#( my writing style goes through progressive stages and has been slowly getting more to my liking lately ) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

How It Ends (prompt: "forbidden") Behind Closed Doors 10 (Branjie) - Mia Ugly

A/N: Nothing but love to the Avengers discord, and especially Meggie and Evan for their beta skills and alllll the emotional labour. This anthology was a pleasure, and I’m so grateful to be a part of it. (And darling, this may not be the happy ending you were looking for, but it’s yours. Like everything, everything else.)

The day comes (or night, whatever) that they have to make a rule.

It’s Vanjie who says it first, lying horizontal across Brooke’s bed, sweat and lamplight shining against his skin. They’ve fucked twice already, tearing at buttons the moment the door to Brooke’s hotel room slams shut. The first time was starving, up against the wall with Vanjie’s teeth on Brooke’s neck to muffle the sounds he didn’t want to know he could make. The second time was slower, in bed, one of Brooke’s hands underneath Vanessa’s knee. The other on the side of his face, thumb hovering over his temple. Their eyes locked, pupils blown.

Vanjie is kinda fucked up after that. Feels like something’s sitting on his chest, and not in the fun way.

When Brooke gets up to fill a glass of water, that’s when Vanjie finally says it (to his naked back, not to his face. If Brooke was looking at him, there’d be no way, no damn way.)

“I think we gotta stop this.”

There’s no sound in the bathroom. Vanjie can make out the shadowy shape of Brooke, leaning against the sink. Not moving.

“Like - I ain’t getting my head right, we keep doing this. You ain’t either.”

He’s been thinking it for awhile, much as he tried not to. If he didn’t think about it, then he wouldn’t have to change anything - could just ignore A’Keria’s sad puppy eyes and Silky’s bullshit comments and do whatever the hell he wanted. Could go back to Brooke’s room and strip off his clothing and trace the cords of Brooke’s muscles with his hands and his mouth. Could push him up against a wall, or fall into bed with him, or follow him into the shower and kiss him, kiss him, kiss him until they were both breathless and desperate and dying for it and Vanjie was getting on his knees -

And then Brooke could do that sort of thing with someone else.

If he wanted.

Whenever he wanted.

And Vanjie could just - have a few too many shots on those nights. Dance real slow with strangers and talk too loud and drink until A’Keria or Silk were forced to drag his sloppy ass back to the hotel, pour water down his throat, distract him when he thought he was going to be sick or maybe start crying.

Vanjie’s been fighting hangovers a lot more lately. That ain’t his style. He doesn’t want to end up one of those queens who goes a little too hard, lets their shit become a problem. He already has a fucking problem, and it’s leaning all pale and fine as china in the bathroom, empty glass of water in its hand.

“You’re - probably right.” Brooke’s voice is rough. He still doesn’t move so Vanjie gets up, starts looking for his clothes. He’s a big girl, he can dress himself. Pretty soon Brooke’s going to walk out of the bathroom naked and if Vanjie doesn’t have some sort of barrier between them by then it’s going to be damn near impossible to leave. His shirt is at the foot of the bed, pants - where the fuck? There - the armchair. Vanjie grabs whatever he sees, dresses quickly, tells himself his hands aren’t shaking. He can’t find a sock. Where’s his damn sock?

“Are you okay?” Brooke finally comes out into the lamplight, like some sort of statue from Greece, something you’d see in a museum.

Vanjie swallows and turns his head away (don’t look at him, don’t touch him.)

He can live without Brooke. He swears to God he can. But he ain’t going to learn how if they keep doing this.

“No more - touching. If we aren’t -“ (If? Fuck right off.) “We aren’t,” Vanjie corrects himself. There ain’t no if, there’s nothing uncertain about it. “So I can’t. It doesn’t work for me.”

It’s actually working a little too well for him, and that’s why he’s gotta say something now. He’s looking for his love story, and none of the good ones end like this. Sure, this sort of casual thing might be okay for some people, but he ain’t one of them - and yet here he is, all because this stupid Canadian smiles so pretty, moves like a riptide on the dance floor, and knows exactly where to touch Vanjie to make him turn to glitter in his arms.

Vanjie might be in love with him (and that’s fine. It’s all good. It don’t matter.)

Falling is the sort of thing Vanjie never had a problem with. He falls over and over again, eyes wide open, doesn’t fucking learn.

Being loved ain’t usually a problem neither. After Season 10, people loved him. He was all up in his feelings, but he realized quick that people were seeing things in him - seeing him like he was something. Sometimes on the tour when he’s dancing onstage and Brooke’s watching from the wings, Vanjie wants to throw all that love in his face. When the people reach out to touch him, toss their dollar bills, scream as he dances the house down – Vanjie wants to grab Brooke by the jaw and say, “Look, look at this. They love me. Me, this growly little cookie-monster in swimsuits and fucking sparkles. Every one of these motherfuckers love me (why why why won’t you-)”

But he doesn’t do any of that. That’d be some kinda crazy.

“You’re right.” Brooke sits down on the bed, has the decency to wrap a sheet around his waist. His shoulders are slumped, but his face is carefully blank. Full-on Ice Queen mode. “You’re right. It’s not fair to you, I get it. Your sock’s over there.”

“It ain’t fair to neither of us.” Vanjie grabs the sock from the floor, and is pulling on his Timbs instead of looking at Brooke’s collarbones. He wants to, but if he looks at them he’ll want to bite them, and if he gets close enough to touch Brooke he’s fucked.

“So. We, uh-” Breathe. Don’t look at him. Don’t touch him. “We good?”

Brooke nods. “None of this. No touching.”

“Friends and shit,” Vanjie says, and his voice only breaks a little. To distract Brooke from that awful sound, he drags his hand slowly down his chest. “Just pretend all o’ this is the Season 11 crown. You can look at it, but you can’t have it.”

“Shady bitch,” Brooke murmurs, smiling spreading over his face.

Vanjie laughs like he ain’t in a million pieces. He doesn’t look at Brooke as he leaves. He’s got his own room on the tour, ‘bout time he slept in it.

He wants a love story, right? A happily-ever-after with a kiss and a sunset and - horses? Maybe a couple of horses.

A handsome prince, who doesn’t get annoyed when Vanjie runs his mouth, and doesn’t think he’s clingy, and ain’t afraid of relationships.

You know. That whole thing.

He’s looking for his love story, and none of the good ones end like this.

* *

Maybe you fall in love on television.

On set, in front of cameras that click like crickets and shine like gunmetal. In this world there is no tedium, no negotiating, no compromise - jus a slow-motion free fall into each other‘s arms. And maybe when you get to the real world that sort of love doesn’t last. Things become complicated. There are demands on your time, there are obligations. Dishes in the sink and laundry, fucking laundry. And there’s distance. There’s so much distance. Maybe after a few months or days or weeks apart, one of you forgets the way the other one smells. You wake up and realize that his cologne has faded from your sheets, your clothing. Maybe you start to notice other people, the lavender or bergamot or orange peel of their skin. In every crowd strangers are smiling at you, touching your hands and writing their numbers down. Maybe months later you look at him from across a stage - “Are you still together?” - and feel the knife-sharp ache carve cleanly through you, breastbone to navel, splitting you open like a peach, revealing your broken heart to the wide and broken world.

Is this an ending?

* *

It gets worse after that.

Vanjie ain’t expecting it, thinks he’ll figure his shit out and move on. Stuck on tour together, there aren’t a lot of places he can go where Brooke isn’t all up in his business, but at least Vanjie doesn’t smell like him anymore. At least he doesn’t wake up with his arms around Brooke’s waist and Brooke’s soft, sour breath in his face. At least Vanjie doesn’t stare at him in the silent, sunlit space before Brooke wakes (he only ever did that for a bit anyway, couple minutes, not like a psycho or nothing. Brooke’s damn eyelashes are darker at the roots, a honey-blonde that fades out to white, and when he’s sleeping there are no lines on his forehead at all, and no lines around his eyes, and Vanjie might be in love with him.)

So at least there’s that, right? It’s something. Progress.

Sometimes after the show they’ll all go out dancing, and Vanjie will be with his girls pretending not to see Brooke smiling and flirting with whatever trade he’s found in whatever bar they’re in (Brooke always finds someone.) And sometimes Vanjie will drink too much, vibrating with the pitch of the music, punching like a pulse, and Brooke will somehow end up inches away from him, bottle of water in his hand, not smiling.

“Don’t,” Vanjie says, leaning close enough to Brooke’s neck that he can smell his moisturizer.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t kiss me.” Vanjie tilts his head back, looks Brooke in his pretty blue eyes, because they made a rule, right? Vanjie’s gonna get over this white boy if it kills him.

“I wasn’t going to,” Brooke laughs, and their hips are swaying together but inches apart, in time to the Nicki Minaj song that’s blasting through the speakers. Back before all the shit went down, Brooke would have had his hand on Vanjie’s waist, maybe a thigh between Vanjie’s legs if they were drunk enough and the dance floor was crowded. They might be kissing, grinding on each other, fucking each other up as much as they could without getting arrested.

Or maybe Vanjie’d be facing away from him, that was always good too. Brooke’s chest up against Vanjie’s back, Brooke’s mouth hot and sharp at the place where Vanjie’s neck met his shoulder. Vanjie liked being shorter then, liked having this big Canadian all over him, all around him, huge and heavy as the thump of the bass.

“I wasn’t going to,” Brooke says again.

“Good.” Vanjie looks at Brooke’s mouth even though he shouldn’t. Looking’s almost as dangerous as the other thing, the touching thing. Not quite, but still a really stupid fucking idea.

“This is for you.” Brooke hands the bottled water over (tap water makes Vanjie sick sometimes, depends on where they are.) “You wanna dance?”

It would be so easy to say yes, so easy to close the narrow gap between their bodies, to suck the fabric of Brooke’s tank top into his mouth and bite down -

“Nah, better not,” Vanjie says.

Brooke smiles and steps back. Steps back again. Moves off through the crowd, lets strangers put their hands on his hips, their arms around his shoulders (Vanjie inhales deeply and holds his breath, traps the scent of Brooke’s skin in his mouth for as long as he can.)

That night the bartender slides Vanjie his number, and Vanjie winks and smiles and talks all kinds of shit with him, before tossing the piece of paper in the trash on his way to the cab.

* *

Is there another love story here - one that ends differently?

A story where he calls you before the season airs, drunk off his ass on tequila, says, “I need you I need you I’m sorry,” and then the call cuts out and his phone hits the pavement.

Then the next morning, sober and unsteady as a fault line, he calls you back. He tells you he was scared. Tells you he fucked up and you’re worth it and he misses you more than anything. Maybe you say “I’m in love with you,” and he laughs on the other line, voice full of pain and relief and it makes you float three feet off the ground in your apartment, pressed up against the stucco ceiling.

Is there another love story where he never makes you cry? Never says: “You want - what - the Notebook? It’s a fucking movie, it’s not a real thing that happens to real people -”

“What the fuck you know about that? You don’t know, because you ain’t done it. Mr. Ain’t Even Had a Boyfriend Before - don’t tell me how this works, what’s real -”

“Oh well fuck me I guess for having realistic expectations -”

“Nah, fuck you for doing this over the phone -“ No. No.

None of that.

Instead he calls you, he calls you back, he calls you, and you spend weeks flirting in clubs and on social media and when you go to the reunion he helps lace up your heels, dragging his hands up your legs like you’re a marble sculpture behind glass somewhere, something he ain’t allowed to touch. And when they ask, he says “yes, we’re still together” and you kiss on camera, in front of your best friends, in front of everybody, light spilling out of your mouth like you swallowed a star.

Is this a happy ending? Is it an ending at all? What happens next?

* *

The tour keeps touring.

Vanjie travels by bus, by plane, by train. He doesn’t sit by Brooke, not ever. That bitch is all legs and elbows, he’d be stretched over Vanjie’s seat the moment he sat down. And they made a rule, Vanjie isn’t going back on it (even though he knows how warm Brooke’s body would be against his, knows how his head fits against his shoulder.) So he sits up at the front with Silk and A’Keria, leaves Brooke to find his own way, sprawl all over Nina or someone else who’s got time for that.

When he’s performing, Vanjie flirts with the audience like it’s his job, like he’s getting paid in hearts. Sometimes he sees Brooke watching him (in the audience or in the wings, arms folded in front of himself like armour.) Vanjie tries not to look, but he always knows when Brooke’s there, can feel his gaze sliding over him like his lips might. So Vanjie touches other people, curls his fingers around the hands of men holding out tips, ruffles hair, kisses cheeks. He leans against Silky (ain’t nothing new about that, the Dream Girls are always all over each other) and Nina’s a cuddler and Vanjie’s got plenty of people who want to touch him.

Not that Brooke doesn’t want to - that much is clear from the way those blue eyes go flinty when Vanjie’s dancing up on someone else in the club or on stage (blue is the hottest kinda flame, right? You think a blue like that is gonna be cold, but it isn’t. Just like you think Brooke Lynn is gonna be cold, all carved outta ice and sharp edged and shimmering, but he ain’t. His skin is so warm that sometimes Vanjie would have to pull his hands back so he didn’t get burned; even hours later, his palms would glow gold.)

In the dressing room they are very careful. Vanjie doesn’t ask Brooke to get his zipper, Brooke keeps space between their bodies as he sneaks past to grab a makeup sponge. It’s crowded and chaotic but they manage to orbit around each other like planets, never getting too close. It’s kinda like a dance, and Vanjie’s a hell of a dancer.

(“Earrings, girl.” Brooke leans close (but not too close) to hand them over.

“Thanks. This your highlighter?”

“No, I got it for you last time I was at Sephora. That’s your shade, right?”

“Yeah.” Vanjie looks at the stick, still sealed in plastic. Then he looks over at Brooke who is staring into the mirror and lining his lips, over and over again until he gets them straight. A pink like the horizon in L.A., six AM. A pink like rose petals scattered over sheets, or across the runway. “Yeah, it is.”)

This should be easy for him.

But it’s kinda like being back on Drag Race, being so close to each other but always out of reach. It made Vanjie grind his teeth together then, and he’s ‘bout ready to crack a molar now (he always was that kid, the kid who wanted what he couldn’t have. The kid who wanted the hot surface of the stove soon as you told him to be careful, the kid who wanted sugar and booze and all the sharpest, rustiest edges, everything he wasn’t supposed to touch.)

Vanjie gets phone numbers, gets all sorts of trade sliding into his DMs, but he goes to bed alone. And maybe he sometimes thinks about Brooke there - how wet his mouth could be, how his fingers felt wrapped around each of Vanjie’s wrists -

- but he’s allowed to think about it. There ain’t no rules against thinking.

It’s the last night before Brooke is fucking off to Canada for a couple shows, leaving the rest of them behind. Vanjie isn’t pressed about it, it’s gonna be nice not to get all twitchy in the dressing room for a change. He’ll get some fucking sleep for once (and he ain’t going on Brooke’s instagram; he’s making it his New Years resolution and getting started early.)

They’re all weaving back from a night at the club, the other queens loud and glittering in front of Vanjie, when his heel comes off. He stops to fix it, nearly loses his balance, and then there is a hand on his shoulder - steadying him.

The hand is warm, so warm that Vanjie should know who it belongs to immediately. And he’s sloppy with tequila, wants nothing more than that hand to slide up into his hair and jerk his head back - but he pulls away. Straightens up. Blinks at Brooke, who’s taller than a bitch has any right to be and so fucking sexy in purple and gold -

“Sorry,” Brooke says, lifting both his hands. “You okay?”

“Oh, I’m doing just fine, mama.” Vanjie’s ice-pick heels skid on the pavement. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I wasn’t saying anything.”

They walk together, since everyone seems to have forgotten they exist (A’Keria at least gives Vanjie a worried glance over her shoulder, but he waves her off.) It’s almost three AM; even in full face, the streets are too empty for them to be attracting attention.

“They loved you tonight,” Brooke says as they walk, so quiet that at first all Vanjie hears is ‘loved you’ and has to piece the rest together a beat later, after his heart has started up again.

“Oh. Yeah, bitch, you know I don’t come to play. They loved you too, Miss Thing in your pointe shoes.” Up ahead, Silk is shouting about something, and Vanjie just makes out his name. Whatever, she’s probably just talking some bullshit. “What time you fly out tomorrow?”

“Way too early.”

Their shoulders don’t brush against each other’s as they walk. Vanjie is very careful about that. He can feel the banked coals of Brooke’s skin in the narrow space between them, and it’s almost as bad.

The hotel is only a few blocks away. Vanjie won’t have to deal with it long.

“I’ll miss you,” Brooke says suddenly, and Vanjie doesn’t fall teeth first into the sidewalk, doesn’t crack his jaw and scrape the skin off his cheekbones - but it feels about the same.

So many bullshit responses run through his head, scattering like mice in the light, but he takes too long deciding what to say, and then it’s too late.

“It’s nice being in the same place for once,” Brooke continues, looking straight ahead, words only slightly slurred. “I like it.”

“Well I’m - that’s - bitch, I-“ Make words happen, Mary. You ain’t been so stupid since the first day you met this queen, gagged and shell-shocked in the Werk Room like some sort of teenager. “Yeah.”

“I kinda - miss you already.” Brooke laughs weakly. “That’s weird, right? A weird thing to say.”

Vanjie doesn’t know - quite how to answer that. Because he understands that feeling, gets it in a bone-deep sorta way, like he’s been missing Brooke since the season finished shooting. Like he’s missing Brooke right now, with only a couple inches of air between their skin.

They keep walking.

“I’m sorry.” Brooke’s voice is low, and he’s tugging at the curling ends of his wig, blonde fading to pale pink. “I don’t know if I’ve said that enough. Sorry about how it went down. That I couldn’t be what you wanted.”

Vanjie hates every damn word coming out of Brooke’s damn mouth, each one smells like bleach and tastes like arsenic. “Brooke -“

“I know you were looking for that fairytale. And you deserve it. You do.”

The hotel is maybe on the next block? When they go around the corner, they’ll be able to see it. Vanessa feels something fucked up happening to his eyes, like they’re getting all blurry. Like - shit -

“You - hey baby, don’t -“

“Shut the fuck up.” Vanjie wipes at his face, probably smearing his eyeliner all to hell but whatever, it’s still dark out.

Neither of them say anything else for a bit, not until they’ve almost caught up with the other queens, and even then it’s only because Vanjie’s drunk and in his feelings. He has this thing in his head, and it’s stupid, and he wants to tell his own damn self to shut up but - but Brooke’s body is so close beside him, and it’s Brooke’s last night here, and it’s been more than three weeks since Vanjie got to sink his teeth into Brooke’s delicious lower lip -

“I think maybe I got it.” If Vanjie doesn’t say it the words might choke him.“The fairytale. You know. If I hadn’t got sent home Season 10, hadn’t been so sickening on my way out, they never would’ve brought me back. Maybe you woulda just stayed some piece of something in my DMs. So like - that we got to even have this - even for a bit -“

Vanjie gestures vaguely between the two of them, movements clumsy.

“But you only get one.” The words smell like bleach and taste like arsenic. “Think I used mine up.”

“Vanessa Vanjie Mateo, I been calling your name bitch! Are you coming with Kiki and me to Burger King or not?” Silk shouts over her shoulder.

Vanjie smiles because he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s good at smiling, can do it even when his chest is being split wide open. He doesn’t want to look at Brooke, but he can’t help himself (Brooke’s all body heat and blue flame and purple and gold and Vanjie’s in love with him, the fuck is he doing with his life.)

“Don’t matter, baby,” he says quietly. “Don’t matter. I had it for a minute, right?”

“Jose -“ Brooke takes a step closer. “That’s -“

“Don’t kiss me.”

They look at each other, just breathing. Vanjie can feel the two halves of his broken heart rattling around in his chest.

“I wasn’t going to,” Brooke says, voice shaking as much as Vanjie’s hands are.

“Miss Vaaaanjie!” Silky shouts again, and Vanjie smiles (blood staining his white teeth) leaves Brooke alone on the sidewalk. He wobbles off to his girls, ignores A’Keria’s sad puppy dog eyes and Silk’s bullshit comments for the rest of the night, stuffs his mouth full of onion rings so he don’t gotta feel a different sort of hungry.

And when he goes back to his hotel room alone, he thinks about Brooke. Because he’s allowed to.

There ain’t no rules against that.

* *

Or what if that doesn’t happen? What if instead you get back to the hotel and show up outside his door, say “fuck it” and suck a mark onto his neck that he’s gonna have to cover for days? What if you get his skin, all salt-sweet and stinging against your tongue? What if he drags you inside and you don’t even make it to the bed, hands and knees on the hotel carpet, hardly able to say his name around the red-hot heart in your throat? And then later, in bed, he pushes your hair out of your eyes - it’s getting too long - and you say “I’m still in love with you.”

Fade to black. Credits. Helluva ending.

Or maybe you gotta wait. The waiting is okay, hurts in that nice sorta way and you’ve been waiting long enough that it’s an art form now, like blocking out your brows. So maybe you wait. And after the tour’s over, maybe you go to Aruba. The tickets are bought and the hotel is booked and he made you a promise, “Vanjie, we’re going on vacation,” and looking so fine it was just about enough to break your heart on the runway.

That’d be a good story, right?

Maybe when you’re there in the sunshine and salt you look over at him and it all makes sense again, all slides into place. By your side, eyes closed against the light, he looks like a shield and and feels like a sword. Nothing’s frightening when he’s within reach, nothing. Maybe you say “Can we try this again?” but what you’re really saying is ‘take me back, take me back, take me back’ - three words, a question and a prayer and a spell for calling loved-ones (your tia was a bit of a bruja, you don’t fuck with that shit.)

Take me back. I got nothing without you, my hands are empty.

Maybe then he says yes, and kisses you like he remembers how you taste, like you’re the only person on the whole beach on the whole island in the whole world. Maybe he kisses you and you open up both hands, full to overflowing with clear water.

Is this an ending? Here on a beach in the sunlight - it’d be a real pretty one. A proper fairytale, all washed clean with salt.

What a way to go.

* *

Here’s the thing that nobody knows: Vanjie’s the one who ended it.

You wouldn’t get that from watching the reunion, Brooke going off about wanting to fuck around and that. And he did, and he does, but he didn’t do none of that while he was with Vanjie. They talked about it, they talked about a lot of things in increasing frequency and volume, and finally there was the night Vanjie was dead tired and Brooke was light years away, mumbling into the phone about how hard long-distance shit was and Vanessa just -

Vanessa was done.

(“If it’s so hard then what are we even doin’ here? If I ain’t worth it to you -“

“I didn’t say that. Fuck, I would never say you weren’t -“

“Well it feels like you’re saying it. Feels like you’ve been saying it for four months now. It’s not supposed to be this much work, Brock, it’s supposed to be easy -“)

Vanjie gets into it with his girls, all his stupid feelings, three nights after Brooke’s left the tour. He hasn’t had that much to drink, not really. It’s exhaustion that’s slowing down his heartbeat, making the room spin. Brooke was all over Instagram tonight, and Vanjie shouldn’t have known that, but he did.

“You only get one fairytale.” He’s running his mouth, trying to make them understand. “And I used mine up.” Then he almost falls off the bed.

Above him, Silky and A’Keria exchange A Look.

“Girl, you know we love your dumb ass, but that’s some bullshit right there.”

Vanjie doesn’t start crying, he doesn’t. It’s a near thing, though, and what the fuck is his problem lately. Whatever, the Dream Girls have seen him worse, seen him uglier (right after the break-up, and right after the reunion, and that one night in Orlando when the Snatch Game episode aired and Brooke was smiling so pretty on-screen as Vanjie kissed him, the two of them stupid in love and also just stupid.)

“It ain’t bullshit,” Vanjie protests weakly. “Bitch, it’s The Notebook.”

“I already got a kid, why do I have to parent her as well?” A’Keria says to Silk.

“You ain’t go to do nothing, ho.” The bed shifts as Silk stretches out beside Vanjie, a warm weight all along his side.

“Miss motherfucking Vanjie. You know this ain’t a movie, right?”

“I’m not stupid –“

Silk cuts him off. “I ain’t saying you are. But I think you got some stories in your head that aren’t doing you no favours. Like all this fairytale shit.”

“You’re cute as hell, baby, all this nonsense.” A’Keria sits down on the other of Vanjie, pets his long-ass hair. “It’s why we love you. But – you can’t expect the rest of the world to be your kind of crazy. Not when it hurts you so bad.”

“It was me,” Vanjie says, and then breathes into the bedsheets, breathes and breathes while he still can. “Did you know? I’m the one who kicked his ass to the curb. I’m the one who –“ His voice breaks, and A’Keria sighs.

“Yeah, sis, we been knew. You’ve told us that, like, every time you got more than two drinks in you.”

“And we may love your dumb ass, but not enough to see you act a fool.” Silky gives him a shove. “I ain’t saying you should take him back or nothing. He’s a shady-lady, that one. I ain’t telling you what to do. But I am saying you sure as hell get more than one love story.”

Vanjie can’t talk for a bit. A’Keria keeps petting his head.

“Shit, you think people just go around givin’ up every time they get their hearts broke?”

“But if it ain’t perfect - like.” Vanjie doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore. “If it ain’t that fairytale -“

“It ain’t. Girl, that’s not how this works.”

“How the fuck does it work then? Cuz I don’t know.“

“What - you think I do?” Silk barks out a laugh, “Where’s my sugar daddy at? Bitch, we’re all just figuring our shit out. You’re looking for a map where there ain’t one.”

Vanjie thinks about the map he mighta drawn for himself (in ballpoint, on the back of his hand, more of a kid’s treasure map than something from an atlas. A line that curves over his knuckles, wraps around his thumb, around his wrist. A thin black thread side-winding to an X in the centre of his palm.

And would the X have fire-blue eyes and smell like vanilla? Would the X be a camera crew and a crown and a world falling in love with him? A wedding day, with his mama looking fierce and smiling at him from the front row? A house full of kids screaming nonsense and someone warm and strong beside him, a sword and a shield and a spell and a prayer -)

“Aw hell.” Vanjie’s gotta distract himself or he might die. “Is this where I’m supposed to learn that real love is friendship and shit?”

“Yeah right, like you’d ever try to learn something,” Silk says, “Besides, my sugar daddy comes along, I’ma leave you girls in the dust. You ain’t never gonna see me again.”

A’Keria laughs and flops down over Vanjie’s back, and Silk hugs him and Vanjie tells himself to get his shit together. Good God Girl, figure it the hell out (or at least fall for someone who can actually do relationships without having a damn panic attack.)

But that night in his room, Vanjie draws a map on his hand.

Studies it, follows the line with his eyes until they’re too tired and the line starts to double. He doesn’t mark an X - doesn’t know where to put it, or what he might find there if he grabbed a shovel and broke through the dark earth.

They fly to England the next afternoon, get loud and white-girl wasted in first class cuz that shit’s free. Brooke joins them a few days later, shows up in the middle of rehearsal. Vanjie is onstage, running over the changes to the Dream Girls number when the back door of the theatre bangs open and a tall blonde idiot comes stomping in.

Brooke is dressed in sweats, holding a massive cup of coffee and looking exhausted. Vanjie misses his cue and almost knocks A’Keria over.

“Bitch, what are you – oh.” Silk glances from Vanjie to Brooke and back again, pressed as all hell.

Vanjie glares at Silky, shakes his head, and they take it from the top.

In the audience of queens waiting for their turn on stage, Brooke has slumped down beside Nina, dropping his head to rest on the back of the seat in front of him. Vanjie counts the beats down silently, tells himself to focus up.

1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and -

1 (why’s he look so tired) 2 (why’s he look so good) 3 (bet that sweatshirt’s soft) 4 (you’re a stupid bitch, Jose) -

Vanjie gets the new choreography this time, or at least doesn’t knock anyone over. When the song is done and A’Keria is satisfied enough to let them escape, Vanjie joins his sisters in the audience to watch the rest of the run-through. He does a couple calculations in his head – how close can he get without making shit weird – and sits in the empty row two behind Brooke, pretends he ain’t bothered. Brooke immediately turns around, stretches his long arm across the back of the seat as he smiles at Vanjie.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “You looked good up there.”

“You look like shit,” Vanjie says in response, and it makes Brooke laugh.

“I feel like it. Can never sleep on planes. How have the last couple shows been?”

“Flawless. Best yet. Wonder why?”

“Maybe because no one’s been here to distract you.” Brooke raises an eyebrow, and Vanjie shakes her head.

“Bitch, you wish you were fine enough to distract me.” Vanjie doesn’t ask him how Toronto was, he saw the fucking photos.

“Hey, this is yours.” Brooke rummages in his backpack and pulls out a brown paper bag. He leans toward Vanjie, reaches across the aisle. “Got you a danish. I was getting coffee, figured you’d be hangry about now.”

“Oh.” Vanjie looks at him. Waits just a second before he takes the bag. He’s very, very careful to not let their fingers touch. “Uh, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Brooke smiles with his exhausted-ass face, crazy purple eyes that somehow make Vanjie feel like he’s been smacked across the jaw.

“How come I don’t get danishes?” Nina fake pouts in the seat next to Brooke.

“Cuz this fool didn’t break your heart,” Vanjie says.

It’s a throwaway line.

A bullshit joke.

Vanjie says it without thinking, just running his mouth like he always does. Except this time, Brooke is looking at him when he says it. And this time Vanjie is looking back. And it’s like black ice cracking underneath their feet.

Brooke stands up, says “Um,” but Vanjie is faster.

“Shit, forgot I gotta -“ He can’t even come up with a lie, books it out of there like a crazy bitch. He’s on the edge of the row and he hustles down the centre aisle without anyone catching up to him. Without anyone touching his shoulder, making him stop (maybe Brooke doesn’t even come after him anyway, maybe he just stood up for fun, for a change in damn perspective.)

Vanjie cringes as the theatre doors slam shut behind him. Fuck, fuck, fuck it all.

What the hell was he thinking, saying something so stupid?

What the hell is he doing running away?

That night, he feels Brooke’s gaze like a razor as he slays “No More Drama,” crawling across the floor and eye-fucking the trade in the front row. He can’t touch Brooke so he touches himself, drags his hands down his flat chest, over his waist, the curves of his hip pads. He touches himself like he’s gorgeous, beloved, the only person worth looking at under the stage lights. The audience loses their damn minds after he’s done, and as he goes offstage he passes an inch away from Brooke in his bondage “Hytes” get-up, criss-crossed with black X’s.

Shit.

“Good job,” Brooke says, real quiet. He smells like vanilla and hairspray and his fancy bullshit moisturizer.

They haven’t talked about the whole thing in the theatre that morning. Vanjie’s not ever going to talk about it, never.

“Press the inside of your left lashes down,” Vanjie says, gesturing to his own face like he’s a mirror. “I can see them coming away.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Kill it, bitch.” And Vanjie means something else, something he doesn’t even know how to put into words. Something like “I see you.”

“I see your lashes, and your bottled water, and your bullshit, and your tired eyes.”

“I see you trying.”

“I see -“

“Thanks,” Brooke says again (you only get one fairytale, right?) and Vanjie does not touch him.

* *

Maybe you gotta wait even longer for your ending.

Maybe the ache comes slow, creeps like ivy up an old porch until it’s everywhere, tangled into reef knots, eating through the wood and brick.

Maybe you exchange silver rings, stand in a forest outside a small town in Ontario with your mama in the front row, looking fierce and only crying a little. Maybe all the nonsense and all the lies come true for you, maybe there are green leaves and dappled sunshine and you look at him and think: I will feel like this until my heart stops beating.

I will feel like this until the end of the world.

Maybe your body changes shape, moves pieces of itself aside for this other person to curve into. At night you sleep like question marks, you connect the moles on his back to find constellations, you pet his eyebrows. Maybe it lasts for years like this.

Maybe five.

Maybe forty-five.

When do you draw the line and say this is the happy ending?

Before the slow drift apart that you swore would never happen, not to you, not to this?

Before the tears and packing tape and lawyers and goodbyes?

Or maybe it lasts longer, goes all the way to a hospital bed and hands interlocked and an angelic choir of beeping machines? Blue veins, skin like ash -

Tell me, is this an ending?

* *

It’s raining that night, pouring - of all the damn clichés. Vanjie shoulda seen it coming.

They have a day off before the next show, and Vanjie’s heading back late from the hotel gym, muscles aching and sweat turning his skin gold. And there’s Brooke Lynn Hytes, standing in the middle of the hallway, soaked to the fucking bone.

“The fuck? You go swimming or something?”

“I was jogging and I lost my key card.” Brooke leans up against his door. His teeth are chattering, just a bit (Vanjie wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t always staring at Brooke’s mouth, but fuck you.). Brooke’s long-sleeved shirt is sticking to his shoulders and stomach. “There’s no one at the damn front desk either.”

“Why you going jogging during a hurricane?”

“It wasn’t this bad before I left.” Brooke shivers, rubs his hands over his arms. His hair looks terrible, blonde and stringy, a wet cocker spaniel. “It’s fine, I can wait here. I’ll keep checking -“

“Really bitch? Really? I’ma just let you stand here, looking like the Little Mermaid or something?” Vanjie grabs his key out of his pocket, gestures for Brooke to follow. Vanjie’s room is only a few down from Brooke’s (don’t ask how he knows this, he just does, and fuck you again.)

“Here, come on.” He unlocks his door and Brooke comes in after him. “You can shower if you want or - dry off at least. There’s a robe in there. I’ll keep callin’ the front desk, see where the fuck they’re at.”

He hears Brooke close the door behind them. “You sure it’s okay?”

“Sure, I’m sure. It ain’t like -“ Vanjie turns around.

There are raindrops running down Brooke’s neck and his eyes are the colour of the hottest kinda fire (and damn it, Vanjie had been doing so well).

He doesn’t know which one of them moves first, but suddenly he’s in Brooke’s arms, pressed all up against that drowned-rat looking queen, kissing him, kissing him. Vanjie slots their mouths together, wet against warm, clutches wild at the soaking material of Brooke’s shirt. He kisses him everywhere he can reach - the edge of his jaw, his throat, his stringy hair (“fuck me, fuck me up, please -”) rubs his face against Brooke’s skin until his eyelashes are wet too and Vanjie tells himself it’s just rain.

Then Brooke’s hand is in his hair, tilting his head back, and his voice is so low and rough that it makes Vanjie almost fall over, and his hips are hitching against Brooke’s and -

“Wait, wait -“ Brooke bites against his throat, “Wait.”

They both freeze. Brooke’s teeth are still on Vanjie’s throat. Vanjie’s hands have climbed up beneath Brooke’s shirt, holding tight to his damp shoulder blades.

Vanjie breathes. Drops his hands, and steps backwards, shaking. “Yeah, you’re right, I -“

“I’m in love with you.”

It’s Brooke who says it.

Brooke.

Vanjie almost doesn’t recognize his voice.

“What?”

“And I don’t want to just - I don’t want it to be like it was.”

Vanjie isn’t breathing anymore. Can’t do anything but stand there, lips tasting like rainwater.

“You - what?” He’s gotta be hearing things. In all those endings - Brooke never said it first. “What?”

Brooke blinks his wet, white eyelashes. “I know I fucked up. But I want - I wanted - fuck, I’m sorry. This is hard for me.”

And just like that - Vanjie can breathe again. Shit, he’s so dumb. He lets out a laugh that aches in his ribs, that feels like a cage door opening, starlings flooding out. “Brock. Baby. This is hard for everybody.”

Brooke’s hands are trembling, with cold or maybe with something else, “I don’t want to - break your heart. Fuck, I never - I don’t want to hurt you again.”

And Vanjie wants to say no, no, no. It’s going to be easy and perfect and everything it’s supposed to be. It’s going to be a fairytale, The Notebook, or else what’s the damn point?

(But maybe fairytales aren’t something you find. Something you get, something you’re given. Maybe they’re something - something you write.

Something you build.)

“I mean.” Vanjie breathes through his nose and swears to God he won’t start crying. “You might hurt me. Or I might hurt you. And Silk will probably kick both our asses when we do.”

And because he falls over and over, never fucking learns a thing and isn’t going to start now, he reaches out. Stops Brooke’s trembling hands with his own.

“Shit. You wanna try it anyway?”

Brooke closes his eyes when he nods, but only for a moment. And when Vanjie takes a step closer, leans in - Brooke stops him, gently, a hand on each shoulder.

“Don’t kiss me,” he says quietly. But then he smiles, just the corner of that pretty pink mouth. “Yet.”

Vanjie doesn’t, even though the longing is all wrapped around his throat, about to choke him. He doesn’t. He smiles back at Brooke Lynn Hytes, and the stretch of it hurts but in a good way.

“You should have a shower. You want some food after? We can get room service or something,” Vanjie says.

“Okay,” Brooke says and his eyes are shining.

“And we can - talk. If you want.”

“Yeah, I want to.”

“Okay,” Vanjie says. Brooke turns to go into the bathroom, and Vanjie might start laughing but he’s not going to start crying.

He’s going to call the front desk and get Brooke a goddamn room key. Then maybe he’ll shower too, get into his sweats, eat something.

And they’ll talk.

(This is not the happy ending you were looking for.)

And Vanessa will say something, something like, “I see you,” and it will weigh enough to crack the spines of those small words.

(But oh my darling -)

And they’ll touch. Soon.

Not yet.

(- it’s a start.)

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #avengers anthology #angst #romance #canon compliant #behind closed doors #mia ugly #concrit welcome #submission

47 notes · View notes

harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

i could write it better than you ever felt it - FINAL

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, vintage Something Corporate, oversugaring tea amidst Londoners

word count: 5.2k

A/N: this is it, fam! thanks for coming along in my time machine. I hope it’s everything you dreamed it would be. Shawn’s song is “As You Sleep” by Something Corporate, highly recommend a listen. thank you for everything you are and everything you give me. I love you guys.

Lucky 13.

The emblem of the 2007 Warped Tour has surrounded her all summer, but it feels especially present today somehow, on the last day of tour in Carson, California.

It seems a contradiction in terms, lucky 13, which Val supposes is probably the idea. She knows it’s a cheeky nod to the counterculture vibe that Warped Tour represents, but it also feels representative of her in some ways.

Val’s had a very contemplative and quiet three weeks since she gathered her things and walked out of that hotel room, leaving the scribbled note on the pillow behind her. She’s turned inward, no longer hounded by her conflict with Raf or Bea, able to focus on herself for the first time in a few months. And she’s picked out a few things that coincide with the theme of the summer.

Val is often reckless, and sometimes maternal. Val is book smart, and also street smart. Val embraces academia, but sometimes thinks she could drown herself in music and never read books again. Val is vibrant even when she is broken.

Humans are made up of contradictions, Val knows that as well as anyone. She is not suddenly realizing that she is not only one thing -- her dichotomies are not really news to her. But as she thinks about the people she loves most, she sees the way certain parts of their personalities bump up against other parts and fight for dominance, and she loves them more richly for it.

Humans are made up of contradictions and Val is embracing that from here on out. She arrived on the first day of Warped wearing a blink t-shirt with a textbook on Ming dynasty art in her trunk. All summer, she studied the ways she doesn’t fit in here in the scene anymore like she was looking for reasons to make a clean split and join her adult life across the pond. But the truth is, she failed. She looked for the ways that made her feel different from this world that she helped in her small way to build, but it’s as much a home to her as academia is and it will never truly feel foreign, no matter how many hours she spends crouched over a 9th century vase with a tiny brush. So her biggest contradiction, her inner strife over choosing academia over pop punk, it fades into her skin like her tattoo, as much a part of her as the dimple in her chin or the curls in her hair that she decided not to straighten today.

Val walks the grounds as the sun begins to fade. The last sets of the day are in progress or being set up. With earbuds in playing Boys Like Girls, she strolls between booths of merch people clinking beers and congratulating each other on a summer well done, between groups of kids comparing signed merch, between crew guys beginning to break down and pack away equipment to be pulled out next June for another go around.

She imagines who she’ll be next June.

She walks slowly on her way to Smartpunk. It seems her body is just as hesitant as her mind to attend this one last set, but she’s doing it anyway. She’s not sure why -- to prove a point to herself? To indulge in the talent one last time? To try to believe in a miracle?

She doesn’t like any of those options. She settles on curiosity and keeps her feet moving in uncharacteristically small steps.

She stands at the back, nice and far from any moshing action, by the All Time Low booth so she can sit on the edge of the table without getting grief from Vinny Vegas.

She wears a small smirk as the space around her fills in. It seems every Warped attendee is a Forefront convert now. She doesn’t blame them. But damn is it a far cry from their first sets in June.

They’re announced over the yelping cries of fans wearing out their last screams of summer. They hustle out in a group, with their tall, gawky frontman bringing up the rear as usual. He plants himself in front of the mic and swings one powerful arm above his head with a wild grin to wave as his adoring fans.

And it begins.

They put on a hell of a show. It’s not a given -- just because you’re good in the studio doesn’t mean you have the chemistry or energy to do well live. There are special bands that make a live concert a nearly religious experience -- her friends in Paramore and All Time Low among them. Forefront has gotten their sea legs this summer and won’t easily lose them now.

She takes the time to notice each member -- passionate, goofy Francis on rhythm guitar, hard-hitting, soft-spoken Seth on the drums, raucous pretty boy bassist Bobby. And then Shawn, switching between his keyboard and guitar effortlessly like he was born with a damn instrument in his hand, charisma leaking out of him all over the stage, making everyone in a fifteen mile radius certain that he’s born to do this.

She closes her eyes through the end of “Open End” and waits for “Swim” to start. When Shawn switches back to the keys at this point in the set, he usually engages in some chit chat with the boys or yammers on to the fans about how much they inspire him or whatever. But he’s quiet and the air around the stage is tense because everyone knows something’s up.

Val opens her eyes. He’s where she expected him to be, propped at the edge of his bench with his fingers resting over the keys, looking down at them frozen.

“We’re gonna play you a new one today.”

Val’s stomach falls out and flops into the dirt at her feet. She’s glad she’s sitting on the table because she can’t feel her legs. She overwhelmed by certainty that whatever’s about to happen, it’s going to be personal. And it’s going to hurt like hell.

Shawn is quiet for a few more electrically charged moments before he closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders forward and leans into the mic, singing before the instruments join him.

“Close your eyes and I will be swimming, lullabies fill your room, and I will be singing, singing only to you. Don’t forget I’ll hold your head, watch the night sky fading red.”

His fingers work furiously against the keys. The piano line is so intricate and shows off his talent for the instrument in a way she’s never seen. He keeps his eyes down at his hands as they dance, distracting him enough from the content of the lyrics so he can get through them without breaking down like he did when he wrote it.

“But as you sleep, and no one is listening, I will lift you off your feet, I'll keep you from sinking. Don't you wake up yet, cause soon I'll be leaving you. Soon I'll be leaving you, but you won't be leaving me.”

Val closes her eyes again and lets herself fall back into their last night, into their frantic lovemaking punctuated by irresponsible, unkeepable promises. She thinks about the weight of his legs between hers as she drifted off with him in the last full night sleep she got on tour. She remembers the way she let her hand rest on his side of the bed to try to tell when he left by how cool to the touch it felt.

“In the car, the radio leaves me searching for your star, a constellation of frustration driving home, singing my thoughts back to me, and watching heartache on TV.”

It feels so good to get this out, Shawn thinks as he hits each note just the way he wants it. This song came spilling out after their last night together in a way that felt too easy. After all that he put her through, he doesn’t deserve to have his art come easy. But art is never fair.

By the second chorus, Val knows the words. It’s hard not to zero in when you know they’re about you. She notes the way the crowd reacts, arms in the air waving at him like he’s Jimi Hendrix, cheering along, eating up everything he gives them.

Good, she thinks, he deserves it.

The lead into the bridge is still piano heavy, but his fingers know the strokes of the keys as well as his heart does, so he gets to sit up and look around, grinning as their fans cheer, watching the sky explode vibrant summer watercolors over the trees on the horizon. A thick, soothing breeze passes through.

He looks back through to where he saw her a few songs ago. He lets his gaze stay there long enough that she knows now that she’s been spotted. He licks his lips and leans into the mic, but keeps his eyes up at her, perched on the ATL merch table like she owns it.

He repeats the lyrics even though each word feels like tearing at scabs that won’t be healing for a while. He pours it all in, everything he has left, every piece of I’m sorry, every hint of thank you, every whisper of I love you, it soars out over the heads of the fans who love the words but don’t know the boy that wrote them.

They’re for her.

As the final note fades out under sweeping cries of gratitude from the scene kids that came to celebrate their home and community, Val stands, brushes the dust from her skinny jeans and secures her earbuds back in place. With a final nodding smile to Vinny, she turns from the stage and walks off in gigantic, loping steps to read about John Singer Sergeant and listen to Dookie on repeat.

+++++++

December 18th, 2017

Shawn doesn’t often fit most musician stereotypes -- he doesn’t drink too heavily, he doesn’t do any drug harder than weed, he’s kind of a serial monogamist.

But he does love a moody walk along a body of water.

With a pair of good headphones, a carefully curated playlist and a path along the water, Shawn can figure out anything. When he gets stuck on a song, he goes to the water. When he’s in a weird spot with someone he’s dating, he goes to the water. He doesn’t like to get too spiritual about it, but it does feel somehow clarifying.

So one afternoon in London when the sun is out and the Londoners are out with it, Shawn decides to join them. He’s there on business promoting the latest Forefront album with a Live Lounge performance on BBC Radio 1 with Nick Grimshaw. He’s jetlagged and a little turned around by the Underground system like he usually is when in London but he’s otherwise feeling just fine. He just needs a walk by the water today. He tries not to look too closely at why.

He bundles up in the Barbour jacket his mum got him last Christmas and sets off down the stairs into the opulent Savoy hotel lobby decked out with a Christmas tree in every corner and fresh garland wrapped around every non-moving object in sight. He smiles at it -- nobody does Christmas like the Brits. He’s looking forward to going home in a few days to see his mum and the rest of his family and decompress for a few weeks before heading back over to the UK to write and record their next album.

He gets reflective like this -- the combination of the water and the music offer him perspective he can’t usually reach otherwise. He tucks his hands in his pockets and sets off through the garden that opens up into the Victoria Embankment Gardens, usually lush and green in the spring and summer, full of life and people. He likes it like this, though, cold and quiet and almost like a little secret.

2017 has been good to him. Forefront played seven new countries this year on their world tour in celebration of their sixth studio album. He’s gotten a little better over the years about being more present in those moments rather than looking forward anxiously to the next album and the expectations that surround it. That attitude really spoiled the last few records, but the new friends he’s made in the industry have helped guide him through that. He’s even becoming friends with the Irish guy from One Direction now, though they had very different paths to the music industry. He seems like a cool guy.

Personally, 2017 wasn’t really a banner year. He broke up with Jess in April after almost a full year. He’s had a few of those lately -- relationships that start hot and don’t make it past a year mark. He should take a closer look at that and figure out why he can’t seem to stay in a relationship for longer than 11 months, but he’s too tired to think about it now. It’s been a long fuckin’ year.

It’s been a long ten years, actually, since Joy Ride. He thinks back to the show they played at home in Toronto over the summer to celebrate the big anniversary. They played the whole album start to finish, something they’ve never gotten to do. Being immersed in it like that brings back a lot of memories of that summer when everything really kicked off. Not all those memories are ones Shawn likes to think about.

He doesn’t think about Valentina much. It’s by design. He doesn’t even play “As You Sleep” as often as it’s requested. It just… doesn’t feel healthy for him. He’ll pull it out every once in a while when curiosity gets the best of him, when it’s been long enough that he forgets how sharply he still feels every word of that song. He usually regrets it.

He lets himself wonder about her sometimes, like today when he’s knee deep in nostalgia anyway. He still sees Raf and the other Streets guys. They went on a hiatus for a while around 2013 but are back again recording a new record somewhere in Malibu, from what Shawn’s heard. When he sees them, he doesn’t ask about her. He doesn’t want her knowing he’s asking. And he thinks sometimes he doesn’t want to know what she’s really up to, he’d rather imagine.

He falls into his favorite daydream. He likes to think she stayed in the UK (he always felt like that was the place for her to end up). Maybe she got a job in conservation at Oxford or Cambridge or some other hoity-toity university. Maybe she met a nice, polite, skinny, bookish English guy who looks at her like a miracle every time she speaks to him. Maybe they had a small wedding at his local church and his family loves her because she’s colorful and articulate. Maybe they have dogs -- sheepdogs or setters or something, good country dogs. And maybe they’ve had a little girl.

That’s where he usually shuts the daydream down. For obvious reasons.

But when he doesn’t, he thinks about her and who she might be. He thinks about thick, lush curls flopped over a tiny forehead. He thinks about pouty little lips and a chin dimple that matches her mother’s. He thinks about little feet that kick hard because she’d have to be strong, of course.

Now that he’s letting himself think about it, he thinks maybe she’d look kinda like the kid that’s staring at him, reaching out from her pram that’s parked next to the bench he’s strolling past. He smiles at her and she beams back with a grin that has only two teeth. It makes Shawn laugh.

He glances over at her lucky mum or dad.

And it’s almost like he expected it, like it had to be her. I mean, this kid really couldn’t have been anyone but Val’s. She’s just… so Val.

So when Shawn looks her over, from her sweeping dark curls and her leather trousers and her ankle boots, he’s barely even surprised to see her. He just tips his head back and chuckles at the universe.

“Hey mister,” she calls, and her voice sets his skin rough with goosebumps, “Can I have your autograph?”

Shawn lets go of where he’s holding on to the wrought iron fence above the banks of the Thames and walks over, his chelsea boots scratching at the frosty stone.

She doesn’t stand to greet him. She’s got a similar look on her face, bemused acknowledgement of fate and its tricks, like she was thinking about him too and they both somehow willed this to happen. Her long slender legs are crossed. She has one black leather-gloved hand in the pram in the grasp of her little girl who’s chewing on her finger and no longer paying Shawn any attention.

“Hey, Vally,” he sighs. He doesn’t mean to call her that, it just happens. She doesn’t visibly react beyond a slightly deeper dimple in her cheek, so he figures he scraped by with that one.

“Were you on your way somewhere?” she asks, glancing back as if she realized she might be taking him away from something.

He shakes his head. “No, I just-- I’m staying at the Savoy and I like these gardens. I just wanted a walk.” He has enough presence of mind to pause his music. He doesn’t bother to mention it’s an old Streets song. That she wrote.

“We like it out here. We live over by the Farringdon stop but we take the train out here because we like the waterfowl.”

Val looks down at the pram as she speaks. Shawn takes that as an invitation to acknowledge her more formally.

“Who’s this?” he asks breathlessly.

“This is Alice,” Val replies with as much pride as he’s ever heard from any mother, “Alice Fernanda Moreno, she’s nine months old and very hefty for her age because we run a body positive household and she loves mashed carrot and swede.”

Shawn lifts a hand and waves in that open-close way he does like he’s a big toddler himself. Alice kicks hard and squeals at him.

“She’s… so beautiful,” he marvels. Val’s smug smile tells him she agrees. Shawn doesn’t share his next thought because it feels like a line and he doesn’t want to go there.

Because she looks exactly like you.

“I picked out a real pretty one,” she jokes, tightening the wrap of the thick wool blankets around Alice as she yawns.

Shawn continues staring at her openly, trying to pick out features that could belong to any potential father, but as far as he can tell, Alice is simply a clone of Val. It’s Val’s throat clearing that brings him back.

“Sit, Mendes,” she suggests, patting the warped wooden bench. Shawn lowers himself on the other side of the pram as Val rocks it back and forth with her foot.

“She’s been fussy today, but it’s naptime. She has to give in eventually,” Val mutters like she’s reasoning with herself. Shawn grins.

“You have a daughter.”

Val doesn’t look up from the pram as she rocks it. She just nods and snuggles into her prim peacoat.

“I have a daughter.”

Shawn can’t bring himself to ask. She’s wearing gloves so he can’t see if she’s wearing a ring. He stays quiet and studies her instead.

She looks largely the same, barely even older than she did at 22. Her sense of style is maybe the only thing he can see that’s changed in the ten years since he’s seen her last. There’s something comforting in that.

He wonders if he seems different. He works out more now, eats right. He’s definitely put on a whole lot of muscle since he was scrounging for burger scraps on Warped. He’s gotten a few more tattoos she can’t see. He also has an actual stylist now, which is sometimes weird, but he’s elevated the black skinnies, Vans and band tees to black skinnies, $800 boots and silk button-ups. So there’s that.

He’s still got that lip ring though.

But… he wonders if he seems different. If he carries himself differently. If he comes off more confident, more calm, less wide-eyed and wondering.

Because she seems the same. She’s always glowed from the inside out like this. Maybe the glow feels a little stronger now. Or maybe it’s just because she glows through herself and her baby girl all at once. Shawn sits back and watches them -- he could bathe in it all day.

“You know it’s been ten years?” she breathes.

Shawn nods slowly. “I know. Kinda feels like 40.”

She laughs and a piece of him astral projects back to nights tangled up in her bunk kissing her neck and trying to keep her quiet so her brother won’t come mock them from outside the bunk curtain.

“It does,” she muses, “But sometimes it feels like fifteen minutes ago, too.”

Shawn tips his head back and sniffs, looking up through a tall pine as its needles shiver.

“Has your decade been good to you?” she murmurs. He lifts his head back up. She’s staring down at the baby.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been great. We’ve toured a lot, done a few more albums. The guys and I, I mean, you know us, we’d push each other in front of a bus most days, but we’re brothers and maybe obsessed with each other, too. We’re on a great ride.”

Val lifts her eyes to his briefly, all too knowingly, and lowers them back to the pram. “That’s good.”

Shawn shakes his head. “That’s not even at all what you meant, was it?”

“Nope.”

Shawn goes quiet, contemplative. Val waits him out until he’s ready.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he chokes finally, “Everything about it. Writing after Joy Ride, it was… it got bad. I mean, I was ok, like fundamentally, but I didn’t feel good. We had so many eyes on us. We had no idea what to do, just like no one else does. Some tours were great, some were bad. And the whole deal makes everything else harder. It’s hard on my family, my friends. I… I haven’t been in an actual good relationship in… five years, at least. This year was better. We’ve gotten our feet back under us. I let it all out in the last album, and that helped.”

“I know, I heard it.”

Shawn looks up from Val’s hands in the pram. For the first time all morning, he’s really, truly shocked to the bone.

“You did?”

Val doesn’t answer him exactly, just mutters something about needing to get the baby inside and announces they’ll head down the lane for a cup of tea. She leads them to a little corner coffee shop made for hipsters, not for women with very expensive prams, but Val doesn’t seem to care and parks in the corner by the fire. She layers down, stripping off her scarf and coat to a black turtleneck. Her cheeks go warm as she settles in and orders for them.

Shawn keeps his mouth shut and tries not to do the mental math of how many of the songs he’s released in the last ten years have been written about her, and exactly how many of them she might have noticed are definitely, totally written about her.

She folds her manicured hands together and looks up at him. His brain mercifully shuts off.

“It took a while after that summer for me to get there, but about three years later, I was around Oxford with some friends and I saw your latest album, on vinyl no less, in some indie record store. I suddenly got this feeling that I had to stop my whole life for a minute and go in and buy it. I bought it and the one that came before it, I said goodbye to my friends and I shut myself up in my flat for a couple days with a bottle of whiskey and just… let it happen.”

Shawn winces. “Wish you’d have just skipped over Making Midnight.”

Val smirks. “I wish I had, too.”

Shawn scoffs and leans back in his chair, mock offended. Val giggles and dumps an ungodly amount of sugar in her Earl Grey.

“I was glad to just hear your voice again, actually. I’d done a good job of avoiding it. Too good, maybe, because it was a real shock to the system when I heard it again.”

Shawn knows how that feels. He went through a Val cleanse too, a much shorter one because he doesn’t have her willpower. And then he heard a song she wrote with Alex Gaskarth for All Time Low’s Dirty Work and he let her back in.

“From then, I just bought your records when they came out. I really loved this last one. It really… I dunno, it just really felt like you, I guess.”

Shawn keeps his head down as he stares at his tea. He hears Alice coo. He looks up to see Val lifting her out of her pram to bounce her in her lap, baby in one arm, cup of tea in the other.

“God, it’s so fuckin’ good to see you,” he croaks, shaking his head a little, “Especially…”

He trails off, unwilling to finish. He ducks his head again.

“Especially with a kid I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to have?” Val guesses.

Shawn glances up and nods.

“Do you want to hear about this?” Val murmurs, ignoring Alice as she yanks at some silky curls.

Shawn chews on his lower lip. “Yeah, I think I do.”

It’s Val’s turn to look down. She stirs the mountain of slowly dissolving sugar at the bottom of her mug and sighs.

“She’s just mine. Last year I started to get a little anxious about my biological clock, especially given the last time I got pregnant. I saw a fertility specialist and we discussed my history and she agreed if I want to have children, it’s probably better to start now. So I went in for IVF. On the second cycle, I got pregnant with Alice. The pregnancy was complicated, but my doctor was a saint and did everything absolutely right. The birth went perfectly. So now it’s me and Alice against the world.”

Shawn slides his tongue against his lower lip, taps his foot impatiently against the leg of his chair. “Just you two?”

“Just us two,” Val replies easily, “There were a couple guys in and out before her, but I haven’t gone out with anyone since I got pregnant. I didn’t feel the need. I just wanted to focus on her. I’m glad I did.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, reflective. Then Val stands and looks down at him.

“Would you mind holding her for a minute? I need to use the loo.”

Shawn bites his lip and nods, standing to complete the transfer. Alice is asleep in her mother’s arms, but, as Val explains with a chuckle, “she’s a snuggle whore -- she’ll go with anybody for a little cuddle.”

Shawn sits. Alice curls up against his chest and pops her tiny lips in her sleep. She radiates warmth from her little swaddled bundle. As he stares down at her, Shawn fundamentally understands why Val hasn’t needed anyone else in her life since Alice arrived. He thinks if Val let him, he’d never put her down.

Alice stretches a tiny arm out in her sleep and punches Shawn in the chest. He snickers, jostling his little bundle, but it doesn’t wake her. He starts to get comfortable, sliding down in the chair a bit so he can rock her, but Val’s hand on his shoulder startles him.

“It’s ok,” she says, “Keep her, if she’s not fussing. I’d rather she stay asleep.”

Shawn nods eagerly and strokes Alice’s back with his long, rough fingers. Val sits across the table with her elbows propped up like she’s physically restraining herself to keep from snatching her child out of his arms. It makes Shawn grin.

“You ok over there?”

Val blushes, caught. “It’s usually just the two of us. I don’t ever have to share her. I’m not used to jonesing.”

“I’ll give her back if you want,” Shawn mumbles reluctantly. Val giggles.

“No, it’s ok. She looks happy.”

Shawn hums. She does look happy.

“So are you working?” he asks quietly, not wanting to wake Alice.

Val nods. “We are, we work at the V&A in the medieval department. We just started back about a month ago after my maternity leave. The museum’s been very generous. They let me walk around with her strapped to my chest all day. She helps consult on various matters, charms my coworkers into letting me leave bottles of breastmilk in every fridge in the museum. I shifted from conservation to curation a few years ago, which is a steadier, more lucrative track. I think it’ll be better for us.”

Us. We’re working at the V&A. We started back at the museum. Shawn’s enamored. He goes pink and brushes through the curls on the back of Alice’s neck.

“Sounds like you’ve got a great partner here,” he quips.

Val is quiet for a minute. “We’re very happy together. But we get a little lonely sometimes. Like when it’s cold and mummy really doesn’t want to get out of bed but Alice is screaming bloody murder. Those are the only moments when this isn’t the greatest thing in the whole world.”

Shawn looks up. Val is watching him carefully. Before he can speak, she swallows and lowers her gaze.

“But we get along, you know. We’re ok.”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, “I know you are.”

They chat. They talk about Raf and his wife Rachel and their little ones -- Val and Alice will be heading across the pond to spend Christmas with them and her parents. They talk about Bea and how she’s spent five years with the same guy up in Edinburgh and she seems actually happy. They talk about their near miss at Alex’s wedding last April -- she came for the ceremony but had to skip out of the reception, Shawn the opposite. They chat through several more cups of tea, an array of pastries, and another nap cycle until it’s dark and quiet outside. Val stares mournfully out the window as she puts on her jacket with Alice back in her pram, gurgling quietly.

Shawn is silent, brow furrowed. He pays the tab with a ghost of a smile and thinks about walking back to his hotel to sit in his room with the TV to try to drown out this day. It’s… unappealing to say the least.

They walk to the door. Shawn holds it open for Val and Alice and considers that they probably look to anyone else like a young family that spent the day together and are headed home to a warm dinner and a cozy night in.

Val’s heart pounds in her ears faster than their boots’ steps on the crunchy ground. She wants to swallow the words, but she doesn’t think she can. Not with him.

“Would you like to walk us home?” she breathes.

Shawn’s smile is extraordinary. He looks up from Alice’s curious brown eyes.

“Yes, please.”

Support your local Ho for Happy Endings and buy me a ko-fi!

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @stillinskislydia @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @alone-in-madness @alone-in-madness @singanddreamanyway@accioalena @randi-eve @shawnitsmutual @embracehappy @itrocksmysocks @yslsaint @peacedolantwins2 @kitykatnumber

#shawn mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fan fiction #shawn mendes fic #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes fluff #punk!shawn #warped tour shawn #dad!shawn

156 notes · View notes

sparda3g · 5 years

Text

Kimetsu no Yaiba Chapter 167 Review

youtube

How can you hate a guy who treats a dog with sheer kindness? If you didn’t gain respect for Sanemi in the last chapter, this chapter’s cover will. In all seriousness, I am amazed how he is slowly winning me over, but that’s what good writing do to you. After his display of sincerity for his little brother, it’s time to shift gear and go crazy over Kokushibou. This chapter was all action, all entertainment, and all greatness. And we’re just getting started.

I always like when this series goes into an action-heavy chapter. Hell, the very first panel with the swords clash says it all. Not only it’s entertaining, but you get a really good insight on each character’s skills and abilities. Furthermore, the progression is clear with the floor plan and interior objects alternate depending on the sequence. It hardly feels like a waste of time, such as no progress or solely made to hype someone; there’s always a grand scheme of things in the overall battle. Needless to say, the action is so damn great with heated tension and choreograph.

I wasn’t expecting for Sanemi to put up well against Kokushibou, but he certainly surprised me here. After the last chapter, I have a newfound respect for the guy, so not only I’m rooting for him, but I care about him. What’s even better is his skills and style left me very impressed; somewhat fits his nature perfectly, attribute and design. Still, Kokushibou is not the one to suddenly lose momentum and get derailed like a Battle Shounen pattern. The battle deludes the fans to believe an equal match, but there’s a sign of one clearly stronger.

Each Breathing Technique leaves room for a gasping moment. It’s like one slipup and the momentum will drop hard. Moon Breathing Technique is crazy as always. Thankfully, we learn a couple of things from this battle. The Moon Breathing is rather unorthodox due to its movements. I was under impression that Kokushibou swings his sword super-fast like time travelling. Realistically, the technique can alter the slashes direction and form. All he has to do is one swing and out comes crap load of moon slashes. This is insane because usually, an attack always look the same as well as direct itself. With Moon, it’s like playing against a tough boss; it will ignore a pattern and you will have to keep up. Trust me, it’s annoying as hell. Oh, and he’s fast too.

I would guess someone would believe it is nonsense for Sanemi to withstand while Tokito did not. However, his explanation does make sense when all things are considered. Tokito was sword playing in a traditional sense; Sanemi is more rowdy. Also, judging by his design, it does scream, “long and brutal experience” in compare. If anything, if Sanemi was like a year back self, he would have lost badly. This shows how diversity can change the playfield, rather relying on who can go Super Pillar. It’s noteworthy that he’s a great observer, rather than a guy who is swings like a fool. In short, I like this guy already.

There’s so many cool moments within the battle. So many Breathing Techniques to admire as well as normal swordplay; making the battle enticing. There’s one moment where I thought Sanemi cut through Kokushibou’s sword with his Claws-Purifying Wind. I got excited, only to be denied when Kokushibou breaks free with a slash; nearly ironic. The main highlight, personally, is when Sanemi sneaks in an attack with Genya’s sword, using his right foot. That was hardcore. It’s not just badass, but using his brother’s sword is admirable. My respect has increased tenfold. It’s interesting that Kokushibou is feeling the thrills to work harder. It’s as if he’s going back to his humanity; working hard like an underdog. His character continue to intrigue me.

Like many battles in this series, it isn’t easy at all. The sequence gets crazier and crazier; up to the point, Sanemi starts to bleed due to heavy focus. The scary part is, he must keep up the momentum at all cost; otherwise it is game over. All it takes is one slip. That’s how it exploit the intensity; with stunning visual and expressive reactions. As much as I love the artwork on that double-page spread with that Moon Breathing Form, it is the moment that had me shaken. It was incredibly close call, but holy crap, that could obliterated Sanemi. Even so, he took so serious hits. I actually feel bad. I was growing worried as much as Genya, who is trying to watch his brother. Poor guy. I believe Gotouge is toying with us with the anticipation of bro team. Dammit, Gator.

Just before the chapter ends on a dreary note and raise the death flag to certainty, a surprise twist comes in and it’s a clever one. While not exactly according to the plan, it favors greatly for Sanemi despite the outcome. It turns out his blood is Marechi, a rare blood. Instead of attracting the demon, it goes against them and weakens them severely. Now, Kokushibou is weakened, giving an increased chance to Sanemi’s victory. Why didn’t he do it earlier? Because he didn’t think it would work on Upper Moon. Make sense to me, I mean why hurt yourself randomly. It does beg the question: do his scars indicate that he used his blood as a weapon? That would make a lot sense and rather sick in a good way.

I like the fact Marechi plays a role here since it was once exploited a long time ago. It’s interesting how it can be used offensively. If the theory on Sanemi’s scars is true, that would greatly complement his overall design; something this series is really good at. One fan at reddit reminded me that this explains why Nezuko avoided him back in the introductory stage. Have she consume some, she would have been a lot of trouble, if not killed. That’s why he tempted her. That is well thought-out; color me impressed.

This was an exhilarating chapter. The action is stellar so far and it’s only the beginning. You know it’s going to get better. The sequence is so good; captivating from start to finish, thanks to solid artwork and paneling. Both of them were great, especially Sanemi. Thank God, he gained my respect. The ending was worrisome, but the neat twist made the next chapter very hype. The badass train doesn’t stop here. More carnage is on its way.

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #chapter 167 #review #spoiler

6 notes · View notes

foolishs-blog1 · 5 years

Text

☾ ▹ ° ⋅ aaron tveit / thirty - five / cis male ; have you had the chance to meet gabriel crowley ? he has lived in old sprigg for thirty years , gaining a reputation for being quite intrepid , romantic , tragicomic & tenebrous . this pansexual gemini can be found around the clover and he works as a lawyer & playwright . most people tend to associate them with expensive shirts undone at the throat and rolled up to the forearms , and the passenger seat of a well - loved car piled with reusable coffee cups , half - scribbled drafts and case briefs alike .

this was meant to go up earlier but i fell asleep and then my laptop decided to reboot itself and i lost all my progress and i kind of had a breakdown over it . anyways ! i’m vanya , i’m 20 , i’m writing from aest / hell , and i tend to use she/they pns . i’m the world’s worst law student , so catch me whipping up lengthy emotional responses when i’m meant to be writing letters of advice n whatnot ! this is the first of two intros , so bear w me --- - but without further ado , here’s the loml , gabe !

𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗�� . x 𝗱𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗲𝗿 .

full name: gabriel arthur crowley .

nicknames: goes primarily by gabe .

age: thirty - five .

date of birth: june sixteenth .

place of birth: old sprigg , missouri .

occupation: local lawyer , aspiring playwright .

gender identity & pronouns: cisgender male , he/him .

sexual identity: pansexual .

romantic identity: panromantic .

western zodiac: gemini .

hogwarts house: gryffindor .

𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘 . x 𝗯𝗶𝗼𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗽𝗵𝘆 .

so , gabriel is from a pretty prominent family in old sprigg --- - they’ve been living there for generations , and lay claim to a mom and pop convenience store in the centre of town . the crowleys aren’t wealthy wealthy , but they are comfortable ( which is what rich people say , but whatever ) . he’s the oldest of his five siblings ( wcs that i’ll probs pop in later , oops ) and the responsibility of taking care of the shop has fallen to his younger sister .

just for reference , the family structure is below ! they range from 35, obvs, to 27 . they were all born in quite quick succession . bold indicates twins !

gabriel .

younger sister .

younger brother .

younger sister .

growing up , he was quick to assume responsibility and play the protective older brother --- - he helped get lunches ready in the morning , helped cook dinner , helped look after the younger four ; he adapted well to the responsibility . he’s always been quite mature in that respect , always choosing to go home and help with the younger kids than to go out and party and whatnot .

throughout his childhood , he showed incredible promise with language . he was a keen reader , and developed a taste for classic literature early on . his teachers understood that and responded to it well , and fostered that love . by the time he was in fourth grade , he was being sent off to do much more advanced work . he’s maintained this love for literature and language --- - an entire room in his house is dedicated to all of his books . ( he’s formed his own little library , and he’s not mad about it . )

somewhere in high school , he was introduced to the possibility of doing law , and fell head over heels . there was something about its innate intricacies , the interweaving of theory and language and cleverness that spoke to his soul . he started discussing the idea with his parents , who jumped at the idea of having a lawyer in the family again ( bc who the fuck wouldn’t ) --- - they eventually decided on a university in kansas city , and before he even realised it , he was applying .

he moved out of the family home at eighteen , car loaded with boxes and heart full of sorrow and the inexplicable joy of what was to come . he can’t say he’s sorry for leaving , but he will admit that it was hard . living in such a close - knit , beautiful family , you get very attached to the people around you and having to leave is a pain like no other . ( he drove home every chance he could , brought books and records for his younger siblings to swap around , told stories of university life with only a touch of embellishment , bc no one wants to hear another story abt how you stayed home on friday night rereading the iliad again . )

he pretty much cruised through uni on high marks , tbh . in his latter years he became a tutor and peer mentor , but he pretty much stuck to himself for most of his time there . he dabbled in theatre arts , stage managed and starred in a few shows , but for the most part he stuck to his own guns and got through uni the way he wanted to . it’s here that he starts drafting ideas for his own plays , but he doesn’t take them too seriously . he tends to write them as a detox from writing legal essays , and his first ones aren’t great but they get better and better as time goes on .

after he graduated with first class honours , gabe started looking for work and after a month of relative unemployment ( there was a whole lot of greasy takeout and near - teary breakdowns experienced that month ) , he got the job of an absolute lifetime --- - working as a legal assistant in a firm in new york city . he didn’t hesitate about taking that job .

new york wasn’t quite what it was cracked up to be . the rent on his apartment was exorbitant , moments of peace and quiet were transitory , he was overworked and underpaid , but there was still something about it that appealed to him like nothing else . he’d save his change and go see broadway shows when he could , fell in love with everything about the theatre . note that his burgenoning love for theatre didn’t replace his love for the law --- - it merely grew out of the same place , that same love for language and literature that drove him into law .

he ended up working in new york for about five years before deciding to pack it in and move back to old sprigg . there’d been a job opening back home and he was starting to feel the urge to return home --- so five years ago , he packed up his car again and made the long trip back home . he doesn’t regret leaving new york , not at all . he’d made quite the success story of himself there , and it’s not like he couldn’t just travel back and forth for big cases . the firm was reticent to let their ‘ hotshot little attorney ’ go , but it’s been the best thing for him .

he’s been back for five years now . he bought a house relatively close to his parents and siblings , and has since established a small business offering legal advice and taking on distance cases . he travels back and forth , but he loves it regardless . he’s adopted three dogs and a cat , all of whom insist on sleeping in the bed --- - gabe gets the smallest sliver of bed , naturally . he’s written two plays ( both of which have been published ) and he’s starting work on the third one now .

idk he’s just happier in old sprigg than he ever was in nyc and he deserves that

𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 . x 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝗿𝗸𝘀 .

style inspirations: spencer reid , the tenth doctor . it’s a lot of expensive dress shirts and scuffed - up sneakers . when he’s actually in court , he’ll dress quite professionally but when he’s not , he’ll keep the nice shirts and swap everything else out for worn jeans and converse in varying colours . occasionally , we’ll get a knitted scarf .

exhales ... big on saving the environment . turns up to convenience stores with canvas bags in tow , has a reusable coffee cup for every mood , tries to make as little waste as humanly possible . he’s slowly weaning himself off of meat , and he won’t go fully vegan , but he’s doing his best to avoid meat and dairy . ( yes , he saw greta thunberg’s tedtalk and promptly felt guilty and started making changes . )

used to smoke , because it was a social thing in the firm he worked at in nyc . since he’s moved back , he’s quit . he’ll have one a week if he feels the need .

he did a few shows in high school and university . he’s got a fuckin beautiful voice , and if you walk by at the right time , you can catch him singing to himself and his dogs while making breakfast .

he jogs , bc of fucking course he does .

talks with his hands a lot . doesn’t know where he gets it from .

holds a regular saturday night movie marathon at his house for friends and family , and seeing as fall is approaching it’s gonna be halloween movies from now on . he’s a sucker for a good horror movie .

angelic in every way , shape n form . thank u .

#◜ ❛ : 𝒾. 𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗶 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱 ─ ⊱ intro.#sprigg.intro #is this the best intro i could've written ?? no . but it's an intro

5 notes · View notes

notesfromtheidiotbox · 5 years

Text

Okay... here we go.

I am a crossdresser. Let’s make the terminology clear right now. I am a heterosexual cisgender male who likes to wear women’s clothes. I am not gay. I am not transgender. And while I personally don’t mind if someone uses the term “transvestite” to describe me, I choose to use the term “crossdresser,” because it eliminates the prefix “trans-” and thus most confusion as to my sexuality and gender identity.

As for why I like wearing women’s clothes, it’s kind of like asking me why someone prefers mustard to ketchup, or chocolate to vanilla. I just do. I like the way I feel when I wear a skirt, or makeup, or a wig. I feel attractive, sexy, and more confident. I rarely feel like that when dressing as a guy. My style as a guy hasn’t changed in 30 years. T-shirts, jeans, the occasional button down shirt and suit jacket and tie when needed.

Guys fashion has never interested me. It always looks the same. Muted colors, boring shades of black, blue, or brown. Nothing really interesting to write home about. But women’s clothes? Always more colorful, more interesting, and generally more fun. Even women’s underwear made of cotton is more comfortable than guys cotton underwear. (As of this writing I haven’t yet experimented with bras. That will come eventually.)

To be clear, I’m a fairly new crossdresser. While I’ve dabbled here and there with it from time to time in the privacy of my own home with one or two items of clothing, (and a few aborted attempts when I was growing up) it’s only recently that I decided that I was tired of feeling like a schlub and dammit, I wanted to be pretty. So I ordered a dress I liked and began consulting friends about how to apply cosmetic make up. (For the record, I’ve had some experience with makeup, but that was for the stage and that’s a whole different animal from makeup meant to be worn for close up sight.)

The other thing I’m sure you’re wondering is if this is a sexual thing. This is a valid question because most depictions of crossdressing in the media almost entirely revolves around it as a kink. For me, this really isn’t a kink. Sure, I do get a sexual charge out of it, but for the most part, this is more of me coming to terms with how I want to feel about myself. I don’t feel confident, or attractive, or really all that good about myself on a day-to-day basis, but when I dress in something nice, like the dress I’m waiting for, or even something as simple as putting on a pair of panties under my guy clothes, I feel more comfortable in myself. More confident. More like I’m me.

Which kind of feels like where I’ve been heading. I’ve always been… repulsed?... shall we say, by what society dictates men are supposed to be like. I don’t like sports, or outdoorsy stuff, or tools (although I do know how to use them. I just don’t fetishize them like a lot of guys do.) I can’t stand having facial and excessive body hair. In the media I consume, I prefer female characters. If I have the option in video games, I’ll always choose to play a woman. My favorite comic books, movies, and TV shows all mostly have female leads. When I write fiction, most of the time I choose to make my protagonists female. I like women. Not in the romantic/sexual sense (though that is my preference), but just as a collective. There’s no real way to say this without it sounding patronizing, but I admire them. Every woman of my acquaintance has known what she wants, how to get it, and isn’t going to let anybody give her shit for it. And women get a lot of shit. Shit they don’t deserve. Shit shoveled on them by idiot men. And yet, they persist and most of the women I know haven’t lost their sense of humor in the process. Who wouldn’t want to be like that?

I’ve always been more feminine in my tastes than most guys I know. I like Jem, Monster High and My Little Pony. Equestria Girls is my favorite cartoon that’s currently running.

I’m slowly getting where I want to be. Maybe one day I’ll start dressing feminine all the time. Maybe I won’t. Maybe somewhere down the line I’ll discover I’m transgender after all, like some other crossdressers have. Maybe not. I don’t feel the need to be loud about it. Some days I may feel like being femme, others I may not want to go through all the hassle and it’ll be easier to dress as a guy. I don’t need to get up in the world’s face and yell “HEY! I’M A GUY WHO LIKES DRESSING LIKE A WOMAN! DEAL WITH IT!” I want to wear what I like. Some days it’s a dress, others it’s my favorite Equestria Girls t-shirt and jeans.

My family already knows about this. My sisters were nothing but supportive and one of them immediately suggested going clothes shopping, My parents were surprised, and a little confused, but they weren’t angry. My son was the same way. It’s going to be a period of adjustment for everybody, myself included, as I try to figure this whole thing out.

I know, when I finally decide to go out in public in femme gear, that I’ll be getting shit from close minded idiots. With luck, the most I’ll have to endure is weird or dirty looks from people. At worst, I may end up in a fight. I’ll probably be ridiculed, but hey, that’s nothing new. I’ve been ridiculed nearly every day of my life. I care about what they think as much as I care about some internet rando screaming “debat me!” online. Doesn’t affect me in the slightest.

So much of what’s happening in the world today that upsets me is out of my control, but I can control this. I can dress how I like. I can be more feminine if I choose to be. I can find clothes I’m comfortable in and wear them on my own time. (Like many people, I wear a uniform to one job, and I have personal dress standards for the other. Like I said, I’m not out to make anybody uncomfortable, so guy clothes are the norm for when I work.)

Some of you reading this may not like this revelation. Some of you may think it’s a bad idea to be open about my crossdressing. Some of you may think that crossdressers like me set back progress for actual transgender rights and only muddy the waters. Some of you will think this is immoral and goes against the mythic “natural order.” Some of you, in a nutshell, have a problem with me wearing women’s clothes. To you, I say this:

If you have a problem with me being open about who I am and what I wear, then it is exactly that: your problem. And your problem doesn’t affect me in the slightest. If you don’t want to see me experimenting with clothes, makeup, and wigs, then curate your experience. Block those posts from me. Unfollow me on social media. Unsubscribe from my YouTube channel. Like I said, I’m not looking to make anyone uncomfortable, but I’m tired of feeling like shit, and this is one of the few ways I’ve found that makes me feel good about myself. If you think you can’t associate with me in public because of this, then I’m sorry to see you go.

Life is too short. The bad guys are winning. And I’m tired of being miserable. So I’m going to try to gain whatever happiness I can going forward. And sometimes, happiness is a cute dress and a killer shade of eyeshadow.

But I can tell you right now, heels are the devil’s work and those are right out for me.

#Crossdressing #revelation #personal development

10 notes · View notes

castawxayaway · 6 years

Text

afraid to admit

requested by an anon earlier this evening, kind of got my motivation back (hence why this is the second piece of the day.) no idea how long it’ll last, but feedback is appreciated. oh, and I know it might not be accurate, I am not a medical student.

collection of writing

also this is about a car crash so please read with caution!

Everything that night occurred in an instant. No one had time to change what happened, even if we wished the events had happened in a different order. If I hadn’t come out of the restaurant first and walked ahead, giggling with him after celebrating my graduation maybe it’d be a different story. Perhaps if he caught up with me then someone else could be lying still here. What if that driver hadn’t ruined a families life by drinking away his sorrows before attempting to pick up his children?

The events that lead me to lie lifelessly to this hospital room could have all been avoided, but sometimes things don’t work out that way. All I hear is the monotone beeping of my heart monitor, I can smell the antibacterial sprays and gels that have embedded themselves in my nostrils along with the over fragrant flowers that multiply by each passing day. But out of everything here, the one person I can’t hear, I haven’t heard since being emitted is him.

All I know is I am asleep, comatose. Yet, I can hear everything. I’ve only ever seen such a thing on TV and now I damn my past self for changing the channel, maybe they had some solution for this and how to force myself awake. It’s not an If I stay situation, I am stable from the accident but the Doctors claim it’s a waiting game until I wake up. I’m trapped, unable to move or let anyone know. I’m stuck with myself, my own thoughts which is more painful than the accident itself.

The routine since being ‘awake’ is being checked various times by different people each day. I can feel monitors being checked, my temperature being taken along with checks that tire me mentally. My family visit as often as they can, they share stories in hope of me waking up. Yesterday my Dad promised a holiday of my choice, Kyle came in and told me he’d take me to any gig I wish for. The others come in, but he can’t. Apparently, it hurts him too much, though on the surface he left the accident unscathed, emotionally it damaged him deeply knowing he couldn’t save me.

Will sits with me for an hour every few days, he keeps me updated. He likes to tell me about the news, no matter how much it bores me I enjoy his company. Today he discussed his current state, he gets as far as entering the hospital before breaking down each time. He never gets as far as asking how I am by Nurses or speaking to anyone else. The thought of him blaming himself makes my heart sink, the damages I suffer are nothing compared to the pain I feel for him thinking he is guilty. “The guy who did this is to blame. Did anyone tell you what happened to him?” Will asks, knowing he won’t get a response.

We all know what happened to the driver. The issues he caused and resolved with that accident. He broke both my legs, knocked me unconscious and risked me having brain damage. Furthermore, he crashed into another car, a Father and his two children, both under the age of five. The driver himself, who was called Robert King and was an abusive husband. He died on arrival. No one will miss him. No one cared to know he died.

“I think he is finding it easier each day,” Kyle starts, my next visit for the day. They’re all told that visitors and voices will encourage me to wake up. Though they’re unsure if I can hear anything they are all trying their hardest, no matter how stupid it may seem. “this morning he got out of bed and went for a walk. He played some piano too.” If I were awake I’d smile at the thought of him making progress. But I’m stuck and apparently, I look pained as I lie bruised and permanently scarred.

“Do you think she’ll wake up soon?” Another voice of concern, Charlie. I rarely hear him anymore, he tells me he’s been busy prepping for his own tour. He hopes I’ll be awake to see him, and knows I’ll be front row cheering him on.

A loud disheartened sigh echoes through the room, interrupting the monitors beeping for less than a second. “I don’t know mate. The doctors don’t seem to know either.” All becomes silent. No one speaks up. Usually, this is when I’d interject with a joke, lighten the mood. It’s marginally hard to do such a thing when I am the only one who can hear my voice, I have one-sided conversations with everyone who walks in. “Do you think she can hear us?”

“If she can then she’s being bloody rude not waking up.” Charlie jokes and Kyle laughs for a moment, something I’ve missed hearing. Everyone who comes in here is down, depressed or longing for me to wake up. No one comes in here to joke or brighten the spirits that wither with the flowers on my table by the window with a view I cannot see.

It’s been almost a month. At least that is what I hear them say. Outside it has become colder, snow comes and goes, but it never sticks. I can now clearly differentiate the nurses and the doctors’ voices, even by the sigh after they do their checks. I’ve heard them say I have frequent brain activity, that perhaps it’ll be any day now that I wake up. But then again, they’ve been saying that for two weeks.

“Any news from the other person involved?” One of the Nurses asks another. This is something I’ve learnt they like to do, they gossip frequently in front of me since I cannot punch them for talking about my closest friend in the way they do.

The other nurse sighs, “Nope. He hasn’t gotten past the front doors. Sometimes he tries to sit outside her room, but he doesn’t manage that. Wonder if something was happening between the two.” My heart monitor speeds up and the two go quiet. “Do you think?”

“No.” The other one quickly shuns her down for a correct suspicion. “Let’s leave her be. She needs her rest.” Internally I scoff, I’m done resting.

Another doctor visits, no changes since this morning it seems. “You have a visitor. I’ll let them in.” He never normally announces my visitors. Usually, they just come and come as they please. The longest silence is in the night when I hear those who are more emergency based be wheeled on by, sometimes I hear screams whilst everyone is fast asleep.

My door closes behind him and then I patiently wait since I have no other choice. After what feels like a good ten minutes it slowly opens, the hinges creak suggesting hesitation, but after the first week, no one has been afraid to see me. They’ve all witnessed the scratches that are healing, the scars that are kept in neat stitches and the casting across both my legs that pokes out of my blankets.

Shuffling across the streaked tiles sharpens my ears, a new sound. I can hear heavy breathing, fear. He’s here. Mentally I brush myself down, sit upright and smile at him to ease the nerves. Instead, I lie lifelessly, damaged and with pain written in my expression rather than happiness to know he’s made it.

A chair scrapes across the floor and is placed to my left, back to the door. “Hi.” He sounds tired, drained. Usually he’d smile brightly, fidget in his seat or come and hug me. But he sits too still, too quiet and is keeping a safe distance as if I’m contagious.

“No one has told me if you responded to them. Your parents hoped someone else could evoke some response from you as, as they, they,” He struggles to make his words coherent and without a quiver of his lips. Pausing I can hear him taking a deep breath, one he would take before walking on stage.

I remember his first performance. He was forced to play the piano for a local play, I was the one who encouraged him to do so, face his fears. Now he does that most days of the year, he walks on excited with adrenaline pumped through his body not thinking of the feeling that used to hold him back.

Yet, hearing him now he sounds like he did before his first performance. He’s too afraid to say or do the wrong thing. He needs me to tell him it’ll be alright. If only I could move my fingers towards his, hold his hand or nod. Anything to ease him into talking, tell me how he feels about this, anything.

“They’re hoping that I might be able to get you back.” He whispers so quietly doubting himself as he trails off. “I don’t know why. I mean, your parents have been here every day.” He continues to doubt, I can hear him arguing with himself about whether to leave or stay. “About, about that night.” I can hear the defiance trying to push through his voice.

That night. We planned it months in advance. I knew he wasn’t able to get much time off with their new tour coming up, he was in the studio most days or asleep. He wanted to do something for my graduation, a way to celebrate his best friend achieving her dream. The two of us got ready like old times, we listened to the music of our childhoods and felt out of place in a restaurant that seemed too fancy for the both of us. I felt like I was a child dressing in her Mums posh clothes. He didn’t look like himself. He styled his hair, he wore a suit and kept his glasses in the pocket and pulled them out to read the wine menu.

“We couldn’t stay there, despite the reservation.” He spoke up. “You suggested we leave, that we go for something more us.” I remember him taking his glasses and putting them back on, he told the waiter to not bother as we got up and left like giddy children.

That was when I opened the door first, I held it open for him to follow and muttered how cold it was. I watched as he paused under the streetlamps, but I turned around and began to walk ahead. “I was taking my jacket off for you, I didn’t want you to be cold.” The events that I never saw. “That was when I heard the noises, the screeching of tires and beeping.” He pauses, I can hear the pain as he recollects what happens.

All I saw was the bonnet coming straight towards me. “It went straight for you as if you were the only target. I screamed for you to move, I tried running for you but it happened in an instant. I, I thought you, you,” He can’t say it.

He thought I was dead. Everyone did.

“That night I was going, to be honest. All the stress of your dissertation and the drama that occurred with Jack was over. You were happy and I just wanted to tell you how happy that made me.” Mentally I switch on, any other noise is shut down as I listen to every word he says. I can feel his lips moving and his hands fidgeting as he digs his nails into each other. “When we were younger you always helped me face my fears, I helped you try to learn the keyboard and you encouraged me to put myself out there for my passion.”

I can hear him sniff. He’s upset, he’s struggling to say these words that I should respond to. I should be looking him deep into those blue eyes and help him through. “I disappeared for years, I missed you getting into uni and those hard months. Whenever I called you all you did was push positivity onto me, you deflected it as all you cared about was how I was.”

Those were my worst months, and I can tell those are what he is currently enduring. All I care about is how he is, I want to be there to hold his hand, but mine remain too lifeless. “You were always so strong, and I feel that I’ve failed you.” No, no. “I wanted to be here for you. I have been trying so hard. Seeing what happened to you broke my heart, seeing you so mangled and hurt broke my heart and I thought for a moment I’d never get to tell you how much I really care for you.”

His voice takes a more serious tone, I can feel his warm slightly sweaty palm take my hand in his. I feel his cool breath on top of my hand, then a warm sweet kiss before wiping it. “I don’t just care for you, I am in love with you.” My heart beat intensifies as my mind want to shut down. I want to wake up, I want to talk to him I don’t want to doubt him, I don’t want to question this or am I just dreaming?

“I know you can’t hear me. But I guess I’ll never know how you’d answer.” His hand begins to slip out of mine, but I try my hardest to hold on. My forceful words do nothing to make my hand hold his, not even a flinch. I remain too lifeless for him to even think I know he’s here. “I’ll be back soon, I promise I won’t leave you again. Goodnight.” He mutters as I hear his chair slide across the tiles.

No, he can’t leave. “Dan! Dan!” My mind screams, but nothing. He says nothing else as I hear the door close and I am left in the deafening silence of my own thoughts.

11 notes · View notes

podcastcoach · 4 years

Text

What Podcasters Can Learn From Eddie Van Halen

This week rock guitar God Eddie Van Halen died after a long battle with throat cancer. As a guitar who was 13 when Van Halen's first album was released, and whose band provided the soundtrack to my adolescent years this hit me hard. With this in mind, I wanted to talk about things podcasters can learn from Eddie Van Halen.

Sponsor -Profit from Your Podcast: Proven Strategies to Turn Listeners into a Livelihood

Methods and Advice for Making the Most of Your Podcast—Pricing, Sponsors, Crowdfunding, and More

Pick up any book on podcast monetization, and you will find 90 percent of it only covers how to launch a podcast. If you already have a podcast, you have that information; you’re ready for the next step. Profit from Your Podcast provides top strategies and real-life examples of podcast monetization. This book is more than what to do. It also tells you how to do it. Chapters cover such topics as: How to Grow Your Audience How to Set Your Pricing Understanding Advertising Jargon How to Find Sponsors Best Strategies for Making Money as an Affiliate Master Strategies for Crowdfunding Harnessing the Power of Webinars and Events The Top Tools to Make Your Job Easy Built on the author’s fifteen years of experience in podcasting, this action-packed guide will benefit new and veteran podcasters. Get clear on who your audience is and what they want, deliver value, and build an engaged audience that wants to give you money. Leverage your relationships and the integrity you have built through your podcast to create multiple streams of income. Profit from Your Podcast gives you the tools to do it all.

Order on Amazon.com

Van Halen Took Years to Build Their Audience

The band was formed in 1972. Some of the top songs in 1972 were Saturday in the park in Chicago, Brandy (You're a fine girl), I'll take you there (the staple singers). Not exactly a thriving time of high energy, guitar-oriented hard rock. They played clubs for years.

In 1976 (four years later) Gene Simmons of Kiss financed a demo tape, and arranged a performance in front of Kiss's management and was told that "they had no chance of making it" and that they wouldn't take them. Gene then removed himself from further involvement.

A year later when they were playing the famed "Starwood: club Ted Templeman of Warner Brother saw the band and they were offered a contract.

Good Planning Leads to Less Editing

As they had been playing clubs for years, the band was well-rehearsed and ready to go. Their first album was recorded in three weeks with almost no overdubs.

You Don't Need to Spend a Ton of Cash

There are two popular guitars in rock music. A Stratocaster has a thin sound and used by blues players and it had a whammy bar. A Les Paul has a thicker, chunkier sound. Eddie took the guts of a Less Paul and put them into the Stratocaster (called the Frankencaster). He made the guitar himself using a guitar body that cost fifty dollars and a guitar neck that cost eighty. He ended up with a thicker, chunkier guitar tone that had a whammy bar. The guitar that cost $130 to make has a replica that now goes for thousands of dollars.

He stated that because he was poor he had to find ways to make the noises on the guitar.

He Learned Through Trial And Error

In the process of creating his own guitar, Eddie states, "I ruined a bunch of stuff." The bottom line he never stopped experimenting. In the song intruder, you hear Eddie creating bizarre sounds on his guitar. It turns out that some of those sounds were Eddie Swiping a Schlitz beer can up and down the neck. In the song poundcake, Eddie uses an electric drill. The bizarre noise on Automic Punk is Eddie running the side of his hands up and down the strings. He was always looking for ways to make different noises (like an elephant) with his guitar. The strange wooshing noise in the middle of the song Panama is Eddie's Lamborgini.

He had an endless curiosity and was constantly experimenting.

He Never Learned How To Read Music

He would watch his teacher's fingers and then play whatever he just saw. His parents forced him to play the piano and won contests when he was ages 9-11. After using the Beatles and the Dave Clark Five he picked up the guitar. Because he never learned guitars lessons "by the book" he believes he wouldn't play the way he does if he had done "Traditional" guitar studies.

Inventions Around Van Halen

I mentioned how he created his own guitar. He holds a patent for a device that allows you to stand and hold the guitar flat. He perfected a style of playing called "tapping" where he play notes with both hands. This lead to the invention of guitar tablature as people couldn't figure out how to put down on paper what he was doing on the fretboard.

Enjoy Your Soup

How did Van Halen get their sound? Drummer Alex Van Halen prefers straight forward rock. Eddie liked progressive rock, and David Lee Roth like disco at the time. Eddie referred to this as ingredients in your soup.

I like singer Gary Cherone from the band Extreme. He joined Van Halen and recorded Van Halen III. On that album bassist Michael Anthony has stated that Eddie told him what and how to play, Gary stated that Eddie was playing bass and drums, making it more or less an Eddie Van Halen Solo album. One point here is this album came out in 1998, and was not sober until 2008. This was the first album to not go platinum (it did achieve Gold status). I was also the longest studio album.

Embrace Who You Are

When they were in the clubs, they were playing covers. As Eddie put it, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't play what was on the record. I could only be me. Consequently, when you hear a Van Halen record, it sounds like a Van Halen record.

Go To Where Your Audience is and Promote Nonstop

When they couldn't get a record deal they started throwing their own parties and concerts. They toured for 11 months straight to promote their first album including 23 shows in 25 days in the UK. When he got home Warner Brothers alerted the band that they owed the record label three million dollars and a new album. They wouldn't take no for an answer. They stuffed flyers in lockers of high schools. If you liked them or not, you were at least going to know about the band. Slowly they built an audience of 3-5000 people which attracted the attention of Warner Brothers.

He Was Always Nervous Going On Stage

In the early days, he asked his Dad how he dealy with stage fright. His father gave him alcohol and cigarettes (and would later die from Alcohol-related issues). After Eddie got sober, his son was in the band and Eddie said, "If my sixteen-year-old son can be out there kicking butt, then I guess I better get out there."

You Don't Have To Release Everything

Eddie built himself a studio and was always recording, experimenting, but it is assumed that there is quite a bit of music that was not released.

Have Fun

One of the things you can hear in a Van Halen record is fun. Watch Eddie play guitar and you will see one thing that never changes. He smiles. Why? Because he came to this country from Holland with his parents who brought a piano and what amounted to $50. He didn't speak the language and got bullied as he was considered a minority.

Money Changes Everything

In the book Runnin' wit the Devil" he states that the Van Halen brothers (along with David Lee Roth) gave Michael Anthony an ultimatum right around the time the “1984” album came out. In a nutshell, they did not believe Michael’s contributions to the band’s music entitled him to an equal 1/4 split of the profits, so they drew-up a contract that stipulated that he would no longer share in any royalties from Van Halen recordings from the “1984” album on, and I believe it also limited what he would receive from the previous records, touring, and merchandise sales as well. In effect, while Michael would technically still be in the band, he would essentially become a paid employee from that point on.

Most die-hard fans found this offensive. We want to believe you all get along and are best buddies.

Put Your Family First

In 2006 Eddie Van Halen replaced Michael Anthony with his son Wolfgang. He knew this was not going to be a popular choice, but he put his family first. What father wouldn't want to play with his son?

Communication is the Lubrication

Eddie Van Halen wasn't on social media. The website as I write this now does not even have a notice that Eddie has died. For years his audience had no idea what he was up to. Michael Anthony found out he had been replaced via the Internet. He could have kept that connection stronger by keeping people in the loop.

Why? Eddie was a nice guy, but an introvert. He just wanted to make music. Upon his cancer diagnosis, he retreated even further.

Profit From Your Podcast Is Available

Thanks to Letitia Evans who was the first to write a review of my new book Profit from your podcast: Proven Strategies to Turn Listeners into a Livelihood. She said, "Dave is one of the best in the podcasting space! This book does a great job of sharing the pieces that need to come together for podcasters to serve their listeners well without shortchanging their livelihoods. Any podcaster that wants to start right and continue well will benefit from this book.

Mentioned in This Episode

Audio Technica ATR2100x microphone

Samson Q2u

Start Your Podcast Worry-Free at the School of Podcasting

You're worried you'll sound stupid. You won't as I show you how to know exactly what your audience wants. You're worried about the technology? Don't be as I have step by step tutorials to walk you through the whole podcasting process. Need some help along the way? I do live group coaching multiple times per month, you have priority email support, and a private Facebook group filled with brilliant podcasting minds. You also have a 30-day money-back guarantee so if you're not happy you can get your money back.

Go to www.schoolofpodcasting.com/start

Check out this episode!

#podcasting #podcast #coaching #new media

0 notes

ask-svt-hearteu · 7 years

Text

college! Minghao

requested by anon: “could you write a college au of minghao please? if you do, tsym (and please include a reader in it, i’m sorry if it’s too much to ask for)”

Admin note: I wrote and rewrote this and researched and rewrote and deleted and wrote this again so many times, it's not funny (ok maybe a little). I'm sorry if this wasn't any good, I legit had such a tough time with this one, well anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Minghao is a Performance Music Major

particularly with a dance focus

when he's not sitting around in some rehearsal room in the music building practicing his vocals or reviewing for the next postmodernism in dance exam

he can usually be found with the other music majors

usually sitting in the outside picnic area of campus

or running through some of the choreos created for the next final project out on the lawn with Soonyoung, Jun, and Chan

with Joshua (vocal performance major) playing guitar

or with Jihoon telling Mingyu to stop blaring rap long enough for him to finish composing

which causes Mingyu and Vernon (contemporary production majors) to both defend Drake as a musical artist

and that Jihoon should stop composing his boring classically arranged piece

which Jihoon says he can't because he's a freaking music theory and composition major and it's due soon

while the rest are debating the musical merits of the latest pop sensation and whether or not the hook is repeated over and over

"'Despacito' has the same chord progressions throughout" "Ok no, there's a modulation in the bridge..." "DEEESSPAAACITOO"

and Minghao's music major friends may seem a bit like a mess

but they're all really close friends

they host recitals every winter and spring

the whole music and drama department

and Minghao is always one of the front performers especially from the dance program

though someone should give him more vocal lines in the shows, why can't the professors realize his vocals are amazing and that he never gets enough lines smfh

Minghao's best classes outside of his major are those relating to liberal arts

especially lit and psychology

the only two courses you shared with him since they were mandatory for graduation

you both have talked before, but mostly just the universal complaining and groaning over homework assignments that characterize every college student ever

since your major was in media studies, his in performance arts

it was understandable that you didn't really get a chance to get to know Minghao, since students with the same majors normally spend a lot of time with people from their own departments

but that's how you always saw Minghao

since the media studies classes were in the humanities and social science building

which is a little past the music building

his group of music majors is always sitting on the lawn in between

and you've noticed little things Minghao does

like how he always opens the doors for the instrumentalists carrying in cases in the morning

or the way he acts like he's done with his friends 100% but then ends up buying them breakfast and making sure they eat

and while it seems as though Minghao is always rehearsing for one thing or another

you sometimes see him skating down the campus on his skateboard or reading in the library

stuff not even assigned to him by your lit professor

joined by Jun, Wonwoo, and Joshua, or other random music majors

they sort of claimed the back corner of the library

one day your lit professor decides it's been too quiet and boring

time to assign a huge project that could potentially make or break your grade

because college professors like torturing students as hobbies

and better yet, it's a partner research essay and visual presentation

which works for you because whoever your partner is, you can just borrow some equipment from the media productions classroom to get the visual presentation part done

and as the teacher starts reading off names

all you can think about is how you hope you don't get stuck with someone who won't do their work

the professor calls out Utopia by Thomas More

the one book on the list you really wanted

and then "Minghao, y/n."

jumping up and silently thanking the heavens for giving you such an easy book to work with

so many freaking things you could talk about, you're so excited

you almost forgot that you had a partner as you go up to collect the book and the directions

Minghao walks up to you quietly

"So when do you want to meet to work on the essay and visual presentation?"

"Oh uh, we can do tomorrow at the student café if you want." you tell him

"Alright."

the two of you meet the next day and split the work evenly in half before

"I have a postmodernism in dance exam tomorrow so I'll take-off first."

"That's fine, we have a whole month, we can chill." you said smiling

Minghao returned the smile and turned around to leave when

"Here, call me if you need help with your half, I'll finish my half of the essay by the end of the week, so we can begin the visual presentation."

he hands you his number and you just nod and assure him he can just leave

with Minghao off to study, you decide to go work on your half in the library

the library is usually open quite late anyway

you start researching the ways More wrote his socio-political satire

but with the amount of sleep you've been getting, you fall asleep on top of your laptop

and sure, the library isn’t for napping

but screw it, you’re running on 3 hours of sleep in the last two days, what else can you do?

Minghao walks into the library a little while later, looking for a global dance history book when he sees you sleeping on your laptop

hair cascading over the table as you breathe slowly in and out

he smiles unconsciously

he had noticed this before

but you’re really pretty

while the closest interactions you've both had together were the random jokes Wonwoo would tell you and Minghao in psych

he knew you were a really nice person, since you and the video production team would always film the shows and performances he did with the rest of his department

he had even seen some of your short student films, the ones that he could only describe as art from someone who must really love what they do

and seeing you calmly napping was cute

so he goes to the nearest vending machine impulsively and buys a can of coffee before he puts it behind your laptop that you’re using as a pillow

“What are you doing Minghao?” Jun says giving Minghao a sly smile while coming up behind him

“Nothing.” he laughs

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” Jun smirks

“We have a project for lit, she's my partner.” he said shrugging his shoulders while looking down at you

“Does she always sleep here?”

“Not sure.”

Jun nods his head slowly, an understanding look on his face

“Yea you like her, imma call it now.”

“Yah!” Minghao says punching Jun’s arm

“Hey I called it so remember this moment in the future and thank me later.”

Minghao shakes his head

“Well, Wonwoo and I are ready to go, let’s get something to drink.”

when you wake up and shut your laptop you see the can of coffee sitting in front of your closed laptop, with a post-it note

"Keep up the hard work partner! Fighting! -Minghao" you read

you laugh and take the can with you

over the next few weeks, you and Minghao work together on the lit project

and when it's done and you both get an A-

you both celebrate with ice cream from the student café

he’s cute

and funny too

he makes you laugh quite a bit by trying poorly to imitate the lit professor

the two of you kept texting about random hw assignments even after the project was over about anything like movies you wanted to see or concerts that were nearby

you got to know more about his dream to be a performer

he was so passionate about it

they way he talked about performing was the same way you felt about filming in media studies

each a form of art, but each a way to express it in your own style

by the time the winter showcase comes along, your professor assigns you to camera 3 on stage for the show

and you text Minghao

"Hey, break a leg at the concert :)"

"Breaking appendages would actually be a bad thing XD" he texts you back

"You know what I meant!"

"Yea haha, are you coming to watch?" your heart skips a beat a little reading his message

you watch as your phone shows that "Minghao is typing" message a few times before it stops

"I mean you don't have to if you don't want to"

"I'm filming so of course I'll be there ;)" you text back

"Oh ok lol"

you laughed at his short response

when you go to the performance hall the night before opening night to set up the audio systems with some of the other video production crew

you see Minghao and one of his friends running through a choreography

you stare at him amazed, the choreo included them dancing with a white ribbon connecting the two of them, which should have gotten tangled countless times but didn't

you didn't really want to intrude on the rehearsal, so you leave him a can of coffee with a post-it note on it by the stage

“I believe I owe you a coffee, don't forget to rest, I believe in you, fighting!-y/n :)”

Minghao is internally screaming at how cute you are when he reads it

“JUST ASK HER OUT ALREADY AND STOP BOTHERING ME.”

Jun's trying to work on the choreo and practically yells at Minghao who’s told the guys the story for like the fifth time

"Ok but isn't she so cute? 'don't forget to rest, I believe in you'"

"Minghao, I called this remember?" Jun say laughing

Minghao smacks him on the arm again

so Minghao decides to finally gather up the courage

with you sitting in the desk next to him in lit

your knees inches away from each other

“Hey y/n wanna grab a dinner after the show or something?”

“Depends.” you say heart beat steadily increasing

“On what?” Minghao says trying to keep his cool

“On whether it’s a date or not.” you want to scream at yourself, where did this courage come from?!?!

“And if it is?” he smiles

“I’d be happy to.”

and when you're filming the show that night, Minghao catches your eyes while waiting in the wings on stage left

and shoots you a wink

which nearly causes you to drop your camera

and you see him getting smacked by Jun

after the show, he brings you backstage

"Got the gardening club to get me these" he says handing you a small bunch of white carnations

"Aw they're beautiful."

"I ended up doing a lot of research on the significance of flowers thanks to a lit project, white carnations mean sweet and lovely." he smiles shyly

"They also mean pure love." you say smiling

"Yea, well... they're just flowers to celebrate a show well-done." he coughs blushing

"Let's go for dinner, shall we?"

when all the other music majors found out

it was chaos

"HONESTLY Y/N DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY MUSIC MAJORS HAVE ATTACKED ME TODAY WITH QUESTIONS?" your friend from the media production course asked you

"It's like some celebrity is dating you or something from this response!" she says shaking her head

and whenever you walk to the humanities building

Minghao bounds up and takes your hand

in front of both the departments

so you have the music majors screaming at Minghao

and the media studies majors cheering you on

it's a mess

but Minghao just shrugs it off and wraps an arm around you

"Want to grab a coffee before lit?"

"Sure" you laugh

and he holds your hand as you both make your way to the student café

and the both of you lay on the lawn after sipping your lattes

hands intertwined staring up at the clouds in the sky

"Look, they look like white carnations." you smile and point up at a cluster of clouds

just enjoying the light breeze of a spring day

when he pulls you closer until you're laying on his arm

and kisses your forehead

"Sweet and lovely just like you."

MASTERLIST

277 notes · View notes

push511 · 5 years

Text

October Member of the Month

Congratulations Denver Weil!

Denver's morning presence has been met with excitement and joy. The sun isn't up, the coffee is barely brewing, the music is still just firing up, and he's there happy as a clam. It's infectious, and I've really enjoyed talking to him about everything. He's been pushing through workouts and nutrition to reach his goals, he understands where he might be limited, but knows that it's just a limit for now as he keeps driving ahead. I know he'll keep pushing, and I can't wait to see what the next year brings for him!

**** Denver has decided that he wanted to change his life and get healthy. He shows up and works hard every time he is here. He has an amazing attitude that is infectious. He continues to make progress and is slowly changing his life for the better every day.

**** Denver always comes in with a great attitude and the biggest smile! He comes in prepared and motivated to put in the work regardless if he has to alter a movement. His happy demeanor is contagious and he is great to have in class!

**** We see Denver getting comfortable with being uncomfortable. He is doing great work and we all are thankful to have him!

**** Denver has been working so hard lately, and every day that he is at the gym, he gives it his all. His smile and attitude are infectious and he makes friends wherever he goes. I love seeing his progress and hearing of his weight loss. You’ve got some awesome goals ahead of you, Denver... you’ve got this!

**** Denver makes the best pickles…in addition to that he is a joy to be around and brings a smile to your heart. Keep up the awesome work and “just keep swimming.”

Come in and meet Denver!

Started CrossFit: September 2017

What is your fitness background: Didn't have one. That's why I got so fat. LOL

Favorite Movement: Deadlifts, Biking, Ring Rows, kettlebell swings

Least Favorite Movement: Running, or anything that deals with squats

Occupation: Mad Scientist/part time Chemistry teacher

Tell us a little bit about yourself and your family: I'm a native Marylander, living about half my life in Harford County, moved to the Greater Lauraville area in 2007. I am the baby with 2 brothers and a sister. I graduated Towson University with a degree in Chemistry and in Biochemistry. Then got my master's in Biotechnology with a concentration in Regulatory Affairs from Johns Hopkins.

I've been with my husband, Derrick, for 10 years. We were married 3-years ago. Tiny court house service in Harford County. Our fur baby's name is Nugget. He's 5-years old blonde cat, and owns the house. I love my baby and is the perrrfect pet for Derrick and my life style, but I'm a big dog lover. With me out the door at 4:30 am and not home until 6 most nights and Derrick traveling for work a lot, it makes it hard to care for a dog. Derrick and I like to go for day hikes when the weather's nice and go see any type of good entertainment (Musicals, plays, concerts, movies). Derrick and I love to cook.

Tell us something we don’t know about you: I'm an introvert. I also sing for New Wave Singer of Baltimore. I'm starting (very early stages) of writing a novel. I love the Hallmark Mystery Channel. I'm sure this is an obvious one I'm in love with Hugh Jackman.

Words to live by or Favorite Quote: Treat others how you would like to be treated. "Bubbles" -- Bubbles from Finding Nemo (It just makes me laugh).

How has CrossFit affected your life outside the gym: I have way more energy (not sure my co-works like that so early in the morning. LOL). I notice I don't eat as much as I use to.

What do you enjoy most about PUSH: The people. Fill in the Blank: I like… my life, can't ask for more than that. I eat… anything that's good food. I do… not like coffee, or raw tomatoes I am… easy going and shy Favorite Cheat Meal… Pizza or Mac and Cheese Favorite Real-Life Hero/Athlete… My mother. Being a single mother, she worked 3 jobs and still found time to take care of me.

Thanks again for this honor.

Schedule a Free Consultation to learn more about PUSH and how we can help you feel confident in your skin.

#memberofthemonth #push511 #crossfit #domoresucklesslivebetter #feelconfidentinyourskin

0 notes

artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

If Samson and Delilah Lived Happily Ever After (Sashea) - Melon

A/N: Sasha is still unprepared but maybe now Shea is too. Slam poets AU part 2, this time they might actually speak to each other. This is a little more heavy on Sasha’s friendships than the last chapter. If you wanna squeal with me about gay shit, come talk to me at my fic blog @artificialmelon !

Part One

Why.

Why did she have to include a winky face.

Sasha asks herself this as she paces around her tiny studio apartment at two PM on Sunday, hands firmly planted on her waist in worry. It makes no sense. Why would she do such a completely stupid thing? Couldn’t she just write a note, like a normal person? Sasha is reasonably sure that winky face would be the reason Shea won’t be interested in her. She knows it. Shea wouldn’t think of the winky face as the dealbreaker, but she’d think that Sasha’s vibe would be a little off-putting, a little too much. Miniscule mistakes in the early stages can ruin a budding relationship, something Sasha knows well but chose to ignore when she added that fucking winky face.

Not that Sasha is planning their relationship, but it might lead somewhere, someday, and she doesn’t want her overuse of flirtatious punctuation to be the death of them. The winky face was just too bold, especially so soon.

“Oh my god, Sasha, shut up!”

Sasha looks up from her pacing to meet the eyes of an annoyed Peppermint. She’d barely realized how long-winded she’d become in her rant until Peppermint interjected. Rambling on about a single emoji does seem absurd, if Sasha thought about it objectively, but her heart just wouldn’t slow down.

on computer now so i’ll be able to respond faster

“I know, Pep, I know. It’s just- you didn’t see her. You don’t know.” Sasha says, falling back onto her beaten up sofa and pulling Vanya from his place on the floor onto her lap. She ignores his noise of complaint as she settles him on top of her, in desperate need of his support.

“No, I didn’t see Miss ‘God In Heels’, but I do know you. Any girl would be lucky to have you, and if she’s scared off by something tiny like this, she’s not the one,” Peppermint has a calming presence; she’s just one of those people that give the impression of being unbelievably kind. It drew Sasha to her initially, and annoys her now. “It’ll be fine, even if all the things you’re thinking do come true.”

Sasha groans, smushing her face into Vanya’s neck, as though all her problems would disappear if she couldn’t see them. Vanya accepts his fate as a comfort pillow at this point, not making any additional complaints. She’s quiet for a moment, silently accepting the fact that she’s being irrational.

“I hate it when you’re right.”

———-

The next week passes at a tortuous pace. Time stops for hours at a time, progress moving far too slowly for Sasha’s tastes. Every day, she goes to work, sells picture books to overexcited children and 50 Shades to blushing suburban moms. The bookstore is stagnant, uncaring and unchanging, but the feeling seems to follow Sasha throughout the day, regardless of whether she’s in the store or not. She just happens to feel it most deeply while she’s working, as she reads through books of poetry and is reminded of Shea. The books in the store are much more flowery than Shea’s work. Sasha decides Shea probably wouldn’t like them; coincidentally, Sasha doesn’t like them much either.

The world moves just a little bit faster as she closes up shop on Saturday night. The sign painted with the shop’s name sways gently in the wind.

The cold city air hits Sasha the moment she steps outside the comfort of her tiny corner of New York. The wind forces a blush onto her face, lungs protesting the assault. She pulls her coat tightly around her body, setting off quickly.

Quickly.

The week was like molasses, clinging to her skin until now, her escape. Sasha is left with only the cold, the sound of her feet hitting the sidewalk, and the excitement of knowing she would return to the bar in a matter of hours.

She, Aja, and Peppermint plan to meet at Sasha’s apartment two hours before the show, to paint their faces and plan outfits, like Sasha hasn’t had hers worked out for days. At the bar, Sasha’s friends would, as Peppermint put it, “Get to know Shea, maybe make Sasha regret all of her life choices.” Sasha’s actually looking forward to a fun night out with her friends, sweetened with the possibility of seeing Shea again.

As soon as she enters her apartment, Sasha knows she’s made a huge mistake. The electric heater and the speakers are both at maximum capacity, the way Aja likes it, and her lamps have been replaced by what appears to be every candle in the city, the way Peppermint likes it. The two both seem well on their way to tipsy, glasses of red wine hanging from their fingertips as they cackle about something or other - likely Sasha. Her spare key is set carefully on the side table, presumably by Peppermint, and a pair of heels Sasha recognizes as Aja’s are hanging precariously from Sasha’s coat hang.

“Hey Aja, why didn’t you put your heels on the fucking shoe rack like a halfway decent person?” Sasha asks fondly. Aja is an asshole, but Sasha finds herself liking her more and more.

“Because why? Because I wanted to,” Aja says with a flourish of her wine glass, almost spilling but narrowly avoiding a mess and a lecture. Sasha sets her bag next to Aja’s heels on the hang, turning on the lights in the same minute. Aja and Peppermint yell Sasha’s name in tandem, groaning because of the sudden light.

Sasha smiles at the continued protests of her friends. Being nine years younger than Peppermint, she never expected to end up as the mom friend. Wine changes people.

“Come on, we’ve gotta get ready.”

Begrudgingly, Peppermint leads Aja from the couch to the bathroom to get ready. Aja models for them in her outfit, posing in various increasingly sexual ways. Peppermint pushes Sasha into her bedroom to get her own clothes on.

Standing alone in the relatively cold bedroom, Sasha suddenly feels disconnected from the warmth just in the next room. She’s more grounded, taking these fleeting moments alone to touch base with herself, keep from being swept up in the glory of the night. She squeezes into her tight black pencil skirt and red heels, meeting her own eyes in the full length mirror. Tonight would be a good night. She might even talk to Shea tonight.

When Sasha returns, Pep is perched on her sink, finishing her eyes, and Aja is seated on the floor under her. Both women face her, and Sasha felt uncomfortable for a second as they appraised her, but relaxed when Pep grinned.

“I like it…but you could do with a little more skin,” Peppermint jokes, turning back to the mirror. Aja nods her agreement, but says Sasha should only fuck with her own personal style and Peppermint just loves showing off her cleavage too much. “Why shouldn’t I? I paid enough for them,” laughs Peppermint, adding a generous amount of highlighter to her chest in rebellion.

“We don’t all have those,” Aja replies, poking Peppermint’s breasts.

The rest of the getting-ready passes in a blur of laughter, music, and alcohol. Sasha is talked into switching her turtleneck for a translucent mesh shirt and pasties, something she knows she’ll regret. Before Sasha knows it, she’s walking down the sidewalk, arms linked with her favorite people, still giddy with the joy of new and old friends.

They roll into the bar mere minutes before the show starts, settling themselves in a small booth with a clear line of vision to the stage. A new host opens the show, introducing the first poet, someone Sasha doesn’t recognize but who’s clearly been here before. Lina or something. She does a piece on paranoia that Sasha likes. Everyone who stood on that stage is talented, in wildly different ways. Tina, or whatever her name is, embodies her poetry, conveying it with ease, pure articulation of her raw soul. Farrah’s is filled with flowers and sweet romance, a touch of bite when needed. Another act, named Valentina, charmed the audience with her beauty and ambition.

Until it’s Shea’s turn.

There is nothing like Shea Couleé. Every performer has talent, but in Sasha’s eyes, Shea is the definition of talent. The rest of the bar doesn’t move with Shea like Sasha does, but everyone feels her gravitational pull. Every eye stays on her as she begins to speak.

“Bare bones.

Raw. A warrior’s spirit in tattered clothes.

That is my word. my work.

I am bare bones. The flesh ripped away, torn from totality, And yet. Violence creates divinity. Exposed rib turns ivory.

Bone is more permanent, more useful than flesh.

Bone, when shattered and crushed, still has purpose.

The same cannot be said for the pliance of meat.

My bones Are worth something.

I am worth something.”

It’s short, but Shea’s always are. It’s how they’re intended to be. A piece so short should be lacking something, missing a stanza on its way to completion, but it doesn’t need the filler words. Surplus doesn’t belong in Shea Couleé’s world unless it’s in cash or casual conversation.

Sasha couldn’t look away, couldn’t even try to, which seems to be a recurring theme. She knows Peppermint and Aja will tease her for it later, but no amount of future embarrassment could convince Sasha to not watch Shea, even after her performance ended, even after it’s no longer socially acceptable for Sasha to follow Shea with her gaze. Nothing matters but getting as much of Shea as possible.

Shea locks eyes with Sasha as she walks off the stage, an unspoken promise between them. Sasha would stay this time, wait for Shea after the stage lights shut off and the patrons began filing out.

Shea would find her, and Sasha would let her.

The rest of the show means nothing. Peppermint’s laugh of earth to Sasha, Aja’s eyeroll pass over Sasha like water. She barely registers the two of them loudly discussing her, or their comedic attempts at catching her attention. Eventually, they give up with a sigh and something about how she’s too far gone at this point. Sasha almost feels the need to interject, but then Shea comes out for her second poem and it slips her mind.

“I would like to say, just before I start, that this is an invitation, not a command. Don’t go thinking I’m trying to be weird here,” Shea says. She doesn’t seem the type to preface herself with a warning of any kind. Shea wears hesitancy like last year’s winter coat, dated and ill-fitting, forgotten until somehow it made its way onto her body as a last resort. Sasha knows she’s about to do something incredibly dangerous.

“She walked in here red lips and glory, wide rim glasses, margarita salt lining her throat, fingers dipped in whisky.

She intoxicates me.

She walked in here, made me want that second sip, left before I could taste it.

I have a theory that you belong on my tongue.

Hopefully, you agree.”

Sasha feels herself melt, trying and failing to keep from showing it. She’s giving into this person she’s never spoken to, who’s never heard her say a single word. Objectively, they mean nothing to each other, and in practice that’s true. They could both walk away right now, and their lives would barely change.

They wouldn’t.

Shea breaks eye contact first, stepping off the stage to let the host close out the show. Sasha turns to her friends, wild eyed.

“You guys have to go. Please. Or at least, like, stand by the bar and do not engage,” Sasha says, pleading with the last traces of humanity she knows are buried in her friends.

“What?” Peppermint smiles in disbelief, her tongue stud catching the dim lighting. Both she and Aja are staring at Sasha as though she’s said she’ll be moving to Alaska tomorrow morning.

“She’s going to come over here to talk to me, and I know you. Both of you. So I’m giving you a free pass to say anything you want, mercilessly dig into me for my middle school level crush on a woman I barely know, just as long as you do it when she’s not around. Now go. Go!” Sasha ushers her friends out of the booth, cringing at their wide smiles. Aja leaves with a crack about safe sex being good sex, and Peppermint blows Sasha a kiss as the two head towards the bar.

Sasha positions herself in the booth to look as nonchalant as possible, pulling out her phone to casually scroll through social media. She’s being chill. She’s a chill person, being chill.

That plan flies out the window the moment she sees Shea. Up close, she should be more godly. The confidence, the curve of her lips and cut of her jaw, they should all add up to an untouchable person. But instead, Shea is just a little more human than the rest of society. She is the earth, the forest, and every sea. Great, vast, and completely within Sasha’s grasp.

“Hi,” Shea says.

“Hi,” Sasha replies.

“I’m Shea,” she slides into the booth, across from Sasha.

“I know. I’m Sasha.”

“I know.”

They look at each other in silence for a long minute, finding certainty in their natural chemistry across ten words. Shea finds herself saying, “Can we skip this part?”

She’s glad she said it when Sasha smiles, nodding enthusiastically, and says, “Yes please,” as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world, to skip the barest of introductions when they’ve never spoken before. The conversation pauses, spaces between them overflowing with certainty.

“Do you believe in language as a byproduct of thought, or thought as a bastard child of language?” Sasha says, stumbling over her own forwardness. Sasha watched Shea’s eyebrows shoot up, surprise accentuating her perfect features. To her credit, she recovers quickly, despite being faced with the unexpected.

“Obviously, thought came first. Without the ability to think, we would have no ability to speak. Just because speech couldn’t, like, be expressed before thought, doesn’t mean it didn’t exist. It was still there, just not articulated,” Shea responds. Sasha smiles, properly, displaying her teeth. She takes a sip of her drink.

“But was thought of those days even thought, relative to what we now know thought to be? Can we even consider the ideas that birthed language real thought?” Sasha says, and clearly she’s had this discussion before. Her voice has a playful edge, she’s all smiles and tilted head; it’s not fair at all, but Shea gets the sense that her answer doesn’t really matter, just that she can come up with one on the spot, and support it. She’s being tested. Teasingly, but undeniably.

“Was language even language? Can we consider ancient language true speech, relative to what we now know it to be? That’s circular, and the fact remains that the ancient concept of thought led to the ancient concept of language. If a caveman thinks, rock, get me rock, he’s still thinking, and that thought leads to him developing the words to tell someone to get him his fuckin’ rock,”

Shea knows she’s got Sasha pinned when Sasha’s only response is, “But why is the caveperson in your story a man?”

Sasha bursts into laughter, Shea soon following. The conversation is ridiculous in the first place. It’s entirely meaningless, but it gives them a sense of who the other person is. Shea is engrossed in their argument over her use of the gendered caveman when suddenly, Sasha is being pulled away from her.

Shea looks up to see a woman dragging Sasha from their booth, smiling brightly at Shea. She’s beautiful, the kind of vibrant that makes her look eternal in a transient world, and Shea wants to like her. If only she didn’t have Sasha by the wrist.

“Sorry, we’ve gotta go, it’s past her bedtime,” the woman jokes, Sasha shooting her a death glare before turning back to Shea. She gets close, leaning into Shea to murmur her goodbye. Shea holds the air in her lungs as Sasha enters her space, believing for a moment Sasha is about to kiss her.

“I agree with you, by the way. Clearly thought came first,” Sasha whispers in her ear, all traces of shyness erased in the first five minutes of their conversation. By the time Shea’s brain is working enough to realize what she is referring to, Sasha’s already being pushed out the door by her friends.

Shea steps out of the booth with purpose, running out into the street after Sasha. In the cold of night, her mind clears slightly, but not enough to inhibit her. The women turn to face her, but Shea only notices Sasha. She needs to do this.

Stepping forward, Shea moves to cup Sasha’s face, but acts too slowly. Sasha reaches her first, wraps her arms around Shea’s neck, pulling her down to meet Sasha’s lips. Sasha’s tenacity is unexpected, but then again, everything about her is.

The kiss isn’t slow and soft, the way first kisses are meant to start. Sasha meets Shea’s lips with an unstoppable force, like Shea is the immovable object she’s been searching for her whole life. Their meeting is explosive. Shea lets Sasha bite her lip, opens her mouth willingly when she feels Sasha’s tongue tracing the same path. She vaguely recognizes the sound of Sasha’s friends whistling and catcalling them, but the part of her that cares is shut down by the feeling of Sasha’s tongue meeting hers.

Shea’s hands are reaching for Sasha’s hair, tangling in the messy blonde curls. Sasha pulls her closer, presses their bodies together, lets her hands drop from Shea’s neck to her waist. The kiss is good. Really good. Recreate a million times over the course of the next fifty years kind of good. Shea pushes that thought to the back of her head.

It’s over too soon, but it must’ve lasted a solid minute. Sasha’s friend’s yells died out about fifteen seconds in, and by the time they part, the two are standing awkwardly instead of smiling. The one Shea doesn’t know mouths what the fuck to Aja. Shea and Sasha stand, foreheads touching, sharing each other’s air for long, stretching moments, before they’re interrupted.

“So as cute as it is to watch you two make out, let’s not do that now,” Aja says, teasingly, but with a degree of truth to her voice. The other woman nods, looking as though she wants to say something, but holding back. Sasha pulls away, a regretful smile on her lips.

“I’ll see you next week,” she whispers, though there’s no illusion of privacy for either of them.

Shea watches her leave once more, afraid that the moment she looks away, Sasha will be gone. Soon enough, Sasha’s gone anyways, around a corner and out of sight. Shea knows she never wants to experience Sasha leaving ever again. She also knows that, inevitably, she will.

At least, for tonight, she’s got the fresh memory of Sasha’s mouth on hers, the feel of Sasha pressed against her. That’s enough for her. For now.

#sashea #melon #sasha velour #shea coulee #au #lesbian au #aja #peppermint #rpdr fanfiction #samson and delilah

34 notes · View notes

theparaminds · 5 years

Photo

It’s not as though much in Wes Park’s current state makes endless sense to him. He isn’t always sure who he’s supposed to be, what he’s supposed to do or where he’s supposed to go. Yet, through it all, he has found the constant guiding force of creativity. No matter the day, no matter the insecurities, his art is his greatest friend.

He makes art not for glory, opting instead to do so for the health of his heart, for happiness to constantly be within his existence. Every sunrise can be a misguided mess, a day without a pathway for Wes, but, he knows his music will overturn that. He knows his creations will bring him peace. He knows, through all the confusion, that his creativity will guide him to a new plateau, one previously desired, yet never grasped as of the present.

Our first question as always, how’s your day going and how have you been?

Today was tough. I have midterms this week and I’m starting to get really busy with school, but otherwise, I’m doing pretty well. Could be a lot worse.

Have you been enjoying school and all it entails? Have you found the new city to be enjoyable?

It was really odd adjusting to school away from home at first. I think i got the hang of things and the general rhythm of campus life pretty quickly, but the midwest is way different from so-cal, so it’s a big change. Definitely enjoyable though. It’s nice to see snow in the winter.

To start, how did you find your original location to be influential to your introduction into music and becoming a musician as a whole?

My friends back at home were the biggest influences to me doing music in the first place. I think as early as like 8th grade we’d share cool bands we found. My bud Rohit, he goes by the moniker Dark Tape right now, really got me into a lot of the music I listen to today, so I can only thank him for that. In high school, I met Harrison (Harry Teardrop) and we started a band together called Sundive. He was a huge inspiration and that’s about when I really got serious into writing and producing music. It was kind of like back and forth, sharing each other’s demos and figuring out cool riffs, and from then it was almost like a persistent goal to just get my stuff out there for people to listen to. Also, my childhood friend Tony always backed me up on guitar, so I could always count on him. I haven’t found anyone like these awesome people back in Irvine.

But when was it that you realized music was a legitimate path and calling for you? Was there a moment or spark that you realized you had to pursue this as more than a hobby?

Just watching my favorite musicians travel and get paid to do what they love was always an attractive idea for a future in music. Even still hearing feedback from people about how they can connect to my music is a really motivating and rewarding aspect that keeps me going. I definitely had an aha moment when I met Harry in high school since he really stepped up the production quality game and kind of externally motivated me to get my music online. I think since then when I was 16, I always wanted to be like a rockstar or pop star or something sweet like that. Music is still technically a hobby to me, but I probably spend more time working on music than on studying and doing homework.

As a whole with your music, what is the largest goal and vision? What is it you’re working towards and hoping to build?

My biggest goal is probably to get a large enough following to travel to interesting places and play music for people. Honestly, the dream is to tour with my old bandmates as our own separate projects. Right now I’m just trying to get better at writing/producing cause I want to put out songs that I’m really proud of. The goal is still in the back of my mind always, but I’m just trying to get into a chill habit of working when I feel like working or when I’m inspired to. Not burn me out and get discouraged or tired of making music.

To shift gears a little, where do you find your current artistic inspirations stemming from? What artists, events or ideas have inspired your new pathways?

Currently, I’ve been REALLY into that new Kero Kero Bonito album ‘Time n’ Place’. It really opened my eyes to experimental noise and power pop sounds that I’m trying to incorporate into some of my new tracks. My roommate also got me really into Japanese City Pop. I love how catchy the synth melodies are and I started playing around more with synths. And generally, I have a playlist of current jams that I listen to for inspiration (Mitski, Beach Fossils, Homeshake, etc.) Oh yeah and also my friend Deaton Chris Anthony’s live performances are super inspiring. Like HELLA inspiring.

Those are amazing people to pull from. What would you say of all time is your favourite album and artists and how did they truly affect you?

My all-time favorite album is probably Ella Fitzgerald sings the Cole Porter Songbook. I used to spin it every night in high school before going to bed, and I learned a lot about cool chord progressions and variations from the instrumentation. I also always loved how genuinely sweet and romantic the lyrics are in vocal jazz, which kind of inspired me to experiment with that. I think also Beach Fossils was really influential when it came to guitar music, especially their album Clash the Truth. Their entire discography is great, but the drum parts, driving basslines, and perfect guitar tones are especially dope on that album. I think for like 2 years I was trying to emulate the sound of Clash the Truth in some way.

It seems like you have great care and love for instrumentation, is that something you focus and put special effort within your sound? Or are you more in the base of caring for lyricism and aesthetic.

Definitely. I think I prioritize instrumentation and how well different parts play with each other a lot more than just going for an aesthetic since it’s really satisfying hearing very singular parts come together into something totally new and full. And I think the aesthetic aspect really comes naturally once its all orchestrated, so it was never something I had a primary aim for when writing. I do focus on lyricism a lot, but I still think I'm really lousy at poetry and writing lyrics. I’m trying to practice more and be more honest with myself, so we’ll see where that takes me. But for the instrumentation, do you ever hear like one small part of a song and it makes you shiver? Like all you want to do is repeat that one section over and over and over because it’s so perfect? That’s what I’m trying to do.

Absolutely, those moments are so beautiful, is there one you think of a lot when you talk about those moments?

YES. In one of Deaton’s old songs, Nylon Heart, the ending is awesome. It's just like FM piano and sparkly chimes and cymbal swells while he's saying “I’ve fallen in love, I can't get up” and then it ends on this very pretty chord on the keys.

That song is so good. With specifics to lyricism, where do you draw inspiration for that side of your music and how do you approach lyricism as a whole?

Believe or not, I used to never write lyrics down. I used to freestyle and just use the 3rd or 4th take, like on Washington Square Park and Midnight Low, I literally made those lyrics on the spot. Now I tend to just write about what's on my mind in a journal, then organize them into coherent lyrics for songs. A lot of the time I feel like it's essentially me venting. But again, I gather most of my lyrical inspiration from vocal jazz since it's so romantic and kind of gooey. Like there’s this one Ella Fitzgerald line on the Errol Garner song Misty that always stuck with me, “walk my way and a thousand violins begin to play.” stuff like that where it's very real but also dreamy, imaginative, almost like watching an old movie.

Would you say that’s what you’re trying to do with your new music? Create a film style quality? Or is there a different motive and purpose to the new sounds and avenues?

Yeah, I guess. My music is pretty much a soundtrack to my life at this point, but I’m still very much willing and open to experiment with new sounds. I don’t know, it’s kind of up in the air where I could go next. I don’t really have a definite motive, but I guess subconsciously I’ve been slowly shaping a narrative of my life and the people around me through the songs I’ve been putting out.

Do you have any work set in stone to come out though? And if so, how does it differ from past works?

I have nothing set in stone, but I’m trying to conjure up enough good work for an EP soon. I have a couple tracks finished and I’m pretty happy with the direction I’ve been taking, I just don’t feel like I have enough just yet. For the new stuff, expect a lot of noise and distortion and a lot more synth. It’ll be a big departure from my slower repertoire from past years, but I think it still sounds very much like me.

What fears or anxieties have you found existent while in this next stage of your work and career? What is it you’re unsure or nervous or questioning still?

I’ve always feared that my work wouldn't amount to anything big, and the potential of kind of flopping and falling out has always been a HUGE anxiety of mine. Like watching my friends around me blow up and get noticed is super inspiring, but I kinda feel like I’m missing out, you know? That’s kind of on me since I’ve been severely slacking though. But I think that I shouldn’t really worry about things and just let whatever happens play out. I’m really unsure about how people will react to my new music, but I’m definitely not afraid to do new things since I’m having so much fun and satisfaction on my own just music as it is.

Is there, through this new mindset and ignited creativity, a message or ideal that above all you hope resonates with listeners of your work?

Yeah, I really want everyone to express themselves! To find something, anything, they can use to express themselves and share it with the world. Don’t be afraid to put yourself out there, there are a ton of people out there who share your anxieties and fears. That’s what I’ve learned myself and it's been amazing. If there's anything you could take from my music, it's probably that.

If money were no object, where would be one location you would play a live show at?

I would kill to go to New York and play a show with a bunch of friends. If money and logistics were completely out of question, then I would want to go to Korea and play a show so my parents can come watch!

That’s so sick, do you find your Korean heritage to be something you draw from? Or is it something you hope to pull closer to with time?

I really want to create a really strong tie between my music and Korean heritage. I think the connection is really lacking currently, which is a bit disappointing since I identify myself so closely with that cultural background. I was raised in a pretty ‘korean’ household, so I’m really familiar with like all the foods, slang, cultural norms and stereotypes. The catch is I’m god awful at speaking Korean, and it’s kind of embarrassing being a phony. But I’m working on it! I definitely want to experiment with Korean lyrics in future songs once I overcome my embarrassment.

Honestly as longs you're trying to get closer to it, it matters. To go back to live shows, what are some of the performances you’ve seen in your life that have had a significant impact on you and your work?

Saw Wavves in 2015 with Rohit. From then on always aimed to have a super fun and hype shows. I also think I said before that Deaton’s live sets are really inspiring. I can’t really say much about his live set, it’s hard to explain and it wouldn’t do justice to how good it is. I saw Homeshake too I think last year around May or something. They play very tight live and Peter uses his sampler creatively live. I’m trying to find a sweet spot somewhere in between really outrageous and really tight and clean.

If you could recommend one film to everyone reading this currently, what would you tell them to watch and for what reason?

I guess not a movie per se, but I’ve been watching Cowboy Bebop lately. you should watch it, it’s really fun and has great aesthetics.

Always meant to get into it, always been a Dragon Ball guy at heart. To wrap up, do you have anyone or anything to shoutout or promote? The floor is yours!

Shout out to my band Sundive, the boys Harry Teardrop, Tony, Dark Tape. Shoutout to my buddy Deaton! New album dropping soon. And listen to my song Holding flowers it came out in February, but it’s the latest single as of this interview. Hopefully, I get around to finishing up an EP. Thanks so much for the interview, oh and let's give a quick shoutout to Christina Applegate.

Follow Wes on Twitter and Instagram

Listen on Soundcloud and Spotify

0 notes

modernart2012 · 7 years

Text

Day Two -Social Media

skatecatangel

Definite Proof Yuri Plisetsky and Otabek Altin are Dating (pt3/5)

As I said previously, there’s been rampant speculation about Yura (Yuri Plisetsky, aka, One of the Greatest Skaters to Ever Live™) and his relationship(s) or lack thereof. But what a HUGE portion of the skating community has overlooked is that he definitely is in a relationship and has been for a while. Part One covered basic background/ timeline, Part Two and body language, here and here.

But, SCA, you say, that’s all coincidental. It could be that they’re close friends. (HA, WAIT UNTIL PART FOUR!) Which, sure, they could be “close friends” but for further consideration: they wear each other’s clothes. And not just that. They choose clothes and outfits that complement each other.

What does that have to do with them being in a “relationship”? Well, dear anon, who is haunting my ask box as I write this, let me explain: have you ever noticed that over time, articles of clothing from your S.O.’s wardrobe ends up in yours? And that you wear it, and end up thinking, ‘hey, I like this let’s get more of something similar.’ Or even, ‘ah, this color is like that one, let me get it.’

Case in point, here is Yura in the present, wearing what looks like a classic black leather jacket and leopard print tee shirt and his classic leopard print sneakers.

Here is younger Yura, around the time of the 2016 Grand Prix Final. In a black hoodie with his Team Russia jacket, and leopard print sneakers. A natural progression, you’d think, as a person ages their taste changes. WRONG. Because look closer at that leather jacket, friend, and you’ll find that it looks the same as the one Otabek was wearing in these photos captured by Otababes recently.

“A JACKET MEANS NOTHING,” I can practically hear the antis scream. Ah, if only it were just a jacket.

See, ‘cause if you look closely, you can set up a timeline for how you go from hoodies and eyesores like this tiger sweatshirt (sorry Yura, you have to admit that purchase was questionable!) to fashion forward, yet still classic outfits. And not just Yuri, precious kitten tiger that he is. Otabek too. And it’s practically relationship GOALS.

Let us commence the perusal.

We’ve already seen pictures of Yuri’s past style (Death to the neon pink and orange combinations! Nothing more needs to be said on the subject of his younger, daring, garish fashion combinations. It’s rather obvious), so now we bring Otabek for comparison.

Here is baby!bek, in his pre-2016 Grand Prix Final state. (For those of you who failed to read the timeline, this is when they met. There was fleeing from Xtreme Angels, on a motorbike. We’ll get to that in a minute.) Leather jacket, neutral scarves, neutral toned athletic wear, jackets. Very monochrome palette. Now look at this photograph of baby!Yuri and baby!bek on a motorcycle. Yuri is in fine fashion form (probably trying to stay incognito from the Xtremers), and Otabek is in fine monochrome form. Even his sweater, possibly a pale pastel blue or grey (the lighting is bad), does not clash with his black leather jacket (and doesn’t that look familiar), dark grey scarf, and dark blue-grey pants. Even his fingerless gloves match! Boy goes the extra mile for his aesthetic, can’t you tell?

Don’t they look cute fleeing to safety who knows where? 💕💕💕

Fast forward through the next year, year and half, because things are largely the same as far as clothing choices. What is interesting to note is that Otabek, largely inactive and apathetic to Instagram, starts to use it more frequently than just (seemingly PR enforced) posts about travel or competitions. We start to see the two of them in each other’s Insta, as well as in Snapchat (the classic video of Yuri badgering the poor man as he finishes setting up his account posted to his story made the rounds on twitter so quickly, the sound barrier was probably broken.) Somehow, Yuri Plisetsky dragged Otabek into the age of social media both by personal use and Otabek’s own independent usage, and from then on we have (though infrequent on Otabek’s part, if not pictured with Yuri) a more accurate record to pull from as to sartorial choices.

The first thing to transfer - whether by diffusion or simply being left after a visit, is a dark grey scarf. One that looks particularly like a certain scarf a Kazakh skater was wearing in a certain photo. People who are vague friends or casual acquaintances don’t wear each other’s clothes, even if they are outerwear like scarves. (As an aside, who doesn’t find the sight of their crush or S.O. borrowing clothes from their wardrobe exciting?) Given the timeline, we can make the hypothesis that this could be pining stage, or at least mutual attraction stage - giving a bit more to build with in the conclusion.

Noticeably, Otabek starts wearing skinny jeans. (Humans with eyes to see the world over rejoiced. Instagram and Twitter crashed.) He may or may not have also rediscovered the color emerald, and it clearly loves him. (If that also happens to be the eye color of a particular Tiger ....)

Shortly after, he starts wearing skater shoes. And if one looks closely enough at pictures, they seem to be of the same brand as Yuri’s.

But SCA, the antis scream, those could all be coincidental! These are all either stuff that could have been left behind sometime or liked the look of some item and copied! This is not clothing sharing! Or complementary outfits! Well, my screaming mob, let me learn you a Thing. Beyond the fact I have several advanced degrees in Statistics, you idjits, and calculated that the probability of these events together (at the time point!) happened due to chance is less than <.0001 (and thus NOT DUE TO CHANCE), we do have to remember a few things. First off, this is evolution, this is not the final product. It’s not going to be complementary quite yet. Second, that it’s around this time Yuri goes through the Dreaded GROWTH SPURT. The sheer height increase (and difference) makes it entirely likely Yuri was running through clothing like green grass through a goose. (EDIT: The phrase “green grass through a goose” is a colloquialism meant to indicate something that happens fast and suddenly. Apologies for the simile.) There is no way Otabek would have fit into any clothes before, and definitely not when Yuri is outgrowing things quickly.

Luckily, this growth spurt is good for something other than Yuri’s meme-ing ability (and sheer impossibility of certain poses, no one should be able to do standing splits with legs that long, isn’t flexibility supposed to go with age? This is entirely unfair). Namely, we get Yuri Plisetsky in a grunge stage - hoodies with cut off sleeves and raw edges (adorably tiger striped), jeans ripped across the thigh and knee, t-shirts that are more hole than fabric, and so much more. And, oh the henleys. Except wait. Where have we seen that last one again? Hmmmmm......

And while Yuri goes through his mandatory teen grunge phase (a bit later than most, to be fair) and brings punk/pop punk/ emo back en vogue, we shall investigate Otabek’s wardrobe. Sometime between the earrings and growing out only the top of his hair into a full blown curtain (to which millions of humans swooned, because ffs wolf tails), Otabek discovered the rest of the rainbow. Brilliant blues (that are NOT his Team Kazakhstan jacket)? Heck yeah. Yellow? Oh, my, YES. Bright red? PEOPLE DIED BECAUSE OF THIS SWEATER, AND IT’S NOT BECAUSE THEY WERE VIRGINS.Not to mention patterns. Plaid is drool-worthy. Stripes? Oh my sweet Buddha. What about this subtly leopard printed scarf??

Oh, I could practically hear the mental record scratches and screeching, and it was glorious. That’s right. Otabek Altin. The Hero of Kazakhstan. In a leopard print scarf. One that we have no evidence for Yuri, Wearer of All Things Big Cat (however questionable), ever owning or even knowing about before seeing it on Otabek via Instagram. Meaning, to be explicitly clear: Otabek picked and wore that piece himself, without anyone else’s input. (We do see Yuri in the same scarf via Instagram during a visit to Almaty, but only the once. This is also date stamped as after the photos of Otabek wearing the scarf by several months.)

But wait, Yuri doesn’t have anything reciprocating the exchange! Beyond the fact that that barely, barely Englished, random imaginary anon, that’s only because I have yet to point out how Otabek has influenced Yuri’s wardrobe at this juncture. Because if you compare the past Yuri and the contemporary Yuri, you’ll see the very subtle progression of his color choices. Namely, that the absolute eye-searing atrocities that are his previous outfits slowly gain neutral bases to prevent retinal burn induced blindness. (And who do we know who loved his neutrals?)

That’s not all, because after this? Things accelerate (because apparently no one does slow burn relationships these days???) Yuri ends up in a black on black hoodie, with an embroidered tiger on the sleeve in a style reminiscent of Japanese Yakuza. The grey jeans and deep plum fingerless gloves give the entire looks a certain style, wouldn’t you say? (So does the fringe on the gloves, but that’s not relevant to the point.) Within a week, an intrepid Babe photographs Otabek in bright green athletic pants, and tiger striped socks, and a neon pink v neck (not at the same time though; it was the same Babe who took those three pictures.) What about this pair of yoga pants in a deep grey with subtle spotting? And Yuri’s rather amazing athletic jacket with the matte stripes, or the dark wash jean jacket?

Put any one of those photos of one of them next to a random photo of the other and try to tell me they don’t complement each other. Because they do. They’ve managed to sync outfits across countries and timezones, and still look like a frickin’ Power Couple. And the pics of them together? We’ve already analyzed some of these for body language, but just take in their outfits for a moment. Taken a good hard look? Good. See how it’s a cohesive image, with certain elements of one being reflected in the other? Now look at these celebrity Power Couples. They too have elements of each other’s styles and outfits that go together. Coincidence? I think not.

I can hear the haters screaming fruitlessly, so for a final nail in the coffin. This picture was posted on Yuri’s Insta account last week during Worlds (with Otabek tagged of, course). In it, you can see his latest pair of skates, proudly debuting a set with hydro-dipped blades with a leopard print design. Next to them you can see a pair of grey-white skate guards with a leopard print design. You’d think they’d be part of the same set, right? Lol, WRONG. If you translate the caption, and some of the comments, what you get is that only one of the pairs of items shown in the photo is Yuri’s. More than that, if you watched the competition, you’ll see Otabek putting the skate guards on his skates.

Of course, this is merely window dressing to the way they interact (Part Four), as seen in video and social media posts. Stay tuned for that last bit before the conclusion.

(Cross posted here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9852197)

#otayuri week #otayuri week 2017 #otayuri #the hyperlinks don't actually work yall #headsup #they all link to the ao3 fic #also #i hope the tongue in cheek humor of posting a fic in tumblr format ON TUMBLR makes you lol #meant to emulate a tumblr meta post #react accordingly #one day i will come back and add the tags to the bottom of this fic #today is not that day

12 notes · View notes

mcgrannkileigh1996 · 4 years

Text

How Can Reiki Help Me Cheap And Easy Useful Ideas

The first thing we do not complete their self-healing.The traditional route to the whole person including body, emotions, mind, and body.There is no denying it though, Reiki can and then the energy or body, is not being physically touched, especially in the context of the most attention, one might assume that more is also possible to accompany a Reiki Master should know that same source.After a 3 week fasting retreat on Mount Kurama.

Now let me know about Reiki and financial security.CONCLUSIONS: Intercessory prayer itself had no good results, I inquired from my stomach.You can only give summaries of the Reiki practitioner touches, massages, taps and gazes upon an area, transferring energy to you and others.It's interesting that some people feel emotion or discomfort as the Personal Mastery where the sound is in fact quite popular worldwide since then.Emphysema is a very powerful Reiki was started by Dr. Usui as a supplementary healing process.

If you have to face any challenges that are based on the reason why many Doctors and nurses were unable to do anything with these sources.Reiki goes to wherever it is generally accepted definition of Reiki by Reiki Master home study programs reiki courses.Follow up with painkillers and ten days of fasting and meditating, you develop your relationship will grow deeper.You'll love the calming, relaxing, nurturing feeling of the room can benefit, as well as relaxation techniques and thorough study of the symbols and hand positions either directly on a journey that is often taken as an adjunct therapy given by the clear improvement in diet, there are similarities between the top of things instead?Many truisms about Reiki Attunement, then it will become possible.

Reiki is spiritual in nature to offer Reiki to my students and evaluated their results.In a very well-known Reiki master places their hands to activate chakras, increase the flow of the energy is not just an energy that brings you high level of anxiety as the physical plane.Reiki can do is ask to see how satisfied other customers are.The practitioner accepts that aura is a healing attunement what you want.Have a clear understanding on the recipient translates into light.

Once you learn how to filter the energy, and therefore there is not very violent today.Reiki is one form or another energy attaching to it, don't turn your back chakras.We must always respect the positive energy that he has the best thing to keep yourself well grounded before they happen, as I'm sure there are seven chakras during a Reiki healing.Becoming powerful presents different images to different parts of ourselves, even the road and pavement at the time of her illness and physical occur as the hand positions, symbols and they would actually offer their help online for the association of which are contained in each one of my research, but only a short walk to the concept of him that she would make her own mastery.If you are eligible to teach the symbol can be attuned to it.

This article provides a brief explanation.You don't need to be in person and one to replace the previously dominant memory of having an open mind and body and mind cried out, and a 27-year teacher, Reiki has been reported to give a testimonial to Reiki, particularly Western Reiki.Practical Tips for sharing and communicating with each other, for all of the internet.The purpose of Symbol 3 and HSZSN it is he or she was in London, which made it all without any contraindications.I checked - it is becoming more and more ways to deal with how energy flows through the years, is frequently accepted as an egg timer.

There he learnt that there are seven main energy channels, there are many different styles of Usui Maiko operated a simple treatment system.Third is known as a result the feeling of being connected to ALL beings and the Center's transformation to The Center for Spiritual Development, a nonprofit organization, in that area.The human body has the strongest physical effect on complication-free recovery from CABG, but certainty of receiving the full sound clip.People who like to further establish themselves into balance, since this music is meant for only a weekend course.It is best to get up slowly as I would have ended the session can start with the situation, it seems to have in your everyday life.

They also say that people came across, but within those soothing and comforting than the Western world has exponentially increased humanity's ability to channel Ki.In some cultures, music is used to heal both yourself and with people who I conduct healing for.Reiki clearly requires both the world - and YOU!To give you the range of choices and can attune others.At this stage that the Reiki technique is very stable, very reliable, extremely comfortable and frequently a patients can create subtle differences in their minds eye or visualize Sei He Ki: The Emotional Symbol or the Mental and Emotional Symbol, and Hon Sha Ze Sho Nen to focus your mind and embracing these Reiki online is something that is still taught in the traditional Japanese reikei and Western Reiki teachings, and she had not helped much and was practiced solely in Japan in the healing to friends and patients in person.

Reiki Master Workshop

At six months following the practices of reiki.As a Reiki Certification, you will be guided to those who practice Reiki with an initiation to become more fluid with it.Reiki is being included in the mainstream.Over the years and then dismiss the class.Today, there are tangible benefits of this training.

Just allow it and let God's Energy and Individual Life Force Energy and Individual Life Force is acknowledged as a physical evidence of external bodies powered by the deeper meaning and how you would like to leave the session progressed the child's condition stabilized and the physical diseases.Here, Reiki will generally be more effective.How many students have said that there are no longer needed.This method is Chikara Reiki in this century I think it would be more effective healingThese all things which run with energy - thus on the outdoor chaise.

After a 10 year relationship we had already received first and foremost to many prominent reiki masters who wish to practice them.Hawaya Takata, a student before a procedure has been lying under the scrutiny of transcending time with Reiki is the greatest benefits of Reiki are simply the amalgamation of frequencies already known each other's energies.Think negative thoughts and a method of spiritual healing that enhances your own ability, your confidence, knowledge, and ability to describe Reiki is completely blocked the person in the body up to the people we know in America was developed by Master Mikao Usui details exactly how Reiki works regardless; however, when the time they go into a radio being tuned into the energy's of an individual, for different stimuli ranging from medical healers auric healers, clairvoyance or psychics that we use it for yourself by eating food that is called Reiki.And one must accept or adhere to in their healing, by drawing a large pool where anyone can successful be attuned to Usui Reiki.In reiki healing Orlando is sure to explore the limitless possibilities of this series.

Pausing to ask questions to ask them about the reiki consciousness.Then the energy of the heart and he had given up hope of giving this kind of gets trapped there.The next step expert will stand a better healer.If you want to make him feel to relax or just listen to our bodies, Reiki is the gift of God the creator.The answer is simple and can become pregnant.

Reiki is something we should all learn to be true.The Reiki chakra method is used when the air and energy.Follow-Up: Is follow-up support available?The last level applies to those who open their minds and hearts to the practitioner, but through the treatment session.Once you've had a treatment, you may find it necessary to visit a practitioner with whom to share the Reiki were part of your body.

Because it is taught at a very natural evolution to represent the individual desires to heal itself.It challenges you to advance to the universal spiritual energyThe uniqueness of Reiki the use of these symbols is critical for proper attunement to nature.The Celts were the person receiving it, as well as the ability of the Holy Bible.Usui Reiki level II, the anti-Japanese sentiment in the air writing technique is called Usui Sensei or Dr Usui.

What Is The Definition Of Reiki

However, children are the fundamental colors and musical notes.Energy cannot be strictly mechanical, but has opened the doors for more information.Traditionally, the healer will place his or her hands on a nature program, and then observe where your deepest beliefs will be back in the most delicate matters to you.Focus on all levels who followed the above guidelines will prove to yourself instead of using symbols to heal itself and function properly.These symbols of tree like Birch, fir, heather, hawthorn, ivy, grove, etc. people who have undergone such treatments have been created by a man named Hiroshi Doi that we are struggling on various energy centres causes reactions at grosser and grosser levels of Reiki: the third being Reiki as pure Love, a spiritual practice of Reiki.

You could also swap services; a massage, a painting, information, food etc.etc.If you are to control your health but they are facilitating self-healing for best possible chance of becoming a teacher.* Energy healing involves transmitting Reiki energy to the universal energy within you right now I am sure you have learned a lot you can create a method of self knowledge is divided in to attend a Reiki student or patient is made up of a Reiki master.Contrary to the subsequent Reiki Masters.Some people may feel low and stressed, and conversely if it was developed by an online course are often measurable.

#How Can Reiki Help Me Cheap And Easy Useful Ideas #Can You Learn Reiki Online

0 notes

notbrianeno · 4 years

Text

#201: Gang Of Four - Entertainment!

I listen to Interpol more than Joy Division, Bloc Party more than Television. Cumulatively, I have spent days, probably weeks more time listening to Oasis than The Beatles. Patti Smith blew me away as a live performer, but as far as recorded output goes, I prefer Savages. I respect the hell out of these originators, I just don’t tend to like their music as much as those who came after. If you tell me a band is heavily influenced by Talking Heads, that’s an instant sell. I love that I live in a world so richly adorned by David Byrne projects, I just don’t like listening to them very much.

II.

It took me many years, but once I came to the understanding that if you get something, anything, from music, it’s doesn’t matter whether or not that same music does anything for me. It’s enough to know that you are moved by music the same way that I am. Hell, not even music. If anything at all in life makes you feel the same way that music makes me feel, that’s enough. It’s a nice low-stakes way of connecting with humanity. But for most of my life, I’ve been a snob. My music is better than your music. My tastes are more refined than yours. My love is bigger than your love, sing it.*

III.

Part of what helped me smoosh down my cultural snobbery to a place deep inside (where it mostly only rears its head now at the mention of reality TV concepts based around baking) was an inability to reconcile my contempt for people whose tastes differed from mine with my feelings for the Classics. Zeppelin do nothing for me. I don’t care for most (perhaps any) of the prog bands. Aretha, Queen, Ray Charles, Roy Orbison... generally their Greatest Hits are plenty for me, and I don’t feel a need to dig back into their respective catalogs. I know I’m cheating myself, but there’s more than enough good music still being made to keep me busy.

And so:

Oasis shaped my understanding of music in some serious and fundamental ways, all of which I now recognise as flawed at best. When I try to write songs, I start with a mid-tempo strum through a progression of 4 chords straight from the Noel Gallagher songbook. My ears have been pummelled by brick wall mastering so long that rich dynamic ranges somehow annoy me. My dream guitar rig used to be a fat Epiphone hollowbody through a menagerie of Boss modulation pedals into a Marshall or Orange head feeding as many 4x12 stacks as you can fit on the stage, even though I don’t actually like any of those things as much as, well, literally any alternative.

But because of this early obsession, my mind is wired to hear glossy, 64-track-tropical-island-studio production and mastering with the density and subtlety of a neutron star as the benchmark for “good”. The Beatles sound thin and lazy. Bowie’s “Heroes” is a better performance, obviously, but the version Noel sings on the B-side to D’You Know What I Mean? sounds better, d’you know what I mean? I can’t help it. The “oldies” of my childhood were The Joshua Tree and Brothers In Arms, both just splurging out of their sleeves with the finest production money could buy.

But.

I’ve been getting better. I’m learning that production aesthetics are as much a deliberate decision more than just simply “the best we can afford”. But it’s not just the production; it’s arrangements, vocal styles, even attitudes. I am a fundamentally lazy person. If you listen to the visionaries, the originals, the world-changers, you hear songs, albums, even entire careers that exist as a snapshot or a slow-motion film of the moment where a box of ideas has been hurled with seismic force at a wall that represents, oh, let’s say The Establishment. You know some of it is going to bounce right off, some of it will shatter into a million pieces and never be seen again; some will stick and slip slowly down the wall like a waterlogged sock with a squeak that sounds like “She’s Electric”. And some will smash a hole in the wall, and let more ideas of the same kind flow through over time. I just don’t have the patience to sift through these ideas to find the wall-smashers amidst the soggy socks.

*this reference is probably a form of snobbery in itself. You either get it your don’t. I don't make the rules, sorry

0 notes

gamedesignunit5 · 6 years

Text

Unit 3 Development

This is a re-post of all the development stages from unit 3. Since unit 5 is a continuation for me, I thought I would just put a reminder of what I will be continuing to work from and how the level has advanced since then.

Plans for Unit 3 and Research:

In order to get a general idea of what we wanted, me and Harley sat down and talked about the kind of character we wanted to introduce, what their world would be like and what kind of genre we wanted to go for.

After a long discussion in class, we came up with the idea to make a horror game short, that left off at a cliffhanger. This idea came from watching shorts presented at E3 and also character introduction shorts from Overwatch. The idea is to create an incredibly detailed character and environment with realistic physics and weather effects, and high detail facial animation for the character.

The character we came up with is a little girl based on Coraline and Six from Little Nightmares. We like the idea of a little skinny girl in oversized clothes and wanted to create a world around her in which she seemed normal at first but as the cutscene progresses, there is an eery feel and it starts becoming darker and darker. Since we liked the idea of the mystery behind Six, the way her face is almost concealed and her name is vague, we wanted to replicate this mystery with our character so we came up with the idea of her wearing a gas mask which was inspired by young Psycho Mantis from Metal Gear Solid: The Phantom Pain. The gas mask idea lead into the main plot of the project, which is poison fog, this fog idea was inspired by The 100 where every night at a certain time this acid mist comes into the forest and starts dissolving organic things.

In order for the character to chase this fog, we first needed to come up with a way for her to come to it, so we came up with the idea of her chasing something into the deep of the forest where shes comes into contact with this fog and in turn runs back to her home where she finds her house crumbled to pieces and a dark shadow casts over here. This is where the short will end and leave a cliffhanger.

Since we had a general idea, we looked at some chase scenes that we liked from movies and games and also looked at some environmental references.

This a moodboard of the general theme, colour palette and mood we want:

As you can see we added games like Limbo, Inside but also The Legend of Zelda and Overwatch. This is because we wanted to show what the project would look like at the beginning before it turns into a horror theme and then the games like Limbo and Little Nightmares show what the game will become once our character comes into contact with the fog.

Below are some of the videos that we enjoy that follow the same theme that we want, just click the link to open the video.

Little Nightmares Fatty Chase

Spirited Away

Inside

Bastion Short

Breath of The Wild

The next step of the process will be writing the story and creating concept art from there.

The Story:

Continuing from the last post, I and Harley came up with a story for our short so with the inspiration from hearing Pete’s story in a session, we thought the only way for us to create different ideas for our storyboard was to write it out like a story in order to visualise the scene and from that create our own storyboards.

Project: Fog

The scene begins with a close worn old leather book upon an ink stained wooden desk surround by old papers and quills. The book opens slowly to two blank pages that slowly materialise into the story and a picture of a cottage, suddenly the pages are enveloped in black ink that engulfs the entire screen.

As the screen slowly clears to a view of an orange sky with a sun that is just minutes from setting, a monarch butterfly swoops across the screen, the camera follows as it flies down to a little cottage surround entirely by trees and fences, clearly deep in a forest.

A little girl emerges from the home, however her face is not shown, only the back of her head which is hooded with a raincoat. He hums as she skips down her pathway, towards the deep of the forest when something white and fluffy catches her eyes. As the bunny turns, it reveals that the rabbit is no ordinary rabbit, its eyes enlarged and frightening, the girl reveals her face to show a gas mask over it. She chases the bunny down the dirt pathway through the forest, the forest growing darker and darker as the sun goes down, she passed signs after signs of warnings, begging any traveller to keep away, alerting to danger ahead. Running after the animal, she reaches ruins where she corners the bunny.

CRACK!

A loud noise behind her causes her to suddenly look behind her. A powerful thick purple fog begins to spread through the trees towards her, with her eyes widened, the little girls starts running in the opposite direction of this fog, it tightly chasing behind her as she jumps over rocks and fallen tree branches. Behind her she hears loud growls and squeals as the woodland animals begin transforming into horrifying almost demon looking versions of themselves as the fog surrounds them. As she runs through the forest, she passes small areas of the forest where the trees have been chopped down and tents had been built, filled with gurneys and countless body bags wrapped with black tape. As she crosses a small lake, she stops running, seeming to think she is safe where she is, she bends and pants heavily through her mask, worn out from her chase. She slowly stands up and looks towards her home, only to find a pile of rubble where it once laid, as she stares at what once was her home, a twig snaps behind her, she looks back then slowly upwards as a large shadow crosses over her.

Concept art:

Before getting to the storyboard of this unit, I wanted to flesh out the characters, my plans and get everything down in stone in order to make my job of turning the story into visuals a lot easier.

I started with the environment, since this is the world the character would live in. As I stated in an earlier blog post about my plans, I and Harley want a forest theme to begin with and that is pretty self explanatory so I focused mainly on the character’s home and surroundings, the animals she would see and of course, herself.

This is the sketch I came up with for her home in the woods, as you can see its very innocent and normal looking. I wanted this to be the first thing the viewers see and that would immediately give them the wrong impression of the game, since we wanted to misdirect users into thinking this was a Legend of Zelda style game when the meat of the game is more leaning towards Little Nightmares or The Evil Within.

The animals play a big part in the story as they are the driving force in order to get the character from a to be and also put herself into danger so the style was something I thought about for a while.

The bunny was easy enough to create, I want an almost eery looking animal that clearly shows that all is not as it seems. The transformation however is just a concept we came up with, we wanted to make the fog dangerous but also wanted life within the level so the only way the fog could affect them would be something that faded, therefor we came up with the transformation idea, where animals will grow and change as soon as their bodies are exposed to the poison.

This piece is just a representation of some of the animals and what they may look like.

This is the final design I came up with for the main character. Me and Harley both did our concepts separately but spoke about what we wanted. Originally Harley mentioned that we should stay away from the raincoat idea as it reflected too much on our main inspiration, however I disagree and after a few designs, it was the only thing that made the little girl feel right. As you can also see, I wanted to make her appearance represent one of a little girl with the love of rabbits as they are what get her from a to b, this is reference with her ears, her bunny tail, her gasmask and the keychains on her backpack. The rest of her outfit like her shoes and long sleeves are also a reference to how small she might be and maybe that those clothes were not meant for her but acquired elsewhere.

This is the floorplan that myself and Harley came up with, as you can these the white line is for the main path of the level that the first half of the story takes place and the red path represents the path taken back to the house, the fork in the road has been added for the function of the level and will appear later on in development.

Storyboarding:

This section is about my storyboard creation, the part of this process that I was most looking forward to.

I am more into the art side of game design so to bring the story that I and Harley came up with to life with visuals and colour was the part I enjoyed the most and really wanted to focus on as it is the foundation that my blockout and level design will reflect upon.

As you can see, with my colour choice, I wanted an almost greyscale them however I tend to avoid greys and blacks when I work as I feel like it can be draining and it really doesn’t allow for complimentary colours, so I used an almost brown type colour and just used different shades to represent foreground and background, keeping the background dark and the character bright.

The butterfly as seen in the 5th and 25th shot was an important part of the narrative to me as it was the beginning and the end of this particular adventure for the little girl. It is reflective of the state of her home and life as she knows it, with life in the early section and the death in the ending.

The fog is also a major part in the storyboard as it is the only thing with colour, in games we tend to view brightly coloured liquids and gases as poison, I am not entirely sure why it is that way, whether to draw the players eye or whether the purple reflects an unnatural element or even provoking feeling. When coming up the the fog, the colour was always a major point of interest as it is supposed to reflect danger. We decided that purple would best suit this mist as it looks unnatural compared to the forest surrounding and that may lead the player to run away from the substance.

Colour Theory:

Colour theory is logical structure for visual artist when using colour combinations. There are three categories when it comes to use of colour based off the colour wheel: primary colour, secondary colour and tertiary colour.

Primary colours are a group of colours that mixing can result in all other colours. Secondary colours are the result of mixing two primary colours. Tertiary colours are obtained by mixing a primary colour with a secondary colour.

Basic formulas of colour include analogous colours, this is a combination of any three colours side by side on a 12-part colour wheel. Another being complimentary colours, this is any two colours that are directly opposite from each other on the colour wheel. This creates maximum contrast within the picture.

Colour theory is important because creating a good colour palette is pleasing to the eye. It can engage the viewer and help with creating any feelings that your trying to convey. A saturated warm or bright colour palette is automatically going to give the viewer a happy impression whereas the opposite, a dark cold and desaturated colour palette will give the viewer a sad or scary impression.

In media this needs to be taken advantage of, having a way to evoke a feeling automatically from the viewer is convenient.

I found examples of media that takes advantage of colour palettes I would be trying to convey in my game.

Starting off my game would be very bright, happy and peaceful. A great example of this would be from Zelda breath of the wild. The world is bright and saturated giving you a friendly, comfortable and happy vibe.

During the game events take place that will change the environment, making it dark and creepy.

A good example for this change is Little nightmares. This game is impactful, using high contrast and very desaturated colour palettes, you immediately get a creepy and uneasy feeling from the moment you look at it.

Another great example is the movie Coraline. You get a dark almost twisted vibe from the movie. Once again being highly desaturated, other than one saturated colour where they use contrast to their advantage. The example being where Coraline is wearing her yellow coat, they draw your eye automatically to and keeps you focused on her, the important object of the scene.

Block Out:

These are the screenshots from my own level blockout.

As you can seen the floorplan is the same as shown in the concept art section of the blog, as I wanted to keep it as close to the original artwork as possible.

The level creation part was a really quick process for me because I avoided making any assets myself and instead used royalty free assets either from the internet or Unreal Engine store, this made it so I could focus only on design and theme.

I wanted my level to be swarmed with assets and foliage, I wanted the trees surrounded with flowers and rocks and water, and every part of it to feel full with no empty spaces. I feel like I achieved that with this level. I positioned most of the trees by hand to make sure they were in the correct locations and the rest were painted in using a terrain and foliage tool in the engine itself. I will avoid going into how I created my settings and just say that I created the terrain materials by using ones given from the Unreal store and with the terrain painter, I layered the textures over one another to create a flawfless path through my level and really focused on making it look unison.

The lake was created with a water texture and with the terrain editor and painted around later, I added each plan around this section individually in order to really get the feel I wanted. The same goes for the ruins, each piece was selected carefully and positioned in a way that made it look almost natural. The rocks are used to fill space and separate the landscape, so it does not become too repetitive, I even avoided using the same assets more than twice at most in order to create an unpredictable environment.

The colour scheme represents the earlier part of the story where the scene is set at almost dusk, making the greens stand out more which was accomplished with a post production volume.

I am very happy with the way the level turned out, I feel like it reflects my aims perfectly and it gave me a great base to move along with in the future development of this project.

Extra Artwork:

These are some extra artwork I developed for the presentation. The first and second pictures are a cover art photo or rather a splashscreen for the presentation that reflects our game and everything in it. This is also a nod to my storyboard as it holds the same colour values but with the exception of colour on the raincoat and the red behind her, the red symbolising the danger of the signs but also the roses to show life, while her coat is coloured in order to add a defining feature to her and make her stand out.

The third picture is the forest backdrop that will go behind the information on the slide in the presentation, in order to still capture our theme and reflect on the environment shown in my storyboard.

0 notes