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lustbile-archive · 4 years

Text

LucasxReader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary/Warnings: 100% inspired by the way that seeing this picture made me black out and is another situation of “was supposed to only be like 1k words”. Warnings: public-ish?, blow job, fingering, suggestions of drug and alcohol consumption. Also disclaimer! This was written before the whole smoking things went down on twitter so I’m not saying I’m psychic but I might be who knows.

The stale smell of beer and marujana strings the inside of your nose as you enter the empty entrance of the house, the only evidence that life existed in the home, was the muffled talking and music that came from the basement of the home.

The notification from the text that Lucas had sent telling you he’d see you soon still lived on the lock screen of your phone as you walked down the hallway of the house that belonged to a friend of his that you had only met a handful of times before. The single hit of a blunt that your boyfriend had inhaled hours ago was enough to have him texting you to tell you how much he missed you, but he was unable to come meet you both from his consumption of the drug, but also his lack of transportation or someone sober enough to drive him to your apartment. So instead you found yourself slipping on the first pair of shoes you could see, and drove to the address he shared with you.

The rumbling voices and deep bass only got louder as you got closer to the door, your heart thumping at both the anticipation of seeing your boyfriend, and also having to face his inebriated friends at such a late hour. The smell of alcohol and smoke hits you stronger when you open the door, and you have to take a moment to mentally prepare before walking into the room.

There’s only a beat of time before they notice the new presence in the room, another before they realize who you were exactly, and then they start quietly cheering a slurring in excitement. Though, amongst all the noise, there’s one voice that rings louder than any and directly into your ears.

He resembled a fur rug in the way he had draped himself in the worn leather recliner that had been tucked into the corner of the room. The shine that showed in his big brown eyes from across the room told you that, if he wasn’t slowed slightly from the second hand buzz he was getting from the amount that the other boys had hotboxed the room, he would have gotten up to greet you. Instead, he excitedly patted his big hands against his thighs in invitation for you to take your favorite throne.

You can't help but mirror the large grin that he throws your way, and after you step over the two boys that had found themselves collapsed on the floor in front of you and the dozens of empty cans that cluttered the room, you make your way slowly to where he sat. His smile grows as you get closer and you feel your heart beat faster in response.

“Long time no see,” he speaks when you finally stand in front of him, his words broken up by his growing giggles. You can’t help but smile down at him in admiration when he reaches to grab at your hips and pull you into his lap.

“It has been a while hasn’t it?” you tease as you straddle him and wrap your hands loosely around his shoulders, “i’m not surprised that when you get all giggly and high is when you’re texting me begging to come see you.”

“Not surprised?” his head jerks back gently in curiosity and in an attempt to get a better look at your face, “am I predictable?”

“Wouldn’t say predictable,” you start to gently rock back and forth as you speak, your hands moving to run through his thick and messy hair as his knead at the muscles of your hips and thighs, “but you’re clingy, and it only gets worse when you’re high.”

“M’not that high,” his head shakes and he runs his hands up your back, pushing you forward until your noses touch, “just high enough.”

“Yeah I can tell,” he’s always been good at handling his weed and himself for that matter, but you do know that he’s gone enough that he doesn’t notice your eyes darting down towards his lap, “but I do know that you’re at least a little high, because you always get hard really easy when you are.”

A deep groan shakes his chest in faux embarrassment at getting caught, his smile softening to give him a more arrogant aura as his hips involuntarily thrust up towards you, “sorry bout that, but i’ve been thinking about you long before I ever texted you so it was bound to happen.”

“It’s fine, flattering actually that I can get you hard without even being here,” you can feel yourself softening as you speak, and you slowly shift forward as you speak until you can feel his bulge pressing into the seat of your pajama shorts, “if you come home with me I can help you with it.”

His head shakes in disappointment, “nah I promised a few of the guy that i’d help them move out of their apartment tomorrow so i’ve gotta be here for that in the morning,” he bites at his cheek once the words are in the air, the thoughts running through his mind are almost deafening as they make his eyebrows draw together in concentration.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself thinking that hard Xuxi,” you’ve slipped into a soft whisper as you speak, and you move your hand to press your thumb between his brows in hopes to relieve the tension, “what's going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, trying to procrastinate telling you what he's thinking, “you could always help me get off right here.”

You’re woken up from your daze when the words leave his mouth, your heart thumping at what he's suggesting, “what do want me to grind on you ‘til you come in your pants? Isn’t that a little too high school for you?”

“No not grind on me,” his hands return to your hips and he begins to pick at a loose string on the band of your shorts, his eyes moving down to where your crotch meets his to avoid your eyes, “I mean like maybe… blowing me?”

“You want me to blow you right here in front of all your dumb friends?” you harshly whisper hoping none of the mentioned boys will stir from their drug induced daze.

His eyes immediately dart up again to lock onto yours, “I mean you don’t have to, I just thought maybe it’d be a little exciting y’know. And i’d return the favor like always,” as he finishes speaking, one of his hands begins to move. It lands directly in the space between your thighs, and as he starts to softly pet at your through your shorts, you feel your guard melting away, the small sparks of pleasure from his usually rough fingers making your head tilt forward.

“If any of them say anything I’ll kill you.”

“They’re a lot more gone than I am, they probably won't even notice,” the excitement that builds in him is evident in his tone and you can't stop the way your own chest blooms with your own excitement in response.

“They better be,” you slip out of his hold, slowly sliding down into the floor until you're kneeling in front of him. His fingers now drum against his thighs in excitement now that you’re no longer there for him to hold on to.

You stop yourself from turning around and checking on the boys around you, fearing that seeing them again will make this all too real and make you back out. It does feed your mind paranoia, but you can't deny that the idea of putting your mouth around your boyfriend in a room of other people doesn’t warm the pit in your stomach, and you’re almost even ashamed to admit to yourself that you can feel a wetness building in between your thighs.

Your fingers slightly shake as you run them up his thighs, and when they meet where his rest, he momentarily wraps your fingers with his to give you a reassuring squeeze. Once he releases your hands, you start to move again, until they reach the band of his sweatpants.

“Oh fuck, okay,” you hear him murmur to himself as his hips tilt up to help as you tug the fabric down until its wrapped around his thighs. Your eyes move to look at him again before you speak.

“So you just don’t wear underwear when you hang out with your friends?” you can't imagine how weird you two look as you playfully scold him as his moves his hand to hide his growing smile and his mostly hard length lays against the fabric of his t-shirt that covers his stomach, “I can’t imagine it’d be too comfortable to help your friend move apartments when you’re free balling it.”

“I have a change of clothes in my bag,” he defends quietly, his hand falling back to his side, “I hate wearing underwear when i’m getting high, makes me feel constricted.”

“You’re so fucking weird,” you say bluntly as you go to wrap your hand around him, and regardless of the playfull look of disappointment you wear, you begin to slowly move your hand up and down the length of him.

You feel a tight sense of pride in your chest as when you start to move your fist, he stiffens at the sudden pleasure. The mean smile you throw at him makes him bite down on his bottom lip and his hands start to twitch as he tries to decide what to do with them.

You lose the eye contact you two had when, as you move your hand up the length of his him, you trail your hand with the flat of your tongue. You stiffen when he lets out a groan as he tilts his head back, hoping it won't stir the boys around you.

“Quiet,” you whisper without thinking, moving your hand to hold him at the base as he breathes a laugh out through his nose. You hold him as you put the tip of him in your mouth, rolling your tongue over him as you taste the arousal he’s begun to spill. You start to move down further when he moves to hold your jaw, stopping you.

“I was being serious when I said I’ve been hard for awhile,” he says in a strained and warning tone. He jumps in your mouth when you hum in acknowledgment.

You try not to cringe when as you pull off there’s a soft popping noise that follows, “so?” you ask tilting your head and moving your hand up and down as you speak. Every time your fingers reach the tip you brush the pad of your thumb over him making him twitch, “how long do you think it will take for you to get there?”

“Not long,” he sounds vaguely disappointed in himself, but the way your wrist moves causing it to melt away as he sinks back into his seat, “not with your mouth.”

You grin, laughing warmly at what you decide to take as a compliment.

“Tight,” you nod, starting to slightly feel the warm effects of the smoked out room, before you tilt your head back down and put your waiting mouth back around him.

You try to ignore the moan he lets out in response, praying to whatever that’s listening that the others will stay in their daze. You take a quick breath through your nose, before you move him as deep in your throat as you can.

Your lips bump against your hand where you still hold him, your tongue licking against the vein that pumps against it, before you move your hand to rest on his hip, allowing you to go further. You let out a soft moan when your nose presses against his stomach, the feeling of him hitting the back of your throat making you drool slightly, some even spilling past your lips and dampening his pants.

The vibrations from your mouth run up his spine, pushing more quiet groans from his chest. You can feel his hands moving around you as he desperately tries to decide what to do with them, before one grabs at your hand until your fingers are laced together and the other rests on the back of your neck.

You reach to tap his wrist momentarily in warning, before you start slowly moving your head up. You look up when all that remains in your mouth is his tip, forcing him to hold eye contact before taking him back until he hits the back of your throat again. You don’t let up on your stare as you repeat the motion over and over.

His face screws up, almost as if he’s in pain, and his fingers flex around the back of your neck as if he's holding himself back from holding you too roughly. As you move, you start to run your free hand up to his stomach, scraping your nails against the line of hair that runs from under his belly button making more deep noises pass his lips regardless of his attempts to suppress them.

“Baby please,” he pleads, seemingly unaware of what exactly he’s asking for, but when he starts to pulse his hips gently with the same pace that you move your mouth on him, you know that he’s getting closer to the edge.

Another soft pop is heard as you move off him again, a faux innocent pout falling on your lips, “want you to come in my mouth Xuxi,” you taunt, and the way he starts thrusting into the empty air tells you how much your words affect him.

You move the hand on his stomach to wrap around him once again, pumping him a few times before holding him at his base and running the flat of your tongue up the length of him. You pause when you reach his tip, pressing it against the muscle as you move it slowly back and forth. He looks like he’s on the edge of insanity when you leave your mouth wide open as you start to move your wrist slowly, your grip exactly the way you know will make him crumble.

You can’t help but flinch slightly as he starts to come, the thickness of his come hitting your tongue before his noises reach your ears, but you will your eyes to stay open enough to watch him as he falls apart. His hips continue to move, smearing the evidence of him around your tastebuds, and the way his head tilts back strains his neck and makes thick veins pop out in a way that makes your feel dizzy.

His quickened breath starts to steady again as you move to pull away, but with his eyes still shut close, you can’t help but jump when the hand on the back of your neck moves to grip your jaw, his thumb moving until it hooks into your mouth and behind your front bottom teeth to hold your jaw open making your unable to swallow what he’s left behind on your tongue.

He leans forward, his now open eyes looking delirious as he lets go of your hand to wrap it around your waist to hoist you back into his lap. You scramble to your feet as best as you can with his thumb almost painfully holding your mouth open, praying none of it drips onto the carpet below you. You try even harder to move your legs to properly straddle him, as it seems in his crazed delirium he has no consideration as to where your knees could possibly land.

Before you can fully comprehend the motions happening so quickly, you're pressed tightly against his chest, your fists holding tightly onto the front of his shirt as he uses the hand on your jaw to drag you to slot your open mouth against his.

The pleased moan that rolls out of you without thinking matches perfectly with the one he lets out once your mouths cover each other. His hand moves away from your jaw, the way his tongue shoves itself into your mouth and licks at the evidence of his orgasm and the back of your teeth is enough to keep you perfectly in place. You can feel him pushing some of his come further back into your mouth as well as taking some into his own, you two break for only a moment to swallow before your lips meet again, the taste of his being permanently burned into your mind as his warm breath gets your dizzier than any of the smoke dancing around your bodies could.

There’s no verbal warning before his arm tightens around your waist while the other one greedily shoves itself into the front of your shorts, the yelp of surprise you let out is completely devoured by his mouth as he happily hums against you.

“I knew you’d be wet,” he says smugly when you break away to moan at the way his fingers immediately press into you, your forehead pressed against his temple as you watch his hand move under the fabric, “love having me in your mouth don’t you.”

“Lucas hush,” you scold as your eyes fall shut, his long middle and ring finger curling inside you. You feel your muscles relax as his fingers thrust against the spot inside you that makes your eyes flutter. One hand lets go of the grip you had on his shirt to lay softly against the side of his face, this and the way your body starts to curl against his makes his lips pull into an endeared smile that you feel under the pad of your thumb.

You can feel your hips rocking against his hand similarly to the way he had trusted into your mouth, your thighs trying to flex together regardless of the way his legs keep them spread.

Once he’s gotten his fingers drenched in your arousal, he slowly pulls them out of you making you whimper at the loss. He quietly coos at you to quiet you before his wet fingers start to roll over the sensitive nerves of your neglected clit, you jump again at the sudden feeling and he only chuckles with pride in response.

He starts moving his hand that’s wrapped around your waist, his fingers brushing against your ribs through the old worn shirt you wear to go to sleep and it almost feels like you're melting as he pets at you with his determined fingers.

“Wanna see you come so bad,” he starts to mutter in the way that tells you he's not fully conscious of what he’s saying out loud as he slips into his own little world, something you’ve learned he does every once in awhile when he’s pleasuring you, “been so long, miss it so bad.”

“Xuxi,” his name being the only word your brain can form as the slurred way he speaks starts to flood your chest with endearment. His hand picks up its pace as he starts to lose himself in watching you fall apart, no longer aware of the room that you sit in that’s full of his friends, unaware of what jealousy he’d feel if they were to see you like this even if they were too high to remember. Something about the way your thighs flex and your body starts to shake makes it feel like he’s in a trance and he only wishes he could see you bare and gushing for him.

His name slips from you again, this time as a warning as you feel your lower stomach flex and relax over and over as you reach your finish. You clench softly around nothing and you become only vaguely aware of how the hand placed on his face is now curling into a loose fist and your nails scrape against the skin of his cheekbone and jaw.

The third time his name falls from your lips, it's broken up by pleased and strained whimpers as you start to come. His mind is too busy reveling in the noises you make and the way your arousal continues to dampen you further to think to slow down his motions, his quickly moving fingers carrying you through your orgasm as your head rolls to the side and your teeth latch onto the soft skin of his earlobe.

The grunt he lets out at the small bite of pain and the unending friction makes you start to shake and whine as it feels like you’ll never escape the pleasure he inflicts on you. You pant through your teeth, and your toes painfully curl as he overstimulates your body, and he probably would continue his subconscious torture on your body if you didn’t come to your sense enough to move your hand away from his face to wrap around his wrist.

You all but rip his hand from your shorts, his name being spoken again but with a more muddied tone behind it. Once his fingers are off of you, he wakes up from whatever hypnosis your body had put on him and your slumping tired against his chest.

You cringe as, when he tightens his hold on you to hug you against his body, you also hear the undeniable slurping noise of him sucking what you had left behind on his fingers. He hums happily around his digits and you can’t help but return the noise when he pulls them out with a dramatic pop of his own and turns his head until he can nudge you with his nose. Once you lift your head enough, his lips return to yours and you're both humming in content against one another as the dull taste of yourself mixes with the aftertaste of his come that was still lingering on your tongues.

“You can sleep over,” he assures when he breaks the lazy kiss, knowing what you’d be asking before the words can even leave your mouth, “the guest room is clean and you get dibs.”

“I love you,” your sudden admission surprising both of you, you with how you don’t fully remember forming the thought and him at the suddenness, but he happily laughs in response regardless.

“I love you too,” he pulls you in a more comfortable position as you cuddle against his chest, “just for being you but also for blowing me in a room full of my dumb friends.”

“Probably will never happen again,” your words slur more and more as you speak, the tiredness you felt before you arrived meshing with the exhaustion you feel now.

“I know,” he nuzzles his face against yours as he speaks, “but I enjoyed it while I could.”

#nct smut #wayv smut #Lucas smut

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alyblacklist · 3 years

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Do you think the keenler storyline is going anywhere? I used to be sure that it was, I mean why else would they have them kiss and have sex. However now that Liz has been gone for five episodes and she is being quite mean to Ressler (the whole pointing a gun to his head and pretty much telling Cooper about them sleeping together) I feel like a relationship between them will never happen and the writers are just trying to make us forget or dislike Keenler.

Ok, on to the asks about Ressler/Keenler in 8x09 where things were said, but only through contact lenses and earpieces. Thoughts below the jump, because it’s a long post that will (hopefully) address all of these at least in part.

I do think it was Liz speaking through the doppelganger at all relevant times. They haven’t given me a reason not to think that at this point. She knew things only Liz could know. So I assume (unless we get new info) that everything Mia Collins said to Ressler was actually Liz telling her what to say to him (and likewise to Aram and Cooper). I did express to BlacklistRoom on Twitter that they were evil for having faux-Liz call Ressler “Donald” on screen before real Liz does. And at first, I thought maybe that was some sort of signal to Ressler that things were amiss because real Liz wouldn’t do that, but in the end I think it was just the writers playing their usual games. NOT because they hate Keenler or Keenler fans (they’re the ones who made Keenler canon, for God’s sake), but just because they love to toy with fan emotion. They give you a Wing Yee birthday nugget one ep, they throw in a loose “Donald” in another from the lips of a faux-Liz. They know exactly the emotional points to hit if they’re paying attention to social media (and they certainly are, to a point).

I did catch that accurate observation on Twitter that the doppelganger did not have her finger on the trigger while pointing the gun at Ressler’s head. I’d like to think the actress and crew are careful enough to catch such things as her finger was nowhere near that trigger (and she knew how to shoot that unnamed FBI agent during the chase) so I hope that was purposeful, perhaps as a small signal to the audience that Liz never really intended to hurt Ressler, even though he of course couldn’t see what was going on behind his head. A nod, at least, to the idea that Liz doesn’t really mean to hurt him.

Before I get too much deeper into my personal impressions of the scene, I want to specifically address the anon who wonders if she’s alone in finding it hard to root for Liz or Keenler in all this.

Of course you’re not.

Darker Liz isn’t for everyone. If I had a dollar for every time someone has told me Ressler deserves better than Liz over the past five years, I’d be able to buy you dinner (even at NYC prices). Never mind how many have abandoned the ship over that exact issue or related issues over the seasons. But I also think you know that I don’t share your viewpoint. Maybe that’s why you send me asks, or maybe you’re just using my inbox as an outlet to find those who agree with you. I don’t know and it doesn’t matter (although I admit if it’s the latter, publishing your thoughts on your OWN page rather than in my inbox might be preferable because as much as I enjoy asks to a point, I’m a little tired of ship hand-holding asks. I like what I like and trying to explain it or defend it gets a little tiring.)

All I can say is after five years of deep investment in this fandom and these characters, it takes a LOT more than an absent female lead and a bumpy episode to capsize my ship and send me into the pit of despair. For me, this is the expected price we pay for the ship being canon now versus only at the very end of the show. The Blacklist has never been about showing smooth, happy, relationships. Angst, drama, tension is the name of the game. You have to decide for yourself whether you can stomach that on a week to week basis and especially this season because they warned us – “good AND difficult” – difficult! - for Keenler. I reconcile the conflict by the fact that Ressler still WANTS Liz and BELIEVES in Liz despite her flaws and if he does, then so do I. The man has some blinders when it comes to Liz, certainly, but not the sort that they love to mock him for on screen. He’s not thinking solely with his male parts brain, he’s thinking with his actual, in his head brain and he LOVES this woman despite her crazy and I love that about him. He’s smarter than most people give him credit for. And I am also of the view that real life and ships do not need to be equivalents. You can love two flawed fictional TV characters without being a person who wants to see those things manifest in real life. (I also ship Wanda and Vision for the record).

So I think we can all agree that this episode – and Liz’s absence generally – has been more “difficult” than good Keenler-wise. Ressler himself told us in those early episodes before her departure that it’s different if you see her, and it certainly is. We’ve been robbed of Liz’s thoughts and emotions entirely ever since she last graced our screen in Ep. 8x04. (And of Ressler’s reaction to said departure, for the most part). At the same time, I think Liz recognizes that too as she hasn’t to our knowledge directly engaged with Cooper, Aram OR Ressler since she left except through surrogates. Purposeful choices on the part of the diabolical writers.

As I said in my earlier ask response tonight, I remain of the view that Liz is in control of her actions and is doing her own risk/benefit assessment in how she responds to the situations she finds herself in.

I do NOT think that means she has lost all emotion or feeling for Cooper, Aram OR Ressler, but as she explained to Townsend, “Reddington has an army on both sides of the law. I can’t do this alone. I need a partner.” She believes that the Task Force – all of them – are tied to Reddington in their own way, including Ressler, and she doesn’t expect them to violate those arrangements/principles for her. She’s moving outside the boundaries of those relationships to shed light on the secrets that she believes are being kept. Did she involve them this week? Yes, but I think only because Townsend forced her hand on dealing with his sister. I doubt she would’ve sent her double to the Post Office otherwise. (I totally agree that the Post Office needs better security protocols btw – the idea that Liz can continually breach their defenses has become absolutely laughable at this point).

But, part of that is personal relationships. She needed Ressler to give her the door codes and he did. Why? Not because he’s her patsy or her f--- boy or whatever derogatory term someone wants to slap on him (!), but because he loves her, flaws and all. The whole letting her go/letting him go thing has always had double meaning, back to S2.

Cyranoid Liz: You should let me go. Ressler: Those days are over. Cyranoid Liz: Why? Nothing’s changed.

Has nothing changed? He let her go in S2 and then she shot Tom Connolly and he beat himself up over it. Then, the “I can’t let her go” (Ressler pointing the gun in S3 outside the Russian embassy), followed by that car chase and then Red in the next episode, Eli Matchett:

Red: Ressler is a law-enforcement robot. The FBI winds him up– Liz: That’s not true. He’s a person. He’s a good person. Red: Look at me. You need to let that go, Lizzy. I have survived for a very long time now, and I assure you, I didn’t do it by relying on the goodness in people.

I’d submit it has and it hasn’t. All these seasons later, she is once again having a hard time letting him go and so is he (with respect to her).

Ressler: Why’d you call? Liz: I don’t know. I guess– because every time we say goodbye, I’m afraid we might actually mean it.

Both with eyes open wider this time and yet, still wanting the peaceful night, free of all the distractions.

Yes, he let Liz’s double go physically without much protest. Emotionally? He hasn’t let go of Liz. Not one bit. And Liz saw that, through her cyranoid. He’s still on her side. He still wants to believe in her, no matter what she’s putting him through (and poor Ressler, he’s really enduring a lot – though I hope the tide will turn on that at some point). He had no reason to open that door, and yet – he did. He doesn’t want that one night to be just ONE night and deep down, I don’t think she does either.

“I won’t give up on you.”

He hasn’t, yet. “But I still need to do my job, Keen.” She better not push him too far because the day he does is the day I worry. He’s desperate not to repeat the mistakes of the past, he’s desperate to trust her this time. Not because he’s thinking with his small man-part-brain, but with his HEART. He loves her. He’ll do anything he can for her within the limits of his conscience. They are each others’ second chance.

I don’t view Keenler or Ressler’s feelings for Liz or Liz’s manipulations of Ressler as fatal to the ship because I accept that this whole thing – Liz’s mission – is the battle for her soul that the writers have teased for years . Which side will win? Hopefully the right one. The hopeful one. The one that makes second chances happen.

Cheers.

#keenler #anon #anons

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fandom-sheep · 3 years

Text

Fundy Dream SMP Chaos 01 APR 21

Delayed Liveblogging Part 1/1

I’m late cause I was on Wills stream.

He was laughing and complaining about not being able to burn things.

He’s happy he made a thing.

Oh no. Why is he tnting the castle and arsoning?

Why is Fundy causing problems on purpose?

Fundy honey please don’t break the holy land.

Oh it’s supposedly a fake server.

I need to read chat more to learn what is happening.

I guess I trust chat with fake smp?

OH WAIT! It’s April first!

I expected Fundy to prank us but I’m honestly too stupid for my own good sometimes.

Alright install hacks. Let’s go.

Chat has been burned before today.

Just casually looking at the reach mods.

The reason I don’t trust this is be a fake server is because he was on the real server earlier.

Fundy honestly might just be trying problems on purpose and it wouldn’t surprise me.

Sneaking under the half door! Oh wait never mind.

Oh no. Not memory dream stuff. Please your chat will cry.

Arson the Tommy house.

Arson the trees.

Oh an awesome old house.

Ah yes more tnt.

Fox boy has had quite the explosion obsession lately.

Upwards MLG. So talented.

I still don’t trust this not to be real. Because Fundy very well might explode things.

My dog is laying on my foot.

Lots of explosions.

Making more tnt nice.

Fundy gets banned arc! Let’s goooo.

Ok I want to see Fundy make this shot.

Explosion hour!

You can do it!

Chat is so divided between encouraging chaos and desperately hoping this is an April fools prank.

It’s still April first over there isn’t it?

1000% cannon

I love how Fundy understands that people do what they are told not to. So he tells them not to prime.

So close.

Come on! Explosion!

FOR THE PRIMES!

Yesssss!!!

MLG Fire. All the talent of this man.

I was so excited for Pokémon cards. But no face cam.

Wait don’t do Pokémon cards. We can’t see. 😢

Ah yes, Pokémon card asmr...

I wish I could see the cards. I love Pokémon cards.

I don’t know what some of these Pokémon he is vaguely describing are.

Oh wait! What was the last one???

Oooo what is it? What is it?

Rainbow glitter doesn’t limit it.

I could not understand that name. I can’t tell if it’s good.

Also Fundy. Time to look at this card.

Quit retaking the picture and just post it.

I swear he is enjoying toying with us.

We’re being shot while he’s trying to take a picture.

Ok time to check the bird site.

I have replied to the tweet with the requested phrase.

I don’t believe it’s worth a lot but it’s pretty.

Finally we’re done being stabbed by the skeleton.

Skeleton coming into close shot range.

Please don’t drown sir.

He’s comin’

Anyway back to causing problems.

Or you know back on memory lane...

Oh wait nevermind. Problems on purpose.

Really cool idea?

Another lovely ranged shot.

Aww. Didn’t quite make it.

Again didn’t quite make it.

Lazy way now.

“Eek” -Fundy

That’s one way to get revenge.

Chat keeping on calling for the death of Michael.

Casually sneaking into creative cause he’s out of tnt.

Tnt balloon launcher!

Oh Fundy planning on causing trouble at the other prison.

Tnt launcher let’s go.

Oh a being donated 100 lovely.

They deserve to have a tnt launcher named after them.

The chests being full has me suspicious but I still doubt the boy is truly causing problems on purpose.

Tnt launcher did not work.

L the streamer.

Oh Niki is going live on the smp. I suppose that’s one way we can find out if it’s the true smp.

Off they went. But it’s not accurate.

We’re just working with Fundy to cause trouble.

Nope. He just can’t do it.

Wow he’s flying like magic! (And covering that with tnt)

Making homemaker a bigger target isn’t going to work.

He’s gathering so many arrows.

Not a single one hit. Awesome looking but a lovely failure.

I tried to check on Nikis stream but the only thing that happened is I had to watch an ad to get back to Fundy.

Also Niki was hosting Minx. I missed her.

Awesome explosion Fundy.

Ah. Auto build.

Oh we auto built a bunch of signs. And none of them have the message.

Fungi grave. With diamonds. Lovely.

I am enjoying this even if I know better.

Ah. A lovely pile of tnt.

Poof!

Someone should have let Fundy have tnt sooner.

Casual flight.

I always love the music on Fundy’s streams. Just That lovely nostalgia.

Just piles of tnt by the hotel.

Chat is so panicked.

I don’t think most of them know it’s April first.

Oooo are we gambling?

Nope not gambling. But it did work gorgeously.

I’m not a griefing kind of person, but this does my heart good.

Enjoying problems.

“Oh what’s this place” adds tnt “gone” -Fundy

Come on chat people. Just encourage him. Quit saying check the date and that it’s a fake server. Just role with it.

Oh that was a very pretty explosion.

Exploded early but it worked (stupid egg bits)

A gorgeous sideways explosion.

We still aren’t destroying... oh wait. We are exploding. No sign.

No escape. But he survived. And the prime bell is still safe.

Castle explosion time.

I’m kinda sad about the castle I’ll admit. But I’ll still up for a good explosion.

Made the lil house and now he explodes things.

Chat blowing up the rainbow castle isn’t homophobic. Hush.

Oooo shaders. That’ll look pretty.

Cant wait to see the pretty screenshots the artists use.

Probably a back up. We’ll see.

Oh I’m also a bit sad about the museum. But you know. If we gotta explode things we gotta explode things.

I can’t wait to see the shaders with this.

Struggling to explosions.

Oh pretty. And the hotdog survives!!!

Cinematic. Beautiful.

Donos playing along saying he’ll be banned. Or donos just confused.

This boy truly pretending he hacked his way into creative on the smp.

Ok that was a pretty cinematic shot.

Holo mellons

Sniff raid! Lovely!

Also the person telling them to check out foolish’s stream. Hush. Let us worry people.

Oh did Fundy build the funky cube thing? I doubt but still.

Prison time.

Oh got to get the skeppy and bad house

And whatever that pit building is.

Everyone still talking about how it ain’t real. Quit it y’all. Come on. Join the joke.

Our dearest mods trying to keep everyone from spoiling it.

The prison is a really pretty build. And it does look explodable.

Explode the prison. Yes and 5up is hot is what are winning.

The no’s can’t catch up. It’s fire time.

You can tell the prank has failed, but it’s still good for the heart to see it explode. It is still a game after all as emotionally attached as we have gotten to it.

A small thing. A small explosive thing.

Everyone changing lag already.

Everyone already ready to fight Fundy if he were to blow up Michael.

Button time.

Oh we even have the cool undertake music.

And the cannon didn’t reach.

Auto build plus lots of tnt.

This is the grand finale of the prank I believe.

I might to go foolish after this. Get some chaotic building man.

Prime bell!!!

Poof and pop.

Oh that was pretty.

Wait... inner wall...

Well. Lore people take your notes on prison construction.

This knowledge will help you on your quest later.

Prison couldn’t even be broken by a fox with a tnt canon.

Phil Raid! Hooray!

Please be a real raid. I want the extra half hour of chaos.

Even though the fox should be yelled at to go to sleep.

Oh. Was it a real Phil raid? I half expected it not to be.

The chat is both confused and chilling.

You get that hype train rich people.

Walking around trying to pretend we haven’t been blowing everything up.

Casually walking around showing off his destruction.

It’s not even April first over theee anymore is it?

Ah. Yeah it is April fools joke.

Ah. Is Fundy actually coming clean about his stuff.

Ah no. He’s continuing to pretend nothing is happening.

Lots of tnt.

Gorgeous. Magnificent. Fantastic.

I love tnt particles for whatever reason. They always look so good.

That actually did a lot.

Yes join the fox discord! Yes follow the fox Twitter! I’ve already done both. I don’t really check either but still.

Showing off his explosions.

Oh we’re doing a reenactment.

Let’s gooo.

L’manhole v. 3 (4?)

Lots of tnt. Always good.

Oh. Oh no. It’s lagging bad.

The tnt. Isn’t going.

Ah now the true lag.

“Cool guys don’t have the frames to look at explosions” -Fundy

That was a good explosion. How deep did it go? No very probably.

TNT parkour! We love it!

That didn’t work but that was a nice explosion. Plenty of bedrock.

Good job with the hype train rich people.

We enjoy our streamer causing problems.

And the sign has changed again. You know the one. “You heart...”

Trying to fill the orb thing with tnt.

That was a very contained explosion.

Good explosion time.

Ok. We’re talking concrete replacement.

Blood vines exploding this early again.

Casually exploding the tiny Eret.

Everyone convincing him not to blow up the tiny Eret.

I love how those who watch one watch the other.

L’manburg yeah explode it. Eret? No.

Oh wait don’t look at the spoilers.

Secret Base Here.

Ahh. Blowing up his tower as well.

Nevermind. We like the tower.

Reasons. Mhm. Didn’t plan on that when he set this up. (In relation to snowchester)

Boy’s tnt penmanship is like that of a toddler.

Great explosions.

Oh we’re poofing the Targay next.

I love the two types of people. People like me, playing along, and the people who are panicking and praying it’s a copy.

Love the mods telling everyone it’s real.

Aww he died.

It’s ok. We respawned.

Defiantly cannon.

We don’t want it to be? That’s worrying for future lore.

But we’re not talking future lore. We’re doing therapy explosions.

Oh an ad. I didn’t get it. I won’t complain.

All the levels gone so sad. Not like they can spontaneously appear.

No. We aren’t going to snowchester. Too far away.

Where is the next level?

Random fire arrows???

Yes we are question marking.

Coder boy? Minecraft commands?

Run command?

Execute command?

He’s typing. I understand none of it.

Oh it’s peaceful.

There it goes.

Withers our favorite thing

Withers and chickens.

Oh. We stuck. We lagging bad.

Let me join the L group really fast.

The game crashed and now he’s trying again.

Wait all the damage reset?

Oh wait no we’re on the real smp now aren’t we!

Maybe not... we’ll see.

It never saved?

And here is the April Fools reveal.

Oh hooray sub goal and piano tunes!

Oh American roadtrip by Fundy!

That’ll be fun! It’ll be fun to see the vlogs and the like!

Raise that sub goal! Get that fun adventure!

It’ll be a month but it’ll be fun!

Ah he is telling them it was a real April fools steam.

But this is a cool idea! I hope the boy gets to come here on an adventure.

Why do many New York and New Jersey people? Also hooray 5up!

I hit the text block limit. Good song time! Banger tune time! Oh that’s neat! FundyJam! Another? I could make a part 2 to this instead of cramming, but that’s too much work. GOOD SONG GOOD STREAM! I love Fundy streams so much. Very therapeutic explosions. And the raid went through. 15TH FOR MAIN CHANNEL VIDEO!!!!

#fundy #april first #dream smp #kinda ish #it’s close enough #delayed liveblogging #spoilers #Fundy spoilers

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annab-nana · 4 years

Text

Flowers Of Forgiveness - Colby Brock

You and Colby had known each other for five years, dated for two, and you’d think he would remember your birthday, right? Wrong and with birthdays being such a big deal to you, it hurt like hell. He messed up big time and it might be the last straw before your relationship crumbles unless he can manage to save it.

Requested by an amazing anon 💙

Warnings: some curse words; mentions of alcoholic parents

Word Count: 2.1k+

--------------------------------------------------

You look around the table to see who all is there. Tara is to your right, then it's Jake, Kevin, Reggie, Cassie, Devyn, Xepher, Griffin, Sam, Katrina, Corey, Mike, Aryia, and then there was an empty seat to the left of you. Colby's seat. You don't know why he isn't here yet. He couldn't have forgotten, could he? No, because last week he told you he cleared up his schedule for your birthday. So, where the hell was he?

"Excuse me for a second, guys. I am going to call Colby really quick to see where he is," You say as you stand up and walk out the front door of the restaurant.

"Hey babe!" you hear his chipper greeting flow out of the phone.

"Hey Colbs! Where are you?" you question. He must have got in some bad traffic and is just being held up a bit.

"I'm at my apartment, catching up on some Unus Annus videos." Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. He forgot your birthday. You had originally thought he was just being annoying or was trying to hide a surprise or something when he didn’t text you about it and avoided saying 'happy birthday' all day long. But he wasn't. He had forgotten it completely.

"Oh." The only response that came to mind spills out of your mouth.

"Yeah, what are you up to, babe?" He asks so nonchalantly.

"Um, I'm just out with the girls and wanted to check up on you. But I will let you get back to your videos," you say as tears brim your eyes. Your boyfriend of two years forgot your birthday.

"Okay, I'll talk to you later." You blink the tears that threaten to spill over away.

"Yeah, I might swing by your place before I go home. Talk to you later. Bye." Ending the call, you take a deep breath to calm yourself before heading back in.

"Okay, so Colby is just running late. He got caught up with some work stuff, but he'll be here soon," you lie as you sit down. You don't want to make the dinner awkward by saying that Colby forgot. You just want to enjoy the last bit of your birthday with the people who actually care enough about you to remember your birthday. You all order your food and talk and have a good time.

"I have to go to the bathroom. Y/n, wanna come with?" Tara asks. You nod before standing with her and following her to the restroom.

"Colby isn't coming, is he?" She asks as soon as the door shuts.

"No," you tell her the truth as the tears come back. "We've been together for two years. Friends for three before that and he just forgets. He has never forgotten before and he knows how much it hurts me when someone close and important to me does. My parents didn’t care enough to celebrate my birthday when I was younger which is fine, but Colby told me he would never do that to me. But here we are. He forgot."

"Oh y/n," Tara whispers as she pulls you into her tiny frame. "I am sure there is some reason for this, and you know better than I do that he is an idiot most of the time."

"Yeah," you laugh before going to the mirror to make sure that the few tears that did manage to escape did not mess up anything.

"I lied so that I wouldn't make anything awkward," you inform her as the two of you head back to the table and she nods understandingly. When y’all get back, the food had arrived, so you all eat. You thank everyone for coming as you leave the restaurant.

"Happy birthday y/n. I hate that Colby couldn't make it," Aryia tells you as he pulls you in for a goodbye hug.

"Yeah, traffic got the better of him, but we'll be doing something tomorrow," you lie again as you pull away from the embrace. After receiving many hugs and happy birthdays, you get in your car to go to Colby's.

Knocking his door, the anger and sadness in you boil. He swings the door open and lays his eyes on you, noticing how angry and upset you are.

"What happened babe?" He says as he opens the door wider to let you in. You walk in and turn to face him.

"What do you think happened?" you question him. His face drains of color as he thinks back on everything he has done to figure out what has set you off.

"Sweetie, I really don't know. Just tell me what I did," he pleads, completely oblivious to what was wrong.

"Did you forget something?" Again, he goes through everything he can think of and is stumped.

"I don't think so. I-"

"You aren't forgetting anything special. Like a holiday or someone's birthday..." you trail off, trying to get it through his thick skull.

"No, your birthday is tomorrow, and Kevin's is next week-"

"Oh sorry. I didn't realize my birthday was tomorrow. I thought it was on June 17th like it always has been for the past twenty or so years, but I must be mistaken," you sarcastically spit out. At this point, you were fuming.

"No, your birthday is on Thursday which is tomorrow," he retorts as you roll your eyes.

"Where is your phone? Have you been on that thing at all today? Normally your eyes are glued to it," you ask him. You can tell he is getting angrier with you, but at this point, you don't seem to care.

"No, I was taking a day away from my phone. I only answered important calls or texts but that was it," he informs you as he walks to where his phone was in his room.

"Tell me what today's date is, Colby."

"It's June 16th, I know it is because..." His voice fades out. He comes out of his room with his eyes on his phone. "It's the 17th," he states bluntly before looking up to meet your sad and angry eyes.

"Y/n, I'm so sorry. I-"

"No Colby. You know how much birthdays mean to me. You know that. Do you know how embarrassing it was tonight when I was at dinner with all of our friends and the person who means the absolute most to me doesn't show? I hated being there and I couldn't even enjoy it because you weren't there."

"Did you tell them I forgot?" He asks me as he sits down on the couch, all ashamed.

"No, I didn't. Instead, I lied to all of them, but it was not to protect you and your feelings. It was for them so that they didn't have to feel awkward or feel bad for the girl that they were supposed to be celebrating. I told them you were caught up with work stuff and then got caught in traffic and couldn't make it. But Tara still figured it out. She was right. You are a damn idiot."

"No, I'm not!" He fights back as he rises to his feet in anger.

"Yes, you are," you laugh at him. "My parents even told me happy birthday this year Colby. They haven't done that since I was five. I guess they weren't drunk off their asses enough to forget it this morning." You take a breath before continuing.

"You must've not checked the group chat. They were all going off about my birthday and the dinner tonight. And you weren't on Twitter or Instagram either because then you would have seen your fans wishing me a happy birthday as well. People who don't even fucking know me knew my birthday was today."

"Y/n, I'm sorry. I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you can do. You can't replace the feeling I have of not feeling good enough. You of all people know that when my parents forgot my sixth birthday, I was crushed. Then they forgot year after year after year. Then I met you and all of your amazing friends and you guys have made me feel so special and loved, especially on my birthday. You know that on anyone else's birthday, I make sure that they feel so loved and cared about because I know what it feels like to not be."

"I'm sorry, babe. I didn't mean to forget. It just happened."

"Wow Colby, that makes me feel so much better. You know what? I am sorry. I probably sound like such a diva for getting upset about this, so I'm gonna go-"

"No y/n, please don't go."

"I'm going to leave and go back home. Probably cry myself to sleep? I don't know. We'll see." You place your hand on the doorknob.

"I've noticed how you never miss a beat when it comes to work stuff. But this isn't the first time you've forgotten something with me. It's just the first time it was something important. Get your priorities straight Colby if you want to keep me around." And with that, you leave his apartment, get in your car, and head home.

After walking in, you do exactly what you didn't want and start crying. You slip out of the clothes you were wearing and wipe off all your makeup. Throwing your hair into a messy bun, you walk to your phone to see the many messages and missed calls from Colby which you choose to ignore. The constant buzzing gets on your nerves so much that you turn the damn thing completely off before falling asleep.

…

"Oh, I'm so sorry, y/n," Devyn says as she walks into the living room with a bowl of popcorn. She had texted you last night when you had your phone turned off because of Colby and was asking if you were okay. She knew you were lying about the work and traffic stuff too. You called her this morning and asked her to come over because you were in need of some girl time, especially with your Dev, and she happily obliged. You told her all about it, providing the details of your past and all, and then you two decided a movie would make you feel better, specifically your favorite Moana.

"Yeah it sucks, but I'm going to give him a few days. I'll still like text him and stuff. I just don't want to see him for a bit," you tell her as the movie begins. The two of you sit back and enjoy the movie and popcorn until a knock at the door interrupts you.

"I'll get it," you huff as you make your way to the door before looking through the peephole to see the last person you wanted to at the moment.

"Colby," you mouth to Devyn. She nods, pausing the movie and skipping into your room. You open the door just enough for him to see you but that's it.

"Hey," you speak softly. You know you probably look like shit, but you honestly do not care. He should see how he made you feel.

"Hey, umm, y/n, I am really sorry and I-" you couldn't help but notice him steadily trying to peek behind you. Does he actually think you have some guy over or something? Is he really that jealous and think that low of you?

"Forgetful and jealous? Man, you really have changed Colby."

"No, I'm... never mind. I am here to apologize. I was a shitty boyfriend yesterday. I still am one today and I'll probably never be the best boyfriend in the world, but I will continue to try to be the best I can be for you. I know this isn't much at all, but it is something. It shows I pay attention to some details," he says as he pulls a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back.

After getting a better look at them, you notice that they are daffodils, your grandmother's favorite flower which became your favorite flower. You might have mentioned that once, maybe twice, but it was a long time ago. The fact that he remembered it warmed your heart. You smiled at him before taking the flowers from his grasp.

"You aren't completely off the hook, but I forgive you. Come here," you say as you pull the blue-eyed boy into your arms, wrapping them around his neck. His arms snake around your waist and lift you off the ground slightly.

"So, I haven't lost you yet?" He questions in your ear and you giggle into his before he sets you down. You bring the hand that wasn’t holding flowers to cup his face.

"Nope, but I suggest you don't forget my birthday again," you whisper as you place a small kiss on his nose.

"I won't. I promise. Your birthday will forever be engrained in here," he tells you as he taps on the side of his head.

"Oh yeah, what day is it?"

"June 23rd?" He jokes and you roll your eyes.

"That's Kevin's birthday sweetheart."

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monochromemedic · 4 years

Text

Funhouse Murder Party Part 1

Dom stood outside the mansion, staring at his watch before sighing shakily, shifting his weight from heel to heel. His nerves were on end, but maybe that was because this was something new. He’d never been to a .... a what the hell was this even. He pulled his phone out and checked the website page again. ‘Murder Mystery Dinner Experience.’ Fallon was really up in arms about it, saying how excited he was about doing one of these, but wanted friends to come with him. Said it was a real life Clue experience where you ran around trying to solve the fake murder that happened and ate some food. It wasn’t his usual cup of tea, he’d never thought about doing one of these but well, Fallon said he’d cover the expenses which meant Silas’ which meant he’d be coming as well. The entire gang of idiots in a weird... role play murder mystery. What could possibly go wrong. Horrible accents, terrible costumes, bad affects, someone getting drunk and throwing up int he corner, really the possibilities were endless. As Dom was lost in his own thoughts, starting to check his twitter timeline he felt a hand clamp down on the shoulder of his ironed plum colored suit. Dom raised his head slightly, looking up at Silas’s bright face hovering over him. At least he was dressed decently. It wasn’t a suit but a nice black turtleneck and slacks. Simple but effective. Even if it did look like he’d bust out of the fabric at a sudden gesture. “You excited buddy? I always wanted to be in a real life board game.” He laughed, his deep voice ringing out in the cold air. “...Like in general? Or just Clue because if you tell me you wanted to some how be in a real life version of Connect Four I will lose it.” This only made Silas laugh more, crossing his arms as he too faced the mansion. “No of course not. I can’t be a a little disc. I meant stuff like this, Clue... or Cluedo. Whatever. Not many games back then were... so dark. And who hasn’t wanted to be an old time-y detective solving the mystery of who stabbed who? It’s fun.” Dom gave a short noise of acknowledgement as he put his phone away, waving his hand a bit to let him know to quiet down. “Where’s the man of the hour?” “The... host? I mean... You are standing outside alone I-” “No Fallon.” He corrected. “Did he not come with you? Does he even have a car?” Silas thought for a moment before shaking his head and beginning to walk casually towards the large door, a hand written sign for the event plastered on the front. “I can’t tell you. Never saw him in a car or with... keys. But I do know he always manages to get to wherever he needs to go so I don’t think we need to worry much. Let’s get inside you’re gonna freeze.” Dom gave a final look around before following behind, saying something about how Silas wasn’t his father and that he was older then the man. When the doors opened the cream colored walls and warmly lit inside welcomed the two men further inside, where they were met with old music, the sound of soft yet excited conversations, and the sights of people dressed just as dramatically as the two of them. Dom thanked god for that that he wasn’t the only one that seemed fit for a classy party. “Dominooooo, Stylus how’s it going? You look uh... well Dom you just look the same as always. Sy your KILLING IT. No pun intended. Waiting to break those out later tonight.” A familiar, cracking voice rang out among the small crowd. He wasn’t hard to miss the way he was dressed. A pair of rose tinted sunglasses, hair done up in a still messy but more... functional style, and a pink floral suit that would be more fitting on a man that was at the Oscars and not a man with no job. Silas smiled wide, unintentionally crouching a bit as he took in his friends outfit. “Dude you look KILLER. Where did you find this? You look like a movie star.” He gawked, hands grabbing at the sides of Fallon’s jacket to show the satin inside. “Oh you’d be surprised what you can find lying around town. I actually had this for a while but never had a chance to use it. Might as well show up with style instead of a hoodie but it’s a bit tight around the crotch.” His hand went down to adjust his package, earning a grunt of displeasure from Dominic. “Fallon, how long have you exactly been here.” “Oh like two hours, way before people showed up. I walked and thought ‘oh i’ll get there a little bit early but haha, made it a record pace here. So I spent alot of time in the bathroom wiping the pit stains out.” “You are.. disgusting.” “Yeah love you too; you Triscuit flavored personality of a man. Why don’t you loosen your belt so the stick in your ass can have some breathing room and get a drink, come on they’re on the house.” Fallon teased as he nudged his head towards the counter where a bartender gave a drink to a woman in a beautiful but simple red gown. Silas patted Fallon’s shoulder and headed over there without another word, raising a finger and ordering a coke and rum while the two men stood, glaring each other down. “Yeah and before you say a word, I had a few drinks, I wanna actually remember this night. Spent the money might as well-” “Sy’s money.” “HE.... wanted to do this so yes. Sy’s money, and I intend to use SY’S money wisely and not forget this night. And don’t worry i’ve already been casing the place. Met the guy in charge of the place our host for the night, he’s defiantly gonna die I mean, guy walks around in a suit looking like Jake Gyllenhaal, perfect bait. No one that handsome lasts for long unless they’re a psycho or gonna be a corpse by the second act. Been chatting up the others, seeing that no one else but me, the bartender and Brokeback, there’s gotta be a secret actor or two in this group of guests. My money? Black dress temptress over there.” Fallon pointed to a woman chatting up another person, her hair put up in a short but beautiful bun, the black dress complementing her dark completion and black lipstick. “Look she even has heavy black mascara. She starts CRYING when the guy dies, ‘oh i can’t do this, it’s so tragic’, we stare feeling SORRY. Later we learn it’s a black widow kinda situation. It’ll be great.” Dom only caught half of what he was saying in all honesty, taking in the sight of the mansion, the nice furniture, what other people looked like. Fallon was probably right but he only barely understood the other half that he caught so he just gave a little nod, going to grab a drink at the bar. Just as Dom grabbed a glass of whiskey, a man stepped out in the middle of everyone, tapping the side of his champagne class with a pen that he put back in his pocket as the music began to lower. He really did look like a Jake Gyllenhaal type. “Well from my counting, all of the guest have arrived for the evening. Welcome, to my dinner party my fellow associates. In case you’ve forgotten and by the look of some of your dazed faces, drunken stupor, I am your host for the evening, Damien White. Millionaire, world class lover...” He turned to look at the woman in the red dress at the bar and gave her a wink, to which the woman began to grow pink and look back down at her drink. “And recent constructor of the orphanage down town. And because of that great feat of my kindness upon the community, I have decided to hold a banquet with some of the good townfolk to show... I too am humble beneath the glamour and glitz, I too am one of you. Dinner has been prepared, and if you will all indulge me in coming to the dinning room we can begin this nights events.” Damien turned around and began to walk farther back into the mansions depths, followed by the guests and the bartender who began to softly speak to each other. Fallon looked to Silas and Dom, grabbing their attention before dragging a thumb across his throat and giving a little gagging sound. Silas nodded, looking at Damien and how he would occasionally wave a hand towards a piece of art, generally giving off a ‘i’m better then you’ attitude, despite his kind words. Yeah no he was going to die.

#fallon's tag #dom's tag #silas' tag #will i actually write a story? maybe #I got the time

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mundane-pleasures-are-best · 5 years

Text

Just Another Day

Happy 8/1, Master!Isa AU world. Concept by @saixbosom on Twitter, continued from IsaXig fic by @thoughquaking . NSFW. Murderclown Norted!Axel warning.

Ships:AkuXem, heavily implied XigXem and Akusai.

Summary: Axel finds that if he can't keep his old friend out of his head after their recent encounter, then filling the time with nothing is the next best thing. Even if nothing is a pit of ego and zealous perfection.

The flame nobody knocked once before swinging open the door to Xemnas's office, not feigning the fear the others had for him when he entered and making his way to the large desk at the center of the room. The heart-shaped moon hung over, its rays spilling through the window and illuminating Xemnas poised at his desk. He was writing a list of possible missions for Xigbar to consider upon, even if the Freeshooter simply agreed without much fuss. Axel slapped his report down on the desk, skipping Xigbar in the chain of command due to a lack of respect for the aging nobody. The Superior's eyes didn't leave the paper he was working on until he was done, then he lifted the charred report and glanced at it, never once looking at Axel.

"Disappointing."

Newly-turned yellow eyes narrowed, a hiss threatening to escape his mouth and flames tickling at his fingers. He calmed himself considering the nobody might mean the results themselves, not his own abilities-

"Are you trying?"

Axel met the darker orange eyes of Xemnas and glared, the smell of sulfur briefly wafted off of him, a smell most members feared due to his impulsive nature and clicking fingers. He spit out, "No, I was having a party."

Xemnas hummed, crushing the report in one hand and tossing it into the trash. "Number VIII I am starting to believe you are incapable of producing results, has your mind been distracted lately? Do you not know of our true goal?"

The redhead bit his lip, so Xemnas was aware of Isa's pursuit of him and his missions sliding down on the scale of his priorities. If Isa was on the world he was sent to, he finished the mission quickly, even sloppily, and then left. It wasn't effective for the Organization but it kept him from wasting time talking to something used and broken, “I’m aware, you want a big fluffy glowing heart in the sky yeah?” He waved his hand in a goofy gesture, arms drawn out towards the window in a mockery of Xemnas on the roof.

“Cute.” The deep voice was curt, not feeding into the anger Axel was trying to provoke. He was like an overgrown child, not able to play with his favorite toy and lashing out at everyone around him instead, pathetic, emotions only bred weakness, and Axel was swimming in them.

Axel’s eyes narrowed, his nose crinkling, “Is that a compliment?”

Xemnas went back to the paperwork on his desk, ignoring Axel’s presence completely as he hummed to himself, trying to resist a smirk as he heard the snap, and the paper started to curl and char under the sudden flames, turning into ash within seconds, “You’re still here?”

“You’re right,” Axel swiped his hand and knocked objects off of his desk.

“Oh, I often am.”

“I was distracted, I am cute, and I am bored.” He reached a hand across the desk, his lanky arm gripping a silver bang and yanking the other’s head forward and up to meet his burning eyes, “and I can see you are bored too.”

The tan nobody did not shift, not faltering in his expression of blank interest, nothing made a person who craved attention like Axel more angry than ignoring them completely. It was a little fact he had learned from Xigbar’s daily observations. It was also the reason why Axel hated Vexen with every fiber of his being. The scientist simply thought the flame nobody was below him in rank and intelligence, to be fair, Vexen wasn’t wrong to Xemnas’s knowledge. Axel was easily provoked, manipulated, encouraged, and led. He was a fox in the hen-house, overwhelmed with choices and his mind only leading him to utter destruction.

He hadn’t named him Flurry of the Dancing Flames for no reason after all, Axel was a flurry of wanton destruction that would leave everything in his path ash, even his friends.

“Am I now? How do I seem bored, Number VIII?” Xemnas slowly rose out of his chair, making Axel have to strain against the other’s height and bulk to maintain his grip on the dangling silver bangs. Axel let go.

With a quick lunge the assassin was over the desk and tackling Xemnas to the chair, he didn’t have enough weight to stun the larger male, but he did have enough surprise on his side to make Xemnas land on his ass on the chair and blink, “My, what a grave you are digging.” He chuckled despite himself, watching Axel’s eyebrows knit in confusion, Xemnas rarely laughed, and this one sounded chilling.

“You know what? I think I’m going to dig it a little deeper.” Axel placed his hand on the leather chair, burning away a strip of leather then cooling it, when Xemnas opened his mouth to ask what he was doing now he shoved it in there and tied it behind his head. He made short work of burning the chair to bind his arms as he felt Xemnas kicking his legs to avoid the metal curling around the rest of his appendages. The ginger grinned like a cat, pleased at his work as he leveled his eyes with Xemnas, waiting for the nobody to make a move to counter him. But he didn’t, Xemnas just stared back at him, waiting. Then he raised both brows at Axel with a clear look of ‘And that’s all you got?’

Challenged by the look the redhead tugged at the other bang, “I have to ask, but Superior are you a virgin? I mean, I think you might not want me to pop that cherry first.” He waited in anticipation for the fear, but the other appeared even more bored. What the actual fuck was wrong with this man?

The Superior maintained a blank look, calming his body as he tried to feign disinterest, it took a person very familiar with him to see past the charade. He cocked his head in a mocking gesture at the other, watching flames flick from his loose hand as he began to melt away the zipper of his Organization coat, what a waste. Xemnas wondered how long it would take to find another replacement, they didn’t grow on trees.

A sharp tug on the fabric and the chains fell loose, again Xemnas was aggravated as he watched the metal beads scatter. This better be worth it, or he would destroy the other himself, even if he made a good vessel.

Axel took a moment to admire the toned abs and chiseled chest as he burned away sections of fabric and ripped the rest, scorching the other’s skin in places and making Xemnas bite on the leather between his teeth, “Well well, so you do go outside your office and do physical work, and here I thought you sit on your ass all day. Surprise Surpriiise.” He purred the last word, repeating it in a taunting way that made Xemnas raise a brow. Honestly what did these idiots think he did all day? Yes he was in the castle, or a split shadow of him was to keep them on their toes, he had other duties to a higher power than himself.

The flame nobody ran a warm hand up the other man’s chest, watching the rise and fall quicken as Xemnas panted, his fingers poised over the dusky nipple; with a hard and very warm poke he began to twist one, rolling a thumb over it until it hardened, then leaned over him completely to nip at the other. A muffled noise gave him what he wanted, unbeknownst to him it was also exactly what Xemnas wanted. In a very simple game of reverse psychology he found that acting displeased with any action Axel did would make him do it more, giving Xemnas the pleasure he wanted. He wondered if Axel was always a terrible lover, or if he was simply too hard to read for normal people. Something to ponder later....

Axel bit down and amber eyes rolled in pleasure, a happy noise escaping him as he took a foot, his toes curling, and used it to kick at him, trying to remove the thin male from his immediate proximity. The ginger put an end to that immediately by gripping him firmly between the legs, his hand tightening in a display of power and control. It took all of Xemnas’s willpower not to moan in delight. It was so pleasant when someone knew he liked rough play and he didn’t need to state it, well, Axel was using it a threat, but it was the same difference.

The younger male was smirking more, as he loosened and dropped the other’s pants, sliding down the boxers and gripping his length firmly in one hand. Axel chuckled, “So you’re superior in one aspect, it doesn’t really matter.” He slid his hand down to the shaft and back up, toying with the foreskin as he began to pump the organ as it rose due to stimulation. “I never thought you’d be uncut though, seems you can be surprising.” Xemnas closed his eyes, feeling the other’s hand mercilessly squeeze at his testicles to gain his attention back to him, “Ah ah ah, pay attention Number I, are you too distracted to perform your duties?” He smiled, mockingly repeating Xemnas’s own words back at him. His eyes were back on Axel as he watched him drop down his pants and boxers, not bothering with his shirt. Rude and disrespectful.

Axel followed the disapproving gaze and chuckled, “You think you’re worth me getting completely naked for?” He lifted a leg to show the pants and boxers around his ankles and boots still on, “Please, you know we’re not going further with this. Why the act?” He reached for the gag and pulled it down, “Do you want me to kiss you too? Declare my nothing-love for your nothing-ass?” He looked up at Kingdom Hearts and grinned, “I do hope she enjoys the show.”

Xemnas was less bothered by the display than Axel would know, he didn’t think love would be involved in a fuck, simply some level of logic. Eventually positions would change, and someone would move, and Axel would trip over his own damn clothes during the fucking. That would be humorous, and maybe that story would top some of Luxord’s drunken tales.

The flame nobody started to melt the chair anew, letting the base sink to the floor as he melted the frame, moving Xemnas’ hands and legs apart in a conventional position of submission, one Xemnas disliked for the lack of class involved in such a move. The material quickly cooled and held him in place, as Xemnas sighed, “Are you going to do something or taunt me? Spare me your trivial threats and insults. I highly doubt you have the ability to maintain my stamina, given your pathetic shape and weight.” He smirked to himself, glad Axel couldn’t see it as he heard anger drive the rational side of the other’s brain out as the primal side took over, nails raked along his hips and sides, Xemnas bit down on his lip. There were bites on his back, the lips leaving a singe along his flesh, his panting now uncontrollable. He felt the other’s cock against his ass, warm but not as hot as his lips and fingertips, sweat starting to layer his skin as his body shuddered in anticipation.

Axel’s voice was at his ear, purring now, “ H̱̣̭̗͑̇̂̾m̰̃m̟̫͠͠m͔͂,̬̋̃͢,̮̝͋͘,̠̇ .” The tone had changed, it cracked in the middle of a sentence or word and sounded jagged, unnatural. Xemnas was fond of it now, Axel rarely hit his breaking point. He bit the pointed tan ear, tugging as he started to grind his length between the other’s cheeks, moaning as he did, his nails in the other’s hips, “͚͇̀͒Ÿ̩̣́̈ö̜̲̗̺̊̒͘u̬͈͊̕ ̮̑w̼͚͗̅oư̳̲̖͆̀͐͟l̥̹͍͒̍̿ď̛̹̜͎͊̍͜n͎̗̰͆͌͠’͎̠̰͊͛͞t̳̔ ̠̓h̦̓a̠̩̩̅̅̑p͕̞̼̝̏̏̄͘ṗ̤e̺̜͓͒͊͋n̥̓ t̢̧͓̮̠͗́̚͠͡o̳̯͌̂ ̧̧͖͈̖̏̈́̈́̃̚h̫̤̳͖̓̒̅̕ä̱̱́̑v̼̗̓̉è͎͓͂ ̛̦͕̋̂͟l̰̭͎̒͒͠û̢̮̟͈͔̆́̿̕b̩̜̑͛e ̤̓ŵ̺o͕̻̿͛u̧̅ld̗͓̀̓̈́͟͝ͅ ̠͙̔͘yo̞̮͖͈̍̅͛͘̕͢ṵ̧̑̀?̳͉̂͠”̜͍͖̗͂̔̄͐

The lanky male reached into the back of his own pants in a bunch against the floor and pulled out the liquid, “Guess we’ll just have to use m̸̙͔͎̞̝̤̀̾̍́͐͆̋̍i̴̧̧̗͉͙̯̣̫͔͗̃̃͛̈́͝ņ̷͈̱̰̗͚̫̝̟̽̅̍͆ḛ̴̖̫̯͍̿̈͛͠.”

The Superior jumped a little at the cold liquid being applied with a warm finger, the sensation causing him to shiver as his hairs rose and a shiver ran up his spine, “How convenient. Almost as though you planned this.”

The finger pushed inside and coated his insides, he tried not to squirm as he heard Axel chuckling in delight.

There was a sudden uncomfortable sensation, as Axel pushed in without warning and Xemnas had to control his instinct to tense immediately, which would only result in pain for him and pleasure for the other. He relaxed his body, shifting what little he could with his hips and arching his back into the other nobody, hearing the pleased groan in response. When Axel began to pump faster he kept rocking his hips in opposite rhythm, feeling the annoyance building up from his subordinate as Axel grabbed his hair and pulled, using one arm to hold him down and his body weight to lean into him as he thrust harder and deeper, Xemnas trying to control himself from moaning with glee. Another yank on his hair and his eyes rolled, his fingers gripping the ground and jerking his hips back aggressively to receive the thrust.

The redhead seemed to not expect that, pushing the older male’s face into the ground as he fucked him harder, steam rising from his back as burn marks appeared on Xemnas’s sides, another hard bite at his throat and he felt it, the intense burning of another sort as his climax blurred his vision and attention. Xemnas gave up the charade, placing his hands down flat and rocking back as hard as he could, challenging the other male as Axel decided to fully dick him down as flat as possible, ignoring his Superior’s throbbing erection and leaving it it unwanted in the stagnant air, his thrusts becoming maddening as he too felt the tightening in his gut and the impending end. One more hard thrust and Xemnas cried out, no names just a guttural moan, and Axel slammed against him, burying himself balls deep as he came, shivering in delight as he imagined another burned form below him, breaking the pale form and pulverizing his insides with fertile seed.

Axel panted, Xemnas had made a mess on the ground and he was going soft, pulling out and looking at the sweaty form with a mild look of disgust mixed with pride.

It was a fuck, nothing more. He stood, tripping over his tangled clothes and gripping the desk for balance, yanking his boxers and pants up, tugging his cloak on as he gave Xemnas a curt wave before disappearing into a portal.

The Superior caught his breath when he heard the portal close, letting his knees sink as he used his thorns to bend and break the chair to free him. He reached for some of his tattered clothing and wiped himself off, looking at the burn wounds with a sigh. He began the tiring work of a Curaga spell and sat there waiting before he was restored. A mild limp, more than he expected but less than he had received from previous lovers. He stretched one leg then the next as he rose, yawning a bit as he summoned a dark corridor to his bedroom and warded off the office, having dusks clean up the mess.

----

The dark corridor to his room closed and Xemnas moved under the covers of the bedspread, feeling the crisp sheets against his sweat-covered body and shuddering. He heard a snap, and two feet landing beside the bed with a predictable soft tap. The Superior flipped over the covers as he watched one boot then another get tugged off before the cloak was left on the ground next to the bed.

"Now look at you having fun, I thought we weren't allowed to play with the other vessels?"

The Freeshooter slipped under the covers in his boxers, stretching in the king-size bed without touching the other man, their familiarity unseen in the quiet room. Xemnas looked over, watching in an amused way as Xigbar unfastened his ponytail and shook his hair loose with his hand.

"That was never an explicit rule, now was it?" The taller male started to sink into the pillows and yawned. His nose crinkled when the sniper shoved two fingers under his nose and the distinct smell of arousal filled his nostrils. Xemnas looked the other male in the eye and sighed, "Wash your hands II, you know basic manners, don't you?"

Xigbar wiggled the fingers once more before laughing, rolling out of the bed and going to the bathroom to wash his hands. He returned with the dramatic flourish of the accompanied bathroom door whipping open and doing a bow, "Aren't you proud of me Boss?" He waved his hand and smirked, "Little Master was quite the vocal one, if you catch my-"

"So you managed to 'get' the Master to our side? I do not see him. And you wouldn't be here if the arrangement had been mutual, now would you?" The amber eyes twinkled in amusement, the implication that Xigbar had been pleasuring the blue-haired keyblade master and not the other way around. The Freeshooter sneered at him, looking at the other’s still healing form with a condescending look.

"And you?"

Xemnas blinked slowly, the way a cat does when it's pleased, "I got what I wanted, I never try to play with my food too much or it grows stale. If you continue this little game of yours with him, we might not have the future vessel that was promised. Do not be dependent on the whims of a lonely man desperately clinging to the fantasy of a friend and lover long past."

As long-winded as usual Xigbar snorted, "Thanks Mom." He placed his hands on scarred hips and looked at Xemnas for a moment. The Superior always seemed to radiate during the afterglow, maybe due to its rare occurrence and unbridled pleasure that joined it. He felt something, jealousy? No. Their relationship, if one could call it that, was wide open. It was the instinctual urge to claim and mark over the ginger's lingering presence on the other. This was twice now Axel had been the focus of attention. He was a little disappointed Xemnas hadn't shared, but he was greedy, and Xigbar had found that out firsthand.

"Is he close to being ours?"

The older male scratched his neck and stretched his back, "No, not unless we let Flamesilocks dangle in front of him again." Their disgustingly needy dynamic let a bad taste in his mouth, thankfully he had washed out his mouth in the bathroom. He tried to forget the name moaned that was not his, his eye flicked back to Xemnas watching him, his amusement heightening when he smelled the weakness permeating from his second.

"I see. Didn't go as you had hoped, now did it?"

He waved his hands dismissively, "Whatever." He crawled back under the covers and leaned on the other's muscled arm, his toes seeking out the warmth of the other's, chuckling again when he heard Xemnas make a displeased noise at the cold digits touching his own. Xemnas wrapped the arm around him, shifting as he burrowed his head under the sniper's chin, no one but Xigbar aware or having experienced this side of him. The need for affection saved only for the other, but usually only after a heated session before in the other's office.

"Now now Kitten, you didn't think I had replaced you huh?" He raked his fingers through thick silver hair, almost envious of how soft it was despite everything.

"I cannot be replaced, so no, I did not think a needy virgin could compare." Xigbar smirked, the other's confidence was infectious and somewhat flattering, if only for the fact he had sole access to the nobody over everyone else. He waved away a few sniper nobodies gathered in the corners, noting the sorcerer nobodies’s lack of movement without a direct order from their leader, it was funny to him how Xemnas kept those worshiping things so close to him. Only things he trusted ended up being around him while he slept. He watched the other's chest rise slowly and fall as he drifted off, working an arm loose of the other's weight to hook around the wide chest.

The Freeshooter looked out at the glowing moon, contemplating why exactly Xemnas was stupid enough to let him be that close. Or maybe that was it, the empty vessel next to him acknowledging his rank amongst them and lacking the true ability to fear the unknown thought process of his partner and second. Perhaps, although he knew this thought might be pushing even the largest of assumptions about Xemnas's intelligence, but perhaps Xemnas was aware of everything and simply ignored it, feigning stupidity to convince even himself of his own worth in the grand scheme.

#Master Isa AU #Master Isa #Norted!Axel #XemAku #Xemxig

9 notes · View notes

conversationswithmybipolarchild · 5 years

Text

#3 SCHOOL & BP

Felicity: Today’s topic: school and bipolar disorder. I think this is appropriate because you are thirteen and you go to school. I have not been in school since 2002. Which, was seventeen years ago. Geez. I’m old.

F: So, you know more about this than I do. Obviously. I mean, I do remember being in school and having depression, but I have no idea what it’s like to be in school and have bipolar disorder. I can’t imagine.

Anja: There’s a whole other pole.

F Yeah, that’s got to be wild. So, I think you’ll lead this topic and I’ll be here for commentary.

A: I have...

[slams notebook on surface]

A: NOTES.

F: Hang on a second. You look so pretty right now. I need to take a picture of you.

A: Okay.

[Takes picture]

F: Okay, thank you. You may resume.

A: I have notes. And I spent about fifteen minutes preparing these notes and I think they’re very good.

A: So, when you’re bipolar and you’re in school, the most important thing is to be on meds. Because without meds, you are lacking focus. You’re disorganized. You’re easily frustrated. Which, doesn’t go well around people. You’re also easily overloaded, which also doesn’t go well around people.

A: Now, being disorganized, I’ve always said school is not a game of smarts. Although, that definitely helps. A person that might not know as much, can succeed more, if they’re organized. It’s a game of organization.

F: I’ve always heard school is more about the ability to memorize, rather than learn.

A: That too. It’s more about passing than succeeding.

F: Absolutely. You don’t have to learn, you just have to pass. That’s really sad.

A: A disorganized person is more likely to fail. I know this because I was disorganized. I was without meds, and I pretty much failed.

F: You passed only by the skin of your teeth and my persistance.

A: Yes. Now, I say you’re lacking motivation. A big misconception is that people who are manic, is that they’re motivated in every area. Like, they get everything done.

A: However, mania also comes with executive dysfunction.

F: I LOVE that term. I had never heard of executive function or dysfunction until about two weeks ago, when I read about it on Twitter. Someone used Post-It Notes as an analogy, and I thought it was genius. If I can find that tweet again, I’ll post the link to it in the comments.

A: I think it’s very fitting.

A: Mania does motivate you, but for the wrong things. Like, it motivates you to clean your entire house at 2am, or order 400 of those little arcade aliens. It doesn’t motivate you for hygiene or homework or basic daily things you need to do. It motivates you for whatever weird impulses you get in your head.

F: It’s an impulse thing. It’s what motivated Alden to, all of a sudden, rip open a microbead pillow and scatter teeny little static beads all over the house, but he can’t shower. I notice that about you. You’re so motivated to make your Tumblr posts and be there for your friends, but child, sometimes, your hygiene can lack. I mean, I have that issue with my depression but the motivation thing is so strange. When you were younger, you loved reading. You were all about your books. Absolute obsession, but I couldn’t get you to be passionate about anything else.

F: I’ve always said, because of the whole executive function thing, that bipolar children need some kind of cognitive therapy to teach them how to remember to brush their hair, brush their teeth, take showers. Without Mommy and Daddy holding their hand. As a teenager, you should be showering on your own. I just feel like, if we could get bipolar adolescents some kind of cognitive therapy, they’d at least be on a path to better daily habits.

A: The most important thing I want to bring up in this post, is that if it comes between your grades and your mental health, take care of yourself first. Do you agree?

F: I do to a point. I believe you should be able to balance both. If you take care of your mental health, your grades will follow, which, is what your point is, I think. Now, I used to disagree. When you were undiagnosed, I said on numerous occasions, “Nothing is more important than your education. Your feelings won’t get you a job. Your friends won’t get you a job. Your video games won’t get you a job.” I still stand by my statement, “There’s nothing more important than your eduation,”.I feel like it’s on parents to help you balance all of it. It’s my job to teach you how to balance your education, your mental health, and your physical health, because when you become an adult, you’re going to have to balance it on your own. So, it’s my job to prepare you. You’re going to have to balance a career, mental health, physical health, relationships, hobbies. As a parent, it’s not so much my job to push education and teach you that there is nothing else but eduation, as it is my job to teach you how to have balance.

A: I feel like the whole, “your feelings won’t get you a job” thing is pretty harsh. I mean, it’s true, but it’s harsh. Mental health is a lot more than feelings. It’s the way you are. It’s your state. And if you’re miserable all the time, because you’re so busy with school, maybe it’s just better to take an F every once in a while. You know?

F: Yes and no. I understand what you’re getting at. Old habits and feelings die hard sometimes. Eduation is incredibly important to me. But, it’s part of the reason, this last school year, I let you slack off a bit. To be able to take care of your mental health. However, I didn’t do a very good job teaching you how to have balance. All the areas of your life suffered this last school year, because te balance wasn’t there. I’m not doing a very good job balancing your life.

F: I think, as parents, we need to step up and do a better job teaching our kids how to balance the different areas of their lives. They’re all intertwined. You can’t have one without the other. You should be able to manage school, mental health, physical health, and relationships. You should be able to manage school at your best. And yes, as your parent, because I technically made you, I know what your best is. I know what you’re capable of. And also be able to balance decent mental health, which is, to me, having open conversations, communicating with one another, taking your medication, taking breaks.

A: Speaking of communicating with one another, literally the worst thing you can do, is cut yourself off and not talk about stuff.

F: Absolutely. I will attest to that! I will, because when you were diagnosed, I didn’t tell anybody. I didn’t want anyone to know my child was flawed. It felt like a stain or a blemish on my parenting. Especially when it’s all being blamed on me anyway. I held it in and my year-long depression was so deep, I didn’t see a way out. Then, I confessed. Someone on Twitter called it “Coming out of your mental health closet”, which is what I did. I said, “Hey, my kid has a major mental illness. It’s a huge struggle. I know it’s real because I took her to four different professionals and got the same answer each time. She’s on medication. This is very hard for me. I need support.” And as soon as I started being open about it, my depression lifted. I was pulling myself out of that pit. So, for me, communication is everything. Communication is the most important thing that a human being can do. Period. Communication benefits mental and physical health.

A: Yes.

A: I’m going to have to say something. It’s going to be one of those things you’re going to scold me for because I should have brought it up earlier. I hate it when you assume you know everything about me, because you made me. Like, you kind of do, but at the same time, you’re not me.

F: I agree, but I’m not saying I know everything about you. I’m saying I know what your best is. I know what you’re capable of. And that may not be because I made you, it may be because I know you. I know what you’re capable of. I’ve always known what you can accomplish.

A: But what I’m capable of changes of over the time.

F: Yeah! I know that what you’re capable of now, is different from when you were in fourth grade. I don’t have the same expectations of you now that I had then, As you evolve, I evolve as well. We do that together. I know that a lot of people think that parents and children are separate entities, but we evolve and grow together. I think, maybe, especially since I was a fairly young mother. When you were born, I had no life experiences, and we sort of grew up together.

A: I feel like because you have mental illness and you were a young mother, we can relate to each other a lot more than other neurodivergent children and their parents.

F: Also, because I value communication as much as I do, and I think I’ve passed that on to you. I need to communicate. I have to. It’s not a want. I absolutely have to. Not only for my mental health, but physical as well. I end up with ulcers and headaches when I don’t communicate. I’m miserable. I have to talk.

F: We’ve gotten way off topic.

A: Yeah. But it’s a conversation. That’s what conversations do.

F: What was I talking about initially?

F: Oh, I was talking about balancing school, mental, and physical health. I feel like, as a together parent, as a parent that’s really kicking ass, you’re going to guide your child through balancing all of those aspects of their life. Because, if you don’t teach them to do that now, they’re not going to know how to do it. Which, it’s taken me all of my adult years to figure out. I still don’t do it very well. As soon as I start getting all rockstar on my depression, well, my diabetes is out of hand. And as soon as I get my diabetes in order, I’ve neglected my home and my duties here. I’m just not very good at it. But, it’s my goal, that you’ll be better at it as an adult than I am, and you’ll be far more successful than me.

A: Having mental illness, and having to go to school, like, having homework...

A: Like, sometimes, I can’t handle it. Do you understand?

F: Yep.

A: Like, that feels so dumb to say. It feels so lazy of me.

F: No! This last school year was really hard on all you kids. Not just my kids, but the kids at your school. I heard moms at cub scouts saying how they wished they’d sent their kids to another school, because the homework was outrageous. They tripled the homework. You’ve got homework on weekends and holidays.

A: I’m surprised I don’t have homework right now. Sometimes I feel like, I’m just sitting around and I’ll think, “Oh, I need to do my homework! Oh, wait! I’ve been out of school for three weeks!”

F: Yeah. No, I mean, I get it. Especially, middle school, is super overwhelming. I wish there was no homework. You don’t want to be in that environment of pressure all day, and have more pressure when you come home. I feel like kids would have an easier time balancing their lives, if they didn’t have to bring school home. Which, is why I’m glad I took you guys out of your afternoon activities. So you’d have more time for balance. The school puts a lot on you and they’re not factoring in your mental health. They’re not factoring in how hard it is.

A: I don’t think the school board knows that mentally ill children exist.

F: I feel like it doesn’t just affect mentally ill kids. It affects all the kids. There’s so much pressure all the time and then to have to bring it home.

F: One of the things concerning school and bipolar disorder, is IEP. Your school district is so eager to hand out Gifted and Talented IEPs, but they make it next level impossible to get a one for a disability. Not in a proactive way, at least. They’re not as willing to make accommodations. I’ve been fighting for three years to get you an IEP, and all I hear is, “You’re going to hire a lawyer because your request will be denied.”

A: Why didn’t you have to hire a lawyer for G/T?

F: Exactly. The thing is, and they’ve said it to me before, if you throw a desk or punch someone in the face, they’ll write out an IEP that day.

A: I’d get expelled. If you get in a fight, you get suspended and if you get suspended, you get expelled.

F: True for your school. The problem is, they’re all about being reactive. I’d rather set accommodations up for you in a proactive way, so you don’t end up throwing a desk or hitting someone or lashing out in some way, but they won’t do it with out a lawyer. When I go to them and say, “My child has a diagnosed and medicated mental illness,” I was under the assumption that they’re supposed to work with me on that.

A: Children with mental illness should not have to hire a lawyer to get what they need from the school system.

F: That is a profound statement and very true.

F: It’s sad. I guess I’m going to have to hire a lawyer to get you what you need in school. I don’t want you to be in that position where you’re feeling unstable and you have no out. You’ve texted me a couple of times from school saying, “I’m feeling pretty on edge. Can you come get me?” I’m glad you had that out, but what if you didn’t?

F: Somebody that I know, her son threw a desk at school, and the school called the police. They handcuffed him and took him to the psychiatric unit of the local hospital before they called his mother.

A: I think that’s illegal.

F: Whatever it is, it’s not okay.

A: It’s not reflective of human rights.

F: That’s profound.

F: Do you have any more notes?

A: No.

F: Okay, then I want to end this on one note.

F: Everybody. And I mean everybody. Parents. Friends. Relatives. Caregivers. Mental Health Professionals. School systems. Politicians. Lobbyists. They’re ALL failing our children. One hundred percent. Parents aren’t paying enough attention. Parents don’t know their rights. Parents don’t see what’s happening within their own children. Or maybe they do, but they don’t know how to get help. Medical professionals are withholding information. They’re not offering treatment for children. School system is absolute crap for mentally ill children. It has such a huge stigma. I hate that word, but there is such a huge stigma around children’s mental illness. Parents are afraid to come forward. Kids are afraid to come forward. No one wants to speak up.

F: WE ARE FAILING OUR KIDS.

A: I know you wanted to end on this, but I just wish that you could go to your parents and tell them that you don’t feel good mentally, just like you would if you had a stomach ache. Like, “Oh, I’m feeling a little bit anxious” just like “Oh, I have a headache.”

A: I wish you could be picked up from school because you had an anxiety attack, just like you would if you threw up or had a fever.

F: I completely agree with you. I wish you could walk in to your doctor’s office and say, “I feel very very sad,” the same way you’d say, “I have a lot of headaches.”

F: Maybe one day. Hopefully within your lifetime. But for now, until something changes, a lot of kids are dying. A lot of kids are going undiagnosed. A lot of kids and families are suffering. A lot of kids are becoming tormented adults because they’re not getting the help that they need.

F: THEY’RE BEING FAILED AT EVERY SINGLE LEVEL.

#bipolar disorder #bp #bd #actuallybipolar #mental health #mental health awareness #children's mental health #pediatric mental health

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mcalhenwrites · 6 years

Text

Twitter has exploded with talk about suicide, and a lot of people mention their own experiences with depression and thoughts of worthlessness. Famous people, friends, everyone - they’re all chiming in. And somehow, it’s helping me in ways I didn’t realize it could.

I thought I was a failure for being too afraid to contact a suicide hotline. It turns out that’s just about nearly everyone’s experience. I think - yes still think - I’m completely worthless, that there’s no good merit to me being on this earth. That the only good I might have is not as a creator but as a consumer, and how can I afford that luxury when I’m piss broke? I’m glad I’m seeing people talk about wanting to live on. Just a hair over 4 years ago, I tried to commit suicide. It was not a good experience, and I remember coming out of all of it thinking, “I don’t want to try this again if I don’t succeed in killing myself, I only regret that I failed my attempt.” And I waited year after year to see if I actually would be glad I lived. Stuff has happened to keep me afloat. It’s not “my friends aren’t good enough” or “my pets aren’t good enough” - it’s that my life hasn’t been good. Significant abuse and toxic environments lay out the beginning of my life. I used to even be bitter, like “that person has nothing to complain about” when I was a teenager, because I thought that if you were financially stable and had good people around you, you didn’t have anything to be upset about. I’ve certainly learned since then that depression doesn’t work like that. But I still hate when my depression is always the source of things, when I know that I could recover better and faster if I were in a healthy environment. But I also know that I’d still struggle with everything, because recovery is not an easy road. Depression is not something that can easily be fixed with just a change of scenery. That can only help. Especially when I’m pretty suspicious I have PTSD, and if I ever get a diagnosis and treatments, that might help. But right now, things are often just a cycling nightmare for me, and my head doesn’t help any matters. I am fortunate to have friends. God, I have so many of you I feel like I’m always neglecting people. (And I probably am, especially when I’m bad off.) I spend a lot of time thinking about how grateful I am that I have these great pets who love me unconditionally. And while a lot of my family might be fucked up, I know my mom cares, I know my brother cares. The past couple of days, I’ve slowly been climbing out of a depressive spell and starting to feel like myself again. I get buried under the heavy feelings and the deep hate. Which is why I’m going to continue the 3 grateful things daily that I started yesterday. Which is why I’m trying to take care of myself little by little. I was kind of surprised yesterday when I posted something on my writing twitter and had people responding to it well. I’m still kind of amazed I have more than 3 people following my writing. I worry I’m not worthy of it a lot, but I do work hard on my stories. Today, I looked at Tempra and it dawned on me that I make things, and it’s kind of amazing. I can do things. Maybe they’re not useful to society, maybe they’re not really things that are important to a lot of other people, but I can create things that take a lot of hard work and determination and math. (So. Much. Fucking. Math.) Maybe I’m not seeing it, but that pit I’m trying to crawl out of? I’m not at the bottom. Not as much as I think I am sometimes. I’m not out of the pit, either, and that hurts, but I’m getting there. It gets hard, and sometimes I chide myself for seeming to not be pro-recovery, because I’m just so tired and sad. I’m in physical pain. I don’t think I can ever do anything. And I also worry sometimes when I’m working too hard that I might be used as an example against someone. “That person has fibromyalgia and several other health problems, and he can manage just fine!” Truth is, I can’t, and people are used against me that way, and I don’t want someone else to suffer. So I do try to be frank about the pain I’m in. I want to be frank, but I also want to be okay. I can’t reach out to friends, much less strangers on suicide hotlines. But I hope that I can find a way to share my voice. I hope I can nurture my writing again, too. The reason I started wanting to become a writer as a career was to reach out to people who’ve been abused. Give them good stories that didn’t revolve around abuse, but it would be a part of some of the characters’ lives...something they could relate to. People who found out they were masochistic while being physically assaulted, too, because...we don’t have much of a voice, and people make fun of kinks or think it is self-destructive. It’s confusing, especially when you’re young and don’t understand what you’re going through and why your body is reacting different from the emotional pain you’re suffering. I think it’s important for people to know that they’re not alone and that there are healthy ways to channel that. I also like to make people laugh and smile, and I want to do that with my writing, too. I feel like I should give up all the time, and yet I don’t because I love it and it is my passion. I don’t think I’m good enough - and I worry I never will be - but it’s something I don’t want to give up. I’ll be selfish and keep going.

#mcalhen personal #// suicide mention #(not a negative thread or anything but obv a heavy subject)

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chierafied · 7 years

Text

Much Tweeting About Crushing

JILY CHALLENGE | @chierafied vs @tadasgay Social Media AU

in which James has a hopeless crush on his neighbor and tweets about it, which is fine. Until Evans follows him.

My belated submission for September’s @jilychallenge. You know you’re in too deep when you make a secondary Twitter account so you can get screenshots to include in your silly one shot... >_>

James blinked at the grey cat curled in the middle of his bed.

The cat stared back at him, seeming to dismiss him at the same time.

Feeling confused and just a little surreal, James did the only fathomable thing: fumbled for the smartphone tucked in the back pocket of his jeans and pulled it out.

The cat studiously ignored him as he snapped a picture, then clicked to share it on Twitter.

James’ fingers skimmed across the screen to furiously type a tweet.

The cat yawned.

The doorbell rang and James hastily pocketed his phone; glared at the cat who didn’t as much as twitch.

James shook his head as he made his way downstairs, tugged at his hair as he pulled open the front door.

And then stared slack-jawed at the gorgeous redhead wringing her hands at his doorstep.

“Hi,” she said, flashing him a nervous smile.

“Hi,” James echoed, his fingers jumping to his hair again.

He was staring. Had she noticed he was staring? God, he hoped not.

“So… I just moved to one of the flats next door,” she said, “like three, four days ago…”

“Oh. Right. Cool,” James said, suave as ever as his attention wandered between her captivating green eyes and the full lip she was biting.

“And, well…” She sighed, shrugged her shoulders. “My cat’s gone missing. Have you seen him? He’s grey and –”

James held up his hand. “There was a cat on my bed when I came home. Pretty sure he’s yours. Must’ve left my window open or something…”

A true, brilliant smile bloomed on the woman’s lips.

James’ breath caught.

“Really? He’s here?”

James nodded and made room in the doorway. “Right here.”

He turned and started to go up the stairs, painfully aware that this fit neighbour was both in his house and following him to his bedroom.

She squealed as they reached it, quickly crossing over to James’ bed to scoop up the cat.

“Don’t you go wandering again,” she spoke sternly, wagging a finger in the cat’s disinterested furry face. “You had me worried sick!”

She turned, the cat in her arms, and gave James another heart-stuttering smile. “Thank you so much. And I’m really sorry about all this, I hope he didn’t bother you –”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. He wasn’t trouble, really, more like a source of confusion. I’m glad I could help.”

He grinned at her, hoping he managed to look charming.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood.”

The woman’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Oh, I didn’t even introduce myself. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, you were preoccupied.” James held out his hand. “I’m James Potter by the way.”

She shifted the cat in her arms to free her hand, grasped his.

Her skin felt both warm and soft and something in the pit of James’ stomach fluttered.

“I’m Lily Evans. Nice to meet you.”

“Charmed,” he managed, vaguely aware that he was grinning again, probably looking more like a loon than a proper Prince Charming.

“Well, thanks again, and sorry for the trouble. We will just get out of your hair.”

She turned to leave and James followed her back downsairs.

“Yeah. Okay. See you around?” He winced at that hopeful lilt in his voice. She hadn’t noticed, had she?

She paused in the doorway and smiled, and James stopped caring.

“See you,” she said.

He lingered there for a moment, letting his gaze trail after her, until he realised he was staring again.

James shook his head and firmly closed the door.

His fingers trembled a little as he dug out his phone. He typed out another tweet while his mind was still busy playing over the encounter.

James went to put the phone away, then paused. After a second of hesitation, he typed out another tweet.

James turned off the screen and put the phone away.

For the next two days, James found his thoughts straying back to his neighbour. She had been gorgeous, yes, but also so nice and sweet and… God, he was really pathetic wasn’t he?

“Smitten” was the word Sirius had gleefully flung in his face when he’d met his friends over a pint and told them about Lily Evans and her cat.

And now, James had a sinking suspicion that was exactly what he was, because he’d wasted half the work day either thinking about Evans or trying to make up some believable excuse to go knocking on her door so he could see her again.

He sat himself on the couch, clicked Netflix on the TV and tried his best to immerse himself in an old favourite show because he really needed to not think about his neighbour for a while.

He was half-way into the episode when the doorbell rang. James jumped out of his seat and rushed to the door.

When he reached the door, cool irritation drowned and killed the eager hope bubbling within. Anyone could be behind his door so why had his thoughts immediately jumped to Evans?

He was still mentally chastising himself, when he pulled open the door.

The sight of his beautiful, red-haired neighbour offering him a hesitant smile was a jolt to James’ system. His heart jumped as he stared at her.

“Hi.” Her voice was as sweet as her smile.

His mouth had gone dry, and he had to clear his throat. “Hey there.”

“I’m sorry to bother you again…” she began, squirmed a little on the spot.

“I doubt you could be a bother if you tried,” James said, his brain too frazzled to even try to play it cool.

The corner of her lips quirked. Amusement flashed in those captivating green eyes. “Careful, I didn’t even plead my case yet.”

That sparkle of humour and teasing lilt in her voice had James’ stomach plummet all the way to his wobbly knees.

Blimey, how could she be so perfect?

“Go on, then,” James said. “I’m all ears.”

“Well, I got some new furniture earlier today. Had a friend help me get started putting it all together but she had to go and I’ve been at it for hours and am going cross-eyed at the instructions…”

A grin rose to James’ lips. He could just picture her, biting her lip while those green eyes darkened in frustration.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Assembling furniture has that effect on people.”

“Yeah.” She grimaced. “So, at the risk of sounding like a bloody damsel in distress… I could use some help.”

James was beaming at her. “Well, now, how could I say no to that?”

She returned the smile, her shoulders slumping a little in relief. “Great.”

James grabbed for his keys from a side table and was out of his door, following her to the neighbouring townhouse.

He returned several hours later, a goofy grin on his lips and a stumble in his step. It had been an interesting evening, he mused to himself as he stopped before his front door to fumble with his keys.

Lily had managed to put together the dining table and chairs with her friend but had lost her patience with the bedside table. James had let out a few choice words himself as he had struggled between the instructions and the actual assembling. The bookcase had been much easier, though it had taken the both of them to finally prop it up against her bedroom wall.

James shut the door, tossed the keys back to the side table. He plodded through his house, raking his hand through his hair. He definitely was smitten like Sirius had said; no female he’d harboured feelings for had ever had him so neatly wrapped.

If only he could tell how she felt about him. She’d been perfectly friendly and they’d shared more than a few laughs and even two glasses of wine when the furniture was finally in one piece and in its place. But he just couldn’t glean if there was any hope for something more…

James grabbed his phone from the sitting room coffee table, then headed upstairs to his bedroom.

It was a very nice day, James decided as he deposited the rubbish into the bin. Warm, but not too warm; cloudy, but not in a gloomy way. He should go jogging later, if it stayed like this.

Lost in thought, he didn’t see her until she called out with a cheery “Hi!”

James turned, a smile immediately rising to his lips as he saw his neighbour.

“All right, Evans?”

She stopped beside him on the pavement. “I’m fine, how’re you?”

“Fine, thanks.” James scrambled for something more to say, and in a classic small talk fashion, defaulted to weather. “It’s a nice day.”

She flashed him a smile. “Yeah, I was getting sick of all the rain earlier this week. Glad to see the sun’s still up there.”

James laughed.

It might have been her appearance that had initially attracted him to her – and he still found her every bit as gorgeous as she had been when they’d first met – but now that he was actually getting to know her, little by little, it was her sense of humour that reeled him in, had him falling deeper.

He tried to adopt a casual pose. “How’s the cat?”

“He’s being his charming self.” Lily paused, and shook her head. “Woke me up at 3 AM last night. He was sick on my carpet.”

“Ouch.” James grimaced. “I’m suddenly very glad I don’t own a cat.”

She laughed, the lovely sound causing wild flutters to erupt in James’ stomach.

“They can be a handful,” she agreed, “but I wouldn’t know what to do without him.”

“Must be nice to have the company.”

“Yeah. It really is.”

James nodded down at the bags Lily was carrying. “Got some shopping done, eh?”

She glanced at the bags, then met his eyes. “Yeah. My wardrobe needed some updating. Moving is a real hassle, but it gives you the perfect opportunity to sort through your things, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. You never realise how all this stuff just accumulates in the cupboards you never open…”

“I know. I threw out so many useless things you wouldn’t believe.” Lily rolled her eyes.

“You’ve settled in all right?” James asked next.

“Yeah, yeah I have.” She smiled, and her green eyes sparked. “I love this neighbourhood. And the house is great, really beautiful. I mean I know I only have a basement flat since that’s all I can afford right now... But I just love the atmosphere, this historic vibe.”

“Glad to hear you like it here,” James replied.

And he was glad. Her enthusiasm was captivating, and he couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips.

“Well, I should go and put my new clothes away.” Evans grinned back at him. “See you around!”

“Yeah,” he called after her. “See you!”

He really, really hoped he would, as often as possible.

James went inside. Then fumbled for his phone and opened the Twitter app, punched in a tweet as he whistled off-key.

James had barely got through the door and shrugged off his coat when the doorbell rang. He turned with a frown, ran his hand through his hair and opened the door.

His heart jumped at the sight of his neighbour.

“Hullo,” Evans greeted him, smiling that gorgeous smile that stole James’ breath away.

“Hi,” he said, certain that the grin rising to his own lips was on the side of goofy.

Evans shuffled her feet. “I hope I’m not intruding…?”

“No,” James hurried to reply. “Not at all.”

“It’s September so I decided it’s time for an apple pie,” she said, glancing at the pie in her arms. “Only I realised I’m probably not gonna be able to finish it all by myself. And since you’ve been so great and welcoming and helped me with the furniture back in July… I figured I owed you baked goods.”

“You don’t owe me anything, but I won’t turn down baked goods.” James grinned again, and stepped aside. “Come in, please.”

“Cheers.” Evans came in, and James shut the door.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, glad he’d just cleaned up a few days ago. “I’ll go put the kettle on.”

Instead, Evans followed him into the kitchen, set her pie on the counter and then stood watching him putter around.

“Can I give you a hand?”

“I appreciate the offer,” James said, and glanced over his shoulder at her. “But my mum would skin me alive if I let a guest help.”

She laughed. “All right. I’ll have a seat then.”

“Please do.”

James got out mugs and plates and spoons, and set the table while the water boiled. He had to keep busy to distract himself from the fact that the woman he adored was sitting at his kitchen table, just a few sparse yards away.

He begged his racing hard to calm down as he filled the teapot.

And then there was no more stalling. The table was set, the tea brewed, the pie waiting to be cut.

He sat down at the table, hoping against hope he wouldn’t spend the whole time staring at her like a lovesick loon.

He poured her tea, while she sat patiently across from him.

She arched her brow, humour flickering in her eyes.

“You mum really did teach you well, I see,” she commented as he set in front of her the plate with the slice of pie he’d cut for her.

“I was not the best of students, but she was very particular about manners.”

“I find it a bit weird to just sit and wait and not help out… But I guess it’s also nice to be a guest, when the host is such a gentleman.”

“As long as you don’t tell anyone else,” he said. ”I’ve worked too hard for my troublemaker image to have it all ruined now.”

“Troublemaker? You?”

“Evans, you have no idea.”

She cradled the mug in her hands, her green eyes brilliant and trained on him. “Enlighten me, then.”

So he did, and they talked and laughed and ate and drank… and James couldn’t help wondering what it would be like, to share evenings at the small table with her, day after day.

After Evans left, he collapsed onto the couch and pulled out his phone, typing up a tweet even as his heart was close to bursting.

After a long and busy week, James was looking forward to a quiet Friday night at home. It was closer to six PM when he got home, his feet dragging a little as he trudged upstairs to his bedroom to change his clothes. He came back down decked comfortably in pyjama bottoms and an old worn t-shirt, and headed to the kitchen. He heated up yesterday’s leftovers, then grabbed the plate and walked right past the kitchen table.

He plopped on the couch, flicked on the telly and kicked back.

It was some time later, after he’d gone to take the dishes back to the kitchen but before he started on a new episode of the series he was intent on binging, when he grabbed his phone from the coffee table to quickly check any messages or notifications.

There was one routine Twitter notification in his email inbox that James barely glanced at – then stopped when the name registered in his brain. Heart leaping into his throat, he did a double-take… And swallowed thickly as his world screeched to halt.

“Shit,” he managed, staring helplessly at the e-mail.

“Fuck. Shit.”

James’ fingers were numb and trembling as he raked them though his messy hair. What had his latest tweet been again? Something sappy and stupid about her smile…

He squeezed his eyes shut, forced himself to remember.

Yeah… it had been sappy and stupid, as Sirius had been quick to point out, but at least James hadn’t mentioned Evans by name.

He zeroed in on that silver lining, his brow furrowed in concentration. He didn’t think he’d ever actually mentioned her by name. That was good. He could work with that.

Although early on he had made those tweets about his fit neighbour…

Shit. James grimaced.

Evans was quick and clever. She’d put two and two together in a heartbeat.

He was so busted.

Unless…

A wild sudden hope dawned amidst all the panic.

Now that James thought about it, he hadn’t mentioned even the neighbour-thing in a while. So unless Evans scrolled through months of tweets, his secret would be safe.

And she would have to be seriously invested to bother to wade through all that.

He doubted she’d go through the trouble, so she wouldn’t figure it out all those tweets were about her.

…Right?

The doorbell rang.

James jumped, clenched his jaw. His knees felt a little weak when he got up, his heart beating erratically in his chest as he made his way to the door.

His fingers clutched at the doorknob like a lifeline, dread pooled and built into a crescendo as he turned it.

James pulled the door open.

The panic was still bubbling at the back of his mind, but his face eased into a smile.

Evans looked the same as always, the dark red hair, green eyes, the bright energy stamping each feature.

A rush of warmth and giddy excitement flooded him as it always did at the sight of her.

He had just enough time to notice the gleam in her eyes. Then her slender hand fisted in the front of his T-shirt and yanked.

More than that sudden jerk of her hand, it was the feel of her lips crashing against his in a kiss as hot as it was demanding that staggered him.

His heart burst and he melted into the kiss, responded to it with great pent-up enthusiasm.

James panted for breath when they finally pulled apart, his hazel eyes glazed.

Evans watched him, her eyes dancing with the same mirth curling her lips.

“How hard would it have been,” she said, her amused voice just a little breathy, “to say something to me in between all that tweeting?”

James ignored her teasing question in favour of tenderly cupping her cheek.

Then, he smothered her smile by pulling her into another kiss.

#jilychallenge #tadasgay #jily #jily fanfiction #James Potter #Lily Evans #chie writes #fic: JL

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esandcasg · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2 - The Future in Now

“Hello mate.”

The words hung in the air. The stiflingly hot air of this sweaty pit that he had called home for the last three years. The jungle heat and humidity somehow adding to the moment; the viscosity of the air slowing down the words.

He looked at me. I saw a whole spectrum of emotion cross his face. Surprise at my sudden appearance after eight years. Disappointment that we had managed to find him. Anger at how we had lied to him and destroyed him all those years ago. There were surely plenty more that I couldn’t read and probably didn’t want to.

“Andrew?” I ventured, trying to get a response from him.

He continued to just look at me. Thoughts being processed behind blue eyes. I noticed him studying my face, clearly wondering what had happened since that night in the tunnel in the middle of Kangleong. I, in turn, studied the face of the man in front of me, replicating the slight shock at his appearance. Whilst still undeniably handsome, the past eight years had clearly taken its toll on him, the long scraggly unwashed hair and beard making him appear to have been sleeping rough for some time. I contrasted this to the man full of positivity and excitement that I had met in the Blue Oyster bar in Kathmandu. A flash of guilt passed through me. That fateful night eight years ago had clearly set off a chain reaction that had led him here. And it was partly my fault.

Finally, he spoke. “Sister Teresa called me mate in the Third Grade. My friends call me Andrew. You're neither, shithead.”

With that he went to slam the door. I saw the move coming and stuck my foot in the door. The flimsy swing door to his hut bouncing against my Ed Viesturs signature La Sportiva Trango boots. I didn’t come all this way to get shut out before I said what I needed to say.

“Andrew, you are going to want to hear this,” I tried to reason.

I couldn’t see Andrew at this point, the door blocking my view. Whether it was subtle change in the lighting that I registered through the slit of the open door, the sound of his sudden movement, or just intuition, but I realized his intention to put his shoulder into the door and force me out. I countered him by slamming the full weight of my body into the door just before he got there. Whether it was because I had gotten the jump on him, or whether it was the extra weight that I have put on through lockdown, but Andrew went crashing backwards, landing on his back in the middle of the hut.

I quickly entered the hut like a trained marksman, not taking my eyes off the target, anticipating his next move. But at this point he seemed resigned. He lifted himself up into a sitting position, his shoulders sinking. My thoughts went back to the storm-wrecked slopes of Kangleong after the serac collapse and death of Fred Viesturs. The way I had held him as he cried, his snot freezing on my down suit. It was heartbreaking to see him like this once more.

I offered my hand to him, as if he was sitting on the floor next to a 1950s car, and I had just laid out Biff with a left hook. “Are you… okay?”

He ignored me, and instead responded to my earlier question. “What do you want, Adam? What am I going to want to hear?”

I looked around his hut for somewhere to sit, but there was no furniture aside from the bed, the soiled sheets not looking like they had been washed in some time. He noticed me looking for somewhere to make myself comfortable, and - resigned to me being here for some time - slowly got to his feet and offered me a drink.

“I wish I could offer you a Harbour Reef like the old days of the Blue Oyster, but I only have a Pumpkin Spiced Latte to offer. Do you want one?”

I wasn’t convinced whether these autumnal flavours really suited the fresh spring morning that had broken an hour ago, but I suspected that offence would be taken if I pointed this out.

“Yeah, su-“ I stopped as he suddenly grabbed his stomach in pain and bent over.

“I need to go and lay beef. All these lattes have gone straight through me. Wait there.”

He rushed over to the door in the corner of his bedroom, revealing the plush en-suite facilities beyond. Closing the door behind him, I heard the sound of trousers being rapidly pulled down, and straining as he let rip. The occasional fart rolling around the amphitheater of the bowl.

Not sure where to look, I inspected the eleven latte cups sitting next to the dishwasher. There wasn’t much else to look at in his hut apart from the high-tech coffee machine and Harry Kane calendar. I smiled to myself as I inspected the coffee machine, memories of him pulling it out of his daypack at the top of Kangleong and making a celebratory brew, his frustration as the ground cinnamon blew off in the high winds, rather than being sprinkled onto the white milky foam.

I heard a flush and Andrew appeared from the bathroom, kindly leaving the door open. He walked back to the coffee machine.

“So,” he began, grinding the fresh locally sourced coffee beans. “What I am really interested in knowing, is what has happened to you in the last eight years. You look like you’ve aged about twenty years.”

The smell of freshly brewed coffee started to do battle with the smell of freshly laid beef, the contrasting smells playing a game of aroma tennis in my nasal passages. One a strong, dark, powerful thing of beauty, the other a stinking pile of shit. One could argue it was like a game between Nadal and Djokovic.

I didn’t have a good answer to the question that he had asked, so didn’t pull any punches.

“Andrew, I am from the future. And I came here in a time machine that Ifan invented. Now I need your help to go back to the year 2013 and stop Sir Henry Craven.”

The cup of pumpkin spiced latte that he was about to offer to me slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The brown liquid goodness splashing all over the floor and up the walls of his hut.

“Is this some sort of joke?” He said. But I heard the doubt in his voice. Surely he could see it in my face that I was fifty years old, and not forty. Eighteen years older than the last time I saw him, not eight. It was not possible to age that much in that space of time without having a lot of kids.

“It’s no joke. I have travelled back from ten years in the future. From 2030.”

“Okay, ‘future boy’, who is the president of the United States in 2030?”

“Donald Trump,” I replied.

“Donald Trump!” He exclaimed. “Still?!”

“Well, he refused to leave, so in the end everyone gave up.”

“Makes sense,” Andrew said, as if my story suddenly had more merit. “So come on then, I will humour you and ask what is going on here.”

I drew in a deep breath, and began. “Even though you have isolated yourself, I am sure you are aware of the ongoing pandemic?” I had noticed CNN playing on the TV in the corner.

“Of course. What about it?”

It had started in 2019. The outbreak of Covid-19 that led to the lockdown of most of the world. Conspiracy theories and fake news on Twitter became the norm. An astonishing 0.016% of the world’s population perished. But ultimately it had been traced back to one point. One moment in time that would change the world forever.

Sir Henry Craven had met terrorists at a market in Wuhan to sell the latest batch of weapons grade plutonium. To celebrate the deal he had been presented with a tasty pangolin snack, which, having lived on mountain rations and grilled owl, he wolfed down with relish. As in, with delight, not the tomato-based garnish. That would have been a total clash in flavours.

Craven had become patient zero, and his subsequent travels around the globe in arms deals had triggered the start the pandemic. First Iran, then Rome, then Madrid. And so on it went.

Driven by panic, scientists had tried to find a vaccine. A cure to the insanity. But the stress of trying to be the first to crack the cure, and the expectations of bringing the world back to some sort of normality had led to mistakes, and ultimately disaster. A laboratory, which became known as Lab X, was the first to develop a vaccine and announce it to the world. But testing had been carried out on rhesus monkeys, and the combination of the monkey DNA and coronavirus had caused a mutation to the virus – some sort of retrovirus – turning the monkeys into something else entirely. Malformation, together with heightened strength, intelligence and, most crucially, aggression.

The resulting events are still unclear. One laboratory worker managed to air his side of events but in-between the potential facts were the rambles of an insane man, that gave his side of the story little in the way of credit. But what we do know is that laboratory workers were killed and the monkeys escaped. Some rumours and Tweets indicated that some scientists had caught the virus and were responsible for the other deaths, killing their colleagues. They might have also released the monkeys on purpose. Though some believed that the monkeys managed to escape on their own, killing everyone in the process. No one knew for sure.

But ultimately the end result was the same. In the years following the outbreak the mutated retrovirus ended up in the outside world and in the food chain. It spread like wildfire, first through Asia, then Europe, then the US. First contracted by animals, then people. Every corner of the world was affected. People died in the billions, either as a result of the virus, murdered by infected people, or taking their own lives before they could “become”.

“I don’t understand what all this has to do with me,” Andrew interrupted, before adding. “Why are you here?”

“Wait, there’s more.” I walked over to the window and looked out across the desert planes. It was strange seeing the world as it used to be, before life changed forever, when you could enjoy a view without searching the sky for an infected sparrow that could at any minute sweep down and gouge your eye out. Or a house cat that hunted human life instead of mice. A time when you didn’t have to go everywhere with a loaded M4 Carbine Rifle.

“Craven somehow found out what had happened with the outbreak at Lab X,” I continued. “You see, the lab was located in China, deep under the Karakoram mountains. Craven decided to take matters into his own hand and launched a nuke at the lab, trying to kill everything in the blast radius. Wipe out what he had started. I guess he was driven by guilt. But he was too late, the virus had spread too far.

“China thought it was an attack by the US and countered. Russia got involved. Suddenly the world was full of flying nuclear missiles. Out of 7.8 billion people on the planet, only a few hundred thousand remain in 2030, hidden on remote islands or in the wild to avoid contact with the infected. A combination of the nuclear war and the virus has effectively wiped out the entire population of the world. All due to Sir Henry Craven.”

I turned back from the window and faced Andrew. He was noticeably paler than when I first arrived. “I was on an expedition in the South Pole with Ifan when this started, following a lead that Craven was there. How wrong we were.” I explained. “We heard the news and decided to remain there. But we knew we couldn’t survive there forever, so we had to do something.”

“Again, what does this have to do with me?”

I drew a breath. We were starting to get to the moment of truth.

“The last known sighting of Craven was on Kangleong in 2013, before this vortex of disaster that has followed him. Ifan and I, we need your help to go back and stop him before all this happens. As you know, Kangleong is a three man climb. We can’t do this without you, you’re the only one we can trust.”

Andrew sat on his bed and put his head in his hands. His body language suddenly changed as he noticeably stiffened and shot back up again.

“This is complete and utter bullshit. What is this, some sort of joke to rub salt in the wounds of eight years ago? Because they haven’t healed, you know that, right?”

“I know you think this is a joke, but I have proof. Look out of the window.”

Eyeing me suspiciously, Andrew walked over to the window close to where I was standing. I watched as his pupils dilated.

“My God. Ifan… he’s…”

“Yes,” I finished. “He’s driving a Ford C-Max.”

“I thought he would never drive anything other than a Focus.”

I glanced out of the window at the C-Max that we had arrived in. But of course this was no ordinary C-Max. The front was fairly standard, though Ifan had added those eye-lash things to make it look like a girl. But along the sides and top were a series of lights, cabling and circuitry that he had added whilst being stationed on the South Pole. The back of the car housed two large industrial exhaust ports, which were currently blowing out plumes of cold air, creating huge clouds of evaporation as it met the damp jungle atmosphere. The car was covered in ice, rapidly thawing and dripping onto the ground below.

“Wait, are you telling me that you built a time machine out of a C-Max?” Asked Andrew.

“The way Ifan saw it, if you are gonna build a time machine into a car, why not do it with some style?”

Clearly in shock, Andrew strode over the door and disappeared through it, staggering down the steps to the jungle road where Ifan had taken ten minutes to park. Catching up with him, we watched as Ifan continued with his set of deadlifting the C-Max-slash-time-machine, oblivious to our arrival. His gargantuan thigh and calf muscles pumping like the pistons in seven times world champion Lewis Hamilton’s Formula 1 car. To borrow an analogy from Vertical Summit 1. Finishing his one hundredth rep, he dropped the car back down with a thud, before noticing our arrival.

As he saw Andrew for the first time in eighteen years something feral flashed across his face. In the weeks and chapters to follow I would wonder whether I should have realised that Ifan had contracted the retrovirus and was becoming, or whether I was just fully focused on the climb, whether Summit fever had once again taken hold of me. It went without saying that the traits of extreme strength and heightened intelligence were something that was synonymous with Ifan anyway. Or, at least, that is what I would later tell myself as my reasoning. As my excuse.

Andrew turned back to face me. “Okay, assuming this is real. Why now? Why did you choose this exact moment to appear?”

“We timed it so that you would have just heard the news report of the earthquake in the Karakoram mountains. That wasn’t an earthquake, that was Craven’s first nuke detonating.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes, it has begun.”

Andrew seemed to consider this for a moment, before shaking his head and walking back towards the hut. He stopped at the doorway and turned back to face me.

“I’m really sorry, but I can’t do this. I can’t go back in time and kill someone. I’m no killer. I’m no time traveler.” He looked down at the ground before adding. “And anyway, I will never set foot on a 8000 meter peak again. Not after… not after the last time.”

I had just one card left to play. If he wouldn’t join me, then he would meet his destiny.

“Andrew,” I began softly. “You and your family are killed in this. You, your wife, and your daughter.”

He turned and walked back down the steps towards me, confusion on his face once more.

“What? My what?”

“This is hard to say, but in eight years’ time you contract the virus and kill your family. The question is whether you want to come and save the world… save your future self. Or whether you want to stay here and wait for the end to come. It is your choice. But as I said, we can’t do this without you.”

Andrew stood there staring at me. His face slack, a bit like that photo from the Lakes after the first night out where I fell off the flower pots. He had held his toothbrush in his hand. But not now, now he held a pumpkin spiced latte. It slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground.

The decision was his. Would he join us. Or would he let us disappear into the past so that he could continue with his own story ideas?

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whenyourefalling-ina-forest-blog · 7 years

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Step Out of the Sun ch.6

Summary: 'Today is going to be a good day. Today is gonna be a good day because it's the first marching band practice of the year. Well, it's the first marching band practice of my life.'

Notes: Heyo. Band camp is finally over so I get to write again. This chapter is basically the start of the story? I'm sorry that the end of the chapter seemed rushed. Anyways, it's Evan's first June practice in his freshman year. Enjoy.

Tumblr ask blog: ask-bandbros IG: whenyourefalling.ina.forest Twitter: sincerelyfallin

AO3

Evan sits up in bed. He turned to his alarm clock and it read 5:04.

'Oh great,' Evan thought as he lays back down and stares up at his ceiling. 'I'm not going to be able to fall asleep again. Might as well get up.'

He sighs and reaches out to search for his phone. Evan lays in bed for another ten minutes before deciding to get up. He sits up and walks up to his closet, quickly grabbing a shirt and some shorts.

'This will have to do for now.'

Evan took his clothes and silently tiptoed down to the bathroom, hoping that he wouldn't wake his mom. He changed and looked into the mirror. He could almost see the dark bags under his eyes start to appear.

'Today is going to be a good day. Today is gonna be a good day because it's the first marching band practice of the year. Well, it's the first marching band practice of my life. Oh gosh. What if I get there and nobody is there? What if I got the dates wrong? Will I stand outside for an hour, just standing and look stupid? No, it's okay. Today is going to be a good day. I'm going to go there and play my instrument and it's going to be fine,' Evan felt the pit of dread start in his stomach.

"Evan, sweetie, when did you wake up?"

Evan snapped out of his thought. He took a deep breath and turned to open the door. He was greeted with the sight of his mom, Heidi, standing in her pajamas, looking slightly worried.

"I uh, I just woke up. Couldn't get back to sleep," Evan started walking back towards his room. "Did I wake you?"

Heidi followed him into his room and sat down on his bed. She reached over to his bedside table and opened the box containing his medication.

"Are you good? Do you need a refill?" She asked, looking up at Evan who was sitting at his desk, cautiously cleaning his flute.

"Um, yeah, I'm good for now," Evan said, staring intensely at the foot joint of his instrument.

"Sweetheart, this is the third time you've cleaned your flute in the past two days. I think it's clean enough," Heidi closed the box and stood up. She walked towards Evan and put a hand on his shoulder.

Evan sighed and put his flute back into the case. He stared down at his case. Evan could feel the pit of dread slowly growing bigger as the clock ticked closer to eight.

Heidi looked down at her son. She grinned a bit before ruffling his hair.

"I'm gonna go get ready. I'll come back after work and drive you to practice. It starts at five, right? I'm going to be gone before it ends so Jared's mom is going to bring you home. Okay?"

Evan nodded and got up from the desk.

Heidi spared another glance at the blonde boy before walking downstairs.

Evan walked to his bedside table and got out his meds. He quickly swallowed down his pills before walking downstairs. He ate his breakfast without tasting a thing. His hands were getting clammy.

'No, stop it. Everything will be fine. Why am I worrying? Nobody should hate me. The only person that I've talked to is Jared. It's all good.'

Hours passed. Evan sat on his couch, waiting for Heidi to get back. He spent most of the day fretting over what he thought would happen. Evan tried to tell himself that everything will be alright but it was like his mind wouldn't listen to itself.

Sooner than he would like, Heidi was home and driving him to the school. They arrived five minutes early. Evan stared out the window at the school. It was all new to him. Evan hoped he could still find his way to the band room.

"Have fun! Jared's parents are going to pick you guys up after practice! Love you sweetheart!" Heidi rolled up the window and waved before turning out of the parking lot.

Evan stood on the sidewalk. He felt like he could just collapse any second. After a few seconds of internal decision making, Evan slowly made his way into the building and soon found his way to the band room.

The walls of the room was lined with shiny trophies. There were groups of people standing around, having animate conversations with each other. Evan quickly spotted the other freshmen. Some were standing with their section mates, engaged in conversation. The large majority of them were standing in their own circle, talking quietly. Evan thought about joining them but thought about how he had nothing to say.

'Where is Jared?' Evan thought as he anxiously looked around the room filled with people. After searching for a few seconds, he spotted Jared standing in a corner, leaning against the wall. Evan walked towards him.

"Um, hi Jared. Uh. How was um your summer s-so far?" Evan stammered. Jared glanced up at Evan.

"Well, I'm here aren't I? I can't believe my mom made me do this." Jared huffs and looks around.

Evan nods and stands besides Jared. He could tell that Jared didn't really mean that. Evan sees that Jared was glad to be a part of something.

They stood in silence for a few moments, taking in the sights around them, before the drum major clapped and called out for them to meet with their sections.

Evan felt his palms get clammy.

'What if they don't like me? Will they think I'm not a good player? Oh gosh.'

"Hello, you're a flute, right? I'm gonna assume you're Evan."

Evan jumps a bit when the voice addressed him. He turns around and is face to face with a girl who seemed very bright and bubbly.

"Er, y-yes," He responded.

"My name is Christie. I'm the flute section leader. Just follow me and we'll get you sorted right out!" The girl said.

Evan gave her an anxious look and followed closely behind her. Christie led him to a room. When he walked in, he saw there were a few other girls.

'Oh no. Am I the only boy? I mean, I guess I knew this would happen. Will anyone tease me? I don't want to be shoved in a locker.'

"Okay, guys. Settle in. This will be your family for the next six months. Be nice." Christie said, gesturing for everyone to sit.

Evan's eyes darted around. He took a few deep breaths and shuffles to an empty chair.

By the end of practice, Evan had gotten to know the members of his section. He was glad that those three hours were over.

'It's okay. Nothing bad happened. Today was fine. Nobody made fun of me, nobody shoved me into a locker, this is fine.'

Yeah. Today was a good day.

#deh #dear evan hansen #deh au #dear evan hansen au #marching band au #marching band #fanfic #fanfiction #evan hansen #connor murphy #zoe murphy #alana beck #jared kleinman #step out of the sun

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kidsviral-blog · 6 years

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MC Jin's Second Chance

New Post has been published on https://kidsviral.info/mc-jins-second-chance/

MC Jin's Second Chance

Over a decade ago, MC Jin was signed to Ruff Ryders — the first Chinese-American rapper to approach mainstream success, only to vanish from the scene as quickly as he arrived. Now, after becoming an unlikely star in Hong Kong and overcoming stereotypes he helped promote, he’s attempting a comeback. But is anyone listening?

The Chinese-American rap artist MC Jin is the last act scheduled to perform on the final evening of the Orange County Night Market, a series of outdoor festivals inspired by the culture of strolling open-air, dusk-to-midnight bazaars in Asia.

Jin, 32, bounds up the stage erected at the center of the fairgrounds. His voice booms from the speakers, shouting for those standing near the back to come closer, while he glides across the length of the stage to slap palms in the pit. He wears black and gold high-tops, black cargo shorts, and a black long-sleeved tee printed with a glossy white Mercedes-Benz logo across the chest but parodied by the words MERDERES DEMZ. A black five-panel cap sits backwards on his head.

A natural performer, Jin stalks the stage with charisma and confidence. Watching him rap is a delight. It all feels effortless, the sprezzatura with which he spits rhymes, the intimacy created between the rapper and the legion of upturned faces that Sunday night. Jin basks in the glow of attention. He conscripts the crowd in singing, chanting, and clapping along throughout the first few songs; he hams it up admirably for all the phones bobbing in the air. When he snatches one out of a young woman’s hands and plants a kiss on the screen, she shrieks with glee.

MC Jin at the Orange County Night Market instagram.com

Photos and video footage later proliferate Instagram and Twitter with the hashtags #MCJin and #JourneyTo1459, a nod to his new studio album entitled XIV:LIX, or 14:59, which references the dwindling seconds of a clock counting down the proverbial 15 minutes of fame.

More than a decade ago, Jin freestyle rapped his way to sudden stardom on BET’s flagship hip-hop television program, 106 & Park. In 2002, Jin Au-Yeung was 19, the baby-faced newcomer on “Freestyle Friday,” the show’s weekly battle segment for aspiring emcees. Swimming in an oversize navy blue sweater, the brim of a bucket hat angled over one eye, the 5-foot-6-inch Chinese kid from Queens annihilated the returning champ that first week, and went on to collect six more consecutive wins to earn a spot in 106 & Park’s “Freestyle Friday” Hall of Fame.

Touted the first mainstream Asian-American rapper, he had the ears of the hip-hop world and the devotion of every Asian-American kid with even a passing interest in rap music. Following the BET run, Jin scored a deal with Ruff Ryders, the label that developed artists Eve, DMX, and Jadakiss. To say that hype surrounded Jin’s studio debut is an understatement. Back then, he endured constant comparisons to Eminem, as much for a shared history of coming up the freestyle battle circuit and because of his race. Jin was another outsider trying to come up in a genre dominated by black artists.

You might count a handful DJs and producers — Q-bert and Invisibl Skratch Piklz, DJ Babu of Dilated Peoples, the Fifth Platoon crew in New York — but Jin was undeniably the only rapper out there calling himself “the original chink-eyed MC.” In a New York Times Magazine profile, Ta-Nehisi Coates once wrote of Jin as “the Great Yellow Hip-Hop Hope.”

In 2003, Rolling Stone had named him one of the year’s top new artists to watch. The producer credits on Jin’s The Rest Is History reads like a murderer’s row of hitmakers — Just Blaze, Wyclef Jean, Swizz Beats, Kanye West — but when it was released in 2004, the record received tepid reviews and underperformed in sales.

“I didn’t realize it, but when I first got into battling, as early as age 13, 14, that [freestyle battling] would be my gift and my curse. There’s this stigma about being a battle rapper,” Jin says. “There was a chip on my shoulder, like, ‘Yo, I gotta prove that battle rappers can make songs.’” He shakes his head. “It was just one more thing to add on to the distractions that pulled me away from being able to be truly creative.”

We’re sitting in The Arche, pronounced “ark,” the recording studio at the SEED Center, the vast warehouse in downtown Los Angeles that Jin’s manager and longtime friend, Carl Choi, stripped and transformed into the home to the Great Company, the artist management and event production venture Choi heads up. The Jin in front of me now is toned-down version of the boisterous, ebullient rapper stomping around on stage at the Orange County Night Market a week ago. He is easygoing, and quick with spitfire wisecracks. He speaks fast, sometimes interrupting himself to clarify a detail, jumping forward or looping back to the topic at hand. Jin is always in command of the conversation, even while his mouth appears to rattle on extemporaneously.

In the decade and some years since his 106 & Park and Ruff Ryders days, Jin’s star has blotted, if not faded entirely. Word spread that he’d quit the rap game and had moved to Hong Kong to capitalize on all that new China money.

Jin is back, though in truth, he’d never quite arrived in the first place. “What was driving me then? Fame, money, self-glorification,” Jin admits. “The difference between now and 10 years ago is that [I have] so much more clarity now. So much more purpose. The XIV:LIX mind-set is ‘Yo, Jin, this could be the last interview you ever do, so be honest, be authentic, be grateful, be sincere. This could be the last song, the last album.’”

View this image ›

Photograph by Jon Premosch for BuzzFeed News

Jin and Ruff Ryders parted ways after the disappointing reception to The Rest Is History. “It was looming in the air. We all knew it was a matter of time,” he says of being released. A few independently released mixtapes came out to little notice. By 2007, he was living back home in Queens, the Au-Yeung family of four (Jin, his parents, and younger sister Avah) all crowded into a desolate basement apartment.

“It was the darkest two years of this whole past decade,” Jin says. “I was in the depression zone — and I don’t use that word lightly.”

“I was on the verge of hanging it all up: Maybe troop on over to Best Buy and see if they’re hiring.“

“I was on the verge of hanging it all up: Maybe it’s time to really let this music thing go, and troop on over to Best Buy and see if they’re hiring,” he says, describing his mind-set then. “At least I’d know I have a job, and it’s not based on popularity and acceptance and hype. I just clock in, stock the TVs, and clock out.”

Jin moved to Hong Kong in 2008; he released a Cantonese-language album through Universal, which led to acting gigs in Chinese film and television. Jin calls the choice to attempt resuscitation of his music dreams overseas a “no-brainer.” He says, “There was absolutely nothing going on for me here in the U.S. at the time, career-wise.” Around the time, Jin found a renewed faith in Christianity. He says, “God really allowed me to blossom. To me, that was the biggest thing to come out of the Hong Kong experience. The last thing I [expected].”

Though Jin was a household name in Hong Kong by then, acting on TV and in films, hosting variety shows, cashing checks for paid endorsements, even appearing alongside a top government official in a state-sponsored holiday greeting spot, he packed it all up and moved back to New York to be a full-time dad to baby boy Chance, who arrived in 2012.

He quiets, and his hands stop moving; he’s not scratching his head, pounding a fist into an open palm, shooting gun-fingers, waving a hand in the air while the other mimes holding a microphone. Mando Fresko, a radio personality on L.A.’s hip-hop station Power 106 who advised on the production of XIV:LIX, says of Jin, “He’s fast at everything. He’s fast at writing songs, fast at recording. Once he feels it, he runs with it. He doesn’t second-guess. He’ll hop in the booth and knock it out.”

In putting together the new album, Jin recorded 35 songs in total. Fifteen tracks ultimately made it on the record. The first single is “Chinese New Year,” a revelatory celebration of Jin’s Chinese-American identity, the story of his family’s immigrant, working-class roots, and a candid acknowledgment of the failures in his rap career thus far — including regret over “Learn Chinese,” the first single off The Rest Is History, and probably still the most recognizable song in Jin’s oeuvre.

“I’m at a point now where I don’t cringe if I hear ‘Learn Chinese,’” he says now. “But I don’t think there was ever one point when I was genuinely, genuinely proud of that song.’” He adds, “I definitely still cringe at that video.”

The video for “Learn Chinese” is a study in the hackneyed stereotypes of Orientalist fantasy. Jin plays two characters in it: the villain in an eye patch and thin mustache who leads a gang of karate-chopping henchmen, and the hero who rescues the sexy Asian girls from some den of iniquity deep in the bowels of a glamorized Chinatown ghetto. The concept is intercut with shots of Jin in a maroon jogging suit rapping underneath an arched, neon-lit Chinese gate, a diamond-encrusted “R” chain swinging from his neck, the famous logo of the Ruff Ryders.

Jin recalls the awe he felt collaborating with Wyclef, who produced “Learn Chinese” and makes a cameo in the video as hype man, bouncing and weaving with his palms pressed in prayer hands, and occasionally bowing, high-kicking. “If Clef said, ‘Yo, you should do this,’ whatever it would have been, I probably was like, cool, let’s do it. Everything he’s suggesting was gold to me.”

Oliver Wang, a music writer and professor of sociology at California State University, Long Beach, has criticized the song for its failure to actually break racial stereotypes of Asian-American men. “It’s still wholly conservative in its ideal of what masculinity looks and sounds like,” Wang asserts. “The video still ascribes to all the same tropes of hegemonic masculinity that we’re familiar with in terms of capacity for violence, sexual prowess.”

“I had this opportunity to make a statement. My criticism of it now is: You had this opportunity and that was the statement you made?”

Jin blames his youth and industry naiveté for the misguided execution. “I look back, and I had this opportunity to make a statement. That was my first single to the world that the label was going to get behind. My criticism of it now is: You had this opportunity, Jin, and that was the statement you made?”

He has higher hopes for the single off XIV:LIX. “I have absolute peace when ‘Chinese New Year’ comes on right now. Whether I’m in a room by myself or it’s in a room full of strangers, or people I do know. Just that alone tells me it’s different from ‘Learn Chinese.’”

At least one critic is cheered; Wang writes to me by email, “It’s like Jin made an 180. On ‘Chinese New Year,’ it’s all about looking inward via introspection and he basically apologizes for his 21-year-old self on ‘Learn Chinese,’ which is striking since it’s rare to see many rappers walking back their own earlier catalog.”

Steven Y. Wong, curator at the Chinese American Museum, is more skeptical. Wong has written about the challenges that artists and arts institutions, like the one where he works, face when addressing culturally specific stories. He says, “Too often, our own ethnic communities celebrate the four F’s (famous people, festivals, fashion, and food), with good intentions, to perhaps demonstrate success, acceptance, and assimilation.” In his estimation, these themes fail to present the nuanced complexities of a community of people, and actually perpetuate “the misconceptions and cultural reductions that prevail in the American imagination” when it comes to Asian-Americans.

The song hits three of Wong’s four F’s: Bruce Lee (famous people), Chinese New Year (festival), and wontons and dim sum (food). The musical production, too, grates Wong’s ears, with its “guzheng- and erhu-sounding pentatonic loops,” stringed instruments that Wong dismisses as “a stereotypical strategy to incorporate an essentialized Chinese-ness.” And that “gung hay fat choy” chorus? Wong calls it “cliché.”

Other listeners are not as discerning and despite his long absence, still seems to have a core following interested in seeing how his Hong Kong detour might bode well for his revived music career at home. Not that he’s overly worried.

“To me right now, fun is taking a drive to Home Depot,” he says. “How’s the album doing, planning for this, got a gig there, social media, all that stuff is out the window. I’m just pushing the cart, Chance is sitting there. We’re talking about we need to get new shingles, whatever. To me, that’s living.”

View this image ›

Photograph by Jon Premosch for BuzzFeed News

The night of the XIV:LIX launch party at the Sayers Club in Hollywood, a line of a hundred or so people stand listlessly against the brick-wall facade of the nightclub, waiting for a stoic woman with waist-long black hair to find their names on her clipboard. About 50 have been admitted into the front of the house, where a step-and-repeat is set up next to a long wraparound bar. There are men in vests and shirtsleeves, and brightly colored bow ties. The more casually dressed have affected styles of studied dishevelment; ironic logo shirts, cuffed jeans, Nike Air Force 1s. The women wear high-waisted shorts, sheer tops, and heavy gold necklaces, eyelids glittering in iridescent colors.

At 8:20 p.m., guests are ushered into the black-box theater space decorated in the manner of a 1920s speakeasy. Edison bulbs hang from the vaulted ceiling. Half a dozen chesterfield sofas circle the stage, leaving a small aisle for the cocktail waitresses in black hot pants to deliver bottle service. Private booths line the periphery of the room, but most of the attendees remain standing in the aisles or leaning against the massive stretch of bar at the back, dimly lit by a row of wrought-iron candelabras.

Mando Fresko, the Power 106 radio host, commands the DJ booth, spinning a mix of old and new hip-hop joints by Common, Kendrick Lamar, Drake, Macklemore. Jin is somewhere in the room greeting old friends and fans, but when Mando jams Outkast’s “ATLiens,” he gallops to the booth and bumps fists, then raps along to every word in the first verse.

Jin runs through all 15 songs on XIV:LIX, performing parts of tracks live, wisecracking with Fresko, narrating the story of how the album was conceived and brought to light. He is accompanied by a drummer on stage. At one point in the night, he indulges the audience with a freestyle rap session over the snares and kicks, and the crowd goes nuts for it, whooping and whistling for more.

The morning after the party, Jin is visibly drained. “I wanna go home.” Then, he softens. “That’s how I feel, you know? Want to go home. See the fam.”

I recall a moment near the end of our first interview session, when he tells me that he’s not as confident as the persona he projects on stage. He’d just finished giving a blow-by-blow account of how he came to win his first “Freestyle Friday” battle on 106 & Park, from the open casting in Harlem, to how he felt about his chances after the audition, getting the callback (“The taping’s on Wednesday — that blew my mind right there. ‘Freestyle Friday’ isn’t even on Friday!”), the story on defending champ Hassan who stood over a foot taller than him, his strategy going into the battle, down to the David-defeats-Goliath moment when the judges announced him as the winner.

“Sometimes, man, these different chapters don’t always end up panning out the way you think.”

In those quiet seconds after this elaborate, detailed account, his eyes cast toward the rug on the floor, I glimpsed some vague, irretrievable sadness about him. The last thing he’d said, before we stopped recording, was this: “Sometimes, man, these different chapters, different seasons, don’t always end up panning out the way you think.”

I never see that Jin again, not once, in the two weeks I spend trailing him at radio interviews, meet-and-greets, and club shows where he’s mobbed by drunken, crushing crowds. (One determined young woman sidled up to me at Emerson, a nightclub in Hollywood, and demanded that I take a photo with her: “You’re MC Jin’s wife, aren’t you?”)

The day of the album launch, the accompanying XIV:LIX merchandise also arrives in office: CDs with 15 different covers, T-shirts, embroidered hats. Jin studies the liner notes in silence, then quips: “The Great Company, with two O’s, though?” A dreadful silence, then he says, “I’m just kidding!” The staffer in charge of merchandise wails and nearly collapses, while everyone else guffaws.

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Photograph by Jon Premosch for BuzzFeed News

“I would like to think that XIV:LIX will open up a lot of doors in 2015.” A tour is in the works and he hopes to pursue more acting, picking up where he left off in Hong Kong. Late last year, he appeared in Revenge of the Green Dragons, a crime drama directed by Andrew Lau and Andrew Loo, and executive produced by Martin Scorsese. Jin’s performance as a rookie NYPD detective is nothing spectacular, but he delivers his lines adequately and manages to hold his own opposite Ray Liotta.

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MC Jin in Hong Kong, 2008 Jerome Favre / AP Photo

I ask him if it’s a goal to be signed to a major label again. A long pause, then he says, “That’s a good question.” Another pause, and then he decides, “Yeah. It is.” His approach now, however, is vastly changed from the Ruff Ryders days — acknowledging that the industry, too has changed. “Now, I’m not in the mind-set of ‘I’ll do anything to sign, whatever deal you give me I’ll take.’ At one point, that probably was the reality. I was just thirsty for a deal, whatever kind of deal it is.”

Carl Choi, Jin’s manager, says “some sort of collaborative deal makes sense,” which means retaining creative control, but with a major label’s financial resources. Though Jin has been under Choi’s management for years now, the Great Company is a startup venture; XIV:LIX was made in part through crowdsourced funding via a successful Pledge Music campaign.

Choi is no neophyte, however. He has previously managed another Asian-American rap act to platinum success. For years, he was inseparable from the dance/hip-hop group Far East Movement. The relationship imploded after the quartet signed with Interscope in 2010.

At the time, Choi felt strongly that Far East Movement should’ve gone it alone, without the mainstream label deal. “Their songs were getting picked up on the radio, we had traction with touring,” Choi says. “I told the guys, I think we can do this indie, but because I was trying to get them out of that deal, I became the enemy.”

Since breaking with Choi, Far East Movement has gone on to open for Lady Gaga, Calvin Harris, and Lil Wayne. Their hit single, “Like a G6,” has sold over 2 million copies. Kevin Nishimura, one member of Far East Movement, declined to speak on his relationship to the group’s former manager, though he allowed that upon signing with Interscope, the label suggested a name change for the band.

“Right then and there, it really struck us, that’s something that’s not negotiable,” Nishimura says. All four members of Far East Movement are Asian, but their lyrics have never explicitly referenced race. Nishimura explains that that’s partly why the foursome from L.A., with deep roots in Koreatown, have insisted on keeping their original name. “It’s been our way of representing,” he says.

Jin, on the other hand, has never shied away from discussions of race. “People always want to debate, are you black enough or not-black enough, are you Asian enough or not-Asian enough. Like, how do you gauge that?” He chuckles, and continues: “These last few weeks, I’ve been at the OC Night Market, [which is] predominantly Asian. I’m there speaking Cantonese, being myself. And then there’s the Christian music conference I attended in Tampa. Completely opposite, totally not Asian, a good diverse mix of folks. To me, that authenticity, people can feel it. I don’t feel like I have to turn off or on something.”

Though he no longer suffers the comparisons to Eminem (“Number-one reason people don’t call me the Asian Eminem anymore is because he went on to sell billions of records, build this magnificent career, and I went the opposite way,” he says, with a wry laugh), Jin acknowledges that he is a “stan” of his, as well as Macklemore. But he distinguishes himself from another popular white rapper who’s been at the center of recent heated debates in hip-hop: Iggy Azalea. Last year, Azalea was derided by many rap purists, including Q-Tip, for being dismissive of the genre’s cultural roots. “I’m very vocal about saying that we have to remember hip-hop is black culture,” Jin says. “It can grow and evolve, yeah, but my own personal take is that we can never get to a point where we forget that, or not acknowledge it. It comes from respect, and I’m big on the history of hip-hop.”

A couple nights after his album release party, Jin is feted by chef Roy Choi at POT, the hipster Korean restaurant at the newly revamped Line Hotel. The comedic female rapper Awkwafina is there, eating dinner with Dumbfoundead, the Korean-American emcee who’s now going by the stage name Parker. Both are featured in Bad Rap, a documentary on Asian-Americans in hip-hop, directed by Salima Koroma.

In a glib deadpan, Parker says, “Asians in rap? That shit is a very hard mix.”

“If you don’t address race, then people are like, why don’t you talk about the elephant in the room,” says Awkwafina. She adds, “But you have to do it right. It can’t be gimmicky.” A native New Yorker, she calls Jin a “hometown hero,” and she remembers seeing him years ago, “rolling around Flushing with that Ruff Ryders chain, just chilling with friends.”

The two sit at the bar, drinking beers and sharing several plates of food between them. A few feet behind them, an Asian family tucks into their meal wordlessly: grandparents, parents, and two teenage daughters. Jin is on a break. In the meantime, the DJ spins old-school rap songs and cuts from Jin’s XIV:LIX. When he returns behind the bar and grabs the mic again, one of the teenage girls, her hair dyed a shocking pink ombré, turns around in her chair and starts recording with her phone. Jin freestyles a few bars, then leads off chanting, “What’s for dessert, Chef Roy? What’s for dessert?” The entire restaurant chimes in; one of the waitstaff dances exuberantly for a moment by the host stand, popping and locking.

Later, Choi answers by handing Jin a round cake with white icing. The rapper grins, then looks around, and asks innocently, “What do I do with this?” His eyes widen, as if threatening to dump the cake over one of his team. Someone takes the cake from him, and then Jin runs off again, ready to grab the mic and entertain the restaurant’s staff and guests.

Read more: http://www.buzzfeed.com/jeanho/mc-jins-second-chance

#106 and park #ruff ryders

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