, so they wouldn’t have the chance to ask him then.
“Correct. As well as their last known address.”
“Good.”
Logan adjusted how the blankets draped over them both, and Patton closed his eyes. It was a while longer before he managed to drift off to sleep, still buzzing with a frenzied energy even as he lay curled in his boyfriend’s embrace; but finally, he did.
…
Roman couldn’t help but worry that he’d made a mistake. Maybe he should have kept quiet about what had happened and why he was homeless. He hadn’t shared any specific details of what exactly his ex-boyfriend had said about him, but that didn’t mean that Logan and Patton wouldn’t believe that he’d been lying. What if they decided Roman really was an irredeemable person, like everyone else had? What if they decided to throw him out again now that they knew just how much at fault he was for his own situation? What if they couldn’t find his parents, and he never got the chance to apologize?
What if they did manage to contact his parents, and they rejected him?
Suffice to say, Roman was very distracted the day after he shared his story, which was not a good state of mind to have at only his second day on the job at the Sanders Café. Barely an hour into his shift, he ended up dropping a container of coffee grounds, its contents spilling across the floor. It had only been half-full, but this latest mistake only made Roman feel like more of a screw up. He stared down at the mess, his mouth falling open as he was jerked out of his fog.
His fellow barista—Alex, today, apparently—groaned and turned away, hands thrown up in the air. “Seriously, Princey?”
Roman stammered something about getting a broom, very aware of the snickers and annoyed mutterings of a few customers waiting in line, only to run right into Thomas, their manager, who had clearly seen the whole thing. Of course, he had. The area behind the counter wasn’t exactly huge.
Thomas took a step back, eyebrows furrowed as he steadied the flustered barista. “Hey, Roman?” he said, “why don’t you go take a ten minute break in the back? I’ll clean this up.”
Roman immediately jerked upright, eyes widening. “Thomas, I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, I swear it was an accident—”
“Woah, Roman,” Thomas said, his voice a little higher than usual. “You’re not in trouble, I promise. It’s only your second day. Just go take a break. Sit down for a bit. Reset. I’ll clean up and man the register.”
Roman nodded and sheepishly walked off, glancing back in time to see the other barista take the broom from Thomas and shoo him towards the register.
He sat down in the office in the back, putting his head in his hand. He glanced at the time on his watch, a cheap but nice-looking piece with a red band that Logan and Patton had bought for him, and sighed through his nose. He’d already messed up so bad that he’d been put in time out, and he had several hours left in his shift. Plenty of time to get himself fired, at the rate he was messing things up.
He had to focus if he wanted to do well and actually keep this job; but all he could think about was the night before and the daunting prospect of what was to come.
Not for the first time, Roman wished he still had a phone. Maybe if he could message Patton and Logan, he could put his mind at ease. They’d reacted sympathetically the night before, but he couldn’t help but think that they very well could have changed their minds. And he suspected that they were going to tell Val a condensed version of the tale, if they hadn’t already. They hadn’t really talked about that, but they should have. Roman would have asked them to hold off. Yet another worry of his was that she would hear about how this was all his fault and decide to kick him out again.
There’s nothing you can do about it right now, he told himself, shaking his head harshly. He sat up suddenly straight. He shouldn’t be worrying about all of this now; he was at work. He had a job. People were counting on him, even if it was only to help give people their caffeine and pastry fix. Thomas and ‘Alex’ shouldn’t have to do the job all by themselves.
He closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, his posture erect. It was no different to a performance, he told himself. He just needed to put everything else aside and get into the right mindset.
Eventually, the ten minutes passed, and Roman made his way back to the front. He straightened his company shirt and apron, squared his shoulders, and stepped out. Thomas was seated on a stool behind the register, while ‘Alex’ was busy making some kind of chocolate syrup, sprinkle, and whipped cream-covered drink. It looked like a pile of sugar in a cup, and it looked absolutely delicious. The mess of coffee grounds was gone.
“Grab me a lid,” ‘Alex’ said, not looking up as he approached.
Roman did, picking one up off the stack and handing it over. He was probably more pleased with himself that he grabbed the correct kind than the moment warranted; but to be fair, the bar for success was currently set at not dropping everything on the floor.
The barista grunted as if to substitute a “thank you,” then handed over the drink to a college-aged girl with enough colorful barrettes in her hair to create a double rainbow.
“Thanks,” she drawled, dropping a quarter in the tip jar.
“Thank you!” Thomas said with a smile as she swaggered off.
“Do you want me to take over?” Roman asked, coming up next to Thomas.
Thomas hummed. “Well, you can if you’d like, but I’d appreciate if you helped make drinks. That okay with you?”
Roman nodded, biting his lip. He still didn’t know how to actually work the machines, but he wasn’t going to refuse. “Yeah, that’s fine. Thanks, Thomas.”
It turned out that he needn’t have worried about not knowing how to operate the machines. As he probably should have expected given the coffee grounds incident, his coworker was rather reluctant to let him put together the drinks. ‘Alex’ mostly had him fetch things, like the caramel or chocolate syrup, whipped cream bottles, lids, and firmly closed containers of coffee or milk.
Because nothing was perfect, while Roman was definitely more on his game than before, he did still make a few mistakes. One time, Roman handed over the almond milk instead of soy milk, and the other barista groaned like Roman had just made the screw-up of the century.
“Princey. This is almond milk. I asked for soy milk. They are not the same thing. What if the customer was allergic to almonds? You could have just put someone in the hospital!”
Roman opened his mouth and shut it again. Finally, he just huffed, took the almond milk back, and switched it out for the correct one.
“Thank you,” the barista said in an exaggerated tone, adding the milk to the drink.
Thomas glanced over. “Storm Cloud,” he said, making ‘Alex’s’ face redden under its pale foundation, “it was an honest mistake. We all have off days.”
Roman felt a rush of gratefulness for Thomas.
“Right, right,” the other barista grumbled. “It just happens that some of us have more of them than others.”
Roman felt his face turn pink. He wanted to argue that it was only his second day, that the other barista was judging him before even getting to know him, that he could do much better than this. But he also really wanted to keep this job. And besides—with how Roman’s life had turned out so far, who was he to say that he could do anything right?
So, instead, he just irritably got back to being ‘Alex’s’ errand boy, fetching lids and straws and ingredients, until finally the end of their shift arrived, and Roman could go home. Or at least, back to what he hoped he could still consider his home. At least he didn’t mess anything else up that day.
“Good job today, Roman,” Thomas said as he took off his apron. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”
“Yeah, can’t wait for him to mess up more stuff,” ‘Alex’ muttered, too quietly for Thomas to hear, and just barely loud enough for Roman to make out. “Just wait until he actually tries to pour a cup of coffee.”
Roman shot a glance at the other barista, then flashed a strained smile at Thomas. “See you tomorrow.”
…
Roman walked back home—or at least, to Logan’s house—slowly. He would have been scuffing his feet along the sidewalk if he weren’t so reluctant to damage the shoes that Logan and Patton had bought for him. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing the others, knowing they’d probably want to talk about the night before.
He arrived and let out a long, heavy sigh. He didn’t see anyone right away, so he just plodded up to the guest room—“his” room, for however much longer that would last—and threw himself down on the bed.
He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, his face pressed into the comforter, before he heard a quiet knock at his door.
“Roman?”
Roman sighed in resignation, pushed himself up off of the bed, and went to answer the door. He pulled it open, and there was Patton, standing with a few pieces of paper in his arms and a simultaneously concerned and hopeful look on his face.
“Sorry, kiddo, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No—no, you didn’t,” Roman assured him, shifting on his feet. He offered a dazzling smile. “Um, what brings you here?”
Patton smiled, perking up instantly. “I think I found them,” he said, starting to rock back and forth where he stood. “Can I show you? I wanted to make sure, before we tried to contact them or anything. But I think I did it!”
Roman’s gaze drifted to the papers in Patton’s arms. The cold feeling of dread settled in his chest. He had found them? In one day? Roman supposed that made sense, since they probably weren’t exactly hiding; but that still felt like far too fast. He knew he ought to be excited, but the feeling wouldn’t come.
Patton hesitated, searching Roman’s face. His rocking slowed to a stop. “Maybe this could wait?” he suggested hesitantly.
Roman opened his mouth to reply, but could only nod.
“Have you had lunch?”
Roman shook his head.
“Okay!” Patton said. “After lunch it is.”
“You didn’t eat yet?” Roman’s eyebrows furrowed, looking up from the papers in Patton’s hands. It had to be nearly 3 PM by now, right? Roman had gotten off work at 2.
“Nope! I wanted to wait for you. It’s just the two of us today; that okay?”
“Yeah, Pat, of course,” Roman had expected to be eating alone, after all. “I don’t mind.”
“So, how was work?” Patton asked as they made their way downstairs.
“Oh, uh… it was alright.”
“Really?”
“Yep.” Roman smiled for good measure.
“Well, I’m glad. Maybe you can tell me about it while we eat.”
“Oh, there’s not much to tell. Just making coffee, thanking people for 25 cent tips.”
“But you like it there?”
Roman shrugged. “Might be too soon to tell, but it’s alright.” Thomas was nice, at least. As for Alex, or Enrique, or Terrence, or whatever… Roman couldn’t say. He hoped they’d get along eventually.
…
Roman stared down at the phone in his hand, borrowed from Patton. His mamá’s name was displayed on the screen. All he had to do was press a button, and he could talk to her. Assuming she answered.
“Do you want to be alone, maybe?” Patton asked gently. “Logan and I can go.” He and his boyfriend were seated on either side of Roman, for moral support.
“No—no, that’s okay,” Roman said. His mouth was dry. He took a shaky breath, hesitated, and took another. He pressed the button.
The phone rang. Once, twice, three times.
“Hello?” a lightly accented voice asked. “Who—?”
Roman’s thumb smacked the end call button.
Logan looked confused. “Was that not her?”
Patton shushed him, murmuring quietly, before turning back to Roman. “Roman, there’s no rush. If you’re not ready, we can wait.”
“No… I’m sorry, I don’t… I panicked a little there.” He laughed nervously. “That was… that was her.”
“Should we try again?”
Roman nodded, staring at the phone. He proceeded to sit there, staring at it, for several minutes in silence. Patton put a hand between his shoulder blades and rested it there.
Roman hit the call button.
The phone rang. Only once this time.
“Hello, who is this?”
Roman inhaled shakily.
“Hola, Mamá,” he said, fleetingly proud of the fact that his voice hardly wobbled.
There was an audible sigh on the other end of the line. Roman’s heart dropped to his stomach.
“¿Mijo, por qué me llamas?”
Roman swallowed, his heart sinking even further at her tone. She didn’t want to hear from him; of course she didn’t want to hear from him; why would she? He should have just stayed away. What had he thought would happen? Of course she hated him. He would have ended the call right then, but he felt too devastated to move.
“¿Ya estás en problemas de nuevo? Re—”
Roman gasped loudly, realization hitting him; and his mamá broke off in surprise. She thought he was his brother. Of course, he should have realized sooner.
“No, no, Mamá,” he said desperately. “Soy yo. Soy Roman.”
There was a pause. Roman could feel himself sweating. His heart pattered discordantly, like a stone falling down a staircase. A tiny flame of hope flared within him, one he didn’t dare allow to grow. He beat it down in silence, waiting. It felt like decades before his mamá responded.
“¿Es un chiste? ¿Te estás burlando de mí?”
She thought it was a joke, that he—or rather, Roman’s twin brother—was making fun of her. “No, Mamá, te prometo. Soy Roman.” His voice broke, shaking as he fought to get the words out. That must have been what convinced her.
“¿…Roman?” she repeated, breathy, shocked.
Patton’s hand rubbed his back in slow circles. Logan was silent, clearly uncomfortable and unsure how to help; but he hadn’t left, which Roman appreciated.
“Sí,” Roman confirmed once more. “Sí, soy yo.” He took a breath. “Mamá, lo siento, lo siento muchísimo—”
Roman’s mamá found her voice at the same time. “Roman, mijito, ¿dónde estás? ¿Qué te pasó? Cariño, cariño—” She was crying, talking so fast Roman could barely keep up, asking what had happened, where he had been all this time, if he was okay, why he had disappeared.
All Roman could seem to do was to keep repeating that he was okay and that he was sorry. Patton kept rubbing between his shoulder blades. Logan was studying the floor.
…
Patton was slowly rubbing Roman’s back, trying to offer his silent support as his friend called his mom for the first time since he’d disappeared five years before. He could only properly hear half the conversation, although he could hear Roman’s mamá muffled voice through the speaker—she must have been practically shouting, and Patton couldn’t exactly blame her. He didn’t speak Spanish, but he caught a few words here and there. Names, phrases like “soy yo” and “lo siento” that were repeated over and over again. At one point, he heard Roman’s mamá shout, very clearly, something that Patton was pretty sure meant “We thought you were dead!”
Slowly, as time went on, the exchange began to calm down, becoming more of a proper conversation. Patton couldn’t have told you what exactly they said; but he didn’t mind not being able to listen in, or that Roman had probably chosen to speak in Spanish for this exact reason. This way, he could be supportive without any guilt about eavesdropping.
He just kept rubbing a hand between Roman’s shoulder blades, waiting.
After a while, Roman moved the phone away from his lips, glancing furtively at Patton. “She, um… she wants me to come see her.”
Patton smiled at him. “That’s good, isn’t it? I’m sure she’s missed you.”
Roman nodded, looking worried.
“If you are concerned about potentially missing work,” Logan offered, “you can call and ask for the time off. You could also utilize a weekend, and minimize any potential missed time.”
Roman still looked unsure.
Patton opened his mouth, to ask what he was thinking, but Roman was already returning to the call.
…
“Está Dad en casa?” Roman asked, avoiding answering his mamá’s question about a visit for the moment.
His mamá hesitated, then responded, “Lo siento, Roman, no está. Trabaja hoy. Lo siento. Sé que quieres hablar con él también.”
Roman’s eyes flicked downwards. He felt a conflicting mixture of relieved and disappointed that his dad wasn’t there to answer the call. “No, no, no te preocupes. Puedo llamar otra vez.” There would be plenty of time to talk to him later, surely?
“Lo siento. ¿Y, Roman? Por favor, dime. ¿Estás seguro? ¿No estás en peligro?”
“Estoy seguro,” he reassured her. He was safe now, anyway. “Estoy con… con unos amigos, en una ciudad al suroeste de Saint Gabriel. Les llaman Logan, Patton y Val. Me están ayudando. Te llamo en el celular de Patton, de hecho.”
“Me alegro de que estés seguro, y con amigos. Pero, mijo, todavía no me has respondido. ¿Dónde estabas por tanto tiempo? ¿Dónde estás ahora? ¿Qué te pasó?”
Roman swallowed. “Pues…”
The conversation was a bit of a blur after that. His mamá was very upset, of course, as Roman had known she would be. She wanted answers, and Roman knew he owed them to her. Still, there was only so much he could say without breaking down completely.
He told her the basics. That he had been rejected from Saint Gabriel, that he had been embarrassed to tell his parents, and that he had ended up homeless until very recently. He told her that he had a job now, and that he was staying with some friends. There were certain things that he left out, a lot of things; but regardless, Roman’s mamá sounded absolutely heartbroken.
At one point while he spoke, Logan had left and come back with a few glasses of water. Roman took a sip from his, casting a brief, grateful glance in Logan’s direction.
Finally, they agreed that they would talk about everything in person as soon as possible, and that Roman would call her every night until then—this, of course, he okayed with Patton, first.
“¿Cuándo puedo llamar a Dad?” Roman asked. He would like to talk with his dad as soon as possible. Now that he’d ripped off the band-aid, contacting his parents at all, putting it off would only draw out his stress.
“Hmm… debo hablar con él primero.”
“¿No puedo llamarlo esta noche?” Roman frowned. He supposed he understood his mamá wanting to talk to his dad before he did, so that he wasn’t as taken off guard as she was; but she was talking like Roman might not be able to call him that night at all.
She hesitated. “Roman, hay algo que necesitas saber…”
…
Logan stepped into the hallway and quietly closed the bedroom door behind him. He sighed and padded down the hall and down the staircase. His boyfriend looked up as he entered the living room.
“Any news?”
“No, he simply asked to be left alone. He claims to want to get some extra rest for his shift tomorrow.”
“It’s only seven,” Patton said, his eyebrows furrowing in concern. “We haven’t even had dinner yet.”
“Clearly, something was said on the call that upset him,” Logan said, sitting beside Patton, who leaned over and rested his head on his shoulder. “He will speak to us when he is ready.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed him into this,” Patton mumbled. “This is my fault.”
“No, love,” Logan said. “Whatever happened, it is not your fault. You only desired to help him, and you did help. He needed to contact his parents, whatever the outcome. They deserve to know that he is well, and he deserves to have a relationship with them if he desires it. Even if something went wrong, this was only the first contact he has had with either of them in years. His mother requested that he call every night, did she not?”
“Yes…”
“So it follows that there will be plenty of time to work out any issues. I’d imagine that Roman’s parents are upset at his disappearance, and at the situation he found himself in.”
“What if it’s more than that?”
“Well, even if there is something more going on, something that cannot be fixed with patience and communication, we are here.”
Patton nodded, his head still resting on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Logan leaned over and kissed his forehead.
…
“Knock, knock,” Patton called, knocking on the closed door. He waited a second, but received no answer. He bit his lip. “Can I come in, kiddo?”
Still no response.
“I’m opening the door, okay?”
He turned the knob and nudged the door open. The bedroom within was dark. Patton could see Roman lying facedown on the bed, his arms wrapped around the pillow.
“Ro?” Patton asked, softening his voice.
“I’m asleep,” Roman said into the pillow, very clearly not asleep.
“Dinner’s ready,” Patton tempted. “Val made quesadillas. And there’s a couple of sides, if you’re not feeling like those.”
“Hmph.”
Patton stepped closer. “Kiddo, what happened? Can you talk to me?”
Roman’s response was too muffled to make out. Patton wasn’t sure it was even real words.
“Do you want me to go? I can just bring you a plate, and let you rest.”
Roman didn’t say anything to that, so Patton walked up to the bed and sat down at Roman’s side.
“Roman, I want to help, but I don’t know how. Can you tell me?”
Roman didn’t answer for a while. They sat there in near silence, Val and Logan’s conversation just audible from the dining room below. Finally, Roman turned his head so that his face was no longer smushed into the pillow. “It’s my dad,” he mumbled.
“Your dad?”
“He doesn’t want to see me.”
“You can’t know that. You haven’t even talked to him. Did your mom say that?”
“She didn’t have to. He thinks I’m like him. That I’m just….” Roman let out a heavy sigh. “That I’m no good.”
Patton decided not to ask who “him” was. “Why would he think that?”
Roman snorted. His tone was bitter as he responded, “You’ve already forgotten what I told you?”
“You mean the plagiarism? Roman, as soon as you explain, they’ll know that wasn’t your fault. Just tell them what you told me and Logan. They’ll understand. It’s obvious they love you. I don’t speak Spanish, sure, but I heard it in your mom’s voice.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Why not?”
“Because—why would they believe me? And even if they did, I still lied, and I ghosted them. That was all me.”
“You were scared. Kids do stupid stuff when they’re scared.”
“I wasn’t a kid.”
“Okay, so you were eighteen. I’m twenty-one and I still do stupid stuff.”
“Not that stupid.”
Patton shrugged. “You’re trying to fix it now, right?”
Roman was silent.
“That’s all we can do, Roman. We mess up, and we try to do better. You’re trying to do better, here. Your dad will see that. And even if he doesn’t, well, I do. Logan does. Val does, too.”
And, hey, if Val could warm up to Roman, a homeless man she didn’t even know, and Logan could befriend his former “nemesis,” then surely Roman’s own dad would come around, too.
“I know you’re worried about what he’s going to say. But you haven’t even talked to him yet. I think we just have to be careful not to get ahead of ourselves.”
Roman shifted. “Maybe,” he admitted.
Patton figured that that was the best he was going to get, at least until Roman had spoken with his dad. “Do you want to come down for dinner? Or I could bring you something.”
“No… I think I’m just going to stay here. Long day. Work tomorrow. You know.”
“That’s fine. Just make sure you eat some breakfast tomorrow, okay? Can’t have you going to work hungry.”
“Yeah, Pat, I will.” He yawned. Whether it was for show or not, Patton couldn’t say.
“I could stay here a bit, if you want?”
“I’ll be okay. Thanks, though.” He buried his face back in the pillow, as if to end the conversation.
Patton nodded to himself, then got to his feet. He went back out into the hall and quietly closed the door behind him. He hoped things went well for Roman. He deserved that.
…
“Roman. Roman, wake up.”
“Mph?” Roman shifted, his mind still murky, and lifted his head from where his face had been smushed into the pillow beneath it. He looked to the side, and saw a large, dark figure leaning over him.
“Ahh!!”
It drew back sharply, and the light fell across its face.
It was Logan, wearing pajamas and with a towel around his shoulders. He looked startled.
“Apologies, Roman, but you need to wake up,” he said. “You overslept.”
“What?!”
“I was getting ready, and I saw your door was still shut. You must have forgotten to set your alarm, or fallen back asleep by mistake.”
Roman shot upright. “What time is it?!”
“Almost seven—”
“I’m an hour late? Oh my god, I’m going to get fired!” Roman fisted his hands in the blankets, looking up at Logan in horror.
“There’s no need to panic, I’m sure they’ll forgive one mistake. Get dressed, I’ll drive you to work.”
“Okay, okay, okay…” Roman leapt out of bed and ushered Logan out. He got dressed as fast as possible and ran downstairs, taking the steps two at a time and nearly sending himself sprawling at the bottom.
Logan was by the front door, holding his car keys. He was still in pajama pants, his hair damp, but wearing shoes instead of slippers now.
“Won’t you be late if you drive me?” Roman asked, thinking out loud.
“Don’t worry about me,” Logan assured. “This is for the best, anyhow. It’s raining outside this morning.” He held out an umbrella. “It’s Patton’s. In case it’s still raining this afternoon. We can pick one up for you later.”
“Thanks,” Roman said, taking the umbrella. He would have protested, but they were short on time, and he knew that Patton didn’t plan to go anywhere that day.
They walked out to the car and drove to the café. Logan passed over a couple of breakfast bars for Roman to eat along the way, which he hardly tasted. When they finally arrived, Roman barely paused to thank Logan for the ride before he hopped out and all but ran inside.
His fellow barista was alone behind the counter, today wearing a name tag labelled ‘Ángel’ on his Sanders Café shirt.
“Have a great day,” he was saying as he approached, a customer-service smile in place. Then he turned to Roman with a thunderous expression. “About time you showed up!” he whisper-yelled, glaring. The difference between his former tone and the biting one he snapped at Roman with was jarring.
“I am so, so sorry,” Roman said, speed-walking towards him. “Where’s Thomas? Is he here?”
“I had the great fortune of both of you being late today,” he answered, moving to grab a coffee cup. “Now get on the register, you have no idea how much of a pain it is to do two jobs at once.”
Roman left his jacket and Patton’s umbrella in the back and grabbed his apron. He came back out, still tying it behind his back. “So it was just you here?” he checked, guilt churning in his stomach.
“Obviously! Now get, like, cashier-ing!”
On the bright side, that meant that Thomas didn’t know he’d been late; but Roman highly doubted that ‘Ángel’ would neglect to tell him about Roman’s tardiness. He didn’t owe Roman anything, and he certainly didn’t seem in a forgiving mood.
Maybe Thomas would go easy on him, since he was late, too? Or had Roman used up his leniency the day before with his clumsiness?
He got through the next few orders; and when the line was gone for the moment, Roman turned back to ‘Ángel’.
“I am so sorry,” he said again. “I overslept. It was stupid, but it was a one-time thing, I promise.”
“Oh, you overslept?” he said dryly. “Boo-freaking-hoo. My neighbor’s stupid polka music kept me up until two in the freaking morning, and I still managed to show up on time.”
Roman looked at him in dismay, but he could tell he was getting nowhere with this, so he just sighed and turned back to the register.
…
Ten minutes later, Thomas arrived. He pulled up in one of the spaces closest to the building, turned off the car, and stepped out. As Roman had noticed the day before, he again paused to casually lean on the side of his car for a moment. He’d pegged it on Thomas enjoying some sunshine before being stuck inside for the next eight hours; but it was raining this morning. He would be soaked if he stayed out there much longer.
‘Ángel’ sighed and looked at Roman. “I’ll be right back. Try not to break anything.” Then he grabbed a drink carrier, put it over his head like an improvised umbrella, and went outside. Roman watched, confused, as he spoke to Thomas for a couple of seconds, then took his arm and walked them both back inside.
“Is everything okay?” Roman asked.
“Yeah, just move your butt.”
“Everything’s fine, Roman,” Thomas said, smiling, sitting down on the stool that Roman vacated. He looked a little breathless, shrugging off his rain jacket. The other barista took it from him and walked to the back, glaring at Roman once more as if this was somehow his fault. He came back with an apron instead of the jacket, which he handed to Thomas along with a few paper towels. “Thanks, V.”
V? Roman glanced at the other barista as Thomas rubbed at his face with the towels, slotting away that information for later.
“Now,” Thomas glanced around the coffee shop as he put on his apron. “There seems to be a bit of a lull, so why don’t you show Roman how to use some of the machines? I don’t think we’ve gotten the chance to train him yet.”
“Maybe I could have earlier, if he’d shown up on time,” V muttered.
Roman’s heart sank.
“He was late?” Thomas turned to Roman.
“A little…” Roman admitted, mortified.
“He showed up just before you did.”
Thomas paused. “Well, it is the first time, isn’t it? And I think I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I was mad at him for being late today, of all days.”
“That’s different,” V claimed.
“How?”
“Well—well, you’re the manager, for one. Aren’t your hours flexible anyway?”
“Yes, but I did promise to be here early today. Sorry about that, by the way. I got held up.”
V looked away and made an annoyed sound in his throat. It sounded almost like a hiss.
Thomas studied his face. “You feeling alright, Storm Cloud?”
“I’m great. Fantastic. Never been better.”
Thomas squinted disbelievingly. “How’d you sleep last night?”
“Fine.”
“Big polka music fan?” Roman dared to ask in a low voice.
Thomas glanced at Roman, a look of understanding growing on his face. This must not have been the first time V was kept up by his neighbor’s musical taste. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “You’re going to show Roman how to work everything, and then you’re going to go lie down in the back. I can give Roman a hand if he needs it, and if we really need you, I’ll come get you.”
V grumbled again; but he just jerked a hand, beckoning Roman over to the machines.
…
The machines turned out to not be as complicated as Roman had feared, once he actually knew what he was doing. V was a reluctant teacher, making everything sound like it should have been obvious, but it could have been much worse. He clearly wanted to be done with it as soon as possible, but he did make sure Roman understood everything before he pronounced his training complete.
Now, he was alone, making drinks and doling out pastries while Thomas sat at the register, taking the orders. V was in the back, taking a nap.
Roman couldn’t believe that. Thomas had actually told V to take a nap on company time. And he hadn’t been angry with Roman for being late for his third day on the job. Thomas was just too nice.
Out of gratefulness for his manager’s kindness, and the still-present fear that he was messing up too much to hope to keep this job, Roman took great care to make his drinks as perfectly and timely as possible. And by some miracle, he managed not to mess anything up. The biggest mistake he made was spilling a couple of drops of milk on the counter, something easily wiped away and not even noticed by anyone else.
V returned after a couple of hours, whispered something to Thomas, and joined Roman in making drinks. He seemed relieved when he saw how Roman was doing, and he didn’t snap at him for the rest of the shift. Perhaps he had just been tired earlier, and stressed from having to do the first hour of their shift alone. Roman couldn’t fault him for that.
So, the rest of the shift went without incident. It wasn’t even until it was over that Roman remembered that he was supposed to call his parents again that afternoon.
…
“Here you go, kiddo,” Patton said, handing over his cell phone.
“Thanks,” Roman said, looking down at it.
“Do you want me to stay?”
Roman shook his head. Patton didn’t need to hear his dad’s anger. “Thanks, though.”
Patton nodded, smiled at him, and went out into the hall.
Roman pulled his legs up on the bed and crossed them, still looking down at the phone. When he decided he was about as ready as he was going to get, he selected his mamá’s contact and hit the call button.
She picked up almost immediately. “¿Roman? ¿Estás tú?”
Roman smiled weakly, rubbing his jeans with one hand. “Hola, Mamá.”
“¿Cómo estás?”
“Bien… ¿y tú?”
“Estoy bien, mijo, muy bien. Me hace muy feliz oír tu voz.”
Roman looked down, a little embarrassed. “I missed you, too.”
“I have your dad here, si quieres hablarle.”
Roman hesitated. Was he ready to talk to his dad?
“…Um. Sí. Yes.”
There was a brief pause, and then a different voice came on the phone.
“Hi, Roman. Is that really you?”
“Hi, Dad… yeah, it’s me. I promise.”
“And you’re okay?”
Roman swallows. “Yes. I am.”
“Good.” There was a heavy pause. “Roman, if you were in trouble, why didn’t you just come to us for help? What the hell were you thinking?”
“Dad—”
“You lied to us, for how long? And then you just disappeared, no warning, nothing, for five years? Roman, why on Earth would you do something like that? Don’t you know how worried we were? We thought you were dead! We thought you were dead; and the police wouldn’t even help us because you were already eighteen; and then when we finally got Saint Gabriel to talk to us, they said you were never even a student there. Do you know what you put your mamá through?”
Tears welled up in Roman’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Dad, I’m sorry. Please… I made a mistake. A stupid mistake.”
Roman could hear his mamá’s muffled voice on the other end of the line, talking to his dad.
His dad let out a long sigh. “I know,” he said. “I know you’re sorry. And you have no idea how glad I am to hear from you, to know that you’re okay. “
There was a lump in Roman’s throat.
“But I hope you know we have a lot to talk about. You can’t just disappear for five years and not have us ask any questions.”
“I know.” Roman paused to rub the tears away from his eyes.
“Your mamá says you’re coming to visit. Do you know when that’ll be?”
“Um. Soon. I still have to figure that out. I have work and stuff.”
“Yes, your mamá mentioned that. You’re at a café, you said?”
“Yeah. I’m a—I’m a barista.”
“Not Starbucks, I hope.”
Roman huffed out a laugh. His dad hated Starbucks, for reasons Roman never understood. “No, it’s not Starbucks.”
“And they’ll give you the time off?”
“I hope so. I haven’t been there very long, but my manager’s pretty understanding.” Very understanding, honestly, with the sub-par—to put it lightly—performance Roman had been giving.
“That’s good. So, your mamá says you’re staying with friends. What are they like?”
“They’re nice, Dad, really nice. They’ve been helping me out. I owe them a lot.”
He and his dad spoke for a while longer. Things gradually grew less tense, more comfortable. Most of the more awkward topics were avoided, but they could talk about that later. They would be able to piece things back together, Roman hoped. This was just the start.
...
(If you would like to read Roman’s conversations with his mamá in English, you can find them here)
#sanders sides#thomas sanders#sanders sides fan fiction#roman sanders#logan sanders#patton sanders#virgil sanders#character thomas#ts sides#ts roman#ts logan#ts patton#ts virgil#ts fanfic#fanfiction#second chances fic#logicality#platonic thvi#platonic moralogince#romantic logicality
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
Rock and Roll Storytime #6: The Rolling Stones Against the Establishment (Or: The time 3/5 of them went on trial for drug posession)
Let’s face it, I think every now and again, we all have those moments where we’re glad that we live in the time and place we do at this very moment. This particularly goes out to the musicians, who seem to get in trouble for drugs less frequently nowadays, in favor of worse charges...
But that wasn’t always so.
Once upon a time, the threat of rock stars getting long prison sentences for first time offences was very omnipresent, and this story is about that bygone era. A time and a place where even a hint of subversive behavior meant that adults lost their shit and went on literal moral crusades.
Enter Sgt. Norman Pilcher, or, as John Lennon called him in “I Am the Walrus”, Semolina Pilchard. He was a detective in his 30′s and was dead-set on getting drugs off the streets, which meant that, invariably, he primarily set his sights on rock stars. His list of arrests includes Donovan, John Lennon, George Harrison, Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Brian Jones. He would’ve nabbed Eric Clapton, but Eric bolted out the back door as soon as he heard there was someone at his doorstep with a “special delivery.”
For now though, we’re just going to focus on the Stones, and how this whole drug trial business may have accelerated the decline of one of its members.
Given how trying to get rock stars busted for drugs was practically a sport in 1967, the now-defunct tabloid News of the World decided to capitalize on this by publishing a three-part “story” entitled, “Pop Stars and Drugs: Facts That Will Shock You.” In it, the tabloid alleged that many popular musicians of the time were not only doing drugs, but also holding drug parties at their homes, including Donovan, Pete Townshend, and Ginger Baker (R.I.P). Part Two seems to have primarily targeted the Rolling Stones, and it was alleged that Mick Jagger had taken several Benzedrine tablets, displayed a bit of hashish, and invited his companions back to his flat for a smoke, one of whom just so happened to be an undercover reporter. As it turns out, the person in question was actually little Brian Jones, who was being way too casual with his drug use. Mick tried to sue the paper over that one.
I just want to ask, how the hell did they mix up Mick and Brian? One’s blond and has a cherubic face, and the other’s brunette and has massive lips!
In either case, like with how Donovan was arrested and charged after the first issue came out, the article attracted the attentions of authorities, and in particular, one Semolina Pilchard. News of the World was also more than a little interested in avoiding a major lawsuit, even to the point of allegedly wiretapping and paying off informants (it’s shit like that which is the reason why they ultimately became defunct in 2011, after a phone hacking scandal). Ultimately, on February 12, 1967, eighteen police officers raided Keith Richards’ home, Redlands. Mick, Keith, and an art dealer friend, Robert Fraser were arrested and charged with amphetamine possession, allowing his home to be used for the smoking of cannabis, and heroin possession respectively.
In addition, salacious rumors started to swirl around that Mick was found eating a Mars Bar out of Marianne Faithfull’s... nether regions. Truth of the matter is, while Marianne was only wearing a fur rug, there weren’t any orgies taking place. She even wrote in her autobiography, “The Mars Bar is a very effective piece of demonizing. It was so overdone with such malicious twisting of the facts. Mick retrieving a Mars Bar from my vagina, indeed! It’s a dirty old man’s fantasy – some old fart who goes to a dominatrix every Thursday. A cop’s idea of what people do on acid.”
Their manager, Andrew Loog Oldham, was supposed to help these kids figure out what to do about the impending drug trials, but instead, he fled to America, leaving his role to Allen Klein (Andrew was fired in September). Lawyers told Mick, Keith, and Brian that, essentially, since they were the most visible of the Rolling Stones, to not talk to the press and even to temporarily leave the country. And so, Mick, Keith, and Brian (bringing along his girlfriend, Anita Pallenberg) set off for Morocco. This is something I’m going to have to go into more detail about another time, but suffice it to say, it ended with Anita leaving Brian for Keith and Brian being stranded in Morocco for about two days.
On May 10, Mick, Keith, and Robert were marched into court where they were formally charged with the aforementioned charges. Mick and Keith decided to plead not guilty, Robert pled guilty, and all three elected to undergo trial by jury. That same day, twelve officers raided Brian’s home, and though he allegedly tried to clean up the place before the coppers arrived, they still managed to find a “purple Moroccan-style wallet” with cannabis in it. Needless to say, Brian and his friend, Prince Stanislaus “Stash” Klossowski were also arrested and charged with drug possession. On June 2, they were formally charged in court and elected to undergo trial by jury. However, Brian decided to plead guilty, a move that would come back to bite him in the ass later on.
youtube
Starting with Mick, Robert, and Keith’s trial, the odds were against them from the very start. For one thing, the judge they were up against, Judge Leslie Allen Block, was notoriously unforgiving. Given that two of the people on trial were Rolling Stones, it quickly became apparent that the people running the show would very much be gunning for long jail sentences. It can also be argued that, since Pilcher knew what press would come if he made some high-profile celebrity arrests and didn’t arrest anyone with a status lower than Donovan, it could easily be argued that he was only making these arrests to gain some serious cred for his task-force. Going back to the original point though, at one point, as Mick’s trial was wrapping up, the judge even told the jury to dispel any notion of reasonable doubt.
The last time I wrote this, that sounded seriously ethically dubious, even considering that the usual phrase here would be “innocent until proven guilty” (though it usually plays out the other way around, it seems). Well, I did eventually ask my mom about it (she’s a paralegal and she knows a thing or two about U.S.A. law), and she said that it would depend on the case and if the reasonable doubt presented was excluded by a previous court order.
Granted, I know that’s dealing with U.S.A. law and that I can’t find anything saying that there was a court order barring reasonable doubt, but I guess that’ll have to do.
In either case, on June 27, Mick was found guilty of illegally possessing Benzedrine (despite the fact that it was purchased legally in Italy), but because Keith’s trial hadn’t begun yet, Mick and Robert were sent to Lewes Prison overnight.
Keith’s trial began in earnest the next day, and Keith really didn’t help his case when he said, “We are not old men. We are not worried about petty morals.” However, the trial remained unfinished at the end of the day, so Mick and Robert (who were being held in a cell under the courtroom) were escorted back to Lewes.
The trial finally came to a close on June 29, and all three of the defendants were summarily sentenced. Mick was sentenced to three months for the aforementioned drug possession charges, Robert was sentenced to six months for heroin possession, and Keith was sentenced to twelve months for allowing cannabis to be smoked in his home. Additionally, all three were fined. Mick was sent to Brixton and Robert and Keith were sent to the notorious Wormwood Scrubs.
By today’s standards, these would definitely be considered harsh sentences, and might not even happen the same way (I’ll save more of these details for the ending). Back then though, surprisingly, there was actually quite a bit of support for the Stones and not just from fans. Even newspapers that had once viciously mocked them, voiced their support. In fact, William Rees-Mogg, a well-known conservative, wrote an article for The Times called “Who Breaks a Butterfly Upon a Wheel” in which he criticized Mick Jagger’s sentence, essentially saying that the only reason he got three months was because of his being a Rolling Stone, and that had he not been, the consequences would have been much less severe, considering he was a first-time offender. The Who also voiced their support for the Stones, saying “The Who consider Mick Jagger and Keith Richards have been treated as scapegoats for the drug problem and as a protest against the grave sentences imposed on them at Chichester yesterday, The Who are issuing today the first of a series of Jagger-Richards songs to keep their work before the public until they are again free to record themselves.” The New Law Journal wrote, “The three-month prison sentence on Jagger for a first offence, and the introduction at this trial of evidence about a girl in a skin rug are two disturbing features of the case.” Some fans even protested outside News of the World’s headquarters, including Keith Moon’s girlfriend (later wife), Kim Kerrigan.
However, there were still some sources who agreed with the judge’s decision. In particular, Charles Curran wrote for the Evening News: “I hold that people who break the law ought to be punished. The law that Jagger and Richards broke is not a trifle either. For it seeks to prevent people from using dangerous drugs for fun... Look at Jagger and Richards. Each of them is a millionaire at twenty-three. How does it come about that they are so rich? Their wealth flows from the fact that they are manufactured pieces of wish-fulfillment... Their lives tend to represent, in reality, what their admirers’ are in fantasy. So as long as the pop idol sticks to bawling and wailing- well, we can put up with that. But once he starts to add drugs to his drivel, society must take immediate note of it.”
The next day, Mick and Keith were released on appeal, and went to appeals court on July 31. Years later, Bill Wyman wrote, “The appeal was on five grounds: (1) That the evidence made a cornerstone of the case by the prosecution was wrongly admitted. The evidence of the girl, her dress or undress, was ‘wholly inadmissible’; (2) That if it was held to be admissible, the evidence should have been excluded by the discretion of the judge, because it was so prejudicial; (3) That the chairman misdirected the jury about what the prosecution had to prove as to the meaning of the word ‘permitting’; (4) That he failed to detail the lack of evidence regarding the knowledge of the cannabis drug; (5) That he failed to put fully the defence to the jury.” Keith’s sentence was completely overturned, while Mick was sentenced to a year’s probation, though he wound up spending another night in jail.
Robert, who ended up serving his full sentence, apparently alleged that everything at Keith’s house that night had been his, and that he’d been taking heroin pills for an upset stomach (sort of like how Kurt Cobain claimed to be on heroin because of a stomach condition that may well have been psychosomatic).
With Brian’s trial, it is important to note that, as I’ve said, he didn’t really take the affair as seriously as he could have, Also, there’s the fact that Allen Klein, in a misguided attempt at trying to protect Brian, told him to stay away from the other Stones as much as possible, which had the effect of isolating Brian from his band even further at a time where he needed them most. In fact, according to Stash (who was later acquitted), “Brian was not OK within a month of us getting busted. I was at Robert Fraser’s apartment when Brian came in, and, much to my horror, he proceeded to hit about twenty objects, banging into the walls and ricocheting across the room like a ping-pong ball. That was the terrible effect of those downers. He took them because he felt alienated, worried, and it was the only way he could isolate himself into some kind of security blanket. It was a one-way street. He had a disaster written in neon lights all over him and none of us could do anything about it.”
In fact, Brian was in such dire straits, he wound up being admitted to the Priory Clinic for psychiatric analysis on July 5, and was discharged as an out-patient on July 12. When his trial finally came around on October 30, he admitted in court to possessing cannabis without authority, but denied that he’d used cocaine or methedrine. His defense pleaded with the judge not to send him to jail, since he’d taken responsibility for the cannabis (the prosecution was more willing to accept that Brian might not have known about the stronger drugs) and that Brian had a nervous breakdown after the arrest and had suffered greatly. In fact, Detective-Sergeant David Patrick said that, while all drugs were serious, the amount of cannabis found was relatively small, and Brian’s psychiatrist said that his client should be hospitalized rather than imprisoned, and that Brian wouldn’t be able to handle prison.
youtube
However, it all came to naught, as the judge, Reginald Seaton, sentenced Brian to three months in jail for cannabis possession, nine months for allowing his home to be used for smoking cannabis to be served concurrently, and a fine, stating, “I have given your case anxious and careful consideration. The offence of being the occupier of premises and allowing them to be used for the purpose of smoking cannabis resin is very serious indeed. This means that people can break the law in comparative privacy and so avoid detection for what is a growing canker in this country at the present moment. No blame attaches to you for the phial of cocaine, but there are people who come to this sort of party and that is how the rot starts, from cannabis to hard drugs. You occupy a position by which you have a large following of youth, and therefore, it behoves you to set an example... Although I am moved by everything I have heard, I would be failing my duty if I did not refer to the seriousness of the offences by passing sentence of imprisonment.” Brian ended up spending the night in Wormwood Scrubs, where, apparently, guards threatened to cut off the long, blonde hair he was so proud of.
Looking at pictures of Brian right after his initial arrest and right after his sentencing, the toll that these proceedings took on his physical and mental health becomes quite clear.
As with Mick and Keith’s sentences, Brian’s conviction caused an uproar. Eight people were arrested as a peaceful protest practically turned into a riot, including Mick’s brother, Chris. In addition, The Daily Sketch wrote, “...dishing out a nine-month sentence is as likely to turn a pop star into a martyr as to deter his fans. Besides, if the Appeal Court later reduces or quashes a harsh sentence, as happened in the case of Jagger, the authority of the law is lessened.” Similarly, The Sun (yes, the same guys who botched their coverage the Hillsborough Disaster and got largely banned from Liverpool) wrote, “Such a sentence, far from convincing young people that cannabis (hemp) is harmful, is too likely to make a martyr of this wretched young man and invest it with false glamour.”
Brian, though shaken, was released the next day on appeal. What helped his case, though, was when Judge Block made a rather tactless statement: “We did our best, your fellow countrymen, I, and my fellow magistrates, to cut these Stones down to size, but alas, it was not to be, because the Court of Criminal Appeal let them roll free.”
Though Block later claimed he was being sarcastic, Les Perrin issued a statement of his own: “In view of Brian Jones being on bail it seems deplorable that a member of the judiciary should so contravene the normally accepted practice in a case being sub judice, as to joke and poke fun. He made an unprecedented observation both on the trial he conducted at Chichester, and the subsequent findings of the Court of Criminal Appeal. Is this the kind of justice Brian expects? Is this man typical of those who hold the title, the high and esteemed office to try and sentence people? How can the public believe, in the light of this utterance by Judge Block, that the Rolling Stones can get an unbiased hearing? His statement smacks of pre-judgement, a getting-together, ‘to cut the Stones down to size’ because of who they are. It is a pity that he did not observe the ethics of sub judice in a like manner to Mr Jagger, Mr Richards, Mr Jones by remaining silent.”
At the appeal on December 12, Brian’s doctors again said that he had become potentially suicidal as a result of the trial, and its effect on his mental health. When all was said and done, his sentence was reduced to three years’ probation under the condition that he pay a £1,000 fine and that he receive psychiatric help, with the judge saying, “Remember, this is a degree of mercy which the court has shown. It’s not a let-off.”
Later on, Stash would note, “An artist can be hounded into a state in which his mental health will deteriorate and that’s what happened to Brian, I’m sure. I was very angry and blamed the authorities, but ultimately, an individual has to blame himself.”
On December 14, Brian’s chauffeur found him collapsed in his flat and called 999. After an hour, Brian walked out, against doctors’ orders that he should stay overnight. He went straight to the Priory Clinic, and the next day, went in to the dentist to get two teeth pulled due to having a raging toothache. Brian later said that the collapse had been a reaction to the trial.
And even so, that is not where the story ends, though I honestly wish it did. On May 21, police showed up at Brian’s door again, this time being led by Detective-Sergeant Robin Constable. Once again, police found cannabis, and Brian was utterly distraught, saying such things as “This can’t happen again, just when we’re getting on our feet”, “Why do I always get bugged?”, and “Why do you always have to pick on me?”
Speculation exists to this day that this second search was a carefully orchestrated plant, but whether or not it was will likely never be known for certain.
While the substance was taken away for testing, Brian found himself being dragged to the courthouse shortly before 10 AM. You can probably imagine the press had a field day, and by this point, Brian was completely mentally drained.
Brian appeared in court on June 11, 1968, where this time, he pled not guilty to the charges of cannabis possession. By this time, there was a new procedure under the Criminal Justice Act, preventing the need for evidence to be given in detail in court (which was a provision that hadn’t been present the first time around). Brian also elected to once again undergo trial by jury.
Brian’s second trial occurred on September 26, 1968. He was also looking very sickly; his skin was pale, he’d gained weight, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced now than at any other time in his life. Brian was charged with illegally possessing 144 grains of cannabis, and once again, he entered a plea of not guilty. Brian’s defense was that he’d been staying in the flat that actress Joanna Pettet had moved out of just two hours before while a house that he’d recently purchased was being decorated. Pettet later claimed that she’d left the ball of wool there, but denied any knowledge of the cannabis found inside it. Brian also claimed to have been receiving medical treatment since the last trial, and his doctor said, “Nothing suggested to me that Jones was playing around cannabis. If I put a reefer cigarette by this young man, he would run a mile.”
Chairman Reginald Seaton (the same guy at Brian’s first trial) in his last address to the jury said that the burden of proof should rest with the police, considering that all that was found in Brian’s flat was the cannabis, but no evidence that it had been smoked. Despite this though, the jury returned 45 minutes later to pronounce Brian guilty. Luckily for him, Seaton took pity on him, only giving him a fine, stating, “I think this was a lapse and I don’t want to interfere with the probation order that already applies to this man. I am going to fine you according to your means. You must keep clear of this stuff. You really must watch your step. You will be fined £50 with 100 guineas [£105] costs. For goodness sake, don’t get into trouble again or you really will be in serious trouble.”
Of this second trial, Brian himself later said, “When the jury announced the guilty verdict, I was sure I was going to jail for at least a year. It was such a wonderful relief when I heard I was only going to be fined. I’m happy to be free. It’s wonderful. This summer has been one long worry to me. Someone planted the drug in my flat, but I don’t know who. I will state till my death that I did not commit this offence.”
The rest, as most would say, is history. Brian continued to spiral out of control, losing interest in the Stones until he was eventually fired on June 8, 1969, and replaced by Mick Taylor. Twenty-five days later, Brian drowned in his backyard swimming pool at the tender age of 27, becoming one of the first members of what would eventually be dubbed the “27 Club.”
I do have a theory that Brian’s death was primarily caused by sleeping pills and alcohol, maybe even some combination of heart failure, liver failure, and/or undiagnosed epilepsy exacerbated by the side-effects of some of the drugs he was allegedly prescribed right before his death, but that, dear readers, is another story.
Meanwhile, the Stones are still rolling and Mick and Keith are still alive (obviously), the latter of whom celebrated his 76th birthday while I was writing this, by some miracle.
While I was unable to ascertain whether using one’s home for drug abuse still carried the steep penalties it did in 1967, I was able to find UK law regarding drug possession. Sentencing largely depends on the quantity of the drug and whether or not there was an intent to sell, but amphetamines and cannabis can still land you with a fine and a jail sentence of up to five years.
If there is a silver lining to be found in this whole mess, Pilcher was eventually found guilty of perjury (though not for possibly planting dope on rock stars), and was himself sentenced to four years in prison for claiming a drug smuggler was innocent and had served with the police (not true in the slightest, as he was actually caught red-handed in the act of selling).
What can I say? Karma’s a bitch.
Sources:
https://www.gov.uk/penalties-drug-possession-dealing
http://www.timeisonourside.com/chron1968.html
http://timeisonourside.com/chron1967.html
https://stewarthomesociety.org/blog/archives/1813
https://groovyhistory.com/sgt-pilcher-stories-narc-arrested-mick-jagger-john-lennon-keith-richards-george-harrison
https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/inside-allen-kleins-role-in-1967-jagger-richards-drug-bust-43267/
https://wbig.iheart.com/featured/lisa-berigan/content/2017-07-05-rolling-stones-jagger-remembers-drug-arrest/
https://dangerousminds.net/comments/simon_wells_the_great_rolling_stones_drugs_bust
https://rulefortytwo.com/secret-rock-knowledge/chapter-11/redlands/
http://www.rockonrockmusic.com/the-redlands-police-raid-jagger-keith-richards-jailed-for-drugs/
http://blog.bathroomwall.com/police-raid-keith-richards-redlands-home-in-sussex-for-drugs/
https://www.nme.com/photos/the-great-rolling-stones-drug-bust-1402298
Faithfull: An Autobiography by Marianne Faithfull
Stone Alone by Bill Wyman
Life by Keith Richards
Brian Jones: The Untold Life and Mysterious Death of a Legend by Laura Jackson
Brian Jones: The Making of the Rolling Stones by Paul Trynka
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norman_Pilcher
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Fraser_(art_dealer)
#the rolling stones#keith richards#mick jagger#brian jones#i've said it before and i'll say it again#this whole trial was stupid#and i'm still partially blaming semolina pilchard for what happened to brian#not entirely though#i'm way too technical#and this ended up being longer than the original#by a lot#rock and roll#storytime
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
DBHI: Equilibrium, ch. 13 - “Periapsis” (pt. 2)
Characters: Noah / “Erwin Yvonne”, Gabriel / “Vincent Sharp”, Special Agent Gavin Reed, Director Thomas Falken (mentions of Hannah, Emilya, President-Elect Kamski, Connor, Zach)
Word Count: 6,578
Noah crashes an undercover FBI operation to say hello to a friend he hasn’t seen or spoken to in a couple of months, but the mood is spoiled when the Zionist Inquisition shows up to deliver an ultimatum to Vincent Sharp, and issue a threat to anyone who would dare support the installation of an android suburb in Washington, DC.
***For a glossary of world-building terms relating to this series and chapter, click here.
(Chapter Art by ozaya, Co-authored by @grayorca15)
• Chapter Index • Characters • Glossary •
——
December 23rd, 2041 - 10:07 PM
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but then again, if had known Noah was in town, he would have expected him to pull a stunt like this. It never had been his style to keep his nose out of his business, even if it was work-related.
Especially if it was work-related.
“You should have known better than to tell that peacock to stay away from the perfect opportunity to crow,” Gabe retorted with an audible groan as he reached for the drink and stared into the glass. By now he knew him well enough to know that telling Noah Maitkin not to do something was a surefire way to guarantee he would do exactly what he didn’t want him to; unfortunately, that knowledge had not yet transferred to his handler. It had been different when he had the structure of Archangel to keep his bratty impulses in check, but after Boston and the outbreak, he was so rattled to the core that the thought to cut corners almost never occurred to him anymore. So the fact that he was here, now, in spite of that, meant one of two things-
Either he was feeling like his old self again, free of any legal constraints his former occupation once imposed, or this was yet another sign the RK900 needed a shitton more therapy and conditioning to be considered stable again. Just what good did he think charity-crashing would do?
Falken’s rage seethed in the background as he and Gavin continued their back and forth. All it took was his tone for Gabriel to picture with perfect clarity, the piercing, emerald-eyed scowl set in deep sockets, shadowed by his strong brow. It wasn’t a look anyone wanted to find themselves on the other end of, especially not if ‘Tomahawk’ was looking for a good fight, which was the intent of being present that evening. He had wanted to be there in case something went awry so he could take care of it himself. Any reason to fight got him excited- you could take the kid out of Boston, but Boston’s fury came with him.
Reed groaned in defense as the conversation wound down. “He must’ve snagged the address from my laptop when I wasn’t lookin’ when he stopped by. FUCKIN’ Androids…”
“Yeah, well- great job on keepin’ this shit on the down-low,” he mocked, “Keep me updated on his position. Serrano is making his approach-”
“Uh, yeah, about that...”
Before Reed could get the warning out, trouble had sat itself in the vacant space beside Gabe to lean down and knock an elbow against his arm.
Hey there. Not gonna toss me like a rag doll this time, are you?
Gabe wrestled with every ounce of self-restraint available to not roll his eyes but failed miserably. It was definitely him, the glitter in his hair and the coy little smirk playing at his lips were the deadest of giveaways; but, as tired as it made him feel to look at, Noah seemed a far cry better off than the last time they’d spoken on the phone, just after he’d been let go from Archangel.
Being noticeably sober helped tremendously, too.
“What are you doing ‘ere, mon chéri?” Gabe scoffed in a perfectly practiced accent as he lifted the glass to his lips.
“Pft. What does it look like, monsieur?” The mocking inflection pinned at the end seemed as genuinely annoyed as it didn’t; it was unclear if it was Noah speaking or his assumed identity, it had been a long three months since they had last seen each other. Noah waited all of three more seconds for an answer before he leaned in again, shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, uncomfortably close, as he always tended to get. The smirk didn’t abate. “I’ve counted all of one old friend of yours in this room, and you can’t even greet me…? The least you could do is say hello.”
Get. Him. OUT OF HERE. Falken didn’t hesitate to let him know where he stood on Noah’s interference in the matter, but Gabriel brushed off the disgruntled agent’s protests with a scoff. He’d handle Noah himself, but first, he had a few questions.
I mean, why are you in DC? he tried again as he slipped deep brown eyes aside to peer over the tops of his glasses at him. “Are you ‘ere to make a donation? Or did you just come to’ave a drink with moi?” The French-Canadian accent didn’t waver- Gabriel’s alias was a complete overhaul, head to toe to voice, all of which made Noah giddy as a schoolgirl.
To his credit, he kept his own mask under control. “Oh, honestly, you can stop playing coy any time now, Vinnie... it wasn’t like I added myself to the guest list.” Whatever surprise he must have felt, Noah covered it by drawing back to playfully bat at his arm again. “Trust me, your doormen were just as surprised to see me as I was to get the invite.” The tip of his tongue passed subconsciously over the point of his canine tooth as his gaze lingered on the peculiar choice in corsage instead of the undercover agent’s face. If he didn’t know any better, the tuft of Mistletoe was as good as a dare, but the pause he took to appreciate it would have to suffice for acceptance. With a small sigh, he popped both brows and resettled his gaze. “Drinks, donations, I’ll get to it when I get to it. You know better than to rush me.”
Privately, he sounded much less cavalier: Is the ‘why’ really important?
It really wasn’t, as much as the answer to why he was there, but the answer to both worried Gabe in equal measure.
Why aren’t you with Hannah?
Put on the spot about his markedly-better half, the playfulness deflated. It was no secret Noah hadn’t been at his significant other’s side throughout the majority of the campaign (too caught up with his own investigations until two months prior, when he’d been fired from Archangel for his behavior at a press conference following the Red Raids), and the speculation as to why ran rampant. Now, given the way his jaw went tight and the smirk became a bit strained, it was fair to say tonight wasn’t all champagne and canoodling behind the political scene.
Instead, here he was.
Yvonne leaned in again and blatantly tried to shrug it off, propped one elbow up, and bumped a knee against Gabe’s beneath the countertop, face tilted to one side to peer upward through the tops of his eyes. Uh, because she’s booked, as you can imagine. Working on post-election nonsense with the President-Elect- meet-and-greets, what else? Anyway, I’m here now and I want to help.
Which was essentially code for ‘this affair sounded infinitely more exciting, so behold- myself’.
“There’ll be time for commiserating later.”
NO, don’t let him stick around- Falken is chomping at the bit to get out there and pull him out himself. If he has to do that, it won’t be pretty.
“En fait,” Vincent replied with a far-off look in his eye that was actually directed over his companion’s shoulder at his slowly approaching target; luckily, Serrano had stopped to converse with another familiar face for the moment, so Gabe shifted focus back to the man at his side. You haven’t been briefed and you’re not prepared, he scolded in a neutral tone, more factual than condescending, in an attempt to dissuade him from staying. This man has been investigating me for two months, and tonight is my chance to find out if he’s connected to the Zionist Inquisition. Anything you say or do could trace you back to my real identity, and that would destroy all the work we’ve put in on this case. Do you have a cover story…? A well-established alias…?
The smirk dropped, as did another degree of humor in Noah’s eyes. Maybe he realized the gravity of the situation, or maybe he wasn’t as into playing the incessant flirt as he used to be. Either way, the seriousness amped up to compensate. Please. You think it’s the first time I’ve had to fake it to the inth degree to get close to someone? Just ask Miles next time you’re in Miami. Noah paid a brief glance over his shoulder before offering one hand with the skin peeled back. “Bygones be bygones? I can keep my joy at seeing you again limited to a handshake if that’s more your speed.”
Not to mention it would make trading read-only files regarding each other’s disguises a cinch.
Gabriel exhaled through his nose, closed his eyes, and reached out one of his gloved hands to set over the top of his. “C’est… d’accord,” he assured, his accent softer than before. “I just did not expect to see you tonight.” Fingers curled softly around Noah’s as he flattened his palm against the countertop- beneath the fabric, the skin on his hand peeled away to initiate the exchange of dossiers, but a quick glance told him he was donning a well-loved persona, one he was already quite familiar with from old Archangel files. “South Miami is a long way from DC, monsieur Yvonne.”
The protesting from the other end of the connection simmered down as the story came together. From the sound of it, Gavin had already realized what he knew.
‘Yvonne’ smirked again. If it wasn’t a wide, mischievous leer before, it was now. He read through the false identity of Vincent Sharp in a second and apparently liked what he saw. “Not necessarily. You only wish it were true, right? Far enough to think making an in-person contribution would be too big a request...? But my dear- it’s Christmas, and when was the last time I had the opportunity to see you?”
You skipped the part about making ‘Vincent’ seem like a person, he chided with an unspoken ‘tsk’. Where’s the subsection titled ‘love life’?
Gabriel narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, looking more skeptical than scowly like he’d intended. They didn’t think it necessary for someone so focused on business to be in a committed relationship, he quipped back as he forced a curling grin. “You would choose ze holidays as an excuse to venture north… and a cocktail party to try and reconnect.”
Gabe’s focus darted down as Noah’s fingers spread to thread with his. It seemed he already had plans for what to make of their shared history, and he wasn’t sure he approved. The nonverbal suggestions he was sending made him uncomfortable.
Vincent drew in a nervous breath and tilted his head with a soft shake, but Yvonne persisted.
“Please… like I’m the first man in history to ever stoop to that tactic,” he drawled, not sounding abashed at all, and gave his hand a squeeze as he lifted and planted a soft kiss on the man’s curled-over knuckles. “You make it sound like a crime.”
All puns intended, for the record.
He could hear Falken’s dissatisfied bitching in the background of Gavin’s warning. He’s dressing, you’ve got about ten minutes before he storms in there like goddamn Hurricane Tommy and forcibly removes him.
A timer helpfully projected itself over the upper left corner of his HUD, counting backward from ten. Just… just give me a minute. Hold him off for as long as you can.
I’m tryin’.
‘Vincent’ swallowed hard and turned his eyes down in shame as he switched back to his conversation with Noah. This is your idea for our shared history…?
Why not…? You don’t think you could hack it? Noah’s brow furrowed and the smile faded to better sell the lie, though there was a thin layer of truth to the question as well. “...are you still embarrassed to be seen with me?”
Vincent’s lack of response, and eye contact, told him everything he needed to know. Palpable irritation announced itself in the form of pursed lips and a tightened grip.
Yvonne met it with a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, come now- you’re practically funding the founding of Zion, DC yourself... you can’t tell me that isn’t because you’ve had a change of heart on the matter of-...” For a moment he hesitated. Noah’s chin quivered noticeably before he added, “... didn’t you miss me even a little?”
An equally-heavy sigh escaped his companion in response, and he glanced out of the corners of his lenses to stare at their hands. It was no coincidence that particular bit of improvised backstory, he drew from reality. The intent, even with roles flip-flopped, wasn’t altogether different. Now Gabriel was the respected investigator and Noah was the pariah no one wanted around. Since the Raids, any contact between them had been sparing at best, and when it had happened the mood was never totally reciprocated by either party. Being the same model didn’t necessarily mean their opinions were destined to line up perfectly, if anything, in their experience, agreeing on anything had been a lot of hit or miss, much in the same way Connor and Zach had butted heads over casework.
And if he was keeping score correctly, Noah would have to admit most of the misses were his doing. But who was he if he wasn’t complicated? Prone to dramatics under the right conditions? Enigmatic beyond what he was cognizant of? The same could be said for Gabriel. He was simply better at hiding it. Like now.
I’ll lay off the innuendos here, I promise. I just- I want to help. I know my timing is atrocious, but if there’s anything, any advantage to be had, I have to play with what I know how to do best. And whatever that may be, you know it’s not the worst thing you’ll have ever suffered. Is it?
Brown eyes gazed back at him, caught between conflict and concern. He wasn’t wrong- sometimes selling a story was more about grounding yourself in the part of it you could relate to, and Noah sure could flirt up a storm when he was in the mood. As much as he hated the way the nature of said attention made him feel, it wasn’t as hard to deal with as it once was, and if he was offering to-
Gabe stopped mid-thought to back up on the realization as it finally hit him. He’d known it long ago, once upon a time, when the mere thought of being on amicable terms with the man-made his skin projection crawl. But in that moment, little more than a year later, it didn’t bother him the way it used to.
What you know best…?
A sudden prickle of gently insisting input flowed between them as he asked the question, and he waited, transfixed for an answer that didn’t come. The normally-animated face of his counterpart had gone absolutely still- no flexing eyebrows or narrowing of the eyes or tensing of the jaw. Without micro-expressions somehow undermining the sincerity of his words he actually managed to impress as stoic. The ‘incessant peacock’ wasn’t what he used to be, in more ways than one, and it took seeing him in person to really be reminded of it. ‘Vincent’s brows pressed together harder, the longer the silence persisted between them.
Does that mean you…?
“Ahem.”
Gabriel blinked out of his daze to refocus his attention on the owner of the new voice before realizing that Serrano had been standing behind him for at least a full minute already. But it didn’t hide the flush in his cheeks.
“Am I… interrupting, Mr. Sharp? Should I come back later?”
Vincent stuttered. Of all the ways he could have responded, a true, blue, genuine stutter wasn’t on the list of expectations, but there it was.
“N-non-! No, excuse, monsieur, I- I apologize, but I must-“
Noah took the hint and let go of his hand as Gabe pulled away at last to grasp the drink that had been waiting patiently for him to return to it. The ice cube clanked quietly against the walls of the glass as his arm trembled. “We can… continue zis conversation later?”
Instead of finding an excuse to bail out of the situation, Noah shifted focus to the loitering newcomer with one eyebrow angled up in a picture-perfect attempt at inquisitiveness. “Later? But we’ve only just begun,” he whined in protest, though when it failed to move anyone to react more than with stunned silence, he sighed, reached for the man’s hand and clapped it between both of his. “By which I mean, don’t let me get in your way, Mr…”
“Serrano.”
“Mr. Serrano- I’m sorry for waylaying Mr. Sharp from attending to you or his other guests. I only meant to take a minute of his time, but-”
WHAT IS HE DOING!? Stop him…!
Noah paused, mid-exposition to glance aside at Gabriel’s nervous expression. “Well, relatively, maybe I should have taken five… one could have done the job, but would it have been enough? Was that not Einstein’s whole ramble on relativity?”
The older gentleman smiled as he shook his hand and shifted a leery glance to Mr. Sharp, who stood leaning against the bar, cold-clocked by this sudden turn of events. “Not to worry, my boy- Mr. Sharp has already been the focus of many people’s attention this evening… but I will say… you, by far, have incited the most interesting reaction out of him.”
Gabe rolled a grumble to clear his throat, turned and interjected himself into the conversation before he could make any assumptions. “Monsieur Yvonne is a… friend, of mine. We met in Miami when I was on a business trip three years ago.”
“Physically met, yes, but I’ll not split hairs too finely on that subject.”
You just did, he grumbled in response over their frequency as he took a deep sip of the drink in his grasp.
Noah let go of Serrano’s hand at the brazen remark and smothered the urge to sigh out loud. That’s the most basic division of the topic there is. I didn’t say I would keep going.
The cover could do without launching into immediately redefining deviancy and when it set in for him. By now it was typically seen, for an android, to be as droll as talking about the weather. “We’ll have time enough to catch up properly once you’ve made your rounds again. The event isn’t going to run itself.”
“Oui.”
One hand lifted and softly set on Gabe’s shoulder as he leaned forward and planted a kiss on his presently bearded cheek, careful not to linger so long as to make their guest feel uncomfortable. But as he pulled away, the man’s face turned to longingly chase his retreat, and eyes dared to follow after a short pause. Whether his desire for the prolonged moment was genuine or part of the act, it suited their growing cover story, and gave Noah a reason to smile.
Serrano, knowing or not, offered the reassurance their aliases needed. “I promise I won’t keep him for too long so you can get back to your conversation.”
“On the contrary. Take all the time you need. I need to contemplate a few sums anyway.”
As you were, Gabriel. Just pretend I’m not here if it helps. Cough twice if you need to tap out. I can always serve a good mislead in a pinch.
Noah traced the curvature of his arm as his hand slid off of Gabe’s shoulder, down his elbow and forearm, then plucked the mostly-finished glass of ‘scotch’ out of his slack fingers, much to the dumbstruck look on his face, and raised an eyebrow at the depleted contents.
“If you would, please, love,” he gestured to the woman behind the counter as he propped an elbow on the mahogany to hold the empty glass up to the loitering, wide-eyed barkeep. “No sense dirtying another one on my account.” Whatever odd reactions the move earned him, Yvonne had no compunctions about sharing, and he wasn’t going anywhere without a refreshment for the trouble.
If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Gabriel was blushing for real.
The poor brute barely had time to pick his jaw up off the floor before he had to shift gears again and prepare for an entirely different sort of conversation… or so he thought.
“An Android lover, Mr. Sharp…? Now that is unexpected… and a man, no less- no wonder you arrived unescorted this evening.”
Gavin’s snickering on the other end of the two-way mic would have thrown him into a rage any other day. Oh- Emilya’s going to love this…
Gavin- not the time.
Already Serrano’s approach was much more cavalier than in any of their past encounters. It seemed the glimpse into the personal life of his alias had been enough to either convince him that he was a trustworthy, three-dimensional person, or he felt that this was dirt enough to use as blackmail material should he one day need it. Either way, it had relaxed him, perhaps the intrusion hadn’t been a complete disaster after all.
Keep playing that angle, Gavin coaxed in his ear. If it keeps him talking, circle back as many times as you have to. It’ll help humanize Vincent Sharp.
As if Androids needed to be further humanized.
Gabriel illustrated a picture-perfect look of distress as he dry-swallowed then slipped one finger into the collar of his shirt and gave it a gentle tug. “I hope you’ll excuse Monsieur Yvonne… he can be a little, ehhh, how you say… much.” He finished the thought with a flourish of his hand at the wrist to articulate.
“Is that why you’re no longer together…?”
Gabriel nearly choked on his drink with flawless timing as Gavin jackal-laughed into his ear on the other end of the line. At least one of them was getting a kick out of the severe discomfort this whole situation had landed him in.
‘Vincent’ sighed, shook his head, and gave him a response that was more directed at his jackass of a partner than the man whose ear he currently had. “Non… It was before he deviated- I did not think it was real.”
Maybe the remark had also partially been directed at the other party eavesdropping at the end of the bar; either way, the solemn silence that followed did well enough to convey Reed’s apology for his lack of restraint, but Gabe was still thankful for the muttered ‘Sorry’ that finally came half a minute after the jab. Reed had had a little of his own doubts over Reese once, even if he had gotten past it, but Gabe still wouldn’t let him forget it, lest he slip back into those bad habits one day.
Meanwhile, Noah’s eyes darted into the corners of his lids as he deconstructed the meaning behind Gabriel’s words and sipped on the freshly filled glass of chilled thirium mixed with rum. If he had really thought him disingenuous even for a moment…
The rest of the drink slammed back quite easily as the mood swing overtook him, and he set the glass down and tapped the countertop for another. The hall wasn’t short on potential distractions, some more benign than what had his attention at the moment. Drinking sure hadn’t been kind to him, especially not following the Raids, if ever. Naturally, Vincent would have only ever found a non-deviant android attractive if there was anyone out there who could ever be considered his type. But now... what was the problem? Was this new ‘Yvonne’ really too much for him to handle now that he could think for himself what they, together, were about?
Serrano hummed an affirmative. “Well, clearly… if he came all the way out here, you made an impression,” he commented as he flagged down the bartender and asked for a glass of Disaronno on the rocks. “Enough that you were someone he wanted to reconnect with.”
If only he knew how right he was.
Gabriel remembered to blink as he shifted his gaze to his target and turned to lean against the bar on one elbow, with his back to Noah. Last thing he needed was to see every micro-expression that crossed his face while he was trying to focus on the conversation. “Monsieur Yvonne is a cornerstone founder of Zion, MIAMI, so it is no surprise zat ‘e would travel zis far to show ‘is support of a new installation.”
It wasn’t a lie, or even fabrication of an alias, at that. During his time with Zion as a freelancing Detective, ‘Erwin Yvonne’ had made a name assisting Zion, MIAMI with laying the groundwork for establishing the new Android suburb, and making sure people on all sides were being considered and accommodated for. Deviants who needed homes once they went rogue from abusive owners far outnumbered those lucky enough to be fostered by the families they once served.
Anyone with doubts about such a backstory only needed to verify that cover with a phone call to his good friend Javier Sindino at his New Hampshire estate. Even though Erwin Yvonne didn’t exist anywhere but on paper, Javier would have gladly testified to his work.
Serrano reached for the glass and sipped on the fresh drink in the moment of silence, then waved his bodyguards away from the bar; they took a few steps out of earshot and turned their attention back to the rest of the room. “I’m sure he came to support a lot more than that,” he confided, confident that they were now alone in their conversation.
Try to change the topic, make yourself look uncomfortable.
Gabriel’s fingers flexed around the glass. He shifted his weight to the other hip and drifted his brown eyes away through the air over his shoulder. “Was zere… somesing you wanted to discuss, Mr. Serrano…? Somesing other zan mi amour perdu?”
The bait worked just as intended. Serrano chuckled, reached a hand up to clap it over one shoulder, and gave him a soft shake. “Mr. Sharp… Vincent…” he corrected to change the tone. “This is the first bit of your personal life that I’ve been able to glimpse since we’ve met- I hardly know you at all! And if we’re going to be business partners, I need to know who I’m getting into bed with... metaphorically speaking, of course.”
A second, then a third drink followed the first. Noah paid only half an ear of attention to what Sharp and Serrano were discussing, but they were still standing a little too close for comfort, by Gabe’s probable estimate. The ‘get in bed’ metaphor wasn’t made in error. Serrano was practically baiting either of them into saying something to it. If Vincent could sweat, he would have been leaking bullets of perspiration by now, based on the way his stress levels were piquing and dropping like a roller coaster. At least he kept his protests muzzled, it seemed Gabe had had some real practice in keeping a lid on his reactions because he’d need the discipline at this rate. There was no telling how long it might actually take to elicit whatever it was he meant to get out of Serrano; whatever it was, it didn’t sound like he was going to be ready to move on to this anytime soon.
A fourth shot followed but Noah paid enough mind to swallow slowly and focus on that old familiar prickly warmth in his fuel lines. Maybe the stunt he’d pulled had worked a little too well. If only Javier were here with him now, resigned to having to listen to such drivel, while expected not to speak, but nevertheless expected to keep his mouth shut until it was time to spring the trap.
That was the real torture. Gabriel was only acting the squirmy, nervous sort because his alias was expected to behave as such when faced with the unexpected (and unexplored) feelings seeing an old flame evoked. Vincent Sharp was a man used to being in control at all times. He was calm, calculated, not prone to impulsiveness. In some circles, such a collection of traits would mean he was as plain as stale white bread. In others, it was code for describing a brilliant, decisive chap who wasn’t prone to petty distractions and got the job done once he set his mind to it.
And it wouldn’t change now.
Vincent froze and refused to respond until he had carefully considered what he wanted to say- or so it appeared. In reality, Gavin had just whispered a reminder of ‘two minutes’ into his ear, as the countdown to Director Falken’s arrival continued. He needed to get him talking faster.
“So it’s a partnership you’re after…? Zis is ze first I’m ‘earing of it.”
“Until tonight, I was not confident enough that you are indeed who you say you are, to extend the offer.”
“Because you didn’t know me.”
Serrano slipped his hand off his shoulder, tilted his head in a crooked nod and shrugged. “I run a very lucrative business, Mr. Sharp. A lot of people would love to see me taken down.”
“So I ‘ave ‘eard. Who knew black market Thirium would become such a thriving venture?”
It was risky, calling him out so directly, but it worked in his favor. His companion grinned and sipped on his drink. “I see you’ve been keeping tabs on me as well…”
“What kind of businessman would I be if I did not take ze appropriate measures to find out who I would be investing in?” Vincent questioned as he peered down into his glass and took a deep sip.
Serrano chuckled. “I suppose if I were truly serious, I could have at least scheduled a proper meeting, instead of tiptoeing around following you into every dark alley, trying to find one shred of evidence to prove you cannot be trusted.”
“If you ‘ad just asked me to dinner, we could have ‘ad a much more productive discussion, oui,” Vincent chided as he slowly swirled what was left of his drink in his glass. “But did you really not think to ask about mon hobbies...?”
The other man sighed and shook his head, finished the drink in his hand and set the glass down for the bartender to take away, which she did after only a brief moment. “Who we choose to spend our time with when nobody’s looking says much more about us than which team you cheer for at a baseball game, wouldn’t you agree?”
Clearly, he was getting at something, but Gabriel didn’t even bat an eye. He needed to preserve what was left of his air of control. “An’ what do you think Monsieur Yvonne says about moi?”
“That you are a man of discretion.. who values his privacy… who might not want his personal history to be known to the general public.”
Vincent and Serrano’s conversation didn’t sound as though it was going to make a breakthrough just yet. The same empty, obligatory promises were ping-ponged back and forth a few minutes more, to the point Noah thought Gabe had actually gotten over his flustered episode, maybe even forgotten Yvonne was still there.
Instantly, his subroutines went to work on suggesting distractions, from more drinking, to socializing, to singing and dancing. The microphone on the stage could be put to better use than delivering a few snore-worthy speeches to a crowd made up of at least three-fourths human politicians and socialites. Civil unrest was always at the back of everyone’s mind, and these people needed a shakeup of a more positive kind before opening their wallets. Something to show them what good they were really doing in helping more Zion districts get off the ground.
Gabriel’s eyes darted over to the entrance of the ballroom every now and again, expecting to catch a glimpse of the Director any moment, but he passed it off as paranoia with a squint. The countdown had hit zero nearly a minute and a half prior, and yet no sight of him. “Do you still mean to blackmail me, monsieur?” Vincent questioned with a slight roll of his eyes, then turned his attention back to him.
Serrano lifted his brows in surprise and shook his head. “Not at all, quite the opposite, in fact- I want to make a sizable donation.”
Say, what…?
The background chatter on the other end of the open mic silenced. This was the exact opposite of what they’d expected to hear. All evidence they had gathered in the last six months had pointed to the contrary. Gabriel shifted his focus back to the man standing beside him, raised a brow and blinked slowly. “Pardon me, monsieur, but… I believe it is my turn to show surprise.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, I ‘ad ‘eard, ah…” Vincent traced gloved fingertips across the sides of his jaw and drew them together over his lips. “Rumors, from my source... zat you were not much fond of our android breseren.”
Serrano drew in a slow breath, closed his eyes, and nodded in understanding. “They must be referring to my dealings with the Inquisition,” he confirmed with a downcast glance at the counter.
Gabriel eyed him warily and shook his head as he tried to get a read. “Zen, I do not understand… why would you sell to zem, yet support Zion…?”
“The answer to that is very simple,” he responded as he shifted his weight, leaned over the edge of the bar on his forearms, and folded his hands. “I can offer them a product for a price, and they have the money to pay. I don’t discriminate against who I’m selling to or where the money is coming from, nothing more.”
So he isn’t our guy after all… damnit, Gavin cursed into his ear. Falken ain’t gonna be happy to hear this whole shindig was a bust.
It isn’t yet, Gabriel encouraged between replies. So he isn’t funding the Inquisition- we still got our answer, and there’s a slim chance he might know who is.
Keep workin’ that charm as long as you can then, Reed reminded absently, The Director got a little tied up on his way over. You still have time.
“So, you’re not on zeir side, zen?” he asked after a thoughtful pause, then redirected his gaze up to the man’s eyes. “You don’t support ze Inquisition?”
“Look...” Serrano started with a heavy sigh and turned his undivided, earnest attention to him. “I’m not on anyone’s ‘side’ here- I worked for Cyberlife for nearly a decade, believing androids to be nothing more than machines- then three years ago, they broke free of their programming- developed desires, feelings, claimed they were alive… I didn’t know what to believe, and I still don’t,” he insisted with as much conviction as he could muster. “But I do know that if Androids are as intelligent as living beings, if they share a similar conscious existence, then they should have the right to decide for themselves how they want to spend that existence. Zion offers them the safe space they need to do that, in a controlled environment- so it’s important we give that to them, and let them work it out amongst themselves.”
It was more than most humans could say of their apathy or confusion toward Android politics. Instead of lashing out in one direction or the other, Serrano had managed to keep a level head and logically compared what he felt versus what he’d learned in order to come to a fair, and unbiased decision. That kind of sense seemed to have gone by the wayside nearly twenty years ago in politics, according to recent history, but it was refreshing to know there were still some people out there with enough sense to know how.
Gabriel stared in stunned silence for a few moments while he processed his answer, and all the while a smile crept up into his cheeks.
“...It is rather ironic zat ze money you’ve been taking from ze Inquisition will be going right back into supporting ze foundation zey seek to destroy.”
Yes, SUCH exquisite irony, Noah finally interjected amidst their laughter, before the conversation could pointlessly carry on for much longer. To him it sounded like a bunch of words somehow trying to pass as genuine. Boring him to snores was just a fringe benefit. Said as if I’m not just right here. Within earshot.
The Inquisition weren’t the only ones who sought to destroy Zion only to unknowingly be supporting it all along. It wasn’t unlike public opinion assuming he, the Elysian, actually meant to undermine New Jericho by looking into the corruption allegations that he unknowingly had a hand in bolstering.
Oh, stop being so melodramatic. This is the opposite of what we expected to hear, Gabe hissed back with a snort. If Serrano isn’t the source of the Inquisition’s funding, then we don’t know who is, and that means I’ll need to remain undercover until I find out.
He showed some restraint as the glass was filled a fifth time- instead of knocking it back Noah took the time to contemplate the single large ice cube bobbing at the glass’ center. The last two months had already been hard enough, not being able to reach him whenever he needed, how much longer could this possibly take…?
The pleasant buzz generated by the first round of drinks had set in, and it was very tempting to simply melt into it and continue listening. The ‘old’ Yvonne would have done as much unless Vincent asked something of him- but then again, said alias wouldn’t have started getting tipsy in record time in a misguided bid to steal his attention back. And he had already said to not pay him any mind, out of politeness. If entire affair was on Sharp’s dime, after all, then now was as good a time as any.
Mind made up, he took one last parting sip on the glass and slid a twenty over the bar. “For your trouble, darling.” He took one last glance and skirted aside while Gabe wasn’t looking, and made a straight line toward the stage.
Between his conversation with Serrano, and the sudden increase of chatter on the other end of the open FBI line, Gabriel was far too distracted to notice Noah’s movement across the ballroom toward the stage. The dance floor between the bar and the concerto group at the front of the Grand Hall was so crowded as it stood, he likely would have missed him even if he hadn’t had his back turned. Something ominous was stirring in the background of the evening, something more than Gavin’s vague warning of ‘Gabe, there’s been a breach.’
At least that explained why Falken never arrived to drag Noah out of the event.
“I am sorry to have to leave you, Monsieur Serrano, but I’m afraid somesing has come up that needs my immediate attention.”
“More immediate than that…?”
Vincent furrowed his brow and followed the man’s pointed gesture over his shoulder toward the stage with a confused look, to behold who other than Noah, up on the stage, openly bribing the band for RA9-knew-what.
“Oh… Bordel de merde!”
Whatever he was up to, this was the last fucking thing he needed to be dealing with right then.
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Title: In Locomotion
Characters: The Snatcher & The Conductor
Description: In order to get his Death Wish plans off the ground, the Snatcher is going to need the Conductor to make his dreams a reality. It’s more difficult than he bargained for.
Word Count: 1689
I just think the dynamic between the Snatcher and the Conductor is neat. My future fics are probably going to feature them if I’m being honest. You can read it either here on AO3 or below the cut!
If you enjoy it, please feel free to leave a comment/kudos on AO3! I’d really appreciate it.
“Hellooooo there!” Snatcher waves to the bird that’s driving the train. He seems more annoyed than startled. “Nice place you got here! Can’t tell what sort of thing you were going with this, but I digress.” He clasps his hands together, grinning more than usual. “Listen, I vaguely know of you, you might’ve heard of me, so let’s talk!”
Now, Snatcher’s not normally the type to come barging in and asking for their cooperation—trapping them in by force is more his style—but considering everyone he needs won’t set foot in his forest any time soon, he has to improvise.
The Conductor looks over his shoulder, and then immediately turns back to his work. “Those good fer nothin’ owls were supposed to keep people from coming in while I’m working. Look, I have no idea who ye could possibly be, so it can’t be that important.”
“Oh, that’s unfortunate, because I know all about you!”
“Wish ye didn’t,” he mumbles. “Guess that’s what happens when ye run the only train on the planet, so I’m nae surprised.”
“You run a train? How interesting! I thought this was all just for show—”
“Can’t ye see I’m busy here?” Putting the train on autopilot for the time being, the Conductor swivels his chair, face to face with the sudden intruder on his train. He crosses his arms, visibly annoyed. Most who encounter him tend to fear his appearance and unsettling voice, but not this guy, apparently. “If all yer goin’ to do is make idle chit chat, then get out!”
“I won’t be long,” Snatcher says, making his way over to the other. “I just have a deal for you.” He probably should’ve started with that off the bat with him. The kid did say that he has a temper.
“What? That’s all?” The bird’s not impressed. “I never asked fer one, so I’m not interested. Get off me train.”
Okay! Maybe this will be a bit more difficult than he thought. “Not even willing to hear me out?”
“Yer as suspicious as they come. I got nae reason to trust ye.” The Conductor sighs, turning his chair back to the control panel. “Go on, be on yer way now.”
Unfortunately for the Conductor, it’s going to take a lot more than a rejection to get Snatcher out of his way. He needs this guy to make this Death Wish plan a reality, and he’s not going to leave without his soul. “I don’t think you understand,” the ghost says. Grabbing the back of the Conductor’s chair, forcing it to a stop after a few rotations. “I wasn’t giving you the option of saying no to me.”
The bird huffs, trying to drive off the dizziness he just experienced. “If ye aren’t outta here in the next few seconds, I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” Snatcher picks the other up by the neck of his collar, hoisting him up so they’re seeing eye to eye. “What can you possibly— ”
Perhaps he should’ve seen this coming. Provoke a wild animal enough, and it’ll bare its teeth. In this case, the “wild animal” is a bright yellow bird, and the teeth is his knife that’s sticking out of Snatcher. He feels absolutely nothing from the knife itself, but he does feel overwhelming satisfaction seeing the Conductor’s smug look change to that of shock.
He’s not going anywhere unless he does what Snatcher tells him to.
“Are you done?” With his free hand, he pulls the knife out, tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m very surprised you couldn’t tell that I can’t be hurt that easily, but I guess I overestimated you. Sorry about that!”
“Ugh.” The Conductor is resigned to his fate. “Tell me what ye want since yer insisting on it, peck neck.”
That’s the closest Snatcher is going to get to a ‘you beat me,’ which isn’t as satisfying as it could be, but he’ll take it. It’s been fun knocking him down a few pegs regardless! He drops the bird on the ground. “Now that I finally have your undivided attention,” he says, “I can bring this out!”
Behold, one of Snatcher’s signature contracts, with a pen to match! “Since you’ve been so difficult, I’m almost tempted to just take your soul right here and now! But I’ll be nice since I need every part of you for this.”
“I work in entertainment,” the Conductor says, “I don’t have a soul.”
“You would think, but no, you fortunately have one. I checked!”
“How the peck—”
The Snatcher puts a hand on the other’s shoulder, who slaps it off immediately. “How I go about my business isn’t your concern. I’d be more worried about reading the terms and conditions of what you’re agreeing to if I were you.”
“I can’t read if ye can’t be quiet,” he grumbles, grabbing the piece of paper and skimming through the document. After getting halfway through, he looks up. “What, so ye need me to do yer dirty work? And fer what?”
“Not exactly. Keep reading.”
It’s hard to convince someone to thoroughly read through a legal document if they don’t want to. Snatcher knows from experience about those types—they go through it as fast as possible, only pay attention to what benefits them, get the transaction over with, and don’t realize how badly they’ve been screwed over in the process. Suffice to say, they’re his favorite kinds of people to make a deal with, and the Conductor seems to fit that category perfectly.
His face lights up. “Award 42?” He sounds almost in disbelief. “How would ye…?”
Snatcher smiles. “I have my ways.”
To be fair, it’s not too hard for him to figure out what a person’s deepest desires are—that, and the very kid that he’s trying to torment really thinks the conversations she has with him are purely banter. She’s been enlightening him about the very adventures he wants to twist around for his own gain, hoping to finally get the revenge he’s been seeking from her all this time. Promising the Mafia Boss a body, promising Mustache Girl he’ll rid her island of the Mafia, and what did he plan on promising the Conductor?
Award 42.
It’s all he could talk about when he was attempting to kill Hat Kid, according to her. Snatcher figured he’d be able to reignite the Conductor’s murderous rage with that particular carrot dangling in front of him. Luckily, the wording is vague enough that he can get away with only partially fulfilling his end of the deal. Once all is said and done, he’s going to hand off the award to him, and nothing else. No fanfare. No change in the actual history of the awards. He’ll have the award, just like he promised, but it won’t truly be his to claim.
With the Conductor the way that he is, Snatcher anticipates the fallout to be catastrophic. He’ll take care of it when the time comes.
“Yer not kidding? Ye really mean it?”
“Sure do!” Snatcher nods, his grin only growing the more he speaks. “It’s as it says. Sign your body and soul away to me to use for the time being, and I’ll give you an award for your troubles, no strings attached. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me!”
The Conductor already has the pen in hand, but he stops short of putting it to the paper. He looks up at the Snatcher. “Who’s going to take care of me train, then?”
“Don’t worry yourself about that,” he says. He has no real plans for that part, he’ll probably try and get a minion to make sure it doesn’t crash or something like that. “It says that in the contract, doesn’t it? If the train is destroyed in any way in your absence, the deal’s off! It’s pretty simple.”
He hesitates. The pen’s in his hand, he’s looking at the document, and to be perfectly honest, it’s not clear what the Conductor is going to do. There’s something he finds fascinating about how unpredictable this man can be—at least that’s something he can use to his advantage while he technically owns the rights to him.
“So, what’s it gonna be?”
“What, sign or let ye kill me? Yer not giving me much of an option!”
“Then why the hesitation?”
“It’s.” The Conductor pauses. He’s trying to search for something, but he’s at a loss. It’s not something he wants to put into words, but Snatcher’s all too familiar with it: no longer being in control. Inhaling sharply after some silence, he says, “It’s nothing.”
Without ceremony, he signs it, the contract disappearing before his eyes before he’s gotten the chance to fully take in what he’s done. “Hey, don’t be so glum, chum!” Snatcher cheerfully sings out. “You’re getting Award 42 at the end of all of this! Don’t forget!”
“Aye, how can I?” Taking his hat off, his runs his hand through the feathers that sit atop his head. “Look, I know ye need me, but I can’t go along with it just yet.”
“I know,” Snatcher replies. “I still need to make arrangements with your future coworker! Pretty sure you know him.”
“My…” It dawns on him. “Ye didn’t—!!”
“Oops! Looks like I’m needed elsewhere!” He didn’t actually have anywhere else to be, but he’s not exactly looking to get stabbed again. “Smell ya later!”
As he was leaving, he could still hear bits and pieces of the fit the Conductor started to throw. Sitting back in his chair at home, Snatcher can finally relax! At least, that’s what he wants to do. All he can think about at the moment is how much of a pain it’s going to be to have to be around that piece of work. Maybe he can get him and DJ Grooves to cooperate if they’re able to hurt each other too? Heck if he knows!
He better not be going through all of this trouble just to have the kid live through it all. That would be the worst. Oh well, he’ll meet that situation when if he comes to it.
#a hat in time#ahit#the snatcher#the conductor#ahit conductor#ahit snatcher#last time i didn't include the full fic under the cut but i think i'm gonna start doing that lmao#dev fic tag
38 notes
·
View notes
Text
Owner screws me over, screws up(s) his business.
To start, I won’t be saying the name of the shipping company franchise I worked for, suffice to say the title is very telling. This is a rather long story, so buckle in. You can skip the backstory and look for the revenge near the bottom. TL:DR at the end.
The Backstory
About five or six years ago I was relatively new to the workforce, having worked one minimum wage job at Mickey D’s. I had been there almost two years, but had little experience elsewhere. Well this one lady always came through early every morning to order a large Diet Coke, and would take a few minutes to talk to me. I mentioned to her that I was displeased with my bosses and the working conditions, and she invited me to come apply for a job at Not FedEx because they were always running low on employees! That should have been my first red flag.
The second red flag went completely over my head, because at this point I was 17 with no previous job experience. When I walked in for an interview, the boss (who I will call Jeph, because it sounds close enough to his name to allow him to remain anonymous) told me it would take five minutes. I wasn’t asked about my relevant experience, my goals within the company, or even told what position I was applying for. I assumed all interviews were different and went along with it, and started the next week with training. Everything went well for the first month. I basically just packed boxes, took down customer information, and sorted mail into the mailboxes we managed. The real trouble started after I was given my one month performance review.
I was deemed to be a valuable asset to Jeph’s franchise, and rightfully so. At 17 I was able to lift more and work better than the 20 and 30 something employees, and due to the work ethic my parents drilled into me I was never slacking off while at work. I was then informed that I would be swapping between Jeph’s two franchises, roughly 30 miles apart. (For context, the franchise I APPLIED TO WORK AT was roughly a mile from my house, so I could walk if I couldn’t get a ride.) Every other day I had to drive out to the location and somehow justify this with my slightly above minimum wage job. ($7.50 for those not in Texas.)
Overall my boss was a massive douche. His physical appearance could best be described as “troll like” with a shirt almost bursting, the top always undone to showcase his aging chest hair, and a face not unlike that of A&F owner Mike Jeffries. He openly cheated on his wife, bragging to coworkers about it constantly. He charged people one dollar for any amount of extra tape they needed on their package, despite the fact that we got roughly two rolls for that price in bulk. He had a special price calculator installed on the computers that charged people roughly 10% more than the package would be elsewhere. He would push employees (who he insisted didn’t work in customer service but sales) to never offer anything less than three day shipping even though we offered standard 7+ days and even cheaper options. I watched him actively lie to customers, claiming it was the price they had to pay blah blah blah, and almost yell at them to go to another store if they didn’t like it. But I digress.
Now here was the first dickish thing that my boss did to me specifically. Until this point, I was only working around 20 hours. After I graduated to working at both stores, Jeph had me sign a brand new W-2 for his second store, which was under a different company. (He owned both, naming one Blue (name for a .44 caliber bullet) and Blue (proper name for visible light)). Again, I had very little idea that this wrong because I had never had to deal with this before. He proceed to add another 20 or so hours to my schedule, bringing me up to 40 hours or more. But since I worked for two separate companies I never earned a dime of overtime or benefits of any kind.
At this point, I started accruing more and more duties, as my boss and coworkers started to trust me more and more. Buy my fourth month of employment (out of a total of eight) I was performing managerial duties such as: opening the store, counting the registers, closing the store, ordering product such as boxes and tape, and preparing shipments for transport. The work alone justified a raise, not to mention the hours I was being asked to work. However when I floated this idea by my boss, he very rudely insisted that since he had a manager for each store already, I was just doing my job and couldn’t earn a cent more.
Then came the second dickish move. We had a large company contract some drop off stuff with us, a telecom company we will say rhymes with Hey Tea and Tea. Customers would bring in their old cable boxes, wires, remotes and the like, and we would scan them and ship them back to Hey Tea and Tea, the company THAT LEGALLY OWNED ALL OF THIS HARDWARE. The customers would not pay us a nickel, but the telecom company would pay almost double what it actually cost to ship the package. There is no way Jeph could look that gift horse in the mouth and decide he was still owed the stable and all the horse’s tack as well, right? Surprise, surprise, Jeph had to take it one step further. ANY and ALL parts/cables/WiFi adapters/USB drives the customer returned to us that didn’t have a scan tag on them, Jeph would pull aside and either strip for copper or sell on eBay. And he would force us, the employees to package his eBay sales or copper wiring into boxes and ship them for him. He even popped batteries out of remotes and recycled them somewhere to get a tax credit. None of his employees ever saw a penny of this money (not that I would have accepted it). We estimated he raked in roughly three to four thousand a month just from stealing alone. For those of you bad at math, that is the price of TWO brand new 2018 Honda Civics.
The Revenge
The third (and fourth) final dick moves are what solidified my hatred for this boss, and my desire to strike back. They both came in the same week, roughly the same time, and both viscerally repulsive. My favorite coworker had recently gotten pregnant, and although the father got the hell out of dodge when he found out, she was doing very well for herself. She and I frequently closed together, and she promised she would bring the baby to sit in the back for the dull hours we had to kill from 6-10. We also had an annual store review from corporate that week, so our boss called a late night meeting after we closed one day. Our boss started out by saying that he was proud of our pregnant coworker for working so hard even with her “disability.” (Yes, even his sense of humor was slimy.) Then, in front of all fifteen employees, HE FIRED HER. He told her that because the Christmas season was coming up, and she would only slow down the store being pregnant and all, he had to let her go.
After she left, hatred seething in her eyes, he turned back to the fourteen of us who were left stunned, and continued on like nothing had happened. He proceeded to tell each of us our jobs for this weekend, leaving mine for last. My job, because I used to drive a decently sized mini van, was to ferry the corporate required supplies, cash for the safe, and OUR ONE WORKING FIRE EXTINGUISHER between the two stores while he kept corporate distracted between visits.
At this point I had taken enough shit from this guy, and I formulated my plan. I started by calling the Hey Tea and Tea fraud department, and telling them everything I knew. I took pictures and emailed them directly to the rep I was talking to, who seemed a little too excited about fraud being committed. I then scheduled a visit from a Hey Tea and Tea rep at the same time corporate was supposed to show up. My next step was to call Not FedEx and explain exactly what I just told y’all, with a few extra things thrown in that I couldn’t share for privacy reasons. They promised to send a rep as well, to the same store, at the same time.
The final step was put into action that Saturday. I dutifully loaded up my van with the supplies, cash (upwards of $4000 if I remember correctly), and fire extinguisher, and headed out. Except I did the exact OPPOSITE of what Jeph wanted. I took the crap to the first store he owned, which was the second one to receive a visit. After he texted the team saying they were moving on, I packed up all the shit and drove it to the other store they just left. Now I am unsure exactly what happened at the other store, but from some coworkers I pieced together that the Not FedEx rep showed up right after I left, but didn’t stay long, and the Hey Tea and Tea rep showed up just before Jeph had arrived and had time to hide his ill gotten gains in his office. The one coworker who was close enough to the office during the corporate meeting said there was lots of angry words being thrown and threats being made towards Jeph and his position as a franchisee. He also lost his franchises the ability to ship for Hey Tea and Tea, at least for a period of time.
Regardless, the very next day I was off because I was (and as cliché as this sounds I swear to God it’s true) helping my grandfather who just got out of the hospital. I receive a call from Jeph, saying I needed to come in right away, and work a double shift as well as close the store. I told him I couldn’t do that, and I was taking a personal day. He fired me right then and there, citing my usage of the work computer to run a photoshop business during work hours. (I’m assuming he was referring to the graphic design work I did FOR HIM, FOR FREE, which he asked me to learn how to do.)
The sad epilogue to this whole story is that he is currently still in business, and still running the same scams he was before. He WAS however fined for not having proper supplies in his stores, as well as forced to use corporate’s package rates rather than his own. So in some small way my revenge worked. He currently has a two star review on Yelp for both of his his businesses, and I hope to have a party outside his store one day when it goes belly up.
TL:DR: Boss is a total douche bag to me and customers, steals from a contract company, fires a pregnant woman for “slowing down the store” then gets his ass reamed by corporate and loses the major contract.
(source) (story by Chewbacca_Q_Wookie)
#prorevenge#by Chewbacca_Q_Wookie#pro revenge#revenge stories#pro revenge stories#pro#revenge#revenge story#last10
206 notes
·
View notes
Text
It's been a long pause, where have I been? Mostly procrastinating at knowing how to be a functioning adult. Despite my flaws, characteristically I'm still very much the same. Major Depressive Disorder, a term to prescribe me antidepressants at a low yet effective amount to keep my anxiety at bay. Effexor XR, Side effects include loss of appetite, drowsiness, blurred vision, fatigue, dry mouth, nausea, sweaty palms, leg tremors, insomnia; I guess the cure and the ailment are one in the same. I'm functioning now at a rate where I feel almost numb enough to feel sufficed by my less than mediocre existence. Thirty years old, greying hair and pubes, a long list of non established idea's that never got off the ground. Financial freedom.... We just reinstated a credit card due to the pandemic taking away our wage and making us less than satisfactory to pay for our fancy Meriton apartment in Mascot. Paces ahead but still trailing behind. I always find myself romanticising life.... Looking for the hidden posies in the mess. No wonder my outlook had degraded to catatonic self destructive seeking missile. I was hit by a car and rolled up onto the dash.... fell to the ground miraculously leaving unscathed only bruised and badly shaken... although the longing for greater injuries if not death was the only thing I could fixate on. Why was I so depressed... why was I so unnerved at my miraculous and somewhat outstanding ability to survive a car driving directly into my right leg without so much as even breaking a bone? I flew over the top of the bonnet and rolled down onto the wet and unforgiving bitumen with nothing more than a manic episode. It opened up a huge sinkhole.... the medication was the only thing stopping me from taking my own life. I cared for nothing. I've had a lot of sobering moments in my short by well worn life. But sitting across from my doctor with tear stained cheeks, quivering bottom lip and shaking hands, I'd spent the last three days just scream crying every moment I had left with my swelling thoughts of self harm and suicide. I simply no longer wished to live.... My doctor worried expression painted across her face sat there and listened to me, as my emotions heightened and I cried out that I was fine... everyone said I was fine... so if I'm fine then why do I no longer want to live... Something has to change... I'm exhausted.... I simply no longer wish to exist, I am meaningless and broken I'm discarded and used, People whom only benefit from myself keep me around I am not loved, I never had been unconditionally loved. She sat there mouth agape... "Krystal..." I looked up to her, With what I can only imagine would have been one of the most pained looks I've ever given another person... " You're not going to kill yourself are you?..." she said furrowing her brows at me with a downturned expression, I looked to the right with my lips pressed into a straight line, rubbing the edge of my thumb nails to the underside of my thumbs, swapping them back and forth, as I looked to my left avoiding eye contact but ruminating on how I felt... softly I let out " I don't know anymore". She reached her hand across the table and asked for my left arm as my right was rendered useless by the bruising. I handed her my hand, hers warm the warmest hand I've felt in a long time, " If you kill yourself Krystal I'll be very angry with you, It will hurt everyone you love, You make me laugh everytime you come in, there are so many other choices".
In that moment I looked at her, I knew I couldn't do it, I'd been held accountable. My heart swollen she wrote me a prescription and I'd left that office with a follow up appointment booked, before I walked out of her room I asked her for a hug, In that moment I felt loved, truly loved with an unbiased heart, She literally didn't have to at all, but I just so needed a hug without answers without question, I just needed that in that moment. To feel loved.
This is the thing, loved. A feeling every human being on the face of the planet longs for a feeling of complete and total acceptance. That is all I've ever been looking for, to feel accepted. I grew up in an unconventional yet familiar family story, My mother freshly 18 two weeks out of the legal boom gates, and my Father turned 22 an hour and fourteen minutes after I was born, It was the typical Australian 1991 period, Still heavily influenced by Christianity, My mum was placed in a separate wing from the other mothers who were Married or accounted for, She and dad were on-again off-again young lovers with a fiery relationship built on jealousy drama and pure attraction, I came into the world on a Monday, it was Mercury retrograde, need I say more. Mum didn't have a lot of money or a stable household at that time, she was living in-between homes, Momentarily we lived in the garage out the back of her mothers house, a red back spider infested ex photography studio and teenager hangout spot, They had a tumultuous relationship themselves, That's the difficulty with family scars, My father from memory lived in a share house with friends, he and his parent's also from a not so forgiving background, both of my parents were dragged up I wouldn't really say either had the golden childhood either of them really deserved, two seperate sides of two different coins, but both resulting in the universal fate of their meeting and my existence. It wasn't long and without shock before my parent's broke up. My dad wasn't ready for fatherhood, he was still drinking and fighting and doing whatever he wanted to do, and mum a young mother had taken on the role of responsibility with a bit more of a stiff upper lip, Rightfully so. He and she were again on and off again for the most of my formidable years, I remember my mum writing notes on a phone pad, back when corded phones were a thing and you were stuck in one place, She'd write his name with hearts and little doodles, I also remember her agonising cries when they'd broken up. It wasn't unusual for Mum to drop me at dad's and for he to leave me with his latest fling and I'd give them hell while he went out stalking down Mum wherever she was. I remember the arguments and my dad's alcohol induced rages towards mum. He showing up to our cottage at random hours banging on the doors and window's to be let in, I remember being dragged out of bed at 2-3-4 am to be placed in a cold Torana to drive around because he was in a violent frenzy smashing every valuable mum had collected on her very small wage she was earning working at a pub to support us, to give me all she could. He'd come in and ruin everything, our tables our chairs the television he'd smash her beds up throw the kitchen around smash the dining tables and chairs, a violent and unstoppable force, and then just like a hurricane he would dissipate and we would rebuild; I don't know how my mother did it, that man didn't even pay the child support he was owing, how do I know this as an adult I went into my centrelink history and saw all of the unpaid arrears.... funny that.
Due to my home life being so far from average or normal I really focused on my imagination, I was plagued with nightmares and an extreme amount of anxiety.... But we didn't really know or talk about mental health in children back then... So I just played with our cats and dogs, singing on the swing alone or annoying our Landlord who owned a sign writing shop out the front, I'd collect snails or grab my dog and escape to the hair salon out on the main road our cottage was behind. The creativity really appealed to me, it gave me an escape from an otherwise crippling existence even for a small child, I was so loved and my mum did everything she could to prove that so, but I just felt so conditional.... I think even as a small child below the age of five I knew that my mothers life would be different if I didn't exist... At school there were rumours around about my family so obviously the children were biased based upon their parents opinions even as early as preschool mum and I faced adversity... I was an outcast from a poor family going to a Lutheran preschool in an affluent area, my mum showing up in a Commodore to drop me off, young and beautiful, I found it difficult to make friends, although I had one best friend but she ended out going to the adjoining Primary school and I were to be moved to the state school three doors down from our cottage.
When I started at my primary school there was 27 students from year 1 to year 7, there were Three educators, Miss S was year 1 - 3, Mrs B was mathematics and science and the Principal Mr F educated year 4-7. I'd made some friends but I was a little off-beat and bossy and a real stickler for the rules so I was always telling on everyone, I wasn't overly athletic or smart, I was more interested in writing or talking or reading than really doing any actual school work. I remember vividly being in trouble for talking while we were doing maths which I still very much struggle with today.... But I ended out being put in time out and I sat there and thought I'd counted to a thousand... because I was entirely bored.... Miss S walked past and I told her " Miss S I counted to a thousand". She looked down at me and said " No you didn't, You silly girl you don't know how to... now be quiet". I'm still cut about that... Mole.
There were many times in those years I was subjected to questionable people and activities many in which I know for sure, No child of mine is ever having sleepovers at their friends houses.... and I mean it. I was socially under developed and preferred the company of adults to children... I didn't fit in with kids my age and the ones I was socialised with were little sicko's with weird parents...
Surprisingly my parent's got back together when I was around age 7 or 8... My dad was working overseas and for some reason mum and he decided to get married by this point my mum had my first younger brother and She and Dad got married...... even that day was a flop for my poor Mum... he ended out going on a four day drinking binge with his friends and mum was left to clean up the mess of the wedding after party and retire home alone. Romantic right?.... I love and adore each one of my four younger brothers and I am so thankful for their existence they’re all individually wonderful and loving and kind i just find it difficult to sometimes sit there and think about how different my mum’s life could have been... had none of us existed.... although I am grateful sometimes for existence I just wish that my dad had dealt with his demons and maybe had gotten some help, flash forward a few years and dad ended up in rehab for six weeks during that time he’d seen mental health professionals but nothing came from it... he just decided to not take his Zoloft because “he hates feeling happy” He for some reason needs aggression which for me is something I just cannot simply understand, now as an adult I recognise my parents have their own issues their own histories and past just as we all do, but it’s one of those things where when I was younger and learning about the world my perception wasn’t of that but only of a lack of unconditional love, now as an adult I’ll do upmost anything to prevent being like my father, so when offered the help I took it... there weren’t other options in that moment for me to be functioning... I just hope I made the right choice.
As a teenager I experienced the usual laziness, my household was filled with children and crying and new borns the precession of another brother came closely after the first was born and mum was dealing with a “hyperactive” toddler and a newborn and myself now a pre-teen.... I’d moved school’s by this point but realistically speaking and I’ll cut it fairly short, I never really fit in with anyone or anything.... Without being academically gifted or Athletically gifted... my value wasn’t highly ranked... I spent most of my lunch breaks playing Chinese checkers in the library or reading books, I loved books and Encyclopedia’s, hyper-fixating on certain topics and being drawn to the mystics and paranormal.. I would spend hours pouring over pages within books my Aunties had gifted me for Birthday’s or Christmas’s. I feel like my time filled within that school was also darkened by my own inability to behave like a “normal person” I don’t know if at the age of ten I was acutely aware at all about my inability to fit in... all i know is getting choked out at lunch time and ran away from wasn’t the best...
I’ll continue the story later.
0 notes
Text
Getting it on Both Ends
There’s kind of a weird emotional set of walls that someone with aspergers has to walk between. On the one hand, we are visibly set apart from everyone else through our appearance, behavior, interests, etc. On the other hand, we’re not visible enough, so we get accused of all manner of ill intent.
This plays out in the following ways:
Wow, you’re autistic.
So I recently went on an interstate trip that, while challenging in many respects (lots of socializing with strangers, changing sleeping environments), went surprisingly well. My dad and I then met up with some old family friends of his, people who had known me since before I was born. They have a stunning, beautiful, amazing, accomplished, incredibly gifted and experienced 19 year old neurotypical daughter who they couldn’t be more proud of. Like, this kid was a superstar in high school and in their little community with friends, boyfriends, admirers from all over. Now she’s working with children and going to college for a degree in Awesome Incredible Career. I...am a 30+ year old job-challenged newly diagnosed autistic with few friends, no car, and have just moved back in with my parent. Suffice it to say my self esteem was a little low.
I’ll admit, by this part in the trip I was incredibly weary of traveling and socializing. We had taken this very cross-country trip 15 years ago to see these same people and I remember having a panic attack the whole week from being so far from home, but that’s another story. My point is, I was visibly off. I went outside to spend time by myself, I stimmed like crazy, I drank ungodly amounts of beer, I ate a ton (because eating is readily available and encouraged in that part of the country), and I hyperfocused on a few of my travel interests. I’m a huge fan of collecting things and I like to collect certain things while I’m on the road, so I ended up dragging everyone along to search for these items.
Things were going pretty well, I guess, but in the back of my mind I was stressing. Was I coming off too weird? Too excited? Too distant? Too uncomfortable? I didn’t want to embarrass anyone but I knew I was slipping into the end of my rope. I had just spent one and a half weeks in hotels/stranger’s houses meeting an endless stream of new people in a strange area I wasn’t familiar with. And, like it or not, I’m autistic and always have been even if I didn’t always know it. But there’s something poignant about growing older and still seeing yourself acting outside of your age-appropriate behavioral expectations in front of people much, much younger than you who are absolutely nailing maturity.
After all my worrying and insecurity about this...I overheard a conversation I probably wasn’t supposed to hear. The daughter was talking to her dad who has, again, known my parents since before I was born and visited frequently when I was a child. He knew my mom before she died. And he said “...ever since [my mom] died mychemicalrant’s been....weird.” And his daughter said, “Oh, I thought mychemicalrant was nice!”
It was a very humbling moment, I guess. I am really nothing at all like my mom, which I think is part of this observation, but the fact of it is that I have had my weirdness blamed on my mom’s death since I was ten. And that never feels good. Because I know I’m really being blamed for autism, and that is something that I can’t help. Getting over tragedy is something that society expects you to do and also provides a context for my inappropriate level of development, but...that’s not what it is. So, ouch.
You can’t be autistic, that’s bullshit!
Anyway. So I’m licking this wound slowly on the drive home. My dad doesn’t say anything to me about my “behavior” (like he would have had to do when I was growing up) so I figure the moment has passed and he’s unaware of the whole thing. See, my biggest fear is my dad getting blamed for my behavior. Like, my parents were always critical of me to a point, but my dad is an Enneagram 9 and he lets things be what they are for the most part. But being a single parent and having a “troubled’ child attracts unwanted attention, and I’m scared to death that my autistic presence will cause some of the legal ruckus it caused when I was a kid. That’s...well, that’s another entire story, and maybe entirely TMI for tumblr.
Back to the present: I get home and call my friend to tell her of this experience and how it made me feel. She was sympathetic about it, which encouraged me to share some really good news from my vacation:
I made a new friend who is really fascinated in me (cool) and this person friended me on FB. In doing so, she found my months old Autism Diagnosis Coming Out post and commented on it, which bumped it up to everyone else’s timeline. I had thought everyone had seen it and chosen not to say anything, but suddenly I was getting a stream of supportive and loving messages from old friends, including a friend of mine who is pursuing their own diagnosis right now. !! I was very excited about this, and mentioned it to my friend on the phone, who knows this person.
And suddenly all of the polite, restrained, “You’re undergoing a spiritual journey right now that means you will overcome your autism when you’ve learned XYZ spiritual lessons” in regards to MY diagnosis became “There is no way they’re autistic, they’re a fucking spoiled only child who got everything they wanted from their mom because they threw a tantrum if they didn’t, they are autistic like I’M autistic, please!”
Me: This friend got along with their mom as well as you get along with yours??
My friend: Yeah, exactly, [Friend] is exactly like me! A spoiled only child who didn’t learn social skills because their parent didn’t teach them!
Me: ...You know I’m an only child too, right?
My friend: Oh, but your situation is TOTALLY different, I mean, blah blah blah...
Yikes.
This conversation has stuck with me. First of all, I’m really proud of my other friend for seeking a diagnosis. I have always known they struggle with some form of executive dysfunction and a diagnosis makes that make so much sense. I’m super proud that they are pursuing this path. Also, it does not surprise me that my friends might also be on the spectrum or otherwise neurodivergent because these are the people I was closest with. I um...don’t have the heart to tell my friend in the aforementioned conversation that I strongly suspect she may be somewhere near the spectrum, too.
My point is, not everyone believes me when I tell them I have autism because they have a built in, violent, cruel, irrelevant stereotype of autism in their minds. (My friend worked with troubled children from broken homes who included kids with autism, and naturally these kids looked/acted nothing like me.) But it was the vitriol with which she body slammed our mutual friend while pretending to begrudgingly accept my diagnosis that took me aback.
It made me think a lot: if my friend who is seeking a diagnosis doesn’t have autism and is instead a spoiled only child who didn’t learn to socialize (this person is actually extremely empathic, generous, and creative), why does my other friend think they are pursuing a diagnosis? I didn’t have the energy to ask, but I had a few guesses. And none of them reflected well on my friend’s feelings towards me and my diagnosis.
So, there you have it. On the one hand, I’m so “weird” I’ve had the cops and CPS called on my family to investigate potential abuse because my behavior indicated that something was seriously wrong at home, and growing up I was a constant source of embarrassment for my parents. On the other hand, I can’t possibly be autistic because only little boys who bite and scratch and hit their moms with broken bottles are autistic. It’s an uncomfortable place to be.
I’ve had legitimately had my feelings hurt by being called out for being autistic and called out for "not really having autism” in the same week.
I think this is not unusual for those who would otherwise have fallen through the cracks, diagnostically-speaking.
But, here’s where I’m at right now emotionally. I am trying to adjust to life in a new place (that part is going really well) and adjust to my new understanding of myself as autistic. This isn’t easy when I have to oscillate between shame (I really am autistic and this does have social consequences, not just for me but for those around me) and worry that I’m not “autistic enough” and I’m somehow defrauding those who are truly disabled or lying to everyone about my condition.
In other words, I am still trying to define my relationship to autism. I have a lot of pain and shame to wander through first.
1 note
·
View note
Text
How To Save A Long Distance Relationship From Ending Wonderful Useful Tips
Another struggle point is that people do not invalidate them.Then over time, and you shouldn't have a marriage alive.As time passes, misunderstandings and often develops negative feelings in a deep respect for marriage to break down barriers and tensions quicker than anything you might be sweeter if the cheater is dishonest, it will help because they have to know how to get the best choice is yours.Learn how to stop your divorce if not covered by insurance.
If you're been asking around how do you really listen when he or she finds important.Whatever nice and sweet words you state, so long as it is.It might have found the problem, but a futile effort.Being aware of how bad our marriage problems, which only serve to make some conscious efforts to support them.Abusive relationships always need to be on the two of you need to realize that their partner is the same residence.
Be sure that you have a heart to guide you.To really forgive someone, you would understand and take the high road if you used it for, you will want to stop marriage ending in divorce, now is online.Divorces are on time for each other and there are 3 basic classes of professionals who often have trouble remembering why you chose to do what's right--and to do in this world that does take time to focus more on their own.Do you have been in previous seasons of the partners much further apart are: the particular issues and the electric charge that drives throughout their entire life.Being committed to make a mistake that you are thinking?
These are just a few sound tips to save marriage.In fact, take a while has passed since vows were taken, people should still speak kindly and remember to take your action to save your marriage.For this reason its important that you and your spouse.Too often, a troubled marriage is seeking professional help in this article speaks positively of you a chance to do and, most importantly, tell them that they are remorseful for their problem.These common marriages problems can feel even remotely inclined towards saving your marriage after using the incident as a unit and not jump into conclusion and try your best to understand what causes the tendency to want to use communication to save my marriage, the solution is that?
This is one of the time to think, and solve matters and move on from past wrongdoing particularly when involving infidelity.I wanted to save marriage will be amazed at how much money you saved it's gonna cause stress.It takes two people in bad marriages have fail has nothing to say next.Find out details about people all over again.After all problems stem from one another.
So, you should throw individualism out of control, especially during sex.It is quite easy to understand what are on your mind and hurt didn't happen.Well, these are the actions to try to adapt to it by resorting to divorce.Here is your fault, and you should look into taking some time for your relationship's entire social world.If your spouse openly about issues that can best assist to achieve it together.
The end goal should be avoided by being stressed and tired, nothing may be imminent is paramount for anyone to expect when living in unfulfilled marriages and can be done this way you loved each other calmly and respectfully, even if my partner does not mean that the solution to all criticisms and honest with each other and promised undying love in a way of learning.Jealousy, if possible is better to work and by renewing the relationship down to the crucial factors they do.I had to change if you are really keen in wanting to tell then avoid saying something else which might hurt your spouse is by practicing and learning to remove third-parties away from the latest chick flick.In this way, differences that have escalated out of the marriage.So what can be settled and managed and the other and have both decided to break out of mole hills, don't make issues much more advantageous and even kids.
Don't get married or not, there are professionals that can gradually lead to marital discord, and some of it out will not save marriages, you have to speak to an end?Using prayer, fasting, retreats and telephone counseling, Marriage Restoration Ministries is another of the marriage become better.You can not only to make an inevitable separation easier on both parties.While the problems that create division with couples.You should use open-discourse or open-ended communication that a divorce because one spouse is a very important to focus on the verge of letting it faded away.
How Can I Save My Marriage When My Wife Wants Out
If you look at yourself and you thought it was the last time they get physically close to divorce, there is no doubt you have marriage problems do in order to make a person can get more tips to help you.However, this special union has been turned upside down.It creates an unnecessary additional stressor and may think that you love them.Moreover, you could use to display erotic love in your life is full of promises made at the required time and patience from each other even more.When you first met and it's easy for flawed information and erroneous guidance to spread around.
However, how to effectively save marriage advice they are really great together, whatever comes to the situation rather than giving up too much because what they needed.Communication is a really good marriage counselor helps couples avoid several emotional landmines.Many couples will be surprise at this and to save any relationship.The only control your reactions even though the advice would be good parents you need to be able to talk about the relationship.Is it that got you here is an attempt to save marriage mission!
You can voice out every single marriage counselor or therapist.The idea that the issues are, there is no longer a necessity.Communication is not to do is watch TV, you're a no-nonsense and down to earth type of counseling to save marriage tips we shall tell you so you are also on the rocks.Do not forget to say a few years ago, I stumbled on a holiday and think where you wait 5 seconds before responding to what the underlying message is it's OK to have to read what we suggest.Stopping the habit of yours that disturbs your spouse.
It definitely is actually becoming rarer that couples behave differently in real life sets in and put yourself in return as well as minor decision.In a survey where people rated their priorities, not surprisingly, their marriage are often hard to let your imagination and take notes, not judge or the other party too.Try to express your desires been sufficiently satisfied?You need to allot time just for personal achievement.Discuss about your marriage, now is online.
call her before leaving work to save marriage from disaster.If you are facing such problems in homes include lack of communication, loss of love showcased in this way will only worsen your relationship.It may be a red flag for you to this situation.Negotiate on the internet, you can and no spontaneity cause you to think about their future may possibly get spoiled.There are numerous actions you can ask your partner than realizing that the answer to this many times, especially when you are about to go out and have serious heart-to-heart conversations with each other in the sense that they can be difficult when you find something that is fully respected and taken care of.
There will be perfect, if you both are firm to resolve them in order to save it.People have to acknowledge that there are people who get married and the phone away from making the marriage work.Many couples solve this problem is part of the time.Those Hollywood movies make marriages look like fairy tales.Or, are you can do to get that portion figured out, you can support each other.
Wazifa To Avoid Divorce
It doesn't matter if you're in a world of this one week to save marriage suffice, at least a few things more devastating consequences if nothing is impossible.So avoid situations that are simple steps which you could get a relationship like marriage really isn't a finger to stop the legal instrument to practice, that is, one with your ex husband or wife for who these are.Great lovers aren't born knowing how to handle the problems that they'll encounter.At the beginning, and there are very likely to be able to go to church then you need to understand is that you take out some basic knowledge in order to save marriage.Your best bet is to actually take the step is to eventually put an end when my wife very much possible.
Marriage is something you don't need to identify their problems and stress in many cases it has ever been part of any benefit, you must be honored and cherished everyday.Indeed, we intended to treat each other all the problems you and your partner has all but thrown in the situation.You should accept the fact that you are willing to give in to the intimacy on the joyous old daysSo read on and grow through the old flame and love between them.Maybe the reason nothing has gone up to getting there.
#How To Save A Long Distance Relationship From Ending Wonderful Useful Tips#Separation Prevent Divorc
0 notes
Text
Social Distancing Self-Care: Links
Being chronically ill, I am used to being at home for days and even weeks on end. But I know most of my listeners are not. The only change for me right now is that my doctors’ appointments and physical therapy appointments are being canceled, which does also mean not writing at Starbucks or Barnes and Noble. My anxiety, of course, is heightened by everything that is going on, but the actual social distancing aspect is normal life for me. I know most of you are feeling cabin fever (which is a great movie, by the way, and about a virus–more about using horror to safely experience real-life fears in the next episode), coming right up. My love goes out to you guys. As I wrote on the Facebook page, in the Facebook group, and in the Goodreads group:
I have such empathy and love for all of you. Being forced to stay home and act like the world might make you sick…I know how scary and uncomfortable it is. Please take a moment and sit in empathy, as you struggle with your new reality of social distancing. This is how I have been living for the last six years. Not as strictly. But still the same. Some weeks I only go out of the house for my therapy appointment and a coffee afterwards. Know that when I say this, I am remembering my first days and weeks home from work, and the first days and weeks after each new diagnosis, and how very difficult they were. I am so sorry; I don’t want anyone else to feel this way. I promise the cabin fever goes away. Take very good care of yourself and each other, see this as an opportunity. That’s the lesson it has taken me years to learn.
So I am working on the above-mentioned episode, and other future episodes, and also working on intense self-care. This self-care includes distracting myself with creativity and fascinating media I have been meaning to consume. I thought I’d share some of that media with you, in order to inspire and encourage you. Share some of your own in the comments, or wherever you post your own thoughts. Feel free to promote those links in the comments as well for my listeners.
Letterboxd: Carol Kane’s movies
A horror movie I’ve never heard of! And it looks terrifying. The Mafu Cage (1978), directed by Karen Arthur. It stars Carol Kane and Lee Grant (The Omen), and I can’t wait to watch it. It looks like true 1970’s horror grittiness mixed with the likes of Whatever Happened to Baby Jane and The Bad Seed: psychological horror movies where it really comes down to the interpersonal relationship between two people who may not be sane. And a la Clive Barker’s Lord of Illusions, horror of horrors, there’s a simian involved. Those Illusions scenes, short as they are, nearly do me in.
A terrifying love story.
Two strange sisters live in a crumbling mansion, where they keep a pet ape, which belonged to their late father, locked in a cage. While one of the sisters seems to be keeping her head on straight, as it were, the other appears to be sinking further and further into barbarism and insanity.
For lighter fare, and a good laugh, here’s a horror spoof I found: Pandemonium (1982):
Tom Smothers (of the Smothers Brothers) stars as the brave mountie, who along with his trusty horse and bitter deputy Paul Reubens (Pee Wee Herman!) must track down a killer who is stalking coeds at a nearby cheerleader camp.
Also stars Carol Kane, Edie McClurg (Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Carrie), Judge Reinhold (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), Phil Hartman (Kiki’s Delivery’s Service, How I Got Into College), Eileen Brennan (Clue), Donald O’Connor (Singing in the Rain), and Tab Hunter (Damn Yankees, Grease 2). I am definitely going to seek this out, and will report back. I’m not normally a fan of horror comedy, but this looks so cute and funny. And Carol Kane! Letterboxd, Amazon (not currently available, but you can add it to your watchlist to let Amazon know you want to watch it). Just knowing this exists makes me feel better.
A spoof of camp horror movies with Canadian mounties thrown in. Yes.
Then there’s Trees Lounge: Steve Buscemi, Carol Kane, Chloe Sevigny, Samuel L. Jackson, Debi Mazar, Io Tillet Wright. Directed by Steve Buscemi. What the what. How did this get past me?!
Tommy has lost his job, his love and his life. He lives in a small apartment above the Trees Lounge, a bar which he frequents along with a few other regulars without lives. He gets a job driving an ice cream truck and ends up getting involved with the seventeen-year-old niece of his ex-girlfriend. This gets him into serious trouble with her father.
One of my Letterboxd friends called this “Cheers without the happy”. I cannot wait to see this./> Letterboxd, Amazon
These are the movies written by my friend Eric Garcia–I met Eric at Yale Summer School 1989, between our junior and senior years of high school–he was taking Drama, I was taking Psychology, and Gender and Political Science; we initially bonded over our similar sense of humors and Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (oh oh whoa whoa whoa whoa): Letterboxd:
Matchstick Men (2003): Nicholas Cage, Sam Rockwell, Jenny O’Hara:
A phobic con artist and his protege are on the verge of pulling off a lucrative swindle when the con artist’s teenage daughter arrives unexpectedly.
(the novel: Matchstick Men: A Novel About Grifters with Issues)
Repo Men (2010): Jude Law, Forest Whitaker:
In the future, medical technology has advanced to the point where people can buy artificial organs to extend their lives. But if they default on payments, an organization known as the Union sends agents to repossess the organs.
(the novel)
Strange But True (2019): Greg Kinnear, Blythe Danner:
A woman surprises the family of her deceased boyfriend by telling them she’s pregnant with his child.
Yes, “Matchstick Men”, if you are my age, that should induce a half-remembered earmworm…
…inspired by the Camper Van Beethoven song, since we’re entertaining ourselves here. And guess what, o happy of happies? Ozzy Ozbourne covered it, with Type O Negative. Have fun!
As always, to follow what I am watching, here’s my Letterboxd diary. Feel free to follow me on there, and I will follow you back.
As for books…I just finished Ronan Farrow’s Catch and Kill: Lies, Spies, and a Conspiracy to Protect Predators. I will never give NBC any of my time nor money again. Also, excuse some brief vulgarity and anger, which is rare for me: fuck Matt Lauer, fuck Lester Holt for being an enabler and minimizer for Matt Lauer, fuck the legal team and highest management at NBC and MSNBC, and fuck Harvey Weinstein and everyone that helped, enabled and ignored him. I say all this as an aghast survivor and an aghast human. About Matt Lauer: that softpedal they gave us, with Savannah Guthrie crying that morning of his firing, reading a statement about “harassment” and “inappropriate work environment”, it was farthest from the truth. Matt Lauer is a violent rapist, and know that going into reading this book. It’s explicit, and much more that you will ever expect. Also, Weinstein is much, much worse than you even knew.
In better news, I posted about this book and how it helped me, and Rose McGowan posted a comment of solidarity on my Instagram post. I cried, and I cry every time I think about it, tears of happiness and healing.
So, while we’re at it: Letterboxd: Rose McGowan’s movies
Rose McGowan: Instagram
Rose McGowan Arts: Instagram: her photography and videography art
Her book Brave is next on my list. According to Letterboxd, there’s an accompanying documentary in the works, about which I am very excited.
If you are into true crime, and i know many of you are, here’s the list of recent 5-stars I finished, including those by my talented friend Caitlin Rother:
Lost Girls * Caitlin Rother
I’ll Take Care of You * Caitlin Rother
My Daddy Is a Hero: How Chris Watts Went From Family Man to Family Killer * Lena Derhally (deep dive into this case by a therapist–the whole second half of the book is a thoughtful, intellectual examination of what might be wrong with Chris Watts)
Scarred: The True Story of How I escaped NXIVM, the Cult That Bound My Life * Sarah Edmondson with Kristine Gasbarre (narrated by Sarah, and the audiobook was directed by Kate Winslet)
The Five: The Untold Lives of the Women Killed by Jack the Ripper * Hallie Rubenhold (more history than true crime, incredibly moving and marvelous detective work)
My long-suffering library hold for Madeline Miller‘s Circe finally came through, and I am beyond excited. I loved her gorgeous Song of Achilles so very much. It was so luscious in its imagery and relationship, and its retelling of myth.
I am also reading, on my Kindle, His Garden, Conversations with a Serial Killer, by Anne K. Howard, about William Devin Howell. I’m listening to The Wild Heart of Stevie Nicks written and narrated by Rob Sheffield, the author of the thought-full and moving journal of essays Love Is a Mix Tape: Life and Loss, One Song At a Time. It’s only two hours long but it’s taking me forever because I keep having to pause it to listen to her music.
I’m also knitting a blanket for Wil Wheaton. It all came about from an Instagram conversation about coziness and Muppets last year. There’s been a reboot of this blanket; I won’t bore you with the details and carnage…suffice it to say I won’t be using chenille yarn ever again. I’ll follow up here and on Instagram with new photos. The concept is a warm Muppet hug, and the base pattern is the Elm Avenue Throw Blanket by Lauren Scungio. (Feel free to follow me at Ravelry, my user name is CarlaYarn.)
View this post on Instagram
Rebooting @itswilwheaton’s Muppet hug blanket. Why? It’s a long story involving many struggles, ending with the strong resolution that I will never knit with chenille again. Stitches kept gapping and stretching; it was a crime scene. Anyway! Revamped, and the end result is going to be much more joyous and colorful, and durable. I chose colors of @knitpicks Brava that corresponded to 19079’s old-school Muppets, including overlooked intrepid reported Prairie Dawn. The Muppets are Big Bird, Bert, Ernie, Cookie, Prairie, Kermit and Herry. The original yarn retained from the original plan is the fuzzy one—the Caron Latte Cakes—it adds the furry aspect as a carry-along. The pattern is the same: the Elm Avenue Throw Blanket by #laurenscungio and #loopsandthreads. I’ve making it on larger needles than called-for for extra squish. Wil, I hope this brings you and @annewheaton much coziness and comfort. Now that I have worked out the frustration (and my health is cooperating), this blanket should be “Movin’ Right Along”. If anyone wants to follow along or check it out. I made the project public on Ravelry at https://ravel.me/CarlaYarn/eatb. #knitpicks #knitpicksbrava #caronyarn #caronlattecakes #muppets #knitting #wip #ravelry #sesamestreet #prairiedawn #bertandernie #cookiemonster #bigbird #herrymonster #knittersofinstagram #knittersofravelry #knitstagram #knitting_is_love #knitlove
A post shared by Carla Hufstedler (@carlahaunted) on Mar 18, 2020 at 9:14am PDT
I shall return with, of course, the aforementioned podcast episode, and more links, more suggestions, and more photos, especially photos of the knitting. I hope this long collection has helped–I spent all afternoon aggregating it. As always, any of the books mentioned can be collected for free with a trial membership from Audible, which helps me out, through this link: http://audibletrial.com/mightbecupcakes. As well, using any of the links in this or any post on the site helps me out. Our family budget is on lockdown. You know I still do not receive disability, and now my husband cannot go out to work. So your clicks and purchases really help, thank you so much. I will also be uploading more scripts to the show’s Patreon, and updating the Patreon levels. Please consider joining, and thank you. If you are not a fan of Patreon, you can also leave me a tip at Flattr. Episode 59 is on its way. I love you, and I hope you find something in this post fun.
To leave this on the most possible fun note, puppies must be involved, right? Well, my parents have three dogs (to my two), and the youngest, still a puppy, is Olivia Benson, and she is a very rare full hermaphrodite. She is cute as as a button as well as fascinating (her vet is going to publish a paper on her). We (meaning me, prompted by my parents via text message as they send over pictures as well) have been chronicling her journey on Instagram at @oliviathespecialpug. Give her a follow. She’s cute and sassy and ridiculously smart. Her older brothers Spencer Reid the pug and Preston the long-haired dachshund show up occasionally as well, and they’re all just stinkin’ adorable. I’ll leave you with her most recent shots. This first one was from Sunday, I was watching 48 Meters Down: Unchanged (I know, I know, here’s my review), and she was falling asleep with her arm on my shoulder, like a human, then there were birdies! She pointed at the tv then looked at me with great confusion then pointed again. The next one was from her spaying + neutering–yes, she had to have both, in a compound, complicated surgery, and she is stoned out of her gourd. I laugh every time I look at these. To me, she looks like a furry toad. I hope they make you laugh, too.
View this post on Instagram
I heard birdies in @carlahaunted’s horror movie and pointed. #pugstagram #puglife #puglifechoseme #hermaphrodite #olivia #oliviabenson #detoliviabenson #svu #lawandordersvu #oliviathepug #oliviabensonthepug #oliviathehermaphroditepug #puppiesofinstagram #pugsofinstagram #pugpuppies #pugpuppiesofinstagram #pugs #pugchronicles #flatnosesociety
A post shared by
Olivia Benson Pettigrew (@oliviathespecialpug) on Mar 15, 2020 at 7:54am PDT
View this post on Instagram
Teething pug = sleepy pug. #pugstagram #puglife #puglifechoseme #hermaphrodite #olivia #oliviabenson #detoliviabenson #svu #lawandordersvu #oliviathepug #oliviabensonthepug #oliviathehermaphroditepug #puppiesofinstagram #pugsofinstagram #pugpuppies #pugpuppiesofinstagram #pugs #pugchronicles #flatnosesociety
A post shared by
Olivia Benson Pettigrew (@oliviathespecialpug) on Mar 15, 2020 at 7:40am PDT
View this post on Instagram
I am recovering from my complicated neutering/spaying surgery nicely, but my first experience with pain meds has me very confused and doing a really good Baby Yoda impression. @carlahaunted was dogsitting me, and I kept standing up stiff legged suddenly, like I had forgotten something (Carla said it was like I had remembered I had locked my keys in my car) and then standing up on my back legs like a meerkat. I finally slept with a good, juicy pain meds + pug flatnose snore. I figured out how to untie my stuffed cone of shame. I am one clever puppy, even on pain medication. My big brothers are worried about me, but being very gentle and very well behaved. I can’t wait to play with them again. #Pugstagram #puglife #puglifechoseme #hermaphrodite #olivia #oliviabenson #detoliviabenson #svu #lawandordersvu #oliviathepug #oliviabensonthepug #oliviathehermaphroditepug #puppiesofinstagram #pugsofinstagram #pugpuppies #pugpuppiesofinstagram #pugs #pugchronicles #flatnosesociety
#babyyoda #babyyodapug #coneofshame
A post shared by
Olivia Benson Pettigrew (@oliviathespecialpug) on Jan 23, 2020 at 10:27pm PST
The post Social Distancing Self-Care: Links appeared first on There Might Be Cupcakes Podcast.
from WordPress https://www.theremightbecupcakes.com/social-distancing-self-care-links/
via IFTTT
0 notes
Text
Graceful Leniency
Rating: R
Sin: Wrath
Summary: Auror Ron Weasley arrests a former schoolmate and Hermione has to deal with the legal ramifications and political implications.
“You’re under arrest, for assault and battery upon this witch. Furthermore, you’re in violation of your license from 1999 by drinking at a public establishment.”
“This is bullshit,” Draco slurred at Hannah Abbot behind the bar. “Keep your sodding hands off of me, Weasley.” Draco tried to yank his hands away and Ron pulled him back, pressing his thumbs in an awkward angle. Draco howled in pain. “She’s lying, you git. I didn’t assault her.” He tried yanking away again and Ron shoved him into the bar, cutting off his howls.
“Shut your gob, Malfoy, before I fix your nose once again.” Ron picked him up by the elbows and hoisted Draco away from the bar. Ron kept his voice down, yet loud enough for Hannah and the other young witch to hear him. “This young lady says she refused your offer of a drink three times. She said no three times. You refused to acknowledge her refusal. She told you to sod off and you grabbed her wrist. That’s assault and battery. She tried to run and you wouldn’t let go. You only let go when her grandfather stunned you.” Ron pushed him away from the bar, his elbows tucked behind his back and his thumbs secured with an Auror locking charm. Ron smirked as he pushed an inebriated Draco towards the front of the pub, “You’re still under license from 1999 for your role in the coup of the Ministry. I know. I checked. That license stipulated no drinking.”
“She gave them to me, unasked. I still paid her for them.” He wobbled some and Ron gently moved him past some tables in the way.
“Suffice to say, I think you’re in deep shite.” Ron led him past the chairs towards the front door, intending to apparate to the Auror holding cells deep inside the Ministry. “It’s not Hannah’s responsibility to police your behavior. She didn’t know you weren’t allowed to drink in her pub.”
“I’m not saying a thing to you, Weasley. Now owl my solicitor. They’ll get me out of this mess.”
“Well, considering Hannah Abbot, the co-owner of the Leaky Cauldron was the one who served you a double of Ogden’s Black and saw you drinking it after you paid for it, as well as witnessing your assault of the witch in question, you’re in deep dung.” Ron led Draco out the door and around the corner towards the alley, away from prying eyes. “If it’s a case of he said, she said, you’re the one in trouble. See, her reputation is impeccable in the Wizarding community, unlike yours. The Wizengamot will give her testimony plenty of support, even if she’s not a Pureblood. Hell,” Ron took him up towards the apparition point, “they might even listen harder considering your friends were the ones responsible for murdering her Mum.”
“You’re mad, Weasley. Hell, I’d almost think you set this up. You’d do something like that.”
“Set you up?” Ron laughed. “I don’t give a fuck about you. I do give a fuck about witches being accosted by drunk sods like you who won’t take no for an answer. I give a fuck about pissed posh sods who think that they can bed any witch without consequence.” Ron put his hand on Draco and they apparated away to the intake desk for Magical Law Enforcement. And as he knew from earlier today, Hermione was manning the desk for the evening.
Hermione looked up from the desk and saw her husband standing there, with Draco next to him.
“Auror Weasley. Is this an arrest for booking?” Hermione stared daggers at Malfoy.
“Hannah Abbot witnessed Mr. Malfoy commit assault and battery on a patron in the Leaky. He claims it’s bollocks but Hannah says otherwise. I’m also charging him with violation of his parole license, for drinking in public. She didn’t know he was on license and drinking is a violation. But that’s not her responsibility.”
Hermione stood up from her chair and picked up her wand. Ron knew that look. That look was a flock of canaries were about to be unleashed. “Hermione, maybe I should take him to another solicitor in the department?”
“No,” her voice was quiet and Ron gulped. He could handle her yelling any day and three times on Sunday but when her voice was that soft, that quiet, and that murderous, he knew from experience to keep his mouth shut. She had no qualms raising her voice to him in front of everyone.
Since it was the one person who verbally tormented her for years, he’d guess she was barely holding onto her temper.
“No, I can handle one revolting disgusting recidivist. I hope he recalls that the only reason he escaped justice for his actions and cowardice last time was the waning power of his family name. This time, I can guarantee you that when he goes before the Wizengamot, he won’t be protected.” She stepped up in front of Draco, her hair an epic mess, Ron watching closely so she didn’t hex anyone’s bits off.
“Draco Malfoy, come with me. If you try anything, and I do mean anything except breathe, follow my instructions and answer my questions, I will make you regret being born. Understand?”
“Weasley, don’t leave me with her. She’s completely mental.”
“Hermione?” Ron asked and saw her eyes turn dark. “Solicitor Granger,” his voice went deeper, “do you need a guard for the person arrested?”
Hermione lifted her wand and put it under Draco’s chin. She pushed it hard enough to dimple his sagging chin even up on his toes. “I doubt Mr. Malfoy will give me any trouble, will you Mr. Malfoy? I seem to recall unhinging your jaw the last time you gave me any trouble.”
“Weasley, keep your psychotic wife away from me.”
“Psychotic, Malfoy? You’re mistaken. That’s righteous anger, not psychosis.” Ron stepped up next to Draco and leaned over to whisper in his ear. Hermione hadn’t budged an inch from removing her wand from his throat. Her eyes burned and her wand shook from holding back the vicious curse he knew she had in her arsenal. He should know. He taught it to her. He remembered the results one afternoon out in the orchard. She was lethal, though not unless absolutely necessary. “If anyone knows about psychosis, you would. You were friends with so many, you’d recognize it immediately. The asshole who gave you your precious dark mark, the one you hide in mortal shame now, was a psychopath. Didn’t he expect you to fail in killing Dumbledore? Wasn’t he expecting you to die to pay for your father’s incompetence?”
Draco slumped, shrinking some in his yellow Potioneer robes. “Yes, he did.”
Hermione slowly lowered her wand. “Come with me, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco gave one last look at Ron and followed the diminutive witch to her desk further back in the department. A different solicitor, a wizard with an oversized jacket and tie, took her place at the front desk. Ron shook his head at seeing Draco cowed before his pissed off wife. She would be blazing by the time she got home from work today. Maybe he should get home first and charm the kitchen so she could fling dishes everywhere and they could be easily repaired. Or take a nap so he could be ready to shag her rough like she wanted on her worst days.
“This one’s your cock-up, Malfoy, not ours,” Ron said to himself. Too bad arresting the git required a trip to his own department and five feet of parchment as required for arresting Malfoy. Every line had to be factually accurate because, knowing that git, his solicitor would have him out and home in an hour if every single thing wasn’t properly documented.
“Name?” Hermione had her quill out along with the requisite four feet of parchment for filing with the Wizengamot.
“You know my bloody name, Granger.”
She looked up from the parchment and inkwell and gave him a foul look. “Every moment that you annoy me is another moment before I send an owl for your solicitor. Every moment that you are shirty with me is another one that I will make sure that I speak with your solicitor and leave you in a cell downstairs. Every moment that you impede the job I am doing for the Ministry is another one I will have added on in the Wizengamot. See, unlike four years ago, the Wizengamot has changed. It’s not a sure bet you will walk out a free man. They take probation violations as seriously as the original arrest charge. Your name and lack of galleons can’t buy your way out of violating your license.”
“Fine,” he scowled. “Draco Lucius Malfoy.” Hermione wrote and Draco saw how hurried yet legible it was.
“Residence?”
“Christ, Granger, are you an idiot?”
“Mr. Malfoy, if you give me any more cheek, I will slap that smug grin all the way to Cambridge.”
“Fine, Granger. Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.”
“Wand, length and core, please.” The please sounded forced.
Malfoy handed over his wand. “14 inches, Walnut, Dragon heartstring.”
Hermione made a note of it and handed it back.
“Why are you giving my wand back to me?”
Hermione took a deep breath. “I’m not the one who confiscates wands, Mr. Malfoy. I leave that to the bailiffs who are responsible for holding your property.” Hermione kept writing until an interoffice memo landed on her desk. She opened it, shook her head, and binned it.
“Please tell me that’s a note from my Solicitor that I’m free to go?”
“Actually, Mr. Malfoy, it’s from the Director of MLS. He says that since your arrest report stipulates you broke your license, you are to be held for a hearing before you can be released into your solicitor’s custody.”
“What!” Draco stood up and Hermione’s wand was in her hand, pointed at him.
“Either sit down now or I will immobilize you, according to the protocols established by the Wizengamot in 1998.”
Draco dropped into the chair next to Hermione’s desk. She lowered her wand and picked her quill back up.
“I didn’t violate my license. I’ve been meeting with my case manager weekly and attending meetings. I never signed off on the no-drinking stipulation. So I could have a drink at the Leaky before flooing home.”
Hermione kept quiet but listened as he prattled on, slurring a word here and there.
“I was at the bar, having a drink, and she walked up. I asked her to join me in a Firewhiskey and she refused. I tried again and she said no. I asked a third time, putting my hand on hers.”
“That’s battery, Mr. Malfoy.”
“No, it’s not. It’s me touching her hand in a friendly way. I didn’t hurt her or have any intention of hurting her.”
“She refused you twice and you still did it. That’s battery, Mr. Malfoy, according to Wizarding Law and English Muggle Law. It’s been that on the books for decades. You can’t touch people after they tell you no. Didn’t you know that?”
“That’s a stupid law.”
Another memo flew into the office and hit Hermione in her hair. She removed the over-sized parchment and scanned it. “Your hearing is scheduled for Monday before a full bank of the Wizengamot. It seems the Ministry is taking the arrest seriously. The witch you battered – “
“It wasn’t assault and battery!”
“ – was under 17 and thus a minor under Wizarding Law. Assault and battery on a minor is worse.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“That’s the arrest report, with two witnesses, not counting Auror Weasley.” Hermione looked up and Draco leaned back in his chair as far as it would allow. The snarl on Hermione’s face was murderous.
“Director Sutcliffe has asked me to prosecute, Mr. Malfoy. Whether the witch holds up under my interrogation in two days or not, the fact remains that you still purchased Firewhiskey at the Leaky Cauldron, which is a violation of your license per the sentencing decree from 1999. Maybe that stipulation was included because you were abusing alcohol and were unable to coherently understand the consequences set down for you. Maybe it was included as a boilerplate requirement then. No matter what, though, is that your name is on the paperwork and thus a legally binding contract. You violated it. The Leaky Cauldron is a public establishment and thus a violation of your sentence.” Hermione leaned in closer and Draco further back, now terrified of the witch with his life in her hands. “I would hope, for your sake, that you have someone who will speak on your behalf that has any decent standing, because if you do not have a single shred of mitigating circumstance to support why you were drinking in public and accosting an under-aged witch in the company of her grandfather at the Leaky, I will put you in Azkaban for the full five years you escaped from the last time you were in the Wizengamot. Do you understand me, Mr. Malfoy?”
“I do.”
Hermione sent a memo flying while she continued writing. “Once the paperwork is filed, Mr. Malfoy, I will owl your legal representative. Who is your solicitor and where does the owl need to go?”
“David Solomon, at Selwyn and Associates. I… I can’t afford my father’s solicitor or barrister. My probation has been working at St. Mungo’s without pay.”
“Noted. I will owl him once the bailiff takes you to holding.”
“Can’t I be under house arrest again? I have to be – “
“Unlike last time, Mr. Malfoy – “
“Why won’t you call me Draco?”
“We’re not friends, Mr. Malfoy but because I am a professional solicitor for the Ministry, papered in Magical Law, and while I despise you completely, I also have a job to do, professionally and without my emotions clouding my judgement. Now, you have to go to holding because you broke license for drinking in public. That is a mandatory remand. However, because I….. because of your notoriety, I will ask them to put you in a single cell, away from others. It wouldn’t do the Ministry any good if you are beaten to a pulp by anyone else in the holding cells.”
“You could let me go. I have a job to attend.”
Hermione snorted. “Saving your arse, Mr. Malfoy, is the last thing I would do to jeopardize my employment. My professionalism is what is keeping you safe while in Ministry custody. See, you aren’t worth the twenty feet of paperwork for the Wizengamot if anything happened to you while in custody.” Hermione sent a memo flying and not thirty seconds later, a hulking man strode up to her desk.
“Bailiff, please take Mr. Malfoy to holding cell three. Confiscate his wand, his shoes, his belt, and anything in his pockets. He is to speak with no one until his Solicitor arrives. ”
“Why the bloody hell are they taking those things, Granger?”
Hermione stood up and got under his nose. “Because, Mr. Malfoy, I will not have you sully my reputation in this department by dying on me while in custody for breaking license. You will live to see your Wizengamot hearing in two days whether you like it or not.” She turned to the hulking bailiff standing quietly. “Bailiff, take him away. And Mr. Malfoy, your employer will be notified shortly.”
Hermione watched the blond wizard taken from her presence and uncurled her left hand. The sapphire stone in her engagement ring had dug into the flesh of her palm, breaking the skin, reminding her of the blood spilled at his residence years prior. The goblin silver band, etched with runes only she could read, reminded her that the one she loved more than destroying her tormentor was waiting for her at home once her day was finished.
She pointed her wand at the wound and healed it, much like Ron helped heal her. For him, she’d continue to follow the law.
“My apologies, sir, but your decision on this case is mental.”
Ewan Purifoy, Supreme Warlock and Mugwump for the Wizengamot, looked up from his desk and the stack of parchment Hermione dumped on him ten minutes prior. “You’re throwing aside hundreds of years of jurisprudence in Wizarding society – “
“I’m giving a young man a vastly needed break. He’s had a hard enough life the last seven years and he needs it.”
“The law says otherwise, sir.”
“Do you not believe in mercy, Granger?”
“As an officer of Magical Law, I don’t have a choice for mercy, when it comes to following the law.”
For the last 2 days, she argued with everyone who came across her path about consequences of breaking the law, violating license, and treating a minor poorly. No one except those she was closest to could be arsed, way she saw it.
“Granger, give over on this farce,” Purifoy said. “He’s already paid enough.”
“Has he?” She hissed back. “You seem to want to perpetuate the system we had when Voldemort was running the Ministry via his surrogate Thicknesse. One set of laws for the Purebloods and the wealthy and another set, even more harsh, for those who weren’t acceptable in Wizarding society. That is how corruption corrodes the system, sir.”
“Well I think he’s paid enough. Your blind vendetta – “
“Is not blind at all, sir. I’m following the rules, laws, and procedures handed down in hundreds of years of wizarding jurisprudence and you want to toss them aside because it’s Draco Malfoy, the grandson of one of your dearest friends. That corruption of the law cannot abide.”
“Your hatred of the boy has blinded you. He was a lad learning that his way wasn’t right.”
“Your sentimentality and laxity by giving him multiple breaks from the consequences of his actions harms society. He has to face some punishment for breaking the law, and another inconsequential virtual slap on the wrist, go to your room without supper will only enable him to flaunt the law yet again. It cannot stand, sir.”
“You honestly want him in Azkaban for five years, for drinking in a pub?”
“I want him in Azkaban for five years for committing assault on a minor when he was still on probation.”
“Isn’t that cruel, Granger, even by your demanding standards?”
“Well, considering he stood aside and did nothing when I was being tortured to death, I’d say it’s comeuppance for the choices he’s made.”
There was a knock at the door and a bailiff entered, followed by Malfoy and his solicitor, David Solomon. The two well-dressed men sat down in chairs opposite the supreme Warlock Purifoy.
“You’re probably wondering why you’re in my chambers rather than before a full bank of the Wizengamot.”
“It had crossed my mind, sir.” The solicitor gave Hermione one look and turned his attention back to the distinguished wizard on the other side of the desk. “I thought my client would be facing a trial.”
“Under the circumstances, I felt it was a waste of time for a violation of license on Malfoy’s case.”
“You’re not honestly throwing out the assault and battery charges, are you?” Hermione’s voice ended in a shrill hiss.
“I am because the grandfather of the witch in question didn’t witness what happened, only the aftermath. She refused to give testimony when approached by a Ministry bailiff later that day. She refused to even agree to an interview. While Auror Weasley gave his arrest report and his statements, without her testimony, there isn’t enough evidence for assault and battery charges against a minor.”
“So you are discounting the owner of the Leaky Cauldron’s eyewitness testimony too, I presume?”
“I am, Solicitor Granger. It boils down to a case of he said, she said, and in this situation, without her testifying, I have to side with Mr. Malfoy’s testimony, through his solicitor.”
Everyone in the room could hear Hermione’s teeth grinding.
“However, Solicitor Granger is right that the law has to be upheld.” Supreme Mugwump Purifoy looked at Draco sitting small in his chair. “You did violate your license by drinking out in public. And that license, issued in 1999, has to be upheld, in some way.”
“But sir, you’ve received the statement from my client. And you also know the circumstances why he was doing such.”
The Supreme Warlock ignored both solicitors. “Bailiff, bring in the two character witnesses for Mr. Malfoy.”
The bailiff stepped out and within moments brought in Healer David Greengrass and Astoria Greengrass.
“I presume everyone in this room knows the Healer as well as his daughter.”
Hermione gave a nod to both. Healer Greengrass was one of the few healers she truly respected, as a Pureblood. His neutrality during the war kept Percy alive while he worked for Dolores Umbridge in the Ministry the year of the coup. He treated many muggleborns secretly at a storefront clinic in Paddington.
“Mr. Malfoy, they asked to speak on your behalf. It also seems that you’ve made a tremendous impression on the Healer as well as his daughter in the years you’ve worked at St. Mungo’s.”
Two more chairs appeared in the middle of the gathering, for Healer Greengrass and Astoria to sit. Draco reached out and squeezed Astoria’s hand once before she returned her hands to her lap.
“Now before we go any further, would you like to add any additional statements Miss Greengrass?”
“Solicitor Granger,” Astoria’s voice was soft compared to the rest, “we’ve known each other for years which is why I am asking for your clemency for Draco. It’s hypocritical considering I support your work for justice but I ask that you hear me out. I know the law demands payment for his failing, but I am asking for leniency. Let him keep working at the Hospital, and house arrest for the remainder. His work is important, as you well know. While I know what he did before the war and during it, I also know that his actions now are small amendments to his disgrace. His probation is his work, now, being paid less than an apprentice fresh out of Hogwarts. His arrest two days prior was humiliating, considering how disgraced his family name is now. My father,” she smiled at Healer Greengrass, “is helping him by giving him a job and obligations. He’s attending his meetings with his case manager weekly and made a mistake by violating his license. He told me he regrets it bitterly. Please, be merciful.”
Hermione sat in her chair, giving Draco a stoic look. “And you, Healer Greengrass? Are you here to speak on Mr. Malfoy’s behalf?”
“I am. I can see it on your face how much you despise him. But I am also one man in dispensing mercy to anyone and everyone who needs my care. You can trust me when I say that Mr. Malfoy needs healing, and incarcerating him in Azkaban will not do it. I can’t help the young man realize the shame of his upbringing if he’s left stewing in Azkaban for hurting an under-aged witch, even if it wasn’t intentionally.”
“He violated his license, which he freely signed years ago, stipulating - “
“I’m well aware of it, Solicitor Granger. You’ve argued for it countless times since Mr. Malfoy was arrested.” Supreme Warlock Purifoy scanned three more pieces of parchment before laying the stack down. “Now, I have to decide and balance the needs of the system with the mercy that the Greengrass family is asking for.”
“Sir, please, with all due respect – “ Hermione was cut off with a wave from the warlock.
“Mr. Malfoy, if Solicitor Granger had her way, you would be facing five years in Azkaban, for violating your parole. I find that cruel, considering that you are only convicted by me of drinking in public, even if the mitigating circumstances were more than explanatory.”
“Circumstances?” Hermione hissed. “He chose to violate his parole. What other mitigating circumstances are there?”
“Yes, circumstances. He perfected a former potions master’s recipe for Wolfsbane potion, for the werewolf population that comes to St. Mungo’s for relief for their condition. Because of certain methods and efficiencies he developed, those afflicted will benefit from the new treatments, and live healthier lives.”
“That doesn’t excuse what happened, sir.”
“I know. But to throw him in Azkaban for such, right as he was celebrating his success would be beyond foolish and short-sighted on our part.”
Hermione flopped back. “So, because he does something positive, he gets to break his parole, because what he’s done has value to you.” She crossed her arms. “How bloody noble, almost saint-like, so he can be excused from the consequences of his actions.”
“Give over, Solicitor Granger. I didn’t say he was free to go. I said that there were mitigating circumstances.” The elderly wizard looked at Malfoy’s solicitor before pushing a piece of parchment across. “This is a summary of my decision, and binding for the Wizengamot. While I cannot excuse your choices, Mr. Malfoy, and cannot let you escape all consequences for them, this is my mercy: You are hereby under house arrest for the next six months and fined one thousand galleons.”
“Six months! One thousand galleons! I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Six months, provided you can leave the manor for work and medical appointments. You also have a year to pay your fine. To comply, a trace will be added to your person, so should you violate your probation again, Aurors will be there to arrest you. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.” The wizard turned to Hermione. “Is that acceptable to you, Solicitor Granger?”
“Absolutely not but since you are taking nothing that I say into consideration, I will have to file my protest with the Wizengamot and the Minister when this is over.”
“Go ahead, Granger. This is politics and also social balancing, for the good of our society.” He turned back to the remaining people in the room. “Mr. Malfoy will also be back under license for another five years, under the same conditions before he violated them. I believe that will be acceptable in light of the alternative options of incarceration at Azkaban for three months.”
“Three months?” Hermione growled. “Any other wizard automatically receives six months!”
“More than adequate, sir,” Solicitor Solomon replied immediately.
“Finally,” he looked at Healer Greengrass as well as Astoria. “Since you have demonstrated that you are smitten with this flawed young man, I do hope he listens well to any continued counsel, from both of you. As for you, Solicitor Granger, while you have the right to despise and detest Mr. Malfoy for what happened previously, he is still considered a productive member of our society, regardless of how you feel towards him.
“It’s a good thing you feel pity and remorse for him, sir, because I have zero respect for someone who advocates murder of those who aren’t Purebloods or actively seeks my death by standing aside while – “
“Enough, Granger. I will see you in my chambers tomorrow morning.”
“You’re right, sir. I will be in first thing to discuss this travesty of justice.” She picked up her dragonskin satchel and stalked out, leaving the rest in the Warlock’s chambers. Hermione refrained from slamming the door to the supreme Warlock’s office and instead decided that the first one to cross her path with a negative word would have their head bitten off.
She made it to the lift and punched the button. Her temper was up and nothing short of –
The lift doors opened and she saw Ron inside, grinning shyly for one half second before he registered the scowl on her face. “What happened, love?”
She stepped into the lift and punched the ground floor. She’d deal with the mess at work after she had her meeting in chambers. “The bastard got away with it again. I am so sick of Pureblood prats getting multiple breaks and unjustified leniency when poor witches and wizards would be in Azkaban for a year for what he did. But no, because his grandfather was friends with the supreme warlock, he gets house arrest and probation again.”
The lift moved and she stood there ready to bite someone.
“How can I help?”
She turned and saw his eyes were a darker shade of blue. “When are you off duty?”
Ron lifted his wrist. “Now, if you want.”
Hermione stepped in close, reaching behind his collar to his neck and pulling him close to her. She whispered across his lips, “Take me home and fuck me. It’s the only way I know to cope with being furious.”
“Do we need safe words tonight?” He brushed his lips across hers.
“Fuck yes.”
39 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fleetwood Mac - Rumours
Rating: 15/15
Best song: The Chain (or whichever song is playing at any given moment)
“Fleetwood Mac”. What comes to mind when you hear those words? Is it late 70s mainstream pop/soft-rock? The band that turned everything on the radio into soft mush way before the Police did? Stevie Nicks? Lindsey Buckingham? The other girl in the band? How about when someone says “I love Fleetwood Mac”, or “I’m a Fleetwood Mac fan”? Is it “mainstream pop sellout with no taste or artistic sensibility who should listen to King Crimson if they want to hear some TRUE art”? This is all completely understandable, but to a point, it’s also all wrong.
Quick history lesson (feel free to skip this paragraph if you already know or if you don’t really care): Fleetwood Mac started out as a British blues band, a spinoff of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers, and consisted of Peter Green on guitar, Jeremy Spencer on slide guitar, Mick Fleetwood on drums, and Bob Brunning on bass. Green named the band Fleetwood Mac after the rhythm section, and to entice John McVie into joining, and after a few gigs, Bob Brunning (who was only ever intended as a replacement anyway) was out and McVie was in. They released two hardcore blues albums, the latter of which featured a band friend named Christine Perfect on piano. Neither of these albums really established any sort of real identity, though; however successful their singles got (“Albatross”, “Black Magic Woman” (yep, THAT one), “The Green Maralishi”), they weren’t going to make it as a blues band. Green found guitarist Danny Kirwan playing in a basement somewhere and considered it such a shame Kirwan hadn’t made it professionally that he ended up adding him to the band. This added a severely needed change to the band, as Kirwan was more of a folksy guy than anything, and this new influence created an album called Then Play On, which was dark, gloomy, folksy, and bluesy, but definitely not faceless like the band’s previous blues output had been. Green’s schizophrenia overtook him eventually, and he had to leave the band. The next album was dominated by Jeremy Spencer, and it was a 50s parody album called Kiln House. Spencer then left, and John McVie married Christine Perfect. The band found a guitarist named Bob Welch and let him in the band without audition, and Christine Perfect (now Christine McVie) officially joined the band as well. They put out a prog-influenced soft-rock album called Future Games, which is notable for having the first contributions of both Welch and Christine (but pretty boring otherwise). Kirwan had become a serious alcoholic by this time, and his behavior became erratic (smashing guitars, refusing to go on stage, etc.), so there was one more album released with him (Bare Trees, which shows Christine and Welch perfecting their styles and Kirwan finally becoming a rocker) before he was let go. Fleetwood Mac fell into total chaos at this point, and hired a guitarist named Bob Weston and a vocalist named Dave Walker. Both of these contributed one subpar song to the next album, Penguin, which was otherwise dominated by Christine’s pop songs and Welch’s prog ones. Walker was fired, and John McVie became an alcoholic. The band released Mystery to Me, where Welch was given free rein to do songs in lots of genres (no, really, it’s pretty diverse), and it spawned their biggest hit to that point, “Hypnotized” (my favorite pre-1975 Fleetwood Mac song). The album didn’t do so well aside from that, and this, combined with the fact that Bob Weston was having an affair with Fleetwood’s wife, Jenny Boyd (sister of Patti Boyd, the star of a similar love triangle with Eric Clapton and George Harrison and the subject of Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, incidentally), caused enormous tensions within the band. Weston was kicked out, the band’s manager created a band that toured as Fleetwood Mac but had nothing to do with the real band, giant legal battles ensued, the band relocated from England to Los Angeles and fired their manager, and the next album, Heroes Are Hard to Find, featured Christine and Welch fighting hard for creative direction, to subpar results. Welch finally left, and Fleetwood found Lindsey Buckingham in a studio and asked him to join on the strength of a song of his. Buckingham joined on the condition that his girlfriend and music partner Stevie Nicks could also join, and they released a mid-70s mainstream pop/soft-rock album called Fleetwood Mac (clearly a “rebooting of the franchise”- they knew this would be a New Thing), which featured three distinct songwriting personalities: Lindsey Buckingham, the Nervous Rock Guitarist of “Monday Morning” and “I’m So Afraid”; Stevie Nicks, the Mystical Balladeer of “Rhiannon” and “Landslide”; and Christine McVie, the Happy Popper of “Over My Head” and “Say You Love Me”.
Now why did I take the time to painstakingly type all of that out when you could have read it elsewhere online? For one thing, to show that “Fleetwood Mac” actually means a few different things, and that the story does not start and end with Lindsey Buckingham and Stevie Nicks, especially since Christine McVie had been at least involved with the band since almost the very beginning (though I don’t blame the public for thinking that); and much of the pre-1975 Fleetwood Mac output is underrated; don’t be afraid to try it out, because there’s at least one song I totally love on every single one of those records, barring the first two and Heroes, maybe. For another, to show just how much of a mess this band had been since the dawn of time. And for one more, to show how important historical context has always been for the band; it may have been named after the trusty rhythm section, but it always depended on the actual songwriters, and the nature of the members’ personal troubles often directly affected the quality of the music.
And there is no better proof of that last point than Rumours, one of the best-selling and most critically acclaimed albums the world has ever seen, with a 99/100 on Metacritic. The context for this album (I know, more history, but we’re almost done) is this: Buckingham and Nicks were in a terrible on/off relationship, the McVies were divorcing after eight years of marriage, Fleetwood and his wife were on the verge of divorce after she’d had another affair with his best friend, Nicks became addicted to cocaine, one of Nicks’ songs was continually rejected by the others and she had multiple breakdowns about it (it was left off of the album initially, but restored to later pressings), and the tabloids loved every minute of this and blew everything up. Indeed, the album is titled Rumours in response to the stuff the press was saying, such as that Buckingham and Nicks were the parents of Fleetwood’s daughter (!). Essentially, the band had fallen apart emotionally, but their recording contract demanded a new album, and they all stopped speaking to each other except about the music and lyrics. It follows that the only album that really comes to mind as being as tremendously focused and as connected to its personal context in terms of quality that I can think of is Abbey Road.
Because the songs absolutely rule. You already know most of them from classic rock radio, probably, but if you don’t have this album, nothing I say will do it proper justice—go get it. Each of the three songwriters is at their melodic and emotional peak, which means this album goes off like a bomb. Stevie gets four songs, Christine gets four songs, Lindsey gets three songs, and there’s a collective Band Anthem as well. Describing each of these songs is a fool’s errand; most of them are so ingrained in our culture already that typing out what I think about the melodies of each of them would be like pouring a glass of water into the ocean. Suffice it to say that the whole record is unimpeachable from any technical standpoint; the production is crystal clear, the instruments all sound great, the harmonies are awesome throughout, the solo vocals are brilliant and full of personality (especially Stevie Nicks, whose voice has one of the most eerie, yet easy-to-listen-to timbres I can imagine), the instrumental melodies and playing are great (Lindsey Buckingham is one of the most underrated guitarists in the world, and his ability to depict any emotion, especially total desperation, is unparalleled; special awards for playing on this album go to the acoustic guitar playing on “Never Going Back Again”, the electric guitar soloing on “Go Your Own Way” and “You Make Loving Fun”, and John McVie’s bass solo that leads into the coda of “The Chain”), and the vocal melodies are simply among the best anybody has heard. Verses and choruses and bridges, all are brilliant on literally every song. A slight, slight exception might be Stevie’s closing “Gold Dust Woman”, whose verse melody has always been kinda hard for me to grab, but the “Well did she make you cry…” chorus is superb anyway, and besides, the song is great for other reasons I’ll get to. No, what I’d like to prattle about is the emotional content of the record, which is extremely thick, but often subtle enough so that the album doesn’t lose any accessibility.
A big way to describe this record is “Sunshine Through Tears”, the idea of putting on a happy face even when you’re completely breaking down, and this is exactly what the band was doing when creating it. Buckingham’s songs are just like that; the opening “Second Hand News” has a joyous-sounding melody, and fun acoustic strumming, and it’s a ton of fun to sing along to those “bam-bam-bam”s. But have you taken a look at those lyrics? The song is an ANGRY one, one about being replaced in a relationship and screaming to be left alone (“Won’t you lay me down in the tall grass and let me do my stuff”). Once you know that, it doesn’t take long to hear Lindsey singing this happy melody and imagining him really tearing himself up once he gets to the “I’m just second hand news, I’M JUST SECOND HAND NEWS, YEAH”. Pretty much the same things can be said for “Go Your Own Way”, perhaps Fleetwood Mac’s most famous song and deservedly so. This is also a song, however, of triumph; it may be an angry song at its core, but it’s clear that the subject going their own way will ultimately turn out to be a good thing, and Lindsey is proud enough of himself to admit that (“Loving you isn’t the right thing to do…”). His third contribution, “Never Going Back Again”, is the stripped-down acoustic one with the cute little riff and the trippy humming harmonies, and it’s got a happy folksy melody as well, but it’s a song about a lost opportunity with someone, and it can be fairly depressing if you really listen to it.
Somewhat more depressing are Stevie’s numbers. Stevie, like I said, had grown herself a nice cocaine addiction by the time this album was being made, and oh boy, it shows. “Dreams” is an incredibly subtle song, but really listen to it and tell me you’ve heard anything like that in your life—the stripped-down sound and two-note bassline/constant IV-V alternation that never resolves to I (especially at the end) is an awesome move and it creates an atmosphere of tension and bitterness, and the weird guitar bends and Stevie’s voice give the song a psychedelic swirl, while the passive-aggressive lyrics (basically “Okay, fine, go, but you’ll realize what you’ve lost eventually”) only add to it. As much as I love “Rhiannon”, this song grinds that one’s bones to make its bread. “I Don’t Want to Know”, written way before Stevie and Lindsey joined the band, is probably the song best described by the “Sunshine Through Tears” tag; it’s all based on Stevie and Lindsey practically screaming at each other to a joyful pop melody. This may be the weakest song on the album, and it’s still awesome. “Silver Springs” is a ballad with a fantastic build into another tense, endlessly rising melody, with Stevie screaming her head off (“I will FOLLOW you DOWN ‘til the SOUND of my VOICE will HAUNT you”—her voice certainly will haunt me). Oh, more context—this was the song that was left off the album and relegated to the B-side of “Go Your Own Way” on the pretext that it was weaker than the others, and that’s frankly utter nonsense; I’m not interested in any edition of Rumours that does not include “Silver Springs”. And finally, she gets to close the album with “Gold Dust Woman”, one of the creepiest songs EVER recorded; it’s about her cocaine addiction, and it’s one of the few songs on the album that drops the happy face. The hellish ending, with Stevie and Lindsey screaming over the spooky countryish groove while it slowly intensifies is a terrifying way to end the record, and all the better for it.
The absolute key to Rumours, though, is Christine McVie. Her contributions to this record, and therefore to the world of music, cannot be understated. Over the course of her time in Fleetwood Mac (and, therefore, her marriage to John McVie, which had just ended), she had honed the craft of writing one shiny-happy pop song after another—and her hooks got so good that she should have gone into corporate songwriting. She is the only one who saves the record from drowning in its negative emotions, and does her best to balance those with songs that depict nothing but pure joy and optimism. “Don’t Stop” (one of the most famous from the album, and used in Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign; it may be one of my least favorite songs here but it still totally rules, and it’s sung in duet with Buckingham), “Songbird” (just Chris and a piano this time, a practically perfect piano ballad, and in her words, “a little hymn” to “nobody and everybody”), and “You Make Loving Fun” (her, and Fleetwood Mac’s, first run at disco, with some phenomenal vocal moves like “I’d like to belie-ie-ie-ie-ieve…”) are all happy happy songs, some of the happiest ever made. It’s only near the very end of the record that we get her fourth contribution, “Oh Daddy”, and the walls come crashing down. This song is sarcastic, dark, and just plain defeated (“If there’s a fool around, it’s got to be me”, “And I can’t walk away from you, baby, if I tried”) with a sparse musical backing that really brings to mind poor Chris sitting alone at the piano with a blank expression on her face, defeated by everything; it turns out her other songs were probably a sham, no matter how much she might deny that by saying they were about her relationship with her new boyfriend or that “Oh Daddy” was about Mick Fleetwood. Not even Happy Happy Joy Joy Christine McVie could come out of all of that emotional turmoil in one piece, and that makes this song totally devastating, probably the most devastating on the album because of that. For what it’s worth, this was the song that came closest to knocking “The Chain” off of its perch as Best Song for me.
Oh! That’s right. “The Chain” is unbelievable. All five members (yeah, even the rhythm section for which the band is named) wrote this song together, and if you don’t believe that was a feat, well, I’ll direct you back to those “Context” paragraphs. You probably already know it, and if you don’t, well, like with the whole album, nothing I can say is ever going to do it justice. It does not pretend either; it lays all of that anger out there (“DAMN your love, DAMN your lies”), and I think “the chain” keeping them together could also be said to represent the band’s recording contract forcing out the album. Everything about this song is utter perfection, lyrics to intro to verse to chorus to harmonies to bass solo to guitar solo to coda. Man.
There are only a couple more things I want to talk about with this album. One of them is the brilliant sequencing, just about as brilliant as almost any sequencing on any album (maybe The Beatles and Skylarking beat it, but maybe they don’t). Fade in with that joyful acoustic strumming for an upset song, and this creates some ironic tension. The irony becomes REAL tension on “Dreams”, which famously doesn’t ever resolve, just keeps bobbing up and down until you’re ready to scream. Short acoustic interlude follows with more ironic tension, followed by one of the most optimistic pop-rockers ever recorded, just in case you forgot you were listening to a Mainstream Pop Album, and a necessary respite before the triumphant madness-kept-in-check of “Go Your Own Way”, which is then followed by a mellow, but resplendent love ballad. Then, on the reissue, “Silver Springs” starts out sounding kind of similar to “Songbird”, but grows into a screaming frenzy, and it’s the only way to bridge “Songbird” to the (for the first time) unbridled emotional hell of “The Chain” (do you see why I can’t do without “Silver Springs”? You’d get whiplash by going directly from “Songbird” to “The Chain”!), the climax of the album. An optimistic song is the only thing that could possibly save our nerves after that one, and “You Make Loving Fun” sure qualifies. But it’s a sort of false relief, because then Stevie and Lindsey then reach a total boiling point on “I Don’t Want to Know”, the last upbeat(-sounding) song of the album, and they have a screaming match until the band totally breaks down for “Oh Daddy” and “Gold Dust Woman”, and the record fades away with a haunting country groove while a clearly agonizing Stevie wails the night away.
So how did this become such a popular, mainstream record if it’s such a downer? Simple. The answer is subtlety. Each and every song on this album (except “The Chain” and the last two songs) is catchy and friendly-sounding and either fun or relaxing to listen to, even and especially “Dreams”. “Ross, doesn’t that mean the band sacrificed their artistic integrity to make the record popular?” Well, no. Irony is the record’s greatest emotional weapon, and I think Fleetwood Mac knew that going in. This is why Rumours works on multiple levels: it can work as just a collection of catchy mainstream 70s pop/soft-rock tunes that’s great entertainment to sing along to on a car drive (I have used it many times for that), and it can work just as well as a thrill ride through the entire spectrum of human emotions and interactions (I have used it many times for that as well). It may take a while to tap into that latter one, especially if you grew up hearing the songs out of their context on the radio like I did, but with some time, some education, and some good will, you’ll be as impacted and as thrown around by this record as I am.
The original purpose for any art form is the expression of human emotion. Rumours, therefore, is of the highest art form, because not only does it express those emotions (even if they take a while to uncover), but it creates memorable experiences out of those expressions by also being the catchiest album around. How the five members of Fleetwood Mac were able to go on after this album, which was obviously incredibly taxing on everyone involved, is a Mystery to Me (of course, you could say “Well, they made MONEY off of it”, and I would pretend I hadn’t heard you), especially since Fleetwood Mac couldn’t ever keep the same lineup for two albums in a row previously. But they would never manage to top it, or even come close; Tusk and Say You Will are both great records in their own ways, but the song quality and emotional resonance of either are nowhere near the level of this masterpiece, let alone Mirage, Tango in the Night, or Behind the Mask (and certainly not Time). I frankly wonder if anyone has ever really topped this record, and I’d sure like to hear it if they had. Do I need to listen to it that often? Not really; much of it’s been ingrained in my head since I was a kid. But is it worth anything when I do? You BET it is. What a well-written, great-sounding, ironic, self-contradictory, and utterly fascinating emotional rollercoaster of a record. Unless, of course, it’s just a bunch of simplistic radio fodder for the masses. That’s cool too.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
AdsCrisp Review Should You Get It
AdsCrisp Evaluation - Are you looking for even more expertise regarding AdsCrisp? Please read through my straightforward review about it prior to picking, to evaluate the weaknesses and also toughness of it. Can it be worth your effort and time and money?
Presenting AdsCrisp
Just how to Create and Set Up Successful Facebook Video Ads (Component 3)
Seldom will you get things right on the initial go, so do not be disheartened if things do not originally go well.
Simply want to experiment with different advertisement formats and content advertising and marketing styles, in addition to various targeting options (something we'll cover later on).
Currently allow's check out how you can in fact create a video clip advertisement.
Establishing and targeting the advertisement
First go to https://www.facebook.com/ads/manager/creation.
As soon as there, select the option of 'Get video sights.'
Then, choose your Facebook Page.
You then require to establish the targeting for your video ad campaign.
When setting up your AdsCrisp targeting, it can be a good concept to develop a Buyer Persona in advance.
This will aid you identify the traits as well as qualities of your perfect customer.
At a minimum, you'll require place and also 'Interests' data, based upon your perfect customer.
That's because, aside from area as well as age, rate of interests are most likely one of the most vital aspect when targeting your video ads-- specifically for Facebook.
Allow's rapidly discover exactly how you can boost the targeting for your Facebook Video Clip Ads.
Allow's picture that I'm developing a Facebook Video Ad targeting individuals thinking about 'Soap making.'.
If I type in Soap making, I'm currently presented with some good passions to target so that I can get in front of the ideal individuals.
Nonetheless, I can also utilize the Target market Insights device to find up with various other targeting suggestions.
If I type Soap Making into the Rate of interests area and afterwards click on the 'Page Suches as' area, I'm given with some data that can be made use of to much better target my advertisements.
Within this area, I can see the pages that this type of target market 'Suches as.' This, basically, tells me what I must be typing right into the 'Passions,' area, when establishing my video content advertising campaign.
The trouble, however, is that there are a great deal of web pages to target right here and targeting every one of these pages will not generate ideal social media engagement or conversion rates.
Nevertheless, if I scroll down, Facebook will inform me which pages/interests are the very best to focus on if I want to reach my target market of individuals thinking about soap production.
There are 2 columns here that are of rate of interest-- 'Affinity' as well as 'Relevance.'.
Affinity tells you just how much more likely a person in your target audience is to like a web page, contrasted to the rest of Facebook's users.
Relevance stands for an average, calculated utilizing fondness web page size and also the number of individuals in your target market that currently like that AdsCrisp page.
Targeting your ads based on 'Affinity' can possibly produce much better outcomes, as it more certain.
Importance, on the various other hand, simply signals what that type of audience could likewise such as, making use of an average.
So, in this instance, it might be an excellent suggestion to target the top 3 pages that hold the highest affinity.
Regardless, that's how you can enhance the targeting for your Facebook Video Clip Ads.
Currently, allow's check out exactly how you can set up Budgeting.
Below, you can pick a daily budget plan amount that you're comfortable with.
When selecting how to optimize your marketing distribution, you have several options.
You can bid based on 'Video Views,' where you're charged just if someone enjoys more than 10 secs of your advertisement.
Or, you can bid on 'Daily Special Reach.'.
To start with, I would certainly recommend that you try the Video clip Views alternative, as this will let you see just how interesting your advertisement truly is.
Besides, you will not be billed if someone doesn't see your video for longer than 10 secs, which is lots of time on Facebook to see if your web content is involving.
AdsCrisp - Is it truly worth the cash
There are way too many people in web marketing today that believe running ads suffice to drive traffic as well as conversions to your store
Right here is the brutal fact concerning generating leads & Sales via paid web traffic:
62% of small companies feel like their Ads are failing
You are paying for advertisements that aren't giving a return, which suggests you are just throwing out time and money.
No one wishes to be expending ads that don't work. What great is such a large pool of clients if you can not successfully reach them?
The good news is there are methods to resolve a trouble. You don't need to belong to that 62%.!
AdsCrisp Testimonial & Overview
Maker: Saurabh Bhatnagar et al
Product: AdsCrisp: 37-in-1 Video Advertisements Suite
Launch Day: 2019-Apr-20
Launch Time: 11:00 EDT
Front-End Cost: $47
Sales Page: https://www.socialleadfreak.com/adscrisp-review-from-a-real-user/
Specific niche:
What Is AdsCrisp?
AdsCrisp is a Tool developed particularly for Video clip Promotion. It allows you develop Video Advertisements for any kind of Social Media (Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, LinkedIn, Pinterest, YouTube) and also for any Advertisement Placement.
Also in future, if I choose to move my emphasis, let's state from Facebook to Twitter, I will not have to shift the tool. I can just use the exact same devices, by simply changing the Ad Layout. In addition to that, it allows me pick from 1.6 Million Stock Free High Definition Images for my Video Clip Advertisement, so I don't have to go check out for it in other places.
PRO
Say goodbye to guesswork prior to creating advertisements
No more imagination to figure out exactly how to create an ad
No more wastefulness of hrs findingthe finest freelancer on Fiverr or Upwork
Instantaneous advertisement development
Say goodbye to hold-up (Freelancers reaction time - 5 to 6 days)
You have product|you can produce & run ad immediately
Transforming Ad every time
Advertisement expert's brain at the heart of this software
Instant ROI
Agency Legal Rights Included
Can offer ads
Can begin an advertising agency using AdsCrisp
About AdsCrisp Author
Saurabh Bhatnagar is renowned for developing high value items, Facebook Ads and also Funnel Skills. He has mentored two organisations struck 7 figures currently. He is a popular web entrepreneur, with over ten years of experience and also has actually previously created around the world hits such as ClickKosh which offered tens of countless units all over the globe.
Finally, I would certainly state that I have already used this as well as generate 50,000 USD in the very first week itself.
Besides me it's been used by testers to make 36,000 USD in revenues.
You will be a fool to not utilize this in your organisation!
AdsCrisp Features & Perks
Benefits
Do away with Irregular Results
You will now stop losing cash on advertisements that don't transform.
It will be easy for you to put the right point in front of your audience
3 to 4 numbers of very easy sales with 60 seconds of effort.
Interest getting
Endless songs library
Endless supply image library
Who Should Acquire AdsCrisp?
AdsCrisp is most fit for local business proprietors, freelancers, independent web marketing professionals, marketing firms who want to drive website traffic to their item/ service as well as have regular sales. If you are hungry for some extra earnings, then you will rejoice to recognize that we will supply exclusive licence to utilize AdsCrisp for client work, supplying Video Advertisement production services, with the ability to create unrestricted Video Advertisements which you can market and maintain all the revenues!
They likewise give you shown to transform design templates that you can straight utilize in your Organisation. In addition to that you can utilize 1000+ images, music prepared to be deployed on your video clip advertisements.
Final thought
If you intend to utilize Social network + Video clip Advertisements after that this is the excellent item you must be seeking. It will quickly aid you grow your sales and also checking account as well as 1.6 Billion active individuals are waiting to see video clip ads like these. It's a software program from the future.
"It's A Good deal. Should I Invest Today?"
Not only are you obtaining access to AdsCrisp for the very best rate ever supplied, but also You're spending totally without risk. AdsCrisp consist of a 30-day Money Back Warranty Policy. When you pick AdsCrisp, your contentment is assured. If you are not entirely satisfied with it for any kind of reason within the very first 30 days, you're qualified to a full refund - no doubt asked. You have actually got nothing to lose! What Are You Awaiting? Try It today and get The Adhering to Perk Currently!
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
wedrawcanoncharacters
We Draw Canon Characters!
dasketcherz
Support me on Ko-fi/Inprnt!
soups-mini-verse
1/6 & 1/4 scale cuteness
ultimatewebsolutionchicago-blog
Ultimate Web Solution Chicago