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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #467

“oh, mary, mary, ain’t this fun? / mary, mary, i’ve got a gun”

If the last person you kissed asked you to marry them, what would you do? Pray to god it wasn't in public and tell him it's waaaay too soon for that one. Does your favorite uncle have any children? Yeah, a son and daughter. Name all the members (first, middle and last names) from your favorite band. Ha, it's funny how once upon a time, I could do this. All I've got now is John Michael Osbourne. Have you ever heard a young child swear? Maybe? Have you ever seen someone get a piercing/tattoo?: Yes to both. Has a taste of something ever made you smile? Boy meet me at The Cheesecake Factory and see what my face does lmaooo As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be a paleontologist sooo badly. I wanted to discover new dinosaurs, put a shitload of work into unearthing fossils and being so proud to see the final results... Even now as an adult, if I could handle the heat, traveling, and hardcore school, I'd still love to do that. Would you cuss the person you hate the most out to their face? No. My hatred for her is unjustified and I'd rather just not say anything to her. Have you ever spent more than two weeks in a wheelchair? No. Where do you see your closest friend in ten years? As one of the strongest people around. I imagine her with a job in medical coding, while also pursuing the hobbies of ball python breeding and writing. I'm sure she'll have loads of pets to love, too! Do you like Florence + The Machine? I've never listened to them. Did you watch the presidential debates? No. Do you ever watch Dr. Phil? No. Are you typically unattracted to people outside of your race? No; I can be attracted to any race. Have you ever ridden any animal other than a horse? No. Do you brush your hair when it’s wet? Yes. Do you eat the crusts of your bread? Yeah, I always have. Have you ever flown a kite? Yeah! At my childhood home, there was a tobacco field directly across the street, and when they weren't in season so the field was flat, Dad would help us with getting kites set up and in the air. Those are good memories. How are you for money? I don't make any money. Mom is struggling. Do you think you are more intelligent than the average person? Ha, no. Do you ever think about why we are here? Does it matter? We're here, so make the most of it. Do you like cherries? I fucking hate cherries. Name a celebrity that you admire that nobody would expect you to: Jeffree Star, probs. Can you use a yoyo? Not well, but yeah. Do you think Jenna Marbles’ videos are funny? I've actually never watched her. Do you like folk music? NOOOOOOOOO Ever had a crush on somebody of the same sex? Yes. Do you know any lesbians? Yep. Favourite member of your favourite band: I'm unfamiliar with all but Ozzy himself. And Ozzy is rad. Who’s your favourite female rapper? I don't have one. When you were younger, were you ever in a relationship with someone you now realize was way too old for you? No. Have you ever had a seizure? No. I sometimes have very, very quick spasms when I'm falling asleep that feel like what I assume a seizure would, but they barely last a second. They seriously jerk me awake, though, and are very startling. What’s the oldest man-made object you own? I dunno. Is there anything you feel like you need a break from? Not really, no. What do you hate to hear people joke about? I will actually and remorselessly deck you in the jaw if you make a joke about rape. There are other things that are absolutely forbidden joking matters for me, too. What’s the largest animal you’ve seen in the wild? Hmmm... Nothing that big, really. Maybe a whitetail deer buck? Do any of your friends or family members have strange occupations? Not to my knowledge. Have you ever been in weather so severe that you feared for your safety? Oh yeah. We've had some savage thunderstorms. What political issues are the most important to you personally? LGBTQ+ rights and just equality in general, the pro-choice movement, environmental conservation, gun control, the abolishment of poverty and homelessness... There is honestly a lot. I could keep going. Do you know anyone who doesn’t know how to cook even just simple recipes? ... Me. :x Especially now that I'm in a relationship, I really want to make a greater effort to learn. I want to prove to him I give a damn about the success of our relationship and that I'm capable of being an adult that can take part in general adult responsibilities. ^What’s stopping them from learning this basic life skill? Laziness. Forgetfulness. The fear of getting burned. What small thing makes you automatically distrust someone? I can pick up on sketchy body language from a mile away. I'm too paranoid not to. Of all the states/provinces in your country, which one is your favorite? At least from photographs I've seen, Utah appears BEAUTIFUL. That whole region of the U.S. in general. Are there any obscure foods you’ve eaten that most people have never tried? That's very unlikely. I'm far from explorative with food. When you travel to other countries, do you always try the local cuisine? I've never been outside the U.S. I would probably do that, though. I'd really want to experience the culture as thoroughly as I could. What did you do for your 19th birthday? Hell if I remember. What’s the kindest thing a total stranger has done for you? I remember as a young kid, my parents, two sisters, and I were getting food at McDonald's, and whoever was in front of us paid for our meals. Such a sweet gesture for a larger family. Have you ever used a meal kit delivery service? No, but there actually is one that I can't recall the name of that I'd like to try when I cook myself, especially getting started learning, but yeah, subscription fees. You see a lot of YouTubers get sponsored by them, if that rings a bell. Do you have any psychological issues rooted in events from your childhood? Possibly my fear of men, with my dad having been an alcoholic that had a 50/50 chance of being very angry when drunk. How organized are the files on your computer? Pretty organized, I'd say. I put stuff into folders. Would you date someone with braces? Yes? Do you ever rehearse conversations before you have them? Only always. Do you get angry at yourself or at others more often? Myself, for sure. When taking a cab, do you talk to the driver? I've never even taken a cab. Who or what greets you at the door every time you come home? Nobody, really. My cat is occasionally in the living room to see who's home, but not always because he's a lazy cat, ha ha. Do you ever chat about your favourite video games with your friends? Not really, no. I wish. Have you ever supported anyone’s Kickstarter? If so, what was it? No, bc I'm poor. Are you currently studying a language? If so, which one? No. Ever had a friend online for a long time without seeing a photo of them? Yeah. Do you carry pepper spray? No, but I want some 'cuz I'm paranoid as hell. Are you waiting on anything right now? No. Have you ever been described as shy? Is it true? Oh, always. It's absolutely true. Name something you’re a complete sucker for? Baby animals, to name one thing. Do you remember when you first went on the internet? Nope. What is one way someone could completely put you off on a first date? Arrogance/over-confidence. What about a way someone could make you like them more on a first date? Make me genuinely laugh a lot, to name one way. Are you in love right now? Not yet. I love him with our decade of history, but I need more experience as a couple before I've got the confidence to say that. Do you wanna get married anytime soon? It wouldn't be smart to. I want to be in a strong relationship for quite a few years before I want that. Have you ever kissed someone in a band? No. Has someone ever made you a Build-A-Bear? No but oh my fucking god I wish!!!!!! Did your mom or dad ever put soap in your mouth? No, but Mom would threaten to. What was the last fruit you ate? Well, I had strawberry yogurt earlier today. Who was the last person to make you laugh? Girt. He is very, very good at that. Have you ever dated someone with more piercings than you? No. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Hell yeah man. Is there one night of your life you wish had never happened? I wish it hadn't happened the way it did. Do you have a close relationship with your sibling(s)? No. What was the last thing that you shared? Some watermelon Sour Patch Kids with my mom. Do you think people talk behind your back? You couldn't get me to believe my mom doesn't at least sometimes to my sisters even if you tried your absolute damnedest. In real life do you laugh like ‘haha,’ 'hehe’ or something else? It depends on what I'm laughing at/at what intensity. Do you have any unusual skills? Nah. Who’s your favourite person? I don't have a sole favorite person. I love many people in different ways for varying reasons. Are there any chores you actually enjoy doing? No. When did you last have an "Oh, I get it now!" moment? Watching Attack on Titan yesterday w/ Girt. Have your parents ever suspected something untrue about you? My mom HAD to have suspected I was doing something FAR worse than innocent meerkat RP to have borderline fucking traumatized me invading my privacy and forcing shit out of me regarding what I was always doing on the computer so secretively. Like I get it, she was a concerned mother, but I was a fucking WRECK because I found it so embarrassing. It was insulting that she didn't trust her well-behaved daughter. What do you think about video games? They're great for both the creators and consumers. They're wonderful expressions of creativity, and so much fun to experience as a player, delving into a new world and getting engrossed in the story. I could go onnnn and onnnnn about what video games mean to me. I've gone my whole life as a loyal gamer. Are there any forms of Art you personally find pointless? I really, really don't get a lot of abstract art that's worth fucking thousands, BUT, I absolutely disagree that they are without purpose. The artist created what they did for SOME reason. As a distraction, a method of expressing emotion, to convey an idea... Are you tired right now? I have been SO ridiculously tired today. Like it's unreal. I've taken I wanna say three naps and I'm still sleepy. What’s something you do a lot? Drink something. I'm not talking about alcohol; just in general, I ALWAYS need some kind of drink by me, and I go through drinks pretty quickly. Are you currently on any other websites? Yeah, I'm watching YouTube. Are you good at using Photoshop? I'm decent, I guess. Have you ever been told you naturally tilt your head a certain way? Yes, actually, at least by my mom, and she's right. My head tends to tilt VERY slightly to the right, and I can tell by how easy it is to bend my head that way as opposed to left. I'll feel a biiiit more strain.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''run rabbit run'' by rob zombie

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sunsetinmyvein · 4 years

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The Radio Station - Chapter Two - I’m So Excited

21st of August, 2013

The email had come in from her boss about a week before the interview was scheduled – next Wednesday, Mathew Healy was going to be back on her show. A part of her felt kind of anxious about this fact. Since the last time they had met, the band had indeed taken off as she predicted. Their popularity was only snowballing and the man that she had the pleasure of knowing for a brief while was revelling in it (from what she had seen in other interviews, anyway). She tried to remind herself that he was very easy to get along with the last time, so this should be no different. And she had met some substantially larger names than The 1975 in her time at the station. So, her anxiety was therefore fairly unwarranted. Which begged the question about why she felt those nerves sitting at the pit of her stomach in the first place, just from knowing that he was coming back into the studio. However, there wasn’t any point in stewing over it, nor was there time to, because he was knocking lightly at her glass door before she knew it. His mohawk had grown out a bit since she’d last seen him eight months ago, but otherwise he looked largely the same. She had a feeling he was even wearing the same black jacket he’d been wearing before. Looking behind him, it would seem that he’d brought one of the guys with him that she had seen him with after their last interview. If she recalled correctly, he was their drummer.

“It was Matthew, yeah?” She asked, trying to play it cool as she ushered the two of them inside. She hoped that it wouldn’t be apparent too quickly that she had been watching The 1975's movements closely since they’d met. Though, if Matthew was as clued on this time as he was the last time they’d spoke, she likely wouldn’t be able to hide it for long.

“Yeah, but Matty’s better.” He grinned. There was a short pause as he stopped for a beat and maintained eye contact, before remembering that he had someone else to introduce. “And I don’t think you guys formally met last time, but this is George. I dragged him along, hope that’s okay.” He added as he gestured to the man standing behind him.

“Good seeing you again.” George nodded politely.

“You as well.” She replied. “Take a seat you guys, there’s still a couple of songs that have to play through before I introduce you.” She said as she gestured to the other side of the desk. Matty gladly took the usual guest spot as George dragged across the smaller chair from the corner of the room.

“How’ve you been?” Matty asked eagerly, shuffling around in his seat as he tried to get comfortable.

“Yeah, good. Pretty much the same as usual.” She chuckled as she took a sip of her coffee.

“I’m surprised that you’re still running the lunchtime shift and they’ve not bumped you up to some prime time, peak-hour traffic slot.” He said casually, earning an incredulous laugh from her. The morning and afternoon shifts were the most coveted positions at any radio station, let alone one as big as this. She was pretty happy that she’d managed to land a job that gave her hours during the day as opposed to a midnight shift.

“Ah, I think I’d need a bit more of an audience before that happened.” She replied.

“I dunno, from what I’ve heard you seem to have a decent following.” He said with a shrug.

It was quiet for a moment as she processed that. She was pretty certain she could hear the clock hanging above the door ticking quietly as her brain tried to catch up. “You listen to the show?” She asked eventually.

“Whenever I get a chance, yeah. Or just catch a few highlights here and there on social media.”

That truly caught her off guard. Matthew Healy was out there writing albums, playing shows, and listening to her radio show? Why? Surely, he had better things to do in his downtime? “Uh, so what about you guys?” She asked, clearing her throat and trying to change the topic before he took note of how flustered she was becoming at this knowledge. “How’s things?”

“Really good!” He grinned. “We had Glastonbury recently which was amazing, and have Reading and Leeds coming up this weekend, and-” He started rattling off, quickly stopped by George as he put a hand down on the singers’ shoulder.

“Don’t wanna give too much away before the interview starts, Matt.” He laughed softly.

“Well, no, but-“

“You have to save the stories or you’re just gonna end up repeating them.”

“I can tell different ones.”

“You’re gonna tell the same ones that you tell every time, I know you are. And you won’t wanna tell them in the interview because you already said them now.”

“You don’t know that.” Matty frowned, clearly keen to push the point.

They continued this back and forth for a while before she intervened, “Anyway,” She sensed she had to diffuse this argument before it progressed into teenage bickering. “let’s do an interview.”

The two of them instantly tuned out of their conversation and back into the matter at hand as she began flipping switches. She pulled her headset on as she gave them one last cursory glance to make sure that they were ready.

"Hope you’re all having a pleasant afternoon out there, folks.” She spoke into her microphone. “As per usual on our Wednesday shows, I do have some special guests here in the studio with me to have a chat.” She said, nodding across to Matty to introduce himself.

“Hey! It’s Matty from The 1975.” He said with an excited grin.

“And George.” His friend added, leaning across to be closer to the mic. “Great to be here.”

“So, it’s been about nine months since you were here-”

“Entirely too long, if you ask me.” Matty chimed in casually. She pressed on, trying to ignore the charm that seemed to radiate from just about everything this man said.

“-and all of the EPs are out now, correct?” She continued.

“Yep.”

“Your album comes out in just under two weeks?”

“That sounds about right.”

She glanced down at the notepad in front of her, but she was pretty sure that over the last week she had memorised these questions front to back. “Are you excited for the album to finally be out? You were saying last time that it was practically already written back when you started the EP concepts.”

“We're definitely excited to finally hear people's reactions after how much traction we've gained from the EPs.” George began.

“It's been sitting in our heads for so long, it was almost hard to postpone it, but we wanted it to be perfect.” Matty threw in. “We didn't really expect to have such a positive reaction so soon, so it'll be interesting to see what people do with the main event.” Matty answered with a daydreamy look flashing in his eyes for a moment.

“I’ve really been enjoying the EPs.” She added, which instantly caught Matty's attention.

“Have you?” He asked instantly.

“Yeah, they've had a fair few spins through my playlists.” She laughed, suddenly making him grin ear to ear.

“You mentioned the positive reaction, Matty. With how fast you guys have taken off, I've heard a lot of people out there referring to The 1975 as an overnight success.” She prompted. “But you guys have been working on this since you were teenagers.”

He let out a sigh. “There is so much stuff about us being an overnight success…” He pulled a hand through his hair as he looked over at George. “It’s been ten years, actually.” He chuckled.

“Was the ten years worth it when you got the call to open for the Stones?”

“Yeah. Yeah!” He almost shouted, now letting out a full laugh. “it’s stuff like that, that really makes you appreciate it.”

George nodded along with him. “I think this whole year’s been worth it. Not just the Stones show, we’ve had a lot of great festivals and great sold out shows. It’s been strange. Surreal telling people about those events.” He elaborated.

“We didn’t mean for any of this to happen, really. So, it was a bit daunting initially.”

“You guys are still on tour?” She asked, moving along to the next topic.

“Yeah, have been since we last spoke.” Matty said with a nod. “Not really getting off tour until...” He seemed to be counting in his head. “December next year.”

“Next year?” She asked in surprise. “That's quite a long tour.”

“We are just… constantly on the move now.” He shrugged.

“That's for sure. It’s been a big year for The 1975. You guys had Glastonbury in June.”

“Yeah! That was amazing. It was incredible to play at a festival that we all grew up going to.”

“And have Reading and Leeds coming up this weekend with some big names.” She reminded him.

“Crazy…” He agreed. “We haven’t really been in the country for a lot of it. When Chocolate went so mental, we’ve been in America and Europe and just touring. We’ve just seen each other every day, it’s not really been that different for us. But the shows are getting bigger, people are really investing in the band, so it’s an amazing time.”

“You guys also did South by South West, which was eleven shows in five days.”

“That was mental.” George scoffed.

“Yeah! We were quite surprised to see how many people came to all of those shows. Chris Martin said the most perfect thing ever - of all people - if you throw a party and like 50 people come up, so imagine doing that for twice, three times the amount of that, every night, in cities you’ve never even really heard of. We turned up in Milwaukee and 350 people came to the show. We had a sold-out show in new York.” He rattled off, seeming slightly bewildered at the memory.

“That's pretty crazy to be making such big waves in a different country like that.” She concurred.

“I think it’s a testament to the internet, really. How far we’ve come from Manchester all the way across the world.” The drummer offered.

Matty instantly took that thought and ran with it, “God, I could talk about it for ages. It’s strange to go somewhere – when you go to places, and you realise you have a following there… your identity, your sense of self, almost feels slightly diluted? Because you’re in somewhere so unfamiliar, but witnessing the most familiar parts of your life. Your material, your art. It’s weird, man.” He said, shaking his head slightly.

“Does it intimidate you guys at all?” She questioned.

“No.” He instantly answered. “It’s amazing, a very humbling experience. It’s just very odd, the power of the internet? It’s kind of unsettling, but not intimidating. Kind of feel like you’ve lost a part of yourself a little bit.”

“How so?” She urged him to continue.

“Well... that’s when you’re at your most honest, isn’t it? When nobody knows who your band is. Now people know who we are. I’m the protagonist in every song I write. Which means every time I put stuff out there, it's putting out a part of me. Every conversation in a song is me and a normally female counterpart.” He tried his best to explain. “But that’s a subconscious thing.” He added as an afterthought.

“So it's like you're a little too transparent putting that much of yourself out there to such a large group of people?”

“Well, yeah. Your identity becomes kind of vaguely diluted because it’s not as embedded in what you’re familiar with anymore. Your identity kind of extends to places that you don’t really understand. It’s quite an unsettling thing for me.” Matty looked like he was struggling to find the right adjectives to describe the feeling. “It’s interesting. It’s cool.” He eventually settled on.

“Does that sort of feeling ever bother you when you're on stage?” She asked.

“Not at all. Performing is one of the only times I feel satisfied.” He laughed. “I just love it. It’s like putting on a party every night.”

“Would you guys ever do another big supporting tour like The Stones?”

“Probably not right now.” George supplied, before Matty spoke over him.

“There’s been a genuine investment from our fans. Every show we put out sells out really quickly now. We’ve not been able to meet the demands of the amount of people who want to see our band. As much as going off and playing with popstars in arenas would be fun, I think that would be an indulgent decision. It wouldn’t be for the right reasons. We need to play our own shows… we’ll have the opportunity for all that later.” He answered decisively. George seemed happy with this. “I don’t want us to get too big too quickly, you know? A lot of people feel like we’re their band. 'You’re my kinda band.' That’s how I always used to fall in love with bands. I don’t wanna lose that. I want that to remain, because it really is important to me that every single person gets the band.” It wasn't hard to believe that Matty meant what he was saying with the amount of conviction in his voice as he spoke into the mic in front of him.

“We have quite a strict door policy on our band. We don’t want idiots gettin’ in.” George threw in to try and lighten the mood.

“Back to Reading and Leeds, then. You're playing with the likes of Fall Out Boy and Green Day. Those are some massive names that'll be bringing in big crowds.” She started her line of questioning, waiting for them to respond before she continued.

“Yeah... We haven’t played to that many people.” Matty wiped his hands down his face as he took in a deep breath. “But it’s a real validation of all you’re doing. It’s not something we’ve ever craved, but it’s something we’ve really, really embraced and something that pushes us forward as creative people. It's cemented our identity as a band.” He replied.

“Are you nervous?” She asked with a smile.

He chuckled slightly, “Yeah, a little bit, but not really. What’ve we got to be nervous of? If people are there, they’ve already made that investment in us. We’ve just gotta show up and provide what we are.” George nodded. “And we can do that, so let’s just do it, d’you know what I mean?”

“All right, we're gonna play a couple of songs and then we'll be back with some questions you guys sent in earlier in the week.” She spoke into her microphone before cutting away.

“Fan questions?” George asked in curiosity as he took his headset off.

“Yeah. The station told people to text stuff in through the week and I've picked a few to ask.” She said with a nod as she took a swig from her cup of coffee.

“Hopefully you picked good ones.” Matty said with an eyebrow raised.

“You'll just have to see.” She shot back, earning a grin from him.

“You do brilliant interviews. I can't imagine you'd give us shitty questions.” He added. She tried her best to make sure he wouldn't see the slight blush on her cheeks at the compliment.

“You know, you should come out to a show sometime.” He segued. She was all too happy for an out from that conversation before it progressed.

“You guys hardly ever play here.” She pointed out.

“Come see us at Reading.”

“I hardly think you guys are high enough up on the bill to be offering to get me into a major festival for free.” She tried to sound accusatory, but couldn’t stop herself from cracking a small smile.

“Ask the station to get you in.” He suggested. She noticed that he seemed… rather eager about this idea.

She sighed deeply as she mulled this over. It would be nice to see them play live. It would be nice to see Matty again. Seeing him at a show counted as work, right? She could use that as a loophole in her own rules. “I’ll see what I can do.” Matty’s eyes practically lit up at her words.

“Okay, we're back with Matty and George of The 1975, here to answer some questions sent in by you lovely listeners.” She started, flipping over her notebook to the scribbled fan questions. “First up we have Louise who wanted to know, what's your highlight been so far?” The two men sitting across from her both let out a groan.

“So much has happened...” George mumbled.

“The whole thing has just become a bit of a blur, to be honest with you.” Matty answered. “It’s just loads of surreal situations strung together by doing interviews. I’d like to be in that place of having that much foresight – that much retrospect and hindsight. Everything’s happened so quick… I don’t know how I’m gonna feel about it. I can’t imagine things can continue being this intense in another year.” He paused for a moment, before pulling himself back on track. “Having a genuine connection with people who I never would’ve thought had even heard of our band every night, just that kind of…extended feeling… is the highlight of every night.”

“That's quite a nice sentiment.” She nodded.

“When we were a lot smaller in the UK, like January, a couple came up to me after a gig in London. And said that they’d fallen in love with each other through our EP – the Sex EP. They’d started speaking about it when they were out with a group of friends. They’d met and said ‘you know this band The 1975’ and they fell in love with that record and now they’re getting engaged.” He looked absolutely astounded by this, looking across to her to make sure she understood how crazy that was. “And I love that. It nearly made me cry. Because that’s it. That’s all we wanna do. For our music to affect people emotionally. If you have an artistic expression that does that… there’s nothing more beautiful, really. And if that’s your job, how can you get any better than that?” He finished with a shrug.

“Next we have Sam who's asked could you guys imagine doing something else instead of being in the band?” She questioned, crossing it off her list.

“We can’t do anything else.” George said with a laugh, instantly making his friend do the same.

“The band is the only expression we have. That’s bought from being complacent on working for anything else, and being totally, totally narrow minded and blind. We’ve never thought of the idea of this not happening.” Matty said.

“David has asked, how do you keep going?”

“Alcohol.” Matty instantly laughed. “Not really.” He quickly corrected. “It’s been the only thing we do, y’know? It’s not like we were in a band and had other interests. As soon as we became consumed by this band, we just stuck together as individuals. I think also because our social group has always orientated around us as a four, there’s never been any reason for us to not make music. It’s almost as if someone said ‘yeah, all right’ and then we got embraced by lots of different people and institutions.” He explained.

“Have there been any bad times?” She asked. “That was from Anna.”

“Not really?” George frowned. “I suppose when we were being wined and dined by the labels and then everything kind of fell apart? But it ended for the better, because we then signed a great deal on an indie that allowed us to have total creative control. Retrospectively we wouldn’t have had it any other way.” He answered.

“But it wasn’t that bad!” Matty chimed in. “Getting’ flirted, y’know. We were really young when all these labels were going for us. We were always quite fortunate as a band to have a lot of foresight.”

“Right, on that note, Jessica has asked how hard is it to stay true to your original ideas when speaking to labels?”

“You get really excited for the first few encounters, then you quickly learn to tame yourself and not get excited until you’re physically doing what has been said that they’ll do for you. You’ve gotta keep your head.” George answered.

“We just prided ourselves on our conviction. The only reason we wanted to do was this because it was on our terms.”

“Okay, Brian has asked if you guys ever fall out?”

“No.” Both of them instantly answered.

“We Just avoid that stuff and let other people deal with it. It’s too much of a personal endeavour to let the small stuff get to you. It’s not like we’re four boys who started a band because we wanted to be in a band, we’re four mates who ended up in a band by accident. So, pfft, whatever.” The singer scoffed.

“We’ve not focused on the financial stuff or anything like that. The only thing we have maintained is to have the final say and total creative control, and we all agree on that so there's not been any arguments to have.” George said.

“Last serious one and then we have some quick fire stuff.” She said as she scribbled out the last question. “Brendan wanted to know what your biggest accomplishment is so far?”

“Just making the record.” Matty said with a shrug. “I don’t really care how that record’s perceived or embraced, because it’s such an honest record - it’s such an honest depiction of who we are and where we’re from. It��s so uncompromised. The fact that a band like us managed to make a record like that without compromising at all… I’m just proud of that as an idea.”

“Okay, some short and sweet ones to end out the interview.” George and Matty sat up a little straighter in their seats. “Who's the best behaved?” She asked.

“George is tidy, I guess?” Matty seemed hesitant as he glanced at his mate. “He’s quite well behaved but we’re all quite well behaved because we’ve been in a band for a long time. This a very… kind of pursuit for music for us. A lot of our partying doesn’t actually happen when we’re on tour. We try and be as good as possible. All of us have our moments? We’re in a rock band, y’know what I mean?” He chuckled, running a hand through his mohawk.

“These are meant to be quick, Matty.” She reminded him with a smile. “If you could pick one person dead or alive to be stuck on an island with, who would it be?”

“Musically? Michael Jackson – just to go through musical ideas. But I think he’d get on my nerves after a couple of days.”

“Yeah, same.” George agreed.

“Can you moonwalk?”

“Yes. Very well.”

“Which celebrity do you think would have the best banter at a party?”

“Anyone from Geordie Shore.”

“If you could swap wardrobes with anyone, who would you want it to be?”

“ASAP rocky. For sure.”

“Write us a poem.”

“That's not quick fire!” He scoffed with a laugh. “And that's not a question!” He added, now properly laughing. “In an interview, the idea is to ask questions that I can answer. You’re giving me all of the work.”

“Ahh, I thought you'd be able to churn out something instinctual like those people who spill the truth after a bunch of quick questions.” She grinned.

“Well, that's all we have time for.” She sighed, leaning back a bit in her chair. “Thank you guys for coming in to the studio to have a chat.”

“It's no problem.” George smiled sweetly.

“We'll be here any time you want us on.” Matty replied.

“That was Matty and George from The 1975, and a track from them is coming up next.” She finished up as she set Chocolate up to play next. The two boys started getting up from their seats, grabbing their stuff and straightening out their jackets. As they were about to leave, she heard Matty tell George to go on ahead and he'd catch up. She spun in her chair to face him as he walked back over to her.

“I was serious , by the way.” Matty said, leaning back against the desk. “Any time you want us on the show, or if you wanna come out to see us play, just let me know.” He said as he held out a piece of paper. She took it from him, realising it had his number scrawled on it.

“Is this meant to be a subtle way of giving me your number?” She frowned up at him, but he definitely caught on to the excitement she was trying her best to hide.

“It can be whatever you want it to be.” He shrugged with a smirk as he followed after his friend.

Taglist: @imagine-that-100 @dot-writes @tooshhhy @robinrunsfiction @approved-by-dentists

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#Matthew Healy x Reader #Matty Healy x Reader #Sunsetinmyvein

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feistypaants-archived · 4 years

Text

Between The Pipes [Chapter 8]

Rating: M Words: 2236 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: hehe this was fun. I don’t know if this is something that actually happens or not, but in my world it does! They have to do those studio headshots and stuff somewhere right?

Anyway, the NHL does these silly things called Puck Personalities and it’s def the inspiration for the last part of this. Here’s a playlist of them if you’re bored and want to watch hockey boys be awkward bc none of them like to be on camera.

Enjoy!

Gerda wanted her to get some practice today. Some dumb, fluffy media that would just go on the internet when they ran out of things to report on, or if they felt that they needed something to smooth over any rough patches PR-wise. It was just going to be silly questions that were meant to play with the guys, get them comfortable with her, and to give fans something fun to watch that would bring the players down to a more relatable

So Anna did herself up as nicely as she could.

Her makeup was natural enough that she didn’t look ridiculous, but emphasized enough for all of her hard work to show up on the camera, she curled her hair and put the front up in a soft braid that circled the back of her head, and she slipped on a still professional but definitely tight black sweater dress, and a soft emerald green sweater, with knee-high black boots over sheer tights. But in her worry that it wouldn’t be what they wanted, she threw a couple more options into the back of her car before heading over to the local studio space that they had rented for the day.

When she arrived, there were more cars than she was willing to count lines up around the lot, including Kristoff’s truck. Swallowing the lump that was forming in her throat, Anna got out of her car, elected to leave the other clothing so she didn’t look like a crazy person, and walked with purpose towards the studio doors.

She was immediately greeted by Gerda, who smiled at her warmly. “I see you’ve taken care of hair and makeup, perfect,” she started, leading Anna by the elbow towards the small green room. “There are snacks and drinks back here while you wait. They’re just finishing up the shots for the players in jerseys, and we’ll be able to proceed with your segment soon.

It was a whirlwind and Anna was grateful she processed anything that was said to her before Gerda ran off to find the next issue she needed to handle.

There were a couple unfamiliar faces, but Anna’s eyes locked on to the one other female in the room, and let out a sigh of relief when she approached. “You must be Anna,” she smiled, her voice gentle. “Honeymaren, but you can just call me Honey.” Anna’s nose scrunched unwillingly, laughter in expression evident, and Honey smiled in response. “My parents are hippies, what can I say?”

Anna shook her hand before letting out another laugh. “I like it, it’s sweet.”

“... Like Honey?”

They shared a laugh and Anna felt suddenly more at ease. It was nice to meet someone around her age and her gender in such a male-dominated area. She quickly learned that Honey was the same age as her sister, was in PR, and had been doing this for six years now. “So,” Anna started, clasping her hands together in front of her hips. “Is it always this crazy?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Honey laughed, gesturing to the door. “If you want, we can go watch the videographer for a minute? It’s usually less crowded in the studio room.”

Anna nodded enthusiastically and they were soon on their way, making the usual small talk. They passed a few players who gave them winks and playful gestures, but none seemed too eager to stop and talk with them. Honey told her it was only because they had to go get into their suits for the talking head portion of filming and not because they didn’t want to talk to her, and Anna did her best to brush it off.

“These boys are going to be talking to me plenty over the season, I don’t blame them for not wanting to talk to me right now.”

With a chuckle, Honey pushed open the heavy studio door and nodded, leading Anna in. “I think they’ve just got the goalies left, and then it’ll be your turn!”

Anna realized exactly what that meant and felt her cheeks warm as she glanced up just in time to see Kristoff pulling off his mask to listen to the director, his blonde hair fluffy and falling around his ears in a gentle curl at the end. His face was serious until some comment she couldn’t hear made him laugh, and Anna could feel the warmth in her cheeks spread all the way to her toes.

So he does smile. And of course it was a really pretty smile, too.

What good were his looks if they were given to a man with his personality?

She watched with interest as a photographer slid in to take some headshots, mask on and off, posing as if he were playing, and some just standing.

“For stat boards,” Honey had chimed in with a grin.

And then it was the videographers turn, and he made him do some traditional goalie stops. A dive, a slide, all these things that, too Anna, seemed like they would be impossible to do with all that gear and padding. But Kristoff made it look easy.

They finished up quickly - Kristoff had been doing this for a few years now, and he moved to let their backup goalie do the same. He took his mask off again, shaking his hair loose, and Anna couldn’t say she wasn’t completely struck with his strong jaw and bright grin as he walked towards the exit. The one she was standing right in front of.

“Honeymaren,” he grinned, holding up his fist for a bump from the PR specialist. “Nice to see you as always.” Then his eyes drifted to meet hers, and Anna could swear she saw his pupils expand. “Anna…”

She swallowed, expecting the worse.

“Don’t be nervous,” he winked, and Anna felt heat pooling in her stomach. “Just have fun with it.”

And then he pushed through them, his gear making him almost double his normal size, which was already more than double her size, and Anna felt herself gawking at him as he left. “That,” she sighed, disbelief in her eyes. “Is the nicest he’s ever been to me.”

Honey let out a loud laugh, covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh, Bjorgman. His bark is worse than his bite, I’ll tell you what.”

Anna wasn’t sure if she believed it, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

—

“Thanks for watching IBTV.”

The director made one sharp clap and the lights changed, and Anna let out the biggest breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. A makeup artist trotted up to her, powdering her forehead and Anna felt distinctly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the whole team.

“Great, that was excellent, Anna.” He swirled his pointer finger around the room signaling for a reset, and Anna felt herself flush. “One more, okay?”

She nodded, stepping back to her mark and took in a deep breath as she stood straighter. Risking a glance to the side where she new Gerda and Honey were watching, Anna squinted through the lights when she swore she saw two much bigger bodies beside the women.

Oh, god damn it.

Kristoff and Sven were standing there, suited up and hair tamed, watching with grins on their faces. Kristoff just kept his arms crossed tightly over his broad chest as Sven gave her a double thumbs up, and Anna smiled back before switching her attention back to the camera.

“Hey guys, Anna Arne with IBTV, and today we’re doing something fun.” The director had asked her to be more animated, so she did her best to move naturally. Arms swung wide, fingers spread out for emphasis as she danced through her spiel. “Have you ever wondered who your favorite player idolized when they were a kid? How about their favorite Disney film? Whether or not they like olives?”

She heard a small chuckle come from the crew and took it as solid encouragement.

“Well,” she winked, leaning forward as if she were sharing a secret. “Tune in here to find out all of that and more, on Breaking the Ice, your Arendelle Ice Breakers’ weekly interviews.”

The director cut in to send her to her other mark, asking for her to do the outro again, clapping enthusiastically when she nailed it. “Fantastic job, that’s the one!”

Anna couldn’t help herself as she almost literally jumped for joy, pumping her fist as subtly as she could before stepping off the small platform and skipping over to Gerda and Honeymaren, both smiling just as wide as she was.

“You’re a natural,” Honey grinned, patting her arm. “It’s like you belong in front of a camera.”

Gerda simply nodded in agreement, clear pride evident on her features. “I can’t wait to get you on the ice with the boys.”

Anna had only a moment to relish in the praise before she felt Sven’s heavy arm drape around her shoulders, stealing all of her attention. “All right, Anna! You rocked that.” She flushed as he grinned, turning her around to face Kristoff. “Now, ready to have some real fun?”

And with that, Sven was dragging her down the hall to the bigger studio space, the one with a solid white backdrop that they had been doing the player portraits in. Kristoff was following closely behind, a silent but looming presence. In the regular light of the hallway, Anna was finally able to fully take in how they looked, and grinned. “You guys look so nice!”

Sven’s curls were tamed and defined, slick as they fell over his dark skin, complemented nicely by his maroon suit and brown tie. She wasn’t surprised that he was the type to wear something more out there and daring, but it still filled her with glee to see something so bold.

Kristoff, alternatively, was wearing a more classic suit, dark grey with a powder blue tie that made his eyes warmer, honey brown and sweet as he laughed at Sven’s antics. Anna only just noticed that his hair was gelled back, stiff and sleek.

It looked nice, but she weirdly found herself missing the shagginess of it as it brushed over his brows.

Her cheeks reddened as Kristoff glanced down, catching her staring, and turned her attention back forward.

—

The interviews went well. All the players responded well to her, laughing at some of the more ludicrous questions that included props, and Anna found herself relaxing with each set.

Sven was midway through the lineup, and was as cocky as ever. “Lay it on me, sister,” he laughed as they started, Anna poking at his shoulder. “I’m up for the challenge.”

The questions started easy, just some dumb this or thats, would you rathers, hockey tips, and favorites. Then there was trivia about things not-hockey related such as Disney princesses and 90s television stars. Finally, there were challenges. Can you juggle? Can you beat your teammate in arm wrestling? Can you do a handstand?

Players were allowed to skip any question they wanted as this was all for fun, but leave it to Sven to take on each and every one.

Anna was belly laughing by the end of it, as he laid on the floor after trying and failing to do a cartwheel. “You should see Kristoff,” he laughed. “He does these in the locker room all the time.”

“That so?”

Anna trotted off the set, knowing it was unconventional, and grabbed the goalie by the arm, dragging him in front of the camera. “Come on, show us.”

He held his hands up in front of his chest in protest, a blush evident on his cheeks. “Oh, no, no, that’s fine.”

Sven stood up suddenly, squatting to be the same height as Anna, as they started chanting “Cartwheel, cartwheel, CARTWHEEL!”

“It’s just for warm-up!” He persisted, ears turning red. Sven continued on, even as she let up a little. Anna watched his entire body tense before he let out one heavy sigh and gave in. “Fine, you assholes.”

They’d bleep that out in post, she was sure.

“But if I break anything, you’re paying for it.” And then he was shrugging out of his jacket, and Anna was thoroughly enjoying the stretch of the thin white dress shirt over his muscles, the whole studio was clapping, egging him on.

And then he did a fucking cartwheel, his whole face red by the end of it.

She couldn’t hide the surprise. “Wow!” She just about shouted, closing the distance between them. “Where did you learn to do that?”

Kristoff was still blushing, his eyes avoiding hers. “Ugh, I have two sisters,” he laughed, leaning forward to pick up his jacket. “Every day was gymnastics growing up, so… I don’t know, I just picked it up, I guess.” He shrugged it on and Anna tried not to be disappointed about it. “It feels like it gets my blood pumping, so I try to do them to wake up before every game. Maybe it’s all in my head.”

Anna laughed, taking in the genuine smile that had spread on his cheeks.

“That’s… impressive.”

He tried to run a hand through his hair and frowned as he messed it up, glancing up to the camera. “Yeah, well, now I’m not answering anything else.”

Anna knew it was a tease when he leaned over to punch the top of Sven’s arm, grinning widely.

#btpfic #feistypantswrites #hope this doesn’t come off as like ooc lmfaoooo #it just was fun #and if u know hockey players u know some of them have crazy superstitions

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ronninoir · 4 years

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Can I Steal You for a Second? CH4

Summary: Adrien is forced to participate in a new dating show, but becomes more excited when Ladybug says she’ll participate as her civilian self.

AKA: AU where Adrien doesn’t know Marinette, the superheroes are 22 and Gabriel is mean and ruthless but not Hawkmoth.

Read on AO3

Chapter 4

Adrien was in bed, nervously staring at his ceiling. Today was the day that 30 women would show up to the mansion. They would meet each other and be put in their Gabriel-brand dresses and then given time to do hair and make-up while at a warehouse downtown. Then, they would be moved and sent to meet him one by one in a limo and would participate in a cocktail party. Finally, he would have to cut the pool of girls down from 30 to 22. No matter which way Adrien looked at it, it was going to be a long day.

But Ladybug will be there. That was the only thought that got him out of bed when the producer assigned to moving Adrien from place to place as the show went along (He considered her to be the TV version of Natalie, but he still hadn’t caught her name, so in his head he called her the Mini-Natalie) had begun calling at his door for him to get up. Today consisted of trying to memorize the names and pictures of the girls, hair and make-up, doing interviews about how he feels pre-meetings, and more hair and make-up before the girls began showing up at exactly nightfall. But, there was a ray of sunshine at the end of this tunnel, and it was covered in polka dots.

Adrien put on some acceptable clothes, brushed his teeth and his hair, and just barely remembered to grab Plagg from his pillow before he was rushed to a studio with a bagel in his mouth. They planned on taking videos of him doing natural things in his life, but they had set it all up in a studio so it would be just right. He felt anything but natural posing and walking around the fake sidewalk and scenery.

After he had finished with those, they moved him to a grey screen-covered area where Adrien was to do various poses with a long-stemmed rose. He felt even more awkward doing these shots than he had doing the “natural posing” earlier. They made him smile really bright and act like he was “in love.” Thankfully, all he had to do was think of Ladybug and finding out her identity and he then had the perfect look for these shots down.

They also made him work out with weights for about an hour while filming the whole thing. This wasn’t too terrible as his Father made him do similar things now that he was out of high school in order for him to keep his body shape. (If only he knew about his runs as Chat Noir, the gym workouts would be unnecessary) Though normally he did all of his workouts with a shirt on. Either that or a skin-tight leather suit. Then, and honestly the most embarrassing of all, they took a large number of shots of Adrien showering. Why, the world needed to see Adrien shirtless with water running through his hair and down his chest he literally had no idea. Thankfully he was allowed to wear swim trunks, so as to not be too exposed. But, his many years of modeling had taught Adrien never to argue with the director and he figured that applied in this situation as well.

Once the B-roll shots were taken, Adrien was whisked away for hair and make-up and another, more formal outfit for the interviews. They asked him too many questions and he just had to keep acting excited about everything that was going on. Some of the questions were just too personal or sounded funny, but Plagg was having a blast silently laughing at what Adrien was saying. Occasionally, Adrien would “stretch” and slap his pocket where Plagg was hiding. He was rewarded with a squeal and some silence for about 5 minutes before Plagg would start up again.

He was coached to be honest about some things, so when they asked about the first Rose Ceremony tonight and if he was nervous, he had no shame in saying absolutely. He cited possibly not being able to get a feel for every girl tonight as well as having to remember their names as the reason for his nervousness. Although those were true, he was mostly worried that his Lady would slip past his notice and be cut before he could figure out it was her. His only saving grace was that tomorrow was Sunday, so it wouldn’t take long for him to discover his mistake.

The questions never seemed to end, and when he asked why there were so many, the director explained that since they had to make a ton of promotional videos to get the word about the show out, as well as fill in stuff for the first episode, they had to have an abundance of material. That, at least, made sense to Adrien. He tried to play up to the camera as much as he could, but by the end he was over it.

It was almost time for dinner and then the start of the show when the director reached the final question, “In your honest opinion, Adrien, do you think this could work? Do you think you’ll be able to find love?”

Without any hesitation, Adrien’s smiled softened as he began to think about Ladybug. His response of, “I truly believe that I will meet my soulmate tonight,” earned him a handful of “awes” and sighs from the production staff. With the knowledge that he had at least given one camera-worthy response, he allowed himself to be dragged away from the set and into, yet another, stylist chair.

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

Marinette was feeling just as stressed as Adrien, but for a whole different reason. As soon as she arrived, she had an uneasy feeling. The limo driver had dropped her off at a warehouse building on the outskirts of town. It wasn’t a place she visited often as Ladybug, and so she was very unfamiliar with the area. Once inside, she was immediately ushered to a conference room where the girls were going to meet the people in charge of them and receive the concrete schedule for that day. When she asked about her luggage, a lady told her that it was going to be held by the workers in case she got cut tonight and needed to head straight home.

“But don’t worry sweetheart, nothing’s going to happen to your things, but if you make it through tonight, you’ll be moved into the mansion quickly.” The lady gave Marinette a once over and then said, “And when you get sent home, we’ll take care of everything for you.” For some reason, Marinette wasn’t put at ease.

The conference room felt crowded with all thirty of the girls as well as a handful of producers. Marinette sat, looked around the room, and was whispering to Tikki underneath her breath. “I hope some of the girls who I met while we were getting interviewed and photographed made it. It’d be nice to see a familiar face. Or I should say, a familiar friendly face.” The annoying girl who made all of the other girls flock to her from the interview weekend, Lila, had been cast and Marinette was less than thrilled.

“I could scope out the room for you, Marinette!”

“No, I don’t want you to get lost in all of the chaos. I may let you do some exploring later. Thank you for offering, though.” Marinette gave Tikki a smile and reached her hand in to brush her finger against Tikki’s cheek. Tikki hugged her back and settled down in the purse. It took Tikki a couple of weeks, but eventually, she came around to the idea of Marinette participating. She even helped her stay calm when she was freaking out about packing and Alya hadn’t been called yet. Marinette was very grateful that she had Tikki throughout this process. She couldn’t imagine only having the other contestants to talk to all of the time and occasionally Adrien. Tikki’s going to help keep her sane.

An older man walked up to the front of the room and a hush quickly fell over the girls. There were a couple of other people around him, but he clearly was the one in charge, since everyone was looking at him, waiting for him to speak.

“Hello ladies. My name is Mike Fleiss, and I am the producer for the American version of The Bachelor. I’ve been asked to oversee this season to help push the show to be as successful as its counterpart over the seas.” He spoke French pretty well for an American, even if he did have an accent of sorts.

“I’m excited to see what this amazing and beautiful group of girls brings and I know that you all will jump start the Bachelor franchise very well. With that being said, we do have some “house rules” as you would call it, so let’s begin by going over those. Please pay attention, as you will be signing a piece of paper stating that you have gone over these rules with me.

The most important rule for you to remember is that you are not allowed to leave the mansion no matter what, unless you are on a date and are accompanied by Adrien or a producer. As long as you are in the show, you are our responsibility and we will not allow you to put yourself in harms way.”

One rule in and Marinette already knew she had to break it. She couldn’t not leave if an akuma attacked. And she had had promised Adrien that she would meet up with him every Sunday as Ladybug, and there was no way she was backing out of that. Thankfully, she could be sneaky and work around that one rule.

“There is also no use of phones or any other sort of technology that connects you to the outside world. There is no internet at this mansion and you are not allowed to have books of any kind except for the Bible unless preapproved by us.” Her sketch book was preapproved so she was good on that. “Please also note that music players are allowed but music can only be heard through earbuds for copyright reasons.

“Once inside the mansion, you are expected to do your own cooking, cleaning, and laundry. The mansion is already stocked with certain necessities, but if you ever need anything to cook with or you run out of something, let a producer know and we can make a trip to the store for you.” Considering Marinette did most of that for herself already, she wasn’t too worried. And maybe she could make friends by cooking some stuff for others too, so that could be fun.

“Also, today and the day we shoot the last episode are the only days that the studio will do your hair and make-up. Every other day, you will be required to do it. Also, if you remember, when you were interviewed you were also measured and sized. That is because every outfit that you wear during the filming of this show is going to be a Gabriel piece. Gabriel Agreste has been very kind in allowing the show to do that and his people have picked out various outfits for you to choose from for tonight. Please note that if an outfit of yours goes missing when you are cut from the show, you will be fined and a police report will be filed.”

There were murmurs at that comment. The girl sitting closest to Marinette leaned over and whispered, “Wow that’s a lot for a missing dress,” Although Marinette understood why Gabriel was doing this, it still didn’t make it fun. What designer can make money if they give their clothes away, even if his outfits are ridiculously expensive.

“Now,” Mr. Fleiss’ voice brought all of the girls to silence again and he continued once he had all of their attention. “as you probably guessed, there are going to be cameras everywhere. If someone asks you for an interview, you do not decline. Everywhere you go, a camera goes. The only place they will not follow you into is the bathroom, but they will stand outside of the door and record sounds so be aware of that.” Mr. Fleiss paused as he seemed to make sure that everything had been covered.

“That should be everything. If you have any questions, whether about the rules or the journey, please feel free to ask.” That moment was the first time that Marinette had seen him smile and with that smile, he gestured to the people stationed to the side of the rows of girls. “We have reached the fun part. If you would do the honors gentlemen,” the men started passing out bags to the girls closest to them and working their way around the room. “All of you are receiving a gift bag provided by our generous sponsors. Inside, you will find various hair products, different types of make-up, as well as some sunscreen and a lovely padded bikini gifted by Gabriel for you to use during the filming. And yes, before you ask, you can take the bikinis home with you.”

Excited chatter broke across the room as the girls got their bags and began pulling stuff out and looking through it. Marinette looked in hers and noticed a tube of waterproof mascara, a container of highlighter, a bottle of hair shining spray, a self-tanning lotion, the tube of sunscreen and her bikini, which was a bright red color. Red was a good color for her, for obvious reasons, and the padded bra part was nice as Marinette’s chest could use a little bit of help in that area.

“That’s really nice of them!” Tikki whispered from Marinette’s purse.

“I’m surprised they found so many sponsors for the show since it is so new here. This is some good, quality stuff here too. And now I can say I own a Gabriel original!” Marinette let out a tiny squeal.

“I wouldn’t be too excited about that,” Tikki said with a laugh. “There’s not that much material here to make it too much of an original!”

“Oh hush!” Marinette scolded, though her giggles made it seem less threatening than it was intended to be.

Mr. Fleiss clapped and called the girls to attention. “Yes, yes, very exciting, but we have one more thing to discuss. The schedule for today. In about 20 minutes, you will be dismissed in groups of 5 to go and be worked on by our stylists. Once your hair and make-up is completed, you will be guided to your assigned dressing area, where your pre-picked dresses are waiting for you to choose from. A word of advice from someone who has worked on many seasons of this show: pick this dress wisely. If it’s too gaudy, Adrien won’t be interested. If it’s too plain, he won’t remember you.

“And speaking of remembering, tonight you will have a chance to make a first impression. When you first get out of the limo, your look is what matters. When you walk up to Adrien though, you will be expected to have a minute conversation with him. Do something or say something to make him remember you. All of these need to be approved by Victoria,” He pointed to a lady with a clipboard who was standing by the door in the back. All of the girls were so still and quiet, you could have heard a pen drop.

“He is not going to remember your name and want to keep you around if you don’t do something to catch his attention. You will have another chance to catch his attention during the cocktail party, so you can plan something a little more elaborate for then. During the cocktail party, however, it is your responsibility to find time with Adrien. Please keep everything you do appropriate and if you need anything not available in this building, let one of us know and we’ll make it happen for tonight.”

“The first group will be called in 15 minutes,” Victoria called out before walking out the door.

It took about a minute before the girls began chatting with everyone around them. They were all brainstorming on different ways they could make a good first impression. A girl a couple rows in front of her was explaining that she thought she could do a couple of backflips once out of the limo, she would just need to practice doing them in heels. Marinette thought that was a super cool idea and moved onto the next conversation. Everyone seemed to have an idea, no matter how out there it seemed.

“Tikki, what do you think—”

Before she could finish her sentence, the girl sitting directly next to Marinette, who was taller than Marinette by about 5 inches, had long blonde hair and a sweet smile, turned to her and caught her arm, preventing Marinette from conversing with Tikki.

“Hi! It’s so nice to meet you! My name is Hanna and I’m from Camembert, France, you know like the cheese? My family are farmers and I am so excited to be here in the city. What’s your name? Where are you from? What do you think you’re going to do once you’re out of the limo?” She seemed to speak without taking a breath and Marinette mentally thanked Alya for her ability to understand what she had said.

“Umm, hi! My name is Marinette, I’m from Paris and I don’t know just yet.” She tried not to sound too distraught about not knowing what to do, but her nervous jitters were getting the best of her.

Hanna began to ramble about all of the amazing things she’s seen of Paris and how excited she was to meet Adrien and nervous of making a good impression, and on and on. Marinette smiled at her speaking with such excitement about being able to drive past a real shopping mall.

This girl, Hanna, seemed so innocent and cheerful and friendly and Marinette wondered how in the world she was going to fair in the competition. Especially with girls like Lila to manipulate her. In that moment, Marinette decided to befriend her and hopefully keep her out of harm’s way. Marinette stole a glance at Tikki, who gave her an approving nod and a smile.

Hanna was currently stressing about what she was going to do tonight when Marinette interrupted her. “Hey, I’m sure everything is going to be okay! Let’s brainstorm ideas together. What do you enjoy doing? Anything we can use to make you pop?”

Hanna talked for about 5 more minutes about all of the different things she could do, each idea worse than the last. Eventually, Marinette picked out that Hanna enjoyed singing karaoke with her family after dinner. When Marinette gently suggested that she bring a karaoke machine and sing a little to Adrien right out of the limo, Hanna jumped on the idea. She gathered Marinette in a bone-crushing hug and thanked her profusely. After letting go, she brought the idea up to Victoria, and was quickly scanning through a provided list of songs and deciding how romantic the song she sang needed to be when the first group was called.

“Attention ladies. I need Alice, Celeste, Jeanne, Juliette, and Hanna for hair and make-up.”

Hanna squealed and dropped her list on the ground out of excitement. Marinette quickly picked it up and passed it to her, accepting another hug from Hanna and promising to find her later today before the filming started.

After she was off and Marinette was alone, she began brainstorming for herself. She had plenty of ideas of what she could do, each more insane than the last. At first, she thought of doing yo-yo tricks, or showing up in a red and black dress, or starting with some insane Ladybug-style tricks, but Tikki decided it was too obvious and that it wouldn’t be fair for the other girls if Adrien found out tonight, right off the bat. Thankfully Tikki had vetoed the idea, because she heard of another contestant who was doing that same thing. Apparently, it had gotten out that Adrien was a fan of Ladybug, so everyone from France (there were a couple of Swedish girls, one from Belgium, and of course, the Italian model, Lila) jumped at the opportunity to impress him using the super-heroine as a starting point.

Soon, she was out of ideas and Marinette needed an idea that would make her stand out. She was trying not to be bitter about coming up with no ideas. She had an advantage over the others, and yet she couldn’t think of anything that would be good enough for her to do. What did she know that her Kitty loved that could blow him out of the water without fully giving away her identity?

She was feeling helpless and stupid and annoyed when she overheard a conversation from some other contestants, one of whom was also having trouble coming up with something creative.

“Just use your personality! If everyone else is doing something crazy as soon as they see him, be the one normal girl he talks to.”

Marinette jerked her head up. Personality. She knew all about Adrien’s personality, or really, the personality he displayed as Chat. He claimed that Chat was his true personality, not the stuffy one his father made him have in his presence. Suddenly, she was so overcome with an idea, she was surprised it took her so long to think of it. It was brilliant and memorable and exactly something that her Kitty would love to hear tonight. A deep smile spread across her face as she ran to line up in front of Victoria, who was getting ready to call the next group. She wasn’t exactly going to be her normal, Ladybug self, but she was going to knock Adrien off of his feet.

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

Forty-five minutes later and Marinette’s group, the last one, was being called. She was rushed to a stylist chair where people began to swarm around her, grabbing her hair or moving her face in different directions. By the time they stepped away, Marinette almost didn’t recognize herself in the mirror. Her hair was loose and styled with soft curls with an intricate braid that hid her bangs. Her make-up was well-done and highlighted all of the important features.

She was then moved to a changing room that she shared with the other girls in her style group. Once she found the dress rack with her name on it, she began flipping through, looking for the perfect color and style dress. She finally found one that wouldn’t bring attention to her small chest but would make her curves stand out. And it was the exact color of her eyes, which would make them pop.

Soon she was sitting at a table with all of the other girls, who looked just as beautiful as she did, and chattering with Hanna about tonight. Once all of Marinette’s group sat down, they were called to attention and given the piece of paper for them to sign stating that they had heard and agree to follow the rules of the House. They also had to put when they were expecting their next period, which startled Marinette. Thankfully, she wasn’t the only one, but she did as she was asked.

They were then given the opportunity to eat and after about 30 minutes, Victoria was calling the girls and putting them in the order that they would appear before Adrien. They would ride to the mansion in groups, then wait their turns as the limo brought each girl individually to see Adrien. The girls who had non-limo entrances (one girl was riding in on a horse) would be instructed when it would be their turn to walk (or ride) in. Otherwise, the limo drivers were in charge of the timing.

Marinette, who was stationed towards the middle, right behind Hanna and in front of a girl named Lucie, was excited and yet nervous. Tikki had to hide in her bra since no bags were allowed in the mansion the first day. Although it was kind of awkward for both of them, Marinette was happy to have Tikki so close, as it would be easier to talk to her as the night went along. And she had a feeling they would have lots to talk about.

Soon the first set of girls were being put in their limo and driven to the mansion. In about an hour, Marinette would be face-to-face with the man of her dreams.

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

Adrien suddenly couldn’t breath and his hands were all sweaty as his limo was driven to the mansion where the girls he was going to date would be living. Mini-Natalie was in the car with him and was instructing him what would happen as they drove up.

“You will get out of the car and will be recorded. So please be aware of what you say and how you react. Chris will meet you and will chat with you about tonight, and then the first girl will appear. Chris will tell you when. Follow his lead, he knows what he is doing.”

Chris Harrison was the host for the American version and Adrien had met him a couple of times. He seemed like a nice guy, but it was weird that all this man did for a living was watch people date each other and make occasional comments. They had Alec, the normal reality show host for most of Paris’s entertainment, shadowing him, but they wanted the first season to have an experienced host so it was more of a smooth time filming. Adrien was just grateful to have someone who understood the show well enough to help guide him through this rollercoaster.

The limo pulled to a stop and Mini-Natalie, shooed him out. He stepped out and was greeted by really bright lights in front of this gorgeous mansion. It had to be at least 3 floors and had a jaw-dropping look to it. No wonder they picked this to be the location for the show.

“Evening Adrien,” Chris greeted him at the place where the concrete turned from driveway to sidewalk. Adrien could see a camera filming him as he walked to shake Chris’ hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m a little excited and nervous,” Adrien responded.

“That’s completely normal. Tonight’s going to be a lot. You’re going to meet a lot of girls. Do you believe you’ll be able to find the one through this journey?”

“Honestly Chris I do. I’m excited to see what tonight brings and hopefully I can make a good first impression.”

Chris laughed at that, “I believe that’s what the girls will be hoping too.” He stuck his hand out for another handshake and Adrien took it as Chris said, “Good luck tonight, the first limo is coming around the corner.”

“Thank you.” Adrien looked toward the end of the driveway and did indeed see a limo poking out.

The cameras were switched off and Mini-Natalie, who had exited the limo after the cameras had followed Adrien, began positioning him on the sidewalk. Once he was set and Mini-Natalie walked away to make sure he looked good in the cameras, Adrien took a moment to be excited. He was going to meet his lady tonight, even if he didn’t know which one she was going to be.

Once it had been decided that Adrien looked good, they motioned the first limo to approach the house. Plagg, who had been asleep in Adrien’s pocket, woke up from his nap, claiming that he didn’t want to miss anything that the girls did or said tonight. Adrien rolled his eyes at that.

“Well if you’re going to be awake then know, no comments, no matter what the girls say or do, you don’t get to say a word. We’ll have time for your commentary later,” At that, Plagg opened his mouth to protest, but was cut-off when the first limo came to a stop in front of the house and the door clicked open.

~~~

This chapter is soooo long, so sorry for the wait I was dealing with personal stuff do to the virus

Let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

@momor3202

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officialbroski10-blog · 4 years

Text

i’ll be your ohana(brian kendrick x oc)

a/n: i really could not think of a good title nor will i ever release this

a/n: welp it’s time to publish this. my magnum opus, my passion project that has taken me a year of on and off writing. lots of shit has happened in the span of a year.

•|•|•

PLOT: echo celeste (the oc) meets brian kendrick while she’s sitting on the beach in the middle of the night. upon coming closer, brian is intrigued by echo, and decides to talk to her. they soon find out how much they have in common.

many cameos will be made by various indy wrestlers that you may not know. if that’s the case, look them up online, they’re phenomenal workers!

also this takes place in honolulu, hawaii for some odd reason but oh well

Rating: this part is all fluff and angst

•|•|•

echo celeste was not what one would consider to be normal. she didn’t sleep much, was obsessed with things people took for granted, and could often be found staring at the sky sitting on waikiki beach at times when everyone else would be asleep. she described herself as an occult soul, unsure of her place in the world. on this particular night, the full moon was out, one of her favorite things to see in the sky, which made it just barely bright enough for her to do sketches on the beach.

brian was also not the definition of normal. he was a wrestler, for christ’s sake! he felt that normal society would never understand him, and was still stuck in some sort of emo teen phase. he looked different than most, preferring to let his hair grow out. whenever he was stressed, he found himself walking on waikiki at unholy hours in the night, which coincidentally was the same beach echo frequented.

maybe it was the way the moonlight hit her, but brian was mesmerized by echo. her lavender hair seeming like something straight out of a scifi movie, or like the wings of a fairy. her face scrunched up in concentration made her glasses almost cover up the tip of her nose. Either way, brian just had to talk to this woman, even if she turned out to be a figment of his imagination.

“hey there, whatcha working on?” brian asked, making sure he wouldn’t startle echo. that plan didn’t work.

“jesus fuck you scared me!” echo said in reply, also giggling at the end.

“oh sorry about that,” brian apologized, “i didn’t mean to do that to you! my names brian. brian kendrick. and what do they call you?”

“my full name is echo celeste svensson, but call me echo or echo celeste.” she smirked. “i’m working on a sketch!”

“oh that sounds cool! i’m assuming you’re an artist, then?”

“you would be correct! what do you do for a living?”

brian wasn’t sure if he should say he’s a wrestler. almost everyone who he told about his career had shunned him, saying that wrestling was fake. but he felt strangely at ease with echo, almost as if she had a calming aura about her that told him everything would be alright.

“i-i’m a wrestler. its not the best paying job in the world, nor the most liked job.” he admitted, seeming ashamed of what he did as a living. echo’s eyes almost burst out of her head. she was a huge wrestling fan, and this was one of the first wrestlers she ever met!

“that’s nothing to be ashamed of, brian! maybe i could catch one of your matches sometime. got any coming up soon?” brian’s eyes lit up, like a child on christmas day. nobody had ever shown interest in his line of work!

“uh, yeah, i do, today at 7pm-“

“then you can see me there! so, what brings you out here at 4AM on this friday morning?” echo questioned. it was rare for her to run into anyone on the beach at this hour, let alone anybody interested in what she was doing.

“i had a nightmare, and it helps me clear my mind if i take a walk in the night. i don’t have all my marbles, and when combined with a rough childhood, i get nightmares pretty often, but not normally bad enough to where i have to take a walk to calm myself.” brian obviously was not in a good frame of mind, and echo could sense that. she could relate with what brian was going through. she had an okay childhood, but got bullied all through school, which traumatized her and made her unable to trust most people. she never trusted anyone when she first met them. brian was an exception to this rule.

“hey brian, it’s okay. i got you, bud.” echo said, wrapping a blanket around her and a now-teary eyed brian. “everything will be alright. do you have a place to stay?”

the answer came as a surprise to echo. “not anymore. just got an eviction note and i have to move out all my stuff by noon. i don’t really talk to anyone here on the island, and don’t have any place to stay.”

“oh my god, that’s horrible! well i’ll tell you what: you can stay with me at my place for as long as you need to. you don’t have to chip in to pay for rent, and i can give up my bedroom for you.”

“t-that’s too much, echo! you don’t need to give me a spot to live at! i mean, i don’t deserve this-“ brian was awestruck at this proposition. nobody offered him anything in life, and he had gotten used to just dealing with things himself.

“oh, please! it’s the least i can do for someone who is actually interested in what i do. let’s go get your stuff, brian.”

•-•|•-•

“and there! we got all your stuff here safe and sound.”echo sighed, a bit exhausted after helping brian bring his stuff to her apartment.

by this time, it was almost 5am, and it was blowing echo’s mind to think that just two hours ago, she hadn’t known brian kendrick, and now he was moving in with her! he felt like an old friend at this point.

brian only had one medium box full of his clothes, but one huge box filled with wrestling memorabilia. three large binders contained various wrestling dvds from many different places, and pictures of him in action.

“would you like to get some breakfast or something? there’s a coffee house called apostles of smoothies nearby that has really good smoothies. then, while we’re there, we can figure out what our schedule will be. that sound good?”

brian responded with a gigantic hug. since he initially told echo about his situation, he couldn’t bring himself to talk. and echo understood that. she wasn’t much of a talker, either.

•-•|•-•

“logan, you son of a bitch, get over here!” echo yelled at her old friend logan black, owner of apostles of smoothies. logan was also a professional wrestler who, as his second job, ran a coffee house/wrestling arena on the beach. it was located in an old surf shack, with artwork of various artists decorating its walls. logan and echo were old friends from before they moved to hawaii. they grew up together in the middle of manhattan, and frequented concerts and wrestling shows together.

“well well well, look who we have here! you want your regular?”

“sure thing!”

“and who’s the guy with you today? is he a special someone?” logan asked. echo turned a bright red and punched logan in the arm.

“um hi, my names brian kendrick.” brian extended his hand out for a handshake.

“the names logan. this here is apostles of smoothies, the only coffee house/wrestling arena in honolulu! would you like something today?”

“i’ll have whatever echo’s having.”

“sure thing! if you’re a friend of echo’s, you’re a friend of mine. don’t worry about paying, it’s on the house.”

“logan,” echo teased, “you’re going to run out of business if you keep doing this!”

“i only do it for you, echo celeste svensson.”

echo rolled her eyes at logan.

“do you want to sit outside?” echo asked brian. “maybe we could talk over today’s schedule while we watch the sunrise.”

brian nodded in agreement as echo and him sat at a table facing the ocean.

“and here you go! two celestial sunrises for you guys!” logan said, giving them the smoothies.

“so, brian, i was thinking of getting some work done in the studio this morning, and ordering pizza for lunch around 12. is there anything you want to do today?”

brian’s response warmed echo’s heart. “i’d like to spend time with you today, if that’s alright. it’s gonna rain all day, so we’ll maybe watch a movie or two together and make a castle out of blankets. do you think you could hold off on your work in the studio until tomorrow?”

echo made some weird noise of excitement, like a giddy schoolgirl. “i’d love to watch a movie with you!”

•-•|•-•

echo queued up a mini studio ghibli marathon of her two favorite movies, my neighbor totoro and kiki’s delivery service. luckily, brian liked those two choices.

after they finished the movies and pizza, echo put on some chill step mix to calm her down. not that she was overly hyper, she just loved the feeling of being calm and loved, which was how she felt with brian in her apartment. the feeling of being loved was something echo had not felt since she moved to hawaii, three years ago.

however, the concept of being loved and safe was unfamiliar to brian. every time he thought about his past, it made him feel really down and not okay. all the years of repressing his bad memories had turned brian into a shy, broken, and unsure man. but he felt like a different man with echo, like he was missing a piece to his puzzle.

he looked down at echo, who was just snuggled into his side, looking at him lovingly.

“fuck it, i’m just gonna do it.” brian decided, leaning in to echo, lips meeting.

to say the kiss was amazing would be an understatement. the two fit together like puzzle pieces. brian pulled echo in, like a magnet. his lips met hers in a passionate embrace, with just the right amounts of roughness and romance. after an eternity and a half, the two finally broke apart, catching their breath.

“holy shit,” brian gasped, “that was totally uncalled for.”

“to be honest, that was exactly how i wanted my first kiss to go, brian.”

•-•|•-•

“well well well, look who’s back again!” logan yelled, scaring echo shitless. “you coming to see brian wrestle?”

“yeah, how did you know he wrestled?”

“looked up his info on the internet. he’s quite the journeyman, he’s been all over the states! wonder why he came to hawaii, though.”

“hey echo,” brian said, calling over echo, “i’d like you to meet some of my friends. you may know them. Say hello to Tony Booze.”

“Hey there Echo, I’m Tony.” Tony introduced himself, shaking Echo’s hand.

•-•|•-•

There were seven matches scheduled for that night’s event. Echo loved them all, and couldn’t keep her eyes off the action! But Brian was not in any of them, yet she still had a grand old time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is your main event of the night here at Oahu Championship Wrestling!” Echo and the crowd of around 150 fans cheered. Judging by how good the matches were already, she was going to be in for a treat. “This next match is a No Holds Barred match, and it is for the Oahu Heavyweight Championship!”

The opening notes to Raining Blood by Slayer invaded the airwaves, and so did a chorus of boos as a tall, buff, and tattooed man made his way to the ring, adorned in a black cape and crown. He was the current champion. “Making his way to the ring, from the ninth circle of Hell, the King of the Hallowed, VOID!”

“And his challenger,” Body Talks was now beginning to play, “the Unholy Savior Of The Masses, Grayson Del Toro!” The match kicked off with a fever pitch, both participants delivering clobbering blows to each other, like two drunken men at a bar.

Fifty minutes later, and VOID had retained his belt in an absolute masterpiece of a match. But, he still continued to beat down a bloodied Grayson Del Toro. Then, a cloaked figure ran down to the ring, mercilessly attacking VOID with a steel chair shot to the head. The crowd was at a loss for words. They absolutely despised VOID, and were genuinely afraid of him. The fact that someone decided to attack VOID was beyond them. “Could it be Brian?” wondered Echo.

After the referees separated the masked attacker from VOID, he revealed his face to the crowd, who popped so loud that the walls shook. “Ua hoʻi wau.” He dropped the mic. It was none other than Brian.

He walked over to Echo, and invited her into the ring. He gave her a black flower crown and stole VOID’s cape, dressing Echo in it. “I am Brian Kendrick, and this is my queen. Together we will rule this company, and usher in a new age of chaos.” He then placed his lips on Echo, who was quite surprised by the events that were transpiring. What had gotten into Brian? Well, whatever it was turned on Echo, impressed by this dark side.

#the brian kendrick #wwe imagine #wwe fluff

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banditthewriter · 5 years

Text

Electric Love - Billy Russo - 5

I’m sure you all have forgotten about this story, but I wanted to get this posted since I’m going to be without internet. And you guys have been great with me not writing or posting since I’ve been so distracted lately.

Here we are, part 5! I hope you enjoy!

Warning: Smut! Sorta! Yes, this is the smut that I was thinking about when I was with Chaotic Neutral.

Tags are at the bottom. Let me know if you would like to be added to one of my tag lists!

*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

*****

It looked like headlights, but how could that be? You were in a room, weren't you? It was dark, but there was a wall behind you.

The headlights grew closer, twin circles that seemed to glow white. They got closer until you could see something dark in the middle of each headlight.

Not headlights. Eyes.

Eyes that looked like flashlights and they were looking right at you. As they came closer, you could feel the presence creeping up the back of your neck.

Suddenly he was visible, his pale white eyes stood out as beacons on his pale face. There was a darkness on his forehead where the bullet had entered, but it was mostly healed.

And he was right in front of you. In your fear, you couldn't move. A gloved hand came out towards you, inching closer and closer.

Just as the hand clasped around your throat, you heard your name yelled from behind you in the distance.

"Y/N? Y/N, baby, wake up!"

You snapped out of the nightmare. With yelp, you sat back and away from where Billy had been hesitant to touch you.

Your entire body was sparking. The sheets were singed. And it looked like Billy hand a red blistered mark on his side where you had been resting against him when your powers kicked in.

"I'm so sorry," you cried as you nearly fell from the bed, forcing your hands under your arms to keep from accidentally blowing a hole through the floor.

"I don't care about that," Billy exclaimed as he got out of bed too, coming to stand in front of you. "What was that? It was like you were under attack."

You had been so focused on the fact that you were a danger to Billy that you'd forgotten your dream, but his question brought it screaming back to you.

Those eyes, the wound on his head, the hand around your throat. It'd felt so real. You could still feel the creeping feeling up the back of your neck like you did when the creator was trying to contact you.

"It was just a bad dream," you said as you slumped a little, barely holding yourself together. "I could have killed you over a stupid bad dream."

Billy tugged you into his arms despite your protests. Your powers were still tingling but he didn't flinch. Once you were certain that you weren't hurting him, you wrapped your arms around him as well.

"I don't care about that," he repeated as your hand went to his side where you must have shocked him pretty bad, "I didn't even feel it. I just care about you. That wasn't just a bad dream; your power lit up like you were fighting for your life."

That's what it had felt like. The fear that seeing the creator stirred in you had made you feel, even in your dream, like you were fighting for your life.

"It was about the creator. He was back and was going to kill me."

Billy wrapped his arms around your waist. You tucked your face into his neck and took a deep breath.

"He can't hurt you anymore. He's gone."

------

Frank and Billy had been planning non-stop on how to end Rawlins. You helped when you could, explained more about your powers, but they were the ones that knew him so they were the ones giving the information.

Billy stayed at Anvil a lot, using his contacts there to try to find the man. It seemed that the warehouse was completely empty so they didn't have a starting point.

You couldn't even use your powers to pull information off of the computers because there wasn't any electronic connection to the man.

The CIA wasn't big on paper trails. Even electronic ones.

While the men did their part, you were left to try to hone your powers. Meditation had helped before, so you did that. You also did little exercises to keep your powers in top shape.

Since finding Billy again, your powers had been unpredictable. Sometimes they were dormant around him, other times it was like they wanted to crawl out of you and into him.

And you still didn't understand how you could feel his emotions. It wasn't part of your powers as far as you could tell.

You had picked an abandoned warehouse for your practice. It meant being in an unfamiliar area, but it kept you from attracting attention once you started to light up like a Christmas tree.

Power built up in the pit of your stomach and you willed it through your left foot and into the ground. Then you did your right foot. You focused on each limb and felt the power move through you like water.

A halo of residual energy built up around you as you worked. You could feel it build, grow into something visible and nearly tangible. It was shaped… no, it wasn't possible.

You stepped back to get a better look and sure enough, the energy had formed an almost human figure. It was taller than you, wider in the shoulders.

A noise made you drop your concentration and the halo disappeared. It left sparks and a black circle on the ground, but you paid them no mind. Instead you turned towards the noise.

An inside door pushed open, revealing Gregory. His body was covered in the metallic sheen of his impenetrable power. You felt electricity flicker to life in your finger tips as you stared at him.

"How'd you find me?"

"Clive can still sense all of the metas that are alive," he explained, referencing one of the metas with a powerful mental capability. "He told me where you'd been staying but I didn't believe it. But when he told me you were out here in an abandoned warehouse, I knew it was my chance to talk to you."

Talk. You raised an eyebrow at him. Without much effort, you flicked one finger and watched a spark dart from you and then bounce off his chest without doing more than leaving a mark on his shirt.

"If you wanted to talk, you wouldn't have gotten all dressed up," you said as you looked at his tactical gear.

The kind of stuff both of you wore when you worked for the creator.

"You left me a note."

You had. In the days since you'd broken into his safe house, you wondered if you should have left that note. It was too late to take it back, but it meant he would look for you.

"You owe me. My half of everything we accumulated in our time together."

He pulled on a strap over his chest to reveal a black duffle bag. He unzipped it to show you the contents—and to show that it wasn't booby trapped. Then he threw it to your feet.

You bent down to examine the bag. Money, a few weapons, jewelry and gems. Then you saw the little black box that made you see red.

"You disgust me," you said as you tossed the box at his feet. "I wish I'd never met you."

Gregory bent down and picked up the box, his hands turning it over gingerly before he tucked it into one of his pockets.

"You found him, didn't you? Russo. That's who owns the penthouse."

You stood up and slung the bag over your shoulder.

"Don't say his name," you threatened before you turned to head over to where you left your things. "Billy is twice the man you'll ever be. Five times—a hundred times the man. You don't even deserve to say his name."

Gregory scoffed behind you.

"He's a murderer."

You spun around and pointed a gun at him, aiming for his head. Even at close range, the bullet wouldn't do any damage with his power activated. You rolled your eyes before you put the gun back in the bag.

"And what does that make us, huh?"

------

The black duffle bag was tucked under the edge of Billy's bed. You needed to talk to him about a few things before you could show him what you had.

When he got home that evening, you were a ball of restless energy. If it hadn't been for your control, there would be scorch marks on the floor. Instead you nearly launched yourself at Billy when he walked in the door.

"Well that's a greeting I could get used to," he remarked against your lips as you held on to him.

"You might have to," you joked as you sank back to your feet. "Have a good day dear?"

He laughed as he pulled off his suit jacket, undoing the button at the top and tugging off his tie.

"Work was work. Frankie had an idea for how we might find Rawlins. He's gonna work it with his buddy from the NSA."

You reached out to take his jacket and tie. Your hand touched his and you felt a zap, a little more than usual.

"Shit, sorry," you said quickly as you pulled your hand away, "I'm just a bundle of nerves tonight."

Billy dropped his stuff onto the floor, not caring at all. His hands went to yours and he tugged you closer.

"I've told you before, I don't care about that shit," he promised as he ducked his head down to give you a kiss. "Why are you a bundle of nerves? What's going on?"

You pulled away from him, but kept your hand in his. You guided him over to the couch and sat him down. Then you paced in front of him for a moment.

"A few nights ago during dinner, you wouldn't let me talk to you about something, but now we need to."

Billy leaned forward, his forearms braced against his thighs.

"You have my attention."

You rotated the ring on your finger back and forth as you tried to get the words in order. It felt like you were trying to pull the words out of your own heart.

And your powers were making the lights flicker a bit.

"You gotta calm down before you fry the lights babe, come here," he said as he tugged you down onto the couch with him. "What's going on?"

Finally you took a deep breath and let it out slow. You could do this.

"When I was working for the creator, I was involved with someone. He was another meta."

There was a flicker in Billy's eyes, but he didn't pull away from you. But that flicker didn't lessen at all.

"Involved, huh?"

You glared at him and shook your head.

"Oh and I'm sure you were a monk while I was supposedly dead, right? That's why you're so desperate to get me in the sack, because you've been celibate since I–"

He tugged you to him, his mouth a harsh press against yours. It felt like he was trying to devour you.

"I may not have been celibate, but I wasn't involved with anyone. No one could fill the hole that was left when you died. So I'm allowed to be jealous that while I thought you were dead, you were moving on."

Your heart felt like it was breaking. Carefully you moved so that you were kneeling next to him on the couch, your hands on his jaw to make him look at you. Yes, you could see he was jealous, but there was an ache in his chest as well that you could feel.

Distance. He felt so far from you right now and it hurt. You gently pulled him in for a kiss, soothing the hurt feelings between the two of you.

"I didn't move on from you Billy. I thought I'd never get to see you again or that you would have moved on. I thought I was a danger to you," you added as you traced a hand down his neck, letting him feel your power ripple across his skin.

"Y/N–"

"No, please, I just… I need to tell you all of this."

You stood up but kept one of his hands in yours. The rest of this would be hard to say, but you wanted him to know it was in the past. Needed him to believe that.

"I was involved with him but I didn't love him, not really. His power made his skin impenetrable so I felt like I could touch him without hurting him, but it wasn't love. Not for me."

Gregory had been a lifesaver when your life had been turned upside down. He had been there for you when you needed someone. You felt safe with him, but you never imagined your future with him.

Not like you had Billy.

And you told Billy as much, wanting him to know how you felt.

"You were—are—the only man I could ever want to be with, the one I want to spend my life with." You swallowed thickly and moved to sit beside him. "He tried to give me a ring, to propose that we get married and spend our lives together, but I refused."

It had felt so wrong when you saw the ring in the box. It was beautiful, without a doubt, but the man giving it to you wasn't Billy and it was wrong.

"Things moved pretty quickly after that. Most of the metas wanted to leave the creator and Gregory led the charge, got most of them away from him."

You remembered the night it happened as if it was yesterday. With most of the metas gone, the compound was quiet. The creator hadn't even reacted to learning he had been abandoned by his creations. Instead he'd taken one look at you and told you that he had a job for you.

The pentagon.

"This Gregory guy. That's who you went to see when you were gone for a few days."

It wasn't an accusation, just a statement of fact. You nodded, but then immediately shook your head.

"I didn't go to see him, not technically. I went to get my half of the things we had gotten over our time with the creator. When he left, he took it with him. But he wasn't at his safe house in Jersey and I wasn't able to get into his safe."

You left the living room and grabbed the duffle bag. Then you dropped it on the coffee table, unzipping it and showing him what you had.

"He knew I'd stopped by and brought this to me when I was practicing my powers today."

Billy barely looked at the bag. Instead his eyes moved around your face.

"So he knows how to find you."

You wanted to growl at that. Why couldn't he shake this jealousy? It was obvious that you had made your choice.

"He used another meta to help find me, yeah, but I'm trying to show you that I have–"

He cut you off.

"I can see what you have," he said as he nudged the bag, letting piles of money fall onto the coffee table.

He didn't care about the money or other valuable items you had amassed. You'd go as far as saying he didn't even care about how you had gotten those items, especially since his hands weren't exactly clean.

He was still hung up on your relationship with Gregory.

You could have screamed. You had the power to fry a man where he stood and shut down the electrical grid for the entire east coast, but Billy was worried about a guy you had already admitted to never loving.

"Do you know why Gregory sought me out? He came to me, he started the thing between us, he pursued me. Do you know why? Because the creator told him to."

You moved over and sat down next to Billy, grabbing his hand and making him look at you.

"The creator knew that I was hung up on you and that I'd likely never get over you. He told Gregory to distract me, to seduce me even. And he did it. Sure, his feelings became real, but what did he do when I was unable to return those feelings? He left me alone with the creator and stole the things that I had kept in order to get away."

You would never forgive Gregory for that.

Billy leaned his head in to rest against yours, his hand coming to squeeze the back of your neck.

"You walked around for two years with a ring hanging from a key chain when you believed I was dead," you reminded him emotionally as you held on tight to him.

"I'm sorry; I don't like sharing," he explained as he gave you a kiss.

"Billy, you aren't sharing me. I belong to no one but I chose you." You swung your leg around so that you could straddle his lap. "I'm waiting for us to sleep together because when I'm with you, I want the only sparks flying to be harmless."

You almost burnt down the bed after a nightmare. You were terrified about what could happen if the two of you had sex.

He shook his head as he tugged you closer, his lips finding yours easily.

"I'm not rushing you here, not really. I want to be with you, but I want you to be comfortable. If that means waiting, I'll wait."

You loved Billy so much in that moment. Of course you always loved him, had from almost the moment you met him, but you were learning there was no limit to how he made you feel.

And you wanted to be with him too. You had missed Billy in your time not-dead. You loved being back in his embrace, without a doubt, but you did miss being with him.

Billy rubbed his cheek against yours, his hands settling on your waist. You still sat straddling his lap, your knees tucked against the back of the couch and your hands perched on his shoulders.

You turned your head and brushed your lips against his.

"I want to try something," you mumbled as you straightened your back, your hands folding into fists against his chest. "Hold my hips."

He gave you a look, confusion marked with interest. He lowered his hands to your hips as you had asked and waited for you to explain.

Instead of explaining, you gave a slow roll of your hips, forward and down so that you could drag against his groin. His mouth dropped open a small amount as he realized what you were doing.

"You gonna hump me like we're in high school?"

You laughed as you did it again, feeling his cock twitch in his pants as you did. He swore something under his breath as his hands tightened on your hips.

"It's not much, but it's something," you responded with a breathless laugh as you continued to roll your hips.

It was definitely something. As you moved on top of him, your hands carefully pulled away so that you wouldn't accidentally burn him, Billy began to move his hips as well.

With him thrusting up into you and you rolling your hips down to meet him, you found yourself moaning. He was hard in his pants, the friction and heat of you turning him on more and more. And the way his hard cock felt pressed up so close to where you wanted it—needed it—was making you wet. An ache raised up in the pit of your stomach as you moved against him.

"Billy," you gasped as he moved harder against you.

He nodded to show he knew what you were saying, twisting his hips harder and faster, holding you still as he did most of the work.

Electricity hummed over your skin deliciously. The lights were flickering overhead, the television coming off and on, but you tried to ignore it. Instead you kept moving, your hands up and fisted tight.

It was getting more and more intense, the scent of Billy in your nose and on your skin. He leaned in to kiss you, groaning into your mouth as he got closer to his climax. As your own snuck up on you, your hands shot out in either direction. A shower of sparks erupted from you, but you barely noticed. Billy finished thrusting against you, his head falling back as you felt his cock twitching in his pants.

His arms wrapped around your body and he tugged you forward. You still had sparks running under your skin, but Billy didn't seem to mind. He nuzzled into your neck, pressing kisses there as he did. You sighed as your own hands went to wrap around his neck, tugging him in for a kiss.

"I know it's not the same," you mumbled against his lips, but he shook his head and silenced you with a kiss that stole your breath.

"I love you."

You pressed your forehead into his shoulder and let out a little laugh, hoping your eyes would be dry when you leaned back.

"I love you too."

After a few moments of rest and snuggling, you got off of Billy's lap and flopped onto the couch next to him. He got up and rearranged himself in his pants, making a face as he did so.

"I'm gonna clean up," he said as he shifted his hips, heading towards the bathroom.

You needed to as well, the dampness between your legs making you feel good but also gross. You'd let him finish up in there and then clean yourself up as well.

When you stood up to go get some clean underwear, you remembered the little light show you had put on when your orgasm hit you. The two of you obviously didn't feel the sparks, but you needed to make sure you didn't burn anything.

There didn't seem to be any scorch marks, nothing fried. None of the nearby electronics looked ruined either. Even after that impressive showing, there was nothing damaged?

Maybe you could trust yourself not to hurt Billy after all. Whatever it was in you that protected him from your powers, maybe it would continue to protect him.

You didn't want to take the risk, not yet, but it was something to think about at least.

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#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #billy russo fanfic #my writing #electric love

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 5 years

Text

Michael in the Mainstream: The Nostalgia Critic

I have been a fan of the Nostalgia Critic for years now. That’s a rather controversial stance to take nowdays, especially in light of recent controversies; first was the big #ChangeTheChannel movement which had the entire site sans Brad Jones performing a mass exodus elsewhere with some even going so far as to brutally cut ties with Doug for his and managements failings (with Alison Pregler, AKA Obscurus Lupa offering some especially harsh words). Then was this year’s review of The Wall, where he utilized his divisive clipless style and his complete lack of a good singing voice to create what is hands down one of the worst videos – not even just review, VIDEOS – on YouTube. But even with those two things aside, I do think there is some value to the work of Doug Walker. He became popular for a reason, right? So what is that reason? Where did he go wrong?

Doug Walker began doing his Nostalgia Critic schtick in the wake of James Rolfe’s Angry Video Game Nerd becoming an internet icon, and he quickly became one of the bigger faces in the wake of imitators Rolfe spawned. The conceit of his show is rather simple – he reviews nostalgic movies, mostly stuff from the 80s or 90s, with occasional forays into the 2000s – all while parodying the typical internet film critic much as Rolfe parodied the typical nerd gamer. The Critic, you see, is not necessarily Doug, but instead a hyperactive psychotic manchild version of himself who screeches, shoots, and curses up a storm while reviewing movies. It wasn’t too different from other review shows at the time, really, but Doug had a sort of corny charm that really worked.

As time went on, production values slowly increased, Doug’s humor sharpened, and eventually actual thoughtful film analysis crept in, especially in the post-reboot episodes. In fact, that is something I generally like about Doug’s work, and why I even bother with him still: the man clearly has an understanding of film theory, he knows what he’s talking about, and when he takes the time to sit down and actually talk about movies he’s actually pretty insightful. I think of his reviews of stuff like Ghostbusters 2,where he actually gave a genuinely great alternate plotline for the film that would have better utilized the concepts and characters, or any of his numerous video essays on film issues like whitewashing. When it’s Doug just sitting down and talking about a film while cracking jokes here and there, it tends to be really good.

However, Doug has increasingly wanted to add some spice to his reviews in the forms of skits. And it’s not like there never were bits in his reviews back in the day, but post-revival He ramped up the amount of skits, utilizing a cast of friends, with the current mainstays being Malcolm Ray and Tamara Chambers. I do sort of like the weird cast of characters the show has amassed, and I think they really help give the show an identity to set it apart from other review shows. Malcolm and Tamara are honestly, genuinely funny and enjoyable, though the writing doesn’t always play to their skills and can sometimes be a bit obnoxious. I think I’d have to say Malcolm is probably my favorite of the bunch, as he has the wackiest roster of amusing characters, with roles such as Satan, Black Willy Wonka, and good ol’ Bill. And some of his best reviews have crazy skits. His Moulin Rouge review is a standout example; even if I don’t agree with his opinions, he manages to make the musical interludes fun, funny, and actually filled with some sort of commentary relating to the film.

I think the real issues with the skits is they sometimes bog down the reviews or go on for a bit too long. Some of them also just plain aren’t funny at all, or they use really bottom of the barrel cringeworthy comedy that the Critic himself has criticized in his reviews. Of course, the pinnacle of these problems are his clipless reviews, which are basically just Doug and pals reenacting whatever movie he’s reviewing. On paper, this seems like a fun and amusing idea, but the execution is often extremely poor. See, the thing about the Nostalgia Critic is that you’re ostensibly going to him to see criticism and see if something is worth watching; the thing with his clipless reviews is that they require intimate familiarity with the source material for you to even get half of the jokes he’s making, which kind of defeats the point. This is one of the reasons his review of The Wall is so terrible; he’s taking a film that is incomprehensible and surreal and parodying it without explaining the context, so anyone unfamiliar with the movie will be lost.

And even if you are familiar, a lot of the parody can come off as mean-spirited or even filled with blatant lies. Doug has a tendency to overexaggerate and be hyperbolic when he’s in-character, so if he finds a serious flaw in the movie he’ll blow it up in his parody. His reviews of the It films really showcase this, as he sort of nitpicks things that really aren’t as big a deal as he makes them out to be, which has the unfortunate side effect of making his legitimate criticisms look a bit weaker. In fact, a lot of the time Doug comes off as genuinely hypocritical, mocking tropes and tools he himself frequently utilizes in his own reviews. It’s so weird, because despite all this as well as the cheap special effects and production values that Doug is clearly putting a lot of effort into acting out all these wacky parodies, but he just can’t act and criticize at the same time. At the very least, his clipless reviews lend themselves well to unintentionally hilarious, so bad it’s good territory.

I think a lot of why the clipless reviews and skits don’t work is because of Doug’s lingering resentment over the failure of Demo Reel, which was him trying to branch out after he retired the Critic. Of course had to fall back on the Critic; Demo Reel was not very popular, and people just wanted more of what Made Doug famous. I do like that he did try stuff to spice his show up to make it enjoyable for him again, but it’s still hard not to get the sense that Doug is still bitterly lashing out with his skits at the people who wouldn’t accept him branching out into attempts at legitimate acting. As such, they just feel like empty, over the top garbage that Doug is pushing out because he really wants to act, but he feels like he can’t because what people want is more Critic.

I guess in general it doesn’t help that Doug is just not a great actor. Just look at his performances in the anniversary movies, which horribly clash with the whiny manchild the Critic is portrayed as in the main show, orr even during some of the commercial skits he does, where he tends to overact or just get too childish and hammy. It’s so obvious to me that Doug really wants to be a legitimate actor but he just doesn’t seem to have the aptitude for it. He’s a lot better at comedy and criticism than he is at acting. Of course, that’s not to say he’s incapable of doing anything good; his review of that 3D Nutcracker movie, and in fact a lot of his more modern Christmas-related reviews, have some genuinely touching and heartfelt moments, and when Doug is staying true to the goofy, idiotic character of the Critic he can be really fun.

The Nostalgia Critic is not really a show I think I can recommend to most people. Hell, sometimes I feel like I only watch it because of, ahem, nostalgia. I definitely don’t think the show is void of good content, but when Doug drops something like The Wall, it makes me wonder… Still, I like to stick around, because when Doug hits it, he hits it out of the park. The problem is when he fails, he tends to fail in the most epic manner possible. He’s like that one bat in EarthBound which is super powerful but misses a lot, but when it hits, your opponent is pretty sure to get knocked out. I think a lot of Doug’s failings are carried by his supporting cast, and the flaws in his writing are only easy to swallow because of the genuine insights he offers. There’s just a lot to take into consideration when it comes to the Critic, it’s really hard to say if he’s good or bad. He just… is.

I definitely think some of what Doug does is bad and cringeworthy (I really can’t defend those sketches in the Deadpool 2 review or those awful Kermit puppets), but I think beneath the cringiness, beneath the overdone acting, and beneath the flaws, there are some good insights to be found about films and why they do and don’t work. I of course don’t agree with everything Doug says, but there is still genuine thought and effort. I don’t really know if I can say he’s worth going out of your way to watch, but popping in now and then to check out what Doug has to say isn’t a bad thing. I kind of wish he would go back to doing those video essays again, because I think that was some of his best work, or maybe stick to only reviewing stuff that he has some sort of genuine connection with. When he is really passionate about something, it really shows, because he puts care and effort into the analysis and is able to tell some genuinely good jokes in between snarking at the film. When he just doesn’t care… you get The Wall review. Yeah, that’s pretty much my go-to for awful Doug reviews, becauseit is emblematic of every single problem that has come to plague his worst efforts: lack of care, bad writing, crappy production values, overdone and overacted skits, manipulative editing, and zero insight into the film.

Still, as cringeworthy as he can get these days… I’ll take this version of Doug over the Bat Credit Card/Chuck Norris/Burger King “elephant”/forced meme version of Doug from his early days.

I’m Michael Ford. I remember the Nostalgia Critic so you don’t have to.

#Michael in the Mainstream #review #web show review #The Nostalgia Critic #Nostalgia Critic #NC #Doug Walker #critic #criticism #comedy #internet reviewer

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veliseraptor · 5 years

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novum oriens, 2.1k, clint and natasha’s a+ parenting verse, this is the actual first installment chronologically other than the prequel, writing things in order? what’s that?

thanks to the anon who reminded me about the existence of this verse and brought me back to finish this large chunk of it I started to write ages ago and never finished filling in!

Clint liked to think he was pretty used to weird. He might not be as cool-headed and unflappable as Nat, but most people weren't, and he was pretty damn good at rolling with the punches.

That being said, there was 'weird' and then there was 'Thor showing up out of the blue with a kid at his heels.' Small kid, too, about waist-high, short black hair, his head swiveling around like he was trying to look at everything at once but still sticking close by Thor, who looked a lot more serious. "This is Midgard?" the kid said, sounding both curious and a little skeptical.

"Indeed it is," Thor said. "And my friend's home."

"It's--" the kid stopped abruptly, glanced at them, and then said politely, "very impressive." Clint pressed his lips together so he didn't snort. Tony looked like he was trying to decide between being amused and offended. Steve cleared his throat.

"It's good to see you again, Thor," he said, and then looked at the kid and opened his mouth. Thor interrupted before he could say anything - probably ask what his name was.

"Brother," he said to the kid, and Clint froze. "Would you..." He paused, and the kid gave him an arch look, a little half smile.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Thor?" he said, and for a moment Thor's expression was panicked, but the kid gave him a little shove. "It's all right." He turned to Tony and said, "where's the washroom?"

"Uh," Tony said. "Down the stairs, take a left and then another left. Second door on the right."

"Thank you," the kid said brightly, and departed. Clint stared after him, stomach in knots.

"Tell me you have another brother," Clint said, the moment it seemed like he was out of earshot. Thor's expression tightened, and Clint swore. "You're telling me that was - Loki?"

"Yes," Thor said.

"Loki who died?" Bruce said. Thor's expression tightened further.

"Yes."

"And you brought him here...why, exactly?" Natasha asked, an edge on her voice. Thor glanced toward the stairs.

"Because I need to ask you a favor," he said. "I need Loki to stay here with you."

Absolute, dead silence followed his pronouncement. Clint felt like he'd been clubbed in the head. "You're not serious," he said faintly. Thor looked grim, and perfectly serious.

"I am afraid that I am," he said. "I understand the difficulty, but..." He paused, and then said, "Loki's coming back. We can't discuss this with him here. He doesn't remember...what came before, and it is better that way."

"We need to talk about this," Steve said.

"In private," Thor said. "Is there something Loki might do while we...?"

"You want to turn him loose in my tower?" Tony said. Thor just looked at him, and Tony made a small noise. "Yeah, okay, okay, that's cool. Fine. If he breaks anything..."

Loki emerged from downstairs and Thor walked swiftly over to him. "My friends and I have some business to discuss, I am afraid," Thor said, and then added, when Loki (shit, Loki) opened his mouth, "Avengers business."

Loki huffed. "And what am I going to do?" he asked.

"Ever heard of the internet?" Tony said suddenly. Loki gave him a perplexed look, and Tony said, "you're gonna love it, I guarantee you. Guys - let me know where you decide to meet."

Thor ruffled Loki's hair, who gave him a scowl and a wrinkled noise as he shook it back into place, and Clint felt like he was going to choke on his own tongue. He looked quickly away and found himself meeting Natasha's sympathetic gaze. It's just a kid, he told himself, but of course that wasn't all he was. And it was hard not to feel like believing that made Loki harmless would be a very large mistake.

“I gave the kid a Starkpad and showed him how to use the internet, so that should keep him busy for a few hours,” Tony said, dropping into a chair. Clint noticed that, the kid, like he was trying to avoid saying the name. “So…”

No one seemed to want to start talking, so Clint went ahead and dove into the breach. “Okay, I’ll say it,” he said. “Are you seriously talking about just dropping Loki with us and leaving?”

Thor’s gaze was on his hands. “I would not do so if I had other options.”

“You have an entire planet,” Clint said, maybe a little belligerent, so sue him.

Thor’s lips twisted. “Asgard is not safe for Loki. Not...as he is.”

Steve frowned. “People are targeting him? A kid?”

“Many feel as you do,” Thor said. “That it matters not his age, that it is...safer to put an end to his life now, while he is still young and vulnerable.” Clint’s stomach clenched a little but he shut that feeling down. Or tried. Thor lifted his gaze. “My friends. I know that you have no reason to bear anything but ill-will toward my brother, but understand - this is not the Loki you battled. He has no memory of those events, and is a child not just in body but in mind. I cannot keep him with me while I investigate this new threat - and I fear to leave him on Asgard, even among my friends, without my protection.”

Steve was openly grimacing. Natasha had her “trying-too-hard-to-be-blank” face on, which meant she was unhappy and wanted at least him to know it. Tony rubbed his forehead, but he looked as disquieted as Clint felt. “How do you know that this kid is really - all new, factory-fresh Loki?” He asked. “Not the old one messing with you to get your guard down?”

“I know,” Thor said, something cold in his voice.

“Right,” Tony said. “That’s reassuring.”

“Even if...potential threat aside, Thor,” Bruce said, and if Steve looked upset Bruce looked...a little green. Clint supposed child abuse might be a sore spot with him. “None of us are exactly what you’d call babysitters.”

“Hey,” Clint objected. “I’m good with kids.”

“Then that makes one of us,” Bruce said. Clint was relieved that he didn’t disagree out loud, at least. “But...we don’t exactly lead safe lives, either.”

“I know,” Thor said, “but with you is the safest place I know on this Realm. I do not think any would try to harm Loki, with you as his protectors.”

Oh, Jesus. Clint could see by the look on Steve’s face, and Bruce’s, and even Tony’s, that they were going to go for it. And what was he supposed to say? Yeah, I’m fine with letting a kid get murdered for crimes he’s possibly culpable for but doesn’t remember, sounds good.

“What happens when we have to do Avengers stuff?” Clint asked.

“He is not incapable of taking care of himself,” Thor said. “For short periods of time…”

“We could have some kind of rotation,” Steve said. Natasha drummed her fingers on the table.

“Hold on, Steve,” she said. Clint could’ve kissed her. “We haven’t even agreed to-”

She broke off, looking toward the door. Clint looked with her, and noticed that the door was open and standing in the doorway was the topic of their conversation. Looking at him more closely now, the best adjective to describe Loki in his current state was “weedy” - narrow and almost delicate looking, and maybe it was just that his eyes were wide but they seemed too big for his face. Clint guessed he was maybe ten, eleven years old, or at least the Aesir equivalent thereof.

His eyes flicked around the room and he cleared his throat awkwardly, gaze fixing on Thor. “I am sorry to interrupt,” he said, shoulders drawing up a little like he could sense the tension in the room. “I wished to ask if there were a library somewhere?”

Clint stared at him, eyes narrowed. He didn’t look like Loki, except in the superficial physical resemblance. Different mannerisms, different posture, and his voice sounded different - hesitant, the tone of a child around unfamiliar adults, expecting to be dismissed.

“What happened to the Starkpad I gave you?” Tony asked. Loki glanced at him, and then at Thor like he was looking for guidance.

“It is...interesting,” Loki said, carefully polite. “But it is a bit…simple?” Clint had to stifle a snort. Tony’s eyebrows shot up and he looked indignant. “It is very impressive, though,” Loki hastened to add, seemingly entirely earnest. “I did not know that Midgardians had worked out how to make such things.” Now Bruce looked like he was trying not to laugh. Tony huffed loudly, and Loki shot Thor what was unmistakably a nervous look.

“Right,” Steve said loudly. “Well...Thor, should you introduce us?”

Oh, right. Clint wondered idly if there was a chance he could duck out and avoid having to get introduced to Loki again, but Loki’s eyes had already lit up. “No need!” He said. “Thor has spoken much and highly of you. You are Iron Man,” he said to Tony. “The infinitely clever master forger and craftsman.” Clint couldn’t help but think, nice, kid. Tony looked like he was trying not to be pleased by the description.

“And you, Captain America,” Loki went on. “Courageous and true, defender of your people and a warrior without compare.” He turned to Bruce, hesitating only a moment. “Dr. Banner?” he said, not quite a question. “A man of science, but you also-” Another glance at Thor. “You fought my brother to a standstill,” he said, with a faint tone of awe.

Bruce’s lips twitched. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

But now Loki had turned toward Clint, who tensed in spite of himself. Half expecting some kind of backhanded insult, but Loki’s expression was just one of slightly apprehensive excitement. “Hawkeye,” he said. “The marksman who has never missed his target. And Black Widow, whom others underestimate at their peril.”

He stopped his recitation and looked around the room, expectant and nervous. Thor stood and walked over, placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder, and the way Loki looked up at him sort of stung: trusting, adoring. Clint remembered what it was like to look at your older brother like that, like they could fix the whole world, like everything would be fine as long as they were there.

“It’s nice to meet you, Loki,” Steve said, just as Loki’s smile started to falter. “We do have a conversation that we need to finish, though, so…”

Loki seemed to deflate, a little. “I’ll go,” he said without argument, and Thor gave him a hard look.

“No eavesdropping at the door,” he said. Loki’s eyes flicked guiltily away.

“I won’t.” He paused. “But we should leave soon, Thor. We do not want to return to Asgard after moonrise.”

“Yes, Loki,” Thor said without a hitch, and Clint winced. He ruffled his brother’s hair. Ruffled Loki’s hair, and if Loki scowled at him he didn’t protest, and slipped back out.

“You haven’t told him,” Bruce said.

Thor looked down. “I have not wanted to.”

Tony groaned. “He’s going to flip out, Thor.”

Thor frowned. “Why should he? It is not forever, and he will understand that.”

Will he? Clint thought. Will it even matter, or will the only thing that matters be that he’s being abandoned by his brother on a different planet with total strangers?

Bruce rubbed his forehead. “Kids don’t always get that stuff, Thor. Does he...does he know that Asgard is dangerous for him?”

Thor hesitated. “Yes,” he said after a long moment. “He knows.” There was a world of something there that Clint didn’t feel up to touching. “He does not know why. We have said...that there is a misunderstanding.”

Loki seemed like a smart kid. Clint would bet he wasn’t buying that one, and he wondered what kind of alternate explanations Loki might’ve come up with.

“Loki will understand,” Thor said staunchly. “I will explain. And you are friends.”

“That’s not going to be enough,” Tony said. “And I don’t really want to see the tantrum he throws when he realizes you’re leaving him behind.”

“Does that mean you agree to let him stay here?” Thor asked. Sly. Tony looked helplessly at Steve, who glanced at Clint.

Clint grimaced. “So it’s down to me? What about Nat?” Natasha didn’t volunteer to step in, and Clint squeezed his eyes closed and exhaled harshly. “Yeah. Okay. For you, Thor.”

Fuck, he was going to regret this.

#clint and natasha's a plus parenting #a wild fic appeared

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theincompetentgenius · 5 years

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Hello 😄 Life generator is totally awesome idea! I already love it and would like to request one for Arcana world. I hope it won’t be too much of a problem, and thank you in advance ❤️

I’m a big science nerd, especially good in math, hungry for knowledge, with unsatiable curiosity. But at the same time, i radiate dumbass energy. Most of the time i’m silent, because i don’t really know what to say, since my mind is tv static. I enjoy creating, my hobbies are singing, drawing, painting, scupting, embroidery and other forms of crafting. But i really don’t have any creativeness on my own. And i lack in artistic skills, but i substitute it with persistence. I’m really patient and can go over one place hundreds times until i’m satisfied, and i’m never giving up on any wips, they just wait for their turn (..same about people, even if have no contact with them anymore i still consider them as friends, i don’t cut ties). Even if they pile up and there’s probably no way to finish it up in one lifetime. Damn, i wish i was immortal. There’s so many knowledge and skills to learn, and art to consume and create in the world. But i don’t really have any passion or hiperfixation, i’m just all over the place, a jade of all trades and master of none. Most of the time is spend resting, on internet, because i run out of energy far too quick, especially physical and social. The problems of being contained in a body that wants to rest at all costs xd Physically i’m really weak, even though i work out regularly, my super low endurance doesn’t improve. I’m so quickly drained and need to recharge that for long so it looks like i’m lazy. Basically i’m never bored, but i can get frustraded when i’m wasting time.

I’m pretty open and honest person and have no brakes, i overshare whenever i have occasion (as you can see xD). I’m not hiding my emotions, except showing that someone hurt me (because i’m too proud to do that if that was meancingly, or i don’t want them to feel bad if it wasn’t). I’m friendly, very empathetic, eager to help if approached. I can easily put myself into other people’s shoes and always try to understand where others come from, their reasoning. And i care about others’ well being. But i’m quite a hermit, i barely have any social needs, and never approach people first. I’m fine on my own. Since i can remember, i only lived inside my own world in my head. Being around people is nice too though, but i’m pretty socially clueless. I don’t really experience loneliness, unless i miss certain people. And that happens super rarely too, i don’t get that attached to even closest people. But it happens, i can get really attached.

I can get anxious and uncertain around people, because i don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable, cross boundaries or face any sort of negative consequences. But i don’t care what people think of me n my actions, especially if i don’t know them. Social norms are only chains. There’s no reason to follow them. I prefer my order of doing things. Order is really important to me, i need it for my things, my actions, my plans. My free time is dictated by algorithms i make, that get more and more complicated with each update. Most of the time i’m in neutral state, pretty apathetic. Emotions can be easily triggered, but die as fast and i go back to the state of nirvana. I rarely get stressed and don’t care too much about issues, life always works out in one way or another. That’s why i’m chill, patient and calm.

I love cute and pretty things, sweets, plushies, hugs, cats. When it comes to nature, sure i like it and it is interesting, but i don’t really like being close to it because of bugs. They’re yucky >.> I’m hesistant about a lot of stuff and super cautious about things that could cause physical harm, which i guess makes me a coward. And i don’t enjoy travelling. I mean it is okay, but doesn’t spark any emotion, besides maybe knowledge seeking. Instead, i’m big fan of magic and powers. Not that boring stuff like astrology, but rather like you k'now, superheroes or wizards things. Wish that kind of stuff existed irl, and wish i had it all, just like with irl skills xd Also i’m really, really picky eater.

Thank you for your interest in the world of The Arcana. You will be reborn into your new life shortly. The simulation will begin in 3…….. 2……. 1……..

B A C K G R O U N D

Your mother had left you in front of the doorsteps of a poor orphanage when you were only months old. She felt that she was unfit to take care of you because she was not financially stable, but she could only hope for the best for you. Fortunately, you were left at the hands of caring and understanding individuals who supported you through your childhood. However, your scattered interests in the arts, sciences, and magic had left many people confused. They couldn’t wrap their heads around the concept that a young girl could explore such complex concepts, but that never mattered to you. Your interests were in your newfound magic. While you wouldn’t practice magic in public, you would use it when necessary or convenient. Yet these few moments caused panic within your town. You were becoming too smart, too powerful, and too curious. The townsmen felt threatened by your mere presence, so they banished you from the city under the pretense that you were a “threat to their well-being.” Yet you never saw the bursting potential buried within you.

F R I E N D S

Julian

Now that you had been kicked out of your hometown, you had absolutely no idea where to go. There weren’t too many cities near your own and you weren’t sure if you had enough supplies to last you through your entire trip. Although you were sure that you could find a small village nearby, you still felt the need to check over your supplies to prevent excessive spending. The fact that you had to travel through the heat didn’t make things any better.

You aimlessly wandered through the leafy forests, hoping that the direction of winds, clouds, and the sun would give you some indication as to where you were. Unfortunately, you had crossed the same dead lizard five times. You were moving in circles. A sigh escaped your lips as you trudged through the forest. Your mind had gone blank and you couldn’t think of a plan to get yourself out of this mess. Your calm demeanor was wearing thin as all your plans had begun to fall apart. The thought of blasting yourself into the sky with air magic had crossed your mind, but you knew that you were incapable of landing safely.

In the midst of your thoughts, you bumped into a tall, brooding figure. You instinctively elongated the vines from the plants, preparing to attack whatever was in front of you.

“Don’t hurt me with those vine things! I’m just a traveler!” A man with cooper hair and an eyepatch yelled.

You did a quick lookover and dropped the vines from your grasp. The man let out a sigh of relief and scrambled to his feet. He looked back at you and collected his things. Although you did not want to speak to him, he probably knew the jungle better than you and was your possible ticket to getting out of this mess. You mustered the courage in your chest to call out to him.

“Wait! I’m sorry that I shot those vines at you. I thought you were a monster, but that’s beside the point. Do you know where we are?”

He looked around with a suspicious glance. “I have a general idea. Can’t you use your magic to get yourself out of here?”

“If only I could, then I wouldn’t be wandering around with a loaf of bread and a flask of water.”

The stranger let out a chuckle. “I suppose you’re right. How did you get stuck in this place?”

And so you told him your story and your woes as an exile. You looked away, expecting him to make a rude remark but he chuckled and shook his head.

“Maybe we’re not so different, Magician. I happen to be an informally-exiled doctor for murdering a Count.”

You raised your eyebrow. For a murderer, he was rather friendly. Before you could ask any more questions, he told you his story (or whatever he remembered from it). There seemed to be many holes, but you were fairly entertained by them.

“Is Vesuvia close by?” You asked.

“Yeah, just a little down south. I’m going there to get some answers about myself. Are you going to join me?”

Other friends: Nadia, Muriel

R O M A N C E

Asra

Once you arrived at Vesuvia with Julian, the two of you went separate ways. Not that any altercation had taken place, but Julian was more focused on uncovering his past while you needed a place to stay. So you went about, searching for possible adobes for shelter. They were either too expensive or in terrible quality. But you didn’t give up, there had to be something you could find.

As you passed through the unfamiliar streets, you looked for possible places to sleep for the night. The pillar looked too stiff, the grass was too moist, and sleeping next to a building would hurt your back. Things were looking rough for you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a tap on your shoulder. You spun around to see a handsome young man with fluffy, white hair and a soft smile. “You look a little lost and I don’t think I’ve seen you around. Are you new here?”

You let out a sheepish grin. “Yeah, I’m just looking for a place to stay. Do you know any place that’s inexpensive but sanitary?”

The man placed his hand on his chin, presumably to think of an answer to your question. After a moment, he responded. “You can stay at my place for the night. It’s not big, but it has a cozy feel to it.”

You shook your head. “You’re too kind, but I can’t infringe on your privacy like that. After all, you must have better things to do than help a random vagabond.”

“Well I used to be a vagabond myself, so I know the pain of wandering around with no place to go.” A snake slithered from his sleeve and cocked its head. “See? Even Faust thinks you should stay over.”

“You’re too kind!” You were about to accept his offer, but a new thought crossed your mind. What if he was trying to lure you to his home for dangerous reasons? There was no way to verify that he wasn’t a kidnapper or someone with ill intentions.

The stranger noticed your sudden discomfort. “If you’re worried about ill intentions, that was probably the furthest thing from my mind. How about you I show you around Vesuvia instead? If you feel more relaxed, you can stay at my place. But I’m not pressuring you if you don’t want to.”

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.”

“By the way, my name is Asra. Shall we get started on this tour?” The two of you wander through the colorful stalls of the city, examining the golden trinkets and wooden toys. There were racks of fruit neatly organized based on size and color with shelves of pastries next to them. Asra bought you a few desserts despite your protests. Although most products were overpriced, there was a rustic charm to them all.

By the end of the tour, you felt more comfortable around him. The two of you had spent the time exploring and talking about anything and everything. You even told him about your exile from your hometown. As he heard the story, he placed his hand on your shoulder.

“You know, I’m a magician too. If you ever need help with anything, just let me know.” He gave another one of his angelic smiles.

“Thanks. I think I’m mentally okay, but I do need to strengthen my magic.”

“I have an idea to fix that. Would you like to become my apprentice?”

F I N A L F A T E

Originally posted by autumncozy

You had taken Asra on his offer to become his apprentice and ended up staying at the shop for convenience purposes. It didn’t matter because most of your time was spent with Asra to improve your magic. Although you claimed to not have an affinity towards any type of magic, Asra would say that you were the best at everything you attempted. With each practice session, you grew better and more skilled in your magic. It was only a matter of time before the apprentice had become the master. Asra was amazed at your progress, but you weren’t so confident in your own abilities. There was always room for improvement in your eyes.

Word had spread that another talented magician had entered the Vesuvia, but that never bothered you. If they could accept Asra, there was no reason for them to mistreat you. Not everyone was as biased and prejudiced as the people of your hometown, yet you were cautious when performing your magic in public. When you did, you were surprised when receiving compliments and paid jobs from the public. And to make things better, Asra was always there to help.

Soon, the two of you felt that the shop’s business wasn’t doing too great and decided to close it down. After all, it gave you more living space so it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. Instead, you came up with the idea to teach other aspiring magicians so they would not be stranded like you were. At first, Asra was unsure since he wanted to live alone together in a cottage further north from the city. But when you made the compromise to teach magic only during the summer in a remote location, he couldn’t refuse. He’d still have you all to himself during the spring, fall, and winter. Well, as long as Faust didn’t steal you away from him.

As time went by, you went on to train some of the most powerful magicians in the following generation. Some had gone to save other countries from treacherous monstrous while others had become the monsters themselves. There was regret harbored in your heart for you could not have the one who turned towards the dark path, but some people could not be saved. Nevertheless, you will be remembered as one of the pioneers of magic; it’s influence spread across the globe

T H E E N D

#I'm so sorry about the uglyass emojis #idk how tf they got there #plz dont kill me #life simulation #submission #the arcana #asra #julian

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times-new · 5 years

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The Son of Rome, Chapter 1

Hi! This is my PJO fanfic, a Roman!Percy AU that I’m writing as a five-part series like the original PJO. I’ve posted the whole first ‘book’, the Son of Rome, on ffn - but I’m posting it here too for good measure. Hope you like it!

Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood. You might think I'm crazy for saying that. Being a demigod? Why would anyone not want to be one?

Well, a lot of reasons. I knew that. But I didn't fully understand it until today.

It started several weeks – no, it must have been months now. Several months ago, I woke up cold, confused, alone, and surrounded by talking wolves. It was scary, sure, but fear wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. Being a twelve-year-old in New York is hard enough, and when you add ADHD and dyslexia to the mix, you might end up with something like me. I had to face bullies from classmates and teachers alike. I was raised in a system that set me up to fail. Even when I come home to my mom, the only good thing in my life, I had to put up with my stepdad. Being scared and alone wasn't anything new.

Okay, that sounded a lot more arrogant than I thought it would. Let me start over. My name is Percy Jackson. I'm a skinny kid with thin black hair and green eyes. I guess I don't look too different from my mom, but I got my eyes from my dad. That's the only thing Mom would tell me about him in twelve years. Enough about him, though. Like I said, I'm ADHD and dyslexic, so school never felt right to me. I just felt like I should be doing a lot more than book reports and geometry. I tried to join the basketball and baseball teams, and although using up all my energy felt good, it just wasn't rewarding.

I was stuck in a loop of doing bad in school, disappointing my mom, getting frustrated, then doing bad in school again. Sometimes I even wish that my dad would finally show up and save us from our lives. My mom keeps telling me how proud she is of me no matter what, and I believe her, but I know she deserves better than that. Better than me. And a little after I turned twelve that wish came true.

I woke up in the ruins of what I thought was a castle at first. It turned out to just be a really big house, but my mind couldn't comprehend that people could actually live in places as big as this. That was almost harder to believe than the talking wolves. They surrounded me when I first woke up, all slick dark fur with beady eyes. Then they had parted to allow a much bigger wolf approach me. Lupa, she said her name was. She told me everything in her deep and powerful voice. That I was a demigod, that I had been chosen, that I had to learn to fight and live and survive the legacy of Rome.

Sure. Better than pre-algebra.

She pushed me to the limit. I did things I didn't know I could do and tore muscles I didn't know I had. When she was done with me I was strong enough to be a member of the pack. I had to be, because I'm still alive.

Right now, I'm sitting in a bus with my backpack on my lap, squished between strangers. Every bump in the road made me clutch my bag even tighter, and my hands would twitch to the coin in the pocket of my jeans. Over the past few days I was traveling towards my destination, some place called Camp Jupiter. Lupa had told me to 'follow my instincts' and 'embrace my destiny'. She was a bit dramatic that way.

But I couldn't describe the feeling any better. I just knew in my bones that this was the right way even if my brain says otherwise. A camp? Like a summer camp? It's probably a bunch of cabins with a volleyball court. It's got to be back in the forest near the Wolf House. How could it possibly be in the middle of the city? It made sense. And yet I knew it wasn't right. The trail of monsters probably helped me decide that.

I tried to keep my head down. Really, I did. But one way or another I would always find some weird nasty trying to kill me. They were always bigger, stronger, and meaner than me, but none of them were taught by wolves, let alone Lupa. I had to use my hard-won wits to beat them. Which meant a lot of running away. It's a lot more heroic than it sounds. But I had to stand and fight more times than I was comfortable with, and that meant busting out the magic sword I kept in my pocket. Lupa had given it to me – she said it's made of 'Imperial gold', that it was meant to be used by the greatest sons and daughters of Rome. I didn't understand why calling gold 'imperial' would make it any better, and I definitely didn't understand how I was 'great', but I learned not to question Lupa. That would only lead to running more laps around the Wolf House.

As far as I knew, I didn't have anything to make me great. Though I always had a nagging feeling, something to do with how I get whenever I go near water… like that one time I tried to join a swimming club and outpaced the instructor, or that one time me and my mom went to the cabin in Long Island. But that can't be right. It can't be. Because if it was, then that would make my dad…

No. A couple days ago I went to a public library to get on a computer and Google some stuff about the Roman gods. I found out that out of all of them, Neptune was the most feared and hated - except for maybe Pluto. After a life of being rejected by everyone I knew, this was my one chance of fitting in. I didn't want to be a loner again. Sadly, I also found out that every monster within a five-mile radius immediately knows where I am whenever I use the internet, so I could never find out more about the Roman gods by myself. The only reason I made it out of that library alive was my coin and very inventive use of a rolling chair.

I snapped back to reality when I saw my stop. I got out of the bus and stepped out into the middle of nowhere. Well, not exactly. But it sure felt like it. The bus stop was on top of a small hill, and I was the only person around. I was surrounded by beautiful golden hilltops and flatlands further in the distance where the suburbs of San Francisco sprawled. Far away, I could see the Golden Gate Bridge, and on the opposite side, I could see a mountain with its peak hiding behind a cloud. I wasn't sure where I was. But something just felt right. I had followed my instincts like Lupa taught me, and I would know I was right because I would always find –

I heard a snort behind me. The only thing I heard for a few moments after that was my heart beating in my chest. Then I plucked up the courage to turn around.

It was tall, muscled, and really, really smelly. Like, worse than my stepdad smelly. It was naked except for a loincloth, though that wasn't what I was looking at. Its nose was covered in reddish snot, and its eyes were dull black and fixed on me. But my eyes kept drifting to the top of its head, where two cruelly twisted horns sprouted out like the stunted plants from one of my failed science experiments. I guess it looked pretty normal until you moved past its neck and onto its bull's head. I wondered why I didn't notice it before. The Mist, I realized. It must have affected me, and the mortals even more. It was the magic that covered up our world from everyone else, Lupa had told me. People saw what they want to see, and it's never the truth. Even now the thing's head would sometimes look like a misshapen human head with a cowboy hat. And I figured that if someone saw the man-bull for what it was, it could probably go on all fours and moo and no one would look twice.

That made me choke out a laugh. Apparently cows took offense to that, because it roared and charged at me. My battle instincts kicked in, so of course I turned and ran. Look, I promise I'm a demigod, alright?

My first thought was to think back to what I knew about bulls. Well if I'm being completely honest my first thought was Oh my gods, please don't kill me, I'm sorry I had a cheeseburger this morning! My second thought was racking my brain about bulls. Even when I was sprinting up and down hills with a monster at my tail I could think up a few things. First, beef is delicious. Second, cows don't like the color red. Not a lot to go on, but I was under a lot of pressure. Then I remembered that some people would go in an arena with bulls and wave red flags in front of their faces. I forgot what they were called – mats? Doors? Whatever they were called, they always dodged by moving to the side just before they got hit. I hoped that would help me, because I began to feel the thing's breath on my neck, like my pre-algebra teacher. That didn't help me calm down.

I dodged to my right before I knew what I was doing. Sure enough, there was a surprised grunt and I risked a look back. Now that I was closer I could see that it was a lot less human than I thought. It had fur on its chest and arms, but even under all that I could see veins rippling below its bulging muscles. It looked off-balanced for a minute, until it shook its head and barreled at me again.

I can't outrun him, I realized with a jolt. Even now I was starting to get tired and the man-bull was just warming up. The sharp turns were hurting my ankles, and the thing was starting to get used to my tricks. That left two options. I could overpower it or outsmart it. That first option was crazy, even for me, so I had to use my brain instead. Maybe if I went to the city and ducked into an alley – no, that would just endanger more people. I couldn't do that. Maybe…

My instincts told me that the camp was close. Very close. I needed to buy some time, get on a hill, and look at my surroundings. Right now, the only thing I could see were my feet pounding the soil, and a big shadow getting bigger and bigger. Well then. I decided to do what I do best and did something stupid.

I dodged again, but instead of sprinting I turned around, took off my shoe, and threw it at him. The monster was more surprised than hurt – which made sense, since it flew well over his head. I was no good at archery, so I guess that wasn't shocking. But it did its job. It was distracted long enough for me to reach into my pocket. I pulled out a small golden coin – it was the size of a half-dollar, but solid gold and with weird drawings on it. It had the head of some guy I didn't recognize on one side, and the letters IVLIVS on the other. I didn't know what that meant, but I did know that if I flipped it, it would turn into a Roman gladius: a few feet of sharp monster killer.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, grabbed the sword in midair, and jammed it to the thing's leg. It screamed even louder than me, then reached down to grab me with its meaty hands. I pulled out the gladius just in time and rolled backwards. Golden fluid, what had to be the thing's blood, poured from the wound. Normally monsters would just poof into dust after a solid hit with my sword, but this guy was something else. Still, it fell to its knees when it tried to charge me again, which gave me a few seconds to run up the nearest hill and look around.

I only had a glance. It was enough. I could see huge columns in the middle of the field, then saw that they were holding up a highway above me, where it disappeared into a big hill. To my left were more hills, which began to turn to asphalt streets, while to my right I could reach the suburbs with just a few more minutes of running. But up ahead…

It looked like an old tunnel, built into the side of the big hill. Maybe for maintenance? I wasn't sure what I was looking at, but something just screamed to me, home. The only time I felt that way was when I'm in my tiny apartment, alone with my mom, talking about the rare happy moment in school while eating nachos and her legendary seven-layer dip. It felt right. It felt safe.

That was all the encouragement I needed. I ran through the grass and dirt faster than I thought was possible. I could feel stitches at my side and cramps down my legs, but the smell of monster kept me running. Eventually I could see an entrance in the tunnel, a set of enormous iron doors, and two people who looked like they were wearing armor. They were also holding spears and carrying shields, which reassured me, though they couldn't have been much older than me. But when a charging bull monster was on your butt, you'd take your chances.

"Help!" I screamed. My voice was strained and hoarse – gods, I wish I had drunk before I stepped off the bus. The guards noticed me and looked as scared as I felt. I could see them yelling to each before one of them opened the doors and the other readied his spear. As I got closer I could see his blue eyes and waxy skin underneath his helm. He looked terrified, but he leveled his spear.

"Halt in the name of Rome! Who are – "His voice was shrill, and I might have laughed if my voice was any better.

"Later! Help now!"

He ground his teeth and surged forward. I couldn't believe my eyes. He actually moved to attack.

"Senatus Populusque Romanus!" he shouted. Okay, I thought. Why not.

"Get in!" yelled the other kid. She looked like a girl – it was hard to tell underneath the helmet. That sounded like a great idea to me, and I ducked inside. It was dark inside the tunnel, but I could see a light in the distance. I followed it before turning to the girl.

"What's- "And I realized it wasn't her. Instead, the first guard was running beside me. He had a nasty gash on his shoulder and was breathing heavily, but otherwise looked alright. "Keep going! Gwen is keeping it busy!"

I didn't know what he was talking about, but 'going', I understood. I huffed and reached the end of the tunnel. I thought I had died.

At the other end was a valley, small as far as valleys went, but there was a city in the distance. It looked like heaven, or what I thought heaven would look like: pristine white walls, beautiful arches, and solid buildings surrounded by freestanding columns. It was a couple hundred feet away, and in between us there was a river that ran through. Again, I could feel that tugging feeling in the pit of my stomach, and I forced myself to think about something else. I turned around and my heart leapt to my throat.

I was so taken by the sight I didn't notice the male guard had switched places with the girl again. Only this time, she looked terrible. Her helmet was missing, revealing a mass of reddish-brown hair that stuck to her head with what looked like blood. She was using her broken spear as a crutch and limping as fast as possible towards me. The other guard was yelling at the monster, trying to get its attention by going for the occasional jab with his own spear, but I knew that it could snap the spear or the guard with equal ease. I had to help.

I heard shouting and bells ringing. In the distance, a group of people were running towards us, but it would be a few minutes before they arrived, minutes that we didn't have, and that was if they didn't have to cross the river…

The river.

"Hey! He needs your help! Hey!" I heard the female guard, Gwen, calling out to me, but I swallowed my guilt and ran to the river. You told yourself you'd never use this power, I thought. You said you'd reject your father. I hated that I had to do it, but I hated myself more for not thinking about the guards sooner. If I had stood and fought, if we surrounded the monster three on one, then maybe…

No. This was not the time to regret. Right now, they need me. I heard a pained shout behind me before I stepped into the river and turned around to face the monster. The female guard, Gwen, had fallen to the ground. The other kid lost his spear and was weathering blows with a shield that looked like a saucer compared to the monster's fists. He was the only thing standing between Gwen and the monster. I felt the anger and guilt burst inside me like a geyser. They were taking those hits for me. They were taking that pain for me. I wouldn't stand for that. I screamed, and I felt the water rushing to meet me. I charged the monster, and the river came with me.

I wasn't sure how I did it. I just poured all my emotions into a single thought: Fight. I pulled out the coin and flipped it into a sword. When I was halfway there I jumped and felt the water propelling me like a rocket. I was launched several feet into the air straight at the monster. Time slowed down as I gripped the sword with both hands and held it above my head like I was bringing down a hammer. I saw the monster looking at me with surprise and fear. I could see the guard staring at me, wide-eyed. I could feel the wind blowing at my face and the water giving me the strength of a superhuman – of a demigod.

I jammed my sword between the monster's eyes and it dissolved into dust. With nothing to land on, I fell to the ground, soaking wet and hurting in every part of my body. I coughed up the remains of the monster – it tasted like overcooked steak – and stood up to check on the other two. Gwen was still unconscious, but the other kid took off his helmet and stared. He was even paler than I thought, and his blond hair was now dripping wet. Everything between me and the river was drenched in water.

"That was… that was amazing," he whispered. He was clutching his shoulder where the gash was. "How did you do that?"

"I don't know. I just did." I looked at Gwen. "Is she alright?"

The other guy smiled tiredly. He must have been my age, maybe a year or two older. "She'll be fine once we get some nectar and ambrosia inside her."

He walked forward and stuck out his hand. Even though he was just in a fight for his life, he had a crazy gleam in his eyes, like he was just given a new toy to experiment with. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

"My name's Octavian. Who are you?"

"Hi. I'm… I'm passing out." I fell forward, and the world turned black.

#fanfiction #pjo #percy jackson #Percy Jackon and the Olympians #fanfic #writing #OC #au #octavian #thesonofrome

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

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The Precise Moment I Stopping Reading City of Bones

by Wardog

Wednesday, 24 September 2008

Wardog is probably a bit patronising.~

Like all inflexible people, I like to think of myself as being relatively open-minded and, therefore, in the spirit of open-mindedness I recently got round to reading (or rather attempting to read) Cassandra Clare's City of Bones. I wanted to like it, no really, I genuinely did. Cassandra Clare, for all those who have been living under an internet stone, is a pseudonym of a pseudonym, but Cassandra Cla(i)re, back in the day, wrote fanfic, the very popular Very Secret Diaries and The Draco Trilogy, which seems to be no longer available on the internet at the request of its author (interesting that, hmm?). Well, when I say no longer available on the internet, what I mean is ... not available unless you spend about five minutes looking, which I might have just done. For the record, said trilogy is beautifully decorated with anime-style Draco Malfoys and black roses. Awww. She also has a hefty set of pages over at the Fandom Wank Wiki (trust me, if anything needs a wiki, it is fandom wank), which are suitably, painfully entertaining in a "for what do we live, but to make sport for our neighbours, and laugh at them in our turn?" kind of way.

Anyway, background cheapshots and raised plagiarism eyebrows aside, I really have no strong opinions on either fandom or Cassandra Cla(i)re, but I quite liked the idea that a popular, moderately competent fanfic writer managed to break into the publishing world. Fanfic is a difficult beast to comprehend unless you're right there in its mouth but, as far as I see it (and, bear in mind, if you do write fanfic this is probably going to sound like the simplistic flailings of an outsider), there are three possible attitudes, or at the very least a spectrum with some definable stopping points on it:

1) Fanfic is art, man, art and there is ultimately no difference between If You Are Prepared and Bleak House. They're both pretty damn long for starters.

2) Fanfic is like original fiction but not as good, and is basically written by people who can't get their own stuff published

3) Fanfic is entirely different from original fiction

Since the first one is clearly non-viable, and the second is actively rude, I subscribe to the third. Writing for fans and writing for publication is vastly different, and to assume that the one aspires to the other is rather to miss the point (and, arguably, the pleasures) of fanfic. Even so, I would have thought the gulf between fanfic and original fiction to be eminently jumpable. I mean, the ability to string a decent sentence together is a transferable skill, right. Right? Well, evidently not. To be fair, my problems with City of Bones a are not about the sentences (although they are of questionable quality), they goes rather deeper than that.

The truth is I actually couldn't read the damn book. I had to give up. It's not that it was, y'know, bad as such, although it occasionally was, it just didn't - to my mind at least - make the leap from fanfic to original fiction at all successfully. I know attempting to draw a distinction between fanfic and original writing is likely to get me shot at dawn but it's the only hope I have of articulating why City of Bones just doesn't work.

As far as I could tell from the sliver I read, City of Bones is young adult urban fantasy. The heroine, Clary Fray, (and let's not even ask why an author who calls herself Cassandra Clare decided to call her heroine Clary) is exactly the sort of spunky young thing you would expect of a modern heroine. She's out at a nightclub with her best friend Simon when she happens to witness a supernatural murder. Demons yadda yadda vampires yadda yadda Shadowhunters yadda yadda sardonic attractive blonde yadda yadda yadda wise old mentor with bird yadda yadda. Look, truthfully, I don't really have any idea what the plot is because I only made it to page 63.

And this is the exact moment when I snapped.

"In the distance she could hear a faint and delicate noise, like wind chimes shaken by a storm. She set off down the corridor slowly, trailing a hand along the wall. The Victorian-looking wallpaper was faded with age, burgundy and pale grey. Each side of the corridor was lined with closed doors. The sound she was following grew louder. Now she could identify it as the sound of a piano being played with desultory but undeniable skill, though she couldn't identify the tune. Turning the corner, she came to a doorway, the door propped fully open. Peering in she saw what was clearly a music room. A grand piano stood in one corner, and rows of chairs were arranged against the far wall. A covered harp occupied the centre of the room. Jace was seated at the grand piano, his slender hands moving rapidly over the keys. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his tawny hair ruffled up around his head as if he'd just woken up. Watching the quick, sure movements of his hands across the keys, Clary remembered how it had felt to be lifted up by those hands, his hands holding her up and the stars hurtling down around her head like a rain of silver tinsel."

Let's skim all over the things that are awkward about this passage ... wind chimes only make sounds when they're stirred and piano music doesn't sound like that anyway ... how can wallpaper be faded with burgundy ... can a skill be desultory but undeniable ... why does it have to "clearly" be a music room, surely it is just is one ... how many times can you say "hands" in one sentence ... how does she know he's barefoot, he's playing the bloody piano ... and what the fuck is with the rain of silver tinsel...

But, yes, skim all that and riddle me this:

Wouldn't that whole scene be so much better if it turned out be Draco Malfoy sitting at the grand piano?

There's a technical name for what's wrong with this passage. In the industry we call it "blowing your load prematurely" (question is, what industry). Seriously, though, we're on page 63, we've spent all of 20 of them in the company of this character (and, let's face it, he's a pretty, sardonic, wise-cracking faintly angsty type very reminiscent of Cla(i)re's take on a certain slytherin): why the fuck should we be even remotely interested in the sight of him at a grand piano? It's a very senses-heavy scene: we have the sound distant music, the wallpaper beneath Clary's fingertips, and the lovingly detailed description of the ruffle-haired eyecandy sitting at the piano, so there's this self-conscious build up, deliberately (albeit not entirely eptly) evoking something of the fairytale, and what's the pay off? Up until this point the tawny-haired Jace has been a rude and snippy, so it's clear that this little scene is meant to show us a different side of him but character revelation scenes only function when you know the character well enough to experience it as a revelation. This is just ... information, excessively presented. It's like being hit over the head with a neon sign saying: "you should fancy this character now." And for the record, he's a demon hunter, not a concert pianist so there really is no reason to have that scene there except as drool-footage.

Possibly I'd feel differently if I was a teenage girl but I hope I'd have more taste.

What the scene did for me, aside from inducing me to throw the book across the room in disgust, was exemplify the subtle sense of wrongness I'd been getting throughout the previous 62 pages. Essentially City of Bones reads like fanfic - and I don't mean that as kneejerk indicator of poor quality, I mean that it reads like something constructed for a different purpose, functioning on a different ruleset. Leaving aside any criticisms of the actual style, this scene would probably work - for me - if I read it as fanfic. It's visually and linguistically striking - the juxtaposition of scruffy boy and fine old instrument (sorry), the hint at aspects of a character hitherto unknown, the touch of submerged melancholia (playing the grand piano to an empty room is a lonely hobby), all this would be fine if the mysterious pianist turned out to Draco. I mean, playing the grand piano is one of the things that one could potentially imagine Draco being able to do. Well, if you stopped and thought about it for a moment, probably not, because surely wizards have ... like ... magical pianos, or house elves to produce their music for them. But given that Draco is a repressively raised posh kid, it seems to me at least credible his parents made him have piano lessons, even if he hated it. And Draco, being the wizarding equivalent of genetically modified, would probably be reasonably good at it regardless.

I truthfully have no idea what it is that makes fanfic work but it seems to me to have something to do with potential plausibility. Scenes of certain characters doing things they never explicitly did in the books (even if this is fucking each other) resonate with you because it feels both novel and familiar - to continue the musical theme, if I presented you with Remus Lupin playing the electric guitar you might raise an eyebrow because he's far too bookish and quiet, but it would totally suit Sirius Black for example. Or even James Sodding Potter. And such scenes require no build-up because the reader already knows the characters being written about. Equally, dwelling on the details, and presenting very visual, senusous scenes, seems less purple than it does when you do it in original fiction because it helps to establish a familiar character in what may be an unfamiliar setting: for what's it worth, I can picture Draco Malfoy playing the grand piano very vividly. Pale hair, slender fingers, whatever. Fan fiction, even if you're looking at a 100,000 word AU fic, seems to be all about the establishment of moments, which need not necessarily (and probably don't) exist as part of a continuum of moments.

This is absolutely the opposite to a book.

The scene of Jace/grand piano has utterly no resonance for the reader because, well, partly because it's rubbish and partly because no time has been given to properly establishing the character so it's essentially meaningless, but mainly because it has no real sense of its place in a connected, developing narrative. Although the 63 pages I read did occasionally have moments of genuine mediocrity that made me suspect I should try to be more generous with the text, the whole reading experience felt so ultimately hollow I couldn't bring put myself through it. There's nothing inherently wrong with something reading like fanfic - fanfic reads like fanfic and I quite enjoy the stuff - but City of Bones is a work of original fiction, it's a book that I paid real money for (more fool me) In essence, then, it's original fiction without the necessary underpinnings, and fanfic without any of the characters you like. Worst of all possible worlds.

Comments:

Dan H

at 12:57 on 2008-09-25So I've started reading it now, to pick up where Kyra left off (nearly at good old Page 63).

I actually don't think it reads that much like fanfic (at least not like *good* fanfic). There's way too much exposition (fanfic tends to assume that everybody knows what's going on) including some truly wonderful scenes with people actually saying things like "surely you recognise a girl, your sister, Isabelle, is one" (Isabelle, it should be pointed out, is *right fucking there*).

Favourite line so far: "Her hair was almost precisely the colour of black ink".

What colour would that be, exactly? Black, perhaps?

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Arthur B

at 15:32 on 2008-09-25It strikes me, actually, that while most of us have a good idea of what "bad" fanfic is like, good fanfic must by its nature vary widely in style, because at least part of the point of fanfic is to produce something that is reminiscent of the source material, so good Lovecraft fanfic will read different from good Firefly fanfic, or good Pratchett fanfic.

(Which would mean that, say, "good" Cecilia Dart-Thornton fanfic is a contradiction in terms: if it's good, it's no longer reminiscent of the source material.)

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Dan H

at 18:38 on 2008-09-25I think Lovecraft fanfic is a special case actually, because it borrows Lovecraft's ideas rather than his characters. Lovecraft fanfic (and, to borrow Arthur's term, peerfic) is all about eldrich horrors from beyond the void, it's not like anybody writes Herbert West/Charles Dexter Ward slash.

Actually they probably do.

By contrast, I actually think with most fanfic the style is fairly consistent between fandoms (although I admit to limited experience here). Part of Cassandra Cla(i)re's big plagarism debacle, indeed, was the fact that she regularly borrowed lines from Buffy for her Draco fics.

In further updates on City of Bones I've now got past the point reached by our intrepid editor and have the following to add:

Holy Crap the wise old mentor dude is a lot like Dumbledore. There's a bit where he asks the heroine if she wants anything and I *totally* expected him to offer her a sherbet lemon. And if you don't read "Muggle" for "Mundie" every time you're a better man than I am.

Also, some exposition from earlier in the book which I found particularly awful:

"Demons," drawled the blond boy, tracing the word on the air with his finger, Religiously defined as hell's denizens, the servants of Satan, but understood here, for the purposes of the Clave, as any malevolent spirit whose origin is outside our own home dimension."

"That's enough, Jace" said the girl.

"Isabelle's right," agreed the taller boy, "nobody here needs a lesson in semantics - or demonology."

As you know, I *almost* applaud the bare faced cheek of it.

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Arthur B

at 00:38 on 2008-09-26

I think Lovecraft fanfic is a special case actually, because it borrows Lovecraft's ideas rather than his characters. Lovecraft fanfic (and, to borrow Arthur's term, peerfic) is all about eldrich horrors from beyond the void, it's not like anybody writes Herbert West/Charles Dexter Ward slash.

To be fair, there aren't that many recurring characters in Lovecraftian fiction except for the Old Ones themselves, who get reused all the time. And I've lost count of the number of times I've read stories about long-lost offshoots of the Whateley clan or where yet another dozy protagonist realises they come from Innsmouth stock.

I agree, though, that the Lovecraft-tribute scene is pretty unique; I expect this is partly because Lovecraft was one of the first authors who genuinely encouraged people to write stories set in his mythology, to the point of sending them detailed letters showing them how to boost their fanfic to peerfic. Having essentially established the core of his own fandom before he died, that core went on to set the norms for Lovecraft tribute works forevermore.

I would suggest that this may be the result of people writing to indulge the sort of mores that have grown up around fandom-in-general, as opposed to writing to emulate the original work.

Which might explain why City of Bones exists. Once you don't care what the background to what you're reading is, so long as it has shipping and mary sues and whatnot, it becomes easier to accept the idea of fanfic-like work which is fanfic of nothing in particular - nothing, that is, except fanfic itself.

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Montavilla

at 01:55 on 2008-09-28

Sadly, you made me immediately start wondering what Remus would play in James Potter and the Silver Marauders band. He might, ala George Harrison, play lead guitar. (Sirius would be play rhythm guitar and James would play the bass). Peter, of course, would be on drums. Which might explain why they put up with him all that time. It's hard to find someone who's got their own drum set.

Favourite line so far: "Her hair was almost precisely the colour of black ink". What colour would that be, exactly? Black, perhaps?

To be fair, comparing hair to ink is a difficult image these days because we only really see ink in the stems of our ballpoint pens. Perhaps it might have been better to say, "Her hair was almost precisely the color of laser toner. In a really old printer. You know. The black-and-white kind."

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Dan H

at 12:18 on 2008-09-28

Hee hee.

In all seriousness, though, it's not the comparison to ink that bugged me, it just strikes me as elementary that if you're saying "X was the colour of Y" then unless you're doing a Blackadder style joke "Y" should not include reference to a specific colour. "Her hair was black as ink" "her hair was black, like ink" "her hair was ink-black" would all have been fine. So for that matter would be "her hair was like black ink". "Hair the colour of black ink" is like something out of the Bulwer-Lytton contest: "Her hair was the colour of black ink, her eyes the colour of a blue crayon, and her dress the colour of a dress made out of red silk."

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Wardog

at 14:16 on 2008-09-29

Since we're playing Favourite Lines, my personal shoutout goes to: "He had electric blue dyed hair that stuck up around his head like the tendrils of a startled octopus..." I guess it's just the awkwardness of the construction coupled with that startled octopus...

Arthur: I would suggest that this may be the result of people writing to indulge the sort of mores that have grown up around fandom-in-general, as opposed to writing to emulate the original work.

I'm not sure emulating the original work has ever real been the goal, well, not unless there's specific stylistic feature *to* emulate if that makes sense - like Lovecraft. I mean, you want to make your characters sound like the characters they are but ... well ... to indulge a bit of JKR bashing just because that's what we do here, most of the Harry Potter stuff I've read has been stylistically objectively better than the author.

"Her hair was almost precisely the color of laser toner. In a really old printer. You know. The black-and-white kind."

Hehe!!!

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Arthur B

at 15:47 on 2008-09-29

I think direct stylistic mimicing is, as you point out, actually rare, especially since a lot of fanfic is written about TV series, so you're translating a visual format into a literary one. But at the same time I think that the aim of a lot of fanfic is to emulate the source work in the sense that the writer's trying to tell a story that is a) reminiscent of the source material, in that it establishes a mood and tells a story which could recognisably fit within the source, and b) features the characters behaving in a manner recognisable from the source (unless the explicit point of the fic is something like "What if Captain Lolcats got possessed by a brain worm?"). At the very least, a lot of fanfic authors seem to want to produce something where the reader would look at it and say "Yes, that's very much how it would have happened on my favourite show if the screenwriters had only had the courage to write an episode where the ship's doctor and the robot owl consummate their love".

I say "a lot of fanfic" because I've seen the occasional piece (generally AU fics) where the premise is so utterly far removed from the source material that I start scratching my head and wondering why the author bothered retaining the link to the source material in the first place. Sure, perhaps the characters retain scraps of their personality, but they're in such an utterly different scenario it becomes a stretch to call them the same characters; to my mind, at least, characters are at least partially defined by context. Being a cheeky black marketeer on Deep Space 9 is a very different proposition from being a cheeky black marketeer in Blitz-era London.

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Wardog

at 16:01 on 2008-09-29

We are now mainly haggling over semantics, dear boy.

So instead I would like to play the "Her hair was" game.

I submit: Her hair was almost precisely the colour of one of those motorola telephones, the ones with that come with a gloss finish not matte."

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Claire E Fitzgerald

at 16:32 on 2008-09-29

Her hair was almost precisely the colour of a grey cat in a room that was totally dark, such that the colour of the cat was indistinguishable from black.

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Arthur B

at 16:59 on 2008-09-29

Her hair was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel.

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Wardog

at 21:20 on 2008-09-29

Oi! Minus three points from Slytherin for being meta.

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Arthur B

at 00:26 on 2008-09-30

“Minus three hundred points for turning the comments section into Harry Potter fanfiction," muttered Harry, glowering at his Nintendo DS. He was pretty sure he was on the right track in this Phoenix Wright episode, but the game was being evasive about precisely which investigative avenue he should pursue. Harry was not looking forward to the half hour he'd have to spend looking for the plot, but he supposed he couldn't complain: he normally had to doss about for half a year before getting anything done in real life.

"How's my hair looking?" asked Ron, anxious about his big date with Hermione. He had spent the last six hours smearing his skin with Hackiburr's Very Useful Ointment in order to conceal the telltale marks of gingerness, and was now in the process of rubbing the stuff into his scalp. Harry glanced at his bare-torsoed chum and then returned his attention to his game.

"Your hair is all carroty," quipped Harry, "like someone was just sick in it."

Draco giggled and ran his hands through his hair, which was bright yellow like artificial egg yolk.

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Rami

at 12:17 on 2008-09-30

I think these are still worse, but you're getting there ;-)

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Guy

at 04:26 on 2009-07-24

Her hair was almost precisely the colour of light with a frequency of 590 nm and a wavelength of 526 THz, and as she moved the angle of its inclination to her scalp seemed to undulate with a regularity that spoke softly to his soul.

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Rami

at 04:41 on 2009-07-24

a frequency of 590 nm and a wavelength of 526 THz

I think you got the wavelength and frequency swapped around ;-)

A redhead, eh? Why is it that female protagonists never seem to have violently ginger hair?

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Guy

at 08:34 on 2009-07-24

Oops, so I did. I could pretend that it was a deliberate attempt to further enhance the awfulness of the sentence, but no, I just muddled it up. :)

It would be kind of interesting to see some kind of frequency histogram of female (and male) protagonists and the wavelengths of their hair colours... but I suspect nobody would be mad enough to actually do the work to make such a thing.

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Michal

at 05:29 on 2011-09-29

And I only stumbled on this when I found out Cassandra Clare will be one of the instructors at the 2012 Clarion Writer's Workshop.

Suffice to say, I won't be applying. (Jesus Christ guys, you had Neil Gaiman and Ellen Kushner and Particia C. Wrede and Gene fucking Wolfe as instructors and now you've had budget cuts or what?)

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Arthur B

at 11:25 on 2011-09-29

Well they also had Orson Scott Card.

I guess it's like Hogwarts. Not everyone can be a Griffindor or a Ravenclaw. They also have to recruit Slytherins (Card) and Hufflepuffs (Clare).

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Michal

at 13:30 on 2012-11-18

There's a movie now.

I think I caught a half-second glimpse of Henry VIII at one point.

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Arthur B

at 14:05 on 2012-11-18

Urgh, they actually say "mundanes".

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Ibmiller

at 15:05 on 2012-11-19

It's like they learned nothing from Golden Compass...

Also, are they deliberately trying to recreate the "awkward teen significantly older British actor" Twilight vibe?

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Wardog

at 15:36 on 2012-11-19

Oh no, that's Jamie Campbell-Bower. Officially the drippiest boy in Hollywood.

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Arthur B

at 15:44 on 2012-11-19

Also, are they deliberately trying to recreate the "awkward teen significantly older British actor" Twilight vibe?

I suspect they are going to mimic Twilight/Potter as closely as copyright will allow. It's got that "clinging to the underbelly of the bandwagon and trying to scrape as much gold as you can out of it" look. (Of course, this is likely to lead to jibbering incoherence due to Potter and Twilight being two different bandwagons...)

The extent to which Blonde Love Interest looks like a reject from the Draco Malfoy auditions is hilarious.

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Fishing in the Mud

at 16:51 on 2012-11-19

The extent to which Blonde Love Interest looks like a reject from the Draco Malfoy auditions is hilarious.

Hey, at least they got that right.

#Ferretbrain #Cassandra Clare #The Mortal Instruments #Harry Potter #Fanfiction #City of Bones

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radramblog · 3 years

Text

we live in a society (that has progressed)

There’s always an interminable shift, a flux, in culture that can be hard to spot if you don’t quite know what you’re looking for. As times change, people grow, and media is released, causing perspectives and opinions in the general psyche to sway over the course of human cultural history.

Basically, the Joker is allowed to be funny again, and that’s a good thing.

I’m not going to bother explaining who the Joker is to you, like I often do when I’m introducing a post like this. It’s the fucking Joker, I’d be shocked if you didn’t know what the character is. You have to be online to see this post, after all, and if you’re on the obscure rabbit-hole known as My Tumblr, you’re online enough to see Joker memes and such.

The Joker is an inherently ridiculous character. He’s literally a clown man, a foil to the deadpan Batman, humour literally written into his name. And while I cannot possibly capture the full breadth of his various iterations and interpretations over the course of DC Comics’s long history, a lot less people are going to have read the comics than seen the adaptations of such, and those are what has stuck out in the public consciousness. There’s a few versions in particular I’d like to highlight before I get into the meat of this.

In particular, the early visual interpretations of the character are, well, monumentally silly. It’s impossible to talk about the 1966 Adam West Batman series without an understanding of just how camp the whole thing was, and the Joker is no exception to this. Even Jack Nicholson’s performance in the 1989 film is inherently silly despite it’s overall serious tone, a villain who kills people with a chemical called, I shit you not, Smylex. Considering the actor, and especially considering what came just a year before that film, such a portrayal is actually kind of a confusing cultural milestone.

And that thing that came a year beforehand is The Killing Joke, potentially the most iconic Batman comic, nay, DC comic there is. And with it, potentially the most sympathetic portrayal of the Joker that there had been so far. A man driven mad by exposure, a situation he was only in to afford his family’s bills. It presents the most clear image of him as Batman’s mirror- literally, at times, and yet shows some of his most shocking brutality at the same time. The idea of the comic, if I may be so bold, is to imply that the line between Batman and the Joker isn’t quite so thick as it appears at first glance.

We don’t talk about the animated version of the Killing Joke.

I’m going to move right past the Animated Series in general, not because it’s bad or anything, but because I’m relatively unfamiliar with it (this may be a reoccurring theme) I’ve only seen a handful of episodes, the ones my family had on VHS, and they sure didn’t have the Joker in them. (The Gray Ghost and….I think a Scarecrow episode? Which was a hell of a thing to see as a kid). It does have his portrayal with Mark Hamill as the voice actor, though, which is frankly such a choice decision.

The thing that made the Joker, and the Batman franchise as a whole, come back into the limelight was obviously the Nolan movies, specifically The Dark Knight. Being the face of such a critically acclaimed movie with such an incredible performance by Heath Ledger (I am obliged to stan, he’s from Perth, I’ve met his stepdad) is obviously going to get the name back in the books, even if it’s such a different version from what had previously been seen.

Ledger’s Joker has a humour, sure, but it’s a significantly more morbid one than previous incarnations. Previous Jokers killed people, sure, but The Dark Knight added a level of brutality to the whole thing that made the character so much more serious, pun not intended. One can largely attribute this to the darker tone of the film he appears in compared to previous Batmans (especially the 90s films), because in those versions the Joker was, well, not a serious character. He doesn’t interact with the world in the same way other people do, his values are completely alien. Ledger’s Joker has a very specific ideology, one people can understand, and more relevantly, one people can misunderstand.

The actual post begins here.

Ledger’s Joker has been the icon of the edgy teenager since The Dark Knight came out and was watched by millions of them. Something about the character speaks to them, something about being an outsider, not like the other people, and also both smart and violent, which are attributes that 13-year-olds idolise.

A Joker profile picture has long been one of the biggest red flags on the internet. A sure sign that someone is going to say the dumbest fucking thing imaginable, or something hideously offensive apropos of absolutely nothing. This isn’t even getting into how the character became an icon for the Gamers Rise Up movement, which I will remind you that a fair few people actually took seriously. A legion of the worst of nerd culture- misogynistic, racist, and toxic folks who have nothing better to do than yell at people on Reddit.

Where as I, the cultured individual, explain things to people on Tumblr. Very different. But the point is, this specific version of the character is an anarchist, out to prove that, at the end of the day, every single person has the potential to become a monster, that chaos is the nature of humanity, somewhat akin to his portrayal and point in The Killing Joke- all it takes is the right thing to set you off. This twisting of the message into “im better and smarter than u also I will kill u” is frankly kind of disgusting.

The point I’m trying to get to is that for the last decade-ish, The Joker, a character built around humour and gratuity, has become incredibly unfunny. From the internet fuckwits to the grim Ledger portrayal, the character with Joke in their name has been impossible to laugh at.

Another factor contributing to this is the growing awareness and increased sympathy for mentally ill people, which is where Joker (the film) comes in. Now, obviously, the understanding of mental issues is not a bad thing, and I’d love to see this trend continue. But my understanding is that Joker and its titular character are not a particularly humourous time, despite the character literally being a comedian this time.

To be clear, I have not seen the movie, and I have no intention to, so feel free to completely ignore my opinion on this. But the fact that the film seemed to have made all the GRU stuff worse is not a good sign for it.

However, as in life and in media, all things shall pass, and that does include the Joker. Ignoring Suicide Squad (because I know like nothing about the Joker’s place in that film and don’t want to research it), late 2010-s on portrayals of the Joker appear to be returning to the characters roots somewhat, though to be fair, both of the things I’m basing my judgement are comedy features.

The first is, oddly enough, the Lego Batman movie. I can understand not having seen this film, because from the outside, it didn’t look or sound good, but the whole thing is basically a love letter to Batman/DC as a franchise, complete with possibly the silliest incarnation of the character so far. This Joker is utterly obsessed with proving himself as Batman’s equal, as the greatest villain to rival the greatest hero. He’s probably the most potentially homoerotic interpretation, which is kind of silly considering he’s literally a Lego dude. But the movie is funny, and so is he, which is the key point.

The other recent addition to this list is the Harley Quinn animated series, where the Joker obviously plays a significant role. Now, I’m not really familiar at all with this interpretation, having not seen the show, but considering the memes going around about Batman apparently not doing oral, and that having stemmed from this show, it’s not hard to imagine the Joker’s portrayal being similarly silly- even if his canonical abusee is the protagonist. Like, I’m pretty sure he’s a bastard in this one, but he’s also the butt of the joke, considering the series is in large part about Harley getting over him and moving past that part of her life (and ideally hooking up with Poison Ivy, because, come on)

I guess my point is that the Joker is an inherently comic character, in all that entails. You cannot have the Joker not be in some way silly without making massive changes to his design, his characterisation, and his ideals- which is pretty much what has happened in the past few years. I mean, the guy’s got bright green hair, he wears purple suits, he kills people with laughing gas.

This comic, by artist FruitEater, is kind of what inspired this whole post. It’s such a silly little thing from a silly little trend, but it really stuck in my head, and not just because it reminded me of my past self- a child who was super into Crazy Frog when I was, like, 10. It’s a comic that couldn’t exist were it not for the passage of time beyond the era of edgy Joker. Time has moved on- Gamers Rise Up is dying (the subreddit got banned, where else are they supposed to go?), cringe culture is dying, and the Joker is a character that’s allowed to be funny again.

We can laugh with the Joker again.

#ramble #the joker #god that's a tag i didn't expect to put on this blog #batman #(i guess?)#clearing my search history after posting this so the government doesn't think i'm a scumfuck

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maythedreadwolftakeyou · 6 years

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Fic Writer Meme! tagged by @aban-asaara, thank you!! a nice meme to self-indulgently wind down with after a stressful day...

What is your total word count on AO3?

160,546. I had forgotten all about the AO3 stats page until having to dig that out, oops. I have more short drabbles etc on tumblr as well (and a LOT of stuff I just... never finished/posted anywhere).

How often do you write?

varies hugely depending on what else is going on in my life. In good times, I aim for daily, at least 500 words. During years I participate in NaNoWriMo, 1500-2000 per day in November. Other times I just can’t make even 500 happen with work/etc. Still more other times, my depression kicks in and I’m pretty useless at everything, and unfortunately go months with no writing at all.

Do you have a routine for writing?

I try to write in several short bursts. If doing 500/words/day, then two chunks of 250, and some editing/planning on top. If during NaNoWriMo, 4 chunks of about 500 words each. If I really push myself to get them done in sections, I spend less time fiddling around, but the break between them makes it still relaxing/fun.

I also have a computer/document setup that works very well for me. I write on a laptop that can scroll between several different ‘desktop’ screens. I have one for fun stuff, and set one aside for writing. The only browser window/tabs allowed to be open on that desktop are writing-related ones--research, youtube clips of scenes, wiki articles, etc. All other fun stuff goes on the other desktop where it can’t distract me while I get through a section. Then over the browser I have two word documents: one on the left titled “[StoryTitle.docx]”, and one next to it titled “[StoryTitleNotes.docx]”. On the left is the “final version” of what I’m working on--aka the working document, with the most current edits/chapters/etc. The right “Notes” one is for outlines, summaries, lines I had to delete but might want to use somewhere else, passages I haven’t gotten to yet but wanted to sketch out before I lost the inspiration for them, quotes that I want to echo the feel of, copied dialogue from the game so I don’t forget it, etc etc. Anything related to the story in the working document that I might want to reference. The notes doc can be fairly messy--my level of organization for it changes from project to project. But it makes it WAY easier for me mentally to delete and tweak things when I can put them somewhere else just in case it turns out the first way was better.

What are your favorite kinks/tropes/pairing?

Ohh... my pairings are pretty obvious, I’m really into Lavellan/Solas, Hawke/Fenris, and Shepard/Garrus.

But what I’m really into is Hawke/the concept of found family and also various coping mechanisms+mental health issues; Lavellan/the weight of duty above all else, Shepard/the giddy knowledge that you won’t survive what you have to turn yourself into in order to save everything you love, Ryder+Sam/breaking the boundaries of what it means to be a single conscious entity...

my big literary kinks are pretty much any narrative that has to do with one or more of the following: self-sacrifice, the transcendence of humanity in pursuit of a goal, the knowledge of the futility of one’s actions, the duality of self plus other, the terrifying and terrible beauty of rage, stubborn and violent perseverance in the face of insurmountable odds, the frailty of people who nonetheless fool everyone into believing they’re not broken. I am also a very big fan of nontraditional formats, and the meta-narrative of a story over usual structure.

tl;dr: I like my fiction weird.

Like... I recognize that most of my fics. Do not include a majority of these. And the ones that do aren’t really very popular. The one that gets closest to these concepts is probably the people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this, you keep them alive which very few people read and got almost no attention. But I knew that when I posted it. I wrote it for me, after finishing the ME trilogy for the first time. The above tropes show up way more in my original writing, while I use fanfiction as a break from these more complicated/heavier themes, and to just have some fun with less technical writing. They’re there, just in smaller doses.

Fics with that sort of bend are WAY harder to search for than ones based on pairings though so like... if you have recs for anything that follows the above themes. please send them to me. i’m dying. please.

Do you have a favorite fic of yours?

How can I not answer this with Fallout from the Fade? It’s my baby. It’s the longest thing I’ve consistently written, without getting bored and abandoning it halfway through. It will probably take me a while yet (depending on mental health/writing pace/etc) to finish but I know how it ends, and most of how to get there. It’s also the third fanfiction I had ever started writing. The beginning feels rough to me when I go back to it (which an inevitable fact of my decision to post as I write/not use beta readers, which I still think was the only way for me to do this story), but I still think a lot of my ideas were clever and my execution may not have been perfect but it was pretty good. I’ve learned a lot while writing this fic.

And also I love to make people suffer. Knowing that people have shed literal tears because of things i have written fills me with the delightful glee to push forward.

But really. Comments mean the world to me. They spur me on through rough patches where I otherwise abandon works. I’m really not used to having an audience: most of what I’ve written in my life is original content that I don’t post/share. Having other people also invested makes me feel accountable, in a good way.

Other honorable mentions: I think Grief is one of my best fics in terms of execution and balance. Less a man than a wild cat and A Slip of the Tongue were both exercises in pacing/timing as well as forays into the highly unfamiliar territory of comedy. The aforementioned the people you love become ghosts inside of you, and like this, you keep them alive satisfies my eternal desire for weird presentation and ideology taking a front seat over narrative structure (I have like. 4 other partial fics similar to this that will probably never be posted because I know they’re what I want to explore, not what other people actually want to read).

Your fic with the most kudos?

Fallout from the Fade, with 626.

Anything you don’t like about your writing?

I wish I was more consistent about sitting down and working. I managed it for 6 straight months when I started the fanfic gig, but to be fair, during that time I also had no friends and spent 5 days every other week camped out in Death Valley with no internet and nothing to do but write and brainstorm. Having the barest scrapings of a social life now that I’ve moved doesn’t do much for wordcount, it turns out.

Now something you do like?

I think I can write about mental illness realistically without it coming across as either overdramatic or idealistic. I like my descriptions, when I allow myself to use them (y’all don’t want to see how flowery most of my works would be without my self control). I have visibly improved since I started writing in 2015.

i feel like a lot of my original circle on tumblr isnt active/writing anymore but gonna tag some people w/ no obligation… @leviathanmirror @seekingidlewild @littleblue-eyedbird @loquaciousquark @kayla-bird and anyone else who wants to answer!! feel free to tag me if you do it, im lonely...

#ramblings #tumblr games #my stuff #my writing #ish #writing extras

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llantano · 4 years

Text

Turning Leaves, 16. Plans and Agendas

The morning sun was breaking up the clouds as it rose and the smell of warm bagels, French toast, nutmeg, cinnamon, and coffee wafted from the kitchen. The house even sounded wonderful as Dorian listened to her girls chatter in the other room.

Starr came into the sitting room, looking for one of Hope's toys, and stopped dead.

"Aunt Dorian! What is all this?"

"Starr, honey, whatever you have planned for today, drop it. I have the most glorious news!"

Starr's eyes widened as she surveyed the room. It was filled with gifts – a bouquet of flowers, a large cluster of helium balloons, what appeared to be a pastry or cake box tied in ribbon with a large bow, and a couple of gift baskets filled with goodies. "Is it someone's birthday that I forgot about?"

"No, Starr!" Dorian grinned, ear to ear. "Shaun is being released from the hospital today. I took the liberty of getting him gifts from each of us. Which would you like to give him? A gift basket? Champagne? Or maybe the cookies?"

Starr smiled back, happy to hear the good news. "Omigod! That's great, Aunt Dorian!" She paused to give Dorian a sideways glance. "… But … do you think you might be overdoing it?"

Dorian hesitated in the middle of fluffing a bow. "Overdoing it? For a man that risked his life to save my girls? How could you think that? As far as I am concerned, nothing could be enough."

Starr consented to that fact, but was still troubled. "Are you sure you're not just worried that Shaun is still mad at you for firing him?"

Dorian frowned. Starr's question warranted a thoughtful response. Her answer was solemn. "Perhaps Shaun still harbors a grudge for that little … incident … but what does it matter? He can harbor whatever ill feelings he likes toward me, but the fact remains that … I owe him so much; and I just want to show him how very glad I am that he's going to be okay."

Starr pondered her aunt's sincerity. "Aunt Dorian, you don't think it's your fault that Shaun got hurt, do you?"

Dorian pooched her lips out as she turned her attention back to making the bow look perfect. "Uhm … you know … I have given a lot of thought to that day – to the decisions I made that led up to that chain of events. I don't deny that I had a part in what happened. But you have to remember that if I hadn't played that role, someone else would have."

"You're right," Starr consented again. "It was inevitable. I just wish no one would have gotten hurt."

Dorian took a deep, cleansing breath; glad Starr was on her side. "But Shaun is better now," she encouraged, " and he's leaving the hospital today, and everything is going to be alright." She smiled. "I think you should give him the cookies. The balloons can be from Hope. I'll give the champagne. Let's see … we could have this one be from Blair and this one…."

Starr cut Dorian off. "You're not going to parade us all to Shaun's door in a herd, are you?"

Dorian blinked. "A parade maybe … not a herd."

"Okay, no. Shaun is just getting out of the hospital, and he needs to be with his own family. You can sign the cards with whoever's names you want, but just let me and mom take the gifts to him okay?"

Dorian was taken aback. "I just want to express my appreciation … my gratitude … my concern for him…."

"That's fine," Starr assured her, "but honestly," she tried to be gentle with her observation of her aunt, "sometimes your concern can be a little … overwhelming."

Dorian pulled her head back and blinked at her grown-up little niece again before gazing around at the gifts she had purchased. "You think this seems overwhelming?"

"Yeah, maybe a little, for someone who just got out of the hospital."

Dorian slumped her shoulders, relenting. "Alright, I'll sign the cards. But when you speak to Shaun, tell him how relieved I am that he's better."

Starr smiled. "Promise." She backed away to go tell her mother their new plans.

"Oh, and Starr?"

Starr froze. She had an urge to hold her breath; unsure of what else Dorian might ask of her.

"Let him know – there's a job waiting for him if he ever wants it."

Starr sighed. She wasn't sure Shaun was ready for a step like that, considering that Dorian had fired him and especially considering what he had last experienced in her house. Still, she couldn't discourage Dorian. "I'll tell him," she promised.

Dorian waited until Starr was gone and turned back to the gifts, still deciding whom each present would be from.

From the kitchen, a strange but not unfamiliar sound wafted toward her. Dorian paused to listen. A pang of sentimentality shot through her as she realized someone was playing piano music - but it sounded so far away … so small.

She continued to sort cards and gifts in thought as she considered how music should fill a room, a house, or a concert hall. The tune she heard now was as distant as the times in her life when music always surrounded her.

The room suddenly burst with noise and activity as Langston and Amelia entered the room, chatting. Amelia carried her laptop, which seemed to be where the music was originating, and David followed, sulking with a newspaper and his coffee still in hand. The man took a seat in a chair while Amelia and Langston sat side-by-side on the couch.

Amelia's voice interrupted her boss's thoughts. "Dorian, you look great. I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

David's head jerked up as he shot the women a glance. Dorian did look fabulous – put together, ready for whatever life would throw at her that day. He wondered when it became Amelia's job to say so, and made a mental note to be quicker on the draw next time.

Amelia was wearing a navy suit with light blue pinstripes and Dorian had on a short teal jacket with an ivory shell, and matching teal pants. Her belt was a modest flat gold, but her necklace and earrings shined and sparkled.

Dorian made Amelia look plain and boring. David wondered if that was part of Amelia's game plan. Good cop, bad cop. Boring politician, interesting one? He thought of it in acting terms. Amelia was Dorian's prop. He decided to stop over-analyzing and flipped through the newspaper in his hand, bored.

"Oh, thank you," Dorian chirped to Amelia as she patted her hair.

Dorian appreciated the moment with great intensity. It was one of those rare moments when everything was as it was supposed to be in La Boulaie – it looked, smelled, and sounded like a happy home, with Dorian at the center of the tiny universe like the sun peeking from behind the clouds outside.

She grinned at her daughter, who was distracted with Amelia's laptop, and fished for a greeting or some acknowledgement. "Good morning, Langston."

"Morning!" Langston cheered. "Amelia found this music on MyTunes. It's David Renaldi."

Dorian froze and tilted her head toward the two, her sudden interest in the music itself outweighing the dim suspicion that Amelia and Langston had formed a conspiracy to draw her past out into the present. A vision of another time played in Dorian's mind.

The room fell silent, save for the piano music, as they failed in their attempt to gauge Dorian's reaction.

Langston elaborated. "This song is from a piano compilation. There's also a concerto he played with the Slovakian Symphony Orchestra."

Dorian turned back and made a slow and deliberate effort to work on the gifts. "Hmm," she acknowledged, unable to form a well-thought response.

One end of her mind was attached to the present – to the day greeting her, the work to be completed, and the hope for the future. The other end of her mind was trying to spin her around to the past – to a comfortable room with books and music and love. Her first David had been so exceptional, so talented. It was unexpected to hear him play now, before her friends and family, after all the years and tragedies he – they – had faced, and it caused a momentary gush of memories to swirl before her. She had a bit of trouble finding her footing between the before and after until she sighed and forced herself to the present.

It was becoming more apparent that Amelia was adept at digging up long-past and even forgotten or obscure information by using the Internet.

Amelia looked at her counterpart and considered Dorian's intentional lack of response to the music. Dorian was in a particularly upbeat mood this morning, considering her dark mood just last night. Her lack of either a good or bad response to hearing her ex-lover's music was notable.

David cleared his throat. This time he knew his timing was right. "What's all this stuff, anyway?"

Dorian shot a sideways glance at him. She knew that he wasn't asking the question out of curiosity. "Shaun is being released from the hospital today so I'm sending over a few gifts."

Langston almost laughed. "A few?"

"How'd you get all this delivered so early?" David asked, eyeing the champagne.

"David, I know people. And, Amelia was kind enough to make a couple of stops on her way over this morning, while you were still sleeping."

David did not contain his frown, nor did Amelia hide her proud smirk.

Langston lifted her eyebrows and looked between the three adults as if she were about to break up a playpen brawl over who sat next to whom. Now it was her turn to have good timing. "He was pretty good, huh?"

They all turned to blink at her. Dorian's eyes met her daughters. "What, honey?"

Langston pointed at the computer screen, unsure if she had just committed a faux pas. "David … Reynolds … Renaldi."

Dorian sighed, following Langston's train of thought. "He was a genius." She snapped her fingers. "That reminds me. We should sponsor a concert."

"A concert?" Amelia asked.

Langston grinned. This was not the first time she had heard Dorian drop the thought into conversation. "She wants River to play here in Llanview."

Amelia looked at Dorian while Dorian distracted herself with signing cards and attaching them to gifts. "Your grandson?" She furrowed her brows. There was something odd about referring to a woman like Dorian Cramer Lord as a grandmother.

David eyed Dorian up and down. It was sexy – the way she didn't bat an eyelash. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll come up with a plan."

Amelia's eyes travelled from David to Dorian, considering his words. That seemed to be what it always was – in their relationships, in the campaign, and around Dorian in general. There was always a plan. She pulled out their agenda and offered it to Dorian. "If you'll excuse me, I need to step out and make a few calls."

Dorian nodded, not even looking at the schedule. "I need to make a couple of calls myself."

Amelia stepped out of the room and Langston took her queue, taking a moment to close Amelia's laptop, which silenced the music. "I'll be in the kitchen."

Dorian had already retrieved her address book and was flipping through it. David remained seated.

Dorian dialed and waited. David watched her push her way through several prompts before reaching whoever or whatever she was trying to call. "Yes, hello, this is…. Actually, I prefer to remain anonymous. I just wanted to let our fair police department know that I have close ties to Llanview Hospital and I know for a fact that Stanley Lowell is a close personal friend with the chief of staff there. Considering the … infamous former mayor's involvement in an illegal prescription drug operation, I thought this information might be prudent in inciting an investigation into the practices at the hospital – namely those of the chief of staff. I'm not saying there is any wrong-doing, but I thought this information might be critical." She hung up the phone and looked at David with innocence.

His eyes shined at her. "Needed a back up plan, did you?" he grinned.

She shook her head. "It isn't a back up plan, David. It just occurred to me that he was never investigated. I have the best interests of the hospital at heart."

"Yeah that's why you called the police instead of having the hospital do an internal investigation first," was his sarcastic reply. He stood and took a long drink of his cooling coffee. "You know I haven't said anything because I'm letting Amelia be the husband, but … god, you're hot."

"David…." Dorian muttered disapproval at him and turned her back, but grinned as he left the room. So he did notice. She flipped through her address book and dialed the phone again, following prompts like she had before.

"Uhm, yes, hello. This is Dorian Lord…."

Sam's teacher was on the line.

"Hello, Doctor Lord. They told me you were trying to get ahold of me."

"Yes. A situation has been brought to my attention concerning my nephew, Sam Manning?"

There was a pause, followed by a confused-sounding response. "Yes, I spoke with Sam's mother about that. She insisted that I not discuss it with anyone else."

"Well, it was Sam's mother Blair - my niece - that told me about the situation and I am afraid she did not convey to you the importance of urgency in handling it."

"Listen, Mrs. … Doctor Lord … it is all under control, I assure you. All concerned parties have been made aware of what happened and how we have chosen to handle this going forward. I cannot discuss it with you any more than to assure you that there is not anything further that can be done or anything else to concern yourself over at this time."

"Perhaps I should speak to an administrator instead," Dorian wondered, her tone as much threatening as worried.

There was another pause. "Dorian. May I call you Dorian? Your nephew is a bright, resilient young man and his soft-spoken method of observing the world before responding to it gives him a unique perspective on what happens around him. My suggestion would be that you take a lesson from Sam and set a good example for him. Otherwise your tactics will prove no better than those of a childish bully."

Dorian opened her mouth to answer but heard the buzz of a dial tone. She blinked at her phone, confirming that she had indeed been disconnected, and then growled. "Where does she get off?"

"Uh, what was that?" Starr asked, standing in the doorway with Hope on her hip.

Dorian offered a sweet smile. "Oh, nothing," she shrugged, crossing the room to take Hope in her arms and cuddle her. "…Starr? Do you think I'm a bully?"

Starr almost laughed, considering her answer as she watched Hope grasp Dorian's necklace in her tiny fist. "No, Aunt Dorian. In fact right now you look a little bit more like a push-over." She gave Dorian an encouraging smile as she pried Hope's hands off the necklace and replaced it with a doll, before taking her daughter back into her own arms. "And we have to get going if we're going to stop and visit Shaun, don't we?"

Dorian couldn't help but smile, the last phone call already forgotten. Blair came into the room and saw the pile of gifts for the first time. "God, Dorian, how'm I gonna fit all this in the car?"

Dorian grabbed her agenda. "Starr said you two could handle it on your own."

Blair grabbed a couple of boxes and motioned for Langston to pick up a basket. "Yeah, well, we're recruiting."

"I still don't understand why I shouldn't go," Dorian protested.

"Because, Dorian."

"Because what?"

"Just because."

"Blair!" Dorian stomped her foot.

"Because your intensity level is just a little bit high this morning, okay?" The girls moved to carry gifts out to Blair's vehicle.

Amelia stepped back into the room with a smirk. "And that is exactly as it should be."

Dorian relented, shooting an accusing look at Blair before reviewing her agenda for the day. "What is all this, Amelia, with David's name instead of yours?"

"I have a meeting for a few hours this afternoon."

Dorian paused to blink at her. "A meeting?" She wondered why Amelia was being vague. "Something to do with the campaign?"

Amelia was reluctant to answer, but decided it best to be frank. "I'm meeting with my lawyers. Actually, they are the LGLA's legal counsel but they've…."

Dorian cut her off. "Why do you need lawyers?"

Amelia looked at her would-be mayor and fiancée as if to ask if she was serious or kidding.

Dorian was as serious as a heart attack. "Amelia. Why do you need legal counsel?" She wanted to hear the answer.

Amelia did not know any other way to say it. "The same reason you do, and I hope you've talked to yours."

Dorian's frown was bitter. "What about those 'hot coals' we talked about walking over together?"

"Oh, we're walking over them," Amelia clarified. "But like you said, I'm also going to cover my butt in case I fall."

Dorian was not even sure why the realization that Amelia needed her own lawyers perturbed her so much, but it did. She glanced over the agenda again, distracted, incapable of even reading the words on it.

Amelia could tell Dorian was annoyed and though she couldn't explain why herself, Dorian's predictable reaction had been why she had not mentioned her behind-the-scenes plans before now.

Amelia was right to have legal representation and Dorian knew it. "I'm going to gather my things," she muttered to her campaign manager with an audible sigh as she left the room. She knew Amelia was not as concerned about a prenuptial agreement as she was about supporting and marrying a lesbian mayoral candidate who was not a lesbian.

#One Life to Live #OLTL #fanfic #A/U #Election Storyline #Mayoral Campaign #Dorian Lord #Shaun Evans #Turning Leaves #Amelia Bennett #Starr Manning #Hope Manning Thornhart #Blair Cramer #Langston Wilde #David Vickers #David Vickers Buchanan

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awinterleaf · 6 years

Text

Season of Death

When you watch autumn trees on a windy day steady shedding leaves, the scenery is changing. Only now will it change this quickly on its own. Sure, man can rip down trees, man can dig valleys, man can build mountains. But this is the only time nature transforms herself before your eyes. Soon there will only be skeletons, all brown, grasping at nothing. Or mighty pines, storing cold, stabbing omnidirectional. Season of death. That is what my grandfather called it: 죽음의 계절. It revealed itself before me. Behind me lagged the boys.

“Sam, what are you thinking about?” Travis asked.

“Birds,” Sam said.

“Babe, how bout you?” Travis called up to me.

“Photography,” I said. “Of course photography.”

“I got you beat,” Travis said. “I got a good one.”

For a few steps, quiet, only wind, footsteps, Travis’s loud but wordless yearning for someone to ask him what he was thinking about.

“I was thinking about,” Travis said. “How, really, I think I have a responsibility to tell my dad that he could look at pornography on the internet, and, if necessary, show him how to find it.”

“Huh?” Sam said. “What? A responsibility to show your dad internet pornography?”

“Yeah,” Travis said. “Y’know, he’s not great with internet stuff, like, only a month or so ago I got him started on Youtube.”

“What does he watch on Youtube?”

“Mostly World War II documentaries.”

“My dad watches sports bloopers,” Sam said. “I’ve never heard him laugh so hard.”

“So, yeah, it’s good our dads know about Youtube. But now I’m thinking, like, would he have figured out on his own the porn possibilities? Or is he still going for shitty old magazines when mom’s not putting out?”

And then I tuned them out. Sometimes, I knew, Travis would only bring up subjects like this so that I would turn and give him a look of disgust, an eye roll, a mock-gag, something. Why he wanted that reaction, I have no idea, but I wouldn’t give it to him this easily. I focused on the path ahead. As I walked, I kicked around the leaf litter with my big Ziploc bag-covered hi-top Jordans. Not too much traction, but the look was good. We had seen no animals. Well, maybe a squirrel or something. Little birds here and there. But no rare animals, no deer, no porcupine, not even a chipmunk. No fox or rabbit. I wanted a rare animal. Rare animals made things easier. Photographing the trees shedding leaves was proving the behaviour of nature in absence of humans. But it was basic. With something like a raccoon in the woods, one grasps an aspect of the more complex and hidden functions of nature, the lifestyles, the habits. We are reminded that-

There! I saw it in front of me, a few feet off the path. A squirrel, but a perfectly white one. An albino? Some unknown species? I grabbed the camera from around my neck, swung the viewfinder up to my face. The lens cap! I fumbled it off. For a second I tried to focus. Then, a few steps behind me:

“It’s like, a quality of life thing, you know? So even if we agree that it’s insulting his intelligence, or it’s uncomfortable or gross or whatever, it’s such a quality of life increase that it’s worth doing.”

And the squirrel was gone. In a flash, or less than a flash: I couldn’t even get one snap off. I thought about cursing them out, but what good would it do? The animals all had their own agency. That’s what I was out to prove. Maybe it was just its time to go. Just as it was the animal agency of my boyfriend to talk loudly with his friend about internet porn. But I knew that I had missed my chance. White squirrel, rare animal. To ask for more than that would be unreasonable. Did that squirrel even know it was white? Was it albino? Some rare subspecies? I dangled my own hair into view, it had been bleached bleached bleached then dyed platinum grey. Rare.

“Look,” he said, “if I really wanted to do something like that, wouldn’t I try setting him up on OK Cupid or whatever? Try to get him some dates maybe? But I just don’t think that’s a line you should cross with family.”

“Sam, you ungrateful fuckboy,” Travis said. “There are no lines with family. Drawing lines with family is an aberration. Karma’s coming at you, you piece of shit.”

Sam was looking up and to the left, a small smile, this was always his look when Travis was laying into him about something. I began to iterate, from basic principles, for literally at least the one hundredth time, the dynamics of the relationship between us three. Sam and Travis have known each other since grade two where Travis would always… Then, in grade 9, they started the esports club… But then, two months, near black-out drunk, Sam messaged me to say… But did he remember that? Would he ever bring it up again? Should I… No. No. I knew I could never, would never, arrive at any sort of understanding, I never did. I had to focus on photography.

What is nature doing? What is it doing that we have forgotten? What is nature doing silently? What is it doing when we aren’t looking?

Overhead, a goose soared much higher than I expected a goose would soar. Its wings were flapping rapidly, it seemed stressed, I couldn’t imagine where it could be going. To look for food? Or a mate? Where were its goose friends? Where was its “V”? Is that what it was looking for, so frantically, from such a height? Was this a matter of life or death? Was everything a matter of life and death in the animal kingdom? Did animals wake up every morning expecting to die that day? I hesitantly steadied my camera up at it and the viewfinder confirmed my fears: an uninteresting photo. It looked like a small bird at a reasonable height. All the urgency was lost; all the struggle evaporated in the camera’s stillness.

Travis patted my head. “Got it? We Gucci? Ayyy, Sam, let’s head out.”

Sam made a long spluttering horse noise and spun on his heels to face the way we came. Travis lingered behind, plopped his chin on my shoulder, looked down at the camera.

“Lemme see,” he said.

“I didn’t actually take a picture, idiot,” I said, pushing his face back with my hand.

“Well shit, I dunno what the hold up is,” he said. “I don’t think we’re in for anything else here. This way, trees. That way, trees. Leaves, trees, a stick, a squirrel, a moose…”

“A moose?” I said, quickly glancing up to where he was looking.

“I was just kidding,” he said. “Dummy.”

He went ahead of me. “C’mon, Sam,” he said. “Let’s go find some more fucking trees, or something.”

The season of death approaching. Take the current frame and skip ahead five, ten, years. The urge to break up with Travis right at this very instant was hot inside me. But the chill wind moved it past my head.

I tried to look at the scene with fresh eyes. The leaves streaming past me. The wind screaming in the distance. It was October 15th. Half the month had passed and I still did not have a picture. Presumably my competitors had been going out every day, into nature every day. What had they become? Full of the world and not of themselves. Held at the whim of the day and night and the sun and the rain and subservient to the steady passing of the seasons, that being the sum of their world, like a farmer, maybe, and me, what was I, Ziploc bags on my feet, dragging about two hypebeasts, or, more accurately, a hypebeast (Travis) and a hypebeasthypebeast (Sam), into nature, at the mercy of nature. Here is where nature could kill us; we had exposed ourselves to nature’s terrible wrath, but, somehow, I felt, that if we were in nature’s wrath, then nature must have some equivalent splendor, or…

The trail turned a bend and before us laid an opening, several felled trees. A brief whirlwind of leaves formed in the middle. Brief, too brief to even think to reach for the camera. But there. I set down my bag and pulled out the telescoping tripod.

“What now?” Travis said.

“I think there’s something here,” I said.

“Ahhhhhh,” he said, and squatted down, started poking at his phone.

Sam squatted next to him. “I thought you didn’t get signal out here,” Sam said.

“I don’t, I don’t, I’m just like, going through pictures saved on here, for like, amusement, nostalgia, whatever,” Travis said.

Sam shuffled over next to him to look too.

“Lotta porn,” he said.

I tried to ignore them and started positioning the camera. The season of death. How would it reveal itself to me? How could I find that urgency, that fragility? But also that stillness, that silence? Think of the bunny family. The end of papa bunny. Food too scarce in the winter. That must be. Something that had happened. It must be. Find it now. See it now. I could hear it in the howling wind. I could feel it in the leaves swirling around me. I needed to capture it.

“Oh shit,” Sam said. “Is that from that party at, uhh…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Travis said, cheesy grin.

“What’s that?” Sam said. “Mario Party?”

“Haha, yeah, this is with the soccer guys,” Travis said. “I wrecked them.”

“I don’t really know Mario Party.”

“This number here being so much bigger than their numbers, that means that I wrecked them,” Travis said sagely, wisely.

“Huh,” Sam said. He got up and wandered around the clearing. Took out his phone and snapped a few pics. Why was I watching him instead of what he was watching? He was looking down at his phone, his jacket fluttering around him, looking like the last clinging leaves of the season. Travis, down on his haunches, staring at his phone too, snickering. What did Sam see in him? The athleticism, maybe? His muscular calves? Maybe his e-athleticism? He was the best player on their team, I was pretty sure. But why was I making rationalizations for why Sam might like my boyfriend? Weren’t there reasons that he was my boyfriend to begin with? Shouldn’t they be like, obvious? What did that mean? Did Sam love him more than me? Wait, why was I thinking about this at all? I needed to take a picture. There must be something I could find. Something that-

“Holy shit,” Sam said, and there was a urgency in his tone completely unfamiliar to me.

I turned to face him, my heart in my throat. Travis rose uncertainly to his feet and took a few steps closer. Somehow, we already knew.

“What?” Travis said, much more quietly than normal.

“I just got a Facebook notification that, uh, it was a post his mom made, and I guess that, um…” Sam said, blinking rapidly, his hands visibly shaking. “Last night, I guess that he, um…”

“What? What?” Travis said, walking closer.

“Jay Park crashed his car,” Sam said. “Jay Park is dead.”

“What?” Travis said. Then he shouted, “holy shit!”

Sam looked up at him, his eyes already wet. “Jay Park is dead,” he repeated.

“Really? What? You had cell phone signal this whole time?” Travis said, his words spluttering out on top of themselves. “No, wait, what, that doesn’t… he’s actually dead?”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to do. I felt like my brain had been knocked a foot back from my body. Like I was my own ghost watching myself. From a distance I saw my body slowly walk over and try to hug Travis.

“Don’t touch me!” he shouted, stepping back, and then, shocked at himself, clasped his hands over his face. “Don’t touch me. Sorry. Don’t touch me. Why would you touch me now?”

“I just wanted... I just wanted to comfort you, right?” I said, my voice shaking. I didn’t really know why I did it either.

“I don’t need to be comforted,” Travis said. “Comfort doesn’t help right now.” He slid his hands off of his face and clapped, loudly, twice, fast. I thought that he too must be controlling his body with only a delicate thread. “I need to face this head on,” he said. He started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” I said. “Should we go back to the car?”

“No, I want to stay out here for a while,” he said. “There’s nothing for us to do back in the city.”

I turned to Sam, who didn’t say or do anything.

“Try to take some pictures. It’s not like you aren’t going to enter your contest because my friend died. That makes no sense,” Travis said, and turned back away from us.

I didn’t know what to do but I certainly couldn’t take pictures. I walked over to Sam and slowly embraced him from the side. He was so thin, I thought this every time I hugged him. He didn’t respond at all, just kept looking at his phone. I leaned my head into his shoulder so I could look too. The Facebook thread was open; comments, “sad reacts”, and messages of support popped up continuously from the bottom. Notification windows popped down from the top, showing messages in group chats, most of them “what the fuck” or things like that. For a moment I was so hypnotized by this steady flood of information that I couldn’t parse what any of it really meant. Never before had the scenery of Facebook transformed so rapidly before my eyes. I could only describe it as lively, but I knew this was the wrong word.

Then someone posted a picture, and I saw it briefly before it was swallowed in the stream. Jay Park. Yes, that guy. He was on their e-sports team before, but not now, I thought. He was with them when they played League, before they switched to Dota. Or was it that he played Dota with them, before they switched to League? I suppose it didn’t matter. I could think of three times I had met him. He came to a party at my mom’s house once, and puked in the bathroom sink, or really more just near it, and he came out asking for paper towels and apologizing over and over and over, he was beet-red from alcohol and embarrassment, but I was already pretty drunk too, and so I told him it didn’t matter, to not worry about it, but then I ended up cleaning it up in the morning and kinda resenting him, but I guess it was my fault, I don’t know.

“I guess he swerved off the road to dodge a deer and went right into a tree,” Sam said, quietly, the first thing he’d said in a while. “Isn’t that crazy?”

“Yeah,” I said, squeezing him tighter. “Crazy.”

Then there was a time where I had to pick Travis and Sam up from a party with Travis’s friends from soccer, they had gotten way too drunk, and Jay Park was there too, he had come of his own accord to try to stop them from getting way too drunk, they had some big game the next day, but it was too late. We walked them out to my car, me shouldering Travis, him shouldering Sam, and he seemed a little upset, or a little worried, but he was trying to hide it, and he said to me, “they aren’t bad guys, really”, meaning Travis and Sam. And I was like, I know, of course I know, but I guess he was probably saying it as much to himself as he was to me.

Sam, for no discernable reason, without replying to any of the messages he received directly or posting in the Facebook thread, unceremoniously turned off his phone’s screen and then, a second later, tossed it softly onto the leaf bedding. He let out a long low spluttering noise.

“Y’know,” he said. “He told me once, that if he died, that I should go on his computer and delete all his porn.”

Sam turned to me and smiled. I didn’t know what face to make, or even what face I was already making.

“I think it was a joke, though, like, he didn’t give me his password or anything,” he said, and let out a weary, shuddery laugh. He sounded, for better or worse, like himself again. I let go of him and he walked a little bit towards where Travis had gone. His phone was still laying in the leaves.

“I’m gonna go try to see if Travis is OK,” he said. “I really hope he’s OK.” Then he left.

The third time I saw Jay Park was at a birthday party for Travis. He had gotten him a poster signed by some player that he liked, I don’t know who. And I was surprised, we don’t really do presents for friend birthdays, like, Sam didn’t get him anything, I don’t even know if I did. But Travis was really happy. Couldn’t stop saying “holy shit” with that stupid grin. I was happy for him, happy that Jay Park had done that, Jay seemed happy that we were so happy, it was happiness. I don’t think I had thought about the other times I’d met him then. I don’t think I’d thought of all three times together before now. I’d never put him together. And there were probably other times, too. I’m sure he was there often when I met Travis at the internet café, but I could never really distinguish between his friends there, just one loud blob, all of their game faces the same; sometimes I couldn’t even pick out Sam. But now one face was gone forever. I began to silently cry, the tears steadily pouring out as my breath became more stuttered and raspy. I sat down on a log and looked at the odd still life of the erected cameraless tripod and the phone on the ground. No animals emerged.

What is nature doing when we aren’t watching?

She is dying.

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