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eryiss · 3 years

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Chapter Nine - The Hike

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus. Happy Holidays Everyone. Hope you enjoy the chapter.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Nine – The Hike

"As I have stated multiple times," Freed said through gritted teeth. "I have no obligation to work during my time away."

The lawyer was pacing through his home, an agitated expression contorting his features. His left hand clenched and unclenched as he walked around his living room, and he was holding his phone to his ear with enough strength he though it possible he might damage it. He'd been on the call for around twenty minutes at this point, and his patience was wearing very thin.

"And I've told you that your loyalty should be to the company," August, Freed's boss, spat down the microphone. "And you are to be in the office on Saturday to start with your work again. You have been slacking off your duties for too long, and I'm sick of it."

"I haven't been slacking," Freed snapped. "I have been using the contractually obligated time off which I have gathered, something which your HR manager has been insisting I do for months now."

"He didn't mean for this long," August growled. "Taking months off work for some… whim of a project, it's unprofessional. It's selfish."

Freed didn't pay attention to his pacing picking up speed, more agitated anger flooding him in the form of adrenaline. The entire phone call had been like this, and it was pissing Freed off. Because it was Christmas Eve for god's sake, and his boss had called him demanding he cut off his vacation time to work on a project that he had nothing to do with. Not only that, but he had expected Freed to start working on the day after Christmas, which should have been a day off for the entire company no matter what.

The arrogance of the man bothered Freed more than anything. He'd called Freed early in the morning, practically demanded he come into the office, and almost hung up before Freed could deny the request. It was like he felt Freed had nothing to do other than work, an insulting presumption that struck a nerve with Freed.

Because, until recently, it was true.

And, up until August's last comments, that had been the most aggravating thing that his boss had said. But his dismissal of the work he was doing on the house sent a hot flush of anger through the lawyer, as did the insinuation Freed was being selfish. Because in this conversation, Freed was not the selfish one.

"My work on the house happens to be very important to me," Freed said, forcing his voice into a practiced calm. "But that doesn't matter. What matters is, I have legally obtained time off, and you have no ability to demand I work during that time. I will return to the office in January, as I have stated."

"You will mind your place and do as your told," August snapped back, and Freed narrowed his eyes. "How long does it take to fix a damn house anyway?"

"Unimportant," Freed sniped back. "What is important is that I have time off, which I intend to make the best of."

Freed didn't think it would help his case to admit that there was hardly anything else left to do on the house. After moving to Magnolia full time, he and Laxus had been able to prioritise their work on the house and had made good progress with it. The only room left to be modernised and decorated was the bathroom, and that was only because Laxus had been putting off tiling the walls, claiming he had never been good at that.

Furniture had also been moved in, most of it being from what the hotel used before Makarov had renovated it. The purpose of the furniture was so that, when it came to selling the place, it looked more lived in and less sterile. Freed did enjoy having a full house to live in, rather than a few rooms.

"The fact of the matter is, Freed," August continued, and Freed ground his teeth at the sound of his voice. "You're an employee, and you have duties to fulfil. You haven't been doing that, and if you continue to refuse then I might have to rethink your position at our company."

"That would be wrongful dismissal," Freed said firmly. "I have a legal right-"

"Take me to court, kid," August laughed, and it grated on Freed's nerves. "We can see who'll win that. The bratty little fucker, or the respected veteran lawyer who's practiced law in and has earned the praise from every court in the city."

In another situation, Freed would have held his tongue. But he had a limited time left in Magnolia, and he wasn't going to have it cut short. So he spoke.

"If you were that proficient in your job, you wouldn't be begging for my help."

He probably should regret saying it. He didn't.

"How dare you," August snarled, shouting now. "You ought to remember your place in this company, Mr Justine. And while you're doing that you should think about where you want your career to go, because your haviour of the last few weeks has been nothing short of awful. You commit to your job or you lose it."

"I suppose so," Freed growled back. "I wouldn't want to end up in a dead-end job, dictating my ego on people destined to be better at my job than me. Looks what that's done to you."

There was a pulse of silence. Freed still didn't regret his words.

"Be in the office on Saturday or you're fired."

The tome of the call ending rang in Freed's ear, and he lowered his phone to his side. He was still pacing around the living room, filled with anger and adrenaline and annoyance and a lot of other things that he didn't care to identify. Instead, rather than focusing on the threat of dismissal he'd just gotten, he focused his mind on getting rid of the energy that was flooding through him. Because pacing around his living room wasn't helping.

He considered a few things, mind racing as he did so. He thought about going for a jog around the village, but remembered the high street was having a winter market that was blocking off most roads. He considered going to the gym, but didn't know if it was open or not. He momentarily considered punching the tree in the back garden and pretending it's August.

Instead of doing any of that, he pulled out his phone and sent a text.

To: Laxus

How busy are you today? I need to move, and you said that you'd like to take me on a hike at some point, correct? How about later today?

It took a few minutes for Laxus to reply.

From: Laxus

I'll be at the house in ten minutes. Wear something warm.

~~~

The view from atop Magnolia's mountain was beautiful.

It really highlighted how small the village was, with individual houses seeming like small dots of grey from the distance. The midday sun shone down, highlighting the remaining winter dew on the grass, and flowers that surrounded the two men. Vast expanses of large, green fields could be seen from all angles. It really showed just how incredible the countryside could be. Freed understood why Laxus had been so insistent that Freed summit the mountain before he left.

They two men were alone, leaning against a small stone plinth that marked the top of the mountain, as well as pointing to all points of the compass. Laxus was eating one of the sandwiches that Freed had made for them both, while Freed sipped tea from the plastic mug attached to his flask.

Sitting in silence, Freed felt himself relaxing.

When he'd arrived, Laxus hadnt asked what was wrong with Freed despite clearing sensing there was something. Instead he looked Freed up and down, laughed, and said that god must be real because Freed was wearing something other than a suit. Freed had rolled his eyes, pointing out that he was only wearing jeans and had removed his jacket. Laxus didn't say anything at that, instead grinning and shaking his head slightly. Freed decided not to think too hard at what that meant.

They'd only discussed what was happening with Freed when he had brought it up himself.

And Laxus had given him good advice, though not exactly what he wanted to hear. He said that, given how little work Freed needed to do, maybe he should return to work to keep his boss happy. It was probably the right thing to do, but Freed was hesitant to accept it.

Because once he started going back to work, it felt like the end of his time in Magnolia. He wasn't ready for that yet.

But now they were just enjoying their time together, alone. With just the sound of nature surrounding them, it was relaxing. Freed hadn't noticed until that point how little of his time with Laxus had really been relaxing. How they'd always had a task to complete, or something to distract them. But this was nice.

"Why did you come here?" Laxus asked after a while, and Freed looked towards him slowly.

"You insisted the view was important to see," Freed explained, frowning. He trusted Laxus' opinion, did he not know that.

"No, I meant magnolia," Laxus laughed. "I'm not gonna pretend I know much about the law, but I'm pretty sure that if you don't want an inheritance you can deny it right?" He shrugged. "I mean I'm glad you ended up coming here, but it would have been easier not to have a load of debt."

Freed sighed. This was something he had kept to himself since he had attended the reading of the will, and hadn't intended to explain his reasons. But, well, Laxus seemed to be the exception to that. He'd made it clear that he wasn't going to judge Freed or change his opinion of him, so he felt a level of safety with the man.

Laxus was security.

"I never really understood my mother," He admitted. "She was always an anomaly to me, never really made sense. I think she might have felt the same way about me, that was why we were never close."

He could feel Laxus looking at him, and was shocked to feel that he didn't feel uncomfortable about it.

"When Natsu was reading the will, I expected to just dismiss it all and say I didn't want it. He started with the debt, you see, and most of her belongings were sold to diminish it slightly," Freed placed the half empty cup of tea on the grass they sat on. "I was willing – well, perhaps resigned was the correct word. I was resigned to admit that I would never really know who she was, and that I'd have to live with that. And then, there was a house."

Freed laughed at himself, a little self pityingly. He could remember sitting in Natsu's office, almost blind sighted by the fact that his mother had property that nobody had heard of. A flash of romanticised ideas had flowed through Freed, as if his mother had a secret life she had kept hidden from me.

"I thought that it might fill in some of the blanks, allow me to feel closer to her," He shrugged. "It was stupid, in retrospect. It wasn't a secret life or unfulfilled potential; it was a bad investment. So I learned nothing about her and ended up with a large amount of debt."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," Laxus said quietly.

"Please don't be. You're one of the few good things that has come out of her death, don't feel bad about it," Freed chuckle weakly. "I just wished she was more than the somewhat closed off woman with an apparent gambling addiction."

Laxus was quiet for a moment. "How d'you think you'll handle tomorrow without her? You said that Christmas is the only time you'd get together, right?"

"Yes. It'll be… I don't know, really," Freed admitted. "I'm spending most of the day with Ever and Bickslow, so I won't be alone at least. And our Christmas dinners together were always awkward anyway, we'd go to expensive restaurants and make small talk for hours. Arguably this might be a better day, but who knows how I'll be when it starts."

"You can call me, if you want," Laxus offered. "If you wanna talk or anything."

"I might," Freed nodded slightly. "Thank you, it's kind of you to offer."

Laxus smiled a little, and Freed closed his eyes softly. He was tired and, maybe against his better judgment, he slid down and rested his head on Laxus' shoulder. The other man didn't react to it in a way Freed could see, and the lawyer let out a long breath that clouded in the cold air. He felt his muscles relax and his tenseness dissipate.

"I wish I'd met you at a different time in my life," Freed admitted, eyes still closed. "When I was in a better place, not all… fluctuating like I am right now. I feel like all I do is force you to deal with my problems."

"You do a lot more than that, and I think you know it," Laxus had a small smile in his voice. "And if I didn't meet you like this, then I probably wouldn't have met you at all. So I'm fine with it."

"I expect I'd be a lot easier to like had we met a year ago," Freed laughed to himself.

"I like you as you are Freed," Laxus assured him, patting his knee. "I promise you; I wouldn't change it. No matter what."

Freed didn't say anything. He let his eyes remain closed and the cool wind to flow over him.

~~~

They spent most of the day at the mountain together, and by the time Freed had driven Laxus to his home it was early evening. The sun had started to set, and it left a beautiful orange covering the elegant village. As Freed slowed his car to the front of Laxus' house, he had a soft and uncynical smile on his face.

He'd been wearing it for most of the day, now. Ever since Laxus had said… what he'd said, Freed had been fighting a losing battle against a feeling of contentment and comfort.

Really, it was probably an overreaction.

But Laxus wasn't the most emotional person, even if it seemed hypocritical of Freed to think that. Despite that, Laxus' claim that he liked Freed as he was, and that he wouldn't change the way they had met, seemed honest in an almost raw way. There was a weight to the words and, although Freed couldn't yet understand what the weight actually meant, he felt a flush overtake him every time he looked back to the moment. It didn't help that, every time he looked towards Laxus, he was illuminated by the setting sun and looked beautiful in a way Freed couldn't put into words.

The car stopped and, rather than getting out of it, Laxus looked to Freed with a soft expression. It reminded him of his first night living in Magnolia, where they'd sat in the car together and Freed had spent the rest of the night feeling this same level of safety and comfort that he felt now.

"You know what you're gonna do with your job?" Laxus asked.

"Not really," Freed admitted. "I'll think it through tonight, and I can ask Ever and Bickslow for their advice as well."

"Don't stress yourself out too much, the guy probably didn't mean he'd fire you," Laxus grinned slightly. "He was just pissed off you insulted him. You're really not meant to do that to your boss."

"You've never worked in law," Freed chuckled, looking into Laxus' eyes. They were closer than Freed had thought. He swallowed before speaking. "Thank you, for all the things you've done for me. I know you were dismissive about it before, but it really means something to me that you help me as much as you do."

"You help me a lot, too," Laxus said, smiling again. "I mean you might not have noticed it, but I used to kind of just get through each day without really caring about it. Working on the house has been helping me get a bit of purpose. And y'know, I like spending time with ya. That counts for something. So don't act like this is some one-sided thing."

"Perhaps," Freed nodded. "But, you really have helped me. So thank you."

"No need to," Laxus smiled. "But you're welcome."

Freed could feel Laxus' breath on his face, and flashes of memory hit him from the incident at the carnival. He swallowed again, but this time he felt Laxus' eyes looking over him. Scanning his features, as if realising the closeness of the two of them just as Freed had.

His heart pulsed faster.

Seemingly every moment of their friendship hit him. Their first meeting, their shared meals when working on the house, their pseudo-date at the carnival, their almost kiss, their conversations shared in vulnerable moments, how Laxus had somehow become the person Freed relied on when he needed support and comfort. Then, the two of them sitting atop the mountain, Freed with his head resting on Laxus' shoulder, became a memory that he couldn't rid himself of.

He could still feel Laxus' breath on him, and there was a slight tilt in Laxus' head. They were so close.

Almost tentatively, he moved forward. Laxus did the same.

Then another inch. Then another.

Their lips touched, and it was magic.

Elegance was lost on them, as they slowly moved their lips together. Teeth occasionally butted against teeth, the angle wasn't quite right for them, but Freed practically melted into it. The feeling of Laxus' slightly chapped lips against his against his own was euphoria in a way he couldn't believe. He'd kissed men before, and it had always been good, but never like this. There was never anything as… overwhelming as this.

But it was over as fast as it began.

Laxus had pulled away, and they looked at each other in silence. Their lips still red, eyes slightly wide at what they had done. They took a moment to catch their breath, and Freed felt a warm swirl fill his stomach at the tingling sensation on his lips. But it couldn't last long, and Laxus spoke soon after.

"We shouldn't," He spoke so softly, almost regrettably. Freed's stomach clenched slightly.

"Shouldn't we?" He whispered.

"I want to, don't think I don't because I really do," Laxus assured him, and his forehead pressed against Freed's. "But we can't do it. You've only got a few weeks here left, and I know that when you go back things are gonna be different. You won't be able to come back here as often and I might be working more and it just… I can't do that. We can't do that."

"I-I suppose not," Freed admitted, trying to fight the growing dread in him. "But, we could have tonight."

"What?"

"This is selfish and short sighted, and I understand that," Freed whispered. "But I adore you Laxus, more than I thought I could, and I think you might think the same of me. So, even though this might be a mistake, I think we owe it to ourselves. If only for one night."

Laxus surged forward suddenly, pressing their lips together and kissing Freed stronger, with more passion this time. They were already more comfortable in their actions this time, and they pressed into one another. It was incredible, but Laxus pulled away from him. He had a clearly conflicted expression, and Freed closed his eyes.

"We can't," Laxus repeated, regret filling his tone. "I'd love to, but if we kiss again then I don't think I'll be able to stop."

Had he been in any different mood, on any different day, Freed would have left it there. But the comfort and support that Laxus gave him was overtaking his senses, and all he could think of every time he closed his eyes was the feeling of Laxus' shoulder under his cheek as he sat on the mountain. Laxus was addictive to Freed, and he felt as though he deserved to indulge himself.

He leant forward, and kissed Laxus again.

Laxus moved against him, kissing him strongly and placing his hand on the back of his head to pull him in closer. Freed groaned softly as every sense was assaulted by the delightful power that Laxus exuded. His scent, the feel of him, the presence of the man.

"Only tonight," Laxus parroted softly.

"Only tonight," Freed promised.

"Well," Laxus whispered. "Better start driving again."

Freed did just that, leaning away from Laxus with slightly swollen lips and an expression of contentment on his face. He shifted the car into drive and began the journey towards Albion House. As he did, there were two things that he couldn't ignore.

One, Laxus' hand occasionally grazed his when using the gear shift, and each time it sent a thrill down his spine and into his stomach. It was just as magical as their kisses.

Two, the weight of his phone in his pocket, and the heaviness of the unsent email that he had drafted on his phone, which he had written as they walked down the mountain.

A letter of resignation.

One he was undecided if he should send or not.

#Fraxus Day 2020 #Fraxus Day #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #Event #Multichapter #Word Count 3.6k #Fuckyeahfraxus

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captainkippen · 4 years

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RECKLESS • A PUNK! TYRUS AU

Summary:

RATED TEEN for smoking and swearing.

TJ never expected to fall in love with a guy who hung out in the library for fun. Cyrus never expected to kiss a guy in the middle of a mosh pit. Once in a while, life surprises everybody.

Chapter One: Respect The Tub

"Shut up. I'm having a mid-life crisis."

"You're twenty-one."

"Fine, an almost-quarter-life crisis or something, whatever."

"You know, I've seen you overreact before, but this time really takes the cake. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Pfft. It's a great idea. The best idea I've ever had."

"You literally just said yourself that you're having a crisis."

TJ let out a long suffering sigh and glared at Marty. Andi snickered from where she was perched on the edge of the tub behind him. She had two gloved hands covered in bright red sludge buried deep in TJ's hair.

"Don't worry, Marts," she said. "I used to help Bex do her hair all the time when she got bored. Well… one time. If it goes wrong, we can just cut it off. Hair grows back usually."

"Usually?!" TJ spluttered, attempting to turn and face her only to be held in place by her firm grip.

Marty snorted. "Still sure about this?"

"Shut up, Marty. Jeez. You're worse than my mom."

"Hey, your shut your mouth about your mom. That woman is a saint. How she put up with your annoying all these years without committing murder, I’ll never know."

That earned him the bird and he snorted again, blowing smoke into T.J's face. The bathroom of their crappy apartment didn't have a smoke detector, which was probably the only reason Marty was even sat in the room with them.

"Gross," Andi said with an appreciative smile. She might have stolen the cigarette for herself had her hands not been busy. TJ wrinkled his nose at the two of them. He wouldn't say anything, it hadn't worked the first thousand times and it wouldn't work now, but he had learned that if he made enough disgusted faces Marty would eventually put the cigarettes away.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes at TJ's face and stubbed it out in the sink. "I'm meant to be quitting anyway. I promised Buffy."

"You made that promise like three months ago."

"Well I gotta have at least one flaw, otherwise it wouldn't be fair to you mere mortals, would it now?" Marty grinned and stood up, stretching his arms up until his back gave a satisfying click.

"Careful bro," TJ said. "If your head gets any bigger you won't be able to get out of the door."

It was Marty's turn to cheerfully flip him off. As he wandered out of the bathroom he called over his shoulder asking if they wanted any snacks, even though TJ was pretty sure he knew they only had ketchup and coffee left in the kitchen.

"So, this mid-life crisis of yours," Andi said, slipping some more dye on to TJ's head. It slid against his scalp cold and unpleasant, dripping down his neck in a wet mess. "You think Epic Death Red is gonna fix it?"

He considered this for a moment. The brand name was splashed bright and obvious on the bottle, and it glared at him from the sink. It had made them laugh at the time, but now it was in his hair it felt a little daunting. "Nah, probably not. But it'll make me feel better about it, feels productive."

"Turning in your assignments would probably feel more productive."

"Hey, I thought we banned school talk from the tub. The tub rules are sacred. Respect the tub."

"I'm just saying-"

"Did you finish your figure drawing assignment yet?"

"...touché."

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. After a few minutes, Marty loped back in holding a paper plate with an unwrapped Twinkie carefully cut into three pieces on it. Andi let him shove a piece unceremoniously into her mouth without a word.

It had become a sort of tradition. Well... not a tradition. TJ didn't know what you would call it. A habit maybe? Anyways, it had become usual for the three of them to hang out in the bathroom. Sometimes they'd be joined by friends and roommates. Two or three of them cramped in the tub, maybe splitting a bottle of cheap wine between them all, with someone else balanced on the toilet seat and another sprawled across the floor. But today, everyone else was out at work or class or living their life in some tub-free environment.

It was only TJ and Marty that lived in the apartment of the three of them. They had two other roommates, Walker and Jonah, who were pretty decent guys. Walker was an art major like Andi and Jonah had awesome taste in music. Sometimes he and TJ would walk to campus together, they were both based in the music department, but other than that and a shared interest in sports and skateboards they didn't really have anything in common. Buffy, Marty's girlfriend and (by apparent coincidence) Andi's childhood best friend with whom she was now reconnecting, would sometimes swing by to join them too. However, her disgust at just how useless four boys could be at keeping their apartment in order mostly kept her at bay. Old take-out containers were not part of her ‘aesthetic’ or whatever. TJ was never sure if he was glad about that or not, the two of them spent most of the time squabbling, but she did make Marty happy and it was hard not to be cheerful when Marty was.

"So I had this dream right," TJ said.

"Oh God."

"No, it's good right. Because it made me, like, realise I should be doing something."

Andi and Marty exchanged amused looks. They were used to it, TJ's various whims and impulses and Important Decisions About The Future That Usually Turned Out To Be Not So Important. They found it funny. TJ might be offended if it weren't for the fact he had listened to them spout of conspiracy theories more times than he could count.

"Go on," Andi prompted.

"Okay, so like... I'm standing on this cliff, right? Like on the very very edge of it. And I'm staring out to sea all dramatic and shit, and then suddenly it gives way underneath me, right? And I'm falling and falling, and I look down and there's just like... nothing there."

Another pause. "...and that's it?"

"That's it. That's the dream."

"Okay, lay it out for me. How did you go from falling off a cliff to dyeing your hair red? Give me the logic. I wanna follow your train of thought here."

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake away the lightheadedness the mingling scents of cigarettes and ammonia is bringing on, then twists around to face her.

"When you're falling to your death you're supposed to reminisce about, like, all the good shit you did in your life before you fall to your death right? And for me it was a total blank. Like nothing. Like I haven't lived."

Marty groaned. "Not this again."

"What?"

"You have this same crisis like every other month. Last time you wanted to 'live your life' we got arrested for trespassing on private property."

"Well, if you had run faster-"

"Fuck you! I run faster than you, asshole. It's not my fault there were literal guard dogs-"

"Guys!" Andi interrupted before they could really get going. They both muttered half hearted apologies with a huff. Marty sighed and leaned back, stretching his legs up to rest on the edge of the bath.

"The point is," TJ resumed, knocking Marty’s foot away from his face. "The point is that I've done, like, zero important things in my life. And we're adults now, y'know? I can't just bum around doing nothing forever. I wanna do something that matters."

Andi rolled her eyes. "'Adult' is a strong word for a guy who just this week learned what fabric softener is."

"I never claimed to be Martha Stewart."

Marty laughed. "You're criminal enough to be."

"Okay but," Andi said, before another bickering match could spark up. "The real point is... we're only in our twenties. Pretty sure we're not meant to have everything figured out yet, right? I mean, we haven't even graduated yet."

TJ and Marty both hissed.

"The G word is also banned, remember?"

Andi made a face, but didn't press the point. She hated thinking about the future just as much as the guys did. None of them knew what they wanted to do. They spent all their time in sleazy bars moshing to terrible local bands, getting drunk in a moulding tub and watching Andi paint in the student studios. TJ couldn't imagine any of them with nine-to-five jobs, commuting or working for some big evil corporation. He said as much.

"It's two thousand and five," Marty complained in response. "We should totally have robots to do all the boring jobs by now."

TJ agreed. How could humanity not yet be at the point where they had hover boards and flying cars? They had the internet for crying out loud. The possibilities were endless.

"So what're you gonna do?" Andi asked. “How are you, TJ Kippen, going to change the world?

TJ pondered this for a moment.

"I'm gonna start a band."

Sometimes Cyrus seriously hated his friends.

Not in an actual 'I wish I didn't know you' way but in an 'oh man, you suck so hard right now' kind of way. Tonight was one of those times. He would never say that to them, of course, he had no desire to hurt anybody’s feelings, but a little mental cursing never hurt anyone.

He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. Rain smattered down on the concrete around him. Water seeped through the canvas of his sneakers, soaking his socks and mood both at once. He was cold, wet and fed up. Buffy had asked him to meet her here, outside some dingy rock club filled with scary kids wearing studs and too much makeup, but she was nowhere to be found. She had answered her phone when he called, but the line mostly crackled and all he got was a muffled "-inside" from here.

Whatever. It was fine. It was totally cool that he was stuck out here being eyed by suspicious punks in leather jackets and scary scene kids with scary scene hair. It was great. He could totally cope with the fact that the bouncer wouldn't let him in because he forgot his I.D. and apparently he looked like he was twelve years old. Totally, totally fine. Really, it couldn’t get any worse.

It was as if the universe had heard this very thought and decided to have the last laugh. A large truck roared down the street, sending a fresh wave of freezing water over his legs and shoes.

Screw this. He was going home.

He hadn't even wanted to come out in the first place. He should be back in his nice cosy dorm room, preferably doing the lit assignment he had due in on Monday, maybe wrapped in a blanket. Two blankets, even. Yeah, his dorm sounded pretty great right now, even if he did have the roommate from hell. Fate had other plans, though. Right as he made the decision to head back, he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Buffy waving frantically from the door. Huffing to himself, he turned back again and headed to meet her.

"He's with me," Buffy said with a smile to the bouncer. The guy looked doubtful as Cyrus slipped passed, but he didn't question it again.

"The reception is really bad in here," Buffy said apologetically, pulling him into a sideways hug. "But you found the place okay, right? I mean you're here, so that's good. I didn't think you'd come. I’m glad you did.”

She seemed unusually antsy, and he suspected she was a little nervous about introducing him to her friends. He would be nervous too if he was her, he knew he wasn’t much, especially to a group of cool and interesting people. He decided it was best not to tell her that he almost didn't come. He had been perfectly ready to stay in his dorm all night, even though it was a Friday night and he had little to no social life at the current moment in time with all the work his professors had been throwing at him. Except, Roommate-From-Hell-Reed had come banging into the room, all but yelling into his cellphone to some girl. Cyrus had been able to stand it for about ten minutes, and then he got tired of hearing the word "baby". A night at some dive being shoved around by sweaty drunks wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he didn't have to listen to Reed's obnoxious flirting.

"It's good you came," Buffy continued. "You don’t get out enough. I think you'll like the band too, and they're friends with Andi and Marty. They’re pretty good - I mean, TJ is a little obnoxious, but they’ve already got a big following on MySpace, and they’re close to getting a deal with Cranked...” Cyrus let her pull him through the crowd, nodding in all the right places but struggling to keep up. Who was TJ? Cranked? What was that? He felt like she was speaking another language. “

They've even got some songs recorded now... did you know Gus- you know Gus Knight? He works at the dining hall. Apparently he’s local and has this whole studio set up in his mom’s basement. He has all the equipment and everything. It's crazy.”

"Crazy," Cyrus agreed, narrowly avoiding getting elbowed by a teary girl gesturing wildly at a boy that looked too out of it to be taking in what she said. The whole arena smelled like puked. He prayed that none got on him. "So when are these Cranked guys meant to go on?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Cranked is a record label, Cy. The band’s called Conduit For Gods.”

The problem was not that Cyrus wasn’t into music. He liked music. He thought it was fun, especially if you could sing bad karaoke to it, and who didn't like to listen to their iPod on the bus? But Buffy's friends' world seemed to revolve around music, more specifically punk music, and the whole scene that came with it. He had accepted a few of their invitations to hang out just to be polite, but most of them involved parties and shows. Parties and shows meant drinking and coming home with wild stories. Cyrus wasn’t a wild stories kind of guy.

As a kid, he had really wanted to be a wild stories kind of guy. He’d longed to be one of the popular kids who knew how to make friends with everybody, who was never bored on a Friday night and wasn’t totally invisible. He had never succeeded in becoming that kind of guy. Even at college, where he'd figured it would be easy. All the television shows and magazines had made it seem like that was what you were meant to do in college - party and drink. Become your own person. Become interesting.

What he'd learned from actually being in college? He didn't like to party and drink. He had no problem with other people doing it, obviously, but he'd rather he was far away from them while they did. Drunk people had a habit of throwing up on him, and in crowds like this Cyrus had lost his shoe more than once. They might be drenched in grimy rainwater, but tonight he felt like keeping his shoes firmly on his feet. Preferably not covered in somebody's dinner. The other thing he’d learned was that he didn’t really vibe with the whole alternative music scene... or it didn’t vibe with him. He liked things neat and non-violent. In his experience, college-aged punks liked things sweaty and aggressive. Sometimes with a hint of insane thrown in. It’s not like it scared him or anything, he just didn’t want to die in a mosh pit.

“They’re on at ten. You want me to grab you a drink? I got us a table - I know you don’t like being in the crowd.”

He gave her a grateful smile, forgiving and forgetting the last half an hour in one fell swoop. Buffy was a really good friend not just sometimes, but all the time, even if she did make him hang out with scary people that wore studs and eyeliner. She always respected his boundaries.

As she disappeared towards the bar, he meandered his way over to the table she’d pointed out to him. There were a couple of bags and jackets strewn across the booth’s seats, but no people present. Scanning the crowd, he managed to spot Marty and Andi stood off to the side with a couple of other people. Andi caught his eye and waved him over, but he shook his head. She rolled her eyes, but smiled and sent him a thumbs up anyway. He smiled back.

Andi was a nice girl. A cool girl. She wore her hair cropped short and spiky, had a leather jacket with her name painted artfully across the back and her skin was constantly smudged with paint or coal or glue from her art projects. She’d known Buffy forever, and Cyrus was still surprised someone as cool as her was willing to hang out with a loser like him. It was the same with Buffy, honestly. He was always one step behind the laughter and she was the one making people laugh. Once, he’d made the mistake of voicing these thoughts out loud and Buffy had smacked him over the head with a copy of Rolling Stone, telling him he was being stupid and that he was cool. He knew she was lying, but he appreciated the lie anyway.

A figure loomed over him and he turned.

“That was quick,” he started to say, but the words died on his lips. It wasn’t Buffy.

“Um, hi,” Said the most beautiful boy in the history of all existence.

Bright red hair. Green eyes ringed in black. Torn up denim jacket over plaid over faded t-shirt. Cyrus mentally catalogued all of these things and tried to unstick his tongue from where it seemed to be stuck to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t sure what to do. How did English work again? What were words?

In the end, he stuck one awkward hand out before he could stop himself and stuttered out a greeted. The guy took it with a warm smile and shook.

“I’m Cyrus,” Cyrus finally managed to say.

Understanding dawned on the guy’s face. “Oh, you’re Buffy’s friend. That’s cool. I’m TJ, Marty’s roommate,” he jerked a thumb back towards the crowd. Much to Cyrus’ horror, he realised Andi and Marty were watching them with interest. He dropped TJ’s hand quickly. “I was just grabbing the keys to the van, could you pass me that bag?”

Cyrus did as asked, expecting TJ to take it and flee from the obviously crazy person who had just shaken his hand like they were at some sort of business meeting instead of a nightclub, but he didn’t move from where he was standing. Instead, he rummaged through the bag for a second and then withdraw a set of car keys and dumped it back on the table. Turning, he signalled to one of the guys in the crowd and launched the keys through the crowd.

“So are you sticking around after the show?” TJ said, turning back to Cyrus with a curious smile.

No. Cyrus was going to go home and shower at least twice then snuggle up in bed and get a good night’s sleep where nobody could accidentally spill a suspicious substance on his nice clean pants.

“Yeah, I think so,” is what came out of Cyrus’ mouth.

“Awesome,” TJ grinned, the thousand-watt smile disarming Cyrus once again. “Well, I gotta scoot, ‘cause it’s my band…”

“Oh! You’re in Condu-whatsit?”

“Conduit For Gods,” he laughed. “Yeah, I’m the singer.”

Oh great, a cute guy in a band. Just what Cyrus needed to make this interaction less intimidating.

“Break a leg?” He offered.

He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not (probably) but TJ looked a little reluctant to go, but after a moment he flashed him another smile and departed. Cyrus resisted the urge to bang his head on the table and berated himself for not being able to hold a conversation like a normal person. Oh man, he had made himself look like a total idiot. Luckily, Buffy returned not long after, and he drowned his sorrows in his drink.

“Okay, not to be dramatic but we have to play the best show we’ve ever played tonight,” TJ said, speeding over to Jonah behind the stage.

Jonah looked up from tuning his guitar in surprise. “I thought the label weren’t seeing us ‘til next week?”

“It’s not a rep,” he shook his head and sighed as dramatically as he could manage. “I just met the most amazing guy I’ve ever seen and I’m pretty sure we’re soulmates, so we have to impress him, okay?”

“Soulmates, huh?” Jonah grinned. “Do you even know this guy’s name?”

“Cyrus.”

“Cyrus? As in Buffy’s Cyrus?”

“That’s the one.”

“Okay, man. If you say so.”

The stage fright seemed twice as intense as usual as TJ clicked the microphone on. Through the glare of the lights and the packed room he could barely make out the table tucked away in the corner where Cyrus was sat. The crowd roared back as he greeted them, and it felt like the entire room exploded into life as the boys launched into the first song. For the first time ever, TJ worried less about cracking a rib as he surfed across the top of the crowd and more about how exactly he was going to ask Cyrus for his number without sounding weird.

But by the time the show was over and TJ was drenched in his own sweat while blood dripped down from his nose from where someone had accidentally hit him in the face during the last song, Cyrus was nowhere to be found, and the question of the phone number became obsolete.

#tyrus #andi mack #i don't know where this is going okay

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bowenandjohnson · 4 years

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My Thoughts on Elite Season 3

Spoilers! Under the cut!

The Murder of It All

Well, I definitely didn’t see that final twist with the murderer happening, but I understood why Lu was the one to do it. She has always had the capacity for darkness, and even if it was an accident, Lu made the best unexpected choice. I’m glad Guzman was able to forgive Polo in the end--he needed that closure to fully move on and heal from Marina’s death.

Did I like that everyone covered for Lu? Eh. I didn’t ever really enjoy her as a character. But the fact that everyone overcame their differences to come together as a team? That’s the real endgame that I’m sure the writers were going for. Forgiveness and growth is possible, which is a large theme this season.

Omar/Ander/kind of Malick

Ander’s cancer storyline hit very close to home for me. My father was diagnosed with cancer last year in February 2019, and has only been in remission for around four months so far. Seeing his struggle and his journey was hard. I know a lot of people are being hard on Omar, and I certainly condone cheating on a significant other.

However, many people don’t understand the pressure of being someone’s main support system like I do. It’s so hard and so draining on a person, and luckily for me, my dad had his wife, my brothers, and his parents. But for Ander, he only had his mother and Omar at first, before slowly starting to let Guzman and Polo in.

Omar is a 18-19 year old boy, and so I can understand why he had a thing with Malick. He’s young, his only major support system is Ander and Ander’s mother. His family (outside of his sister) disapproves of his life, and who he loves. His life was falling apart, and he was losing control. Malick could relate to being a gay Muslim with a disapproving family, so it makes sense why he would cling to someone who shared similarities to his own life. Omar made a mistake, and he realized who he truly wanted to be with.

I do wish he would have owned up to the cheating with Malick to Ander directly, but they only have eight episodes and a large cast to support. Overall, Omar and Ander are happy, in love, and returning to Las Encinas TOGETHER. Plus, Ander is in remission--thank God! And Yusef finally accepted that his son is gay and has a boyfriend, true character growth!

Carla/Yeray

Teodoro Roson is a goddamn asshole. I hate him, and I wish he were also dead. He manipulated and gaslighted his daughter for several more episodes than I wanted to see. Carla truly suffered this season, and I hated that. They broke down her character to serve the whims of a powerful, white man, and I hate that. Carla was such a bad bitch in s1, and she didn’t deserve this storyline. Ester Exposito did the most with the material she was given, however.

Yeray could have also been so much more as a character. They barely addressed how he was harassed in the past for his weight, and how that affected him still in the present. Though he didn’t love Carla, nor she him, he cared about her enough to accept her friendship, and help her take down her father for good.

Those final interactions of the two talking about their relationship and how the two teamed up only showed me what could have been for the two in this third season. As one of the first black characters on this show, Yeray really got the short end of the stick, and he didn’t deserve to be an obstacle to a white girl’s true happiness. I did truly like him in the end, and Sergio Momo did the best with the material he had.

Samuel/Rebeka

I felt bad for Rebe throughout the entirety of her relationship with Samuel this season. She was a obstacle for “Carmuel” and ultimately used by Samu who helped to throw her own mother in jail. She deserved so much more. So much more. I’m glad she’s going back to school and she got her mother out of the drug business. PLUS SHE ADMITTED SOME ATTRACTION TO WOMEN!! Rebe/Caye for season 4, perhaps?

Samuel has also never been a favorite character of mine throughout the series, but I’m happy he got his brother free, he’s going back to school, and he’s single. That’s right--single Samuel may just be for the best. When Samuel is romantically concerned, there is always trouble to follow. He has never made it easy for any of his romantic interests.

Also, can we please get Samuel some therapy? They really needed to address his anger issues. Season 4 needs to get all these kids all some counseling, honestly. Two people have died that these kids were close to.

Cayetana/Valerio/Polo

Caye, Polo, and Valerio have never been my favorite characters on this show, either. I’m sorry, I guess I only enjoy five characters on this crazy-ass show. However, despite this relationship feeling like a rehash of s1, this relationship got Valerio away from the toxicity of his incest relationship with Lu and it helped him to succeed in school, and I felt like the dynamic was also evenly balanced between the three. Ultimately, I feel like Valerio grew enough to earn his “happy” ending helping Carla run the wineries and also pissing off Teodoro.

Caye also figured out FINALLY that money doesn’t equal happiness. I’m glad Polo broke up with her, and that she works as a cleaning lady like her mother did at Las Encinas. She helped a murderer, and in the end, she got an ending that I thought she deserved. I enjoyed her bonding with Rebe though after Polo died. They should date. The fraudster and “Narco Barbie” would be a match made in heaven in season 4.

Polo got his forgiveness, and he was fully charged with the murder of Marina posthumously. Alvaro Rico has always done a wonderful job portraying Polo over these three seasons, and I wish him the best with his future endeavors, this guy is a star.

Lu, Lu, Lu. She is, by far, my least favorite character from the show, and while I did enjoy some moments this season, her redemption arc was lazy and unearned. She never apologized to Nadia for releasing a sex tape of her, and that is what I had the most issue with. She didn’t earn Nadia’s friendship in the way that I would have wanted her to.

Sure, Lu grew. But did she grow enough? No.

Have a nice life in NYC, Lu, with the happy ending you never truly earned.

Nadia/Guzman/Malick (part 2)

Nadia’s arc made sense to me this season. I know why people feel shortchanged by the lack of physical Guznadia this cycle, but there’s a clear undercurrent of love throughout all their interactions this season, and it makes sense why Nadia would pull back after being so violated in an intimate moment last season.

Malick makes sense for Nadia on paper: he’s nice, a good listener, and most importantly, he’s also a Muslim. However, Malick and Nadia’s relationship crumbles because he’s maintaining a facade: he’s closeted, and interested in hooking up with Omar, her own brother. Nadia is betrayed by this, of course, but the truth is: she wants a relationship that is based on love and respect. She’s done putting up a facade.

She has that real connection with Guzman, the boy who offers to work at her family’s shop while she works on her scholarship applications, the boy who doesn’t want to jeopardize her dreams, the boy who loves her without expecting anything in return. At the end of the season, when she promises to come back for him, and he starts crying, that is the first time that he is certain of her committing to their relationship--and it is so incredibly beautiful.

Nothing will ever come in their way--not religion, not other people, not time or location. Their love will endure.

Guzman scared me in episode 2, when he kidnapped and tortured Polo. That moment felt so out of character for me, it took me out of the show for a bit. It was detrimental to the rest of his arc this season. However, I’m glad he grew out of his anger and frustration, and ultimately forgave Polo. He’s a supportive friend to both Samuel and Ander, and he reclaimed his “Mom Friend” title in the process. Can we please get the boy some therapy though? Please? Next season? I’m glad he gets to go back to school.

Malick also got the end of the short stick this season, and I wanted to see more of him as well. He deserved more than to be an obstacle to both “Guznadia” and “Omander.” Have fun in NYC, dude, I guess.

Thoughts on Season 4

Considering Guzman, Samuel, Rebeka, Ander, and Omar are all attending Las Encinas to make up a year, it makes sense for season 4 to include them. Each season is a half of a year, so the also-ordered season 5 would be when they graduate.

This way, other characters could guest and make appearances when they’re on break from college or something. It will be interesting to see how the show evolves in the future.

Overall, this season was a mixed bag, but I love these characters, and I will probably return to watch future episodes.

#elite netflix #elite spoilers #elite s3 #guznadia #omander #nadia shanaa #guzman nunier #lu montesinos #polo benavent #omar shanaa #ander munoz #carla roson

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marypsue · 5 years

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an author meme because @viletorpedo tagged me and I think we may have descended into a vicious author meme tagging cycle

Author Name: MaryPSue. My ffn is different, but also now defunct, so I don't see much purpose in putting that username here. This was a username I chose when I first signed up for tumblr back in 2011, based on a whim and the main character of a parody webcomic I was considering making. (It never came to fruition.)

Fun fact: the 'P' doesn't stand for anything and is really just there for aesthetic purposes, though it has variously been used as an initial for Perfect, Pitch, and Perdita depending on context and circumstance.

Fandoms You Write For: Anything moderately popular which has either a dead kid as the main character, a fraught central sibling relationship, a female character Cursed With Awesome, or all of the above. Probably best known for stuff for Gravity Falls (and Gravity Falls Transcendence AU) and Rise of the Guardians/Guardians of Childhood fandoms, though I'm currently exercising my right to be the most basic of fandom bitches by primarily pouring my energy into canons where Tom Hiddleston portrays a dark-haired woobie who thinks of nothing but murder all day. (I know there's got to still be at least a ghost of a Crimson Peak fandom out there somewhere, dammit.)

Where You Post: Here, and AO3. Most things end up in both places, though I don't know what tumblr's policies re: links and the main search are anymore so often there isn't an AO3 link included on my tumblr fic posts.

Most Popular One-shot: By kudos, that'd have to be...A Semi-Normal Life (Gravity Falls, Transcendence AU)! I didn’t expect this one.

Most Popular Multi-chapter Story: Again going by kudos, Raising Stakes (Gravity Falls).

Favourite Story You Wrote: Picking just one is very hard, but I'm going to put in a good word, at this close date to Halloween, for Samhain (Rise of the Guardians, Guardians of Childhood). You don't need any familiarity with the source material to read this one; it's a ghost story and a romance and a tragedy with what is arguably a happy ending. Well, a happy ending for a ghost story.

Story You Were Nervous To Post: Definitely all of them, though I'll admit to a particular anxiety about posting others (MCU, Thor). Partly because the last thing I'd posted had not been working out on the writing end and I had to take it down because I was so unhappy with it (something I'd only done once before in my entire fic career) and I was completely unable to tell whether this was any better; partly because of the subject matter; partly simply because I have avoided a good 90% of all the MCU movies, especially the crossover-y Avengers ones, and so did not have the level of knowledge of canon that I like to have before posting things so I can be sure I haven't got simple details wrong. (Changing things deliberately from canon is one thing. Not knowing a thing which might turn out to have bearing on a fic is quite another.)

How Do You Choose Your Titles: Sometimes they're a bad pun that's relevant to the plot, premise, or themes of the story; sometimes they're stolen song lyrics or snippets of poetry; and recently I've caved and just started giving my silly working titles to oneshots, or titling them like episodes of Friends. (The SPN/MCU Thor crossover that I ended up taking down got the positively insipid and overused, if extremely relevant, Lana Del Rey lyric title 'gods & monsters' when I posted it, but the working title and probably the title I should have actually given it was 'oh whats THIS hot topic clearance bin nonsense now'.)

Do You Outline: Sort of.

Complete: 118 works and counting!

In Progress: Something Borrowed, Something Blues (Gravity Falls, Transcendence AU) and Imbalance (The Adventure Zone: Balance).

Coming Soon/Not Yet Started: I'm sitting on a Crimson Peak/Haunting of Hill House (the novel, not any of the adaptations) crossover for Halloween that I'm really excited to share. I'm really thrilled with how it's turned out! It's a little experimental, a little romantic, a little queer, and hopefully a lot creepy.

Other than that, I've got a couple of continuations of things sitting in Drafts Limbo (there is some kind of ending in the works for The Family Business, though I have no idea how long it'll take to get there, and I have a host of ideas but no solid plot for what happens next in Girls In White Dresses), and some things I haven't shared because I'm not sure they're finished or that there's an audience for them or that they wouldn't be better off with the serial numbers filed off (a series of casefics where Dean Winchester gets cursed into a female body and is Not Particularly Happy About It At All, a definitely very hilarious probably non-canon-compliant oneshot where Darcy Lewis starts to suspect her new roommate is the supervillain of the week in disguise), but mostly my ideas lately have tended towards origfic. (Please. I have so many ideas and so many OCs for origfic. Help me.)

Do You Accept Prompts: Only if I announce I'm taking prompts on this blog. It does happen, though not as often as it used to.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited To Write: Hm. Well, right now I'm juggling ideas for two or three silly romance novels: one that's a thinly-veiled Mystery Trio AU featuring incubi; one where a burnt-out author of paranormal romances goes on vacation and ends up having to solve a murder that looks like it was committed by a werewolf to clear her name; and one that's a Hallmark seasonal romance movie for Halloween, where a high-powered marketing director comes home and ends up getting involved in the effort to save an old inn, which turns out to be haunted by an amorous ghost.

I've also got a couple of Stephen King-esque horror stories set in small rural towns that prominently feature flashbacks, and one mystery/thriller in the vein of definitely not bfu rpf where I've deliberately badly filed the serial numbers off the MCU's stable of actors to look at what happens when a megacorporation decides that its contracts should give it absolute control, not only of its actors' bodies, but also their minds. (That sounds...so serious and meaningful when I put it like that. Don't be fooled, it's 100% an excuse to reimagine the Avengers as a bunch of competent women who are actually friends, and also do that 'what if actors started becoming their characters' thing that's always fascinated me, with a side of social commentary blatantly tacked on.)

But...no real plans to write anything that's going to get posted anytime soon, sorry. Unless y'all are particularly interested in my original fiction.

Tagging: @gretchensinister, @pingnova, @seiya234, and anyone else who I didn't tag the first time I think this came around and who wants to do it.

#chatter #'see? im self-aware! i mock my own interests first so you can't!' she screams into the void

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okietokiee · 5 years

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Fic: Söt (Ch. 1)

Summary: Skwisgaar comes to terms with some extremely un-metal, disgustingly mushy feelings he has for the new kid. (Pre-Klok, right after the audition)

Rating: Teen

Chapters: 1/5

Pairings: Skwisgaar Skwigelf/Toki Wartooth

Notes: This is my first Skwistok fic and it’s basically an excuse to make Skwisgaar suffer badly over the fact that he finds Toki insanely, irredeemably fucking adorable and he can’t stand it LOL

Also, apologies for any mistakes!

Skwisgaar Skwigelf was not a man known for being overly emotional. He was an absolute charmer to the young and old groupies alike, but he kept a definite distance between himself and his bedmates, ever the polite, handsome, closed-off gentleman that always sent off his multiple lovers with a suave kiss to the hand and a non-committal wink, hinting at a second round that was unlikely to ever occur.

His blase, cool-tempered nature did nothing but draw even more blushing ladies to him, each more provocatively-dressed and seductive than the last. Even the GMILFs often primped themselves up a bit for him, wearing their silkiest, shiniest nightgowns and bonnets.

But no matter what, Skwisgaar kept a certain air of nonchalance around him and he knew exactly how it drove the ladies wild.

Skwisgaar would’ve been content living his days like this forever; known as the golden, emotionally-constipated adonis that could fulfill every woman’s ultimate fantasies, as long as those fantasies included nothing about a relationship or commitment.

He’d never even felt much emotional pull towards anyone in his life, not even the sexiest groupies that loitered around after a show.

Skwisgaar attributed it to the fact that no one was interesting enough to catch his eye in any way. He was a God of guitar and sex, and regardless of how much the groupies’ skimpy outfits and embroidered aprons tugged at his loins, they never tugged at his heart.

At least, that used to be the case.

Hell, it would be so much easier for Skwisgaar if it would stay that way because he’s extremely happy with his life, thank you very much. He’s a handsome, collected gentleman with refined tastes and raunchy habits.

And these are the reasons he can’t fucking wrap his head around whatever it is he’s started feeling whenever he’s around his band’s new rhythm guitarist.

The audition for the new rhythm went a lot more unpredictably than he’d originally expected, and he ended up going against his own whims and hiring some kid on the spot.

And that’s the perfect description for the guy. He couldn’t be older than 16, which was practically a child in Skwisgaar’s opinion when compared to his 25 years on earth. Toki was his name and he was young, naive, and as hilariously out of touch with American culture as Skwisgaar once was when he first immigrated.

The kid normally wouldn’t even cause a blip in Skwisgaar’s radar, let along change his course completely. Now, in the comforts of his small, dingy room in his tiny, rundown apartment, Skwisgaar rapidly fingerpicking his guitar, questioning his sanity.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he was completely oblivious to his reasons though. Shocked and appalled, yes, but regardless of what his broken english suggested he was not completely daft to the inner workings of his own mind. The kid had something about him. It wasn’t just ambition and it wasn’t just talent. There had been plenty of those types who had auditioned before him that Skwisgaar completely blew out of the water. Boring mechanical techniques and overconfident arrogance was no match for the brilliant and dexterity Skwisgaar could exhibit with his eyes closed.

No, the kid was special somehow. And it was driving Skwisgaar crazy trying to put his finger on what, why, and how this Toki seemed to shine brighter than a blazing star when he played. He can honestly say without a doubt that he’d never felt that intoxicating burst of pure energy while playing in his life.

The guitar is his heart and his music the blood that flows through it and keeps it beating. It’s the only thing that he can say, with no hesitation, brings him pure unadulterated joy and satisfaction.

The feeling of playing his music was a feeling he never thought anything in the world could top; the best drugs or hottest groupies in the world would never best the feeling of his explorer in his hands, creating the godly music that effortlessly flows through his fingertips

He never thought it could possibly get any better. At least, until that kid showed up and showed him exactly what it meant to rise to the highest precipice of his art, experience the exhilarating speed of music pouring out of his soul, and for once in his life, experience this with a kindred spirit, the first person he’s ever met who could so closely match him riff for riff. Regardless of Toki’s abrupt downfall, Skwisgaar was still awestruck at what the boy was capable of.

The fact that this short, half-starved runt that looked like he’d been living off the streets can just waltz in with his beaten up Gibson and push Skwisgaar to higher limits he did not even conceive as possible; it was infuriating and intoxicating all in the same breath.

This young boy with his familiar accent and friendly demeanor. His big, blue eyes and his soft chocolate hair.

Fuck, his existence alone was doing something to Skwisgaar and he couldn’t stand it.

Those eyes were just too blue! He’d never seen anything like them before, even in Sweden, he didn’t remember ever seeing such big, icy eyes that did something to him he felt too disturbed by to acknowledge.

Suddenly, Skwisgaar was interrupted from his pensive musing by a hesitant knock on his door.

“Comes in.”

Slowly the door opened and the pair of blue eyes driving Skwisgaar mad with something he can’t explain peeked through.

“Um… H-hellos Misters Skwisgaar, Nathans told mes I shoulds asks you if I can sleeps in here tonights... Is that alrights with yous?”

Toki, the poor lad, was tensed up and visibly nervous, bracing himself for a rejection and scolding for bothering Skwisgaar after strict instructions to leave him alone and find something to entertain himself with the rest of the band in the living room.

Skwisgaar was exhausted after a long day of battling mediocre guitarists, he wanted some reprieve from everyone and everything. If any of the other members had bothered him when he was in one of his moods, that would be grounds for a litany of angry, barely-understandable curse words, but this was different. Skwisgaar sat up from his bed, setting his Gibson down next to him, and gave Toki a slight, indifferent nod.

“Fines. Just donts be makings too much of the noises. I’m tryings to write a new solos.”

“Yes, Misters Skwisgaar! Toki will be quiets! You won’t evens knows I’s here!” Toki smiled widely, making a move to presumably leave and retrieve his meager belongings.

“Toki.”

Skwisgaar spoke too fast to stop himself. Toki gave him a confused look and Skwisgaar was internally facepalming.

“Justs… calls me Skwisgaar. I’m nots a olds grandpas yet!” He tried to laugh off his mistake.

Toki’s smile brightened even more, something Skwisgaar didn’t think was possible. “Yes Skwisgaar! Tank yous!”

And with that he was off.

It was apparent that Nathan had decided to pawn off the new kid to Skwisgaar for tonight and likely every other night in the foreseeable future until they can figure out a better living arrangement.

Out of every member of the band, Skwisgaar was the only one who had his own place. It was a ratty one-bedroom on the bad side of town, but it was his. Pickles and Nathan rented a considerably nicer place together as roommates, where they did most of their recordings, and Murderface crashed (lived) on their couch more often than not.

After they discovered Toki was basically homeless, it made sense Nathan would lump them together. The two matching Scandinavian guitarists, of course Nathan would force them together like two peas in a pod. Didn’t mean Skwisgaar couldn’t complain about it.

“Tsk. Fuckins racist.”

“Whats you say Skwisgaar?”

Skwisgaar was startled up.

“Eeuugh! Toki, don’ts comes in without knockins.”

Toki looked sheepish. “Sorries… I just wants to says I gots a sleepinks bag from Pickle! It’s… uh… okays if I sleeps now?” Toki stumbled through.

This made Skwisgaar pause. He took the moment to give Toki a long, hard look, something he hadn’t done since the kid completely changed his perception on guitar playing completely. Looking closely, he saw the obvious signs of exhaustion on Toki’s face, his sunken cheeks and dark, baggy eyes. Skwisgaar assumed its been a while since Toki had a comfortable place to sleep and a roof over his head. And a shower too now that he thought about it, seeing Toki’s clean hair and skin which was hidden under a layer of grime just a few hours ago. Did he eat? Surely the rest of the guys would’ve gotten something, though Skwisgaar was prone to skipping meals. Because the kid was definitely in desperate need of a meal-

“Skwisgaar?”

Snapped out of his train of thoughts, Skwisgaar forced himself to regain a mask of indifference.

“Yeahs, go aheads Toki. I was abouts to bes sleepinks too.” Skwisgaar waved to a plush white rug parallel to his bed to signal for Toki to take that spot. “Turns off the lights.”

Toki happily obeyed and curled up on the soft faux fur rug Skwisgaar was oddly attached to.

A few minutes ticked by in complete darkness and Skwisgaar was tense in the dead silence. Then, all too abruptly, Toki broke it.

“Ah… Skwisgaar?”

Skwisgaar forced himself to relax and apathetically replied, “Yes Toki.”

“Toki just wanteds to says… tank you. I am sos happies I mades it to the audiktions. Toki promiskes you won’ts regrets this. Good nights.” Toki said gratefully with an obvious smile in his tone.

Skwisgaar was speechless. And he remained speechless, until he heard Toki’s soft snoring fill the room. Of course he deserved to be thanked. He was the lead guitarist of Dethklok, a master of his craft. It was an act of true goodwill, him letting this runaway kid join them. Hell, Skwisgaar didn’t need much to fill his ego and he expected all mere peasants to be grateful for whatever he deans to give them.

But this was different. What Toki said, those innocuous, meek words, they didn’t fill Skwisgaar with the usual self-importance. They made him feel strange. Like there was a twisting in his gut and a disturbing pit in his chest that almost felt warm and mushy. The shit normal people probably feel when they see a newborn kitten. Not Skwisgaar though, he was the stone-cold adonis, even kittens didn’t soften his heart. Regardless of how soft their fur is, or how big and beautiful their eyes are, or fuzzy their tiny little paws-

“Euugh!” Skwisgaar let out an involuntary sneer which he quickly quieted. He chanced a glance at Toki’s still snoring form and breathed a sigh of relief.

Yes, fine, maybe kittens had certain characteristics about them that were pretty nice, but Skwisgaar was confused at his train of thought. Whatever it was that Toki made Skwisgaar feel, it was reminiscent of the yucky, gooey emotions small animals inspired in him as well.

Skwisgaar had no clue what to do with that fact, but his exhaustion was finally catching up with him. With a sigh, he rolled over, and fell asleep to the rhythmic snoring of one Toki Wartooth.

#metalocalypse #mtl #my fics #skwistok #my fanfic

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yfcnzcon-blog · 5 years

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Nastya, [18 апр. 2019 г., 01:52:12]: Task 1. Do you agree with the statement “Every child, every generation is the product of their times”? Why yes? Why not? Write down your arguments below. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Task2. Read the text about the traits of some generations and answer the following questions. - Which generation do you belong? - What traits mentioned in the article are true about your generation? - Do you think there is such a thing as ‘generation gap’? Explain why or why not?

In our current workforce we have the following generations - Baby Boomers (1946- 1963), Generation X (1964-1980), Generation Y (1980-1994) and in the next few years Generation Z (1995-2009) will be joining. The generic characteristics for each generation are below Baby Boomers - Believe in working their way up the career ladder and that experience is of value. They like hierarchy and that you are rewarded for hard work, long hours and commitment to your organisation. They are loyal, less likely to change employers and have more of a ‘job for life’ attitude. They are often defined by their work (or job title) and don’t like flexible working, preferring face to face time in the office. Generation X – Have grown up to a background of strikes, massive layoffs/redundancies and are more likely to have had parents who worked long hours. Therefore they can be more independent, resilient and resourceful. They value freedom and responsibility and may prefer a more flexible working environment. Generation Y – One of the more academic generations, technology savvy and confident. They tend to be more learning orientated and have grown up with the internet. They use websites (or their network of friends) for research and information. They are the generation who have been told ‘it’s not the winning that counts but the taking part’ and have been praised for their efforts and told that everyone’s opinion counts. Therefore they often enjoy connecting with others and are can find team working really motivating. Generation Z – As this generation is only about to join the workforce there is not a lot of research about their work ethic. However they are already being labelled the ‘silent generation’ due to lack of verbal communication skills. Experience of my own Gen Z children’s communication skills proves this - I can send them a long(ish) detailed text and the response is usually ‘k’, not even ‘ok’! They spend almost as much time in a ‘virtual’ world than they do the real one. Playing with their friends is done from the comfort of their own homes linking up/joining in via game platforms and social media.

What is the correct name for your generation: gen Y, generation Y, millennials, digital generation, echo boomers, net generation, or something else? There is no one correct name for my generation, but there are names that are more commonly used than others, with the most popular being Millennials and Gen Y. In fact, Gen Y has gone by many different names as our generational characteristics become more pronounced. I often use the term Gen Y because I’ve found people naturally know the demographic I’m referring to is the one born immediately following Gen X. It’s also important to note that in different parts of the world where I work, people use different generational names entirely, or the concept of generations is not as well-known as looking at life stage or other commonalities based on age. Based on our research and on-site work, Millennials is the more common term in the U.S. and Gen Y is the more common term globally.

Nastya, [18 апр. 2019 г., 01:52:15]: WHAT ARE GEN Y’S MOST DEFINING CHARACTERISTICS? Below are a few key characteristics of Gen Y. Gen Y often has a feeling of entitlement. However, that is not true for everyone in my generation. In fact, we are witnessing a dislocation between the Gen Yers and Millennials who have their stuff together and those who are struggling to gain real-world traction. Gen Y is NOT tech-savvy. We are tech-dependent. We often don’t know how technology actually works, only that we can’t live without it. Gen Y loves instant gratification. We are notorious for not being able to wait in line—especially when getting coffee! Gen Y is known for having big expectations but not always knowing or valuing the steps involved to reach those expectations. IF YOU WERE TO TELL ME ONE THING ABOUT GEN Y THAT MOST PEOPLE DON’T KNOW, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Gen Y is the only generation in the workforce that has never expected to work for one company their entire lives. You might be surprised to discover the actual length of employment Gen Y equates with being a loyal employee. Even more shocking: The number of days it takes for Gen Y to decide if they can stay with an employer long-term. Hint: Watch my YouTube videos for the surprising answer.

AREN’T WE CATERING TO GEN Y BY HELPING THEM WITH LESSONS WE LEARNED THE HARD WAY? I am 100 percent against catering to or coddling Gen Y. Giving in to our whims only reinforces the worst characteristics we bring to the workplace and creates a disconnect with the other generations already there. The bottom line is that every new generation that enters the workforce frustrates the ones already there, and each generation assumes the one after them has it easier than they did. My approach is to find specific ways to bridge the generations so Gen Y and our three generations of co-workers perform at our highest levels. It’s in every leader’s best interest to make the most of each generation. Gen Y is simply the new kid on the block. Generation Z refers to young people who were born between 1996 and 2014. This generation stands out from the previous generations – millennials and generation X – for a ton of reasons, many of which we’re going to address below. We’re also going to focus on how generation Z traits change the way they learn and discover knowledge. But first of all, let’s take a look at the key characteristics that define generation Z. Generation Z Facts & Characteristics 1. Gen Zers are technologically advanced and knew how to use a smartphone from an early age. 2. Gen Z representatives have never seen the world without the internet and thus have affinity for texting and messaging on mobile apps or online platforms, sometimes even over in-person, face-to-face communication. 3. Another characteristic of the Gen Z population is that they absorb tons of new information every day. Gen Z kids spend several hours a day in social media or searching the internet for information. 4. According to infographics by Upfront Analytics, generation Z perceives information visually, so marketing campaigns that are targeted at gen Zers revolve around story telling, explainer videos, and other forms of visualization. 5. Being independent, self confident and autonomous are also some of the key characteristics of generation Z. They do not rely on their parents as much as previous teen generations did. The reason is that the internet and technologies allow gen Zers to start earning money at much earlier age than their parents. As Millennial Branding reports in their research of high school internship programs, 72% of modern high school students are thinking of starting their own business in the future. Meanwhile, 76% hope that their future jobs will be derived from their hobbies. 6. Gen Z representatives have short attention spans and are less focused than their predecessors. According to an infographic by Visioncritical, the attention span of gen Zers is only 8 seconds, so one should try hard to capture and hold their attention. 7.

Nastya, [18 апр. 2019 г., 01:52:15]: Gen Zers are environmentally aware. They value the eco-friendly and healthy lifestyle much more than any previous generation. Maybe this generation will actually have a positive impact on the environment. 8. Multitasking is also one of the positive generation Z traits. Due to their extraordinary ability to process and absorb lots of information within seconds, gen Z kids can easily handle several tasks at once. Now let’s see how the aforementioned generation Z personality traits impact their studying habits and find out which JKCP programs and camps can be aligned with those traits. How These Gen Z Traits Relate To Learning More technologically-focused According to the generation Z facts sheet prepared by Common Sense Census, 44% of teens use computers to do their homework. Furthermore, 48% of teens watch how to videos that are related to school. Classrooms at schools are also adapting to the new generation by offering various ed tech solutions for their students. As for JKCP, we are happy to provide a wide range of courses for kids who are keen on technology. For example, gen Zers might like the Technology track at our Julian Krinsky Xploration program, which includes the Intro to Coding & App Development course, or the Engineering track with its Inventioneering and Robotics courses. Who knows - maybe a team of young gen Zers will soon build an ed tech app that will help them be more productive both in the classroom and while doing their home assignments. Social media-addicted When it comes to studying, Gen Zers prefer to connect with their fellow students and teachers on social media sites such as Facebook. Teachers can find instructions on how to teach “digital” kids directly on Facebook. The social network recommends that the teachers create closed Facebook groups for kids and their parents. They can use these groups to share not only the homework assignments but also information regarding classroom activities, field trips, and so on. Many gen Zers also see social media such as Instagram or YouTube as a potential source of income. At JKCP one of our summer camps, students can learn how to make money as a video blogger by participating in the YouTube Influencer class within the Enrichment program. Our experienced instructors will teach the gen Zers on how to become successful digital entrepreneurs with the help of YouTube videos. Habitual Multitaskers This skill is perfect when it comes to home assignments. According to the same generation Z statistics gathered by Common Sense Census, 50% to 76% of gen Z students report that they listen to music, send text messages, watch TV, or use social media while doing their homework. 55% also report that doing something else together with the home assignments does not affect their productivity and in some cases even helps them become more productive. Besides, gen Zers start earning their own money much earlier than the millennials used to, and thus the multitasking skills help them combine work and study. At JKCP, we offer a unique ‘Enrichment program’ that is tailored specifically to the life rhythm of gen Zers. This program allows the students to study at their own pace as well as choose what they want to study, how deep they want to study this subject, and when they want to do it. Such flexibility makes Enrichment perfect for gen Z kids. Online communication vs offline communication Many universities in the US are now adapting to the needs of gen Zers by offering distance learning programs. Masterstudies.com reports that US universities offer 88 Master’s programs in distance learning as of 2018. Focused on independence By seeking independence and autonomy, gen Zers demonstrate strong entrepreneurial skills. As we have already mentioned, gen Zers successfully work and study at the same time. JKCP offers plenty of programs that help the gen Z students enhance their entrepreneurial streak.

Nastya, [18 апр. 2019 г., 01:52:15]: For example, Julian Krinsky Business School is aimed at discovering and developing the talents of future business leaders. The highlights of the program includes an introduction to business management strategy, business etiquette, global economic trends, and much more. JKCP also offers internships for high school students to help them choose their future career path in disciplines such as business, engineering, entertainment, hospitality, marketing, medicine, and politics. Now you know what generation Z is and which gen Z traits make them different from millennials and previous generations. No matter if you are a parent, a teacher, or a marketer – you can use this deep dive into generation Z characteristics to reach out to them and tap into their interests.

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jefferyryanlong · 5 years

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Fresh Listen - John Trudell, AKA Grafitti Man (Rykodisc, 1992)

(Some pieces of recorded music operate more like organisms than records. They live, they breathe, they reproduce. Fresh Listen is a periodic review of recently and not so recently released albums that crawl among us like radioactive spiders, gifting us with superpowers from their stingers.)

I approached John Trudellʻs 1986 cassette tape (re-released as a CD in 1992) AKA Grafitti Man with two significant biases. First, I have a strong distaste for the music recording technology of the period. Sonic engineers, with their updated machines, had the newfound ability to scrape the rust away from their records, smoothing and glossing the edges and sucking the space from an aural document so effectively that it came across as compressed and sterile as a snow globe. You listen to these mid/late-Eighties mainstream records and they extend through time and the imagination like brittle branches of plastic, all the living energy–the breath, the ring, the rattle, the bleeding, the overload–constricted out of the husk of a clearly articulated but dead idea.

Second, aside from just a few exceptions, Iʻm skeptical of spoken word performances awkwardly conjoined with a musical context. Iʻve been disappointed too many times. Though a poetʻs words might resonate on a page, or upon the naked template of air, the same words sometimes fall dead against a drum or a guitar. Conversely, Bob Dylanʻs words may seem leaden and overblown in a book, but as a performer, he has the ability to empower the nasal delivery of his thought-dreams with a rhythmic electricity. Many people might tell you different, but songwriting and poetry are not always complementary disciplines, and evoke different reactions within the gut and the soul. Experiments in marrying the two are sometimes excruciating as an experience.

On AKA Grafitti Man, John Trudell seems to have discovered a working formula for combining his poems with pop music. He builds his pieces around ear-clinging choruses, hooks that echo in the mind long after the more complicated parts are forgotten. Though less direct than what listeners are used to hearing on their pop music records, these are real songs, grown-up songs. Songs of regret and resentment, of protest and celebration. Trudell honors the traditions of rock, blues, country, and old-timey ballads and contours his poems around those forms, instead of the other way around.

(If youʻve read this far and are wondering who the hell John Trudell is, I encourage to look him up on whatever media you have at hand. His personal story is more compelling, and important, than AKA Grafitti Man, though the record itself is a refraction of Trudellʻs past as a veteran in the US Armed Forces, Native American activist and spokesperson, and rogue DJ who, with a group of like-minded free radicals, snuck into Alcatraz and set up a radio station. A big thanks to Rodney Morales for turning me on to Trudellʻs music.)

Fortunately for the listener, Trudell has kindred-spirit helpmates to assist him in crystallizing his vision on the album. Jackson Browne served as Executive Producer–I thought I could hear his vocals on one or two of the choruses. I noted the lead guitar early on, a wonderfully peculiar tone, whether played as slide, blues, or straight-up rock, a tone that consciously avoids cliche blues regurgitations. Turns out the axman is Jesse Ed Davis. When you hear AKA Grafitti Man, youʻre not only getting a great John Trudell record, youʻre also getting a pretty damn good Jesse Ed Davis record.

AKA Grafitti Man begins, as several of the songs do, with a Native American vocal, this first appearance against silence; a brief, vaguely familiar string of notes abruptly overtaken by a drum fill and a mid tempo rock groove. Trudell, claiming the expression of his people, infuses this expression with his own aesthetics, heavily influenced by Elvis, Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry, all the while calling back to Native American music. “Rocking the Res” contrasts indigenous ways of relating to natural phenomena and natural people with false commitments perpetuated by a decadent, commercialized reality in which war and consumerism are enmeshed, each dependent on the other. “A weird kind of living,” Trudell calls it, finding comfort in the soft-spoken resistance with which his people have denied the dominant American consumer/political message.

The characterization of the shaman has long been over-generalized and dissipated by American popular culture. In AKA Grafitti Manʻs title track, Trudell repurposes the essential function of the shaman–to tell a truth that no one of the tribe has the courage or foresight to tell–and applies it to a street artist, who uses their medium to illuminate the order of the world to a benighted populace. The Grafitti Man of the song is not of the upper class but of the people, is not cut off from the viscous mess and fecundity of life by fancy clothes and money. The Grafitti Man is able to accurately portray the reality of class in the United States because they are most acutely a victim of it. “Down with bosses,” the Grafitti Man writes, identifying authority as a meaningless layer that separates us from the rough texture of real life.

In “Restless Situations,” Trudell moves into RʻnʻB territory (neatly offset by Native America percussion between the soul groove), female backup singers doing the emotional work of communicating Trudellʻs empathetic portrayal of a woman swimming against confusion and insecurity. In “Wildfires,” the poetʻs normally cool delivery builds toward impassioned (though still controlled) intensity, his words landing like notes against Davisʻs steady guitar and the organ of some unidentified hero. Here, Trudell is less a poet with a backing band and more a part of the band itself. The technique with which he carefully drops each phrase just behind the beat displays the skill of a true musician. “The nature of fire is to burn, every spark gets its turn,” the vocalist (not Trudell) melodically yells between the verses, commenting on the whims and notions that make up an identity. Some of these sparks lead to conflagrations inside and out, while some fizzle and die, and all we have is this residual smoke that ambiguously defines ourselves and our actions. Trudellʻs “wildfire” is interior–the wildfire is whatʻs released upon our loved ones and our hated ones, that makes us who we are.

Itʻs the keyboardist who elevates “Baby Boom Che” to something near a masterpiece, folding in tuneful references to Elvis hits (especially “Love Me Tender”) in between the turnarounds. For Trudell, Elvis Presley, whom Trudell claims not only for Native Americans, or White Americans, but for all Americans, was a liberating spirit that exploded the haunted, post-war piety of Fifties USA with sex and dancing a a new consciousness in which the drab alternatives proffered by mainstream USA were no longer sufficient. “I mean, you take ʻDonʻt Be Cruel,ʻ ʻI Want You, I Need You, I Love You,ʻ and ʻJailhouse Rockʻ or you take Pat (Boone) in his white bucks, singing ʻLove Letters in the Sand,ʻ I mean hell man, what’s real here?” Elvis is not simply an entertainer–he is a revolutionary in the most political sense (whether he had any awareness of this aspect of his popularity), laying the groundwork for a new way to understand bodies and minds that had been dulled for so long by the psychopathic pall laid upon young America by two world wars.

I should note here that Trudellʻs words, and the ideas he conveys through those words, are far more complex and concern so many more areas of thought than can be described here. A full examination of “Baby Boom Che” would require more than a blog post. It would require a thesis, if not a full dissertation.

The two most musically ambitious songs on Trudellʻs album are the similarly themed “Bombs Over Baghdad,” a prescient outspeak of inevitable events that were to unfurl several years after this album was recorded, and “Rich Manʻs War,” which condemns the tendency of nation-states to callously sacrifice human potential for material and commercial resources. Where “Bombs Over Baghdad” rocks with a chunky electric guitar and furious leads alongside a mournful war cry, “Rich Manʻs War” is a swampy, synth-driven groove imbued with a heartbeat by Native percussion and intermittent chanting.

“Never Never Blues,” bookended by outlaw country songs “Somebodyʻs Kid” and “What Heʻd Done,” is a straightforward throwaway intensified by a group of female singers, another lament on the failures in relations between man and woman. It sounds like Kris Kristofferson helping sing the chorus of “Somebodyʻs Kid” (a credit sheet for AKA Grafitti Man has been difficult tracking down over the Internet), and Iʻd say it could very well be Mavis Staples showing up for some emotive lines in “What Heʻd Done.”

Jesse Ed Davisʻs soulful slide guitar and a heartbreaking chant provide visceral support to“Beauty in a Fade,” where, in his deadpan rendering, Trudell deconstructs the temporal nature of romantic relationships, sifting through the sweet pain of love, which can only reveal meaning after love is gone or as its going away.

Itʻs fitting that AKA Grafitti Man was celebrated by a songwriter like Bob Dylan upon its release. Both artists skillfully (and crankily) impart their hard-won wisdom through weathered sensibilities, persons who have sorted through he fragments of their memories to create a narrative of growth through loss. AKA Grafitti Man accomplishes its truth-telling by providing an alternative to pop music tropes, while still doing justice to popular musicʻs road-tested forms.

#freshlisten #johntrudell #akagrafittiman

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wintergrccns-blog · 5 years

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alright folks!! here's why i'm sad about eli!! buckle up for this one

so where to start with this mess? there's a lot to unpack here. it's gonna get fucking long af as fuck. if it's hard to read on my blog or whatever for you, i'll gladly send it to you another way because yeah, it gets long

i guess shitty parents is always a good place to start lmao.

eli's parents (andrew and constance) are just .... who let them have and raise six kids. to give you an idea of they make him feel, they only call him elijah and they have made him hate his own name so much that people calling him elijah immediately sets off his flight or fight response, makes him angry, and just gross. he hates his name and can only stand eli. he also cannot stand that his middle name is andrew which is why you will likely never learn his middle name unless you're really close or his siblings tell you, but let me tell you, you are not going to be in for a fun time if you call him anything like elijah or andrew.

that being said, he has just never been enough for his parents. he was never interested in the sports that they wanted him to be. sure, he had a lot of talent for fighting and he was pretty good in soccer and if he worked at it, he could have been really good, but it wasn't skiing, snow boarding, literally any winter sport that could have brought more esteem to the resort as an institution. he wasn't good in school, at all. he has dyslexia but they didn't catch it until he was fourteen, and instead of understanding that school just wasn't his strong suit, they made eli feel stupid.

because of the resentment that he has for his parents, in particularly his father, he doesn't want the resort. in a way, he hates the resort and what it stands for in his father's eyes, yet this was his childhood home and in a way, his escape as well. it offered him something to do, people to meet, things to explore, an escape from his overbearing parents. this is why he just doesn't want to see the resort go out of the family, but he just can't bring himself to take the resort, unless the ownership was seriously threatened.

now onto his siblings. he loves his siblings to the end of the universe and back, and because of this, he feels like he's been a horrible big brother. he feels like he abandoned them, stranded with their parents. he knows that they were doing the same shit to them, and he feels like he just left them. he was gone for four years and they really never knew if he was safe or not. he feels so guilty about this, and he feels so fucking guilty about only being there three-five months a year (we're gonna come back to this). he tries to tell himself that he has to take care of himself, but at the end of the day when he's trying to sleep, the guilt starts to eat away at him that he hasn't done enough and he's not doing enough.

so, yeah, that's why the things about his family make me sad, but let's go further. why he travels.

so eli, travels. a lot, i made him because i just finished watching 180 South and i was like, i want a character like him! but he travels for a reason. he left home at 18 because he knew he wasn't going to get into college, he did horribly in high school. so, he made a deal with his dad that basically what his dad would pay for a state school and eli would then travel the world and get experiences. he was gone for four years. just gone. he would sometimes call or email if he had the chance to let them know he wasn't dead but those would only come every few months. they really had no way to know where he was or if he was even alive.

he runs away because he needed to breath. he needed to be in a world that didn't care about him or what he did because being in a world that did care, but judge every step he made was tearing him apart. indifference was a comfort at this point. he ran way then and has continued to run away because of this thoughts and his inadequacies (trust me fam, that's coming) and he just can't stand to be in his own skin. he hates it and he hates what he is. being a honeychurch was never a blessing. he also runs because frankly? that's what set him apart. sure, he's elijah andrew honeychurch, but leave wintergreen, that doesn't mean much. what makes him different is because he was the guy that made it across the globe by pretending he could sail and work a ship until he could. he was the guy that worked as a ranch hand in chile. he was the guy that climbed mt. everest. he was the guy that had adventures and did what his heart wanted. it's what made him special and stood out among the grain.

there's also the need he has to control his own destiny that set him off. he was never good enough for his parents, never did what they wanted him too, so eventually he just said "fuck it" and left and did what he wanted to do on a whim. he craves that control over his life because lord knows his parents tried taking that away from him.

another thing that makes me sad is that eli has such a talent for fighting??? when the money dried up, yeah, he had his horse back riding and he eventually learned how to sail, so he could make money, but where the most of it comes from is fighting. amateur fights when he can make it happen, but also like where the good money comes in is when he's with a buddy that can bet on him in a fight club. yep, he can make decent money in illegal fighting rings. he's good. yeah, he lost his first fight, but he did well in that fight. way better than he should have, yet he took that as a failure. now, being 32, there's really not much of a career for him and that's just something he would have been good at and he would have enjoyed.

so, this then moves into another point. he feels inferior. he feels like he's not enough at all. he feels inferior to his parents because they've spent all his life making sure he feels that way. piper has two masters, he could never even begin to imagine doing something like that. he barely passed high school. then lucas got a degree. lucas and loren can actually stay there. he could never imagine being able to do that. he couldn't put up with it. libby actually got into a nice college, something again, he could never dream of. then there's wes. wes is a better athlete than he thinks he could have ever been. he's strong and he's graceful on the ice, and he wishes he had that. he feels like the biggest failure out of all of them and he feels like he should be the example for them. he feels stupid, unsuccessful, untalented, and weak. he feels inferior in every since of the word. this is why he runs because he hates that he's not inherently more and he doesn't know how to cope with that.

yet, he can read the stars out on the ocean. he can read the waves. he can see impending danger in just about any terrain and get people to safety. he'd be the last person out. he can throw a right hook that can knock much bigger men out. he can make people feel listened to and supported. he loves until it hurts. he can wrangle cattle for hundreds of miles. he's climbed the highest mountain in the world. hell, he's climbed mountains fewer people have. he can be completely self-reliant in the wilderness. he doesn't see this though. with how he deals with his problems ie, he doesn't. he runs away. it's no surprise that he has commitment issues. that's boiled down to the his inferiority and the fact that he can't face his problems. he's in one place, does one thing for too long, is with someone for too long, and his skin begins to itch. he starts getting paranoid that he's not enough for the person he's with, and he has to leave.

so, eli has anger issues which he usually takes out in the gym and on himself. he is honestly not too worried about his own safety and is rather reckless, all the time. he very rarely actually yells at anyone, let alone hit him, but give him an excuse to start a fight and he will. if he's pushed too far, he will start yelling and he'll start turning into his dad. he inherited that from his dad, and honestly? makes him hate himself more and makes him afraid of his own anger which then in turn makes it harder for him to express which represses it and it gets ugly.

so on top of all of this, he's got the news that he's gonna be a dad. he's scared shitless. he is so scared that honestly it's hard not to go into an instant panic attack thinking about it, but he's trying to be strong for hannah. he's trying to show her that this isn't a mistake and it's not a tragedy. he's so scared though. he's scared for a lot of reasons.

one, is that he is going to loose himself. the one thing he takes pride in is his adventures, the only thing that he likes about himself, and that's just not available to him in the same way, and in such a way it's hard not to feel like it's completely over right now.

but two, and the most important reason that he's scared is that he's going to hurt his twins in the same way that andrew hurt him. he's so scared that he's going to make his kids hate themselves and feel like they aren't worth anything because hannah's only four months in and it was an accident, but they are the best things he's done, and he's so profoundly terrified that he's going to fuck them up.

on top of all of this bullshit. he feels like he can't talk about it. he knows that toxic masculinity is bullshit, he'd never expect lucas or wes to feel like they can't cry or limit their emotions just because they’re men, but that doesn't apply to himself. he got the worst of it from his father. the times he'd be crying as a child and needing comfort that his father would just smack him upside the head and tell him "stop crying. boys don't cry. stop being a pussy, elijah." he is trapped within the horrible world his father gave him.

and that's why eli makes me emo af as fuck, y'all.

#;; hc #everything hurts and nothing's okay #i guess #parental abuse tw #i don't know it's heavy and i'm emotionally exhausted after writing that

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diyunho · 6 years

Text

The Joker x Reader -”The Eiffel Tower”

Davros Hotels are considered neutral ground, internationally used for meetings, negotiations and cash only transactions: no weapons allowed, no fighting, no personal vendettas. Since you became the owner of Davros Hotel in Gotham four years ago, The Joker developed a fixation with your long legs. Why? Because you are very tall.Not a mere inch difference in height between the two of you, not at all: more like 8 inches, almost double when you wear high heels.

“This is neutral ground: no weapons allowed, no fighting, no personal vendettas. Davros Hotels are internationally used for meetings, negotiations and cash only transactions; safe haven can also be provided on case to case basis. Breaking the house rules will result in major penalties, including the membership being permanently revoked,” you explain to the new member, even if everyone already knows the oath they are committing to before they join the exclusivist organization.

“Of course, Madam President,” the man agrees without any hesitation.

You take the gold pin engraved with the letter “D” from its small box, attaching it to his suit’s collar.

“Congratulations,” you smile and he kisses your hand, getting up from his chair.

“Thank you,” Jonathan Crane strengthens his back, heading towards the two bodyguards waiting to take him to a meeting taking place on the 35th floor.

Once Scarecrow exits your office, The Joker taps his green cane on the marble floor, grinning. The Clown Prince of Crime just “happened” to be here for the short ceremony and quietly waited on the couch until you were done.

“That was emotional,” he chuckles, staring at your long legs showing from behind the glass desk.

“Mister J, are you participating in any meetings today?” you cut him off because you have a feeling he’s here without any purpose in particular.

“Nope, I’m just visiting so I can take care of my obsession,” he smirks and you don’t tolerate that kind of behavior at work.

“J, can you not?!”

“Oh, so now I’m J,” the answer doesn’t seem to impress a displeased Y/N that knows exactly what he’s referring to.

You became the owner of the Davros Hotel in Gotham four years ago and The Joker was already a member. Very hard for him to follow any regulations, but every villain, assassin or hitman that respects himself is part of the elite corporation.

From the first time he saw you, J developed a fixation with your long legs. Why? Because you are very tall. Not a mere inch difference in height between the two of you, not at all: more like 8 inches, almost double when you wear high heels.

“Please don’t make me take away your membership,” you start writing in your ledger, hoping he’ll take the hint and get lost.

“I didn’t break any house rules, Madam President,” The Joker brings to your attention and you keep on scribbling, annoyed he’s actually right. “Are you going to watch the meteor shower with me tonight?” J asks and you lift your head up, sighing. “You can bring the kid,” he points towards Emma’s picture on the desk.

“Hmm…If I can bring the kid then I might,” you mumble and return to your task while The King of Gotham continues to analyze what he came for: the fascinating pair of legs he can’t stay away from even if he’d try.

Suddenly, your hand slows down on the paper.

“I wish…” and you pause,”…I wish she could see how beautiful it is,” you gaze at him and unconsciously bite on your cheek.

“I know,” The Joker takes a deep breath and that’s probably all that he will say on the subject.

You nod a faint yes, brushing your fingers on top of the tattoo inside your left wrist: it spells “Emma” in Braille alphabet symbols.

*************

Three years ago

It was Tuesday morning and he barely got out of bed and managed to put on his boxers. J wondered if you already left, but the smell of coffee in the air meant that you were probably still there. He silently headed towards the kitchen and sneaked behind a sleepy Y/N without a word. Your back was turned and didn’t notice he was there; you had a coffee mug half empty on the counter and kept on scrolling through your cell phone.

The thing he liked the most was the fact that you were wearing one of his shirts; it was too short for you and The Joker could see the bottom of your lacy bikini.

“Morning Madam,” he growled and turned you around, kissing your breasts peeking from behind the fabric since the shirt was unbuttoned.

You just smiled and reached for the coffee maker, discretely getting away from his touch while pretending to do something useful.

“Good morning,” you poured some hot liquid for him in another mug and offered the beverage in a hurry. “I have to go; I’ll probably see you later this week, OK?”

“Busy again?” J frowned, sipping from the cup. “I want you to have breakfast with me; I don’t like to eat alone.”

“I can’t, I don’t want to be late,” you tried to go around him and he trapped you against the counter.

“Bulshit! You never stay. Why?” the blue eyes truly demanded an explanation; you could tell he was getting angry.

“Because it feels… too personal,” was the best explanation you could offer.

“And sex is not?” The Joker snarled though his clenched teeth; he seemed mad and you tried to reason with the man you spent the night with.

“Why don’t you call one of your girlfriends over, hm?” you took the cup out of his hand and set it aside, sincerely proposing a reasonable solution for the issue.

“I wanna have breakfast with you! Can’t you understand it’s an honor and a privilege to be invited to eat with The Joker?!”

“Well, it’s an honor and a privilege to sleep with Davro’s owner, so we can say we’re even. Yes?”

Before he could reply you lowered your head to kiss him, aware how much J hated to get on his toes so he can sort of reach your lips.

The reality was that The Joker didn’t want you to stay and eat with him for any other reason besides the fact that he was used to get what he wanted, when he wanted, regardless of the circumstances. You didn’t indulge his whims simply because nothing was owed to The Clown Prince of Crime.

Y/N had a different power over Gotham than The Joker’s; she was protected by the secret society’s laws and principles that not even him could touch. At least not without disastrous consequences.

“I have to be at the hotel early this morning, it’s not a lie. We have a situation in Madrid that requires immediate attention,” you tucked his green hair behind the ears, annoyed with the temper and demands. But he was great in bed and that’s why you dropped by once or twice a week, depending on your busy schedule.

J peeled his shirt off your body, tossing it to the ground.

“Go then!” he raised his voice afterwards, irritated. “Go!”

You calmly walked towards the master bedroom without a word, gathering garments scattered all over the place. He kept on glaring at the tall, naked Y/N wearing only a pair of bikini, mumbling to himself:

“Goddamn Eiffel Tower!”

You raised your hand up and waved without turning, rolling your eyes at the nickname you knew about.

“I heard that!” *************

It turned out the Madrid affair was even more serious than anticipated and it required your presence. You were set to fly to Spain the next morning at 7am,using the organization’s private jet and one of the fake identities at your disposal. Fortunately, you didn’t have to pack too many things because Davros Hotels always accommodate their owners and members with everything necessary no matter the country or location.

Searching your purse for the last details, you realized something important was missing: your yearly planner with handwritten notes, probably left at The Joker’s Penthouse. You recalled stopping by the elevator and digging in your purse for the car keys before you left, placing a bunch of items on the coffee table. It was certainly still there.

Instead of sending one of your men to get the planner, you decided to be the one to drive back to J’s place and recover it: you knew exactly where it was so might as well.

It was 9pm and Frost kind of froze when he saw you, not expecting to see you twice in the same day.

“I’m going upstairs,” you announced your intention and he pressed the button, calling the elevator for you.

“Madam President,” Jonny fake coughed,”you should know that Mister J has…umm…company.”

You chuckled, amused.

“Don’t be childish, Frost. I don’t care; I only forgot something in the lobby. It will take a moment to get.”

“Of course,” he agreed, gulping. Jonny was actually worried for no reason: you occasionally slept with his boss, nothing more. You liked your freedom and he liked his. No strings attached, plain and simple.

When the elevator’s doors opened on the 30th floor, you definitely noticed signs of some kind of party: confetti, drinks, balloons and loud music playing in the background. You tiptoed towards the coffee table, already seeing the tiny notebook was exactly where you left it.

Since the lobby directed straight into the living room, you couldn’t help but take a quick look around the premises: one girl was passed out on the couch, two others were having a pillow fight, visibly drunk and stripped down to their bras and panties. The Joker was sitting on a chair wearing a pair of sweatpants, making out with the woman sitting in his lap. She kept on grinding against him and you could tell he was very worked up about it since her outfit was super skimpy.

Busy guy… you thought and backed out towards the elevator when J saw you and it was kind of awkward, that’s why you felt the need to say something:

“I’m not here!” you shouted and rushed inside, guilty to have interrupted the fun.

Your cellphone rang before you reached the 22nd floor. The Joker’s name popped on the screen and you had to answer.

“I didn’t know you’re coming,” the deep voice sneered.

“Sorry to sneak in like that, but I forgot my planner on the coffee table. I didn’t mean to intrude,” you apologized even if you didn’t have to.

“I can send them away,” he proposed but Y/N had no intention to return that night.

“I didn’t come for sex so there’s no need. Like I said, I simply forgot my planner and I came to retrieve it. I’m flying to Madrid tomorrow and I need it.”

“How long are you gonna be away?”

“For a while, not sure. I’ll call you after I return,” you informed, somewhat flustered.

“Fine!” and J hang up without any further comments.

You sat in your SUV for a few minutes, staring at the cars in the underground parking for no reason. You dreaded your trip, but it had to be done: Devros managers could never neglect their duties.

Even if the only thing the owner of the Devros Hotel in Gotham wanted for the moment was to call The Joker and tell him to get rid of those girls so she can spend the night with him.

**************

Madrid was a mess; took two months and a half to clear up the craziness: the owner of the Hotel was assassinated and imminent chaos menaced to strike the network in Spain since the successor was the one suspected to have killed his predecessor.

In the end it was proved the new owner was innocent and the charges were dropped, a very tired Y/N finally returning to Gotham after a long absence. You didn’t contact J at all, waiting to get better before seeing him: while abroad, you felt sick for days and ignored your health because you were simply too busy helping out the Organization. And then you found out why.

Ten days after your arrival, The Joker decided to pay you a visit: you weren’t hard to find since you lived at the Penthouse on top of Davros Hotel. He knew you were back and got pissed you didn’t call like you promised. Not because he cared, but because of his ego.

You weren’t in the mood for a meeting when security asked if J should be allowed to come to your suit, but he insisted. You left the door opened for him and he found a pale, much skinnier Y/N waiting for him in the living room, covered with a blanket.

“You didn’t come over,” The Joker criticized instead of hello, reckoning you don’t look good.

“Because I’m sick,” you signaled him to come sit by you on the sofa.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired out of pure curiosity.

You didn’t want to tell him.

Once his body was next to yours, you just fed him some lies, this way he’d leave you alone.

“Nothing to worry about; just a bug I caught while traveling. A lot of stress and sleeplessness on top of everything, you know?”

He pretended to debate, bringing up the real problem:

“So when exactly I’m going to have those long legs of yours up on my shoulders or around my waist, huh?”

Even if you were nauseated, you started laughing like you didn’t laugh in weeks.

“As soon as I’m better, OK?”

“Yeah, but when? I need a time frame,” The Joker attempted to negotiate.

“Soon,” the repeated word made him sigh, exasperated:

“Goddamn Eiffel Tower!”

“Am I that tall?” you teased, waiting for an over-the-top response and you weren’t disappointed.

“Pfft, yeah! I need a fucking stool to hop on if I want to kiss you when we’re standing!”

J expected more laughing but you seemed sad.

“We’re not standing right now…” you whispered and pulled him closer until your lips touched. ”I missed you,” you caressed his face and then leaned back on the pillows, placing your legs in his lap. He wasn’t sure about what was going on, but he wasn’t stupid: something was off.

“Is this a mating sign?” he lifted his non-existing eyebrows, starting to walk his fingers on the soft skin and yanked at your blanket, throwing it behind the couch.

You pressed your abdomen with both hands in a hurry, not expecting that action from his part.

“Can you give that back, please?!” you pleaded.

He looked at your tummy in silence, then uttered:

“Madam President, is that a baby bump?”

How could you have denied it? You were two months pregnant when you left for Madrid and had no idea yet, plus the two months and a half spent over there…It showed.

“Yes,” you sniffled and cuddled against the pillows, a bit anxious.

“Am I the father?” the interrogation went on.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” The Joker suspiciously smacked his lips.

“Yes.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.”

“Then who’s the father?”

“It’s none of your business!” you cut him off and then turned your attention towards the TV, watching the random movie that you couldn’t hear over your ears ringing.

J saw the tears you struggled to keep in and the frustration, deciding to drop it.

“What are we watching?” he grabbed the remote, scrolling down the channels.

You just lifted your shoulders up and refused to talk. J kept your long legs in his lap for hours until you fell asleep. Before he left, The Joker touched your tummy and grumbled, careful not to wake you up:

“Behave! You’re making your mom sick.”

***************

It was such a difficult pregnancy followed by an excruciating delivery; you were miserable the whole time, some days you couldn’t even muster the energy to go to your office on the 27th floor so you just worked from home while bedridden. Thankfully, you had trustworthy people helping and it made the process easier. You avoided J as much as possible, which wasn’t hard since he didn’t show up at Davros for meetings or transactions anymore. He certainly had his girlfriends to have fun with, plus your priorities changed also.

After your water broke, you were in labor for almost 24 hours. It was a very complicated birth and the doctors had to perform an emergency C-section in order to save the baby.

Emma brightened your existence at 2:03am on a Saturday, but the medical team had to give you bad news: at the preliminary examination, it was determined that your daughter was born blind.

The announcement was a serious blow to your mental state: the tiny miracle in your arms didn’t deserve such faith and you couldn’t stop crying, blaming yourself for what happened to her.

They kept you at the private hospital for eight days until you were given the ok to return home. The new mother was tired, depressed and heartbroken, even if the numerous specialists that further evaluated your daughter’s eyesight said that a few options might be possible once she was older: eye surgeries and even corneal transplant. No guarantees anything would work, of course.

The Joker showed up at your Penthouse one month after Emma’s birth. He convinced the security team not to announce his arrival and had to pull a lot of strings, but he was able to get in your suit, trying to guess where the baby’s bedroom was among the 14 rooms. J found it upstairs, right by the master bedroom.

You were pacing around, talking to the little one:

“This is mommy. Can you feel me?” you touched your cheeks with the small hands, smiling at her. Emma fussed and you covered her in kisses, seconds later bursting into tears. “Mommy’s so sorry…” you gently rocked her, hoping she would fall asleep. “I don’t know what I did wrong…I’m so sorry sweetheart,” and you wiped your tears when you heard the knock on the cracked door.

“Can I come in?”

You stared at The Joker, surprised to see him there. He placed the huge bouquet of flowers on the recliner you often slept in and waited.

“With all due respect Madam President, I must say you look like crap,” he kept a straight face while pronouncing the words. You didn’t react in any way and he found it imperative to converse more:

“I came to offer my congratulations,” J pointed towards your daughter and you mumbled a faint thank you. “Can I look at her?” he approached and you didn’t stop him. “Is it true that our baby is blind?” he nonchalantly brought it up, hovering over the little Princess you were holding.

“Y-yes,” you admitted to both questions, sobbing even if you tried to control your composure.

It’s just been so hard and him being there didn’t help.

“That sucks,” The Joker puckered his lips and hinted: “You know it’s not your fault, right? She’s healthy otherwise?”

You nodded a yes, blowing your nose in a tissue and J sighted:

“It’s not the end of the world, Madam President. Can I hold her?”

You hesitated, but gave in and handed Emma over to The Joker. She yawned and he could see her eyes couldn’t focus; they were a very light, unnatural blue shade.

“All these cute things I bought for her and she can’t see them,” you remorsefully sniffled and didn’t understand why he gestured for you to sit down on the pink couch. You complied though and J turned off the light, slowly finding his way towards an upset Y/N.

“Shit it’s dark!” he complained and you worried he’ll stumble and drop the baby.

“What are you doing?!” you asked and extended your arms until you felt him and guided him to sit beside you.

“There, this way we can see what she sees, which is apparently …nothing.”

He wondered what you were thinking about but the mystery solved itself when your head rested on his shoulder and softly said:

“It’s not that dark once you get used to it…”

******************

“You know this is mommy, yeah?” you snickered and tickled the seven months old Emma, touching her nose with yours. She babbled and cooed, recognizing her mother’s voice. She was crawling around in the padded bedroom, especially set up for her because you didn’t want your daughter to hurt herself.

“Such a good girl,” you praised and let her feel your face and then kissed the little fingers.

“Com’ere, Pumpkin!” The Joker clapped and his little girl excitedly screamed: another voice she recognized and crawled towards the source of the noise, almost losing her balance. The Joker waited for her to reach his feet and then lifted her up, tossing her in the air and she giggled each time he caught her. It always made you so content to see her happy. And it made you happier when J showed interest towards his daughter.

“OK, daddy’s tired,” J huffed after a few rounds, placing Emma back on the padded floor and giving her the binky. “Pfew, she’s getting heavy,” he over exaggerated and collapsed next to her. Emma started rattling toys she couldn’t see, thrilled about the noise nevertheless and tried to climb over him without success.

You were organizing some books on the shelves, a ton of bedtime stories in Braille alphabet and how to read Braille, lots of things you collected and learned in order to be able to help your baby in the future. You finished and turned around to see what Emma was doing: she was snuggling with J’s purple coat and he was watching her, puzzled.

“I don’t know why she likes it so much; she can’t even see the vibrant color,” he taunted and attempted to pull it away from her. She whimpered and you had to explain:

“Emma likes it because it smells like you; that’s she recognizes us: by our voices, scent and the shape of our faces.”

You were ready to protest him taking the coat from her, but he cuddled with Emma, squeezing her chubby cheeks:

“The real thing is better, hm? You don’t need the coat.”

*****************

1pm today

“Mommy is as tall as The Eiffel Tower,” J addresses his sleepy daughter, ranting about random stuff like he always is.

“Fafel?” the innocent reproduction of the French landmark makes him laugh like a maniac; the two year old is entertaining as hell.

“Precisely!” he kisses Emma’s forehead as a reward and tucks her and the teddy bear under the sparkly comforter for the afternoon nap. “Mommy is the President of Davros in Gotham, which is a very cool job and daddy is a King, also a remarkable occupation,” The Joker boasts even if the little girl has no clue about what he’s rambling.

“Da’yy, whe’s mommy?” she pouts because your daughter didn’t hear you in a while.

“Mommy’s at work right below us. After you wake up we’ll go see her, alright?”

“U-hum,” she squeezes her fluffy toy closer and The Joker waits until she is completely out before calling over the nanny so he can visit you on the 27th floor.

He barely made himself comfortable on the couch when the secretary announced:

“Mister Jonathan Crane is here for his inauguration.”

“Tell him to come in,” you get up and prepared the gold pin to give to the new Davros member.

“Madam President, can I participate in this solemn moment?” the devilish silver smile makes you doubtful on the request. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“It’s better if you don’t,” a sour Y/N replies, but it is too late: Scarecrow enters the office and J attends the short ceremony. Actually was quiet for once and behaved.

Until Jonathan left, of course.

****************

Since The Joker invited you over to his Penthouse to watch the meteor shower, you plan to spend the night there with Emma. After dinner, you got out on the terrace, read a few stories to her and she dozed off in her dad’s arms. The swing is holding the three of you while you and J wait for the celestial show to begin.

“How I wish she could see this,” you stroke her long hair. “Can you imagine how stunned she would be?” you brush your lips against the toddler’s closed eyelids.

“Maybe one day she will,” he growls and elbows you. “Hey, do you know I had to cancel an orgy so you two can come over?”

“Wow, you never cease to amaze me. You’re just so selfless,” the lack of enthusiasm in your voice prompts more nonsense:

“Indeed. I think I deserve some kind of compensation,” The Joker lustfully stares at your long legs.

“Oh, I think it’s starting!” you squeal, interrupting his enthusiasm. “I’ll turn off the lights in the living room,” the hyper Y/N strolls inside and swiftly returns to her spot on the swing.

“It’s pretty dark out here,” J frowns because he got ignored and you kiss his neck, smiling:

“It’s not that dark once you get used to it…”

Also read: MASTERLIST

http://diyunho(dot)tumblr(dot)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

AO3 account - same blog name: DiYunho

#the joker x reader #the joker fanfiction #the joker imagine #the joker jared leto #the joker #jared leto #joker #joker fanfiction #the joker suicide squad #joker suicide squad #THE SUICIDE SQUAD #mister j #Mistah J #mr. j #puddin #dc #DC comics

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spiderlingss · 6 years

Text

You Don’t Have To Be Alone

Author: @spiderlingss Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader Word Count: 3295 Warnings: Themes of death, fluff and slight angst Summary: You’re working on the set of Spider-Man: Homecoming when you get a call from home that means that you briefly need to abandon your responsibilities on set. When you return Tom tries to make sure that you know that you can trust him.

A/N: Okay so this took me ages to get out and it has low-key driven me freaking crazy… It would be amazing to complete any requests that you guys may have and I love to get feedback, so please don’t worry about sending things for me to improve on. I’m really not sure about this one but alas I hope you like it.

Today was your first day back on set since flying back to the UK after you were informed that your cousin had been rushed to the hospital. Your mother didn’t want to worry you, but you knew that things weren’t good, you could sense it in her voice when she called. When she put the phone down the adrenaline took over and you immediately booked the next flight out of Atlanta back to London. You called Jon soon after, realising that you couldn’t just leave without informing him. You can’t exactly remember what you had said, your memories clouded with trauma, only hearing the response he gave you in return, telling you to take all the time you needed to be with your family. You managed 10 days of being at home before you couldn’t stand it any longer and decided to fly back to Atlanta as soon as you could.

You had been messaging the cast in the group chat whilst you were away, but none of them really knew the full extent of what had happened. There were multiple times while you were alone, not able to sleep, back in London when you really wanted to confide in Tom, but you couldn’t bring yourself to selfishly distract him whilst he was living his dream. From the moment that Harrison introduced you to each other you had hit it off and found yourselves getting closer over the course of filming. The feelings that you were developing were beginning to consume you, and they only grew stronger after you lost Alfie. Tom was the only other person alive that you had ever bonded with over the same things that you had done with Alf. You decided that you desperately needed to go back to work in order for you to gain control over your life again.

So here you were, doing the coffee run with Harrison, trying to regain some of the normalcy in your life. He was the only other person that you could bring yourself to tell, half because he needed to take on a double workload whilst you were away and half because you just needed a friendly voice of comfort. Over the course of the week, as you found yourself deteriorating into a state of anger and depression, Harrison was the one that had reminded you that those feelings were normal after losing someone and that sometime in the future the sting of those emotions would fade.

“How are you holding up?” He placed his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side, his grip momentarily tightening before softening again to express his concern.

“I’m just trying not to think about it, you know?” You spoke quietly, the corners of your mouth curving up lightly at his actions. “I decided to come back because I knew that it’s what I needed. Plus, Alf would have killed me if I messed up this opportunity.” You laughed morosely, a twinge of pain interrupting the dull ache in your chest and your brows furrowed slightly. Harrison gently guided you over to the nearest shopfront, to make sure that the both of you weren’t blocking the crowded sidewalk before pulling you fully into his supportive hold, squeezing you tightly.

“You are so strong Y/N.” He pulled away, his hands gripping onto each of your shoulders as he looked deep into your clouded eyes, wanting to make sure that you knew that he was there for you. “Look, if you need more time to adjust you don’t need to worry about me, I just want my friend to focus on herself. A little more time might help.”

“I felt bad leaving you, don’t get me wrong Haz, but I promise that I am back because I want to be. I need the routine.” You smiled back at him, genuinely. For the first time in a week, you had managed to smile without having been reminded of bittersweet childhood memories, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to make new ones. “I am so lucky to call you my friend.”

“And as am I with you.” He smiled sweetly and you both continued walking down the street in a comfortable silence, making sure to run the orders in your head again so you didn’t forget them.

The fact that the workday had gone so quickly completely contrasted the way time shifted when you were home. It was nice to be able to rush around and escape your thoughts, even just for a short while as you dashed around alongside Harrison to make sure everyone was happy. Everyone was glad to see you back and much to your relief they weren’t asking any questions, making it so much easier to get on with your daily duties.

Jon did pull you aside when filming had wrapped up for lunch, making sure you were definitely ready to be back at work and offered his condolences. He had been checking up on you while you were away and even tried to convince you to stay home for a little while longer when you said you were returning. He also mentioned that he and Harrison made the decision to not tell everyone why you were away in order to give you the time and space to decide when to talk to the others about it.

The talk made you think back to when you first arrived on set. Even you, with your relaxed approach to new people, were anxious to be a part of the crew. Once you had finally arrived, you knew that there was no need to worry. It made you happy to know that you were part of a family whilst working on the production. For some reason, you thought that you would be considered a nobody whilst on set, especially since you were hired to double up with Harrison to aid his assistant duties. Assistants stereotypically don’t receive the best treatment in the workplace and the thought of running around pandering to the whims of people who didn’t even care if they knew your name worried you. You have never been so happy to be proven wrong.

As you lie in your trailer thinking over all of these things, your mind keeps drifting back to all of the memories you have made with the young cast. The nights out, exploring the cities that you travelled to while filming, drunken nights in trailers and meals in fancy restaurants. All things that shouldn’t be available to a small town kid like you, yet you’re here living the dream. All of the memories were created because of Alfie and if it wasn’t for your excitable, film student of a cousin you wouldn’t have been able to get out of bed in a morning, let alone come up with a CV and practice relentlessly for the interview that he helped you receive. He’d previously worked on the set of Civil War during his year in industry and when he received an offer to work on the film introducing Spider-Man into the MCU he put your name forward instead.

He was in his final year of studying so he decided that it wasn’t the right time for him to commit to something so time-consuming due to the fact that he needed to focus on final projects and complete his dissertation. He knew that if he was missing out on a once in a lifetime opportunity, then he was going to make it his sole mission to get you on that set instead. He was aware that you weren’t experienced enough to do what they had asked of him, but he still practically begged them to give you work experience on the production.

He knew that it was a long shot, so he didn’t tell you until he knew that it was close to becoming a possibility. The last thing that he wanted was to raise your hopes only for them to be shattered. Since he had impressed many people during the time he spent working with them on Civil War, Jon agreed to the idea and was happy to have you on board, providing you impressed him during an interview. Which you did. Alfie was so proud of you, despite the fact that you would tell him it was only because of his hard work and negotiating skills that you got the job.

The thought that had haunted you since the second you found out he was in a coma was the fact that if he had taken the job, he’d be here instead of you. Alfie should be in Atlanta living the dream you were currently experiencing and the fact that the decision he made cost him his life was killing you inside. It physically hurt to know that you would never properly be able to thank him in person for everything that he had made possible for you. You couldn’t help but keep torturing yourself, wondering if different decisions would have changed the outcome. You cursed yourself for not calling him or managing to delay him from driving that night. Questioning if there was anything that could have stopped him from being on the road on the same night as the reckless drunk driver that left him alone to die. Wishing that it could have been you instead of him. You began trembling as desperate tears continued to form in your eyes but you didn’t have the energy to try and fight them anymore, so you caved in and allowed yourself to cry for the first time since the funeral before falling into a deep sleep.

You were awoken by a familiar knocking pattern coming from the metal door of your trailer. Both Tom and you had decided to come up with a knock that only the two of you would recognise in order to help tell when the other was around. You padded drowsily over to the door, wiping the sleep away from your eyes, before unlocking the trailer door to let Tom in. You avoided eye contact in your tired state, gesturing for him to enter. Once you had shut the door behind him, you desperately tucked yourself into his embrace, causing his lips to curl up at the sides.

“Hello sleepy girl, you missed dinner. You alright?” He asked into your hair, worry lacing his words as he played with a piece of loose thread that he found on your hoodie.

“Yeah, jetlag’s a bitch.” You smiled weakly, before pulling away to take in his appearance. His hair was tangled and windswept and tiny beads of sweat were resting on his forehead, which told you that it was likely everyone had been out enjoying a game of football. “So what have you been up to?”

“Preach it,” Tom joked, his brown eyes glinting as he flashed you a toothy grin. “Went for food and then played a good ol’ game of footie. We tried to call you but we obviously couldn’t get a hold of you.” You nodded your head softly in response, before running to the small kitchen area in the trailer and pouring a drink for each of you. Tom was always extremely polite and would never ask for anything when he visited your trailer, despite the fact that the two of you were extremely close.

“Thanks, love.” He spoke when you passed him the glass of lemonade, his fingers brushing past your own when he did causing a rose tint to fall across your tired, puffy cheeks. He picked up on it and the thought made his heart flutter, but he knew better than to push it, sensing that something wasn’t right. “I’m worried about you, y/n. We all are.”

His words were what you needed right now. You placed your drink on the small coffee table and you found yourself motioning for him to sit down on the small sofa, if you could even call it that. You sat first, your back to the arm of the chair while you brought your knees up to your chest before resting your chin in the perfect nook that they had formed. Tom followed, taking a huge gulp of lemonade before setting his glass next to yours. He sat as close as he could get, his thighs resting on your sock hidden feet. His arm was resting on the back or the seat beside you as his fingertips comfortingly brushed your shoulder.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I need you to know I am here and that I have noticed that you’re not yourself. I don’t want you to think that I don’t care because I do.” He sympathetically continued and despite his words, he really hoped that you would open up to him. Tom felt that this was the right time to show you how you made him feel. He found himself pulling you into his lap to cradle you in his arms before he rested his forehead against your cheek. You were positive that he would be able to feel the heat radiating off them as you eased into his embrace.

“I just don’t know how to tell you.” You croaked, already feeling the lump in your throat swelling, causing you to clutch onto his hoodie for support as you shook the idea away. “I can’t bring myself to tell you, Tom. I haven’t had to physically say it yet and I don’t think I can.”

You both sat there for a short while as you tried to figure out how you could say it. You were glad that he was here because he made you feel safe and you found yourself bringing your hands up to his hair in order to play with his chocolate curls which left a soft smile on his lips. At that moment he wanted to tell you so eagerly about how he felt, how he had fallen for you and that he found himself dreaming of being with you and never letting you go.

Just as he was about to speak, you beat him to it, softly humming into the air, “Do you remember Alfie? My Alfie.”

“Yeah, how could I forget! I thank him every day, in my head because he’s the reason I met you.” Tom spoke aloud, softly pressing his nose against yours causing butterflies to form in your stomach at the contact. The two of you had always been extremely comfortable with each other, but the small changes in body language and the intimate touches like the last told you that you both felt the same way about each other. You felt relaxed under his hold, but couldn’t help but feel the dull ache in your chest rise as Tom unknowingly talked about Alf as if he was still here. You came to the conclusion that he thought you were trying to avoid the distressing topic. “Plus he worked so hard on the Civil War set and from what I saw of him on the job, he’s really talented.”

“He really was.” You choked out, moving so that you were now straddling his hips in the least sexually motivated way. You nestled your face into in the crook of his neck and slowly began to sob. Tom couldn’t believe what you were saying but he didn’t hesitate to gently rest his head on yours as he continued to grasp you safely within his embrace. You didn’t think that he could have gotten any closer but he somehow managed to. The two of you stayed like that for a short while as you bawled into his chest, listening to his staggered breathing and rapid heartbeat as he rocked you.

“I’m so sorry Y/N.” His voice cracked and it took you a short while to notice but when something wet dropped onto your cheek, you realised that he was crying with you. You looked up slowly, your eyes red and puffy, to meet Toms eyes slightly bloodshot, holding back his own tears as best he could.

“It’s not your fault Tom.” You tried to comfort him with your words. He knew that you were right, but he couldn’t help but feel like he had let you down, that he should have called you more or read in-between the lines. His brows knitted together and you found yourself trying to meet his gaze, but he wouldn’t let you as he wrinkled his eyes shut.

“I should have realised. I should have checked Facebook or something Y/N.” He furiously began shaking his head, wishing that he could turn back the clock and approach this differently. “I should have been there for you when you needed me the most.” You placed your petite hands on either side of his face, so that that you could get him to look at you.

“You couldn’t have known Tom and I… I didn’t want to scare you away.” It was true, the last thing that you wanted was to throw your emotions at Tom and have him run in the opposite direction. He was a busy man, especially whilst filming and he no doubts had his own problems to deal with. You needed him now more than ever but you had just been worried about how you were going to be able to go about it.

“I know my angel, but you know me better than that. Your problems are my problems and I am here for you to talk to. No matter what.” He brought his hand so that it was nestling under your chin so that he could lift it up in order to get a better look at you. You brought a hand to his and gave it a huge squeeze, tears still loosely cascading down your chapped cheeks. “You can trust me Y/N.”

“I know Tom.” You smiled and lovingly rested your forehead against his, causing his breath to hitch slightly as he brought his hands to cup your damp cheeks, brushing his thumbs over the apples of your face. “God, I would love to kiss you right now.” You sniffled slightly, causing Toms lips to curl upwards into a cheesy grin.

“I thought you’d never say,” He breathed, looking into your eyes before slowly bringing your lips to his. It was soft and passionate but it wasn’t desperate, no, it was reassuring. Tom pulled away before bringing his lips to your nose. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that love. I’m sorry that I didn’t get the hint until now.” He smiled weakly and you engulfed him in your embrace.

“You are here now when I need you the most Tom, I don’t see that as a bad thing.” You reassured him, your voice as smooth as silk and music to his ears.

“You are the most amazing woman that I have ever met and I would love if we could give ‘us’ a shot. Every day on set I find myself anticipating the moment that you will walk through that door. Your smile instantly makes me feel like I could take on the world. I don’t know what I would do without you, love and it’s about time I’m honest with you about that.” He exhaled deeply, his coffee tinted eyes boring into your skin as he nervously fiddled with the drawstring on your hoodie.

“I would love that Tommy.” You smiled softly as you peppered kisses all over his face, setting yourself back down in his lap with an anxious smile resting on your lips. “I’m ready to talk about what happened if that’s okay?”

“Of course it is darling, I’m all yours and I am here to listen and help you as best I can,” Tom reassured, brushing your hair away from your eyes before bringing his lips to meet your forehead softly. “You will never have to go through something like this alone ever again.”

#spiderlingss #fanfiction #one shot #one shots #tom holland x reader #tom x reader #holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland one shot #mcc cast #avengers #the avengers #spiderman homecoming #harrison osterfield #tom holland fanfiction #HOPE YOU LIKE IT #my writing #spiderlingss writing

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lowellhq · 3 years

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♦ Stats

» Grant Gustin » Twenty-Six » Legacy » Second Year » Dominant Switch

♦ Connection(s):

Shen submissive: Sebastian knew the Shen submissive before attending Lowell. Because they grew up within the same social and financial circles it was assumed they’d be perfect choices for advantageous claims. Their families were in talks about it and had decided to get them both enrolled as claimed students. However Sebastian entered Lowell first and enrolled as a single student without telling anyone in the Shen or St. Clair family. The time has come for Shen sub to enroll and it will be a wrinkle if he lists Sebastian as his intended claim on the forms.

† Biography

Sebastian St. Clair was born to two wealthy parents, Maxwell and Meredith St. Clair. His father was a hard working lawyer and the St. Clairs had always been prominent in the field of justice. Judges on the federal bench, trial attorneys and prosecutors, and even private investigators filled out the mantle of St. Clairs who made the illustrious name proud. Their family lineage can be traced all the way back from before the colonies.

With such storied history comes great expectations. Being a Dominant male of St. Clair lineage meant that three things were expected of him: be a lawyer, obtain a claim of good stature, and excel in every way. Sebastian has always put off the air that he doesn’t care about anything. His manner matches the kind of brash behavior to be expected of a young, wealthy Dominant with no attachments of any kind, and all the reason to play. What many don’t know is that he holds a much darker weight inside of him.

When he was younger Sebastian used to lampoon the ills of society and its focus on classifications. Sebastian used to say that such focus on classification and not strength of character would be to the detriment of society. However, his parents often corrected Sebastian in public and many would eventually turn to make fun of him if he spoke up. One thing the sensitive young St. Clair didn’t take kindly to was criticism. In response, he constructed an exterior of bravado and snark to keep people at arm’s length, and to put off a facade that fooled those not looking closely.

His appearance, demeanor, and classification got him into all the right parties and in the graces of all the right people but at a cost. His act worked entirely too well and kept too many people from knowing the truth of who Sebastian is. Few know of his soft heart, his genuine care, and his need to feel acceptance. In fact the only people Sebastian would say truly knows him are two of his closest friends, Cassius Westbrooke and Josue Navarro.

The three grew up in the same ring of privileged light and enjoyed the benefits of its glow. Sebastian and Josue were often privy to experiences growing up as Dominants that their families kept Cassius out of. In turn, esteemed claims were attempted to be arranged between Cassius and either one of his Dominant friends. Sebastian and Cassius spurned the idea and taught their parents never to broach the attempt again.

He has always had a contentious relationship with his parents wherein he has always tried to assert his independence from their authority whilst secretly yearning for them to pay him attention of any kind. As a kid they came to none of his ballet recitals or ballroom performances. As a teenager they came to very few of his lacrosse games and none of his track meets. He would invite them. He would ask their personal assistants to put it on their calendars and send digital reminders. He would try to trick them by saying the dates were marked for something else. A ball, a gala, something honoring their name.

Few of his attempts worked and after a while he stopped expecting them to come but never outgrew the sting of disappointment that he still merited so little of their focus. Except in areas where it concerned their reputation. Which put a claim high on their list of efforts.

In truth, Sebastian has never been keen on the idea of a claim. He has always felt it to be an unnecessary bondage on the part of both parties meant to achieve the same things that a good business deal and a great bottle of scotch could accomplish. Sebastian would rather live only for himself with a responsibility to no one else. His parents haven't often left the matter up to Sebastian. They see this as wholly their arena since it will effect them too. An advantageous claim brings honor to their family and furthers their own economic agendas. It will determine how people see them as parents and talk about them in society as people.

Before his entrance into Lowell they had arranged a claim with the Shen submissive. Their names were both illustrious and they would both gain many advantages from the industry and skills brought together by the claim. Sebastian tried to evade this maneuver. He said he needed more time to refine himself as a Dominant so as not to botch the claim early on. This seemed to appease his parents and it worked to Sebastian's advantage given that the Shen submissive would not be ready to attend Lowell for a whole year after Sebastian had already arrived.

So, like the dutiful son, Sebastian ended up getting an undergraduate degree in Business and then applying to a top tier Law School in New York. He enjoyed the parsing of words and the exacting measures of language in Law. He excelled there, even if his heart lay in other spaces. After this he knows where he will go. It will not be where his heart would rather lead him.

Sebastian is in his final year of law school and has taken a gap year to finally secure a claim. Lowell was predestined. It all felt so inevitable. He'd come here with resignation of the certainty of his future but with an ability to have fun. One year. He was allowed one more year of freedom. He spent it partying, making friends of all the prettiest men, and acting every bit the single Dominant he was.

Only there was a problem. He'd begun to exchange letters with the Shen submissive and in doing so he felt a piece of his heart go out to the male. Love, Sebastian had learned in life, was dangerous. It made you vulnerable to pain and disappointment. It made you subject to the whims and acceptance of another. He was as afraid of love as he was of commitment and disparaged both internally despite wanting the warmth and validation each would provide him.

Sebastian had already done so much playing in his time before Shen's arrival that he felt caught. His love for Shen made no difference in his desire not to be in a claim. He stalled every time the subject of enrollment papers came up in his letters with the Shen boy. He told his parents only the most vague of things. He let them assume while he merely implied that things were as they should be.

Now that Sebastian is coming into his second year he knows he has to approach his education at Lowell differently. Yet he is using his analytical mind and manipulative skill to manufacture any way out of his current predicament while not pissing off a powerful family and inciting the wrath of his parents. Sebastian has some choices to make and plays a dangerous game.

Secrets and Motives:

secret one: Sebastian’s initial classification test at birth determined him to be a Dominant. However years later when Sebastian was doing a science project at school on the biological markers which determined classification he took an at home test to see if he could determine how it worked. The test came out saying he might be a Switch, though the box says the tests are not always accurate. He’s never brought this up with anyone but fears that it will one day come to light.

secret two: Sebastian has always loved performance. He took ballroom and ballet as a child for a few years. He wanted at one point to look into the fine arts, such as acting, or dancing, as a path of study but his parents discouraged it in little ways. He was always afraid of what it would do to his image as a Dominant to be seen in what some would consider the ‘softer arts.’

motive one: Sebastian wants to find a way out of his arranged claim and still do his best to spare Shen's heart. He doesn't know how he will do this but he also knows that there's more to him than life in a claim with Shen (or anyone) could offer him and he isn't sure how to appear to fit the mold while breaking free from the confines of the traditional path.

motive two: Sebastian is intent on doing any and all things which will secure his position in society in life. He joins any organization, club, or social invite with the consideration of image first in his mind. It is why he’s elected to get involved with the Order of the Primrose. Even if only in small ways.

#lhqtaken.#lhqtakendom.#lhqtakenswitch.#lhqtakenstudent.#lhqtakenlegacy.

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captainkippen · 4 years

Text

Right, this is the beginning of the first chapter of An Fic. It is not finished. Nowhere near it. I’m giving freewriting a go. I have no plan for this please don’t ask me where it’s going. Tell me if it’s too out of character/too boring/too Not Andi Mack to continue. Maybe I’ll change the names and turn it into an original if so, who knows.

Anyway, TW for smoking I guess. PG 13 for swearing? Reader’s discretion advised?

"Shut up. I'm having a mid-life crisis."

"You're twenty-one."

"Fine, an almost-quarter-life crisis or something, whatever."

"You know, I've seen you overreact before, but this time really takes the cake. Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Pfft. It's a great idea. The best idea I've ever had."

"You literally just said yourself that you're having a crisis."

TJ let out a long suffering sigh and glared at Marty. Andi snickered from where she was perched on the edge of the tub behind him. She had two gloved hands covered in bright green sludge buried deep in TJ's hair.

"Don't worry, Marts," she said. "I used to help Bex do her hair all the time when she got bored. If it goes wrong, we can just cut it off. Hair grows back usually."

"Usually?!" TJ spluttered, attempting to turn and face her only to be held in place by her firm grip.

Marty snorted. "Still sure about this?"

"Shut UP, Marty. Jeez. You're worse than my mom."

"Hey, your mom is saint. I really admire her. How she put up with your annoying all these years without committing murder, I don't know."

"Gross," Andi said appreciatively. She might have stolen the cigarette had her hands not been busy. TJ wrinkled his nose at the two of them. He wouldn't say anything, it hadn't worked the first thousand times and it wouldn't work now, but he had learned that if he made enough disgusted faces Marty would eventually put out his smoke.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes at TJ's face and stubbed it out in the sink. "I'm meant to be quitting anyway. I promised Buffy."

"You made that promise like three months ago."

"Well I gotta have at least one flaw, otherwise it wouldn't be fair to you mere mortals, would it now?" Marty grinned and stood up, stretching his arms up until his back gave a satisfying click.

"Careful bro," TJ said. "If your head gets any bigger you won't be able to get out of the door."

It was Marty's turn to cheerfully flip him off. As he wandered out of the bathroom he called over his shoulder asking if they wanted any snacks. TJ was pretty sure they only had ketchup and coffee left in the kitchen.

He considered this for a moment. "Nah, probably not. But it'll make me feel better about it, feels productive."

"Turning in your assignments would probably feel more productive."

"Hey, I thought we banned school talk from bathroom time."

"I'm just saying-"

"Did you finish your figure drawing assignment yet?"

"...touché."

It had become a sort of tradition. Well... not a tradition. TJ didn't know what you would call it. A habit maybe? Anyways, it had become usual for the three of them to hang out in the bathroom. Sometimes they'd be joined by friends and roommates. Two or three of them cramped in the tub, maybe splitting a bottle of cheap wine between them all, someone else balanced on the toilet seat and another sprawled across the floor. Today, everyone else was out.

Buffy, Marty's girlfriend and (by apparent coincidence) Andi's childhood best friend with whom she was now reconnecting, sometimes swing by to join them too. However, her disgust at just how useless four boys could be at keeping their apartment in order often kept her at bay.

"So I had this dream right," TJ said.

"Oh God."

"No, it's good right. Because it made me, like, realise I should be doing something."

"Go on," Andi prompted.

Another pause. "...and that's it?"

"That's it. That's the dream."

"Okay, lay it out for me. How did you go from falling off a cliff to dyeing your hair green? Give me the logic. I wanna follow your train of thought here."

He takes a deep breath, trying to shake away the lightheadedness the mingling scents of cigarettes and ammonia is bringing on, then twists around to face her.

"When you're falling to your death you're supposed to reminisce about, like, all the good shit you did in your life before you fell to your death right? And for me it was a total blank. Like nothing. Like I haven't lived."

Marty groaned. "Not this again."

"What?"

"Last time you wanted to 'live your life' we got arrested."

"Well, if you had run faster-"

"Fuck you! I run faster than you, asshole. It's not my fault there were literal guard dogs-"

"Guys!" Andi interrupted before they could really get going. They both muttered half hearted apologies with a huff.

"The point is," TJ resumed. "The point is that I've done, like, zero important things in my life. And we're adults now, y'know? I can't just bum around doing nothing forever. I wanna do something that /matters/."

Andi rolled her eyes. "'Adult' is a strong word for a guy who just this week learned what fabric softener is."

"I never claimed to be Martha Stewart."

Marty laughed. "You're criminal enough to be."

TJ and Marty both hissed.

"The G word is also banned, remember?"

Andi made a face, but didn't press the point. She hated thinking about the future just as much as the guys did. None of them knew what they wanted to do. They spent all their time in sleezy bars moshing to terrible local punk bands, getting drunk in a tub and watching Andi paint in the student studios. TJ couldn't imagine any of them with office jobs. He said as much.

"It's two thousand and five," Marty complained in response. "We should totally have robots to do all the boring jobs by now."

TJ agreed. How could humanity not yet be at the point where everybody could just sit back and relax? They had the internet for crying out loud.

"So what're you gonna do?" Andi asked.

TJ pondered this for a moment.

"I'm gonna start a band."

***

Sometimes Cyrus seriously hated his friends.

Not in an actual 'I wish I didn't know you' way but in an 'oh my god you suck so hard right now' kind of way. Tonight was one of those times. He would never say that to them, of course, he had no desire to hurt anybody’s feelings, but a little mental cursing never hurt anyone.

Whatever. It was fine. It was totally cool that he was stuck out here being eyed by suspicious punks and scary scene kids. It was great. He could totally cope with the fact that the bouncer wouldn't let him in because he forgot his I.D and apparently he looked like he was twelve years old. Totally, totally fine.

A truck roared down the street, sending a fresh wave of freezing water over the legs of his pants and shoes.

Screw this. He was going home.

Fate had other plans. Right as he made the decision to head back, he heard his name being called. Turning, he saw Buffy waving frantically from the door. Huffing to himself, he turned back again and headed to meet her.

"He's with us," Buffy said with a smile to the bouncer. The guy looked doubtful as Cyrus slipped passed, but he didn't question it again.

"The reception is really bad in here," Buffy said, apologetically. "But you found the place okay, right? I mean you're here, so that's good. I didn't think you'd come."

Cyrus doesn't tell her that he almost didn't. He had been perfectly ready to stay in his dorm all night, even though it was a Friday night and he had little to no social life at the current moment in time with all the work his professors had been throwing at him. Except, then, Reed (roommate from hell) had come banging into the room, talking loudly into his cellphone to some girl. Cyrus had been able to stand it for about ten minutes, and then he got tired of the word "baby".

A night at some dive being shoved around by sweaty drunks wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he didn't have to listen to Reed's obnoxious flirting.

"It's cool you came," Buffy continued. "I think you'll like these guys, they're Andi and Marty's friends, y'know? They've even got some songs recorded now... did you know Gus- you know Gus Knight? Did you know he's running a studio in his mom's basement? He has all the equipment and everything. It's crazy."

"Crazy," Cyrus agreed, narrowly avoiding getting elbowed by a teary girl yelling and gesturing at a boy that looked too out of it to be taking in what she said. "So when are they meant to go on?"

The problem was that Cyrus liked music. He thought it was fun, especially if you could dance to it, and who didn't like to listen to their iPod on the bus? But Buffy's friends' world seemed to revolve around music, more specifically punk music, and the whole scene that came with it. He had accepted a few of their invitations to hang out to be polite, but most of them involved parties and shows.

As a kid he'd figured that was what you were meant to do in college - party and drink. What he'd learned from actually being in college? He didn't like to party and drink. He had no problem with other people doing it, obviously, but he'd rather he was far away from them while they did. Drunk people had a habit of throwing up on him, and in crowds like this Cyrus had lost his shoe more than once. They might be wet, but tonight he felt like keeping his shoes firmly on his feet. Preferably not covered in somebody's dinner.

#tyrus #andi mack

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247krp · 6 years

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— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Min Yoongi, spotted prancing about in the Southwest Side. I remember seeing him with The Decadent Intellectuals back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say dedicated and defensive? Apparently now he spends time as a producer and songwriter at AOMG Records, and keeps skeletons buried at Prague Tower, 901. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, The Babydoll; we missed you so.

TW: drug abuse, allusion to rape, sexual assault

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

during his cheongnam days. yoongi was always the “quietly smart” type of guy. discussions of the wildest party last night bored him to tears, not to mention the crude discussions of sex. however, maintaining his public image ( at least, his family’s image ) is key. so he smiles and laughs where appropriate, intervening in their wild behavior only when absolutely necessary, he was still on the student council after all. he disappeared for a few months & rumors went wild. in truth, he was in a car accident which damaged his mind and not his body. his friend was dead. that took yoongi a while to process, admittedly with the help of alcohol. he’d get a girl for a few months then dump her for the sake of appeasing his parents, but his true lover was a male, a senior also looking for thrills and to escape his suffocating family.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

just as secretive as his high school counterpart, ( if not more ) the producer is rarely seen anywhere except at his dwelling and his studio. reclusive and still painfully quiet, he buries his secrets with his successes at the company & shies away from the spotlight even when he yearns for the fame. he’s a man of contradictions, really. haunted by his past and trying to move on, he rarely communicates with his family. all he really knows is that his father who has probably never really loved him is dead, thanks to his own neglect; his mother is a shell of her former self but still an amazing actress from the looks of it & his brother hates his guts and is a criminal. and yoongi? he’s a ceramic doll. fragile but still determined to make some sort of use in the world with his talents.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

destined, star-crossed, meant to be

apparently, those were the words used to describe yoongi’s parents during their own schooling career. and looking at photos taken during high school, that was certainly the case. the min brothers descends from a long line of academic intellectuals, a galaxy of stars waiting for them to join the ranks of. and join, they did. jangmi, the creative director of one of south korea’s highest grossing fashion magazines and jaekuk, the ceo of the largest hospital in seoul.

remove the mask of any perfect family and only pain, deception & self destruction remains.

the same is true for the mins. the firstborn son was named donghae, a cheerful baby with a foot in his father’s shoes as soon as he was born. their second go at a child dashed the couple’s happiness, a soon to be daughter becoming a miscarriage instead. tensions arose from the incident, pushing the two apart and to work harder. as a result, the current only child was pampered but neglected, an interesting mix of caretaking which leaves him with well-masked anger issues and resentment for his younger brother.

ii.

since donghae already showed signs of being talented academically, his parents were much more lenient towards yoongi. the miscarriage of her daughter evidently scarred min jangmi, who seemed to envision yoongi becoming the perfect “daughter”, to replace her lost daughter. this suited the young child fine, he was getting the love & attention of his mother anyways. this care manifested in a strange fashion, what with her treating him like something breakable.

however, his father and brother were not happy with this & made it clear that they disapproved of yoongi being dressed like a girl. his brother felt like he was justified to take his anger out on the younger boy, frequently battering him with verbal and physical blows.

really, it’s no wonder that yoongi is somewhat fucked up.

iii.

his babysitter acted as his tutor too. she taught him to place distrust before trust, to keep his mouth shut. yoongi’s parents were blind to the fact that the lady they hired to nurture their youngest son was frequently sexually assaulting him. she would be nice one day & turn into a monster the next, just like flipping a switch.

yoongi kept quiet; his parents won’t believe him anyways.

he was enrolled into primary school at the same time his brother was finishing up high school. apart from attending the private institution and being surrounded by snobbish kids all the time, yoongi was also being tutored at home. violin, english, dance, piano, classic literature, japanese… you name it, he’s probably done it.

iv.

with parents rarely at home, the two siblings avoid each other as much as possible, spending time away from the penthouse while the other was there. It was during these years when yoongi uncovered his father’s drug use habits. he never confronts his father about it. ( yoongi can’t blame the guy )

the press would have a field day with this kind of information.

so he sews his mouth shut, plastering on a mask of nonchalance to everyone & everything. he was privileged to be living a life like this. what was the cost of a silver spoon? if it means taking his secrets to the grave, yoongi’s not so sure if he wants to pay the price.

yoongi’s own cheongnam days come eventually. the student parliament has a seat waiting for him, what with grandfather min being the principle and all. yoongi attends after-school activities and buries himself in the arts. he mucks around with a few girls to appease his parents, but he becomes attached to none of them.

naturally, he joins the ranks of the group known as the “decadent intellectuals”, thanks to gossip girl. no other little clique appealed to him. the emergence of the infamous figure terrified him, to be frank. he really should’ve considered putting himself away from the spotlight, but the choice was really made for him as soon as he stepped into the hallways of cheongnam.

donghae moves out at the first opportunity but not before threatening to kill yoongi if his secret ever gets out. not like yoongi has the guts to do so anyways. yoongi can never look at her in the eyes without remembering her screams for help on that day, and how he just walked away from his brother committing the crime.

all of these ghosts will haunt him forever.

vi.

his therapist doesn’t even know how fucked up he is.

he feels sorry for the guy sometimes. the man definitely has his own guesses, but yoongi is a tough patient to crack. he’s just out of the poshest damn school in seoul and already hiding a barrage of issues. breaking open his exterior might just lead to the young man completely breaking apart.

he moves out after graduation too. money obviously isn’t a problem, but he opens a separate bank account for whatever he’s earned apart from his parents. finding a job which allowed him to separate from his parents’ influence seemed to be a difficult prospect.

who knew posing in front of a camera would earn him so much money?

he’s always known that his good looks were an advantage given to him by virtue of luck, but yoongi saw no point in not exploiting it to his advantage. so he mucks around for a few years & goes from making 850 thousand won per week to becoming a millionaire on his own terms. on the side, he gave piano and violin tutoring to unfortunate kids forced to play the instrument on the whims of their parents.

vii.

the next family reunion is around min jaekuk’s open coffin.

a powerful man, supposedly struck down by a heart attack. yoongi knew better. it was most likely an overdose. he dully wondered how many lives were on his hands now. he should know better than to blame himself, but he still lives with the guilt. jangmi tries to hug him. he lets her, arms staying limp at his side. she attempts to guilt-trip him, but yoongi already knows what she’ll say. he doesn’t spare his brother or father a glance.

entering aomg was pretty simple. having such a wealthy family means links to virtually anywhere & keys to all sorts of doors. not revealing his former occupation would only mean trouble for later, so he was open and frank in his admission to having whored himself out digitally. but really, all he wants now is some peace and quiet. but that seems pretty damn hard too, what with gossip girl back from the dead.

#247: accepted

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josiebelladonna · 4 years

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by the way, i should bring this up seeing as i’m still getting asks about it even after i’ve said “i’m done” and i’ve hit the average nano quota for the day so far so i can write about it, is that i was cut off by doing something that was completely harmless and i forgot about it until the moment i found out i was blocked after anthrax’s live-stream at the beginning of august. i made a joke that was a little too harsh and she took it personally, and i have my bad days, too. it’s just part of being human, so there’s no excuse to paint me as the bad guy. but how dare you have a sense of humor! you two-faced insecure bitch! you phony! that’s the vibe i get from all this, when i’ve been completely honest with you guys this whole entire time, i’ve done nothing wrong, and this “good vibes only” mantra is more phony and negative than anything i’ve ever done on my worst day.

you can call me out and isolate me but i’m still here. i’m still writing fics. i still have 48 (soon to be 49 given i’m making some serious headway on part two at the moment) works in the anthrax tag over on ao3. you can wish me away as much as you want, i’m not going anywhere and i’m not the one committing plagiarism at every whim possible. the fact you want to push me out of fanfic circles makes you the petty one, not me.

sure, you can argue that since i’m a fic writer, i’m one to talk about your writings in such a negative light. but it’s going back to that whole “’good vibes only’ mantra is more phony”: when you cut yourself off from things that upset you, you set yourself for failure. the times i have given a negative review there have always been good intentions behind it. on my end, i read comments, and sometimes they can get a little negative, but i put them to good use. i let them help me, even the ones that might seem abusive. they’re humbling. comments and reviews make you a better writer and a better person.

i don’t think my fics are brilliant. never thought anything i’ve written was. and i may be competitive sure... but i need competition. so to isolate me and throw me away not only makes you the petty one but a sore loser, too. and the fact you’ve plagiarized me this much right in front of my face has this... almost abusive undertone to it. it’s one thing when an artist copies or takes inspiration from another artist. i never claimed to be a queen bee or the best of my game, but to shut someone out and treat them as beneath you because of an opinion, no matter how supposedly “negative” (or the fact she didn’t even write it), is in fact bullying no matter how you look at it. (as i’ve said, time and time again: a woman against bullying bullies people).

and state of euphoria is... come on. it’s not a good fic. i changed my opinion of it and found it unsettling after a while for a reason. i extend that to that crawl one, too - i honestly couldn’t get through that. it got on my nerves real quick. and forget the subject matter for a second: it’s boring as fuck. when this whole thing started, i looked back and realized what i had just read and questioned it, and then i reread a part of it on ao3, and i backed off because nothing about it sat with me. gratuitous sex gets boring after a while, and... it did. throw in the fetishization aspect of it and i hope you can see how i find it distasteful.

(i also got another ask telling me that a lot of the hatedom towards me feels racially charged because they’re all white girls and i’m a girl of mixed race. i don’t want to make it a race thing, so don’t blame me for this, but... it’s hard not to.)

and understand i wouldn’t have such a problem with it if she just... did something to it, not just swap out krista and alter the timeline a little bit. change the time period altogether, keep the timeline faithful, add a sci-fi flavor to it, add a second girl, i don’t care. especially now.

you can’t say “it’s just a fic”, either: it’s about as lame of an excuse as “it’s just a kids’ movie”. just because it’s a fic doesn’t give you the excuse to not give a shit, and act super aggressive at that, too. i have a long history of being bullied: i know how to put a bitch in her place, especially since you picked the wrong bitch to mess with.

now, please, people. stop. stop asking me about this. the more you ask me about this, the more i want to turn off my ask box again. it makes me feel even more alone than when it first started, and it’s bad enough templeoftheslavegarden went to her now. please.

#rant #enough #daveighmustaine #fanfic #fanfic woes #anthrax #anthrax fanfic #persistent euphoria #text #tw bullying

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pacegerld1989 · 4 years

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